"'I am worth something when I can call that brave boy my son.'""'I am worth something when I can call that brave boy my son.'"
"A horseman galloped to the spot in the hope of finding them still alive.""A horseman galloped to the spot in the hope of finding them still alive."
T
he Countess of Villeroy was a very old French lady who was strongly inclined to think that people were wrong in supposing they could cruise among the clouds in balloons. But when she saw Professor Charles and his companion rise into the blue sky, she was ready to agree with any one who said that men had conquered the upper air. Alas! only a few months later an event occurred which would have made her change her opinion.
Day by day the ballooning fever grew more intense, and when the King of Sweden visited Paris of course he had to be entertained with a grand display of the new discovery. Pilâtre de Rozier, a young physician who had, like Professor Charles, devoted much attention to the subject, ascended in a balloon bearing the French arms, with the flag of Queen Marie Antoinette floating from the car. The voyage was quite successful. Scarcely had the fanfare of trumpets which greeted its start died away when the aeronauts landed on the estate of the Prince of Condé, who welcomed them with more heartiness than his ancestors were wont to bestow on visitors from the King. Mingling with the buzz of delight which accompanied these experiments, was an ever-growing rumour that certain Englishmen had made up their minds to cross the Channel in a balloon. It would never do to let them be first in performing such a feat, so Pilâtre de Rozier lost no time in asking the French Court for forty thousand francs, to build a special balloon which would take him across the English Channel. 'It is a matter of national honour,' said a writer of the time; and as most people agreed with him, De Rozier's request was granted.
The balloon was different from any other yet made, being a combination of both the systems. The lower section was a large bag to be filled with hot air, after Montgolfier's plan, and round which the platform for the travellers was arranged. The upper part was a huge gas balloon. 'My idea is,' said De Rozier, 'that by this invention much gas will be saved, for when I wish to descend I shall simply cool the hot air in the Montgolfier instead of letting out the gas. Then, to rise again it would only be necessary to rekindle the fire. This also renders ballast unnecessary.'
It was very ingenious, but most people will agree with Professor Charles that 'it was like lighting a fire under a barrel of gunpowder.'
However, the balloon was built, and measured, when complete, seventy-two feet from platform to summit. The race for the honour of crossing the narrow sea had begun, and Pilâtre took his giant to Boulogne. But here on the very shore he was doomed to stay, for the winter winds blew shrill and strong from the west. Day after day he waited for more favourable weather, and day after day he heard with still greater concern that an Englishman named Blanchard was already at Dover, waiting only for the winds to subside a little before he set out in his balloon. Pilâtre's anxiety was increased every time he thought of the forty thousand francs he had begged from the Government, and, hoping that report had been exaggerated, he took ship to Dover to see if Mr. Blanchard was really as well prepared as people said. There had been no exaggeration, and he returned to Boulogne more disturbed than ever.
With the assistance of a young doctor, named Romain, he made a number of small balloons, and sent them into the air at frequent intervals to see if they would rise into some current which would waft them to England, and show a way that he might follow. But they all fell back on the French coast, and the hopes of success grew less and less. At last the rough weather died away and a lighter wind blew from the west. Letters came from Paris urging him to ascend, and reminding him of the money paid for the experiment. Contrary winds were not considered by the officials of Paris, and poor Pilâtre could only repeat that it was impossible to sail against them. With eager eyes he watched the sea in the direction of Dover, and one day (it was the 7th of December) he saw Blanchard's balloon come sailing majestically over the grey waters, and knew that the strange race was lost. France would not have the honour of having first crossed the Channel through the air. But Pilâtre de Rozier, being a brave man, hastened to Calais, and was among the first to congratulate his successful rival. He would now have been willing to abandon his project, but such a thing was not to be permitted. He was told that it was easier to sail from England to France, since the latter had a much longer coast-line, whereas it would be a great feat for him to accomplish the reverse journey. It was vain to point out that his balloon had become weather-worn in the long waiting, and how his materials had suffered from the attacks of rats. The forty thousand francs must not be spent for nothing; so Pilâtre patched his taffeta as best he could, and with the heroic assistance of his friend, Romain, had things fairly in order by June 13th, though he was so uncertain of success that he declined to endanger the life of a gentleman who asked to be allowed to accompany him.
