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xxiv by a more extended introduction than those which he prefixed to the other "oppressions."

The pragmatism of this work was similar to that of the Deuteronomic Judges; in it also, as may be seen in the non-Deuteronomic parts of 26–36, and 106–16, in 67–10 and in 1 S. 12, the history is interpreted and judged from the prophetic point of view; that the people forsook Yahweh and worshipped the gods of Canaan is here also the fons et origo malorum; in it the conflicts of particular tribes and groups of tribes with their neighbours had already become oppressions and deliverances of all Israel, the heroes of these local struggles, the judges of Israel. But, close as the resemblance is, the distinctive Deuteronomic note is absent; the standpoint is that of Hosea and the prophetic historians who wrote in his spirit, rather than that of Jeremiah and the Deuteronomic school.

The age of this older Book of Judges is fixed within these limits; it may with considerable confidence be ascribed to the 7th century, perhaps to the times of Manasseh.

The hand of the author of the older Judges, like that of the Deuteronomic writer, is recognized in the introduction and the setting of the tales rather than in the tales themselves. The question from what sources the latter are derived is only pushed back one step by the discovery of a pre-Deuteronomic collection. The existence of composite narratives, like the histories of Gideon (ch. 6–8), and Deborah and Barak (ch. 4), shows that there must have been more than one such source. The more or less strongly marked diversity in language and style between the several stories also points to diversity of origin. That these sources were old and good collections of the national traditions, the character of the stories sufficiently attests. On closer inspection, one of them appears to be more ancient and of greater historical worth than the rest. In some instances, as for example in that of Samson (ch. 13–16), the author seems to have known but one version of the story, which he has given entire from one of


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HE advantage of having plenty of time on one's hands is that one has leisure to attend to the affairs of all one's circle of friends; and Archie, assiduously as he watched over the destinies of the Sausage Chappie, did not neglect the romantic needs of his brother-in-law Bill. A few days later, Lucille, returning one morning to their mutual suite, found her husband seated in an upright chair at the table, an unusually stern expression on his amiable face. A large cigar was in the corner of his mouth. The fingers of one hand rested in the armhole of his waistcoat: with the other hand he tapped menacingly on the table.

As she gazed upon him, wondering what could be the matter with him, Lucille was suddenly aware of Bill's presence. He had emerged sharply from the bedroom and was walking briskly across the floor. He came to a halt in front of the table.

"Father!" said Bill.

Archie looked up sharply, frowning heavily over his cigar.

"Well, my boy," he said in a strange, rasping voice. "What is it? Speak up, my boy, speak up! Why the devil can't you speak up? This is my busy day!"

"What on earth are you doing?" asked Lucille.

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Rh Archie waved her away with the large gesture of a man of blood and iron interrupted while concentrating.

"Leave us, woman! We would be alone! Retire into the jolly old background and amuse yourself for a bit. Read a book. Do acrostics. Charge ahead, laddie."

"Father!" said Bill, again.

"Yes, my boy, yes? What is it?"

"Father!"

Archie picked up the red-covered volume that lay on the table.

"Half a mo', old son. Sorry to stop you, but I knew there was something. I've just remembered. Your walk. All wrong!"

"All wrong?"

"All wrong! Where's the chapter on the Art of Walking? Here we are. Listen, dear old soul. Drink this in. 'In walking, one should strive to acquire that swinging, easy movement from the hips. The correctly-poised walker seems to float along, as it were.' Now, old bean, you didn't float a dam' bit. You just galloped in like a chappie charging into a railway restaurant for a bowl of soup when his train leaves in two minutes. Dashed important, this walking business, you know. Get started wrong, and where are you? Try it again.… Much better." He turned to Lucille. "Notice him float along that time? Absolutely skimmed, what?"

Lucille had taken a seat, and was waiting for enlightenment.

"Are you and Bill going into vaudeville?" she asked.

Archie, scrutinising his brother-in-law closely, had further criticism to make.

"'The man of self-respect and self-confidence,'" he

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198 read, "'stands erect in an easy, natural, graceful attitude. Heels not too far apart, head erect, eyes to the front with a level gaze'—get your gaze level, old thing!—'shoulders thrown back, arms hanging naturally at the sides when not otherwise employed'—that means that, if he tries to hit you, it's all right to guard—'chest expanded naturally, and abdomen'—this is no place for you, Lucille. Leg it out of earshot—'ab—what I said before—drawn in somewhat and above all not protruded.' Now, have you got all that? Yes, you look all right. Carry on, laddie, carry on. Let's have two-penn'orth of the Dynamic Voice and the Tone of Authority—some of the full, rich, round stuff we hear so much about!"

Bill fastened a gimlet eye upon his brother-in-law and drew a deep breath.

"Father!" he said. "Father!"

"You'll have to brighten up Bill's dialogue a lot," said Lucille, critically, "or you will never get bookings."

"Father!"

"I mean, it's all right as far as it goes, but it's sort of monotonous. Besides, one of you ought to be asking questions and the other answering. Mill ought to be saying, 'Who was that lady I saw you coming down the street with?' so that you would be able to say, 'That wasn't a lady. That was my wife.' I know! I've been to lots of vaudeville shows."

Bill relaxed his attitude. He deflated his chest, spread his heels, and ceased to draw in his abdomen.

"We'd better try this another time, when we're alone," he said, frigidly. "I can't do myself justice."

"Why do you want to do yourself justice?" asked Lucille.

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Rh "Right-o!" said Archie, affably, casting off his forbidding expression like a garment. "Rehearsal postponed. I was just putting old Bill through it," he explained, "with a view to getting him into mid-season form for the jolly old pater."

"Oh!" Lucille's voice was the voice of one who sees light in darkness. "When Bill walked in like a cat on hot bricks and stood there looking stuffed, that was just the Personality That Wins!"

"That was it."

"Well, you couldn't blame me for not recognising it, could you?"

Archie patted her head paternally.

"A little less of the caustic critic stuff," he said. "Bill will be all right on the night. If you hadn't come in then and put him off his stroke, he'd have shot out some amazing stuff, full of authority and dynamic accents and what not. I tell you, light of my soul, old Bill is all right! He's got the winning personality up a tree, ready whenever he wants to go and get it. Speaking as his backer and trainer, I think he'll twist your father round his little finger. Absolutely! It wouldn't surprise me if at the end of five minutes the good old dad started jumping through hoops and sitting up for lumps of sugar."

"It would surprise me."

"Ah, that's because you haven't seen old Bill in action. You crabbed his act before he had begun to spread himself."

"It isn't that at all. The reason why I think that Bill, however winning his personality may be, won't persuade

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200 father to let him marry a girl in the chorus is something that happened last night."

"Last night?"

"Well, at three o'clock this morning. It's on the front page of the early editions of the evening papers. I brought one in for you to see, only you were so busy. Look! There it is!"

Archie seized the paper.

"Oh, Great Scot!"

"What is it?" asked Bill, irritably. "Don't stand goggling there! What the devil is it?"

"Listen to this, old thing!"

The logical contender for Jack Dempsey's championship honours has been discovered; and, in an age where women are stealing men's jobs all the time, it will not come as a surprise to our readers to learn that she belongs to the sex that is more deadly than the male. Her name is Miss Pauline Preston, and her wallop is vouched for under oath—under many oaths—by Mr. Timothy O'Neill, known to his intimates as Pie-Face, who holds down the arduous job of detective at the Hotel Cosmopolis.

At three o'clock this morning, Mr. O'Neill was advised by the night-clerk that the occupants of every room within earshot of number 618 had 'phoned the desk to complain of a disturbance, a noise, a vocal uproar proceeding from the room mentioned. Thither, therefore, marched Mr. O'Neill, his face full of cheese-sandwich (for he had

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 in some way we ought to have left her responsibilities to have been met by her own energies. Then we should have been able to take and keep the position of friends; she would not have learned to watch our faces to see what expression on her part extorted pity or shillings best, but would have come to us when the memories of the past were too heavy to bear alone, and the words of hope in God's mercy and wisdom would have been spoken from the heart to the heart.

Let visitors be friends, and nothing else, leaving money help to others; or else study seriously all wise effectual ways of help, that they may not be driven to miserable doles of half-crowns and bread-tickets, which are surely destructive of vigorous life in the poor, and of natural healthy relation between friends. I could, you could yourselves, multiply instances of this a hundredfold. It will be more profitable to study how in the future they may be avoided.


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Rh been indulging in an early breakfast or a late supper) and his heart of devotion to duty. He found there the Misses Pauline Preston and "Bobbie" St. Clair, of the personnel of the chorus of the Frivolities, entertaining a few friends of either sex. A pleasant time was being had by all, and at the moment of Mr. O'Neill's entry the entire strength of the company was rendering with considerable emphasis that touching ballad, "There's a Place For Me In Heaven, For My Baby-Boy Is There."

The able and efficient officer at once suggested that there was a place for them in the street and the patrol-wagon was there; and, being a man of action as well as words, proceeded to gather up an armful of assorted guests as a preliminary to a personally-conducted tour into the cold night. It was at this point that Miss Preston stepped into the limelight. Mr. O'Neill contends that she hit him with a brick, an iron casing, and the Singer Building. Be that as it may, her efforts were sufficiently able to induce him to retire for reinforcements, which, arriving, arrested the supper-party regardless of age or sex.

At the police-court this morning Miss Preston maintained that she and her friends were merely having a quiet home-evening and that Mr. O'Neill was no gentleman. The male guests gave their names respectively as Woodrow Wilson, David Lloyd-George, and William J. Bryan. These, however, are believed to be incorrect. But the moral is, if you want excitement rather than sleep, stay at the Hotel Cosmopolis.

