SCENE III.

Montmorency was seated in the greenroom at the conclusion of the play, engaged in that absent train of thought known as a brown-study. The more he saw of the fascinating Fonblanque, the more he was captivated. Every hour spent in her society but served to rivet more closely the chain which bound him to her. Should he condescend and make her an offer of his hand, she would naturally be influenced by a profound sense of gratitude, when she discovered that she had married a man of fortune and a Stanley! Whereas, if he had married the rich Miss Anstruther, he would have had her money-bags perpetually thrown in his face. A silver-toned utterance fell on his ears. Looking up, he beheld the subject of his cogitations.

‘Allow me to congratulate you, Mr Montmorency, on your Charles Surface this evening. A double call before the curtain, and well deserved.’

‘You are pleased to flatter me. The plaudits of the house to-night render any praise on my part of your Lady Teazle unnecessary. I regret that I am fated to lose so charming a compatriot.’

Was it fancy that Montmorency imagined he detected a paler tint on the cheek of the actress, as she replied: ‘You are not going to leave us?’

‘I fear so.’

‘Wherefore?’

‘You are the last person to whom I can confide the cause of my sudden departure.’

Lady Teazle cast down her lovely eyes for a brief space, and then, in a voice in which the smallest possible _tremolo_ was perceptible, whispered: ‘Are you not happy here?’

‘I fear, too much so,’ sighed Montmorency. ‘I have been living in a fool’s paradise lately.’

‘How? In what way, Mr Montmorency?’

‘I am in love.—You start. You do not believe in an actor, who is always simulating affection, ever falling under the influence of a real and veritable passion.’

‘You wrong me; indeed, you do. The artistic nature is, and must be, more acutely sensitive than that possessed by ordinary mortals. Do I know the lady?’

‘You see her every day—when you contemplate those charming features in the glass. Yes; it is _you_, Miss Fonblanque, whom I love, whom I adore!’

How can we describe the flood of sensations which agitated the bosom of the heiress, as she listened to the avowal of affection from the lips of the only man she had ever loved! In low and trembling tones, she managed to reply: ‘Mr Montmorency, you are not rehearsing a scene in some new comedy?’

‘I was never more serious in my life.’

By this time, the pride of the Anstruthers had come to the assistance of the heiress. ‘I grieve very much that I cannot accept your offer. It is impossible.’

‘Impossible! Why?’

‘That I cannot explain.’

‘We are both members of the same profession, and so far equal.’

‘Pardon me,’ said Lady Teazle. ‘You know nothing of my antecedents, and’——

‘And you know nothing of mine, you would say. Charming equality! Say, Miss Fonblanque, may I hope?’

It was now the turn of the actress to sigh. ‘It would be cruel to raise hopes which can never be realised.’

Montmorency let fall the hand which in his ardour he had seized, and drew himself proudly up. ‘That is your fixed answer?’

‘It is.’

Montmorency once more took possession of her taper fingers, and raising them to his lips, uttered the word ‘Farewell!’ and hastily left the greenroom.

The dark melting eyes of the heiress gazed after his retreating figure, and large drops of moisture gathered in them. ‘I have half a mind to call him back,’ she mentally whispered.—‘No! I must remember I am an Anstruther.’

Sinking on a couch, Lady Teazle felt her brain spinning round; then presently raising her eyes, she beheld—Mr Vallance!

‘Have I not the honour of speaking to Miss Anstruther?’

‘Since you recognise me, it would be affectation to deny my identity. Mr Vallance, may I ask you to preserve my secret?’

‘From all save one individual—Mr Montmorency. Surely you knew that in the Charles Surface of this evening you beheld your rejected lover, Mr Stanley?’

A film came slowly over the eyes of Miss Anstruther. ‘You are not joking, Mr Vallance?’

‘The matter is too serious for jesting. But I will break a confidence. He loves you. He told me so half an hour ago.’

The heiress could scarcely forbear a smile, as she reflected that her ears had drunk in the soft confession only five minutes ago. ‘Mr Vallance, will you do me a favour? Will you ask Mr Stanley to step here for a few minutes? But remember, you must on no account reveal my identity.’