On the morning of June 15th, the loud report of a cannon told the inhabitants of Boulogne that he intended to start. At seven o'clock he and Romain stepped into the gallery and the balloon was released. With majestic slowness they rose into the air and sailed out over the sea; but a moment later the wind, that had so long been his enemy, drove them back. The crowd watched with great anxiety. Twenty-seven minutes after starting, the balloon, at a height of one thousand seven hundred feet, was still only a short distance away. Then, to the horror of the spectators, Pilâtre de Rozier was seen to make a gesture of alarm, and the next moment a blue flame leapt from the summit of the balloon. With terrible speed the unfortunate aeronauts were dashed to the earth. A horseman, whotells the terrible story, galloped to the spot in the hope of finding them still alive. Pilâtre de Rozier lay in the gallery quite dead, with scarcely a bone in his body unbroken, and the young Romain lived only to mutter an incoherent word or two.
In memory of the sad event an obelisk was erected on the place where they fell, and in the cemetery at Wimille, their place of burial is marked by the stone carving of a flaming balloon.
John Lea.
Here is a story which a missionary lately told his congregation.
Some evil spirits were consulting together as to the best way to lead men astray.
One said, 'Let us go and tell them there is no God.'
Another said, 'Let us tell them there is no Heaven.'
But the third said, 'Let us go and tell them there is no hurry!'
'No hurry' often leads to more harm than many deliberate wrong acts.
X.
A fine leopard had just been killed by an English hunter in South Africa. The beautiful skin was speedily stripped off its back and reserved for home use. While this operation was going on the native beaters gathered eagerly round, assuring their master that the lair of the dead leopard was well known, and that its mate was there with probably a couple of young cubs; would he not like to have them? Not a doubt about it! the master would like to secure the little ones alive; but how? One leopard had doubtless been destroyed, but the other parent was still alive and would have to be dealt with; while to rob a mother leopard of her young was an act from which even the boldest of English sportsmen might well shrink.
But the natives knew what they were about, and while they had not the least intention of exposing themselves to danger, their plans were laid so as to secure the cubs, and, perhaps, themselves to share in the profits of the work. Therefore they gladly led the way to the rocky kloof, thickly studded with clumps of brush-wood, where the leopard's den, a dark cave, was situated, the entrance to it being covered with fine white sand. Upon inspecting this sand the foot-marks showed that the female leopard had lately gone forth, perhaps to fetch food for her little ones or to look for her mate. The cubs were therefore alone; but how could they be secured, as the mother leopard might return at any moment, while the cave was a long and low one, with three different entrances, each separated from the other?
How were the little cubs to be secured? We shall presently see. The native beaters had added to their party a small bush-boy, who though twelve years of age was scarcely four feet high. He was a very ugly little fellow, but affectionate towards those who treated him kindly. Like all his race, he well knew the habits of the wild animals of the country, and he had a wonderful power of tracking their footsteps. The beaters proposed that this little fellow should crawl into the den, and bring the cubs to the outer air. But eager as the Englishman was to secure the leopards, he called a halt when he understood the frightful danger to which the boy was to be exposed. But the little bush-boy was quite undaunted; he laughed in the sportsman's face, apparently looking forward to the task with as much pleasure as an English boy would feel at the prospect of catching a couple of young rabbits. They went to work silently but quickly, as no time was to be lost. The Englishman with his rifle kept watch at the principal entrance to stop the mother leopard, if she should return, while the natives watched the other two approaches to the cavern.
All being now ready, the boy disappeared into the cave. It was an anxious moment: the sun was sinking, and the Englishman, somewhat nervous at his novel position, could not help feeling uneasy about the poor little fellow, who would certainly have to fight for his life should the female leopard by any chance contrive to reach her family. Suddenly, though he heard no noise whatever, he saw, not twenty yards away from him on the ridge of the rocky glen, the head and shoulders of the mother leopard with a kid in her mouth.
