Chapter IV (2)

A great deal might be done with a system of this character, and Mr. Stern's next work will be a careful study on the lines of carrying freight, as he believes that a single line of railway may be duplexed in this manner, and thus enable more business to be carried on than by the ordinary railroad having two tracks.

_From a Photo._]

_The Forbidden City of Lhassa._

BY G. T. TSYBIKOV.

[As soon as the brief telegraphic announcement of M. Tsybikov's
remarkable journey reached England we took steps to secure the
earliest account in an English magazine of this expedition. At the
present moment its value is enhanced by the fact that a British
mission is being dispatched into the mysterious land of Tibet.
The account of "The Forbidden City of Lhassa" which follows is
the first that has been written by a visitor to Lhassa since
the French missionary Huc spent a few months there in 1845. It
has been translated and edited for THE STRAND MAGAZINE by David
B. Macgowan, by permission of the Russian Imperial Geographical
Society.]

M. G. T. Tsybikov is by birth a Russian Bouriat from the Trans-Baikal territory. He learned his own, the Mongolian, and the Tibetan languages in infancy and boyhood, and completed his education in the St. Petersburg schools for Oriental languages. He was sent to Tibet by the Russian Imperial Geographical Society, and his success in reaching the Tibetan capital and in remaining there or in its vicinity for more than a year was due in large measure to the careful planning of his journey by the experienced officers of this society. He carried a high-class camera of special construction and returned with a number of excellent photographs, some of which are reproduced with this article.

The explorer left Lhassa on September 10th, 1901, but was detained on his return journey and did not reach the hospitable Russian consulate at Urga until the middle of last year.

The following is his narrative:--

* * * * *

On May 7th, 1900, a caravan of about seventy Mongolian and Amdo Lamas left the Amdo monastery of Goumboum for Lhassa. I had joined it as a simple pilgrim. We rode and carried our belongings on about two hundred horses and mules obtained in Amdo, and lived in seventeen tents. After a journey of twenty-two days across the uninhabited North Tibetan table-land, we pitched camp on the banks of the San-chou, on the northern side of the Boumza Ridge. Here we, for the first time, met with inhabitants of Central Tibet. Our road was, in fact, blocked by the first of a series of military posts maintained to stop the advance of foreigners and to notify the Government of their presence. It was near here that the great Russian explorer, P. M. Przhevalsky, was compelled to turn back upon his third journey into Central Asia. The soldiers of the post at once came to our camp and, observing that ours was an ordinary pilgrim caravan, resumed their usual occupations, which were mainly barter on a small scale and keeping a sharp look-out for any unconsidered trifles which were not tied down.

After four short marches we reached the Nak-chou monastery. Here reside the two governors of the local nomadic tribes--one, called the "Khanbo," being a priest, and the other, called the "Nansal," being a layman. They rule the natives, collect taxes, control the post-stations, and investigate suspicious travellers. I fell into the latter class, thanks to the head of our caravan, who reported that there were Bouriats among the Mongolians. Although it had been recently decided that Bouriats were to be admitted into the country, the "Khanbo" squeezed five "lans" of silver out of me, which sum removed me from the category of suspects and opened the road to Lhassa, where we arrived on August 16th, after a journey of three months from Goumboum.

_From a Photo._]

Lhassa, or Lhadàn as it is sometimes called, means the "land of the gods," or "full of gods." It was founded in the seventh century A.D. by the Khan Srontszan-Gambo, who, it is related, had among his wives a Nepaulese and a Chinese princess, and they brought with them statues of Buddha Sakya Muni. For these statues temples were built in Lhassa, and the Khan settled on the hill where now stands the palace of the Dalai-Lama--the supreme ruler of Tibet both in spiritual and worldly affairs. The city is situated in a broad plain, bordered on one side by the Wi-chou and on the other by the high mountains on its right bank. Not counting Bodalà, the residence of the Dalai-Lama, it is almost circular in form, with a diameter of about one English mile. However, numerous parks to the south and west, the proximity of Bodalà and two other palaces, have caused its girth to be stated as about twenty-five miles. As a matter of fact, the circular road around the city is not more than eight miles long. The devout are in the habit of making the circuit, prostrating themselves continually. A zealous pilgrim can complete the journey in two days, making three thousand prostrations a day. They travel, in fact, on their stomachs, drawing up their legs as far as possible, and pushing themselves forward a body's length at a time, standing erect, however, between the movements and falling flat again. Sometimes the pilgrims protect their hands with boards, though these are not the most fervent devotees. Thus they traverse not only the circuit of the city, but often pass three times and even seven times round it. The last feat takes about a fortnight, and requires forty-two thousand prostrations!

The Tibetans are very fond of parks and forests, and their capital presents a beautiful appearance from a distance, particularly in spring and autumn, when the golden roofs of the two principal temples and the white walls of many-storied houses gleam and glisten among the tree-tops. The enchantment of the view from afar disappears abruptly when one enters the crooked and extremely narrow streets, which during the rainy season are transformed into muddy pools, in which one sees here and there the corpse of a yak or other pack animal.

The plain in which the city lies is subject to inundations both from the river and from mountain streams. Dykes and canals have been constructed both inside and outside the city for protection from overflows. The houses of the common people are built of stone plates or of unbaked bricks, one-storied usually, except in the cities, where two and three storied houses prevail. The window openings are either bare or are protected merely with muslin or calico in summer, and with paper in winter. Fire-places are provided only in the kitchen, and are heated only for the preparation of food.