‘You may rely upon me, Miss Anstruther. I do not know what steps you mean to adopt; but there is no time to lose, for old Colonel Stanley is in front, and will, if he has recognised you, at once inform his son.’

‘That is my fear; so haste.’

Almost before the heiress could mature her plans, the rejected one appeared before her. He was very grave, and bowed with an air of deep humility, as the actress thus addressed him: ‘Mr Vallance and I are old acquaintances, so I commissioned him to ask you to return for a short time. I feel very anxious about our scenes in the _Hunchback_ to-morrow. Would you mind running through the Modus and Helen scenes? I mean the second one.’

Montmorency bowed. ‘With pleasure.’

It would have been a lesson for half the actresses on the stage, could they have beheld the manner in which the saucy coquette of the play coaxed her lover, lured him on, fascinated him, and enveloped him in such a spell of witcheries, that no Modus that ever breathed could have been proof against her seductive wiles. The scene came to an unexpected termination, for Montmorency suddenly caught her in his arms, and as he held her clasped tight to his breast, exclaimed in rapid and excited tones: ‘This is not acting! If it be, you are the greatest actress that ever trod the boards. You love me! I see it in your sparkling eye; I read it in your blushing cheek! Say, am I not right?’

Emily Anstruther remained perfectly passive in the arms of Harry Stanley, as she murmured ‘Yes!’

The enraptured couple were so completely absorbed in reading love in each other’s eyes, that they had not observed the entrance of two gentlemen, Colonel Stanley and Mr Vallance.

The old colonel was the first to speak. ‘Speak, sir! Is this a scene from a play?’

By this time the heiress had left the sweet anchorage of her lover’s arms, and advancing to the old man, said: ‘Do you not recognise your godchild, Emily Anstruther?’

But surprise had taken away the power of speech from the colonel.

His son interposed. ‘I trust Miss Anstruther will acquit _me_ of any guilty knowledge of this fact—will believe that _I_ believed she was merely Miss Fonblanque the actress.’

Emily Anstruther here cast down her eyes, while a deep blush mantled over her face and neck. ‘I am afraid _I_ am not equally innocent; for Mr Vallance informed me that I had refused my hated lover. But I have enough confidence in _his_ love for me, to hope for his belief in my unselfish love for _him_.’

‘So you see, dad,’ exclaimed the younger Stanley, ‘Love not only rules the court, the camp, the grove, as the poet says, but does not disdain to flutter his wings in the greenroom.’

_Author’s Note._—This story having been dramatised, and the provisions of the law as regards dramatic copyright having been duly complied with, any infringement of the author’s rights becomes actionable.

HUMOROUS DEFINITIONS.

A smart, pithy, or humorous definition often furnishes a happy illustration of the proverbial brevity which is the soul of wit. Wit itself has not inaptly been called ‘a pleasant surprise over truth;’ and wisdom, often its near ally, is, in the opinion of a clever writer, ‘nothing more than educated cunning.’ ‘Habits are what we learn and can’t forget,’ says the same author, who also defines silence as ‘a safe place to hide in,’ and a lie as ‘the very best compliment that can be paid to truth.’ ‘Show him an egg and instantly the air is full of feathers,’ said a humorist, defining a sanguine man. ‘A moral chameleon’ is a terse reckoning-up of a humbug. Man’s whole life has been cynically summed up in the sentence, ‘Youth is a blunder; middle life, a struggle; and old age, a regret.’

Whimsical definitions are sometimes quite as neat and telling as those of a smarter kind. Dr Johnson confessed to a lady that it was pure ignorance that made him define ‘pastern, the knee of a horse;’ but he could hardly make the same excuse for defining pension, ‘an allowance made to any one without an equivalent.’ A patriot, some writer tells us, is ‘one who lives _for_ the promotion of his country’s union and dies _in_ it;’ and a hero, ‘he who, after warming his enemies, is toasted by his friends.’

Of juvenile definitions, ‘dust is mud with the juice squeezed out;’ scarcely so scientific as Palmerston’s definition of dirt as ‘matter in the wrong place.’ A fan, we learn, is ‘a thing to brush warm off with;’ and a monkey, ‘a small boy with a tail;’ ‘salt, what makes your potatoes taste bad when you don’t put any on;’ ‘wakefulness, eyes all the time coming unbuttoned;’ and ‘ice, water that stayed out too late in the cold and went to sleep.’