Bill may have quaked inwardly as he listened to this epic, but outwardly he was unmoved.

"Well," he said, "what about it?"

"What about it!" said Lucille.

"What about it!" said Archie. "Why, my dear old friend, it simply means that all the time we've been putting in making your personality winning has been

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 A marked advantage of district committees is that, while doing nothing to weaken local action, they present a larger area to the sympathy of their members. When parishes were first constituted, each parish must in general have had its own rich and poor. But this has ceased to be so in many cases, owing to the large population dwelling in a small area. The tendency of late has been to subdivide ecclesiastical districts. The rich are not anxious to have the poor living in very close proximity to them, and every class is more and more driven into quarters appropriated exclusively to itself. The consequence of this is—and increasingly—that if a rich man says, "I will help in my own parish," there are vast numbers of poor living perhaps near to him, probably within what in the country would be considered easy walking distance, and certainly in the same town, whose lives he does not touch. I cannot tell you how terrible to me appear these


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202 chucked away. Absolutely a dead loss! We might just as well have read a manual on how to knit sweaters."

"I don't see it," maintained Bill, stoutly.

Lucille turned apologetically to her husband.

"You mustn't judge me by him, Archie, darling. This sort of thing doesn't run in the family. We are supposed to be rather bright on the whole. But poor Bill was dropped by his nurse when he was a baby, and fell on his head."

"I suppose what you're driving at," said the goaded Bill, "is that what has happened will make father pretty sore against girls who happen to be in the chorus?"

"That's absolutely it, old thing, I'm sorry to say. The next person who mentions the word chorus-girl in the jolly old governor's presence is going to take his life in his hands. I tell you, as one man to another, that I'd much rather be back in France hopping over the top than do it myself."

"What darned nonsense! Mabel may be in the chorus, but she isn't like those girls."

"Poor old Bill!" said Lucille. "I'm awfully sorry, but it's no use not facing facts. You know perfectly well that the reputation of the hotel is the thing father cares more about than anything else in the world, and that this is going to make him furious with all the chorus-girls in creation. It's no good trying to explain to him that your Mabel is in the chorus but not of the chorus, so to speak."

"Deuced well put!" said Archie, approvingly. "You're absolutely right. A chorus-girl by the river's brim, so to speak, a simple chorus-girl is to him, as it were, and she is nothing more, if you know what I mean."

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 vast spaces of ground covered with houses Inhabited by persons at one dead level of poverty; sometimes the tracts appropriated to the houses of the wealthy seem to me in another way more terrible. All good gifts, for which we are bound to lift our hearts in praise to God, seem to retain their sanctity only when they are shared; and it seems to me often as if the luxury, the ease, the splendour, yes, even the fair spaces of lawn and terrace were almost ghastly when they are enjoyed by those who never consider the poor, in whom no spirit of self-sacrifice leads to resolute appropriation of some large share of the good things to those who are out of the way. There are few who do not recognise the duty of giving or sharing in some measure; but the subdivision of districts, leaving one poor and another rich, the ever-extending size of London making the poor farther and farther off from the rich, has a tendency to shut out many poor from this sympathy.


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Rh "So now," said Lucille, "having shown you that the imbecile scheme which you concocted with my poor well-meaning husband is no good at all, I will bring you words of cheer. Your own original plan—of getting your Mabel a part in a comedy—was always the best one. And you can do it. I wouldn't have broken the bad news so abruptly if I hadn't had some consolation to give you afterwards. I met Reggie van Tuyl just now, wandering about as if the cares of the world were on his shoulders, and he told me that he was putting up most of the money for a new play that's going into rehearsal right away. Reggie's an old friend of yours. All you have to do is to go to him and ask him to use his influence to get your Mabel a small part. There's sure to be a maid or something with only a line or two that won't matter."

"A ripe scheme!" said Archie. "Very sound and fruity!"

The cloud did not lift from Bill's corrugated brow.

"That's all very well," he said. "But you know what a talker Reggie is. He's an obliging sort of chump, but his tongue's fastened on at the middle and waggles at both ends. I don't want the whole of New York to know about my engagement, and have somebody spilling the news to father, before I'm ready."

"That's all right," said Lucille. "Archie can speak to him. There's no need for him to mention your name at all. He can just say there's a girl he wants to get a part for. You would do it, wouldn't you, angel-face?"

"Like a bird, queen of my soul."

"Then that's splendid. You'd better give Archie that photograph of Mabel to give to Reggie, Bill."

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 The Charity Organisation Society has done something to mitigate this evil, to make you feel that you are parts of a larger whole than your ecclesiastical parish. The poor-law has compulsorily made you feel it. When it became clear that it was intolerably unjust to throw the burden of the largest number of paupers on the poorest ratepayers, poor-law areas were enlarged so as to unite rich and poor neighbourhoods; also, certain expenditure was charged to a metropolitan rate. That poor-law arrangement, however, never touched your hearts. It is doubtful whether the dwellers in Fitzroy Park feel more united with those in Somer's Town because they are both in St. Pancras parish, nor much added tenderness for the sick man in Poplar, because if he has small-pox he is carried to a hospital supported by a metropolitan rate. The alteration has done good because it has equalised burdens, and enforced the fulfilment of a duty. But the Charity Organisation Society does


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204 "Photograph?" said Bill. "Which photograph? I have twenty-four!"

Archie found Reggie van Tuyl brooding in a window of his club that looked over Fifth Avenue. Reggie was a rather melancholy young man who suffered from elephantiasis of the bank-roll and the other evils that arise from that complaint. Gentle and sentimental by nature, his sensibilities had been much wounded by contact with a sordid world; and the thing that had first endeared Archie to him was the fact that the latter, though chronically hard-up, had never made any attempt to borrow money from him. Reggie would have parted with it on demand, but it had delighted him to find that Archie seemed to take a pleasure in his society without having any ulterior motives. He was fond of Archie, and also of Lucille; and their happy marriage was a constant source of gratification to him.

For Reggie was a sentimentalist. He would have liked to live in a world of ideally united couples, himself ideally united to some charming and affectionate girl. But, as a matter of cold fact, he was a bachelor, and most of the couples he knew were veterans of several divorces. In Reggie's circle, therefore, the home-life of Archie and Lucille shone like a good deed in a naughty world. It inspired him. In moments of depression it restored his waning faith in human nature.

Consequently, when Archie, having greeted him and slipped into a chair at his side, suddenly produced from his inside pocket the photograph of an extremely pretty girl and asked him to get her a small part in the play which he was financing, he was shocked and disappointed.

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 asks you to accept this duty as a privilege, and voluntarily and gladly to help, remembering the less favoured districts which are near you, or which, though farther off, still belong to the same city. It has taken the poor-law boundary to mark its area; it has asked all charitable people within that area to meet and consult about their charities; it has arranged that the working expenses of office and agent shall be shared by a large district, it has formed a meeting-place, where workers for the poor shall be able to learn each what the other is doing, even at the farther extremes of a long parish like this. You will certainly enlarge your sympathies if thus you meet; for when there come before you the stories of living men and women wanting help in districts where funds are not abundant, when you learn to know the clergy and others labouring in poorer places, you will begin to interpret the word "neighbour" in a large and liberal sense.


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 He was in a more than usually sentimental mood that afternoon, and had, indeed, at the moment of Archie's arrival, been dreaming wistfully of soft arms clasped snugly about his collar and the patter of little feet and all that sort of thing. He gazed reproachfully at Archie.

"Archie!" His voice quivered with emotion. "Is it worth it? Is it worth it, old man? Think of the poor little woman at home!"

Archie was puzzled.

"Eh, old top? Which poor little woman?"

"Think of her trust in you, her faith"

"I don't absolutely get you, old bean."

"What would Lucille say if she knew about this?"

"Oh, she does. She knows all about it."

"Good heavens!" cried Reggie. He was shocked to the core of his being. One of the articles of his faith was that the union of Lucille and Archie was different from those loose partnerships which were the custom in his world. He had not been conscious of such a poignant feeling that the foundations of the universe were cracked and tottering and that there was no light and sweetness in life since the morning, eighteen months back, when a negligent valet had sent him out into Fifth Avenue with only one spat on.

"It was Lucille's idea," explained Archie. He was about to mention his brother-in-law's connection with the matter, but checked himself in time, remembering Bill's specific objection to having his secret revealed to Reggie. "It's like this, old thing, I've never met this female, but she's a pal of Lucille's"—he comforted his conscience by the reflection that, if she wasn't now, she would be in a few days—"and Lucille wants to do her a bit of good.

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206 She's been on the stage in England, you know, supporting a jolly old widowed mother and educating a little brother and all that kind and species of rot, you understand, and now she's coming over to America, and Lucille wants you to rally round and shove her into your show and generally keep the home fires burning and so forth. How do we go?"

Reggie beamed with relief. He felt just as he had felt on that other occasion at the moment when a taxi-cab had rolled up and enabled him to hide his spatless leg from the public gaze.

"Oh, I see!" he said. "Why, delighted, old man, quite delighted!"

"Any small part would do. Isn't there a maid or something in your bob's-worth of refined entertainment' who drifts about saying, 'Yes, madam,' and all that sort of thing? Well, then, that's just the thing. Topping! I knew I could rely on you, old bird. I'll get Lucille to ship her round to your address when she arrives. I fancy she's due to totter in somewhere in the next few days. Well, I must be popping. Toodle-oo!"

"Pip-pip!" said Reggie.

