Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 681

At the battle of the Alma, on the 20th September 1854, numerous instances of bravery occurred in the ranks of the Guards, foremost amongst which was the act of Sergeant Davis of the Scots Fusiliers, who, when the officer who was carrying the regimental colour was surrounded by the Russians and shot down, seized the sacred emblem of his regiment's honour, and battling his way forward single-handed, planted it triumphantly on the summit of the hard-won height.

At Inkerman, the soldiers' battle, the brave Coldstreamers – George Monk's Nulli Secundus men – made heroes of themselves, and immortalised their name. They went into action with sixteen officers and four hundred men; and of this small number they had thirteen officers and more than two hundred men killed and wounded. Eight of these officers were killed, amongst them being Colonels Cowell, Elliott, and Mackinnon, who fell in the act of leading their men on to the charge. At length the Grenadiers and Fusiliers, after much severe fighting, cut their way to the spot where their gallant comrades were being annihilated. Thus united, the three regiments bore down upon the enemy in a line of single file (so fearfully had they suffered), and beat them back down the ravine.

When peace was proclaimed the Guards returned home to receive the well-earned reward of their prowess. All London turned out to welcome them, and a right hearty welcome it was. Her Majesty the Queen and the Prince Consort witnessed the march of the three regiments from the balcony of Buckingham Palace, and the former waved her handkerchief to the brave fellows, as they passed on their way to Hyde Park, with their ranks broken by the people, who, in their enthusiasm, demanded to shake hands with the popular heroes. In Hyde Park, they were received by the home battalions with military honours, and were afterwards reviewed by the Queen, when, as a mark of high honour, the Crimean battalions were permitted to march past their sovereign with their tattered ensigns flying instead of being lowered in the usual way. They had nobly shewn their fidelity to Queen and country, and those flying colours was a simple but touching acknowledgment of the fact. Indeed, the reception of these regiments was quite an ovation; and never had soldiers better deserved the honours bestowed upon them.

A RAILWAY TRIP IN JAPAN

Five years ago the only means by which communication was kept up between the rapidly growing settlement of Yokohama and the capital of the empire, Yedo, was by the Tocaido – the great main road – or by sea. As the steamers on the latter route were under Japanese guidance, and as blowings-up and runnings-ashore were unpleasantly frequent, the majority of travellers chose the land-route. And even by this way the annoyances and accidents were so serious and so frequent, that few, except those who had pressing business on hand, or who were ardent explorers, chose to leave the security of the European settlement at all; so it may be said that until the introduction of railways, Yedo remained almost unknown to Europeans. A rackety four-horse van, barring accidents, made the journey and returned every day. The road was execrable, and the people of the villages along the route generally ill-disposed to 'white barbarians.' A week of fierce sun converted the track into a bed of dust, a day of rain turned it into an almost impassable quagmire. Overturnings and break-downs were of daily occurrence; and the safe arrival at the capital was hailed as an unlooked-for pleasure and surprise. English enterprise, however, backed by English gold, has changed the order of things; and the pilgrimage which formerly occupied five hours and cost ten dollars may now be performed in forty minutes by rail at the comparatively reasonable price of one dollar.

The Yokohama terminus is admirably suited to the requirements of the public, and it is difficult to stand there, surrounded by waiting-rooms, cloak-rooms, refreshment-rooms, and ticket-offices, jostled by diminutive natives clad in the orthodox British porter costume, reading by-laws, advertisements, and notices in English, and realise the fact that one is in the mystic land of Japan, fifteen thousand miles from Ludgate Hill, King's Cross, or Edinburgh.

Everything is British belonging to the railway itself. The locomotives are Sheffield built, and are driven by brawny specimens of the Anglo-Saxon race, aided by native stokers. The carriages are from Birmingham – constructed on the American principle – that is, with a passage running from end to end, so that the guard may walk through the train. Every signal-post, switch, and lamp comes from England. The officials are almost without exception 'Samourai' – men of good birth, and have taken wonderfully to their change of profession; the guards are even learning to jump in and out of the trains when in motion with the precision and agility of those at home. In fact during the short journey between Yokohama and Yedo one is transported for a while into the old country; and one only has to shut the eyes to the quaint forms and faces of the passengers and the peculiarity of the scenery, to make the illusion complete.

