"Each little pageHath lost his rage,The punishment is o'er;The sisters twainHave met again,To separate no more.So 'tis decreed by Queen and King,Who now the two together bring."
"Each little pageHath lost his rage,The punishment is o'er;The sisters twainHave met again,To separate no more.So 'tis decreed by Queen and King,Who now the two together bring."
Julia Goddard.
DAISY AND DOLLY.Beneaththe poplars' leafy screenThe shade is cool and sweet,Where Daisy sits like any queen—The sunbeams kiss her feet,Steal round the border of her dress,And one white dimpled arm caress.She holds her dainty parasolAbove her playmate's head,Lest the hot sun should touch her doll,And fade the lovely redIn dolly's rosy cheek that lies,Or dim her beautiful blue eyes.She weaves a pretty dream, I know,All in the garden shady,How dolly was, long, long ago,A little fairy lady,And held her court on a green, green knoll,Ere she became a mortal doll.She thinks her blue-eyed pet knows allThe solemn words she speaks,And feels the kisses soft that fallUpon her mouth and cheeks:And often when I see the twoI wish I were the doll—don't you?r.
B
eneaththe poplars' leafy screenThe shade is cool and sweet,Where Daisy sits like any queen—The sunbeams kiss her feet,Steal round the border of her dress,And one white dimpled arm caress.She holds her dainty parasolAbove her playmate's head,Lest the hot sun should touch her doll,And fade the lovely redIn dolly's rosy cheek that lies,Or dim her beautiful blue eyes.She weaves a pretty dream, I know,All in the garden shady,How dolly was, long, long ago,A little fairy lady,And held her court on a green, green knoll,Ere she became a mortal doll.She thinks her blue-eyed pet knows allThe solemn words she speaks,And feels the kisses soft that fallUpon her mouth and cheeks:And often when I see the twoI wish I were the doll—don't you?
r.
Onthe occasion of our last visit to the Abbey, I told you a little about the coronations that have taken place within its walls, and apart from the venerable fane itself, the principal object connected with that long chain of events was the antique royal chair, standing in the Chapel of Edward the Confessor. Returning to the same spot, we will now look around us, and we soon see that we are in the midst of a burying-place of English kings. Sebert and his Queen Ethelgoda have their monument beside the gate at the entrance to the chapels; but there is no authentic account of a funeral here before that of Edward the Confessor, whose ashes, after three removals, repose in the shrine close beside us.
It was on January 5th, 1066, just after the consecration of his beautiful new Abbey, that the soul of St. Edward passed away. Englishmen were filled with gloomy forebodings at the event. Crowds flocked to see the body as it lay in the palace, with an unearthly smile on its rosy cheeks, and with the long thin fingers interlaced across the bosom.
Then, attired in royal robes, and bedecked with crown, crucifix, and golden chain, they laid the remains before the High Altar of the Abbey. His wife Edith was afterwards laid beside him. After the Conquest, royal personages for a time were buried in Normandy, till "the good Queen Maud," the wife of Henry I. and niece of Edgar Atheling, was laid beside the Confessor. In rebuilding the Abbey, Henry III. provided a new shrine, to which the remains of the now canonised Edward were removed, and in which (except for a short time) they have since remained.
Behind the shrine the king placed some holy relics, including a tooth of St. Athanasius, and a stone said to show a footprint of our Lord. For fifty years Henry watched his new Abbey growing to completion, and determined it should be the burying-place of himself and the Plantagenet line. He was laid temporarily in the place from which the Confessor's bones had been taken. His son Edward I., returning from the Holy Land, brought home porphyry, slates, and precious marbles to build the tomb to which Henry's body was transferred about twenty years after his death. The Abbess of Fontevrault was then in London, and the late king's heart was delivered into her hands to be deposited in the foreign home of the Plantagenets.
DAISY AND DOLLY."daisy and dolly."(Seep.176).
Henceforward many royal personages were brought to be buried near the Confessor's shrine; but I shall only mention the more prominent. When Queen Eleanor died in 1291, the course of the funeralcortégefrom Lincoln to London was marked by twelve memorial crosses, and the Abbots of Westminster were bound to have a hundred wax lights burning round her grave for ever on the anniversary of her death. In 1307, after having placed in the Confessor's Chapel the golden crown of the last Welsh Prince, Llewellyn, and the Stone of Fate from Scotland, Edward I. was himself brought here to lie beneath the rough monument, from which it was hoped that, in accordance with his dying wish, his bones might at some time be taken and carried through Scotland at the head of a conquering army.
