Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 694

In tiger-shooting, when you discharge your piece, whether you hit or miss you must not move, but standing perfectly still, keep your eye on the animal and put in a fresh cartridge. Many lamentable accidents have occurred from sportsmen going rashly up to fallen tigers, erroneously supposing them to be dead. One or two stones should always be thrown first, to see what power of mischief is left in him, for it is quite possible that he may require another ball as a quietus.

A tiger cannot climb trees, but he can spring to a considerable height, and this should be remembered in shooting them from what are called machāns, a sort of framework of poles resting on the higher branches of a tree. An officer, some years ago, in Central India got into a tree which overhung a water-course to watch for tigers. He was a considerable way up the tree, but he did not advert to the fact that the high bank of the ravine behind him was almost on a level with him. In no long time a tiger came to drink, and he fired at and hit it, but failed to kill it; when the enraged brute rushed up the bank to the higher ground behind, and springing upon him, dragged him out of the tree, and bit and tore him so frightfully that he died very soon after he was rescued.

Powerful and ferocious as the tiger is, he is afraid of the wild-dog. A pack of these ravenous creatures, finding strength in their union, will set upon, kill, and devour a tiger.

In the opinion of some old Indian sportsmen, the panther is even more to be dreaded than the tiger. He is a large, powerful, thoroughly ferocious brute. In old age he also sometimes takes to man-eating, but not so often as the tiger does. Our author, however, gives an instance 'of one in Gwalior who had devoured over fifty human beings, and was the terror of the whole district.' One evening Captain Baldwin, along with a friend, was perched in a tree in an open part of the jungle, near the carcase of a cow, which had been killed as was supposed by a tiger. The body was covered with birds of prey struggling and fighting over it like so many feathered demons, when suddenly a great commotion occurred among the noisy diners-out, and with a whish-h-h of their heavy wings they left their dainty fare, and flew into the trees close by, making way as it appeared for their betters, for very soon a huge brute approached the carcase, and began to tear and gnaw at the flesh. 'A tiger!' whispered the captain to his companion. 'No; a very large panther,' answered the other, firing as he spoke, but not killing the animal. In a minute he recovered himself, and springing up, made straight for the tree. It was an ugly situation, for although a tiger cannot climb a tree, a panther can, as well as a cat. As he approached, another shot was fired at him, which passed between his fore-legs, and he paused and looked up. 'Never,' says our author, 'shall I forget the devilish expression of that terrible countenance.' An awful moment of suspense followed, during which Captain Baldwin contrived to give him his quietus.

The leopard resembles the panther, but is smaller, and altogether a less formidable animal. It never attacks man, and rarely shews fight unless brought to bay, when, like all the felidæ, it is more or less dangerous. The lynx, which is smaller than the leopard, is a rare animal; and the cheetah or hunting leopard is also comparatively seldom met with in a wild state.

The bear, which we are accustomed to associate with cold countries, such as the north of Europe and North America, is also very frequently met with in the very hottest parts of India. Here, as in colder countries, he is a sagacious animal, and varies his carnivorous diet with berries, sugar-cane, honey, and every kind of insect he can get at. It is a mistake to suppose that they hug their victim to death; they draw him towards them with their paws, and bite him on the face or arm. A bear's paw, from the huge curved claws with which it is garnished, is a very terrible weapon. They almost invariably strike a man in the face; and Captain Baldwin tells us of a native named Dhun Singh, 'who was a most enthusiastic follower of the chase, and always joined our shooting-party in the hot-weather months, and who was, by a single blow from the fore-paw of a bear, disfigured for life in an instant, and left senseless on the field. He was afterwards such an awful object that I never could look at him without shuddering.'

The striped hyena is a native of India. He is an ugly cowardly brute, with an indescribably hideous cry. Goats, sheep, dogs, or a young child who has strayed from home, are his favourite prey. He never shews fight, but slinks away from the hunter's presence, much after the fashion of the wolf, who is also credited with a large amount of child-slaughter. A fearful loss of life is caused in this way in some districts by these brutes; and in common with the rest of the Indian carnivora, government offers a price for their destruction. The wild-dog is lighter in colour and taller than the jackal. It is a gaunt, ungainly, ravenous creature, of wonderful speed and endurance. If once a pack get upon the track of any animal, its fate is sealed. They even attack tigers and bears, and as often as not get the best of it. In some parts of the jungle, the wild buffalo are very abundant; they are always found in herds, which sometimes consist of eighteen or twenty, but oftener only of five or seven. The bull is much larger than the cow, and when old is always dangerous.