Leaving Yokohama, the train crosses the spit of land connecting the settlement with the promontory known as Kawasaki Point, passes through the pleasure part of the town – a sort of suburb, consisting entirely of large tea-houses and places of entertainment, and stops at the first station, Kanagawa. This was originally intended to be the foreign port, but objections were raised by the European merchants that the depth of water was insufficient to admit of large vessels anchoring conveniently near, so that, in spite of government opposition, the present port of Yokohama was chosen. To this day, however, all official documents are dated from Kanagawa, and not from Yokohama.

Kanagawa, a long straggling village on the Tocaido or great road, has always been a hotbed of disaffection towards foreigners. Many a bloody record still tells of the days when the proud 'Samourai' or officers felt that they were scarcely doing their duty towards their country in allowing a European to pass unmolested on the road; and even now, though feudalism, Samourai, and all have been swept away by the march of civilisation, one cannot ride or walk along the narrow street without being saluted as a 'beast' or 'foreign invader.' The temples which were the first residences of the foreign consuls still exist, but the natives have carefully wiped away all traces of foreign occupation, and they are now used, as formerly, for purposes of Buddhist or 'Shinto' worship. From Kanagawa the railway passes under the great road, and enters a broad fertile plain ablaze with many tinted crops, fringed on the left hand by a picturesque range of hills, and bounded on the right by the sea. The peasants are becoming accustomed to the sight of the locomotive and its string of carriages, and rarely stop on their path or rest from their work to gaze at what was but a few months back a wonderful phenomenon. But the pack-horses are less tractable, and dance and pirouette in all directions till the noise is over.

Tsurumi, a little village, also on the Tocaido, is the next station. It is the centre of the snipe district, and on Saturdays and Sundays the little platform is crowded with knickerbockered Britons with their dogs; Frenchmen, fantastically arrayed in sporting costume; Israelites; sailors and soldiers from the men-of-war in harbour, armed with every variety of rifle, musket, or blunderbuss, all bent on wading through the 'paddy' mud in the hopes of making some sort of a bag.

From Tsurumi, the train glides through a delicious stretch of scenery – on the one side little villages nestle amidst the trees, and the deep blue ocean glitters away into the distance; on the other, all is a romantic jumble of hill, and wood, and dale. Here and there a red temple roof breaks the sombre verdure of the hill-side, and at a certain point a depression of the hills affords the traveller a peep at the distant goblin-haunted range of mountains of which Oyama is the chief, behind which the pure white cone of the sacred mountain Fuji rises, solitary and grand, like a monarch in repose. All around is pure unadulterated rusticity. The iron road cuts remorselessly through pleasant vales and wooded hills, but nothing is changed; and if the visitor will take the trouble to explore on either side, he will find the old-world life of Japan still existing as it did centuries ago, when the only Europeans in the land were a few Portuguese missionaries and a small colony of Dutch traders cooped up in an island at Nagasaki.

After a fifteen minutes' run through this charming country, Kawasaki – exactly half-way between Yokohama and Yedo – is reached. Here the down-train from the capital meets us, and there is a stop of a few minutes.

Kawasaki was in the old days one of the most important towns on the great road. On their way from Kiyoto to Yedo, from the western capital to the eastern, the great lords made Kawasaki their last halting-place, and one may yet see the shadows of the great feudal age of Japan in the magnificent tea-houses scattered through the town. Like the old coaching inns on our great main roads in England, these tea-houses have lost almost all their ancient prosperity, as the turmoil of revolution, and above all the accomplishment of the railway, have diverted almost all the traffic from this part of the Tocaido. In one or two of the houses, however, splendidly adorned and painted suites of apartments, pretty gardens, and huge ranges of out-buildings, still attest the former splendour of the age; and although fowls and half-wild curs have made the stabling and out-houses their home, and although the numerical strength of the domestics is not sufficient to keep the dust and cobwebs away from the gaily screened rooms, the proprietors still shew the remains with some pride, and at the instigation of a cup of 'saké' will tell many a quaint story of the doings in those half-forgotten days and sigh that they can never return.

Moreover Kawasaki is the starting-point for pilgrims to two of the most celebrated shrines in this part of the country, so that notwithstanding the decay of its prosperity, Kawasaki is still sufficiently full of life and animation, well fitted to repay a visit from the student of Japanese life and manners. Within ten minutes' walk rises the huge fane of Kobo-Daishi, a Buddhist saint of great renown and the reputed originator of the syllabary now in common use. Hither repair on certain days annually, from all parts of the empire, troops of pilgrims of both sexes and all ages, attired in holiday costume, and though nominally on devotional exercise bent, from the exuberance of their spirits and the time they pass in the surrounding pleasure-houses, not at all inclined to forego the enjoyment of a holiday.

