23. HENRY BENSON, SWINDLER AND FORGER.23. HENRY BENSON, SWINDLER AND FORGER.
But where you see many bad signs collected in one face, and when you feel a certain instinctive aversion for a face, even though your reason or your supposed self-interest gives you no warning, then I say let your instinct have its way, and take the warning that Nature is holding up to you as a danger-signal.
This reliance upon instinct works both ways, moreover. It is equally foolish to distrust all men, as the cynics do, as it is to trust all men, as the imprudent do. In giving these necessarily scanty notes upon faces which contain some of Nature's most obvious danger-signals, my purpose is to warn people off the bad faces, and at the same time to encourage a belief in good faces; but in both instances, I suggest, let instinct be your guide, for in this matter instinct is often a far surer guide than reason.
Note.—These photographs have been specially taken from the models in Madame Tussaud's Exhibition. In expressing my thanks to Mr. John Tussaud for the facilities thus given, I must also express admiration of the art which produces these life-like models.—J. H. S.
Note.—These photographs have been specially taken from the models in Madame Tussaud's Exhibition. In expressing my thanks to Mr. John Tussaud for the facilities thus given, I must also express admiration of the art which produces these life-like models.—J. H. S.
IN PRAISE OF BABY
The sun rose up in the morningThrough his door in the Eastern sky;And he flung back his curtains of purple and redTo look out on the world, and he laughed as he said"There's nothing so bright as I!"But he never had seen my baby's smile,That is brighter than sunshine all the while.The moon stole out in the eveningFrom the clouds; and up, up she rolledThrough the wonderful blue of the Autumn night,And she said, "Ah, the sun may be never so bright,Still there's nothing to match my gold!"Well, the moon, she's golden, and soft and fair,But she couldn't have seen my baby's hair.The stars peeped after the twilight;And, when they were sure it was gone,They all flocked forth in a glittering show,Singing, "No one can dance like this below,Though we've nothing to dance upon!"So they twinkled in mazes light and fleet;But they never had watched my baby's feet.Barrington McGregor
The sun rose up in the morningThrough his door in the Eastern sky;And he flung back his curtains of purple and redTo look out on the world, and he laughed as he said"There's nothing so bright as I!"But he never had seen my baby's smile,That is brighter than sunshine all the while.
The moon stole out in the eveningFrom the clouds; and up, up she rolledThrough the wonderful blue of the Autumn night,And she said, "Ah, the sun may be never so bright,Still there's nothing to match my gold!"Well, the moon, she's golden, and soft and fair,But she couldn't have seen my baby's hair.
The stars peeped after the twilight;And, when they were sure it was gone,They all flocked forth in a glittering show,Singing, "No one can dance like this below,Though we've nothing to dance upon!"So they twinkled in mazes light and fleet;But they never had watched my baby's feet.
Barrington McGregor
AN EPISODE OF THE RED SEA.By Winston Spencer Churchill.[A]Illustrated by Henry Austin.
It was a little after half-past nine when the man fell overboard. The mail steamer was hurrying through the Red Sea in the hope of making up the time which the currents of the Indian Ocean had stolen. The night was clear, though the moon was hidden behind clouds. The warm air was laden with moisture. The still surface of the waters was only broken by the movement of the great ship, from whose quarter the long, slanting undulations struck out, like the feathers from an arrow shaft, and in whose wake the froth and air bubbles churned up by the propeller trailed in a narrowing line to the darkness of the horizon.
"THE RAILING GAVE WAY, AND HE FELL BACKWARDS INTO THE SEA WITH A SPLASH.""THE RAILING GAVE WAY, AND HE FELL BACKWARDS INTO THE SEA WITH A SPLASH."
There was a concert on board. All the passengers were glad to break the monotony of the voyage, and gathered around the piano in the companion-house. The decks were deserted. The man had been listening to the music and joining in the songs. But the room was hot, and he came out to smoke a cigarette and enjoy a breath of the wind which the speedy passage of the liner created. It was the only wind in the Red Sea that night.
The accommodation-ladder had not been unshipped since leaving Aden, and the man walked out on to the platform, as on to a balcony. He leaned his back against the rail and blew a puff of smoke into the air reflectively. The piano struck up a lively tune, and a voice began to sing the first verse of "The Rowdy Dowdy Boys." The measured pulsations of the screw were a subdued but additional accompaniment. The man knew the song. It had been the rage at all the music halls, when he had started for India seven years before. It reminded him of the brilliant and busy streets he had not seenfor so long, but was soon to see again. He was just going to join in the chorus, when the railing, which had been insecurely fastened, gave way suddenly with a snap, and he fell backwards into the warm water of the sea amid a great splash.