In the centre of the city stands the temple in which the great statue of Buddha is placed. This temple is a rectangular structure about one hundred and forty feet square. It is three stories high and has four gilded roofs in Chinese style, with gates and a door opening to the west. The temple contains a number of gloomy chambers lighted with candles, in all of which there are various statues of Buddhas. The chief object of veneration is placed beneath a costly baldachin in the middle room. It is the great statue of Buddha Sakya Muni, just mentioned. It is of bronze, and is distinguished from ordinary images of the Indian sage by its ornaments of hammered gold on head and breast, encrusted with precious stones, mainly turquoises. The face of the statue is decorated with burnished gold, put on in the form of a powder. Golden lamps fed with animal fat, placed on long, bench-like tables, burn before it continually. These lamps are the gifts of worshippers.

_From a Photo._]

Almost equal honour is bestowed upon two other statues in the same temple, that of Avalokiteshvar, who is supposed to be reincarnated in the Dalai-Lamas, and the statue of Bal-Lhamo, the patroness of women. Libations of barley-wine, called the "golden drink," are constantly being poured out before this statue and barley grains are liberally strewn on the ground, supplying inexhaustible food to the multitude of mice which thrive here undisturbed, as they are accounted sacred. They have comfortable nests in the drapery of the statue. The bodies of these mice, when accidentally killed, are regarded as very useful to ladies who are expecting babies, and are exported thousands of miles to Mongolia and Amdo. However, mice in other houses in Lhassa do not share their privileged position, being, as in other countries, the prey of cats.

The ancient palace of the Tibetan kings, shown in the photograph given above, is carefully preserved as a monument of great interest in the history of the city. It was the residence of the last King of Tibet, before the Dalai-Lama received the temporal as well as the spiritual power. It is the only building in Lhassa which is not allowed to be white-washed.

Above all the buildings of the city rises Bodalà, the palace of the Dalai-Lama, about a thousand yards to the west, and built on a rocky eminence. Although commenced earlier, it was rebuilt and extended, with the addition of the central part, called the "red palace," during the lifetime, or shortly after the death, of the celebrated fifth Dalai-Lama, Agvan Lovsan-chzhiamtso. The palace was evidently built mainly for purposes of defence, being, in fact, the survivor of those ancient castles with whose ruins Tibet is richly strewn, and whose sad fate was largely the work of this very Bodalà.

The palace is about fourteen hundred feet long and nine to ten stories high. The front and sides are surrounded by a wall, while the rear is protected by the mountain. In the construction of this palace the Tibetans exhausted all their architectural skill, and it contains much of the wealth and all that Tibet possesses of artistic value, notably the golden epitaph of the fifth Dalai-Lama. The valuables and the Dalai-Lama's apartments are in the central part of the palace, which is called the "red palace," but is really painted brown. In other parts of the palace live various officials, employés, and followers of the Dalai-Lama, including a chapter of five hundred monks. Among the duties of the latter are the recital of prayers for the happiness and long life of the Dalai-Lama.

The mint, the courts of justice, and the prison are situated in a courtyard under the hillside, and a little farther on is the only medical school in Tibet, the "Manba Datsan." It has sixty teachers, supported by the Dalai-Lama. Westward and lower down the hill from the palace and the medical school are the temples of Chinese Buddhists, while two other palaces, one of which is the summer palace of the Dalai-Lama, are situated only a little farther. Lhassa itself contains two faculties for instruction in the mystical cults, embracing together twelve hundred men.

_From a Photo._]

Lhassa is a city of women. The entire population, excluding priests, can scarcely exceed ten thousand persons, and at least two-thirds of these are women. The city might seem more populous owing to the proximity of two great monasteries and to the great ingress, at particular times, of the rural inhabitants and of pilgrims from Lamaitic countries. It is the most important commercial centre of the country, being the intermediary between India and Western Tibet and between China and Eastern Tibet. The market is situated around the great temple, and the lower floors of houses, as well as all free spaces on the streets and public squares, are occupied by shops and booths. The clerks in the shops, excepting those kept by Kashmir and Nepaul merchants, are nearly all women.

Not only Lhassa, but Tibet itself can be described as the land of women and women's rights. This is due to the vast number of celibate priests. The results of this institution to a large part of the female population are complete independence both in business and in personal conduct. In family life both polygamy and polyandry are met with. The marriage of several brothers with one wife, or of several sisters with one husband, is regarded as the ideal condition.

In no country in the world, perhaps, do women play a greater part in business than in Tibet. I can recall no occupation that is carried on in the country in which women are not actively engaged, and they often conduct great undertakings quite independently of men.

The choice of a new Dalai-Lama is put into practice in the following picturesque manner: The names of three candidates, determined upon in a previously agreed manner, are written on separate tickets and then put into a golden urn. The urn is set in front of the great statue of Buddha, and religious services designed to disclose the identity of the "reincarnate"[1] are held by deputies from the monasteries. The urn is then taken to Bodalà and set down before a small board inscribed with the name of the Emperor, and in the presence of the highest officials, and of deputies from the principal monasteries, the Manchurian Amban--the representative of the Emperor--removes one of the tickets by means of a pair of chop-sticks. The choice so made is confirmed by an Imperial rescript, and the happy, or unhappy, boy is transferred to the palace. From this moment he receives the veneration and the honours due to his station. From his earliest years he is taught reading and writing by a special master selected from among the most illustrious Lamas. After this he is given a purely theological education. For purposes of practical disputation all the theological faculties of the principal monasteries send one of their members. Upon the completion of the prescribed course of study he receives the highest theological degree in the same manner as other Lamas do, but naturally makes a more lavish distribution of money to the monasteries. As a matter of course his generosity is rewarded by a correspondingly careful selection of questions on the part of the examiners.