A schoolboy asked to define the word ‘sob,’ whimpered out: ‘It means when a feller don’t mean to cry and it bursts out itself.’ Another defined a comma as ‘a period with a long tail.’ A youngster was asked to give his idea of the meaning of ‘responsibility,’ so he said: ‘Well, supposing I had only two buttons on my trousers, and one came off, all the responsibility would rest on the other button.’

‘Give the definition of admittance,’ said a teacher to the head-boy. This went from the head to near the foot of the class, all being unable to tell the meaning of it, until it reached a little boy who had seen the circus bills posted about the village, and who exclaimed: ‘Admittance means one shilling, and children half-price.’

‘What is a junction, nurse?’ asked a seven-year-old fairy the other day on a railway platform.—‘A junction, my dear?’ answered the nurse, with the air of a very superior person indeed: ‘why, it’s a place where two roads separate.’

To hit off a jury as ‘a body of men organised to find out which side has the smartest lawyer,’ is to satirise many of our ‘intelligent fellow-countrymen.’ The word ‘suspicion’ is, in the opinion of a jealous husband, ‘a feeling that compels you to try to find out something which you don’t wish to know.’ A good definition of a ‘Pharisee’ is ‘a tradesman who uses long prayers and short weights;’ of a ‘humbug, one who agrees with everybody;’ and of a ‘tyrant, the other version of somebody’s hero.’ An American lady’s idea of a ballet-girl was, ‘an open muslin umbrella with two pink handles;’ and a Parisian’s of ‘chess, a humane substitute for hard labour.’ Thin soup, according to an Irish mendicant, is ‘a quart of water boiled down to a pint, to make it strong.’

Of definitions of a bachelor—‘an un-altar-ed man,’ ‘a singular being,’ and ‘a target for a miss,’ are apt enough. A walking-stick may be described as ‘the old man’s strength and the young man’s weakness;’ and an umbrella as ‘a fair and foul weather friend’ who has had ‘many ups and downs in the world.’ A watch may be hit off as a ‘second-hand affair;’ spectacles as ‘second-sight’ or ‘friendly glasses;’ and a wig as ‘the top of the poll,’ ‘picked locks,’ and ‘poached hare.’ And any one who is troubled with an empty purse may be comforted with the reflection that ‘no trial could be lighter.’

‘Custom is the law of fools,’ and ‘politeness is half-sister to charity’—the last a better definition than that which spitefully defines polite society as ‘a place where manners pass for too much, and morals for too little.’ ‘Fashion’ has been cleverly hit off as ‘an arbitrary disease which leads all geese to follow in single file the one goose that sets the style.’ An idea of the amusement of dancing is not badly conveyed by the phrases ‘embodied melody’ and ‘the poetry of motion.’

The ‘Complete Angler’ as a definition of ‘a flirt’ is particularly happy. Beauty has been called ‘a short-lived tyranny,’ ‘a silent cheat,’ and ‘a delightful prejudice;’ while modesty has been declared ‘the delicate shadow that virtue casts.’ Love has been likened to ‘the sugar in a woman’s teacup, and man the spoon that stirs it up;’ and a ‘true-lover’s-knot’ may not inaptly be termed ‘a dear little tie.’ Kisses have variously been defined as ‘a harmony in red,’ ‘a declaration of love by deed of mouth,’ and ‘lip-service.’

‘Matrimony’ was defined by a little girl at the head of a confirmation class in Ireland, as ‘a state of torment into which souls enter to prepare them for another and better world.’

‘Being,’ said the examining priest, ‘the answer for purgatory.’

‘Put her down!’ said the curate, much ashamed of his pupil—‘put her down to the foot of the class!’

‘Lave her alone,’ quoth the priest; ‘the lass may be right after all. What do you or I know about it?’

THE MONTH:

SCIENCE AND ARTS.