The dense thick bush and tall reeds and grass which surround the jheels or solitary jungle lakes, are a favourite resort of buffalo. There they feed on the rich herbage, and approach the water by long tunnels in the grass and reeds. The extreme danger of encountering these creatures is graphically described by Captain Baldwin, who one evening, accompanied by a native, went down to one of these jungle lakes, and hearing something move in the long grass, had the temerity to enter a tunnel. Up to his ankles in mud, and with scarcely room to move or turn, he was straining his eyes to discover the game, when there was a sudden crash through the brushwood, and before he could bring his rifle into position, 'I was hurled,' he says, 'to the ground with astonishing quickness by a tremendous butt on the right shoulder, followed by a pair of huge knees on my chest, crushing me down. The buffalo then commenced butting me with his huge head. I was covered with foam from his vile mouth: most luckily the ground was very soft, or I must have been killed. I had fallen on my back, but managed, by clutching the root of a small tree, to draw myself from under him; but as I did so and turned over, he struck me a terrible blow on the back with his foot, breaking two ribs; and then I was powerless, and imagined all hope of escape to be over. He gave me a bad wound on the left arm, another dangerous one under the arm-pit, a third on the hip – all with his horns; and then I found myself lifted off the ground and thrown a tremendous somersault in the air.'

Stunned and bleeding, our unfortunate sportsman was pitched upon his head, and landed behind a low thorn-bush at the edge of the lake. More dead than alive, he had yet sufficient presence of mind to remain perfectly still. A few yards off he could see his shaggy foe, sniffing all over the scene of the late tragedy. Satisfied with his victory, the buffalo then raised his head, listened intently for a few minutes, and to the inexpressible relief of his victim, trotted off in another direction. Faint and dizzy, but feeling that he must make an effort to escape, Captain Baldwin rose, staggered about thirty paces and then fell over in a dead-faint. When he revived a little he found his Hindu servant, who had been far too terrified even to try to help him in his hour of need, crying over him, and trying to bind up his bleeding arm. In a moment he remembered all that had happened; and motioning to the man to be silent, he got him to help him to his feet, and with his assistance, staggered fifty yards farther, when exhausted nature again gave way, and he fell to the ground, able only to murmur in a faint voice: 'Water; bring me water!' The Hindu ran down to the lake with his master's hat, which he filled with water, and having given him a little to drink, poured the rest of it over his head. He then cut his linen coat into strips, dipped them in water, and with them bound up the wounds as well as he could. 'Now,' said his master, 'put your rifle at full cock on the ground beside me, and run for assistance as fast as you can.'

He obeyed, and the captain in this almost helpless state was left alone. Night was beginning to fall; and he could hear from time to time some animal moving behind him through the undergrowth of matted creepers and reeds; but he was too much exhausted either for curiosity or fear, and at last, through sheer weakness, fell into a doze, from which he was awakened by the glare of torches. A brother-officer, after a long search, had found him; and although it was many weeks before he could move hand or foot, he got at last all right again, and was as dashing a sportsman as before; only he ever afterwards took care to give a buffalo bull as wide a berth as possible – in which prudent precaution he is imitated even by the tiger. This latter tyrant of the jungle, red with the slaughter of scores of buffalo cows, is careful to treat with profound respect the grizzled patriarchs of the herd.

Wild elephants, which were once abundant in the dense forests at the foot of the Himalaya, are still plentiful in Assam and Burmah, where many are yearly caught and tamed for the use of the government. Elephant-shooting is prohibited, except when a wild elephant becomes dangerous, and is transformed from a peaceable denizen of the forest into the morose, sullen, and savage brute known as 'a rogue elephant.' The Indian rhinoceros is plentiful in Assam and in the Bootan jungles, and resembles an immense pig, with a long horn curving backwards at the end of the snout. If unmolested, it is harmless; but if assailed, it will make a furious charge, when its long horn is an ugly weapon to encounter.

Wild hogs are very plentiful all through the scrub and brush jungle. Old males are armed with large semicircular tusks nine inches long. A more formidable antagonist than a wild boar with these tremendous weapons in full play need not be wished for. There is no cowardice about him; he is game to the backbone, and will fight to the last, and sell his life dear. 'Sportsmen have frequently been mauled,' Captain Baldwin says, 'in encounters with wild boars; and a European in the Customs Department near Jhansi many years ago lost his life, so fearfully was he gored by a hog which he had wounded.' The flesh of the wild boar roasted and eaten cold is delicious.