[Footnote 1: The "reincarnates" are persons in whom the souls of former saints are supposed to have become reincarnated.]

_From a Photo._]

The present Dalai-Lama has now, at the age of twenty-one or twenty-two, attained his majority. Since 1806 there have been five new Dalai-Lamas. Six or seven years ago the present holder of the title entered upon a struggle with his regent, the most illustrious of the Tibetan "reincarnates," and issued from it victorious, thereby escaping the fate of his four predecessors, who died comparatively young, most of them having been put to death by their regents, or the rivals of the latter. The present Dalai-Lama accused his regent of having performed conjurations against his life, confiscated the regent's large estate, and placed him under strict domiciliary arrest. The regent was found dead one fine morning. The Dalai-Lama is evidently an energetic and well-intentioned man. One of his first acts after seizing the reins of authority was the abolition of the death penalty.

The supreme administration is in the hands of a council under the presidency of the Dalai-Lama, known as the "Devashoun." The four principal members are appointed by the Chinese Emperor. Justice is sold, and in general all Government business is carried on by means of bribery. Criminal inquiries are pursued by means of whipping and other tortures, the most cruel of which is probably cauterization with blazing sealing-wax. The penalties are flogging, imprisonment, exile into slavery, blinding, amputation of the fingers, and perpetual fetters or stocks.

_From a Photo._]

Four thousand soldiers are maintained at the cost of the State. Their armament consists of swords, muzzle-loading firearms, and bows and arrows. A helmet decorated with feathers is worn and a small shield is carried, and some wear a cuirass also. The discipline is poor. The soldiers live in their villages, and assemble only periodically for drill in archery and in the use of firearms. The army is divided into cavalry and infantry. The Central Tibetan is averse to war and military service. One often sees a soldier on the way to the drill-ground placidly spinning wool or sewing on a boot-sole, or perhaps employing the time which would otherwise be wasted in telling a rosary or turning a prayer-cylinder. The nomadic clans of Eastern Tibet, who are prone to raiding their peaceful neighbours, strive as a rule to avoid bloodshed, employing intimidation oftener than force. The slightest determined opposition sends them back home.

The Tibetans have lately been taking a more and more pronounced fancy for English goods, and Indian rupees have begun to compete with the native coin. Among the articles exported to India are yak tails, sheep's wool, borax, salt, silver and gold, yaks, and horses and asses from Western China.

Both men and women wear local cloth in various colours. The clothing of the poor is usually white, because white is the cheapest. Soldiers wear dark blue, the well-to-do classes prefer red, and the princes and higher officials are privileged to wear yellow. The people are vain and fond of display. They wear jewellery of gold, silver, corals, diamonds, rubies, pearls, turquoises, and other stones.

_From a Photo._]

The principal article of food is flour of roasted barley. It is mixed with tea or barley-wine. The most common vegetable is the radish. The favourite dish of all classes is a porridge of barley-flour mixed with finely-chopped radishes. The best variety of this porridge is prepared with a bouillon of pounded bones, which can be had only by the rich. Tibetans love raw or underdone meat. Yak-meat, mutton, and pork are more highly esteemed than beef. The flesh of asses and horses is not eaten. Fish is eaten by the poor, fowl not at all, chickens being kept only for the sake of eggs. Butter is used principally as fuel for holy lamps. Sour milk, treated in a special way, is highly esteemed as a drink and is the common poetic symbol of pure white. Both men and women drink great quantities of barley-wine, which is but slightly intoxicating and is very cheap. The men smoke leaf tobacco in pipes, the monks crush it into snuff. Tobacco is dear, and it is usually mixed for smoking with leaves of another plant.

The Tibetan is very impressionable and superstitious, and he goes to the Lamas, or oracles, after every event in his life and demands the explanation of it. In case of sickness he puts more faith in a grain of barley blessed by a Lama than in medicine; or he prefers, if able, to send for a Lama to read whole litanies in his presence. However, he is also disposed to be merry, and proves it by singing and dancing on holidays and during carousals.

The Tibetan's requirements are limited. The local coin was worth ten cents during my stay in Tibet. Nevertheless, one of these coins is the highest wage known, that of a Lama for a whole day's prayers. The best spinner in the rural districts receives seven cents a day; the ordinary labourer, whether man or woman, two or three cents. Domestic servants scarcely ever get any money, receiving only food and clothing.

Beggary thrives in Lhassa, this being the sole recourse of criminals who have been blinded, or have lost their hands, or been bound to perpetual fetters or stocks. In fact, begging is regarded with no shame, even when practised by the comparatively well-to-do, especially priests.

BY E. NESBIT.]

Copyright, 1904, by George Newnes, Limited.

VIII.--THE CATS, THE COW, AND THE BURGLAR.

The nursery was full of Persian cats and musk-rats that had been brought there by the Wishing Carpet. The cats were mewing and the musk rats were squeaking so that you could hardly hear yourself speak. In the kitchen were the four children, one candle, a concealed Phoenix, and a very visible policeman.