In 1394, Richard II. buried here his beloved Queen Anne, the friend of the followers of Wickliffe. The palace of Sheen in which she died was destroyed by her sorrowing husband, and immense sums were spent on her funeral. For asking to go away before the ceremony was completed, the Earl of Arundel was struck on the head with a cane by the king, and brought to the ground with his blood flowing on to the Abbey pavement. The affair caused so much delay, that darkness came on before all was over. The tomb that covers her remains was intended by her husband for both, but whether Richard II. sleeps in the tomb that bears his name or not must remain a matter of doubt. Henry IV. brought a corpse from Pontefract to Langley, and Henry V. transferred it to this tomb; but few believed it to be really the body of the murdered king.
England had never seen a grander royal funeral than that of Henry V. He died at Vincennes, and with great pomp his body was brought by Paris to London. At every stage between Dover and London, and again at St. Paul's, and at the Abbey, funeral services were performed. The closing scenes were very impressive, as the funeral car, amidst a blaze of torches borne by hundreds of surpliced priests, and followed by his three favourite chargers, came up the nave to the altar steps. Room for the tomb was made by clearing away the holy relics behind the Confessor's shrine. Here was placed the magnificent piece of workmanship, which we now behold, a tomb below, and above a chantry, in which for a year thirty poor persons were to read the Psalter of the Virgin and special prayers for the repose of Henry's soul. At the back of the chantry hung the king's indented helmet (in all probability the one worn at Agincourt), his shield, and his saddle. In the arch beneath lies the headless effigy of Henry, the silver head having been carried off when Henry VIII. was robbing the churches.
Henry VI. was very fond of the Abbey. He chose a place for his tomb, and even paid the first instalment for its erection, in readiness for his own demise. But the civil wars hindered its completion; and I have already told you how Henry VII. meant to raise a special chapel for him and altered his mind.
We will pass on now into the Chapel of Henry VII., the grand mausoleum of a race of kings, who looked back (as Stanley points out) not to Saxon Edward, but to British Arthur, as their great ancestor. A gloomy porch conducts us into a blaze of splendour. Walls, ceilings, and arches are richly decorated; the "stone seems by the cunning labours of the chisel (says Washington Irving) to have been robbed of its weight and density, suspended aloft as if by magic." Nobody seems to be quite sure who was the architect of this beautiful piece of workmanship. The king lavished vast sums of money on the costly edifice, and left plenty with the abbot for its completion after his death. And in the stalls monks were to sing masses for the repose of his soul, "while the world lasts."
In April, 1509, Henry died, and was placed beside his Queen, Elizabeth of York, in the great vault beneath the chapel floor. His mother, Margaret, Countess of Richmond, was brought here three months afterwards, of whom it was said, "Everyone that knew her loved her, and everything that she said or did became her." She endowed charities, founded colleges, ended the civil wars by marrying her son to Elizabeth of York, and protected Caxton in his early labours.
At the Reformation there was a carrying off of relics, a rifling of tombs, and a temporary disturbance of the Confessor's bones. But the royal tombs saved the Abbey from destruction, although Protector Somerset was on the point of pulling it down to build his new palace in the Strand. Edward VI. was buried here, and Anne of Cleves, and then, in 1558, came Queen Mary, the last English monarch interred with Roman Catholic solemnities. In the same tomb reposes her sister Elizabeth, at whose funeral the national mourning was intense. An old chronicler tells us that, as her coffin was borne through the streets crowded with spectators, "there was such a general sighing, groaning, and weeping, as the like hath not been seen or known in the memory of man; neither doth any history mention any people, time, or state, to make like lamentation for the death of their sovereign." The tomb was raised above the two sisters by James I. He also raised the monument to his mother, Mary Queen of Scots, in the south aisle, and had her body removed to it from Peterborough. Devout Scots visited this tomb, as the shrine of a saint, and many miracles were said to have taken place here.
In the north aisle of this chapel, beside two infant children of James I., are the remains of the murdered princes brought from the Tower. In the south aisle lies Henry Frederick, Prince of Wales, of whom such high hopes were entertained. Two thousand mourners swelled his funeral procession, but no monument marks his resting-place.Three years later the corpse of Arabella Stuart, the king's cousin, whom some would have put in his place, was brought up the Thames from the Tower at midnight, and placed without ceremony in the tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots. James I. came here in 1625 and was laid in the tomb of Henry VII.