Farther away from the town is the almost equally celebrated shrine of Ikigami, dedicated to Iyeyas, the great self-raised priest who founded the Tokugawa line of emperors, beautifully situated on a solitary deeply wooded hill. This is one of the sweetest spots near Yokohama. The most complete calm reigns over everything, only broken occasionally by the tinkle of the old temple bell and the monotonous drone of the officiating priests, or by the wind murmuring through the great trees. Scattered about around a pagoda of quaint proportions are the tombs of many of the old feudal lords – quaint curious examples of that reverence for the dead so characteristic of the Japanese as of all oriental nations. Except during the pilgrim season, until the opening of the railway, one might wander about these solitudes for hours without any chance of being disturbed. Now, however, that the railway has brought Ikigami within easy access of Yokohama, the graves on the hill have become a favourite resort of picnic parties and pleasure-seekers from the great foreign settlement. New tea-houses have sprung up around the base of the hill, and the place is rapidly assuming the tea-garden character which has too often degraded beautiful spots near Yokohama. At Kawasaki, the river runs which nominally is the boundary beyond which foreigners may not explore. The law insisting on this, however, is far more honoured in the breach than in the observance, and not a day passes without scores of foreigners crossing the new bridge.

From Kawasaki the train speeds through huge apple-orchards, till the houses become more frequent and less detached, and now skirting the sea, one visibly approaches a large city, close to which are anchored men-of-war, merchant-vessels, and junks.

The train stops at Shinagawa, the last station, at which, from its want of interest, there is but little temptation for the visitor to alight. The only pleasing bit to break the monotony of dull-coloured hovels is the stately demesne and foreign-built mansion of one of the most ardent supporters of the 'Advance' School of Japanese politicians. Soldiers, coolies, and low-class women seem to compose the street population of this suburb; whilst every other house is either a 'rowdy' tea-house or a 'buvette' of the commonest type. Equestrians and pedestrians therefore, if Europeans, may look out for a repetition of the scowls and abuse of Kanagawa. Leaving the station, and proceeding towards the terminus within the city gates, the train passes the temple, formerly the seat of the British Legation, where the murderous attack was made by hired bravoes of the anti-European party in Japan on Sir Rutherford Alcock and suite, some years back. Farther on a collection of hovels – for otherwise they cannot be designated – situated on a high hill, was, till a year ago, the seat of English diplomatic power in Japan.

The train passes on over the sites of old 'Yashikis' or palaces, and through the once extensive hunting-grounds of the great prince of Tosa, skims the vast barren tract which still marks the disastrous fire of 1871, and finally enters the Yedo terminus. The station is the exact counterpart of that at Yokohama, and is situated in the busiest part of the capital, close to the 'Foreign Concession,' where the Europeans chiefly reside, and within ten minutes' walk of the celebrated 'Nihon Bashi' or Bridge of Japan, from which all distances in the empire are measured. Outside the station are waiting carriages, 'Jinrickishas' – or chairs on wheels dragged by coolies – breaks, and even a Hammersmith built omnibus; so that the traveller has but to take his choice and be taken anywhere. The Japanese and, strange to say, the Chinese (who have only just permitted a line to be made on their sacred soil) have taken wonderfully to travelling by railway. All classes avail themselves of it; and it is sometimes amusing to observe how Young Japan tries to assume an air of nonchalance, and endeavours to appear as if he had been accustomed to railways all his life. Every train is crowded, especially on Sundays; and the pilgrims bound for the capital from Mount Fuji or Oyama, hail the foreign engine and train waiting for them at Kanagawa as a godsend and a saving of many hours of weary travelling and, what is more important, much cash. The childish delight of the natives at being rattled over the ground at twenty miles an hour is ludicrous; and although the novelty has worn off, there are still numbers who simply travel up and down the line for the sake of the sensation.