"Now, then, look here," said the policeman, very loudly, and he pointed his lantern at each child in turn; "what's the meaning of this here yelling and caterwauling? I tell you you've got a cat here, and someone's a-illtreating of it. What do you mean by it, eh?"

It was five to one, counting the Phoenix, but the policeman, who was one, was of unusually fine size, and the five, including the Phoenix, were small. The mews and the squeaks grew softer, and in the comparative silence Cyril said:--

"It's true. There are a few cats here. But we've not hurt them. It's quite the opposite. We've just fed them."

"It don't sound like it," said the policeman, grimly.

"If you understood anything except people who steal and do murders and stealings and naughty things like that I'd tell you all about it," said Robert, "but I'm certain you don't. You're not meant to shove your oar into people's private cat-keepings. You're only supposed to interfere when people shout 'Murder!' and 'Stop thief!' in the street. So there!"

The policeman assured them that he should see about that, and at this point the Phoenix, who had been making itself small on the pot-shelf under the dresser, among the saucepan-lids and the fish-kettle, walked on tip-toed claws in a noiseless and modest manner, and left the room unnoticed by anyone.

"Oh, don't be so horrid!" Anthea was saying, gently and earnestly. "We _love_ cats--dear, pussy-soft things. We wouldn't hurt them for worlds. Would we, Pussy?"

And Jane answered that of course they wouldn't.

And still the policeman seemed unmoved by their eloquence.

"Now, look here," he said, "I'm a going to see what's in that room beyond there--and----"

His voice was drowned in a wild burst of mewing and squeaking.

And as soon as it died down all four children began to explain at once, and though the squeaking and mewing were not at their very loudest, yet there was quite enough of both to make it very hard for the policeman to understand a single word of any of the four wholly different explanations now poured out to him.

"Stow it!" he said, at last. "I'm a-going into the next room in the execution of my duty. I'm a-going to use my eyes--my ears are gone off their chumps, what with you and them cats."

And he pushed Robert aside and strode through the door.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," said Robert.

"It's tigers, _really_," said Jane. "Father said so. I wouldn't go in if I were you."

But the policeman was quite stony; nothing anyone said seemed to make any difference to him. Some policemen are like this, I believe. He strode down the passage, and in another moment he would have been in the room with all the cats and all the rats (musk), but at that very instant a thin, sharp voice screamed from the street outside:--

"Murder! Murder! Stop thief!"

The policeman stopped, with one regulation boot heavily poised in the air.

"Eh?" he said.

And again the shrieks sounded shrilly and piercingly from the dark street outside.

"Come on," said Robert. "Come and look after cats while somebody's being killed outside." For Robert had an inside feeling that told him quite plainly _who_ it was that was screaming.

"You young rip!" said the policeman. "I'll settle up with you bimeby."

And he rushed out; and the children heard his boots going weightily along the pavement, and the screams also going along rather ahead of the policeman, and both the murder-screams and the policeman's boots faded away in the remote distance.

Then Robert smacked his knickerbockers loudly with his palm, and said:--

"Good old Phɶnix! I should know its golden voice anywhere."

And then everyone understood how cleverly the Phɶnix had caught at what Robert had said about the real work of a policeman being to look after murderers and thieves, and not after cats, and all hearts were filled with admiring affection.

"But he'll come back," said Anthea, mournfully, "as soon as he finds the murderer is only a bright vision of a dream, and there isn't one at all really."

"No, he won't," said the soft voice of the clever Phɶnix, as he flew in. "_He does not know where your house is._ I heard him own as much to a fellow-mercenary. Oh! what a night we are having! Lock the door, and let us rid ourselves of this intolerable smell of the perfume peculiar to the musk-rat and to the house of the trimmers of beards. If you'll excuse me I will go to bed. I am worn out."

It was Cyril who wrote the paper that told the carpet to take away the rats and bring milk, because there seemed to be no doubt in any breast that, however Persian cats may be, they must like milk.

"Let's hope it won't be musk-milk," said Anthea, in gloom, as she pinned the paper face-downwards on the carpet. "Is there such a thing as a musk-cow?" she added, anxiously, as the carpet shrivelled and vanished. "I do hope not. Perhaps, really, it _would_ have been wiser to let the carpet take the cats away. It's getting quite late, and we can't keep them all night."

"Oh, can't we?" was the bitter rejoinder of Robert, who had been fastening the side door. "You might have consulted me," he went on. "I'm not such an idiot as some people."

"Why, whatever----"

"Don't you see? We've jolly well _got_ to keep the cats all night--oh, get down, you furry beasts!--because we've had three wishes out of the old carpet now, and we can't get any more till to-morrow."

The liveliness of Persian mews alone prevented the occurrence of a dismal silence.

Anthea spoke first. "Never mind," she said. "Do you know, I really do think they're quieting down a bit. Perhaps they heard us say milk."

"They can't understand English," said Jane. "You forget they're Persian cats, Panther."

"Well," said Anthea, rather sharply, for she was tired and anxious, "who told you milk wasn't Persian for milk? Lots of English words are just the same in French--at least, I know 'miaw' is, and croquet, and _fiancé_. Oh, pussies, do be quiet! Let's stroke them as hard as we can with both hands, and perhaps they'll stop."

So everyone stroked grey fur till their hands were tired, and as soon as a cat had been stroked enough to make it stop mewing it was pushed gently away, and another mewing mouser was approached by the hands of the strokers. And the noise was really more than half purr when the carpet suddenly appeared in its proper place, and on it, instead of rows of milk-cans or even of milk-jugs, there was a _cow_. Not a Persian cow, either; nor, most fortunately, a musk-cow, if there is such a thing, but a smooth, sleek, dun-coloured Jersey cow, who blinked large, soft eyes at the gaslight and mooed in an amiable, if rather inquiring, manner.