It was about a week later that Lucille came into the suite at the Hotel Cosmopolis that was her home, and found Archie lying on the couch, smoking a refreshing pipe after the labours of the day. It seemed to Archie that his wife was not in her usual cheerful frame of mind. He kissed her, and, having relieved her of her parasol, endeavoured without success to balance it on his chin. Having picked it up from the floor and placed it on the table, he became aware that Lucille was looking

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 Do you realise how limited is our notion of it now, and what it has brought us to? Have you any picture before you of the parts of London where for acres and acres the ground is covered with the dwellings of the poor alone, where no landlord can afford many feet of space unbuilt over at the back of his house; where the clergyman toils on almost single-handed, for unrefreshed year after unrefreshed year; where curates will hardly go and work; where no gay life enlivens the monotony of toil, which is interrupted only by the wild unholy carousal of a Bank holiday; where the clergyman's wife can hardly sleep because of the wild mirth of the surrounding streets? We talk of the claims of parish and neighbourhood, and they should be seriously remembered; but are they not sometimes urged rather from a lazy desire not to take the trouble to go farther, or from the easy agreeable wish to oblige the neighbouring minister, who calls to ask a new resident for


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Rh at him in a despondent sort of way. Her grey eyes were clouded.

"Halloa, old thing," said Archie. "What's up?"

Lucille sighed wearily.

"Archie, darling, do you know any really good swear-words?"

"Well," said Archie, reflectively, "let me see. I did pick up a few tolerably ripe and breezy expressions out in France. All through my military career there was something about me—some subtle magnetism, don't you know, and that sort of thing—that seemed to make colonels and blighters of that order rather inventive. I sort of inspired them, don't you know. I remember one brass-hat addressing me for quite ten minutes, saying something new all the time. And even then he seemed to think he had only touched the fringe of the subject. As a matter of fact, he said straight out in the most frank and confiding way that mere words couldn't do justice to me. But why?"

"Because I want to relieve my feelings."

"Anything wrong?"

"Everything's wrong. I've just been having tea with Bill and his Mabel."

"Oh, ah!" said Archie, interested. "And what's the verdict?"

"Guilty!" said Lucilla "And the sentence, if I had anything to do with it, would be transportation for life." She peeled off her gloves irritably. "What fools men are! Not you, precious! You're the only man in the world that isn't, it seems to me. You did marry a nice girl, didn't you? You didn't go running round after females with crimson hair, goggling at them with your

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208 eyes popping out of your head like a bulldog waiting for a bone."

"Oh, I say! Does old Bill look like that?"

"Worse!"

Archie rose to a point of order.

"But one moment, old lady. You speak of crimson hair. Surely old Bill—in the extremely jolly monologues he used to deliver whenever I didn't see him coming and he got me alone—used to allude to her hair as brown."

"It isn't brown now. It's bright scarlet. Good gracious, I ought to know. I've been looking at it all the afternoon. It dazzled me. If I've got to meet her again, I mean to go to the oculist's and get a pair of those smoked glasses you wear at Palm Beach." Lucille brooded silently for a while over the tragedy. "I don't want to say anything against her, of course."

"No, no, of course not."

"But of all the awful, second-rate girls I ever met, she's the worst! She has vermilion hair and an imitation Oxford manner. She's so horribly refined that it's dreadful to listen to her. She's a sly, creepy, slinky, made-up, insincere vampire! She's common! She's awful! She's a cat!"

"You're quite right not to say anything against her," said Archie, approvingly. "It begins to look," he went on, "as if the good old pater was about due for another shock. He has a hard life!"

"If Bill dares to introduce that girl to father, he's taking his life in his hands."

"But surely that was the idea—the scheme—the

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Rh wheeze, wasn't it? Or do you think there's any chance of his weakening?"

"Weakening! You should have seen him looking at her! It was like a small boy flattening his nose against the window of a candy-store."

"Bit thick!"

Lucille kicked the leg of the table.

"And to think," she said, "that, when I was a little girl, I used to look up to Bill as a monument of wisdom. I used to hug his knees and gaze into his face and wonder how anyone could be so magnificent." She gave the unoffending table another kick. "If I could have looked into the future," she said, with feeling, "I'd have bitten him in the ankle!"

In the days which followed, Archie found himself a little out of touch with Bill and his romance. Lucille referred to the matter only when he brought the subject up, and made it plain that the topic of her future sister-in-law was not one which she enjoyed discussing. Mr. Brewster, senior, when Archie, by way of delicately preparing his mind for what was about to befall, asked him if he liked red hair, called him a fool, and told him to go away and bother someone else when they were busy. The only person who could have kept him thoroughly abreast of the trend of affairs was Bill himself; and experience had made Archie wary in the matter of meeting Bill. The position of confidant to a young man in the early stages of love is no sinecure, and it made Archie sleepy even to think of having to talk to his brother-in-law. He sedulously avoided his love-lorn relative, and it was with a sinking feeling one day that, looking over

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210 his shoulder as he sat in the Cosmopolis grill-room preparatory to ordering lunch, he perceived Bill bearing down upon him, obviously resolved upon joining his meal.

To his surprise, however, Bill did not instantly embark upon his usual monologue. Indeed, he hardly spoke at all. He champed a chop, and seemed to Archie to avoid his eye. It was not till lunch was over and they were smoking that he unburdened himself.

"Archie!" he said.

"Hallo, old thing!" said Archie. "Still there? I thought you'd died or something. Talk about our old pals. Tongue-tied Thomas and Silent Sammy! You could beat 'em both on the same evening."

"It's enough to make me silent."

"What is?"

Bill had relapsed into a sort of waking dream. He sat frowning sombrely, lost to the world. Archie, having waited what seemed to him a sufficient length of time for an answer to his question, bent forward and touched his brother-in-law's hand gently with the lighted end of his cigar. Bill came to himself with a howl.

"What is?" said Archie.

"What is what?" said Bill.

"Now listen, old thing," protested Archie. "Life is short and time is flying. Suppose we cut out the cross-talk. You hinted there was something on your mind—something worrying the old bean—and I'm waiting to hear what it is."

Bill fiddled a moment with his coffee-spoon.

"I'm in an awful hole," he said at last.

"What's the trouble?"

"It's about that darned girl!"

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 Archie blinked.

"What!"

"That darned girl!"

Archie could scarcely credit his senses. He had been prepared—indeed, he had steeled himself—to hear Bill allude to his affinity in a number of ways. But "that darned girl" was not one of them.

"Companion of my riper years," he said, "let's get this thing straight. When you say 'that darned girl,' do you by any possibility allude to?"

"Of course I do!"

"But, William, old bird"

"Oh, I know, I know, I know!" said Bill, irritably. "You're surprised to hear me talk like that about her?"

"A trifle, yes. Possibly a trifle. When last heard from, laddie, you must recollect, you were speaking of the lady as your soul-mate, and at least once—if I remember rightly—you alluded to her as your little dusky-haired lamb."

A sharp howl escaped Bill.

"Don't!" A strong shudder convulsed his frame. "Don't remind me of it!"

"There's been a species of slump, then, in dusky-haired lambs?"

"How," demanded Bill, savagely, "can a girl be a dusky-haired lamb when her hair's bright scarlet?"

"Dashed difficult!" admitted Archie.

"I suppose Lucille told you about that?"

"She did touch on it. Lightly, as it were. With a sort of gossamer touch, so to speak."

Bill threw off the last fragments of reserve.

"Archie, I'm in the devil of a fix. I don't know why

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 it was, but directly I saw her—things seemed so different over in England—I mean." He swallowed ice-water in gulps. "I suppose it was seeing her with Lucille. Old Lu is such a thoroughbred. Seemed to kind of show her up. Like seeing imitation pearls by the side of real pearls. And that crimson hair! It sort of put the lid on it." Bill brooded morosely. "It ought to be a criminal offence for women to dye their hair. Especially red. What the devil do women do that sort of thing for?"

"Don't blame me, old thing. It's not my fault."

Bill looked furtive and harassed.

"It makes me feel such a cad. Here am I, feeling that I would give all I've got in the world to get out of the darned thing, and all the time the poor girl seems to be getting fonder of me than ever."

"How do you know?" Archie surveyed his brother-in-law critically. "Perhaps her feelings have changed, too. Very possibly she may not like the colour of your hair. I don't myself. Now, if you were to dye yourself crimson"

"Oh, shut up! Of course a man knows when a girl's fond of him."

"By no means, laddie. When you're my age"

"I am your age."

"So you are! I forgot that. Well, now, approaching the matter from another angle, let us suppose, old son, that Miss What's-Her-Name—the party of the second part"

"Stop it!" said Bill, suddenly. "Here comes Reggie!"

"Eh?"

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Rh "Here comes Reggie van Tuyl. I don't want him to hear us talking about the darned thing."

Archie looked over his shoulder and perceived that it was indeed so. Reggie was threading his way among the tables.

"Well, he looks pleased with things, anyway," said Bill, enviously. "Glad somebody's happy."

He was right. Reggie van Tuyl's usual mode of progress through a restaurant was a somnolent slouch. Now he was positively bounding along. Furthermore, the usual expression on Reggie's face was a sleepy sadness. Now he smiled brightly and with animation. He curveted towards their table, beaming and erect, his head up, his gaze level, and his chest expanded, for all the world as if he had been reading the hints in The Personality That Wins.

Archie was puzzled. Something had plainly happened to Reggie. But what? It was idle to suppose that somebody had left him money, for he had been left practically all the money there was a matter of ten years before.

"Hallo, old bean," he said, as the new-comer, radiating good will and bonhomie, arrived at the table and hung over it like a noon-day sun. "We've finished. But rally round and we'll watch you eat. Dashed interesting, watching old Reggie eat. Why go to the Zoo?"

