"IT IS TOO LATE!""IT IS TOO LATE!"
"Malediction—it is too late!" murmured the young man, as he dropped upon a chair, and let his unheeded weapons fall to the ground.
"Two sentinels before each door and window," called out the captain to the soldiers who followed him. "This is the last house in which our prisoner could take refuge," he continued, striking impatiently the butt end of his rifle upon the ground. "Search well, comrades; you know he who takes the Frenchman prisoner is to have the honour of firing the first shot upon him, and is also to receive twenty douros for reward." Thereupon he advanced into the room. "Well, my good fellow," he said to Stephano; "what are you going to do with these weapons? Are they to defend yourself or to protect the officer whom you have hidden here?"
"No one is hidden in this house," replied the young man, with the courage which peril bestows. "The La Sargas are known throughout the country to be devoted to Spain and the Queen. I have three brothers in the national army, and I have just picked up these weapons with the intention of joining your troops."
The captain looked at him with a sneering smile. Then he turned to his companions, who had just returned from searching the house.
"Well, have you found anything?"
"Only a young girl and an old man," was the reply.
"Bring the old man here," said the captain; then he turned to Stephano. "And you, sir, go with my lieutenant and these three men, and show them every room there is"; then he murmured in the lieutenant's ear,slipping at the same time a purse of gold into his hand: "Spare neither threats nor persuasion to gain this young man over to our side. Whatever it costs, I must recapture our prisoner."
Stephano felt tempted to resist these orders, but he reflected that this would only draw suspicion upon him, and he led the way up the stairs, which were placed in a corner of the room.
At the same time Don Pedro entered, guarded by two soldiers and leaning on his staff. Then an interval ensued, and the minutes flew past. Suddenly a pistol shot was heard. Everyone gave a start of alarm. Then one of the guards who had gone out with Stephano came rushing down the stairs and into the room.
"The bird is snared, or will be in a few minutes," he cried. "Our prisoner," he continued, pointing through the window, "is in that building which you see at the bottom of the garden."
"How do you know this?" asked the captain.
"From the young man who is upstairs with the lieutenant."
"From Stephano!" cried the old man, growing pale with horror.
"Ah, ah!" laughed the captain, "your son does not seem very hard to persuade."
"The lieutenant having discovered nothing," the man went on, "told three of us to go and search the granary, and took advantage of the occasion to take the young man aside. I watched them. A purse of gold and the barrel of a pistol have been the principal inducements. The sly fellow at first was very obstinate, and it was then that the lieutenant fired the pistol at him to frighten him. The young man seemed to be moved in a singular manner by the shot. He gave way with good grace, and pointed the pavilion out to us."
Whilst the captain lent a joyful ear to this narrative, Don Pedro, on the contrary, listened with terror mingled with incredulity. At these last words he could contain himself no longer, and broke in violently:—
"Enough, wretch; enough!" he cried. "What you say is impossible! It is an infamous calumny! My son is quite incapable of such villainy!"
"Look, senor," replied the man, pointing to the stairs.
Stephano in truth was descending with the lieutenant, holding the purse in his hand. His pale and agitated face seemed to proclaim his guilt, and Don Pedro sank back fainting on a seat. Stephano crossed the room with a faltering step without observing his father, and, reaching the window, gazed out upon the road.
In recalling to mind his son's jealousy of Dulaurier, Don Pedro understood the facts of the matter—that he had sold his guest to get rid of a detested rival. Maddened by passion, he had without doubt lost all control over himself. After having exchanged some words in a low voice with his lieutenant, the captain made a sign to two of his men.
"Remain with this fellow," he said, in a tone of contempt, pointing to Stephano, "until we reach the pavilion; if he makes one movement shoot him, and when a volley announces to you that we are not deceived, join us to start upon our route."
"Very good, captain," answered the two soldiers, taking up their position on each side of Stephano, whilst the others went out softly.
A mournful silence reigned in the chamber.
Stephano stood erect before the window, with haggard eyes fixed upon the road; Don Pedro, mute and motionless in his chair, seemed like a man bereft of all at a single blow. Then, his misery overwhelming him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Stephano turned round quickly, and for the first time saw his father.
"Great Heavens! He was there, and heard all!" he murmured. "Father!" he cried imploringly.
"Call me your father no more," cried the old man, with flaming eyes, "unless you can tell me that I am blind and deaf, or that I have dreamed that my son was a coward, a traitor, an assassin! Tell me so, Stephano, for pity's sake!"
The young man made an effort as if he were about to speak, but paused at the sight of his two guards; the strain was so painful that he was forced to lean for support on one of the guerilla's arms. Then he turned away; Don Pedro rose from his seat and came towards his son.