Anthea had always been afraid of cows. But now she tried to be brave.

"Anyway, it can't run after me," she said to herself. "There isn't room for it even to begin to run."

The cow was perfectly placid. She behaved like a strayed duchess till someone brought a saucer for the milk and someone else tried to milk the cow into it. Milking is very difficult. You may think it is easy, but it is not. All the children were by this time strung up to a pitch of heroism that would have been impossible to them in their ordinary condition. Robert and Cyril held the cow by the horns, and when she was quite sure that their end of the cow was secure Jane consented to stand by, ready to hold the cow by the tail, should occasion arise. Anthea, holding the saucer, now advanced towards the cow. She remembered to have heard that cows, when milked by strangers, are susceptible to the soothing influence of the human voice. So, clutching her saucer very tight, she sought for words to whose soothing influence the cow might be susceptible. And her memory, troubled by the events of the night, which seemed to go on and on for ever and ever, refused to help her with any form of words suitable to address a Jersey cow in.

"Poor pussy, then. Lie down, then, good dog, lie down," was all she could think of to say, and she said it. And nobody laughed--the situation, full of grey, mewing cats, was too serious for that.

Then Anthea, with a beating heart, tried to milk the cow. Next moment the cow had knocked the saucer out of her hand and trampled on it with one foot, while with the other three she had walked on a foot each of Robert, Cyril, and Jane.

Jane burst into tears.

"Oh, how much too horrid everything is!" she cried. "Come away. Let's go to bed and leave the horrid cats with the hateful cow. Perhaps somebody will eat somebody else. And serve them right."

They did not go to bed, but had a shivering council in the drawing-room, which smelt of soot--and, indeed, a heap of this lay in the fender. There had been no fire in the room since mother went away, and all the chairs and tables were in the wrong places, and the chrysanthemums were dead, and the water in their pots nearly dried up.

Anthea wrapped the embroidered, woolly sofa-blanket round Jane and herself, while Robert and Cyril had a struggle, silent and brief, but fierce, for the larger share of the fur hearthrug.

"It is most truly awful," said Anthea. "And I _am_ so tired. Let's let the cats loose."

"And the cow, perhaps?" said Cyril. "The police would find us at once. That cow would stand at the gate and mew--I mean moo--to come in. And so would the cats. No; I see quite well what we've got to do. We must put them in baskets and leave them on people's doorsteps, like orphan foundlings."

"We've got three baskets, counting mother's work one," said Jane, brightening.

"And there are nearly two hundred cats," said Anthea, "besides the cow, and it would have to be a different-sized basket for her. And then I don't know how you'd carry it, and you'd never find a doorstep big enough to put it on, except the church one, and----"

"Oh, well," said Cyril, "if you simply _make_ difficulties----"

"I'm with you," said Robert. "Don't fuss about the cow, Panther. It's simply _got_ to stay the night, and I'm sure I've read that the cow is a remunerating creature, and that means it will sit still and think for hours. The carpet can take it away in the morning. And as for baskets, we'll do them up in dusters or pillow-cases, or bath-towels. Come on, Squirrel. You girls can be out of it, if you like."

His tone was full of contempt, but Jane and Anthea were too tired and desperate to care; even being "out of it," which at other times they could not have borne, now seemed quite a comfort. They snuggled down in the sofa-blanket and Cyril threw the fur hearthrug over them.

"Ah," he said, "that's all women are fit for--to keep safe and warm while the men do the work and run dangers and risks and things."

"I'm not," said Anthea; "you know I'm not."

But Cyril was gone.

It was warm under the blanket and the hearthrug, and Jane snuggled up close to her sister, and Anthea cuddled Jane closely and kindly, and in a sort of dream they heard the rise of a wave of mewing as Robert opened the door of the nursery. They heard the booted search for baskets in the back kitchen. They heard the side door open and close, and they knew that each brother had gone out with at least one cat. Anthea's last thought was that it would take at least all night to get rid of one hundred and ninety-nine cats by twos. There would be eighty-nine journeys of two cats each, and one cat over. "I almost think we might keep the one cat over," said Anthea; "I don't seem to care for cats just now, but I dare say I shall again some day." And she fell asleep. Jane also was sleeping.

It was Jane who awoke with a start to find Anthea still asleep. As in the act of awakening she kicked her sister, she wondered idly why they should have gone to bed in their boots, but the next moment she remembered where they were.

There was a sound of muffled, shuffled feet on the stairs. Like the heroine of the classic poem, Jane "thought it was the boys," and, as she now felt quite wide awake and not nearly so tired as before, she crept gently from Anthea's side and followed the footsteps. They went down into the basement. The cats, which seemed to have fallen into the sleep of exhaustion, awoke at the sound of the approaching footsteps and mewed piteously. Jane was at the foot of the stairs before she saw that it was not her brothers whose coming had roused her and the cats, but a burglar. She knew he was a burglar at once, because he wore a fur cap and a red and black charity-check comforter, and he had no business where he was.