Reggie shook his head.

"Sorry, old man. Can't. Just on my way to the Ritz. Stepped in because I thought you might be here. I wanted you to be the first to hear the news."

"News?"

"I'm the happiest man alive!"

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 "You look it, darn you!" growled Bill, on whose mood of grey gloom this human sunbeam was jarring heavily.

"I'm engaged to be married!"

"Congratulations, old egg!" Archie shook his hand cordially. "Dash it, don't you know, as an old married man I like to see you young fellows settling down."

"I don't know how to thank you enough, Archie, old man," said Reggie, fervently.

"Thank me?"

"It was through you that I met her. Don't you remember the girl you sent to me? You wanted me to get her a small part"

He stopped, puzzled. Archie had uttered a sound that was half gasp and half gurgle, but it was swallowed up in the extraordinary noise from the other side of the table. Bill Brewster was leaning forward with bulging eyes and soaring eyebrows.

"Are you engaged to Mabel Winchester?"

"Why, by George!" said Reggie. "Do you know her?"

Archie recovered himself.

"Slightly," he said. "Slightly. Old Bill knows her slightly, as it were. Not very well, don't you know, but—how shall I put it?"

"Slightly," suggested Bill.

"Just the word. Slightly."

"Splendid!" said Reggie van Tuyl. "Why don't you come along to the Ritz and meet her now?"

Bill stammered. Archie came to the rescue again.

"Bill can't come now. He's got a date."

"A date?" said Bill.

"A date," said Archie. "An appointment, don't you know. A—a—in fact, a date."

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Rh "But—er—wish her happiness from me," said Bill, cordially.

"Thanks very much, old man," said Reggie.

"And say I'm delighted, will you?"

"Certainly."

"You won't forget the word, will you? Delighted."

"Delighted."

"That's right. Delighted."

Reggie looked at his watch.

"Halloa! I must rush!"

Bill and Archie watched him as he bounded out of the restaurant.

"Poor old Reggie!" said Bill, with a fleeting compunction.

"Not necessarily," said Archie. "What I mean to say is, tastes differ, don't you know. One man's peach is another man's poison, and vice versa."

"There's something in that."

"Absolutely! Well," said Archie, judicially, "this would appear to be, as it were, the maddest, merriest day in all the glad New Year, yes, no?"

Bill drew a deep breath.

"You bet your sorrowful existence it is!" he said. "I'd like to do something to celebrate it."

"The right spirit!" said Archie. "Absolutely the right spirit! Begin by paying for my lunch!"

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text: Indiscretions of Archie/Chapter 19

title: Indiscretions of Archie/Chapter 19


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 VOLUME II.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

The Master said: "It is the moral character of a neighbourhood that constitutes its excellence, and how can he be considered wise who does not elect to dwell in moral surroundings?"

CHAPTER II.

The Master said: "A man without Virtue cannot long abide in adversity, nor can he long abide in happiness;


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10 "Having therefore successfully rebelled against a most ignoble, degrading, and brutal tyranny, we now find ourselves in the position of men who will have to contend against the desperate energy of those who were formerly our rulers. If they again get the upper hand, they will be merciless and inexorably cruel in their revenge; the history of the past teaches us that.

"We must therefore be wary, yet swift and bold.

"We must hesitate at nothing which will render our triumph unquestionably complete and lasting.

"Let all our sympathisers carry arms, and as many as possible enrol themselves in companies of military volunteers.

"I recommend further that the resources of the new Government be used for the purpose of giving employment to all who are in need of it, and further, that it be made a criminal offence to employ men more than eight hours daily, except in case of special unforeseen emergency.

"It should be decreed by law that a minimum wage of not less than two pounds sterling weekly should be paid to adult workers in all industries.

"A Board should be selected to fix a minimum price for all the necessaries of life.

"All civil law must be abrogated, and the criminal law entirely remodelled.

"Only by the measures I have proposed, can we maintain the revolutionary enthusiasm, and guard against the possibility of reaction or counter revolution.

"When we have taken these steps, we can then proceed to gradually, but as speedily as possible, bring into existence the peaceful, harmonious social state, that Co-operative Commonwealth, which has been for generations the dream of poets, the ideal of philosophers, and the demand of revolutionists.

"I conclude with the words of the French 'man of action,' Danton—'We must have boldness, boldness, and always boldness!'"

Oliver Spence resumed, his seat amid a perfect hurricane of applause and exclamations of undying fidelity to the revolutionary cause. The old building fairly shook with the vociferations of the delegates, and so great was the excitement that the air seemed as though charged with electricity.

Spence had been listened to amidst a silence which seemed almost death-like in its stillness, but when he pointed out to the delegates the necessary steps to be taken in order to give practical effect to the aims of the revolutionists and to prevent the possibility of a return to the old order of things, all gave him their enthusiastic support, and a resolution to the effect that he should be appointed, for the period of one year, Dictator with plenary powers, was carried unanimously.

The speaker who proposed the resolution said that for centuries the people had been swindled, plundered, and oppressed by corrupt ruling gangs called parliaments. They would now see what could be done by the rule of one good wise, and capable man.

After the Convention had appointed committees for the purpose of re-modelling the criminal code and fixing a maximum price for foods and other necessaries of life, the delegates adjourned.

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 help in the Sunday school or district? If, indeed, the decision is a deliberate choice of a near duty distinctly seen, rather than of a far off one less realised, one may respect it. But we must remember there are other claims than those arising out of proximity, and that it may be our duty to realise what is not brought under our eyes. We live upon the labours of the poor in districts far from our homes. Our fathers and brothers may have chambers, factories, offices right down among them. We are content to draw our wealth from these. Does this imply no duty? Is the whole duty fulfilled when the head of a firm draws a cheque for donations to the local charity, and are the gentle ministrations of the ladies of the family to be confined to the few pampered poor near their house? It is our withdrawal from the less pleasant neighbourhood to build for ourselves substantial villas with pleasant gardens, which has left these tracts what they are. Even when there


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 is nothing sensationally terrible in the wickedness or destitution of a place, when it is covered with little houses of laundresses or small shopkeepers, are we who have advantages of education or refinement not needed there? Have we no bright flowers to take to the people, no books to lend, no sweet sympathy and young brightness to carry among them? Ought we not to be accumulating those memories which will give us a place near them as real friends if the time of loss and trial comes?

I would urge you all who are inhabitants of a large parish, markedly divided into poor and rich districts, as citizens of a city fearfully so divided, to weigh well your duties; and, never forgetting the near ones to home and neighbourhood, to remember also that when Europe is sacrificed to England, England to your own town, your own town to your parish, your parish to your family, the step is easy to sacrifice your family to


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but the Virtuous man is at rest in Virtue, and the wise man covets it."

CHAPTER III.

The Master said: "Only the Virtuous are competent to love or to hate men."

CHAPTER IV.

The Master said: "He who has really set his mind onVirtue will do no evil."

CHAPTER V.

1. The Master said: "Wealth and rank are what men desire, but


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unless they be obtained in the right way they are not to be possessed. Poverty and obscurity are what men detest; but unless it can be brought about in the right way, they are not to be abandoned. 2. If a man of honour forsake Virtue how is he to fulfil the obligations of his name! 3. A man of honour never disregards Virtue, even for the space of a single meal. In moments of haste he cleaves to it; in seasons of peril he cleaves to it."


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CHAPTER VI.

1. The Master said: "I have never seen one who loved Virtue, nor one who hated what was not Virtuous. He who loved Virtue would esteem nothing above it; and he who hated what is not Virtuous would himself be so Virtuous that he would allow nothing evil to adhere to him. 2. Is there any one able for a single day to devote his strength to Virtue? I have never seen such a one whose ability


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would be insufficient. 3. If perchance there be such I have never seen him."

CHAPTER VII.

The Master said: "A man's faults all conform to his type of mind. Observe his faults and you may know his virtues."

CHAPTER VIII.

The Master said: "He who heard the Truth in the morning might die content in the evening."


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Rh

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. Whereas if you try to accept the duty as our Lord showed it, and to carry with you joyfully in such acceptance those who are nearest and dearest to you, you will find that a large and true imagination will show you the place which every duty should hold in your lives; you will not find any human being so away but that your sympathy will reach, and your desire to help will tell in due degree if the need of help comes. Your life, be it shadowed ever so much by individual loss or pain, will be full and blessed; for all God's children will be dear to you, and His earth sacred; you will have no real conflict of duties, nor long doubt about their relative importance; no pain shall overwhelm, nor doubt confound you; for the blessing of guidance shall be yours, and you will assuredly learn what those words mean, "When thou passest through the waters I will be with thee, and through the rivers they shall not overflow thee." "Though the Lord give thee


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2 the window, or magnanimously point with my finger to the door, and shout in a voice of thunder, 'Leave the room and the house this moment, sir!'

When my father came home, my mother took him aside, and told him in whispers what she evidently did not wish me to know. He appeared to be very much astonished. It was drawing towards evening, and tea would soon be ready. Instead of going in to see our mysterious visitor at once, my father went to his room and changed his dress. He was a retired merchant, and amused himself by cultivating a large orchard, and five acres of meadowland which lay around our pretty cottage, in one of the most beautiful recesses of the coast of Devonshire. When he thought himself quite ready for presentation, he was conducted, by my now smiling mother, into the presence of the old man, and then the door was again carefully closed.