Nearly seven millions sterling have been already expended upon the Panama Canal works, and according to all accounts, there is plenty to show for the money. The channel is being dredged out by enormous machines, which scoop out the softer earth and operate upon the debris of harder rocks, after the latter have been blasted. Colon, the Atlantic terminus of the canal, has, from the miserable and dirty little village which it presented some years ago, sprung into a prosperous town. The dry season has unfortunately been an unhealthy one, and there has been an epidemic of marsh-fever; but altogether we may take the general report of the Canal works as a satisfactory one. There is little doubt that the great work of uniting the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans will be accomplished within very few years.

News has been received by the Geographical Society that their intrepid explorer, Mr Joseph Thomson, whose departure some months ago on an expedition to the region east and north-east of Lake Victoria Nyanza we briefly chronicled at the time, has safely returned to Zanzibar. Little is at present known as to what he has done, further than that he has successfully carried out his programme with the most satisfactory feature that the work has been done without any loss of life except from disease. We may look forward with great interest to Mr Thomson’s account of this his third successful expedition, the more so, as this time he has journeyed in a region of Africa untraversed by any previous explorer, and about which, therefore, the knowledge possessed by our best geographers is open to improvement.

From a paper recently read before the Institution of Civil Engineers, by Mr G. H. Stayton, upon the Wood-pavements of London, we glean the following interesting particulars: The metropolis comprises nearly two thousand miles of streets, of which only fifty-three miles are at present laid with wood. Most of the wood used is in the form of rectangular blocks of yellow deal, principally Swedish. Neither elm nor oak will stand changes of temperature sufficiently well to fit them for this purpose; but pitch-pine answers well, and so does larch; though the supply of the latter limits its use. Creosoting the blocks has no value as a preservative, and the wood is now used plain, the joints being filled in with cement. The average cost of laying wood-pavement is about ten shillings and sixpence per square yard, and the expenses of maintenance compare very favourably with Macadam and other systems of pavement. ‘There is nothing new under the sun,’ even in the matter of wood-pavements, for we find, on reference to a _Mechanic’s Magazine_ dated 1858, that wood-blocks, placed grain uppermost, as in all modern systems, are distinctly advocated as having many advantages over granite roads, diminution of cost and durability being among those stated.

It has become customary to speak of the present epoch as the ‘Iron Age,’ in order to distinguish it from those two long periods of human interest known respectively as the Stone Age and the Bronze Age. But future historians may well be tempted to substitute the word steel for iron, for it is an undoubted fact that improved processes of manufacture, and the resulting easy and cheap production, are causing steel to be widely substituted for its parent metal. In railways, steel rails are now almost entirely replacing iron ones, and that modification of the metal known as ‘mild steel’ is finding great favour just now among shipbuilders. The Board of Trade have lately had representations made to them that the superiority of steel over iron for shipbuilding purposes should be officially recognised; and that this request is well grounded, the following instances will go far to prove. A steamer wrecked on the coast of the Isle of Wight remained for ten days in stormy weather perched on a ledge of rocks without breaking up. ‘If,’ says the engineer’s Report, ‘she had been built of iron instead of steel, there is not a doubt that she would have gone to pieces. The agent of another vessel wrecked at New Zealand last year reports to the owner that the vessel was eventually released from her rocky bed; ‘but, with a large number of passengers, would have been lost, had it not been for the beautiful quality of the material of which she is built, known as mild steel.’

But there is one branch of the metal trade which shows a continually increasing activity, and which need not fear any rivalry from steel, and that is the tinplate trade. Many thousands of tons of this tinned iron—that is, thin sheets of iron coated with tin—are annually exported from this country, our best customers being the United States. We may presume that a large quantity of this metal comes back to us in the form of tins containing preserved meats, fish, and fruit. In Philadelphia, there are a number of factories for utilising these tins after they have been used. They are collected from the ash-heaps, the hotels and boarding-houses. The solder is melted and sold, to be used again; the tops and bottoms of the tins are turned into window sash-weights; the cylindrical portions are rolled out flat, and are made into covers for travelling trunks, and are used for many other purposes. The industry is said to be a very profitable one, for the expense of gathering the tins is covered by the sale of the solder, and the capital required is small. Such ingenious applications of waste materials most certainly deserve to succeed.