The fierce creature had paused, wondering who was the intruder who had dared to place himself at the very door of her home. This pause of the leopard gave the hunter time to recover his coolness and to take good and sure aim; her head and shoulders being just over the rocky ridge were clearly marked out upon the sky-line. Slowly raising his rifle then, he fired, the leopard leaping into the air, while with the report of the weapon came the natives who had been stationed at the other entrances of the cave, all eager to see what had happened, and quite forgetting the little bush-boy, who must have heard the report of the weapon, too, and been in some anxiety as to the result. On the ground lay the body of the dead kid, but the leopard herself, only wounded, had disappeared, having got into the thick bush that clothed the sides of the kloof.
Feeling thankful that the fierce creature had not made a dash for her den, the Englishman hastily called to the boy, desiring him to come out immediately, whether successful or not in his search. This was absolutely necessary, as in the long run the wounded animal would certainly return to the cave, though in the first moment of alarm she had escaped in another direction.
But there was no reply from the boy. 'Come along, boy; come along; never mind the cubs,' repeated the Englishman, peering into the dark mouth of the cave, and desperately anxious to have done with this unpleasant adventure.
'All right, master,' was at length heard in hollow tones, yet with a dash of triumph in them; 'all right, I have got the young ones;' and in a few minutesfirst one brown leg appeared, then a second, for the brave little fellow had to travel backwards, the hole being too narrow and winding to admit of turning. At length he appeared, gasping for breath, but full of delight, and carrying two little growling and spitting cubs. Hastily securing the prey and reloading his rifle, the Englishman and his attendants made for home as fast as they could. They reached the camp in safety, while the female leopard was found dead the next day some distance up the kloof.
"The little bush-boy appeared, carrying two growling cubs.""The little bush-boy appeared, carrying two growling cubs."
The little bush-boy was well rewarded for his pluck, and taken into the Englishman's service; but the reward he seemed to appreciate most was a hearty meal off the dead kid, for good food did not often come in his way.
B. M.
"'I don't know what to do!'""'I don't know what to do!'"
As Johnny by the window stoodAnd watched the cloudy sky,He seemed in discontented moodAnd soon was heard to sigh:'I don't know what to do to-day;There seems no fun at all;At cricket there's no chance to play,For I have lost the ball.'And tops are seldom spun in May,And if I had a kiteThere's not a breath of air to-dayTo help it in its flight.'With peevish frown he left the roomAnd roamed the garden through,And murmured in a tone of gloom:'I don't know what to do.'And thus all day he idly wentFrom dreary place to place,The saddest gloom of discontentFor ever on his face;And when the stars began to peep,And night its shadows threw,He murmured in his restless sleep:'I don't know what to do.'
As Johnny by the window stoodAnd watched the cloudy sky,He seemed in discontented moodAnd soon was heard to sigh:'I don't know what to do to-day;There seems no fun at all;At cricket there's no chance to play,For I have lost the ball.
'And tops are seldom spun in May,And if I had a kiteThere's not a breath of air to-dayTo help it in its flight.'With peevish frown he left the roomAnd roamed the garden through,And murmured in a tone of gloom:'I don't know what to do.'
And thus all day he idly wentFrom dreary place to place,The saddest gloom of discontentFor ever on his face;And when the stars began to peep,And night its shadows threw,He murmured in his restless sleep:'I don't know what to do.'
J. L.
It was said of a man who rose to a high position in the State through his conscientiousness and high principles, that he was at one time a shoeblack.
One day, meeting the son of Lord ——, he was accosted in a tone of scorn: 'I remember when you blacked my father's boots.'
His answer came without anger, and as brave as true, 'Yes, and did I not do it well?'
By this time Mr. Parsons' peculiar proceedings were beginning to arouse my suspicions. I could not fail to notice that he had twice told me to make trifling purchases, and that, although he had received some pennies in exchange for the first florin, he yet brought out a half-crown for the wax lights. My dawning suspicions grew stronger on the way home on a penny omnibus, when he offered the conductor another two-shilling piece.
The conductor was an amiable, talkative man, and Mr. Parsons had already begun a conversation with him.
'Haven't you got anything smaller?' he asked, 'because I have been doing nothing but giving change half the day.'