In a short time my dear mother came out, not weeping this time, and proceeded to get the tea ready. Her face, always beautiful to me, was radiant with mysterious happiness, which I thought, if it depended on the possible residence of that aged party with us, might be short-lived. I asked her who he was, and coaxed her to tell me; but she only replied: 'Oh, you little know, and you could not dream; but you will know in good time. He will tell you himself probably. He is a very wonderful old gentleman, more than ninety years of age. He told me not to tell you who he was.'

When our evening meal was ready, he emerged from the sitting-room, leaning on my father's arm. My sister Bertha had just come in from her rambles, and, having been introduced to him, sat down to the table gazing at the unexpected visitor with the utmost astonishment. He was a total stranger to us both. His face was dark and weather-beaten; his hair and beard were white as snow; his eyes were small,


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 the bread of adversity, and the water of affliction, yet shall not thy teachers be removed into a corner any more; but thine eyes shall see thy teachers, and thine ears shall hear a word saying, This is the way, walk ye in it, when ye turn to the right hand or when ye turn to the left."


text: Our Common Land (and other short essays)/Chapter 7


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Rh

Him wæs ful boren,ond frēond-laþu wordum bewægned,ond wunden gold ēstum geēawed,earm-[h]rēade twā, hrægl ond hrin*gas,heals-bēaga mǣst, þāra þe ic on foldangefrægen hæbbe. Nǣnigne ic under sweglesēlran hȳrde hord-mādmum hæleþa,syþðan Hāma ætwæg tō þǣre byrhtan byrigBrōsinga mene, sigle ond sinc-fæt,searo-nīðas flēah Eormenrīces,gecēas ēcne rǣd. Þone hring hæfdeHigelāc Gēata, nefa Swertinges,nȳhstan sīðe, siðþan hē under segnesine ealgode, wæl-rēaf werede;hyne wyrd fornam,

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Rh gray, and piercing. While he drank his tea he scarcely noticed my sister or myself, but conversed a little with our parents. I shall not recall their conversation, as it was only desultory and immaterial; but when we drew our chairs closer to the fire, and my father had placed some old journals on the table to be looked over, the old gentleman commenced his explanation in this way:

'Young lady and gentleman, you do not know who I am. You think, perhaps, that I am a visitor from another world, and I certainly bear that about me which might justify you in so thinking. But I am not so, and although I believe I have been in other worlds on short visits, I do not belong to them, having been born into this one, and not far from this very place, exactly ninety-five years ago. Did you ever hear of the great Bumblefuscus, who fought with, and destroyed, the enormous serpent which used to kill and eat five hundred men and women every day for five thousand years?'

My sister and I looked at each other in wonder and dismay, while our father and mother nearly laughed outright. At length I replied: 'No, sir ; but I have books that tell lies about St. George and the Dragon, and about Baron Munchausen, and I have "Gulliver's Travels."'

'Good books, nice books, for innocent boys and girls,' said the old gentleman. 'Well, I am not the great Bumblefuscus, but I am the little Oliver Ubertus, who once fought a battle with the great enemy of mankind—I am your father's grandfather, your great-grandfather. You know me now; come and kiss me, Bertha.'

Bertha ran and gave our venerable relative several hearty kisses, and embraced him with unfeigned affection. I also felt his trembling lips pressed to my forehead and cheek. The tears fell from his eyes. Our parents also had recourse to their handkerchiefs. Solemn silence reigned in our house


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4 for a considerable time. At length he suffered us to resume our seats, although it was not possible for us to withdraw our eyes from his face. Suddenly thrusting his hand into a capacious pocket, he drew from its recesses a parcel of moderate size, which he proceeded slowly to untie. We were filled with curiosity, not unmingled with an undefined expectation of seeing something wonderful; but when we saw him draw forth first a beautiful gold watch and chain and hold it up, saying, 'This is for a good girl, named Bertha,' and then another, with the words, 'And this is for a good boy, named Willie,' our delight and gratitude knew no bounds.

Our great-grandfather told us, in the course of remarks made almost at random, that he had been a great traveller, but he would not trouble us with his travels at present. He had come, he said, unexpectedly, and without announcing his approach—because his whole life had been a series of extraordinary surprises—to lay his bones beside those of his ancestors. His grandson, our father, had kindly given him permission to spend his last years, or days, as the case might be by his fireside; and our good mother did not object. In all probability he would not trouble us long; but be the time long or short, he would throw himself on the generosity of his young descendants, and ask for their guidance and protection.

He lived with us for about two years in comparatively good health, showing only now and then the bodily weakness incidental to his great age. His mental faculties did not seem to fail him in the least, and his mind was at perfect peace. Occasionally he was overheard talking aloud when he thought himself to be alone, as if holding an animated conversation with an invisible individual, whom he called Dr. Junius or Julius. Either my sister or myself always accompanied him in his frequent strolls along the lovely


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CHAPTER IX.

The Master said: "The student who aims at Wisdom, and yet who is ashamed of shabby clothes and poor food, is not yet worthy to be discoursed with."

CHAPTER X.

The Master said: "The wise man in his attitude towards the world has neither predilections nor prejudices. He is on the side of what is right."

CHAPTER XI.

The Master said: "The man of honour thinks of his character,


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Rh shore, or into the interior of the county, by some of its charming lanes. On one of these occasions, when, on a calm April evening, we rambled through a delightful valley, on the banks of a gushing stream, out upon the seashore, and had turned to go back home, he sank down upon a grassy bank, sighed deeply, and spoke thus:

'I shall soon be leaving you, Willie; my silver thread of life is nearly run out. God has been good to me, and merciful, although I have been self-exalted and forgetful of my duty to Him. I have often listened to the voice of the tempter, and given way to sinful passion, and I am glad to fee on the verge of release from all possibility of falling into those sins again. You will ask what there can be to tempt a man who is nearly a hundred years old. Nothing, certainly, if we are to judge by what is tangible and visible; but there may be a great deal within the soul; and within mine there has been a constant warfare with a mysterious and powerful being, who was pertinacious in his attacks, and unwearied in his efforts to undermine my allegiance to the great Author of my existence. At first he would insist that there was no God at all; we did not see or hear Him, and therefore He did not exist. Next, this evil being would try to persuade me that the Divinity of Jesus Christ, as the actual Son of God, in whom so many millions of people believe, is a mere delusion—an invention without a shadow of truth or probability in it. But I am weak; I cannot talk much now. . ..

'Every word,' he continued after a long pause, upon which I did not dare to intrude, 'must be to the purpose and well weighed. There are words which, if they could be weighed as we can weigh the bread we eat, would be worth their weight in refined gold. I have found those golden words in my Bible. Yes, blessed be God! I shall go soon, but not to the abyss of darkness where eternal wickedness


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the inferior man of his position. The man of honour desires justice, the inferior man favour."

CHAPTER XII.

The Master said: "He who works for his own interests will arouse much animosity."

CHAPTER XIII.

The Master said: "Is a Prince able to rule his country with courtesy and deference, then what difficulty will he have? And if he cannot rule his country with courtesy and deference, what use are the forms of courtesy to him?"


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6 reigns. Oh, Willie, Willie, what a life mine has been! You will find among my effects, when I shall be removed from this world of trouble, a history of the trials and temptations to which I have been exposed. My great enemy is living still, and as active and determined as ever. Whether he is the king of evil himself, or merely a satrap of his empire, I cannot tell. The work I leave behind me fully describes him, and the conflicts I had with him. It is not a religious work. Many will despise it, doubtless, on account of the strain of merriment which runs through it; others will condemn it, because they will find it difficult to understand its hidden meanings, or to believe in the worth of its moral teaching. I leave it with you, Willie, to publish it, if you can find a publisher. Now let us go home; my mind is at rest; but all my life I have been in terror lest I should fall into the hell of unbelief, and so lose all hope of that glorious heaven on which I had set my heart.'

Some two or three months after this conversation we buried our aged progenitor, not without tears. He left his small estate in Tasmania to my parents, and through them it is destined to become mine. And to my sister he left all his personal property, which proved to be not inconsiderable.

The following is the work of which he had told me, and it is now published with very few alterations. Before its readers venture to condemn it for its 'absurdities,' will they receive the assurance that it was written by the author with a serious purpose, if also in the hope of amusing his fellow-men, whose happiness my great-grandfather always took in promoting?


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lakes of Tasmania are, with one or two exceptions, situated on the higher levels of the mountains. The mountains occupy a large space-some thousands of square miles—in the centre of the island. They rise abruptly from a surrounding belt of level plains, which are bounded by other mountains nearer to the sea. On these plains, which are relieved by occasional hills and valleys, the settlers of the colony have created many handsome, and even elegant, mansions; and they have brought into cultivation, and stocked with sheep and cattle, valuable lands which one hundred years ago were the domains of black and naked savages, who lived on kangaroos, opossums, and snakes. From a moderate distance the mountains present a magnificent appearance, being broken at irregular intervals by precipices and bold headlands, which the inhabitants call bluffs. No lover of the picturesque and wild beauties of the world can look upon these gigantic walls without feeling an anxious desire to scale them, and see for himself what is on the other side. That was the wish I formed the first time that I saw them, but it was only after the lapse of several years that I was able to gratify the wish.

Having become acquainted with a family of sheep-owners


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8 who occupy a station on the northern shore of Lake Sorell, I was fortunate enough to receive an invitation to spend some time with them. I had a month or two of leisure in the oppressive summer time, so, being in the enjoyment of good health, I shouldered my knapsack one fine morning in April, and clambered up the eastern face of the Western Tier, by a steep and rocky zigzag road which men and horses can travel, but no wheeled vehicle. The side of the mountain was covered with a dense forest, having an undergrowth of scrub and coarse grass, studded with huge rocks. The track was blocked up in several places by trees that were lying prostrate, and I found it difficult to make my way among their tangled roots or branches. The steepness of the ascent made the walk a somewhat laborious one. Surmounting all difficulties, however, I found myself, at the sultry hour of noon, sitting on my knapsack, on the very summit of the mountain, some three thousand feet above the sea, with an extensive shining lake spread out at my feet. Seated there, I was soon lost in dreamland, building sparkling 'castles in the air'—a habit to which I am, fortunately or unfortunately, rather strongly disposed.