"THE LIGHT OF THE SHIP GOT SMALLER AND SMALLER AS HE THREW UP HIS HANDS AND SANK.""THE LIGHT OF THE SHIP GOT SMALLER AND SMALLER AS HE THREW UP HIS HANDS AND SANK."
For a moment he was physically too much astonished to think. Then he realised that he must shout. He began to do this even before he rose to the surface. He achieved a hoarse, inarticulate, half-choked scream. A startled brain suggested the word "Help!" and he bawled this out lustily and with frantic effort six or seven times without stopping. Then he listened.
"Hi! hi! clear the wayFor the Rowdy Dowdy Boys."
"Hi! hi! clear the wayFor the Rowdy Dowdy Boys."
The chorus floated back to him across the smooth water, for the ship had already passed completely by. And as he heard the music a long stab of terror drove through his heart. The possibility that he would not be picked up dawned for the first time on his consciousness. The chorus started again—
"Then—I—say—boys,Who's for a jolly spree?Rum—tum—tiddley—um,Who'll have a drink with me?"
"Then—I—say—boys,Who's for a jolly spree?Rum—tum—tiddley—um,Who'll have a drink with me?"
"Help! help! help!" shrieked the man, in desperate fear.
"Fond of a glass now and then,Fond of a row or noise;Hi! hi! clear the wayFor the Rowdy Dowdy Boys!"
"Fond of a glass now and then,Fond of a row or noise;Hi! hi! clear the wayFor the Rowdy Dowdy Boys!"
The last words drawled out faint and fainter. The vessel was steaming fast. The beginning of the second verse was confused and broken by the ever-growing distance. The dark outline of the great hull was getting blurred. The stern light dwindled.
Then he set out to swim after it with furious energy, pausing every dozen strokes to shout long wild shouts. The disturbed waters of the sea began to settle again to their rest. The widening undulations became ripples. The aërated confusion of the screw fizzed itself upwards and out. The noise of motion and the sounds of life and music died away.
The liner was but a single fading light on the blackness of the waters and a dark shadow against the paler sky.
At length full realisation came to the man, and he stopped swimming. He was alone—abandoned. With the understanding his brain reeled. He began again to swim, only now instead of shouting he prayed—mad, incoherent prayers, the words stumbling into one another.
Suddenly a distant light seemed to flicker and brighten. A surge of joy and hope rushed through his mind. They were going to stop—to turn the ship and come back. And with the hope came gratitude. His prayer was answered. Broken words of thanksgiving rose to his lips. He stoppedand stared after the light—his soul in his eyes. As he watched it, it grew gradually but steadily smaller. Then the man knew that his fate was certain. Despair succeeded hope. Gratitude gave place to curses. Beating the water with his arms, he raved impotently. Foul oaths burst from him, as broken as his prayers—and as unheeded.
The fit of passion passed, hurried by increasing fatigue. He became silent—silent as was the sea, for even the ripples were subsiding into the glassy smoothness of the surface. He swam on mechanically along the track of the ship, sobbing quietly to himself, in the misery of fear. And the stern light became a tiny speck, yellower but scarcely bigger than some of the stars, which here and there shone between the clouds.
Nearly twenty minutes passed, and the man's fatigue began to change to exhaustion. The overpowering sense of the inevitable pressed upon him. With the weariness came a strange comfort. He need not swim all the long way to Suez. There was another course. He would die. He would resign his existence since he was thus abandoned. He threw up his hands impulsively and sank. Down, down he went through the warm water. The physical death took hold of him and he began to drown. The pain of that savage grip recalled his anger. He fought with it furiously. Striking out with arms and legs he sought to get back to the air. It was a hard struggle, but he escaped victorious and gasping to the surface. Despair awaited him. Feebly splashing with his hands he moaned in bitter misery—
"I can't—I must. O God! let me die."
The moon, then in her third quarter, pushed out from behind the concealing clouds and shed a pale, soft glitter upon the sea. Upright in the water, fifty yards away, was a black triangular object. It was a fin. It approached him slowly.
His last appeal had been heard.