'Sorry I haven't,' said Mr. Parsons.
'Well, I shall have to give you a shilling's worth of coppers,' answered the conductor.
'All right—all right, it can't be helped,' said Mr. Parsons, and, of course, I knew that he had already several pennies in his pockets.
'There was the change out of the wax lights and the ginger-beer,' I suggested.
'So there was,' he cried, with a sharp glance over his shoulder, as if to make certain that the conductor had left the roof.
When the omnibus stopped at our turning, I rose quickly, always on the look-out for a chance to escape, but I felt a grip on my knee.
'Age before honour, Jacky,' said Mr. Parsons, who took the precaution to alight first and to help me down the last step.
'Once upon a time,' he remarked, as we walked towards the house, 'I knew a lad about your age who was just a leetle too clever, and perhaps you would like to hear what happened to him.'
'What?' I inquired with a shudder.
'That little lad, Jacky, was licked with a strap. The little lad, Jacky, was kept in one room without any food till he learnt how to behave and keep his thoughts to himself. See, Jacky?'
'Yes,' I answered, 'I see,' and I felt helpless.
We had not been in the house more than half an hour, when he went to a cupboard on one side of the front room and took out a coiled strap.
'That's what I was telling you about, my lad,' he said with a smile. 'Don't be afraid; take it in your hand and feel it. A good bit of leather—there's nothing like leather, you know. Just hold it in your right hand; now open your left. Try it, Jacky, try it,' he cried, with a strange glitter in his eyes, and I dared not think of disobedience, but raised the strap and brought it down lightly on my palm.
'Now, good obedient boys find me very kind to them,' he continued; 'very kind indeed, Jacky. And if there's anything you'd like to amuse yourself, why, you have only to say the word.'
Apart from worse evils, I found the hours drag terribly slowly, especially as I had nothing whatever to divert my thoughts. Moreover, I felt extremely anxious to fall in with his humour.
'I suppose there isn't a book I could have?' I suggested.
'Why not, my lad?' he answered. 'I didn't want particular to go out again to-day, but anything to encourage a good young chap. There is a nice shop in Edgware Road—hundreds of books for fourpence-halfpenny each. Come along, Jacky!'
I had not counted on being taken so quickly at my word, but Mr. Parsons at once put on his hat, and, giving me mine, led me out into the street, and so to the large bookshop, where I saw piles of cheap novels. Not daring to refuse to buy one even if I wished, I selected, after some hesitation, a copy of theThree Musketeers, which I paid for with another two-shilling piece. At least, it enabled me to forget some of my troubles for two hours that evening. I had never read the book before, and sitting in a corner of the ill-lighted room, I soon became lost in the exciting story.
When it was bed-time, Mr. Parsons himself accompanied me to my room, where the bed was exactly as I had left it that morning.
'Be careful of your collar, Jacky,' he said when we reached the top story. 'I set great value on a nice clean collar. Mind you don't crumple it.'
When I had entered the room I was not surprised to hear him put a key in the lock and turn it. Although it was not pleasant to feel that I was a prisoner, I had little fear of personal injury unless I openly rebelled. Perhaps this is what I ought actually to have done; if so, I can only say that I did not possess sufficient courage.
I understood now, beyond a doubt, that the people with whom I had become connected were neither more nor less than makers of false coin. While Mr. Loveridge, and the third man whom I had seen that day, conducted the manufacture in the basement, Mr. Parsons spent his time in getting rid of the result oftheir labours. I imagined that he had begun to meet with difficulties, and that he thought a decently dressed boy of honest appearance would prove an excellent tool for his purpose.
It was plain that having once permitted me to learn his occupation, Mr. Parsons could not, for the sake of his own safety, afford to let me go, lest I should give information to the police. At any cost he would keep me under observation, and as far as I could see I should find it extremely difficult to escape. Yet, on the other hand, I felt certain that as long as I obeyed, I should be free from actual ill-usage. That he could be cruel on occasion I had no doubt, and he had certainly managed to overawe my little stock of courage. But when I had said my prayers that night, I felt stronger and braver; before I fell asleep I determined to do my utmost to keep my spirits up; I would meet cunning with cunning, and above everything give him no cause for suspicion.