I stay the progress of my narrative here, in order to say a few words about myself, which my generous readers will kindly excuse. I belong to that class of men who are styled 'visionary' by their wiser and more practical acquaintances, who never, in their imagination, see anything that may be on the top of a mountain, or at the other side of a haystack. Some use the adjective in contempt, others in derision, again, in profound pity. They say that a 'visionary' man cannot look after his proper business, but is certain to drop into the pitfall of irretrievable ruin. But I attended to my business for a great many years with fair measure of success, though now, as I am in the 'sear and yellow leaf,' I have handed it over to younger men. A 'visionary' man


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 England which can be preserved for the common good; and, secondly, in what way such land can best be used. Is it best to parcel it out amongst various owners, and increase the building or corn-growing area? Is it best to let the largest possible amount of it in allotments to the poor? Is it well to devote any portion of it, in rural as well as suburban districts, to the public, to be by them enjoyed in common, in the form of beautiful, wild, open space?

It must be observed that the nation as a nation is not held to possess the open, uncultivated, unappropriated land of England. True, generation after generation has passed over much of it freely, but it seems that the people are not thereby held to have acquired a right to do so. Perhaps this is because such right has no money value, for rights of way, rights of light, rights of possession of soil, even rights on these very open spaces of pasturing cattle, cutting furze and of playing games are


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 by law when they have been long enjoyed. Had the right to wander freely, and to enjoy the beauty of earth and sky, been felt to be a more distinct possession, it may be that these rights also would have been legally recognised; but it has not hitherto been so. It is, therefore, lords of manors and commoners who have mainly the control of such waste places. When, however, they come to Parliament to ask to have their respective rights settled, and to get leave to inclose, Parliament has, under the Inclosure Acts, distinctly a voice in deciding the appropriation of the land. What ought its decision to be, having in view the future life of the nation as well as the present one?

That aesthetic considerations govern individuals in the disposition of their own estates is clear. When a gentleman possesses an estate he apportions it to various uses. He asks himself how much of it he will devote to arable land and kitchen garden; some small


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Rh may be unfit for some occupations, but he can, if he pleases, make himself useful and agreeable to others, and he can improve his little farm, if he has one, as Cincinnatus did, and as I, in all humility, do, by cutting down trees where they are too thick, and planting them where they are too thin. And now, as the reader knows all about me that he will care to know, I will further explain that, as I sat on the shore of Lake Sorell on that high mountain, in the far distant island of Tasmania, building sparkling 'castles in the air,' I fell into the following train of thought:

'I am rather tired of this same castle-building. Of what use is it? If I walk in a frenzy into this lake, will it save me from being drowned? If I fall over these rocks and break my leg, will it mend it again, and give me renewed strength to prosecute my journey? Will it put money in my purse when it is empty, or bread on my table, or clothes on my back? If it is a gift from on high, a branch, possibly, of the great candelabrum of human genius, of what use is it? Surely the ability to dig potatoes, to break in horses, to cook a dinner, or to sweep a crossing, would be much more beneficial to its possessor, and useful to the world at large. It is like Falstaff's honour: it pricks us on, and often pricks us off again; not even a word or a mere breath of air, only a thought built up in any fantastic shape we please, and then blown into fragments. And yet it is not like Falstaff's honour; it is not always of lower rank than a breath of air. It is an amusement to the great heart and mind of man, when he who builds such a castle has not a balance at his bankers' to amuse him, or a regiment of soldiers, or a ship to command, or anything to do to keep himself alive. It is an unquestionable fact that our airy castles, which your hard-headed, practical people sneer at so much, very often turn into real towers of grandeur and magnificence. Did Nelson, or Wellington, or Stanley, never build castles in the


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10 air about winning glorious victories and achieving immortal renown?

'So I, Oliver Ubertus, of Tasmania, wool-grower (my friends smile at me, and tell me that I am a boy still, though over sixty years of age), while laughing to scorn the idea of glorious victories and immortal renown, have often built castles, which gradually dwindled into a snug little estate in the country; and a pleasant house, with trees and a garden around it; and a diminutive park, with a horse or two and a few simple-minded cows in it; and a cosy library indoors, and an outside run for a few hundred sheep, all my own. And now, when I have all these in reality, it must be acknowledged that my airy castle has become a substantial one of timber and stone, albeit one of very humble dimensions.'

My soliloquy ended, I rose up and continued my journey, stepping boldly into the wild Bush. Some idea of writing and publishing a book about these wonderful Tasmanian lakes, that would astonish the world and shake it up to the very centre of its cold, selfish heart, entered into my mind, and became a dreamy fascination which I could not shake off. It recurred again and again as I pursued my way. But it must be no ordinary book. If it should be nothing but a dry description of land and water, or even a kind of half and-half history of another Paris and Helen, or of some forlorn Angelina or Virginia pining on an island, or a story of the romantic love of a local Tom Smith and his Betsy Jane Stubbs, the mighty world would scarcely condescend to touch it at all.

I am travelling now through a very thick, dark forest, along a snake-like track which winds round the northern shore, and I find myself booked for a weary, solitary tramp of at least twenty miles. I thought I should never get out of that forest, and began to imagine myself a veritable Babe in the Wood. There was no fear of my being lost, for the


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Rh lake could not fly away, and my friend's house was within half a mile of it. At last, in about four hours' time, I emerged into the open country, and entered upon a vast marsh, which was bounded at a great distance by a range of high wooded hills. There were mountains to be seen all round in this land of enchantment—mountains piled on mountains. For a time immersed to the waist in an ocean, so to speak, of rushes, which greatly added to the fatigue of walking, I plodded on; but it was fortunate for me that I was not compelled to wade up to my knees in water, or flounder pitiably over my boot-tops in hideous black mud. The time was passing quickly, the sun was sinking, and the end of my journey seemed as far off as ever. Extricating myself at last from the thick rushes, I strode into the wood again, which was now much more open, and then toiled wearily on until, as night was coming on, I arrived at a paddock, in which a new weather-boarded cottage could be descried at a little distance. This proved to be the very dwelling of which I was in search. I received a warm welcome, as is usually the case under such circumstances, and soon sat down to enjoy a refreshing cup of tea. The honours of the table were done by a young lady, a sister of my host, who, with her little niece, resides here during the summer, and takes great pleasure in the pure mountain air and in the delightful scenery around the lake.

I was told a great deal that evening about the curiosities of the locality. There is a so-called phantom island in Lake Sorell, and I was a week in my friend's house before I succeeded in getting a glimpse of it. There is also a beautiful wooded island in it which is by no means a phantom. The lake is about ten miles in diameter, and is surrounded, except in a few marshy places, with rocky and densely-wooded shores. It might be appropriately called the Tasmanian Lake of the Woods. On its southern


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12 shore the celebrated Thomas Francis Meagher, he of the drawn sword and of 'Irish Invincible' fame, resided for a time.

One morning I went down to the lake before sunrise, and found the opposite shores enveloped in a thick atmosphere of blue smoke, which had risen from many surrounding Bush fires. Above the edge of this smoke a splendid orange glow preceded the rising sun. A soft hazy cloud stretched itself over such of the adjacent hills as were at all visible. The lake had the appearance of an extensive sea—a vast sheet of the brightest silver, studded with millions of glancing particles of gold. Then, and not till then, I found the object of my search—the phantom island. Alas for the genius of romance! It was not a creation of indescribable grandeur like a mediaeval castellated rock or a fairy-like garden in a pearly ocean, such as we read of in Byron and Moore. On the contrary, it presented the very practical appearance of the black hull of a huge ship, rising only a few feet above the surface of the water, and yet seeming to be suspended over it like the flying island of 'Gulliver's Travels.' It is evidently nothing more nor less than a low mass of rock nearly in the centre of the lake, not always visible; and when I first saw it I fancied myself standing on the brink of the Nile, surveying the hulk of one of the great French ships which had been battered to pieces in Nelson's famous battle.

The Cradle Mountain, and the hills around, were totally invisible, owing to the dense columns of smoke which rose from the sides of the Western Tier, where fierce fires were raging. On such occasions a weird and deceptive glare is cast upon the water; and that morning the rosy glow of the sunrise through the nearly opaque gloom rendered the scene a truly magnificent one. A Bush fire also had broken out on the estate occupied by my friend Mr. Solomon


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Rh Pepper, and I volunteered my services to help to save his fences from being burnt. But it unfortunately happened that, in spite of all our efforts, fully two miles of fencing were destroyed. One of these fires was the grandest I ever saw; the flames roared like thunder, and leaped up in the forest to the height of forty or fifty feet.

After the pearly lake and the phantom island, what will you say, gentle reader, to a Giant's Castle? It is an eccentric idea of mine to give it that name. Before I attempted to explore the edifice itself, I discovered the graves of the giant and his wife, or what might be regarded as such, close to the public road and the margin of the lake. They—I mean the graves, not the bodies—lie side by side, but, as there are no monuments of any kind, I cannot be certain that the giant and his wife actually lie buried there.