A CURATE'S HOLIDAY

IN FOUR CHAPTERS. – CHAPTER II

Mr John Williams, landlord of the Ship and Anchor, Lleyrudrigg, had not deceived the little minister and myself with regard to the qualifications of his horse. It was a high-stepping thoroughbred; and notwithstanding that the roads were heavy with the rain of the previous day, we bowled along next morning at a famous rate on our way to Twellryst. Clouds of a somewhat suspicious character floated overhead, occasionally depriving us for a space of the sunshine, and the wind was perhaps too high to be altogether agreeable. But on the whole the weather was favourable; and enlivened by Mr Morgan's instructive and cheerful conversation, the day's trip promised to prove a pleasant one. For some time after leaving Lleyrudrigg we followed the regular coach-road, which, though running for a little way on a line with the coast, very soon turns inland. Then quitting it for one upon which was much less traffic, we found ourselves, at the close of three hours' quick driving, again coming within sight of the blue ocean with its foam-flecked billows, and were told by Jonathan Williams, our hunch-backed, sinister-looking little driver, that we were nearing the Spike Rocks. The Spike Rocks! how I shudder at the bare mention of that name, recalling as it does – But I will not anticipate. Drawing up before a five-barred gate which led into an extensive piece of meadow-land bordering the shore and, as I afterwards found, crowning precipices which for nearly a mile in length descended in sheer walls to the sea, Jonathan rose in his seat, and pointed out with his whip the two rocks which we had come hither to visit. They stood at some distance from the land – small, conical-shaped islands, bleak and sharp-pointed – their interest consisting, as we had been told, in their being a peculiarly favourite resort of a species of sea-bird. At certain seasons of the year, of which the present was one, the birds would collect here in thousands, covering the rocks from base to summit with a compact living mantle of whity-brown feathers. From the point at which our carriage stopped, however, the rocks were too far away for their clothing to be clearly visible; and we accordingly set off for a nearer inspection, warned by a shout from our driver, when we had taken a few steps, to beware of the 'Devil's Holes.' (So Mr Morgan translated the barbarous-sounding Welsh word he used.) 'Devil's Holes! Why, what can they be?' I inquired. But my companion was no wiser with regard to the matter than myself, as he confessed with a shake of the head; so we walked on, trusting to our observation for enlightenment.

The enlightenment came sooner than we anticipated, and was accompanied for me by a great shock. Under the influence of my new friend's inspiriting society, I was feeling a light-heartedness to which I had long been a stranger; and upon observing before me a small round hollow in the field we were crossing, I was seized with a momentary impulse to run forward, as I might have done when a boy, and let the impetus of descending the near side carry me up the sloping grassy bank which I saw upon the farther one. Had I followed out that impulse, however, I should not now have been writing this story; for when close upon it, but not before, I perceived to my horror that the innocently seeming indentation of the ground was in reality an awful natural pit. Where the grassy slope terminated, instead of the green level I had expected to see, yawned a black chasm; and looking downwards, I positively trembled as my eye sank into an abyss some hundred feet in depth, at the bottom of which, as though it had been a gigantic caldron, appeared a seething mass of water, rolling and dashing itself against the rocky sides, and sending up a booming sound like the explosion of cannon.

An exclamation of horror burst from my lips as this unexpected phenomenon met my sight, and drawing Mr Morgan backwards, I nervously entreated him not to stand so near the edge. That 'Devil's Hole' had filled me with the strangest sensation of creeping dread; and when presently we came upon a second hollow in the meadow, I shrank from approaching it. The little minister, however, would not be deterred from doing so; and from the manner in which I saw him walking round and round, curiously peering over its side, I was prepared for the announcement which he made upon rejoining me, that that too was a 'Devil's Hole' – larger but in other respects similar to the one I had seen. An involuntary shiver was almost the only comment I made upon this communication; and as we continued our course, I looked apprehensively in all directions for further suspicious undulations of the ground. But none presented themselves; for like the Spike Rocks, these holes are but two in number; and when we had taken a survey of the Rocks – to my mind the lesser curiosities of the district – we returned to our dog-cart.

Words can scarcely express the relief I experienced as I felt myself being carried swiftly away from the neighbourhood of these horrible pits. The state of my health possibly may have had something to do with it; but my imagination certainly had been powerfully impressed with what was perhaps an exaggerated idea of their danger, and throughout the remainder of our drive I could talk of little else. Interested only in a lesser degree than myself, Mr Morgan joined me in conjectures as to the way in which they had been formed; the probable depth of water contained in them; the manner in which they were connected with the sea, and so forth. But though each of us endeavoured by turns to draw Jonathan into the conversation, in order to extract information from him, our dwarfish driver either could not or would not afford us any. He did not know, he said, whether or not there had ever been an accident at the spot, and replied to all our questions with a shortness which – considering that he had chattered incessantly during the former part of the journey – made me think that for some reason or other the subject must be distasteful to him.