Under the Commonwealth the royal monuments suffered no harm; their dilapidations date (as we have said) from Henry VIII's time. The mother, sister, and favourite daughter of Cromwell were buried here; the great Protector himself was interred in the august Chapel of Henry VII. amongst the royal dead. For two months the body lay in state at Somerset House in a room hung with black, and lit with innumerable black candles. Then there was a grand procession, a magnificent hearse, and the usual ceremonies of a royal funeral. On the 30th of January, 1661, Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw were dragged from their tombs to Tyburn, and there hanged and beheaded. Their bodies were buried beneath the gallows, and their heads set up over Westminster Hall.
Charles I. was to have been brought from Windsor to a grand tomb in the Abbey, but Charles II. applied the £70,000 voted for this purpose to other uses, and the matter dropped. This king's funeral was a hurried affair—it took place at night without pomp of any kind. To the same narrow vault was brought William III. Mary, after her death on December 28th, 1694, had been interred here—"one of the saddest days," says Macaulay, "that Westminster had ever seen." She was the first English sovereign who was followed to her grave by both Houses of Parliament, as in other cases Parliament had expired with the sovereign.
Eleven children of James II. and eighteen children of Queen Anne lie around the tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots. Queen Anne herself was brought in a coffin more enormous than that which inclosed the gigantic frame of her husband, Prince George, to the vault of her sister Mary. George II. and Queen Caroline repose in a black marble sarcophagus in the centre of the Chapel of Henry VII. And now Westminster Abbey ceased to be a burial-place of English kings and queens. George III. constructed a vault at Windsor for himself and his numerous family, and there his descendants have been interred.
Themonth of September is one of even more fickle and changeable a nature than most others; it is, however, one of very great importance to those who are desirous of securing plenty of geranium and other cuttings, for the next summer's work; because, should the month by chance happen to be a dry one, it will be almost impossible to obtain very many in consequence of so little growth being made. If, on the other hand, plenty of rain fall during the latter part of August and throughout September growth will be made both rapidly and vigorously, whereby cuttings can be taken almostad infinitum. When the weather is of a congenial nature, perhaps few months in the year are more enjoyable in one's garden than that of September.
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The present month is the best one in which to consider the various effects—good or bad—which have been secured by growing certain plants in juxta-position with others. All incongruities or extremes arising from misplaced judgment or uncertain taste should be at once noted in a pocket-book reserved exclusively for gardening notes, comments, &c. It is ever so much easier to determine the proper positions of various colours, and situations of certain plants, when they are at the perfection of their beauty, than it is to allot them to certain imaginary quarters on plans, however skilfully drawn up, in winter. Indeed, it may be stated without reservation, that the only satisfactory means of insuring an harmonious blending and contrast of colours is by comparing the relative position which one plant of a certain colour and habit should occupy to another and different plant, when growth is perfected.
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Most bedding plants can be induced to continue flowering for a considerable period longer, if deprived of their seed-vessels so soon as these are formed, than they would otherwise do; geraniums, more especially. Not only does it hasten their decay to allow seeds to ripen, but materially enfeebles the entire plant. It is wise to secure as much beauty as is possible just now from your gardens, as a single and unexpected frosty night will destroy almost everything; nothing is more ephemeral than floral beauty.
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As last month, the chief attractions in the garden will be dahlias and hollyhocks; fine displays of rosesoften delight us throughout the autumnal months, and the last rose of summer charms us quite as much as the first one of spring. Rose-cuttings may still be taken, and those inserted last month should by this time be well-rooted plants, if properly treated, and must at once undergo a process of being gradually hardened off to the open air. Growing rose-shoots, having plenty of buds, must be carefully tied in. As regards very strong-growing plants which will need keeping within bounds, the operation of cutting them back requires the very greatest care, and our readers should get a practical gardener, if possible, to point out those which need trimming, and those to be left alone. Most young people possessing a knife generally commence sundry manœuvres on the first plant or tree within reach, and generally with very disastrous results. Trimming and pruning of all sorts should, therefore, be only done by practical hands, and then the life of the plant will be in pretty safe keeping.