What is known as ‘flashed glass’ consists of common white glass blown with a layer of coloured glass superposed on its surface, which surface can afterwards be eaten away in parts by the application of fluoric acid, so that any ornament or lettering can be executed upon it. The same principle in an extended form has lately been applied by Messrs Webb of Stourbridge to the production of most beautiful vases in what has been aptly called cameo glass. The vase is first blown in glass of three different descriptions, fused together, forming eventually three distinct layers of material—the innermost of a semi-opaque colour, the next white, and the outside of a tint to harmonise with the first or innermost. Now comes the artist’s work. The design being drawn upon the surface, the outer colour is removed so as to leave but a tint, deep or light as may be wanted in certain parts; next, the white is cut into so as to show up where required the ground colour behind. In this way the most intricate design is produced with the most artistic results. The operator employs not only fluoric acid, but makes use of the steel point, and also the ordinary emery wheel commonly used for engraving and cutting glass. Two of these vases are, as we write, on view at Mr Goode’s, South Audley Street, London.

The first cable tramway laid in Europe has been opened on the steepest bit of road near London—namely, Highgate Hill, and is pronounced on all hands a complete success. It is to be hoped that the system will become as common in this country as it is in America, where not only steep gradients are thus dealt with, but level roads, such as our horse tramcars already traverse. The boon to horses would be immeasurable. At the present time, on British tramways more than twenty thousand horses are at work. The labour is so hard, that about one quarter of this number have annually to be replaced. This annual loss absorbs forty-three per cent. of the gross earnings, a consideration which will appeal more eloquently to the feelings of many than will the sufferings of the poor horses.

Referring to the epidemic of smallpox in London, a correspondent of the _Times_ gives a valuable suggestion. He tells how an epidemic of the same dreaded disease was quickly stamped out in a South American village some years ago, and although our great metropolis bears but small resemblance to a village, the remedy in question might nevertheless be tried. Huge bonfires of old creosoted railway sleepers were made in the streets, and gas-tar was added occasionally to stimulate the flames. In the meantime, every house where a death or recovery occurred was lime-washed. With these precautions, which are manifestly applicable to other zymotic diseases, the visitation speedily vanished. Concerning this all-important subject we may have something further to say in a special paper.

Meanwhile, there is no kind of doubt that the spread of infectious disease is attributable in great measure to personal ignorance, commonly called carelessness, as well as to that entire indifference as to the welfare of others which is so common to human nature. Some time since, an advertisement appeared to the following effect: ‘Should this meet the eye of the lady who travelled (by a particular train) with her two boys, one of whom was evidently just recovering from an illness, she may be pleased to learn that three of the four young ladies who were in the carriage are very ill with the measles.’ This is surpassed by a statement contained in a recent letter in the _Times_. A lady, finding that her boys, on recovering from a severe attack of scarlatina, suffered much from dandruff (the scales which separate from the scalp, and which, in fever, are a prolific source of contagion), took the sufferers to a leading West End hairdresser’s, so that their heads could receive a thorough cleansing with the machine-brush!

We would in this connection draw attention to a novel system of providing for smallpox cases with the least amount of risk to others, which is established by the Metropolitan Asylums Board of London, and which will undergo in time further development. In addition to the five hospitals in different parts of London which have been opened whenever a fresh epidemic has broken out, there is a very elaborate ambulance system, by which a suitable carriage with a nurse and porter is despatched, as soon as notice is received, to the patient’s place of residence and removes the patient to the nearest hospital. This has been at work for some years; but in addition there are three ships moored on the Thames opposite Purfleet, two of which are hospital ships, the third being used as a residence for the staff, and containing offices, kitchens, workshops, &c. Some four miles inland there is a convalescent camp, consisting of tents for about one thousand patients, each heated and lighted by gas, and suitably fitted for the purpose in every way.

To convey patients to the ships, an ambulance steamer runs as often as required, being fitted up as a travelling hospital, with beds, &c., and having a medical and nursing staff. Patients are removed to the river-side either direct from their homes, or from the hospitals, usually on comfortable beds, and carried on board the steamer, and thence down the river. Another steamer brings the recovered cases back; and when landed, they are conveyed in special carriages to their homes, free from infection in person and clothing.