Upon reaching Twellryst the little minister and I separated, with the understanding that we were to meet again at the inn at which we had put up, at four in the afternoon – that hour being as late a one as we thought it wise to appoint, on account of the necessity of getting back to Lleyrudrigg that night.

A careful exploration of the ruins, which turned out to be very interesting; a walk in the country; and a saunter round the town, filled up my time very agreeably; and arriving exactly as the clock struck the appointed hour, I found Mr Morgan already at the rendezvous. Our conveyance was then called for; but to our annoyance, the driver was not forthcoming. He had strolled away from the hotel some time ago, we were told; and when, eventually, the search for him ended in his discovery in a neighbouring public-house, he appeared to be a good deal the worse for liquor. The delay thus occasioned in starting upon our backward journey was the more vexatious because of the threatening aspect which during the last hour the weather had been assuming. Thick dark clouds had gradually spread themselves over the entire sky, and the wind, as it moaned amongst the trees of a neighbouring orchard or whistled round the corners of the inn, had a decidedly stormy sound. Naturally I am rather a passionate man, and at the time of which I write my private troubles made me more than usually prone to irritation. It is scarcely to be wondered at then, that when, upon my friend's calling Jonathan's attention to these signs of the times, I observed an impish look of satisfaction stealing over his face as though he were inwardly rejoicing in the anticipation of our getting a good wetting, in return for the scolding we had given him. Indeed, I had some difficulty in restraining my inclination to seize his horse-whip and lay it across his shoulders. I did restrain it, however; and when ready at length, we set off at full speed. This was so well kept up by Mr Williams's excellent horse, that although we could not hope to escape a drenching, we began to congratulate ourselves that after all we might get to Lleyrudrigg before very late in the evening.

We had been for more than an hour upon the road and had made first-rate progress, when on a sudden the looked-for storm broke upon us with the utmost violence. In a few moments the wind had risen to a hurricane, rendering our umbrellas entirely useless; and it was only by enveloping ourselves in a large horse-rug with which the landlord had provided us, that the little Welshman and I had any chance of keeping dry. Taking off our hats, we passed the rug over our heads, and had been riding in this way for a considerable distance, when my companion observed that the vehicle was jolting very much; and removing the covering from my face, I saw that we had turned off the highway into a narrow lane. On being questioned by Mr Morgan, to whom I uneasily communicated this fact, Jonathan declared that the lane was a short cut which would presently bring us out again upon the road we had quitted. I can scarcely tell why, but from the very first I doubted the correctness of this statement; and when, after twisting and turning times without number, the lane appeared yet as far as ever from its promised termination, my suspicions became confirmed. That our driver was purposely taking us in a wrong direction, I could hardly think, since I could conceive of no object for his doing so; but that he had, either through drunkenness or carelessness, lost his way, I felt assured. Bending forward, I angrily charged him with the mistake; and though at first holding doggedly to his former assertion, he admitted by-and-by that he thought he must have turned up the wrong lane – adding, however, that as I might see for myself, he could not get his horse round in so confined a space, and would be obliged therefore to drive onwards. That obligation I was of course forced to allow; and muttering something as like an anathema as my clerical character would permit me to use, I re-covered my head and resigned myself, along with my more even-tempered associate, to the inevitable. But our misadventures were not to end with this contretemps. We were still in the lane, and had been going more and more slowly on account of its increasing roughness, when all at once the dwarf affirmed that something was wrong with the horse's right fore-foot, and precipitately descended to examine it. The examination occupied a long time; and peering from beneath the sheltering rug, I noticed Jonathan's arm working about as he bent over the hoof he had raised, and thought I distinguished, mingling with the roar of the wind, a faint sound as of grating metal. I remarked upon this to Mr Morgan, and we both called out to inquire what was the matter. But the fellow would vouchsafe us no reply until he had remounted to his seat, when he informed us sulkily that the shoe upon that foot was coming loose, and that he had been trying to refasten it. Apparently, however, he had not succeeded to his satisfaction, for he shortly got down to look at it again, and kept on repeating the action at intervals. At length just as we emerged from that seemingly interminable lane, the horse stumbled slightly; and once more descending from his box, the hunchback, with an ejaculation, in which it struck me there was a tone of triumph, brought forward the shoe, which had now indeed come off.