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Dahlias will require plenty of attention until frost commences its havocs; shoots will need thinning, and the branches must be secured to stout stakes firmly placed in the earth; autumnal winds wreak great destruction among such branches as are insecurely made fast, and a number of handsome blooms are thus destroyed without coming to perfection. Insects are very fond of infesting dahlias, and their depredations must be guarded against. Hollyhocks, if entirely free from disease, will still be handsome objects, but their beauty will be somewhat on the wane; seeds may be saved from the best flowers, and should be sown at once in a pan of light sandy soil, and placed in a cold frame. Rooted layers of carnations of all sorts and of every section should now be planted out into a rich light soil, or, what is more preferable, two can be placed in a 5-inch or 6-inch pot, and wintered thus under glass. Asters of various kinds, such as Chinese and German, will now be in full beauty, and where large single flower-heads are a desideratum, only two or three must be allowed beyond the bud stage. Asters are among the prettiest of autumn flowers, and for children's gardens we would recommend what are known as "Dwarf Bouquet."
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The present month is the one during which all tender or half-hardy plants used in summer gardening are "housed," or removed to their winter quarters under glass. It is courting failure to allow such plants as chrysanthemums, auriculas, geraniums, and many others, to be exposed to the influence of cold, frosty nights, as when the "fell destroyer" commences to exert its power all plants touched by it rapidly decay. Gladioli will now be clothed in the full glory of their gaudy, but handsome dress; they are comparatively easy to manage in well-drained spots, and being such continuous bloomers, at least three or four or even half a dozen should be in every small garden. In winter they must be covered by about six inches of litter; but in cold and ill-drained soils it will be safer to take the roots up during October, keeping these in a dry situation until the following spring.
LEGENDS OF THE FLOWERS.THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.Whenskies are bright and winter's o'er,And leaves and flowers return once more,A little blossom 'mongst the grassPeeps at wayfarers as they pass.'Mongst gayer buds of larger sizeIt modest opes its purple eyes;And those who love the flowers know wellThe little Scarlet Pimpernel.The Scarlet PimpernelIt hath a story of its own,That unto country-folk is known;For Nature's hand hath given it strangePerception of the weather's change.If clear will be the day, and fair,It opens wide its petals rare;But if the clouds should threaten rain,It shuts them up quite close again.The shepherds love the little flowerThat tells them of the changeful hour,And many a one asks, "Tell me, pray,What weather there will be to-day."And so in time another name,In honour of its rare gift, came;And the wee blossom 'mongst the grass
W
henskies are bright and winter's o'er,And leaves and flowers return once more,A little blossom 'mongst the grassPeeps at wayfarers as they pass.'Mongst gayer buds of larger sizeIt modest opes its purple eyes;And those who love the flowers know wellThe little Scarlet Pimpernel.
The Scarlet Pimpernel
It hath a story of its own,That unto country-folk is known;For Nature's hand hath given it strangePerception of the weather's change.If clear will be the day, and fair,It opens wide its petals rare;But if the clouds should threaten rain,It shuts them up quite close again.The shepherds love the little flowerThat tells them of the changeful hour,And many a one asks, "Tell me, pray,What weather there will be to-day."And so in time another name,In honour of its rare gift, came;And the wee blossom 'mongst the grass
Music - Let's Away to the Woods by Charles Bassett
Let's away to the Woods.
In moderate time.
Words and Music byCharles Bassett.
1. The tints of the trees are mellowing down From their summer green to a russet brown, And many a harvest is over and past, For Autumn has chas'd away Summer at last.
2. The summer's warm glow has not died from the land, But is seen and felt upon ev'ry hand; From the orchard where apples hang ripe on the trees, To the thicket where nuts nod and dance in the breeze.
3. The birds sweetly sing as they soar in the sky, And the squirrels frisk in the branches high; And it makes me as happy and merry as they To roam in the woods on a bright autumn day.
Then away, let's away to the woods, Where the nuts and blackberries grow, Where the flow'rs at our feet send forth fragrance sweet--To the woods, to the woods let us go!... To the woods let us go!....
The Editor's Pocket-Book Jottings and Pencillings Here, There and Everywhere
About 1330 the Sultan Orkhan formed a military force out of Christian prisoners who had been compelled to become Mohammedans, and to these was given the name of Janizaries, from two Turkish words meaning new troops. A few years later they were more regularly organised, and granted special privileges, their number being increased to 10,000. Though for a time their ranks continued to be recruited from Christian prisoners, the service began, at length, to attract young Turks. Their chief officer, called theaga, wielded almost unlimited power. They fought on foot and were noted for the impetuosity of their charge. In course of time they manifested a rebellious spirit, often being the cause of conspiracies, riots, atrocities, and assassinations of rulers, statesmen, and high officials, and ultimately they grew to be more formidable to the Sultan than even foreign foes. Attempts to disband them were unsuccessful till Sultan Mahmoud II. finding himself opposed by them in 1826, managed to excite against them the fanatical zeal of other portions of his troops. Deserted by theiragaand other officers, they were utterly crushed, their barracks were burned, and their force was declared, on June 17, 1826, to be for ever dissolved. It is estimated that 15,000 of them were executed and more than 20,000 banished. In this way this once famous body of men was extinguished.