"His eye never quits this fatal window," he murmured to himself. "It looks as if he watched to see the success of his perfidy, that he wishes to assure himself that his rival does not escape. Wretch!" he burst forth, "if this is so, may you be——"
Suddenly a hand was laid softly upon the old man's arm. It was Rosita.
"Ah! it is you, Rosita!" said Don Pedro with a bewildered stare. "Wretched man that I am, what was I about to do?" he added, passing his hand over his forehead.
Rosita came farther forward into the room.
"Stephano guarded by two soldiers!" she cried. "Holy Virgin! what does this mean, and what has happened?"
And she made an instinctive movement towards her cousin. Her uncle stopped her.
"Keep away from this wretched man!" he cried, "for he is a coward and a traitor; he has betrayed your betrothed!"
"Betrayed my betrothed!" cried the girl, with horror. "It is impossible!"
"Not only has he betrayed him," continued the old man, taking his niece's hand, "but he is watching for the success of his treason. Do you recognise my son, Rosita?" he added, with heartrending despair, "or the man whom you loved?"
Here the poor old man broke down completely, and sank back into his chair. The girl gazed at him with consternation. Even the rough soldiers were touched by the scene, and turned their heads aside.
"THE POOR OLD MAN BROKE DOWN COMPLETELY.""THE POOR OLD MAN BROKE DOWN COMPLETELY."
At that instant a loud report shook the walls. It was the captain's volley. The two soldiers exchanged a meaning glance and disappeared. As soon as they went out Rosita threw herself in Don Pedro's arms.
"Dulaurier is dead!" said the old man, gloomily.
"He is saved!" cried Stephano, coming forward, and throwing from him as he did so the purse of gold. "Yes, father, yes, Rosita, the lieutenant is safe and sound, and will be with us in a few seconds."
"How can that be?" cried Don Pedro, passing from despair to joy.
"Before leaving Dulaurier in the pavilion we had arranged that he was to be informed by a pistol shot when he must leave his hiding-place for the granary whilst his enemies were searching the pavilion. You understand now how the guerilla's shot agitated me. For, of course, Dulaurier, taking the report for the signal agreed upon, would leave the pavilion for the granary, and would then fall into the hands of his pursuers. The only plan to save him was to get the soldiers away from the granary, which I did by feigning to betray Dulaurier, by accepting the purse, and pointing out the pavilion as his hiding-place. For a quarter of an hour I have endured the tortures of hell, but I have saved the man who confided in me, and I am still worthy of you both!"
The young man had hardly finished his narrative when his father and Rosita were at his feet begging for forgiveness. Then Stephano hastened to the granary, and called the lieutenant's name, but there was no response, and soon Stephano's surprise was changed to uneasiness. He rushed into the granary. It was empty. Stephano reappeared, pale, tottering and breathless.
"Dulaurier is not in the granary," he cried. "He cannot have taken the pistol shot for my signal. He must have remained, and that report we heard was his death-shot."
He paused abruptly. Don Pedro andRosita understood, and burst forth into an exclamation of horror.
"Victory! Victory!" cried a hundred voices.
Their despair and consternation were changed to the most lively astonishment, when a detachment of Don Carlos's volunteers entered the house, led by Dulaurier himself.
"Dulaurier!" exclaimed Stephano, Don Pedro, and Rosita at the same time.
"Our enemies!" said the old Castilian, whilst his niece shrank behind him.
"Say rather friends," replied Dulaurier, pressing Stephano's hand warmly.
"But how has all this happened?" began the bewildered Stephano.
"One minute's attention. For half an hour I waited patiently after your departure in the little pavilion, when I heard the signal we arranged on of the pistol shot. I quitted my hiding-place at once, and was preparing to creep towards the granary, when, casting a glance upon the road, I recognised the uniforms of the volunteers of my regiment. Briefly," continued Dulaurier, showing the soldiers who surrounded him, "here are the gentlemen, whom I have the honour of presenting to you. Like good comrades, they determined to avenge me, and we caught the guerillas in an ambush as they were searching the pavilion. Bang! a general discharge, and thirty men were lying on the ground, and the rest running away for their lives."
"The volley of which we believed you the victim!" interrupted Stephano.
"You understand the rest. Not wishing to quit Panola without thanking you, and also wishing to see about that little matter which I mentioned to you this morning, we came on here. And now," he added to Stephano, with the air of a man who has no time to lose, "I must thank you most warmly for all you have done for me."
There was such a tone of kindness in these words that Stephano could do nothing but grasp his hand cordially in return.