For a few moments the little minister and I sat in silence interchanging glances of dismay, which it was becoming almost too dark to read. Then simultaneously, we inquired of Jonathan what was to be done. The driver's answer was prompt and decisive. We must, he said, stop at the first house we came to and beg a night's lodging, since upon no account dared he proceed towards home at the risk of laming the horse. His cousin, he added, would be furious should any harm come to it, as it was very valuable, and he was, besides, much attached to it. Recognising its necessity, we acquiesced in this plan without demur, and in fact without unwillingness, the idea of a speedy shelter from the still violent storm being by no means ungrateful. But where, the question remained, could that shelter be found? We rose in the dog-cart, looked eagerly to right and left, but could discern no habitation. Jonathan, however, after applying himself to a similar scrutiny, declared that he perceived, just beyond a small plantation or orchard, about a hundred yards distant, what he felt sure was the corner of a building; and taking the horse by the bridle, he led it in that direction. His keener sight, as we shortly found, had not deceived him. When upon stopping again, we displaced the rug in which we had once more enveloped ourselves from head to foot, we saw in front of us, through the battering rain and gathering gloom, a low straggling farm-house.

A small garden, entered by a wicket-gate, led to the door; and begging us to sit still, Jonathan ran towards it, returning almost immediately with the information that we could be accommodated here for the night. Blessing our good fortune, we accordingly alighted, and were met, as we passed into the house, by a hard-featured elderly man in a smock-frock and leathern gaiters, who after bestowing upon us a gruff welcome, shewed us into a large sanded kitchen. An unpleasant odour of bad beer and stale tobacco greeted our entrance, and my first impression, in the uncertain light which filled it, was that the apartment contained a numerous company. Upon candles being produced, however, as they speedily were by the farmer's direction, its occupants resolved themselves into seven. These were, a stout red-visaged woman, the wife of our host; and six tall strongly built young men, varying in ages from sixteen to thirty-five – his sons. With much courtesy the whole family proceeded at once to busy themselves for our comfort – one of the sons placing chairs for us in front of the peat-fire, another assisting to remove our damp coats and hang them to dry, whilst a couple more accompanied Jonathan to an out-building, where our horse and carriage were to be disposed for the night. The woman, upon her part, hastened to prepare us something to eat; and grateful for all this attention, Mr Morgan (whom I began by this time to look upon as quite an old friend) chatted away to our entertainers in his usually pleasant manner. I too for a while exerted myself towards their amusement, giving them an account of our day's excursion, and speaking of other matters which I thought calculated to interest. But with the exception of the woman, who had a harsh disagreeable voice, and was sufficiently loquacious, none of the party possessed much conversational power, and the talk gradually flagged.

Upon lapsing into silence, the men's faces naturally fell into their ordinary expressions, and as my gaze now wandered from one to another, a feeling of dislike and mistrust of the entire group seized upon me. The feeling was one that I could not well account for, and for which indeed I blamed myself severely. Nevertheless, far from diminishing as the evening wore on, it increased to an almost painful degree; and upon my mind suddenly reverting to the large sum of money carried by my companion, I took an opportunity of anxiously whispering him to beware of any allusion to it. The suggestion implied in this warning appeared to startle the little minister; but his nature was eminently trustful, and as I could see, a short cogitation ended in his mentally condemning my suspicion as uncalled for. Shortly after it had been uttered, however, he proposed, to my satisfaction, that we should go to bed; whereupon the farmer (whose face and figure, though I knew I had never seen him before this evening, seemed somehow familiar) slipped from the room, and returning directly with a black bottle in his hand, pressed us before retiring to rest to take a glass of spirits. Being a teetotaler, I declined for myself the proffered hospitality. But thinking, as he remarked, that it might prevent his taking cold from the wetting he had sustained, Mr Morgan accepted a somewhat stiff tumbler of whisky-punch. This, in order not to keep me waiting, he drained almost at a draught; and our host then preceding us to an upper story, pointed out the rooms in which we were to sleep. They were situated at each end of a long passage; the first, which opened at the head of a rather steep flight of stairs, being assigned to my companion, and the farther one to myself. Upon following Mr Morgan into his chamber for the purpose of bidding him good-night, I noticed with astonishment that he staggered slightly in crossing the floor. He complained too, as we shook hands, of feeling 'terribly sleepy;' and smiling to myself at the rapidity with which the whisky-punch was taking effect upon the little Welshman, I recommended him in an under-tone to lock his door; and leaving him to his slumbers, betook myself, under the farmer's guidance, to the apartment appointed for my own occupation.