So far the problem of how to provide for an epidemic of smallpox in London is in a fair way of being solved, by a system which, though still in its earliest stage, is daily undergoing development and improvement. When yet another steamer is fitted out, there will be no difficulty in coping with a much larger epidemic than has visited London for many years, and at the same time treating patients with an amount of attention almost unknown till now.

The proposal to revive the art of lacemaking in Ireland, to which we adverted some months ago, has now received more definite form. A scheme has been framed under the auspices of many influential persons, the chief features of which are as follows: Original designs are to be purchased under the advice of the best authorities on the subject. These designs will be sent to the lacemaking centres for execution. The specimens will then be exhibited and offered for sale. The expenses to set this machinery at work will amount to about five hundred pounds, much of which is already subscribed. Full information as to the project can be obtained from Mr Alan Cole, of the South Kensington Museum.

Dr Von Pettenkofer has, according to the _Lancet_, been lately paying attention to the poisonous action of coal-gas on the human system, and a few notes of authenticated cases may be serviceable to those who pay little heed to an escape of gas so long as it does not in their opinion assume dangerous dimensions. The cases quoted all refer to escapes of gas into dwelling-houses after passing through a layer of earth, and we may note that such escapes are difficult of detection, for the earth robs the gas in great measure of its tell-tale odour. At Roveredo, three women were killed in their sleep by an escape from a broken pipe under the roadway thirty-five feet distant. At Cologne, three of one family were carried off by a similar escape at a distance of ninety-eight feet. At Breslau, a case is reported where the escape was no less than one hundred and fifteen feet away from its victim. It would seem that the dangerous constituent of coal-gas is carbonic oxide, which usually forms about eight per cent. of the vapour conveyed to our houses. Whether this noxious ingredient can, like other impurities, be eliminated in the process of purification at the gas-works, we do not know, but the question is certainly worth the attention of the authorities.

The Observatory on the summit of Ben Nevis, which our readers will remember was opened in October last, will be completed this summer. The observations already made confirm the anticipations as to the value of a high level station, and the completion of the structure will add to the efficiency of the work done, for hitherto the observers have been cramped for space. A shelter for tourists forms part of the scheme, and travellers will be able to obtain light refreshment there, and if they desire it, can telegraph from the highest point in Britain to their friends below. The cost of completion will absorb about eight hundred pounds; but this estimate does not include the heavy outlay for carriage of materials on horseback up the bridle-path already constructed. It has been suggested that visitors on horseback using this path should pay a toll of five shillings—a modest sum, when it is considered that the expenses of maintenance are much increased by the soil being loosened by the horse’s hoofs, especially when the ground is in a soft condition.

The small Chinese colony established at the International Health Exhibition is one of the principal attractions of the place. Visitors have now the opportunity of tasting various strange dishes which before they had only heard of by report. The much extolled bird-nest soup can be had here, together with shark-fins, _beches de mer_ (sea-slugs), edibles made of different seaweeds, shredded cucumber peels mixed with vinegar, and various other delicacies, which, we trust, are nicer than they seem to be by mere description. We may note that the South Kensington executive have already arranged for an Exhibition to follow on the present one. It is to be called the Exhibition of Inventions, and will include all kinds of appliances, one entire division being devoted to musical instruments.

A long-felt want by paper-rulers and others has now been supplied by the new Patent Automatic Paper Feeding-machine. It has been invented by Mr William Archer, 204 Rose Street, Edinburgh—a paper-ruler who has spent his spare time during the last ten years in working it out, and who has now succeeded in patenting a Ruling-machine which is allowed to be the most accurate in use for feeding the paper in a continuous stream, or feeding to grippers at given intervals. It can be worked either by hand or steam-power, and it renders unnecessary the employment of boys or girls as paper-feeders. It can also be applied to hot rolling-machines; and it is expected that it will also be turned to use in connection with printing, &c.

OCCASIONAL NOTES.