If you had been stood in Jane's shoes you would no doubt have run away in them, appealing to the police and neighbours with horrid screams. But Jane knew better. She had read a great many nice stories about burglars, as well as some affecting pieces of poetry, and she knew that no burglar will ever hurt a little girl if he meets one when burgling. Indeed, in all the cases Jane had read of his burglarishness was almost at once forgotten in the interest he felt in the little girl's artless prattle. So if Jane hesitated for a moment before addressing the burglar it was only because she could not at once think of any remark sufficiently prattling and artless to make a beginning. In the stories and the affecting poetry the child could never speak plainly, though it always looked old enough to in the pictures. And Jane could not make up her mind to lisp and "talk baby," even to a burglar. And while she hesitated he softly opened the nursery door and went in.

Jane followed--just in time to see him sit down flat on the floor, scattering cats as a stone thrown into a pool splashes water.

She closed the door softly and stood there, still wondering whether she _could_ bring herself to say: "What's 'oo doing here, Mithter Wobber?" and whether any other kind of talk would do.

Then she heard the burglar draw a long breath, and he spoke:--

"It's a judgment," he said. "Oh, 'ere's a thing to 'appen to a chap! Cats an' cats an' cats. Let alone the cow. If she ain't the moral of the old man's Daisy! She's a dream out of when I was a lad; I don't mind 'er so much. 'Ere, Daisy, Daisy!"

The cow turned and looked at him.

"_She's_ all right," he went on; "sort of company, too. But them cats--oh, take 'em away, take 'em away! Oh, take 'em away!"

"Burglar," said Jane, close behind him, and he started convulsively and turned on her a blank face whose pale lips trembled--"I can't take those cats away."

"Lor'!" exclaimed the man; "if 'ere ain't another on 'em. Are you real, miss, or something I'll wake up from presently?"

"I am quite real," said Jane, relieved to find that a lisp was not needed to make the burglar understand her. "And so," she added, "are the cats."

"Then send for the police, send for the police, and I'll go quiet. If you ain't no realler than them cats I'm done. Send for the police. I'll go quiet. One thing, there'd not be room for 'arf them cats in no cell as ever _I_ see."

He ran his fingers through his hair, which was short, and his eyes wandered wildly round the roomful of cats.

"Burglar," said Jane, kindly and softly, "if you didn't like cats, what did you come here for?"

"Send for the police," was the unfortunate criminal's only reply. "I'd rather you would--honest, I'd rather."

"I daren't," said Jane; "and, besides, I've no one to send. I hate the police. I wish he'd never been born."

"You've a feeling 'art, miss," said the burglar. "But them cats is really a little bit too thick."

"Look here," said Jane. "I won't call the police. And I am quite a real little girl, though I talk older than the kind you have met before when you've been doing your burglings. And they _are_ real cats--and they want real milk--and--didn't you say the cow was like somebody's Daisy that you used to know? Well, then, perhaps you know how to milk cows?"

"Perhaps I does," was the burglar's cautious rejoinder.

"Then," said Jane, "if you will _only_ milk ours, you don't know how we shall always love you."

The burglar replied that loving was all very well.

"If those cats only had a good, long, wet, thirsty drink of milk," Jane went on, with eager persuasion, "they'll lie down and go to sleep as likely as not, and then the police won't come back. But if they go on mewing like this he will, and then I don't know what'll become of us or you either."

This argument seemed to decide the criminal. Jane fetched the wash-bowl from the sink and he prepared to milk the cow. At this instant boots were heard on the stairs.

"It's all up," said the man, desperately. "This 'ere's a plant. _'Ere's_ the police." He made as if to open the window and leap from it.

"It's all right, I tell you," whispered Jane, in anguish. "I'll say you're a friend of mine, or the good clergyman called in, or my uncle, or _anything_--only do, do, do milk the cow. Oh, _don't_ go--oh--oh, thank goodness, it's only the boys!"

It was; and their entrance had awakened Anthea, who, with her brothers, now crowded through the doorway. The man looked about him as a rat looks round a trap.

"This is a friend of mine," said Jane. "He's just called in, and he's going to milk the cow for us. _Isn't_ it good and kind of him?"

She winked at the others, and though they did not understand they played up loyally.

"How do?" said Cyril. "Very glad to meet you. Don't let us interrupt the milking."

The burglar began to milk the cow, and the others went to get things to put the milk in, for it was now spurting and foaming in the wash-bowl, and the cats had ceased from mewing and were crowding round the cow, with expressions of hope and anticipation on their whiskered faces.

"We can't get rid of any more cats," said Cyril, as he and his sisters piled a tray high with saucers and soup-plates and platters and pie-dishes; "the police nearly got us as it was. Not the same one--a much stronger sort. He thought it really was a foundling orphan we'd got. If it hadn't been for me throwing the two bags of cat slap in his eye and hauling Robert over a railing, and lying like mice under a laurel bush--well, it's jolly lucky I'm a good shot, that's all. He pranced off when he'd got the cat-bags off his face--thought we'd bolted. And here we are."

The gentle sameishness of the milk swishing into the hand-bowl seemed to have soothed the burglar very much. He went on milking in a sort of happy dream, while the children got a cup and ladled the warm milk out into the pie-dishes and plates, and platters and saucers, and set them down to the music of Persian purrs and lappings.

"It makes me think of old times," said the burglar, smearing his ragged coat-cuff across his eyes; "about the apples in the orchard at home, and the rats at threshing time, and the rabbits and the ferrets, and how pretty it was seeing the pigs killed."