Passing over the various species of deer, each of which our author describes, we come to the Himalayan chamois and the thar, which frequent the rocky fastnesses of the Himalaya, and the hunting of which is quite as hazardous an amusement as hunting chamois among the mountains of Switzerland. As among the European Alps, so among the Himalayan Alps is the sportsman not only rewarded by the fascination of the sport itself, but by the surpassingly beautiful scenery amid which it is pursued. Above him rise the magnificent hills, dazzling in snowy grandeur, cleaving the skies with peaks which tower nine thousand feet higher than the highest mountain in Europe; below him in the distance spreads a varied and splendid landscape of hill, forest, and river, with distant plains luxuriant with ripening crops, shading beneath his feet into shaggy stretches of woodland, penetrated by deep, well-nigh inaccessible chasms and glens, abysses of pine, and precipices, and foaming torrents, such as Salvator Rosa would have loved to paint. Huge rugged crags tower like vast cathedrals above the giant trees, their crests covered with gentian and stone-crop; while round their base cling dark green clumps of rhododendrons, all ablaze with scarlet beauty, their blossoms shining like points of flame against the foliage of the splendid walnuts, and apricots behind, whose fruit at certain seasons literally strews the ground.

Camp-life in such a spot is beyond all things enjoyable. The atmosphere is clear and exhilarating; a sparkling streamlet gurgles across the little meadow in which your tent is pitched, diffusing a pleasant freshness around; radiant butterflies hover above the water, or alight like living gems upon the long fronds of the magnificent coronets which crown the giant tree-ferns. The ravine behind you, dark with forest, is vocal with the mellow notes of unfamiliar songsters. The eye, as you gaze, loses itself in a stupendous panorama of mountain peaks, rocky ridges, winding valleys, glittering streams, populous plains, and pathless fever-haunted jungles; while nearer, on the verge of the wood, a herd of ravine deer are feeding; lazily you watch them while you sip your coffee, all unconscious of the close proximity of a splendid wild blue sheep, which is gazing intently down at you from its bushy covert. Did you move? The motion was so slight as scarcely to be perceptible to yourself; but the startled creature rushes like an arrow down the grassy slope, and threading the ravine, rejoins the herd of its companions, to whom it immediately imparts the intelligence of your whereabouts, and in a moment they all make off, gliding shadow-like and swift along the precipitous mountain side.

India presents a wide field for the researches of the ornithologist, and is the native home of many of our feathered favourites, such as the peacock. This lovely bird, superb in its native forests, is accounted sacred by the Hindus. It delights in patches of jungle by the side of rivers, where on moonlight nights its shrill discordant cry may be often heard swelling the savage concert. The red jungle-fowl is very like the bantam in appearance, but its plumage is more brilliant, and like its confrères of the poultry-yard, it is very pugnacious.

There are six different kinds of pheasants in the Himalaya, most of them excellent for the table, and all of them more or less beautiful. There are also many varieties of partridge. The quail, which is always fat, is a bonne bouche fit for an epicure. Captain Baldwin says of it: 'A quail-pie or a quail-currie is a dish for a king.' There are four varieties of grouse, the largest of which is the sand-grouse, a very fine bird; but the monarch of Indian game-birds is the bustard. 'It is,' our author says, 'in my opinion the king of game-birds; and the value of its feathers, its excellence as a bird for the table, and last, though not least, the very great difficulty of shooting it, render it a prize to be much coveted.' The oobara is a small species of bustard; and to a certain extent a migratory bird. The floriken, one of the finest of Indian game-birds, has beautiful black and white plumage, and its flesh when cooked is peculiarly rich and delicate. There are two varieties of it; and several kinds of plover, which, however, are not abundant.

Different species of crane abound, as do wood-cock and snipe. Of the latter, as many as fifty or sixty couples are sometimes bagged in a day in a rice-field or by the edge of a swamp. On the lakes and jheels in the north of India, below the Himalaya, thousands of wild-fowl congregate about the beginning of October on their way south. On the jungle swamps and lakes wild ducks of various kinds abound; wild geese are also common, as are several varieties of the shielsdrake. In company with these migratory wild-fowl arrives the flamingo, a very beautiful bird, with brilliant rose-coloured feathers. It has, however, little except its beauty to recommend it, for when cooked, the universal verdict of the mess-table was, 'that it was a very poor bird.' During the cold season the bittern is plentiful in Northern India, and unlike the flamingo, is very good eating. On the banks of large rivers the curlew is sometimes found, and several kinds of green pigeons abound.