THE NEW ORGAN IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

The old-new, or the new-old, organ of Westminster Abbey was formally tried on the 24th of May, at the usual afternoon service, after which a recital, which served to exhibit the extreme beauty and power of some of the new work, was given. The new organ has fifty-six speaking stops, besides many mechanical stops, couplers, &c., and is placed in two lofty blocks, like the one in St Paul’s Cathedral, at the west end of the two choir screens, only that in this case the player sits between the two over the doorway of the choir. The magnificent oak case, designed by Mr Pearson, has not yet been erected, because the funds for the purpose—about fifteen hundred pounds—are not, as we write, yet collected. The principal bellows are blown by a gas-engine, and are placed in a vault below the cloisters, the pipes conveying the air being nearly one hundred feet in length. A curious arrangement exists to connect the keys with the pipes, which is done by tubes, through which, on the key being pressed, wind, under heavy pressure, is admitted, and acts instantly on a small bellows at the other end of the tube. This, on being inflated, pulls down the pallet or valve under the sound-board, and thus gives air to the pipe. This clever system is said not to get out of order or to be affected by changes of temperature.

It may be interesting to state that this organ was in the first instance built by Schreider and Jordan so far back as 1730. Exactly a hundred years after (1830) it was added to by Elliott; and again in 1848 and in 1868, Hill made many additions; and it has now been almost completely reconstructed by Messrs Hill and Son, of the same well-known firm. It may fairly be considered, with that in St Paul’s Cathedral, and All Saints, Margaret Street, to take rank as one of the finest church organs in London.

THE ANTHROPOMETRICAL LABORATORY AT THE HEALTH EXHIBITION.

Without intending the smallest disrespect to our numerous readers, we will venture to say that more than one will be inclined to ask the very obvious question, ‘What is anthropometry?’ Well, this fine-sounding, Greek-adapted name signifies the art of describing and recording, in a schedule provided for that purpose, the particulars appertaining to the condition, functions, powers, and capabilities of the human body and limbs. Every person visiting the Laboratory at the Health Exhibition can have his or her schedule filled up with a statement, ascertained on the spot, of his name or initials, age, sex, occupation, place of birth, colour of hair and eyes, height standing and sitting, weight, length of span of arms, strength of squeeze and of pull, swiftness and weight of direct fist-blow, capacity of chest, lungs, and breathing, as measured by a spirometer, acuteness of vision as measured by a test type, conditions of colour-sense, and acuteness of hearing. The ascertaining of these particulars, and any others of a like nature bearing immediately on the principal question, seems to be the especial business of the art of anthropometry. It may be objected that the collecting of these facts, though interesting enough to the individual practised upon and his family, can be of no possible use beyond that limit, or indeed anywhere else; but the gentleman who has originated this novel and ingenious scheme (Mr Francis Galton) proposes to keep a duplicate of the filled-up schedule which each person operated on will receive; and by this means he hopes to obtain a very large number of facts and statements, which will doubtless be ultimately arranged and tabulated, and made good use of by the originator, who may possibly submit them to the Registrar-general, or to the Statistical Society, for enrolment amongst their curious records. It is, at anyrate, in spite of its somewhat alarming Greek name, an interesting experiment.

ADVICE TO INTENDING EMIGRANTS.

A correspondent in New South Wales writes to us as follows: ‘Australia offers a wide field for the capitalist and the manual labourer, but I should not advise others to try their fortunes here. For educated persons, male or female, without capital, Australia is a death-trap. Such persons would, according to my observation, do far better in America, or in the English settlements in China. In China, young gentlemen possessing no other fortune than a good education, are soon employed in the warehouses and stores by the Chinese merchants, who value Englishmen whenever they can get them to take charge of the more responsible parts of their businesses. The Chinese Customs’ Departments also are open to educated young Englishmen. But in Australia, brains are not a marketable commodity; strong arms are more sought for. The streets of Sydney are thronged with hundreds of educated young Englishmen, who have come out here persuaded by their friends that work is easily got, as well as money, which is not the case, except in one or two kinds of labour. I know of scores of temperate young gentlemen out here who have done all they could to find employment, and failed; and at last have had to seek relief in the Refuge. Some commit suicide out of sheer despair.