But the next day a slight difficulty arose. In the morning I lay on my bed reading the adventures of D'Artagnan and the rest, until Mr. Parsons was pleased to unlock my door and let me out of the bedroom, when I made no complaint of his conduct in turning the key. Having had breakfast, although every meal in that house was repulsive, and I felt as if the food would choke me, and almost wished it might, we set out as usual, and before we had gone far, Mr. Parsons stopped at a tobacconist's shop, and, giving me a half-crown, told me to buy a threepenny packet of cigarettes.
It was a shop of a better class than any he had sent me into before, and, placing the coin on the counter, I asked for what I had been ordered to buy. But the man behind the counter seized upon the half-crown at once.
'That looks to me like a bad one,' he cried, gazing into my face, and I suppose that my heightened colour, or some expression of guilty knowledge, told him that I knew that as well as he did. Placing the rim of the coin in a metal niche on the edge of the counter, he easily broke the false half-crown into two pieces, which he flung into my face. One of them hit my left cheek a little painfully.
'Now be off and never show your face here again,' he shouted, 'or I will have you locked up.'
Without a word, although my blood was boiling, and I had never been spoken to in this way before, I hung my head and walked out of the shop.
As soon as I reached the street, Mr. Parsons seized my arm as usual.
'Change!' he said.
'I have not got it,' I answered.
'How's that?' he sharply snapped out.
'The man said the half-crown was bad, and broke it in halves,' I exclaimed, and gripping me more tightly Mr. Parsons quickened his pace and turned aside down the first street on our right.
I felt that he was eyeing me significantly as we went, and my thoughts were busy in an attempt to determine the wisest line of action. Perhaps my circumstances were making me artful, and it is true that I felt convinced that my escape could only be accomplished by strategy.
It may appear that nothing would have been more simple than to free myself, especially as I spent some hours in the public streets every day. Now that I look back on those days from a position of safety, I even wonder whether a little more resolution, a little more courage, might have earlier put an end to my difficult position. Surely it must have been possible to have wrenched my arm from Parsons' grasp, and he would not have dared to raise the hue and cry after me, or do anything to attract attention to himself. Or I might have appealed to any policeman for protection, or to a passer-by, and so have shaken off my tormentor.
Perhaps some such attempt might have succeeded, but unfortunately a potent factor in my case was the terror with which in some way Mr. Parsons still succeeded in inspiring me. I have found myself since those days in positions of some peril, but never have I known such fear as of that old, smug-looking man. This dread had an almost paralysing effect, nor could I fail to forget the terrible penalty I should certainly have to pay if my bid for liberty were not to succeed. So that Mr. Parsons held me in a grip tighter than that of his hand on my arm; for after all I was scarcely more than fifteen years of age at the time, and it was no disgrace to be afraid.
As we hastened away from the neighbourhood of the tobacconist's shop, my fear was that Parsons might suspect that I was dissembling. He could scarcely believe I was sufficiently stupid not to have had my eyes opened by this time, and if I appeared to treat the affair as a matter of course his watchfulness might be redoubled.
His deliberate purpose was, indeed, to pollute my mind, to show me that my easiest course was to fall in with his wishes, and now as we hastened along the streets, I determined to try to lead him to believe that his efforts were already beginning to prove successful.
'I believe that other money was bad, too,' I said.
'Oh, you do, do you, Jacky?' he answered.
'Yes,' I cried, 'and you make it downstairs at your house.'
'Jacky, my lad, you haven't forgotten the story I told you about the boy who was too clever?'
'Still,' I replied, 'one needn't be a fool although one needn't be what you calltooclever.'
'True for you, my lad,' said Mr. Parsons.
'Only,' I continued, playing my part with as much skill as I possessed, and more than I could have believed myself capable of a few days ago, 'I don't want to get locked up.'
'No, no,' he answered, 'I don't want you to get locked up either, Jacky. I should miss you, you know, very much. But you act sensibly, and you will be all right. What's more, I will show you how to make your fortune before we have done.'