From birds, Captain Baldwin suddenly skips back to beasts, and gives us a sketch of the Indian hare. Of this little creature there are two varieties; and they seem to have as hard lines of it (especially in the neighbourhood of barracks) as their well-known congeners have at home. With a passing glance at this four-footed martyr, we bid adieu to a book which is well fitted to inspire not only a love of sport, but of natural history. Nowhere can this interesting science be studied to greater advantage than in these wide-spreading Himalayan jungles, where mountain torrents gurgling down the beautiful ravines, temper the air to delicious coolness; where great trees grow stately as masts, making a pleasant twilight with their lustrous unfamiliar foliage; where gorgeous flowers bespangle the greenery, and round the overhanging boughs our hothouse ferns cling with ample stems and giant fronds, forming bowers through which lovely bright-hued birds flit, and multitudes of insects find shelter, filling the otherwise silent noon of the tropics with their shrill incessant hum.

SUNSHINE AND CLOUD.

IN TWO PARTS

PART I. – SUNSHINE

CHAPTER IV. – MISS ANGELA FAITHFUL

One evening in the fourth week of our hero's stay in town, he took up a book while he was waiting for his chop, and a card fell on the floor. This card he discovered was to admit the bearer to a ball about to be held in the neighbourhood. When the landlady appeared, he asked if the card belonged to her. She said she had been looking everywhere for that card; they had had some to dispose of, and they had sold all but this one; a customer had wanted it, but as she could not find it, he had procured one elsewhere. Would Mr Webb like to buy it himself?

Mr Webb thanked her, but declined.

'Oh, well,' said she, 'it will be of no use now to us, as the ball begins at nine o'clock this evening. Perhaps you will accept this ticket, and make use of it?'

This, after a little consideration, Isaac was happy to do. It would pass away a few hours, and it would lead to no expense, as he observed that the ticket included refreshments. He did not suppose he should dance; he never had done such a thing, but there was no telling, if once his blood was up. So at eight o'clock Isaac donned a clean paper collar, took his well-tried friends, his gray thread gloves, and walked leisurely to the place of entertainment. He arrived there about nine; and on presenting himself and his ticket, he was directed to the Master of the Ceremonies, a dapper little man with a short dress coat and very tight pumps, who did not seem capable of standing still for a minute. He received Isaac's name and ticket, and danced off with him to the ballroom; and throwing open the door, announced in a very shrill voice, 'Isaac Webb, Esquire, ladies and gentlemen.'

The ladies and gentlemen addressed consisted of an antique female in black silk mittens, and two youths elegantly attired in suits from Moses's establishment, one of whom was whistling a 'fast' tune, and the other sauntering about with his hands in his pockets. Each of them seemed particularly careful to give the mittened lady a wide berth, thus testifying to all whom it might or might not concern that they were not all members of the same party. Now these persons were evidently not au fait with the usages of polite society; for of course they ought not to have been in their places at the time named on their tickets, but should have been there at half-past nine at the earliest. But here they were, listening to the tuning and consequent grating of two violins and a harp, placed on a small platform at one end of the ballroom. A violoncello was also expected (so the Master of the Ceremonies in a whisper through the door informed the company), but had not yet arrived.

In the course of the next quarter of an hour several more squires and dames were announced; and the arrivals kept on increasing until half-past nine, by which time (the violoncello having put in an appearance and all things being ready) the Master of the Ceremonies (Mr Hoppe by name) opened the ball by the announcement of a polka. That individual seemed to take a particular interest in Isaac; perhaps on account of his countrified appearance, for Mr Batfid's productions had not been designed or intended for a ballroom; or perhaps because he was a complete stranger. At all events, he now suggested that Isaac should lead out the antique lady, to whom Mr Hoppe would be happy to introduce him, and polk with her. But Isaac declined the honour, saying that he 'was much obliged, but that he would wait a bit;' so the lady and himself were among the few who kept their seats.