‘No one, unless he can swing a pickaxe well and is possessed of plenty of muscular strength, with not too much refinement in him, should think of coming out here to earn his bread, much less make his “pile,” unless he has some capital, say a few thousands, to start a warehouse, or take up land and go in for sheep-farming. Sometimes young educated men, who bring good letters of introduction and good characters also, are given government situations, as I am thankful to say was the case with me. But I should warn any educated young man who has no friends here or capital, against coming to Australia. Even where he brings letters, he often has great trouble to get a situation, as there are so many colonials’ sons hanging about doing nothing. The towns are overloaded with men, and the country is left untouched for want of capital in the majority of those who come out here.

‘Servants of all classes do well here; ten shillings per week and board and lodging is the usual wage for female servants good or bad; and one pound per week with board and lodging for male servants. Governesses are an utter failure; hundreds are doing nothing here now; and when they do get employed, they don’t do much better than at home; sixty pounds with board and lodging is the usual salary; but they have to act as nurses often as well, for that sum.

‘My advice to young gentlemen and ladies who are thinking of giving up their situations at home and emigrating to Australia in the hopes of getting work and good salary, is—Don’t.’

A CURIOUS DISEASE.

The _London Medical Record_ quotes some information regarding a strange disease that is met with in Siberia, and known to the Russians by the name of ‘Miryachit.’ The person affected seems compelled to imitate anything he hears or sees, and an interesting account is given of a steward who was reduced to a perfect state of misery by his inability to avoid imitating everything he heard and saw. One day the captain of the steamer, running up to him, suddenly clapping his hands at the same time, accidentally slipped, and fell hard on the deck. Without having been touched, the steward instantly clapped his hands and shouted; then, in helpless imitation, he, too, fell as hard, and almost precisely in the same manner and position as the captain. This disease has been met with in Java, where it is known as ‘Lata.’ In the case of a female servant who had the same irresistible tendency to imitate her mistress, the latter, one day at dessert, wishing to exhibit this peculiarity, and catching the woman’s eye, suddenly reached across the table, and seizing a large French plum, made pretence to swallow it whole. The woman rushed at the dish and put a plum in her mouth, and, after severe choking and semi-asphyxia, succeeded in swallowing it; but her mistress never tried the experiment again.

ANOTHER UPHILL RAILWAY.

The _Hôtel des Alpes_ at Chillon, and the _Hôtel de Mont Fleury_ at Montreux, Switzerland, are situated at no great distance apart; but the difference of elevation between the two is over two hundred feet, and the incline very steep. To get over this difficulty, it is intended to call in the aid of that mighty power which has of late so prominently come to the front—electricity. After a long series of carefully conducted experiments, it has been determined that an uphill railway shall be constructed between the two hotels named, to be driven by electricity. An electric motor will be placed on a car to drive a cog-wheel; this wheel will gear into a central cogged rail, and by this means draw or pull the car up the ascent. Conductors placed beside the central rail will convey the current of the generator, which will be kept going by a five-horse-power locomotive engine. It is, however, in contemplation to drive the dynamo not by steam, but by water-power, abundance of which, descending from the hills, can be had close by, and only requires utilising. This railway will in many points resemble that up the Righi, only that electricity will be its driving-power instead of the odd-looking little engine so well known at the latter place; and when it is completed, it will certainly be a great boon to travellers frequenting these beautiful spots.

EVENING ON THE LAKE.

Upon the mountain-top the purple tints Fade into mist; and the rich golden glow Of the low-setting sun sinks to a gray Subdued and tender.

Home the eagle hies, Swift, to his eyrie, his broad pinions stretched, Bearing him onwards, seeming motionless The while with rapid wing he cleaves the air, As ship the waters: now the grousecock crows On heathered knoll his vesper lullaby To his dear mate.

And from the silver lake, Cradled in mountain-setting, echoing comes, With rippling music on the air, the plash Of dipping oars; and voices deep and low, Mingled with women’s trebles, tuneful break The evening silence!

Grand indeed it is To be amid these mountain solitudes; And yet there is a sense of rest and calm, Soothing the spirit—stealing o’er the heart Like the soft notes of an Æolian harp, Falling like balm upon the troubled soul, And making the most worldly man to feel That there is over earth a higher heaven!

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The Conductor of CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL begs to direct the attention of CONTRIBUTORS to the following notice:

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

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