'I should like to make a fortune,' I said, with perfect truth. But, still, as we walked home by a round-about way, without attempting any further business that morning, I could not quite make up my mind whether I had succeeded in hoodwinking my companion or not.
(Continued on page 162.)
"'Be off, or I will have you locked up!'""'Be off, or I will have you locked up!'"
"I took to my heels at once.""I took to my heels at once."
At least Mr. Parsons could not fail to be aware that I now understood something of the truth about his occupation, while I had certainly done my utmost to make him believe that I regarded it without any deep dislike.
Had I succeeded or not? On the answer to that question my prospects of escape to a great degree depended. When we reached the house, his manner undergoing no change, I went to bed more hopefully than usual. During the morning we had walked round a large block of buildings forming one shop, with three doors in Oxford Street and two in another street behind. Now, if I could induce Mr. Parsons to let me enter by one of the front doors, it would be easy enough to pass through and make an escape from the rear, for he had never yet accompanied me into a shop.
During the next few days, however, we did not go near Oxford Street; the first day was wet, so that Mr. Parsons stayed at home, and when the weather changed, we took a train to Uxbridge, where I succeeded in exchanging five half-crowns—not without many self-reproaches.
The next day being Sunday, none of us left the house, and I think this was the most miserable time of all that I spent beneath Mr. Parsons' roof. I missed the Sunday service, and felt very lonely and helpless. At last, pretending to be overcome by drowsiness, I asked permission to go to bed at seven o'clock.
Whether or not it was due to the brightness of the morning, I awoke with a sense of unaccustomed exhilaration, and something seemed to assure me that I should find my longed-for opportunity to escape before night.
As to what was to happen if I escaped, I had very little idea. Once let me get away from my present surroundings, and nothing else seemed to matter; things could not easily become worse. But, as a matter of fact, I had thought once or twice that I would run the risk of trying to discover Rogers, Captain Knowlton's servant, who had certainly not accompanied him on board theSeagull. I knew that Captain Knowlton had given up his rooms before he left England, but still I might succeed in finding some one who could tell me where Rogers lived, and I felt certain the man would help me if possible. Hitherto I had determined to avoid the Albany, thinking that Mr. Turton would take care to anticipate me, and perhaps make arrangements for my capture, for, in spite of all I had passed through, I shrank as much as ever from the idea of returning to Castlemore, and Augustus and the other fellows at Ascot House. Still, I had in my pocket only the bad half-crown which Mr. Parsons had given me in the train, and it seemed wiser to take the risk of being intercepted, and to make my way to Captain Knowlton's old quarters. But at present I stood no chance of making my way anywhere alone, and the first thing I had to do was to get clear of Mr. Parsons and the Loveridges.
'A lovely morning, Jacky,' Mr. Parsons remarked on Monday, as he took my arm and led me away from the house. 'Makes me feel quite young again.'
'Which way are we going?' I asked.
'Ah, now, which way?'
'I like Oxford Street best,' I answered.
'Do you, my lad?' he cried, amiably. 'Then suppose we try Oxford Street?'
There were a great many people in the street, and it was about eleven o'clock in the morning when I found we were drawing near the shop which I had planned to enter by one door and to leave by another.
'Couldn't we buy something there?' I asked.
'Where, my lad?'
'There,' I said, pointing to the chief entrance.
'That is too dear for the likes of us, Jacky.'
'Oh,' I cried, 'but I know what I could buy.'
'What?' he demanded, and I began to wonder whether I had betrayed too much eagerness.
'An evening necktie,' I replied. 'They only cost about fourpence.'
'Jacky,' said Mr. Parsons, and I felt his grasp on my arm tighten, 'Jacky, that is the sort of shop a lad like you might easily get lost in. He might even make a mistake in the door, Jacky. No, we won't go in there, but I will tell you where we will go.'
'Where?' I asked, quaking with fear.
'We will go home, my lad, and I will give you such a nice little lesson as you will never forget as long as you live.'
So we turned back the way we had come, walking towards the Marble Arch, and I knew that if once I entered that hateful house, I should pay a terrible penalty for the attempt which had been so easily seen through.