Finding him in this softened mood, Jane said:--

"I wish you'd tell us how you came to choose our house for your burglaring to-night. I'm awfully glad you did. You _have_ been so kind. I don't know what we should have done without you," she added, hastily. "We all love you ever so. Do tell us."

The others added their affectionate entreaties, and at last the burglar said:--

"Well, it's my first job, and I didn't expect to be made so welcome, and that's the truth, young gents and ladies. And I don't know but what it won't be my last. For this 'ere cow, she reminds me of my father, and I know 'ow 'e'd 'ave 'ided me if I'd laid 'ands on a 'apenny as wasn't my own."

"Look here," said Cyril, "these cats are very valuable--very, indeed. And we will give them all to you if only you will take them away."

"I see they're a breedy lot," replied the burglar; "but I don't want no bother with the coppers. Did you come by them honest, now--straight?"

"They are all our very own," said Anthea. "We wanted them; but the confidement----"

"Consignment," whispered Cyril.

"----was larger than we wanted, and they're an awful bother. If you got your barrow and some sacks or baskets we would be awfully pleased. My father says Persian cats are worth pounds and pounds each."

"Well," said the burglar, and he was certainly moved by her remarks, "I see you're in a hole; I've got a pal--I'll fetch him along, and if he thinks they'd fetch anything above their skins, I don't mind doin' you a kindness."

Then he went, and Cyril and Robert sent the girls to bed and sat up to wait for his return. It soon seemed absurd to await him in a state of wakefulness, but his stealthy tap on the window awoke them readily enough when he returned. And he did return, with the pal and the barrow and the sacks. The pal approved of the cats, now dormant in Persian repletion, and they were bundled into the sacks and taken away on the barrow, mewing indeed, but with mews too sleepy to attract public attention.

"I'm a fence, that's what I am," said the burglar, gloomily; "I never thought I'd come down to this and all acause er my kind 'art."

Cyril knew that a fence is a receiver of stolen goods, and he replied, briskly:--

"I give you my word the cats aren't stolen. What do you make the time?"

"I ain't got the time on me," said the pal; "but it was just about chucking-out time as I come by the Bull and Gate. I shouldn't wonder if it was nigh upon one now."

When the cats had been removed and the boys and the burglar had parted with warm expressions of friendship there remained only the cow.

"She must stay all night," said Robert. "Cook'll have a fit when she sees her."

"All night?" said Cyril. "Why, it's to-morrow morning if it's one. We can have another wish!"

So the carpet was urged, in a hastily-written note, to remove the cow to wherever she belonged and to return to its proper place on the nursery floor. And the cow could not be got to move on to the carpet. So Robert got the clothes-line out of the back kitchen and tied one end very firmly to the cow's horns and the other end to a bunched-up corner of the carpet, and said, "Fire away!"

And carpet and cow vanished together, and the boys went to bed tired out, and only too thankful that the evening at last was over.

Next morning the carpet lay calmly in its place, but one corner was very badly torn. It was the corner that the cow had been tied on to.

_What Is a Good Advertisement?_

What is a good advertisement? The question was recently asked of the readers of _Tit-Bits_, who were desired to select the best twelve advertisements which appeared in this magazine during six months--the competitor selecting the greatest number of advertisements which corresponded to the choice of the majority being rewarded with a substantial prize. The grounds on which the competitors based their opinions were probably, consciously or unconsciously, very much alike in most instances. It is interesting to consider what these grounds were. We reproduce on this and following pages reduced facsimiles of the twelve winning advertisements, which will serve to illustrate the several points which go to make up a good advertisement.

_WE ASKED YOU TO_
_WATCH THIS EGG_

_YOU ARE ENTERING FOR "TIT-BITS" GREAT COMPETITION._

_PAUSE!_

_HERE'S_

_100 100 100 POUNDS_

_FOR YOU_

_PURE_

_COOK'S SOAPS_

We, as advertisers, are so convinced of the excellence of the "Tit-Bits" Great Competition as a method of gauging the public taste in advertisements, that we have decided to add

_100_ (One Hundred Pounds) to the FIRST PRIZE.
_50_ (Fifty Pounds) to the SECOND PRIZE.

and we will send a Case of our High-class Toilet Soaps--value _ONE GUINEA_

--to each of the other Prize Winners

_EDWARD COOK & CO., Ld._ The Soap Specialists. _LONDON._

_YOU SEE, COOK'S ADVICE LIKE COOK'S SOAP IS AS GOOD AS GOLD._ ]

I hear they want more

_BOVRIL_

REG S.H.B.

_"The glory of a man is his strength."_
_Bovril gives strength to keep well--_
_strength to get well quickly when ill._
]

Moreover, the question is of interest to a greater number of persons than may appear at first sight. To every advertiser, of course--that is, to every man who has anything to sell, from the big firms who spend colossal sums in making known the merits of their productions down to the smallest village tradesman who puts his "ad" into the local paper--the question of how to make the most efficient use of the means at his disposal is of the greatest moment. But the general public, who have no occasion to use advertisements for the purpose of business, have also a direct interest in the question, for the simple reason that striking advertisements are entertaining to read, while commonplace advertisements are dull. From the same point of view the proprietors of periodical publications are concerned, for it is clearly to their advantage to interest the readers of their advertisements rather than to bore them.