The Giant's Castle is, in fact, a stupendous pile of rocks, towering one above another, and reaching to a height of about five hundred feet above the tops of the forest trees by which it is surrounded. It is a mile from the shore, and consists of a hard gray granite, or something of that kind, which seems to be impervious to the assaults of all the raging elements. At present it bears the unclassical name of Todd's Hill; but it ought to be called Castle Rock or Mount Terror. I was of course seized with an irresistible desire to ascend its perpendicular heights, and, to my great delight, my young hostess and her little niece promptly volunteered to be my guides.

We selected a fine afternoon for our excursion, and started at three o'clock. The air was calm and warm, but, unfortunately, not so free from smoke as we could have wished. The ascent was not particularly difficult, if I except the rough rocks which we had to scramble over, until we reached the foot of the enormous crags which form the ruined walls and turrets of the magnificent structure.


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14 We followed for some time a well-defined track round the base of the rocky tower, seeking for the least impregnable part by which we might scale the escarpment, which was now hanging in confused masses over our heads. At last we discovered a narrow natural staircase among the rocks, which led us up to a grassy platform covered with innumerable trees. At the further side of this we found another pile of rocks, and these also we ascended, traversing at last a narrow ledge, which led us up to the highest pinnacle. Now came the tug of war. I had been advised to keep my head cool—it is by nature exceedingly hot—and to brace up my nerves—which, to say the least, were never very strong—and to effect both objects I screwed my hat firmly down over my eyebrows.

My fair guides tripped along like antelopes; but I, being well up in years, and inclined to be heavy, passed the causeway very cautiously indeed. Two unexpected sights burst suddenly upon my view. On our left lay the remains of a vast chamber, deep in the heart of the mountain, the roof of which must have been blown off in the centuries gone by in some terrible convulsion of the earth, and the ruins scattered about in every direction. On our right lay a frightful precipice, and, like imperial eagles, we were pluming our feathers on the very edge. The distance to the tops of the trees below seemed amazing. A sheer wall of rock was beneath our feet, the highest I had ever been on in my life.

At first my head began to feel a little giddy, and at such times a kind of paroxysm comes over me, which in my assumed allegorical character I find it impossible to control. My imagination does not require a very strong charge of dynamite in order to set it going. Where are now my dreams of being able one day to see my native land again, and of embracing the friends, the brothers and sisters of my youth?


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Rh Where are now the vile and crooked rascalities of the human hive—its pride, its venom, its avarice, and its arrogance? I even lose thought of my companions. I am alone, but surrounded with beings of another world. In this silent, impressive solitude I ask what I really am—a being destined to live for ever, armed with a dreadful power, or a poor, miserable creature of despicable clay, doomed to sleep the eternal sleep, or live on for centuries in the shadow of death? Why do I live and have power to move and think? And what awful power is that which prevents me from losing the command of my own strength, and falling headlong from the lop of this precipice? What am I now? A mere insect of life, a mere atom of matter, which a sudden gust of wind might blow, shrieking or senseless, into that profound abyss.

Ha, ha! what is the value, I should like to know, of the boasted highly-prized philosophy of mankind, and who are those men who dare to place their own limits on the power of the great Creator? If there is any scene to be surveyed in the world likely to convince such men of their own insignificance, it is one like this. It is like a looking-glass with two opposing surfaces. It can show the beholder how small he really is, and still how great and magnificent he can become. If his body is a mere atom compared to the mountain, he is gifted with an intellect which can grasp and understand it. But let him not be presumptuous; his metaphysical philosophy is—at least, the greater part of it is—nothing but conjecture.

What do I see? What do I hear? The faint pale-blue glimmering of approaching lightning, the muffled mutterings of distant thunder, the gushing sounds of torrents of rain renewing the life of the thirsty, sun-baked earth, the hoarse growling of the wild hurricane still chained up far away over the sea, the convulsive pantings of the earthquake destined to


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16 rend these iron masses from their foundations, but still securely bottled up.

What scenes, what creatures, are these? Circles of brilliantly-dressed ladies and gentlemen, myriads of white-robed beings, and a host of captive mountain tigers dancing round me in the graces of youth and beauty to the splendid music of the band of the Coldstream Guards—and listen! Whose voice is that?

'Look, oh, look, Mr. Ubertus,' warbled from the summit the elder Lady of the Lake, 'at this enchanting scene ! Is it not lovely? Come up here!'

'Up there, my dear young lady! I am not a rope-dancer or a chimpanzee. I can see it from where I am.'

And lovely it certainly was. Lake Sorell, with all its charming sinuosities of island and shore, of mountain, marsh, and forest, lay spread out beneath us like a coloured map of grand proportions. Lake Crescent lay farther off, looking like a round polished mirror deeply set within a fringe of dark-green ribbons. The isthmus between the lakes came out in strong relief. A Bush fire was raging at Interlaken. The mountains and hills around us reflected the amber light of the setting sun, his golden rays softened and mellowed into the richest of ruby tints by the smoke of the distant fires.

Lured on by an insatiable desire to see whatever might be worth seeing, I rambled forth alone on another afternoon in search of this wonderful castle, and then beheld it from below. At imminent danger to neck and limbs I climbed through and over a wilderness of rocks, and stood at last at the foot of the gigantic pile, gazing upwards at its towers and battlements. It did not present a perpendicular face, as I had at first assumed, but that of a sharp, jagged cone which appeared to have been besieged and battered by heavy guns for years. And yet what was it compared to


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Rh the mountains of other lands? Still, it interested my lonely and brooding mind at the time, and in a pleasing and healthy way changed the gloomy current of my thoughts.

That night strange and weird ideas crowded into my mind, and strange and weird dreams, with but little originality in them, haunted my pillow. In the great ruined chamber of the Giant's Castle I saw sights which made my blood boil with excitement, angels and demons fighting for the mastery, as in Swift's 'Battle of the Books.'


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at Lake Sorell it was my custom to retire to rest at nine o'clock, because I knew that my sitting up later would inconvenience my host and hostess; the former being anxious to get up early to attend to his daily duties, and the latter being accustomed to study for an hour after all the household had retired. Before wishing them goodnight, however, I made it a rule to take a few turns outside the house, in order to see what kind of weather we were likely to have during the night and on the following day, and also to meditate awhile on the philosophy of nature, and on the strange vicissitudes of human experience. It was the second evening after my visit to the Giant's Castle that I became as weary of the protracted drought as Mr. Pepper was, who had told me that if it continued much longer it would blight everything green and fresh, and transform the very air into a seething furnace of suffocating smoke. I looked out upon the surrounding belt of tall forest trees, and up at the cloudless sky, with strong feelings of disappointment and fear, for I deeply sympathised with the anxieties which belong to the poor farmer's lot whether he be a keeper of sheep or a tiller of the soil.

Just before entering the house again that evening, I saw


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Rh a sudden flash of pale blue light, low down upon the northern horizon, which made my heart leap with joy. I had already seen one in broad daylight, while on the pinnacle of the castle, in my mind's eye. Now it was a reality. There was actual lightning approaching, and there was thunder in the air, but as yet it had not made itself heard. I watched for at least an hour the successive faint flashes, which gradually increased their wild play through the wilderness, and then I went to my couch in the happy belief that the long-expected and thrice-blessed rain was coming.

At midnight exactly I was awakened by a tremendous crash of thunder rolling along the very ridge-pole of the roof. Springing from my bed, and throwing on an overcoat, I went out into the open air. The sky, to my great surprise, was still without a cloud, and not a breath of wind stirred the leaves of the trees; but the lightning flashed incessantly in blinding columns of flame, lighting up the gloomiest recesses of the immense forest, and sweeping with strange, ghostly, phosphorescent glow over the calm waters of the adjacent lake. The thunder still pealed out, crash after crash; but where did it all come from? Why all this terrible clamour, and weird illumination of the vasty deep, if we were to get no rain? Unable to solve the mystery, I turned in to my bed again.

Two hours after I was again awakened. A loud trumpeting and drumming deluge was falling on the roof. Never was music more sweet, or eloquence of stunning senator more delicious; but alas! it ceased almost as soon as it began, and subsided into light and intermittent showers, which continued until daybreak. Then the convulsion ceased altogether, and we were left once more to our silent slumbers.

After breakfast I strolled down to the lake, as I was in


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20 the habit of doing. It was a most lovely morning in April, hot as in the middle of summer, and the still parched earth was tasting for more rain. I thought it exceedingly strange that no sooner did I seat myself on the shore than I lost, or seemed to lose, all perception of where I actually was falling straightway into a mesmeric trance, a delightful reverie, and thence into a day-dream, in which the scenes and the persons who figured in them became to me substantial realities. A soft atmosphere, clear, bright, and sparkling, to which I had not lately been accustomed, surrounded me. The lake expanded before me until it assumed the dimensions of a vast sea, calm and brilliant like a sea of rosy glass. A wide and smooth road, of dazzling whiteness, seemed to encircle it as far as my eyes could reach, whereon thousands of elegantly dressed men and women, on beautiful and spirited horses, and in all descriptions of grand carriages, careered with incredible speed. The glassy sea was covered with innumerable ships and boats, shooting about here and there, propelled by some wonderful invisible power, for I saw neither oar nor sail, nor funnel for smoke or steam. While gazing on these extraordinary things, a large and sumptuous vessel suddenly stopped within a few yards of the place where I was seated, and a man—or a superior being—descended to the water, was by my side in an instant, and commanded me to accompany him on board.