A Lincolnshire farmer has a dog that for practical wisdom will compare favourably with most men. Should its master leave anything—such as a stick or gloves—on the farm, he has but to make known by a sign the fact of his loss when off the dog will trudge, and not come home till it has found the missing article. It will permit a well-dressed man to enter the farm-yard by day, but should a beggar put in an appearance this respecter of persons will gently seize him by his clothes and see him safely off the premises. By night, however, all strangers approach at their peril. The farmer's sister lives on the adjoining farm, communication between the two farms being obtained by means of a single plank across the deep ditch that separates them. Sometimes the farmer's children want to visit their aunt, and they are always entrusted to the care of the dog. It marshals them in a small troop, conducts them to the bridge, where a halt is called. The bairns are then taken over one by one, doggie seizing hold from behind of the child's dress. It then waits for the return journey and escorts them home in the same way.
Bucephalus, the famous steed of Alexander the Great, is said to have been broken in in the following manner. The horse was so fierce and unmanageable that no one would ride it. It had broken one man's neck, another man's leg, and seriously injured several others. An animal with such a reputation no doubt excited a good deal of attention, and Alexander was one day watching it in the Hippodrome or Circus, when it struck him that the horse was rendered ungovernable by fear of its own shadow. Accordingly he mounted it, and running it against the sun—so that its shadow fell behind—in due time succeeded in thoroughly subduing it. Tradition stated that through being the first to break in Bucephalus—which became his favourite charger—Alexander had fulfilled the condition which had been declared by an oracle to be necessary to his gaining the crown of Macedon.
Sir Edwin Landseer's magnificent stag-picture called, "The Monarch of the Glen," and well known all over the world from engravings, was recently exposed to auction, when it fetched the enormous price of £6,510. It is said that the painter sold it off his easel for 800 guineas. The bidding at the sale began at £2,000, and by bids of one hundred guineas reached £4,000, at which price it was hoped that it might have been secured for the National Gallery. The competition, however, continued beyond that sum, until the picture was sold for 6,200 guineas. Only one other picture by Landseer has brought a higher price—namely, the famous Polar Bear subject, "Man proposes, but God disposes," which realised £6,615.
As commonly used nowadays this term is equivalent to "dunce," but it was originally employed as a law term. It is a Latin word, and literally translated means, "we do not know." In former days when a grand jury considered that a bill or indictment was not supported by sufficient evidence to prove the need for a trial, they wrote the word "ignoramus" on the back of it, signifying that they rejected it. The words used in present practice are simply "not a true bill," or "not found." But in course of time the old Latin term was made serviceable, as we have seen, in a new way.
Considering the reputation that most of the South Sea Islands used to enjoy for cannibalistic practices, it is pleasing to read that the natives of one of the isles in the Marshall group in the South Pacific Ocean rescued the crew of a vessel wrecked near Ujaal Island. A number of natives went in their boats to the wreck and took off the crew and a lady passenger, conveying them to an island some fifteen miles from the spot where the ship was lost, and treating them with great kindness. Tents were erected out of the sails of the wrecked vessel, which were removed for the purpose.
Not long since there died in a workhouse in Southwark a pedlar who used to sell odds-and-ends on a tray on London Bridge, and who pretended to be deaf and dumb. It is said that, though clothed in rags, he was a Swiss gentleman of means who, stung by remorse, had vowed not to open his lips for ten years, to go bareheaded and barefooted, and to abandon for twenty years all the advantages of his fortune. His vow was rigidly kept, and at the period of his death he was in the fourteenth year of his singular penance.
Seeing that pussy is by no means friendly to birds, it is rather gratifying to hear of a cat that was entrusted with the care of a shopful of birds and was true to her trust. She was shut in the shop for the purpose of doing battle with such rats and mice as might put in an appearance; and discharged this duty with signal success. Yet though it may have been—at first at any rate—a sore trial to her to keep her paws off the birds, she was able to resist every temptation to gratify her natural tastes, and might even have been seen quietly snoozing on the top of one of the cages.