For the next few minutes I was utterly hopeless and helpless. But I murmured a few incoherent words of prayer, and my head grew clearer. As the danger drew nearer with every step I took, my courage began to return, and I determined to make a bid for freedom. Mr. Parsons' threat in a way defeated his own end. Hitherto the fear in which I held him had served to cow me, to make me afraid to make a dash for liberty; but this morning the very danger seemed to encourage boldness, and as we went on our way with his strong fingers gripping my arm just above the wrist, yet in such a manner that he appeared to be holding me affectionately, I cudgelled my brains to devise some method of circumventing him.
At last, as we were close to Duke Street, Oxford Street, a bold plan flashed across my mind. Whatever was done, it should be attempted while there were some people about, to whom, in the last resort, I might denounce Mr. Parsons; and yet I did not wish my actual deed to have a spectator, since any one who saw me treat such a benevolent-looking old gentleman as I fully intended to treat Mr. Parsons must think I was a young rascal.
He hesitated a moment at the corner, and then turned to his right down Duke Street, and I fancied that he looked forward with some enjoyment to thethreatened 'little lesson.' A short distance ahead stood a policeman at a street corner, and, as we approached, I looked up into Mr. Parsons' face and summoned all my courage—it was certainly the courage of despair.
'If you don't let me go,' I said, 'I will tell that policeman who you are as we pass.'
In an instant he had swung me round to retrace his steps, but, doubling my free fist, I drew back my arm and hit him with all my strength just about the belt. The effect was instantaneous. Releasing me at once, he was completely doubled up, standing in the middle of the pavement outside a grocer's shop, his hands pressed against his body, gasping for breath. Fortunately no one had seen the blow struck, though Mr. Parsons was soon surrounded by a gaping, sympathetic group. I took to my heels at once, almost running against the policeman, and turned to my right, in the direction opposite to that of Mr. Parsons' dwelling-place. Soon, however, I ceased to run, feeling fairly certain that I should not see him again—that day, at least. And as I walked—still towards the City—I tried to take stock of my situation.
Besides the clothes I stood in, I possessed only a bad half-crown, and although I had, under compulsion, changed similar coins for Parsons, I had no intention of defrauding anybody on my own account. Taking the coin from my pocket, I stooped and dropped it down a grating. Now that I had nothing, I determined to risk a visit to the Albany, which I reached—always on the look-out for Mr. Parsons—at a little past two o'clock. Nothing, however, but disappointment awaited me here. I saw a man who appeared to be a kind of porter, and he told me that Captain Knowlton had given up the rooms on leaving London—a fact which I knew perfectly well already. But he had no notion where I could find Rogers, so that I walked away in a somewhat dejected mood.
Nevertheless I was able to rejoice at the successful escape from something much worse than I had yet endured, and having once triumphed over Parsons, I no longer feared him as I used to do. Even if I met him in the street, I believed I could prevent him from taking me back to his house, and the more pressing difficulty was how to obtain food and shelter, and, subsequently, work.
Becoming hungry as the afternoon wore on, I went into St. James's Park, and, taking off my jacket and waistcoat, did not put the waistcoat on again, but carried it under my arm to a small pawnbroker's shop near Victoria Station, where I obtained eightpence in exchange. For my tall hat I received a shilling, and then, passing a very cheap shop, I bought a grey cloth cap for threepence three-farthings, so that on the whole I gained about one and fourpence by the deal.
Knowing that I must husband my resources, I bought a penny saveloy and a chunk of bread at an eating-house, and then wandered about the streets until nearly nightfall, wondering where I should sleep. The first night was, however, by no means uncomfortable, for, passing a large stable-yard, I saw it contained several empty omnibuses, and, waiting until nobody was looking, I made a rush into one of these; I lay down at full length on the seat, and slept until a stable-man woke me at half-past five the next morning.
But over the next few days I intend to pass rapidly, for indeed they were too full of wretchedness to be dwelt upon. From early morning until late at night I wandered about the streets or in the parks, where also I slept. I took every care of my scanty stock of money, but at last it came to an end. Once I held a horse for twopence, once I carried a heavy portmanteau from Charing Cross to Tottenham Court Road for a penny, and once a lady took pity on my condition and gave me threepence. Then I parted with my jacket, and lived on the proceeds for three days while walking about with nothing above my shirt.