"UPRIGHT IN THE WATER, FIFTY YARDS AWAY, WAS A BLACK TRIANGULAR OBJECT—A FIN.""UPRIGHT IN THE WATER, FIFTY YARDS AWAY, WAS A BLACK TRIANGULAR OBJECT—A FIN."
FOOTNOTES:[A]As by a very remarkable coincidence there are two Winston Churchills, both writers, we may mention that this Mr. Churchill is the son of the late Lord Randolph Churchill.
[A]As by a very remarkable coincidence there are two Winston Churchills, both writers, we may mention that this Mr. Churchill is the son of the late Lord Randolph Churchill.
[A]As by a very remarkable coincidence there are two Winston Churchills, both writers, we may mention that this Mr. Churchill is the son of the late Lord Randolph Churchill.
NOW READY.
With the present January number Six Numbers of the Harmsworth Magazine have now been published, and they composeOur First Volume.Bound in the Elegant and Charming Cover,of which a facsimile is given on page594, its672pages formthe most sumptuous Magazine Volumeever published. This First Volume of theHarmsworth MagazineisISSUED AT 4s. 6d.and at that price it STANDS WITHOUT A RIVAL in Contents, in Attractiveness, and in Size.Nearly every page of this volume is illustrated. Among its contents are over60 Full Page Reproductionsof famous and interesting pictures.The Stories number 39, and theArticles 53, and these are so varied as to suit all readers.This Volume can be obtained from any bookseller or newsman, or it will be sent post free for 5s. 1d. on application to the Publisher,Harmsworth Magazine, 24. Tudor St., London, E.C.
With the present January number Six Numbers of the Harmsworth Magazine have now been published, and they compose
Our First Volume.Bound in the Elegant and Charming Cover,
of which a facsimile is given on page594, its672pages formthe most sumptuous Magazine Volumeever published. This First Volume of theHarmsworth Magazineis
ISSUED AT 4s. 6d.
and at that price it STANDS WITHOUT A RIVAL in Contents, in Attractiveness, and in Size.
Nearly every page of this volume is illustrated. Among its contents are over60 Full Page Reproductionsof famous and interesting pictures.The Stories number 39, and theArticles 53, and these are so varied as to suit all readers.
This Volume can be obtained from any bookseller or newsman, or it will be sent post free for 5s. 1d. on application to the Publisher,Harmsworth Magazine, 24. Tudor St., London, E.C.
A SPANISH PEACE COMMISSIONER. From the Painting by Hal Hurst.A SPANISH PEACE COMMISSIONER.From the Painting by Hal Hurst.
NAPOLEON'S FLIGHT AFTER WATERLOO—"SAUVE QUI PEUT!" From the Painting by A. C. Gow, R.A. By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.NAPOLEON'S FLIGHT AFTER WATERLOO—"SAUVE QUI PEUT!"From the Painting by A. C. Gow, R.A.By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.
A LITTLE DEAR. From a Photo by Baron A. von Meyer IV.A LITTLE DEAR.From a Photo by Baron A. von Meyer IV.
THE GIRL OF THE PERIOD. From the Painting by Heywood Hardy. By Permission of the Berlin Photography Co., Bond Street, W.THE GIRL OF THE PERIOD.From the Painting by Heywood Hardy.By Permission of the Berlin Photography Co., Bond Street, W.
"ANDRÉE, INDEED! I WAS THERE LONG AGO!" From the Painting by T. C. Hepworth."ANDRÉE, INDEED! I WAS THERE LONG AGO!"From the Painting by T. C. Hepworth.
A VERY OLD, OLD STORY. From the Painting by L. Alma Tadema, R.A. By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.A VERY OLD, OLD STORY.From the Painting by L. Alma Tadema, R.A.By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.
HAPPY AS A KING. Gunn and Stuart, Photo.HAPPY AS A KING.Gunn and Stuart, Photo.
IN RUSSIA—THE TERROR OF THE PLAIN. By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.IN RUSSIA—THE TERROR OF THE PLAIN.By Permission of the Berlin Photographic Co., Bond Street, W.
Transcriber's NotesThe beginningtitleand Table ofContentswere not part of the original magazine. Some illustrations have been moved from their original positions in order to avoid breaking up paragraphs of text.Page626: Retained "passed" although author meant "past".(Orig.: I did not speak, but looked towards her, looked passed her)Page660: Corrected illustration number from 32 to 23.(Orig.: 32. HENRY BENSON, SWINDLER AND FORGER.)