These birds have retentive memories. A parrot that belonged to a lady recognised a black servant after three years' absence. Another bird was so fierce that no one in the house liked to touch it, but it would allow a lady visitor to handle it with impunity. It was at last given away, as its ill temper seemed incurable. About three years later this lady called upon a friend, when a parrot in the corner of the room became greatly excited. As it was generally very quiet in its demeanour, its mistress remarked the unusual behaviour, but her visitor on going up to the cage recognised her old friend of the savage disposition, which had not forgotten her. When she spoke to it the bird was much pleased, and came on to her hand and fondled her.
The residential palace in Darmstadt, where Queen Victoria made a brief stay in the spring of this year, has a clock-tower the chimes in which discourse sweet music four times every hour. At the first quarter they strike up a verse of the stirring "Watch on the Rhine;" at the half-hour the familiar notes of "God save the Queen" fall upon the listener's ear; at the third quarter an air from the well-known opera of the "Marriage of Figaro," enlivens the palace; while the hour is hailed with the bridal chorus from Wagner's "Lohengrin."
During the last two or three years a good deal has been heard of experiments for calming an angry sea by pouring oil upon the troubled waters. This has been proved to have a marked effect, but it is interesting to note that the idea is by no means new. In 1844 experiments were made in the North Sea, with a view to test this special property, and though several gallons were used on the occasion, no diminution of their rage was noticed in the waves. Captain Wilkes, however, the commander of the United States ExploringExpedition in the Antarctic Ocean, 1838-42, observed that the oil leaking from a whaler had a stilling influence upon the sea. And this quite agrees with the result of nearly, if not all, recent trials.
A large trade is done at Santa Barbara, in South California, in the preparation of stuffed specimens of a big, ugly, vicious, poisonous spider. Cards decorated with these insect monsters are readily bought by tourists, by museums, and by science schools. This spider excites great curiosity on account of the nest with trap-door which it constructs with much skill, but though its native valleys abound with countless numbers of the homes and tunnels, yet hardly a living spider can be seen. It is for this reason, doubtless, that the demand for stuffed specimens is so considerable as to engage wholesale merchants as well as retail shopkeepers in meeting its supply.
Early this year, a lady died in New York. She had had a Skye terrier as a pet for twelve years, and during the two months of her illness it remained by her bed. After the funeral it took up its old position by the bed, refusing to eat. A few days afterwards it found a pair of its mistress's shoes which had been thrown out of doors. The faithful animal brought them in its mouth to the bedroom, placed them on the floor, laid its fore paws and head across them, and continued in this position for several hours. Early one morning its mournful cries aroused the household, and exactly a week, to the very hour, after its mistress's death, the poor terrier expired beside the bed, its head and paws still resting on the cast-off shoes. This story shows how keenly some animals feel the loss of those who have treated them kindly.
Some weeks since a gentleman was knocked down by a cab in a busy street in London, and owed his escape from what might have proved a fatal accident to the sagacity of the horse by which the cab was driven. The hansom cab was going along at an ordinary pace, and the gentleman (who carried a bundle of papers) tried to pass it. In doing so he was knocked down, his papers were scattered, and he was himself in imminent danger of being run over, as the driver did not notice the accident in time to pull up. The horse, however, happened to be an old cavalry horse, and it neatly stepped over the prostrate body of the gentleman and stopped just as the wheels of the vehicle had reached his body. The gentleman was then dragged from his perilous position, much shaken and frightened, but in other respects uninjured.
You have now and again met with the phrase, "rich as a nabob," and have perhaps wondered what a nabob had to do with riches. I will tell you. Under the Mogul Empire the provinces of India were administered by deputies callednawâb, who commonly amassed great wealth and lived in much splendour. The title was used under British rule, but became gradually corrupted intonabob. In course of time it was applied generally to all natives who had grown rich, and latterly it was bestowed—more often in a derisive sense—upon Europeans who, having made large fortunes in India, returned to their native land and spent their money in a luxurious and ostentatious way.
ACTIVE VOLCANO IN RÉUNIONactive volcano in réunion
active volcano in réunion
Most active volcanoes have nothing very remarkable about them so far as the discharge of lava is concerned. In the Isle of Bourbon or Réunion, which lies in the Indian Ocean, there is, however, a volcano which is in a state of eruption twice every year. It occupies about one-sixth of the whole island, it often changes its crater, and the streams of lava sometimes reach to the sea. The surrounding district is called the Burned Land, from the desert aspect which it always wears. From the accompanying picture it will be seen that this volcano occasionally has several sources of lava.
Officers' Names are printed in Small Capital Letters, and the Names of their Members are printed beneath. Where a short line, thus "——," is printed, the end of an Officer's List is indicated.