Almost immediately afterwards the door was opened, and Miss Faithful and her niece Miss Angela Faithful, were announced. Miss Faithful looked about fifty-five or sixty years of age; she was tall and slight, and had evidently been a beauty in her day. Such was her niece now; there could be no two opinions about it. Even Isaac, who had no great appreciation of feminine charms, was sensible of it the instant she entered the room. She was tall, and her figure was beautifully shaped; she had dark hair and eyes, a brilliant complexion, and features almost faultless. Moreover, she was dressed quietly, but in excellent taste. Before Miss Angela Faithful had been in the room many minutes, Isaac became aware of a peculiar sensation wholly unknown to him. Unqualified admiration it certainly was; but anything more? Well, he could hardly tell. He certainly felt interested in her, and desirous of a better acquaintance. But he did not know how this was to be done. Of course the most natural and proper thing to do was to obtain an introduction, and ask her to dance; but for the first time in his life Isaac Webb did not feel unlimited confidence in his own powers. And the feeling was reasonable; for to attempt to dance in public without having learned either a step or a figure, is, to say the least, a hazardous and serious undertaking.

The two ladies did not remain alone many minutes, for while Isaac was observing them (at all events one of them), a young man advanced, with whom they were probably acquainted, for he took a seat beside them, and at the next dance – a quadrille – walked off with Miss Angela on his arm to join the set. Isaac watched them take their places, and watched her through every figure of the (to him) incomprehensible dance; and when it was ended, his eyes followed her round the room and back to her seat. Her partner then left her; but his place was almost immediately filled by a lean young man with yellow hair, who was brought up and introduced by Mr Hoppe. Again Isaac watched her take her place by her partner – this time in a waltz; and as he put his arm round her waist, and she placed her hand on his shoulder, Isaac thought he should like to be in a similar position; and as the yellow young man did not excel in the mazy dance, Isaac fancied he could make quite as good a performance of it. But he let the next dance begin; and towards the end of it he made his way to Mr Hoppe, and requested the favour of an introduction to Miss Faithful.

'Do you mean the old lady?' asked the Master of the Ceremonies; 'because if you do, I warn you she is as deaf as a beetle, and if you talk so as to make her hear, you will have all the people in the room stand still to listen to you.'

'I mean the young lady,' said Isaac; 'and just tell me,' he added, 'the proper thing to say when you ask a person to dance.'

'We commonly say,' replied Mr Hoppe: '"May I have the honour of dancing this quadrille with you, if you are not engaged?" But gentlemen may vary it according to taste.'

'All right; of course,' returned Isaac. Whereupon they walked to where Miss Angela Faithful, just left by her last partner, was sitting. Mr Hoppe went through the introduction; and Isaac, who, to tell the truth, felt very ill at ease, repeated the formula given him by the Master of the Ceremonies. Angela looked at her list of engagements, hoping to find she was bespoken for this dance, without remembering the fact; but such was not the case; so with a whispered 'With pleasure,' she took his arm, and they stood up in a polka.

When the dance commenced, Isaac never felt so uncomfortable in his life. Where to put his feet he didn't know, and where to turn he didn't know. If he turned one way, it was evidently contrary to his partner's expectations, for they pulled different ways; if he turned another, he ran a-muck into another couple; and this on one occasion was nearly attended with serious consequences; and it was only by tearing a rent in his partner's dress that he was able to save himself a sprawl upon the chalked floor. To the spectators the performance was very diverting. To see this long clumsy yokel floundering about with so handsome and graceful a girl and so good a dancer, put one in mind, as a gentleman remarked to his neighbour, of the Beauty and the Beast. At length, after two or three turns round the room, Isaac was obliged to give in; not indeed through any feeling that he was making an exhibition of himself (for of that he was wholly unconscious), but from sheer inability to keep his footing any longer. With his head in a whirl, he conducted his partner to a seat and fell into one himself. At the end of a few minutes, she retired from the ballroom to get the rent in her dress made whole; and when she was gone, Isaac sought out Mr Hoppe, and asked him if he could tell him who the lady was and whence she came.

Mr Hoppe could only inform him that she lived somewhere in Holloway with her deaf aunt, her present chaperon; that her father and mother were dead; and that the only relative she had nearer than the aforesaid aunt, that he knew of, was a brother living abroad.

Isaac hinted about money.

'Oh,' said the little man, rather amused, 'she is not badly off in that respect; for she has a nice little bit from her mother, and considerable expectations from her aunt, I have heard.' O Isaac, you are a deep dog! But you had no idea that on the other side of the canvas partition by which you were standing were a pair of ears, intently taking in every word that passed – the possessor of those ears being Miss Angela Faithful. No, Isaac; you simply thought that here was the very object you were in quest of, and that you must pursue the subject further.