SOME UNCOMMON PETS

Proud Wolsey, it will be recollected, was on familiar terms with a venerable carp; Cowper doffed his melancholy to play with his hares; and Clive owned a pet tortoise. Less noted folk have taken kindly to snakes, frogs, lizards, hedgehogs, and other animals not usually included in the category of domestic pets. The driver of a London Hansom was wont to carry a little cub fox on the top of his cab, to their mutual enjoyment, until returning from the Downs one Derby-day, the cab overset, and the cabman and his odd companion were both killed. Mr G. F. Berkeley made a household pet of a young stoat, rendered motherless by his gun. Totie soon accommodated himself to circumstances, and would leave his cage to wash himself in a finger-glass on the dinner-table, trotting back again as soon as his ablutions were performed, taking a piece of sponge-cake with him.

Sir John Lubbock contrived to win the affection of a Syrian wasp; but the game was hardly worth the candle, or sufficiently entertaining to encourage others to follow suit; although it is said that, strong in the new feminine faith that what man does woman can do, three maiden sisters sought to relieve the tedium of single-blessedness by devoting their leisure to the domestication of English-born wasps. Before a week was out, one fair experimentalist wore a large blue patch over her left eye, another carried her right arm in a sling, the third was altogether lost to the sight of anxious friends, and all had come to the conclusion that wasp-taming was not their forte. Better taste and greater discretion were shewn by the lady, who, becoming possessed of two butterflies of different species in a chrysalis state, resolved to try how far they would be amenable to kindness, and placed them for security in a glazed cabinet in her well-warmed bedroom. A few days before Christmas she was delighted by the appearance of a little yellow butterfly, but was puzzled how to cater for the delicate creature. Taking a fairy-rose then in bloom, she dropped a little honey and rose-water in a blossom, and put the plant in the cabinet, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing the butterfly take its first meal. In a fortnight it would leave the rose to settle on her hand when she called it by its name Psyche. By-and-by a peacock butterfly emerged into active life from the other chrysalis. The newcomer accepted the sensation of active life at once, and like its companion, delighted in being talked and sung to, both especially enjoying being waved in the air and danced up and down while quietly resting upon the hand of their mistress. Upon the coming of summer the cabinet was moved close to the window, and its doors thrown open. For some days neither of its tenants cared to venture beyond the window-sill, but one bright afternoon their protectress 'with many bitter tears' beheld them take wing and join some wild companions in the garden; at night, however, they returned to their lodgings. Next day they took the air again, and were not seen until September. One afternoon there came a heavy thunderstorm, and when it was over a yellow butterfly was found dead on the window-sill – which the lady, with some warrant, lamented over as her own particular one; the 'peacock' too would seem to have met a like fate, for it was never seen again.

The butterfly tamer had an eye for beauty, but ugliness is no bar to a lady's favour, so far as animal pets are concerned. It would be hard to find a more repulsive-looking reptile than the iguana, nevertheless the society of one afforded much pleasure to an American lady residing in Brazil. Pedro, as he was called, was well provided with raw meat, bananas, and milk; allowed to bask in his mistress's room in the daytime, and to make himself cosy between the mattresses of her bed when the sun went down, he cheerfully accepted the novel situation, like a wise iguana. His loving lady was wont to carry him abroad in her arms – a practice that kept acquaintances at a respectful distance – for, however they might pretend to admire Pedro's beadlike spots of black and white, his bright jewelled eyes, and elegant claws, they were careful not to make any near approaches. Nothing pleased Madame so much as to drop her pet without warning at the feet of unsuspecting gentlemen, and elicit from naval officers symptoms of terror such as would not have been drawn forth by an enemy's broadside or a lee-shore. Of course Pedro came to grief. Rambling one day unattended, he came across 'a marauding Frenchman,' his owner's maid arriving only in time to rescue his lifeless body. It was sent, wrapped in black crape, to a neighbour with a weakness for fricasseed lizard; but having seen this especial one fondled and caressed, he could not find the appetite to eat it; and so Pedro was consigned to the earth instead of the pot.