(Continued on page 173.)
Good-bye, old fire! We won't forgetYour pleasant warmth and glow,When evening shades were dark as jet,And outside lay the snow.But now, you see, we're right in May,It's spring, without a doubt,And so, good fire, I grieve to sayIt's time that you were out.The little leaves are springing green,The skies above are blue;The primrose everywhere is seen,The almond's blooming too.Of course, you don't expect to stayWhen flowers are round about,And so, good fire, again I sayIt's time that you were out.But when, once more, November chillIts cloak of mist has spread,And o'er the lonely winter hillThe sun goes soon to bed,We'll call you back with joyous shout,And, as the shades descend,We'll draw the blinds to shut them outAnd greet you as a friend.
Good-bye, old fire! We won't forgetYour pleasant warmth and glow,When evening shades were dark as jet,And outside lay the snow.But now, you see, we're right in May,It's spring, without a doubt,And so, good fire, I grieve to sayIt's time that you were out.
The little leaves are springing green,The skies above are blue;The primrose everywhere is seen,The almond's blooming too.Of course, you don't expect to stayWhen flowers are round about,And so, good fire, again I sayIt's time that you were out.
But when, once more, November chillIts cloak of mist has spread,And o'er the lonely winter hillThe sun goes soon to bed,We'll call you back with joyous shout,And, as the shades descend,We'll draw the blinds to shut them outAnd greet you as a friend.
John Lea.
On the 2nd of April, 1805, was born, amid very humble surroundings, a little Danish boy named Hans Christian Andersen, who, in later years, became the most popular tale-writer that perhaps the world has ever known. Andersen's Fairy Tales, though written in a past century, and for another generation, are just as popular to-day as they ever were, and it seems as if all children (and grown-up people who have kept their child-like hearts) could never tire of these delightful stories. We can all read, and re-read, the 'Ugly Duckling,'or the 'Eleven Wild Swans;' we can sympathise with the love of the faithful 'Tin Soldier;' and who can resist laughing at all the outrageous performances of 'Little Claus and Big Claus?' Truly, Andersen had the key to unlock all hearts!
Born April 2, 1805.Died August 4, 1875.
Hans Christian Andersen.
Now for the story of the writer's life.
The father of Hans Andersen was only a poor shoe-maker, but he loved reading and poetry, and seems to have taught his little boy a similar love. The shoe-maker amused himself by making a toy theatre for his little Hans, and showed him how to work the puppets, and make them act little plays. This was a winter amusement. In the long summer days he would often take the child to the woods—and here, in the great birch forests, the two would spend the hours, hardly saying a word to each other, but each dreaming his own dreams as they sauntered along the shady paths.
But these happy childish days soon came to an end: the kind father died, and Hans had to go to a charity school, where he learnt little beyond reading and writing.
Money was now very scarce in his home, and both Hans and his mother were often hard put to it for a meal.
One day they went out into the fields to glean corn, and were chased off the ground by a cruel bailiff, who ran after them with a heavy whip. The bailiff, with his long legs, soon overtook the little eight-year-old Hans, and was about to bring his whip down on the child's shoulders, when Hans turned round, and looking full at the angry man, exclaimed: 'How dare you strike me when you know God can see you?'
The bailiff was so taken aback at this rebuke from the mouth of a child that he dropped his whip, and, fumbling in his pocket, produced some money, which he offered to Hans to make up for his unkindness.
A year or two later a widow wanted some one to read aloud to her, and Hans got the place. The widow's husband had been a poet, and, as Hans read out his poems, the boy's ambition was fired.
'I too will be a poet!' he cried, and, on returning home, he at once set to work and wrote—a tragedy!
The news of this performance spread amongst the neighbours (very likely the mother boasted of it, as mothers will), and all wished to hear it; so they came together in one of the larger cottages, and Hans read his wonderful tragedy to the company, and felt bitterly hurt when the greater part of them laughed heartily at the play.
Meanwhile the mother was growing poorer and poorer, and Hans had to leave school, and to try and earn his bread.