HOE'S
SAUCE

"First in merit
Everybody likes it"

HOE & CO.. LTD.. MANCHESTER.
]

An advertisement has three things to accomplish before it can be called good. First, it must attract attention; secondly, it must arouse interest; and thirdly, it must leave an impression on the brain--the message must have struck home. It may in some cases make you want a particular article, but in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred its seed lies dormant until the moment arrives for you to make your purchase; and then, if the advertisement has done its work as a good advertisement should do, your brain couples the article with a certain name, and that particular brand stands a very big chance of finding you a purchaser.

Millions of jars for
Millions of people.

_LEMCO_

The amount of beef used in the Liebig Company's factories in a single day is sufficient to feed two million people.

_Always order Liebig as LEMCO._

(To avoid inferior Imitations of the original & only genuine Liebig Company's Extract.)]

BIRD'S CUSTARD
powder

PRODUCES THE RICHEST CUSTARD WITHOUT EGGS.

The unfailing resource of every successful Hostess, and those resonsible for Household management.

RICH IN NUTRIMENT.--DELICATE IN FLAVOR.

_NO EGGS! NO RISK! NO TROUBLE!_ ]

To catch the eye is the first essential of a good advertisement; the first sense to which it appeals is that of sight. The object of the skilful advertiser is to make the space he occupies--whether a page or a portion of a page--the most conspicuous in the publication. Turn for a moment to any page of advertisements you please, open and shut it quickly, and you will generally find that there is one advertisement which has immediately attracted your eye. Let two persons try at the same time, and on comparing notes it will generally be found that the same advertisement has been spotted by both. That one possesses the first essential of a good advertisement more conspicuously than its fellows.

FRAME-FOOD

BEST
FOR BABIES

FROM EARLIEST
INFANCY

16OZ. TIN IS.

_FREE TEST_

¼ lb. Sample Tin of _FRAME-FOOD,_ or 3oz. Sample Jar of _"FRAME-FOOD"_ _JELLY,_ sent free on receipt of 3d. to pay postage; both samples sent for pl. postage.

Mention this Magazine.

_FRAME FOOD CO.; Ltd. BATTERSEA, LONDON, S.W._ ]

Try again, and this time run through the pages rapidly, so that every leaf of the journal falls quickly from your thumb. There are certain to be one or two pages which will stand out conspicuously and leave their impression on your eye beyond all the rest, and you will turn back to see what it is all about.

Quaker Oats]

ROBINSON'S GROATS]

The cunning advertiser has thus obtained his audience--it is now his aim to keep it, Here he has to introduce some connecting link to hold the attention until his message has been duly delivered. Where the original design has nothing particular about it to hold the attention, there is no better method than the insertion of some catch sentence, generally a question, which you are compelled to read, and, of course, to investigate further.

It may be said that the language of a good advertisement should resemble that of a telegram--straight to the point; the information is to be given in the most concise, clear, and complete form possible, confined to the main feature or features of the article advertised, so as to convince the prospective buyer of the excellence of the goods in a short, logical manner, and to do this so that fact and not fiction is apparent to the reader.

Government Tea]

In drawing up an advertisement there are many ways of incurring failure, and one very sure method is the abuse of one's rivals. An advertisement which is meant to be taken too seriously is rarely a success. Let the reader's eye catch any of the hackneyed phrases, "Beware of Imitations," "Thousands of Testimonials," "Is the Best," and such like, and it will immediately pass on to something else. Such well-worn and unconvincing statements excite in him no interest, but rather a feeling of distrust.

BEECHAM'S PILLS.]

It has been said that a magazine advertisement has three things to accomplish before it can be called good, but in judging the quality of the complete article two more things should be added, of less importance, and really subdivisions of the striking home of the message.

The points one might apportion for each feature might be as follows:--

Points.
1. Power to attract attention 40
2. Power to hold attention 20
3. Prominence of the article advertised 20
4. Brevity of necessary information 10
5. Composition 10

And now, how do we stand in comparison with other nations in this matter of effective advertising? It is universally admitted that advertisement is the soul of business. How, then, does the business man of this country compare with the business man of America. Some of our great advertising firms certainly display no very marked inferiority, but as a rule it is unfortunately true that to glance through the announcements in an American magazine is to be brought face to face with the enormously superior ability in design of the American over the Englishman. Here you have, as it were, your finger on the pulse of a country's commerce; you can feel the vigorous beats, or the languid and anæmic current. And the main reason is just this: that the American never loses sight of the fact that the first three essentials in attracting and keeping attention are novelty, novelty, novelty. Their skill in attracting attention in new ways is always a matter of admiration.

WRIGHTS COAL TAR SOAP]

The question altogether is one of far more importance than it may seem on first consideration; it is hardly too much to say that the prosperity of a nation's trade depends upon its ability in attractive advertising.

Advertisement is an art of its own, and if you are going to advertise to any considerable extent and do it yourself, either your business must suffer to allow you time to do your advertising well, or your advertising must suffer so that you may properly attend to your business.

HOLLOWAY'S PILLS & OINTMENT]

Of course, it is the advertising that suffers. If you do it yourself, sooner or later it becomes a worry, and when a reminder arrives that your copy is due very likely your instructions will be to repeat the last, or possibly, if you have a minute or two to spare, you will sit down and grind out a lot of nonsense which no one cares to read. If you wish to make any genuine effort properly to employ the most important factor in commerce, get someone who understands the art to do it for you; engage a good man, and do not expect to get the same for five pounds as you would for ten pounds.

_Curiosities._

Copyright, 1904, By George Newnes, Ltd.

[_We shall be glad to receive Contributions to this section, and to pay for such as are accepted._]

"HUMAN NOTES."