The magnificent vessel now flew through the water at the rate, I fully believe, of one hundred miles an hour. I shall not attempt to describe the superb grandeur of its equipment. My conductor, when I ventured to look upon him, appeared to be a strong and vigorous young man, with a countenance rather thoughtful and winning than strikingly beautiful. His person was tall and commanding, and the people on the ship—for so I suppose I must call them—


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 part he may set aside for his children, that they may dig in it and plant it in their spare time; and a part of it he will devote probably to a flower-garden or a park; for he knows that the family has need of enjoyment and of rest, and that beauty sustains in them some higher life than the mere material one. Are we as a nation to have any flower-garden at all? Can we afford it? Do we care to set aside ground for it, or will we have beet-root and cabbages only? In other words, is all the land, so far as the people are concerned, from sea to sea, to be used for corn-growing, or building over only? Are those who own estates to have their gardens, and the people to have none? or, if any, how many and how pretty may they be? Is there only land enough for exercise near the big city, or can we have any for beauty far away from it?

Surely we want some beauty in our lives; they cannot be all labour, they cannot be all feeding. When the work is done, when the


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 eating is finished, the soul and spirit of men ask for rest; they want air, they want the sense of peace, they want the sense of space, they want the influence of beauty. Men seek it on the rocky sea-shore, on the peaks of the mountains, by the streams in the valleys, or on the heather-covered moorlands. Overexcited in the cities, over-strained by toil, they need, if it were but once in their lives, that wonderful sense of pause and peace which the near presence of the great creations of God gives. The silence brings them marvellous messages, the clouds seem their companions, the lights which pass over the heather-covered hills fill them with an immeasurable joy. Old cares seem so far away as hardly to be real; and in the great peace which surrounds them the whole spirit is brought into harmony with grander music, tuned to nobler imaginings, and nerved for mightier struggles. "Man does not live by bread alone." And the words God speaks to


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long-drawn booming of the wind in the wood and the sobbing and moaning in the maples and oaks near the house, had made Lettie restless. She did not want to go anywhere, she did not want to do anything, so she insisted on my just going out with her as far as the edge of the water. We crossed the tangle of fern and bracken, bramble and wild raspberry canes that spread in the open space before the house, and we went down the grassy slope to the edge of Nethermere. The wind whipped up noisy little wavelets, and the cluck and clatter of these among the pebbles, the swish of the rushes and the freshening of the breeze against our faces, roused us.

The tall meadow-sweet was in bud along the tiny beach and we walked knee-deep among it, watching the foamy race of the ripples and the whitening of the willows on the far shore. At the place where Nethermere narrows to the upper end, and receives the brook from Strelley, the wood sweeps down and stands with its feet washed round with waters. We broke our way along the shore, crushing the sharp-scented wild mint, whose odour checks the breath, and examining here and there among the marshy places ragged nests of water-fowl, now deserted. Some slim young lap-wings started at our approach,


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Rh treated him with the greatest respect, obeying his every nod, and even the glances of his eyes. He wore on his head a helmet, which seemed to be one large pearl, and carried in his hand a silver staff about four feet in length. A rich white tunic, reaching to the knees, closely enveloped his person; bright blue sashes of some strange but exquisite material crossed each other on his breast, and at the point of contact glittered a large diamond star. Below his left shoulder I saw the image of some bird on the wing, worked in purple silk. His legs were clothed in what appeared to me to be dark green velvet, and his feet were protected by boots of a substance resembling ivory. He did not speak to me during the voyage, and I was so overwhelmed with wonder and awe that I did not dare to speak to him.

We drew near what I supposed to be the opposite shore of the lake, the numerous ships and boats that were in our way drawing aside quickly in order to let us pass. I saw that we were approaching a mountain of prodigious height, and proportionate extent in every direction. It was covered from its base to its summit with buildings, which sparkled and shone as if built of stars. There were castles, palaces, towers, and temples, surrounded by gardens of luxuriant beauty, and shaded by trees of extraordinary verdure, loaded with flowers and fruit; but its summit was so far away in the dread regions of space, that I could scarcely see either its shape or its habitations. The ship entered a grand harbour, which was crowded with other ships, and was moored to a broad wharf by a hundred willing hands. Before going on shore, my guide signed to me to follow him down into the interior of the vessel, and while putting on my shoulders a curious light-blue mantle, and on my head a cap with a white plume, he said with indescribable dignity, entirely free from haughtiness or severity of tone:

'I am permitted to show you a small portion of this home


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22 of ours; follow me whither I go; do as you see me do; ask no questions, I will explain hereafter. You will distinguish me in the crowd by this red flower in my helmet. You are, for the present, my attendant or aide-de-camp, but remember that I also have a master.'

I bowed low, in deep humility and astonished silence. Who was this mysterious being that, while confessing himself to be a servant, was saluted and obeyed by everyone he met? He walked out of the ship with a lordly air. A proudly-caparisoned horse was led up for him by a person who wore a blue mantle and white plume like those I was wearing. When he was mounted, his servant, in obedience to a sign from him, went back to a company of horsemen, and led up another noble creature for me. My new master led the way, and I followed at the distance of a few paces, the other horsemen bringing up the rear. Our way was not directly up the mountain, but along the base of it, and we soon turned into a street of such magnificence that my senses nearly fled from me altogether. It was truly a street of palaces, separated from each other by the grandest gardens it is possible to conceive, and joined together by arches over the gardens several hundred feet in height. It was filled with crowds of people, on foot, on horseback, and in carriages. Multitudes of men and women, for such at least I supposed them to be, thronged the glittering pavements or loitered in earnest conversation in the busy street. My guide was saluted on all sides by bows and smiles of respectful recognition. I also was obliged to return many salutes. Being compelled to keep my eye on my master, I could not see or attend to much that was going on; but of this I am quite sure, there was not one person to be seen whose garment spoke of poverty or disgrace, or one countenance that wore an aspect of pain, disease, sadness, degradation, or vice.


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Science and Citizenship city is a feat which few of us ever achieve. Few of us ever succeed in seeing even our own city, let alone others. Hence the widespread illusion that cities consist of shops, factories and dwellings, with public-houses at the corners—these being the objects presented to the eye, as one passes along the open tunnels called streets. But there are certain animals, like birds, butterflies, and some human beings, that have the habit of viewing terrestrial objects from a height. And it is obvious that it is in vertical perspective only that a city can be visualised. The habit of viewing objects, both terrestrial and celestial, from a height was apparently a much commoner habit among the human species in former than in present times. Otherwise, how explain the wide occurrence of special facilities for the purpose? The mounds, the pyramids, the towers of many kinds which past civilisations have erected in such abundance, have doubtless various origins. But when facilities occur, as they generally do, for reaching the summits and thence making observations, we are bound to infer that we are dealing with real observatories deliberately planned for that purpose, whatever other purposes, religious, ceremonial, commemorative, aesthetic, these constructions may also have served. Our recent and contemporary civilisations continue to adorn or supplement our buildings with towers as inevitable, and, one is inclined to say, as automatically as the beavers build their dams and the bees their hives. But more often than not, we do not provide a stairway to the summit; or if we add that, how seldom 23

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Rh We rode on and on until our leader turned into a great square, surrounded by buildings more vast and beautiful, if possible, than any I had yet seen. I was dazzled and overpowered by the sight. Here rose up suddenly an enormous octagon tower, of shining white marble, piercing the sky; there an obelisk of black marble and gold, on a pedestal of ruby-coloured glass. Like the street outside, the square was crowded with people, principally men on horseback, clothed like my master in white garments and pearl helmets, who seemed to be mustering for some great parade or festivity. Numbers also wandered about, prancing here and there, who wore uniforms of different colours. Military music of the grandest description was not wanting. In a little time he to whom I was attached dismounted at the entrance-gate of one of the finest of the palaces, and entered the apartments within. Gorgeous furniture, splendid decorations, pictures which could be gazed on for ever, vases, statues, revolving scenes, moving, changing landscapes, and ornaments of wonderful beauty, presented themselves to my view. In one gigantic chamber tables were laid out, which were spread with delicious fruits, representing all kinds of animal and vegetable foods, bread and wine. We partook of these refreshments, and rose up inspired and invigorated with new mental and bodily life. Then we entered another crowded room which contained all kinds of models in gold and silver—castles, ships, and extraordinary machines. There were actual rivers flowing over model waterfalls, and an immense reservoir of water, enclosed by a circular wall of glass as high as my shoulders, in which there were hundreds of beautiful fishes, and on its surface numbers of model ships were moving in all directions.

Then we went into another great chamber. This, to my intense delight—oh, how shall I describe it?—was a magnificent library. All my life I have been passionately


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 CHAPTER I

axiom amongst fire-fighters is that no definite rules can be formulated, which wholly embody the principles of their craft. It is argued that since no two fires are absolutely alike in all respects, that which would be efficacious in one instance would be absolutely futile in another. This proposition is fallacious. Physicians might just as well advance the theory that since no two individuals are constitutionally alike, it is useless to apply the same treatment for some well known disease, even with those modifications necessitated by physical differences. Of course this is a "reductio ad absurdum," since doctors study their patients scientifically, following general principles resulting from experience, only varied in minor details according to the exigencies of the case. Similarly, notwithstanding differences in construction and occupancy, it is perfectly feasible to fight fires with intelligence born of systematic acquaintance with certain fixed data, and it may be added, with some degree of scientific exactitude. As there are prime factors in the treatment of illness, particularly if it be contagious, such as the removal of the patient to a place where it is almost impossible for the disease to be communicated to others, so it is with fire. The first general principles to be observed include naturally the confinement of an outbreak to as narrow a space as possible, the safety of contiguous property, the prevention of loss of life and the centralization of the outbreak as a whole. To this must be added the concentration upon the point of greatest danger of all the forces at the command of the officer in 1