CHAPTER V. – OUR HERO IS FULFILLING HIS DESTINY

In a few minutes after the foregoing conversation, the fair subject of it returned to the ballroom somewhat flushed, thereby heightening the effect of her charms, as Isaac acutely observed. She returned to her original seat beside her aunt, and in lieu of conversation smiled once or twice upon that lady. It was indeed of no use to talk, as Mr Hoppe had remarked, and the usual medium of communication – a slate and pencil – had been forgotten and left at home.

Isaac arose from his seat in order to obtain a better view of his charmer; for as certain reptiles are said to be influenced by dulcet sounds, so was that wily creature Isaac Webb under the spell of female beauty. And not merely beauty. 'A nice little bit' from a mother, and 'considerable expectations' from an aunt, formed a most delightful tout ensemble and subject for reflection. So he stood and watched her for a few minutes with his hands in his pockets, and nervously balancing himself first on one leg and then on the other, until at length he began to flutter himself, as it were, towards his siren; just as a sombre moth beats about a strong light ere it offers itself up, a willing victim, on the pyre of its own supineness. Besides, Isaac was the more attracted towards her by reason of the furtive glances which the young lady cast in his direction; for although she was surrounded by a number of young men – other moths of varied hue – still their attentions did not seem to satisfy her; and so it happened that Isaac finally took unto himself what appeared to be (even to his unsophisticated mind) a half-bashful, yet a wholly meaning and appealing glance, and joined the circle of admiring swains. He speedily, with Miss Angela's co-operation, found himself near her, and when opportunity offered, volunteered to conduct her to the refreshment buffet – an invitation that was promptly accepted; so he in triumph led her off, to the no small surprise and vexation of his jealous rivals. Arrived at the buffet, he handed, with the most feeble attempt at graceful politeness, such comestibles and beverages as his fair partner would partake of, with no further mishap than the breakage of a wine-glass and the imperilling of a large glass epergne by collision with his elbow, and the consequent vibration of the structure to its very foundation. The light repast now under discussion brought to his recollection the more important one of supper; and our hero, who had become quite a gallant by this time, broached the subject to his companion, assuring her with all the warmth of which he was capable that 'he was certain he wouldn't be able to swallow a morsel unless she was by him to give his food a relish,' and as he beautifully expressed himself in metaphor, 'sharpen his appetite like a strop does a razor.'

How could any young lady take upon herself the responsibility of a hungry gentleman's enforced fast? Angela felt that she could not, so promised to accompany Isaac to supper; reminding him, moreover, that he must engage her for the dance immediately preceding that gastronomic event. This her admirer pledged himself to do; swallowing with a gulp the fears that would intrude themselves as to what the effect of the dance would be upon his appetite. All he hoped was that it wouldn't be a waltz, a polka, or a schottische; and in this frame of mind he returned with his partner to the ballroom.

'I have been looking for you, Angela; will you sing a song?'

Isaac turned round, and recognised in the speaker the young man who had been Angela's partner in her first dance that evening. He bowed slightly to her companion as he paused for her reply.

'With the orchestral accompaniment?' she asked.

'Certainly, if you prefer it,' he answered; 'but a piano has been brought in, and your voice may possibly feel more at home with that.'

'But I do not like to be the first to begin,' she urged diffidently.

'Oh, never mind about that; there is no one here can do it better, I'll engage; and if it will add to your courage, I will play the accompaniment, or turn over the leaves for you, whichever you like.'

'O no; you must accompany me. But it was the merest chance that I brought any songs with me.' With that, she bowed to her late partner, took the young gentleman's arm, and walked over to the piano.

In a few minutes her voice rose above the chat and murmur of the ballroom, and the purity of its tone and the unaffected and pleasing manner of the singer, enforced silence even among those who were not music-lovers. Among these Isaac might certainly be included; for beyond the performances on a harmonium in Dambourne End church on Sundays and an occasional German band or barrel organ on week-days, his opportunities of hearing music had been exceedingly limited. But perhaps it was this very ignorance of the subject that caused him now to drink in with the greatest delight – an almost exaggerated delight – every note and every word that fell from the charming songstress's lips. The composition itself was of no particular merit; it was simply a melodious English ballad; but the voice and manner of the singer, assisted by the tasteful execution of the accompaniment, seemed to fascinate all present, and a unanimous burst of applause at the conclusion testified to their appreciation of the performance.