De Candolle tells of a fair Switzer who, unmindful of Red Riding Hood's sad fate, made a companion of a young wolf, and had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing the fond beast fall dead at her feet in a paroxysm of joy at her return home after a long absence. But although one wolf was faithful found, it does not follow that the fair sex are justified in going to the forest or jungle for pets. The proprietress of a loving leopard that came regularly to her chamber door in the dead of the night, and howled loudly enough to wake the Seven Sleepers, until its mistress turned out of bed and quieted her disturber with an offering of warm milk, might well doubt if she had bestowed her affection wisely. Such favourites, however kindly they take to domestication, are very undesirable additions to an orderly establishment. When Captain Burton was domiciled in Syria, the famous traveller left the management of his live-stock to his wife, and under her fostering care that department assumed formidable proportions. Not content with horses and goats, a camel, turkeys, geese, ducks, fowls, and pigeons, Mrs Burton must have her own especial pets – a white donkey, a young St Bernard dog, four English terriers, a Kurdish puppy, a snow-white Persian cat, a lamb, and a leopard. The last-named, according to the lady's account, became the pet of the household; which it deserved to be, if the household abhorred a quiet life, for the leopard behaved much after the manner of the gazelle whose owner sang:

He riled the dog, annoyed the cat,
And scared the goldfinch into fits;
He butted through my newest hat,
And tore my manuscript to bits!

Mrs Burton, with pretty good grace, confesses her husband had fair cause for saying his happy family reminded him of the House that Jack built; for the fowls and pigeons ate the seeds and destroyed the flowers; the cat fed upon the pigeons, the dogs worried the cat; while the idol of the household harried the goats until one of them drowned itself in sheer disgust, and frightened the donkey and camel by jumping upon their backs, and indulging in a shrieking solo, horrible enough to scare any animal of a well-regulated mind into madness.

Lady Hornby, while ambassadress at Constantinople, obtained, as she thought, a Turkish street dog, with whom she was soon on the best of terms. Introducing her pet to a gentleman who knew a dog when he saw one, he exclaimed: 'That's no dog; it is a common brute of a wild jackal!' 'Well,' rejoined the enlightened lady, 'anyhow, I have tamed him, and dog or jackal, don't mean to part with him!'

It was to her husband that Mr Frank Buckland was indebted for the Kurdish dog, whose prowess delighted him, despite the trouble entailed by its exhibition; for Arslan, imbued with the notion that he was created to rid the earth of his kind, conscientiously tried to fulfil his mission by killing every dog so unlucky as to cross his path. Fortunately for his master's serenity, Arslan's unkind attentions were confined to his own species; otherwise there would have been anything but joy in the house of Buckland, since that general lover of animal-kind was never yet without pet bears, beavers, or monkeys, calculated to excite the ire of a brave dog; and priding himself upon the brown rats, black rats, piebald rats, and white rats with pink eyes, which swarmed to the door of their cage to welcome his coming, and allowed him to handle them as he listed, while at the advent of a stranger they were up on their hind-legs in fighting position instanter.

Much, however, as he loved them, they increased and multiplied so quickly that Mr Buckland was by cruel necessity compelled, now and again, to carry a bagful away wherewith to regale the snakes of the Zoological Gardens; a method of riddance unavailable to the gentleman who tried his hand at porcupine-petting, and found the creature thoroughly deserved Shakspeare's epithet of 'fretful,' its inquisitiveness and restlessness rendering it the most unpleasant of all quadrupedal pets.

Strange pets usually come to some untimely end; as Miller Luke says, 'Things out o' natur never thrive.' But your animal lover need not go far afield for worthy objects upon which to expend his kind care, for he was a wise man who wrote, 'If we were to pet our useful and hard-working animals, we should find it both to our credit and advantage.'

THE LEAF PROPHETIC

This year – Next year – Some time – Never.
How I laughed at some one's folly,
As in play he read my fortune,
On a leaf of shining holly.

'Next Year!' said the leaf prophetic;
'Next year,' softly whispered some one,
While I said, with voice coquettish:
'I shall wed next year with no one.

'Christmas comes, and Christmas goeth;
You shall see – for I have said it —