"Anyone else?" cried the effusive officer, looking quickly round. "You have a father, a mother, a wife, perhaps? Where are they? This noble old man must be your father," and upon Stephano's making an affirmative sign he grasped the old man's hand, and wrung it with force.
"Are there no ladies in your family?" asked Dulaurier with a gallant air.
It was then that in spite of Rosita's efforts to avoid his attention he caught sight of her as she hid behind Don Pedro's high-backed chair.
"Ah! here is one!" he said, without recognising his betrothed. He stepped forward towards her.
"Most amiable senora," he began politely, "permit me——" He paused, gazing with stupefied eyes upon the young girl, and then made a sign to his soldiers to leave them.
"Good Heavens!" he exclaimed, "if I am not deceived it is Rosita, my prettyfiancée!"
"You are right; it is I, Monsieur Dulaurier," faltered the young girl.
The light of happiness vanished from all the faces in the room except the lieutenant's.
"You can easily understand, my pretty one, what has led me to Panola," said Dulaurier.
"I presume you have come to remind Rosita," answered Don Pedro, "of the promise that she gave you at her dying father's bedside. She has not forgotten it, senor. She recognises her duty, and you have only one word to say——"
"Will you answer me yourself, Rosita?" interrupted Dulaurier, marking her extreme pallor and agitation. "You know what I have the right of claiming; are you still able to give it me freely?"
"Without doubt," she murmured; "if I give you my hand, my heart will go with it."
"Words, nothing but words!" thought the lieutenant, who grew pale in his turn. "All women are weathercocks. It is clear I am superseded," and he bit his lip until it bled. "But I should like to know who is my substitute," and he turned mechanically to Stephano. He found him as mute and as troubled as Rosita. The truth flashed across him. "I cannot blame the brave young man," he murmured to himself, "for falling in love with his cousin. It has not prevented him from saving my life at the expense of his love and honour, and as I have no wish for a heart not wholly mine, I have now to render sacrifice for sacrifice, and to keep the reputation of France equal to that of Spain." He turned to Rosita with a smile.
"Mademoiselle," he began, "when we plighted our troth, and I told you that I loved you devotedly, I was as sincere as I am to-day, only I took upon myself too much, and have contracted several other engagements, more or less similar to yours." He gave a forced laugh as he pronounced these words.
"That is enough, senor," said Don Pedro. "But why have you then come to Panola to claim her promise?"
"Who said that I was here for that purpose?"asked Dulaurier, abruptly. Stephano, indeed, recollected that the Frenchman had not said a single word which implied that he came to claim Rosita's hand. "I implore Mademoiselle Rosita to pardon me," pursued Dulaurier, "and I propose that we exchange rings again."
"I PROPOSE THAT WE EXCHANGE RINGS AGAIN.""I PROPOSE THAT WE EXCHANGE RINGS AGAIN."
It was no sooner said than done. Dulaurier turned and clasped Stephano's hand again, and now the young man saw with apprehension that Dulaurier's eyes were dim with tears. Dulaurier could keep up the farce no longer, and his heart was breaking behind the smile upon his lips.
"Dulaurier!" said the young man, "you weep: you are unhappy! What you have said has been only a sublime falsehood! You love Rosita—you wish to marry her—and if you have the generosity to renounce all for me, it must not be at the expense of your happiness."
"Hush!" said Dulaurier, as he took him aside. "Do not undo my work. But since you have found it out, you are right. I did come back to claim Rosita. I have always loved her, and have loved none but her. But do not breathe a word of this. Let no thought of my unhappiness cast a shadow on her life. Sacrifice for sacrifice, young man. France is equal to Spain, and we are quits.
"Farewell, brave Castilians," he cried aloud, "celebrate the marriage merrily: and let us hope that we shall never meet upon the battlefield of this unhappy country."
"Farewell!" replied Stephano, huskily.
Dulaurier pressed Don Pedro's and Stephano's hands, kissed that of Rosita, and joined his comrades outside.
"Wheel to the right—forward!" he shouted, at the head of his battalion.
Then came the roll of the drum, and they all marched past the window.
"Rosita," said Stephano to his cousin, "you are free, and we are going to be happy; but never let us forget Lieutenant Dulaurier!"
Let us return for a space to the two spirits William and James, whose conversations we described in past numbers. Some readers may possibly recall how the spirit James, while wandering through the darkness of unoccupied Space (about five-and-twenty billions of eons before the commencement of Eternity), conceived a wild idea of the possibility of the existence of worlds—worlds occupied by an impracticability called "man." It will be recollected how the wiser spirit William cast well-merited ridicule upon this insanely impossible phantasy of a disordered mind; nay, even condescended to crush, by perspicuous and irrefutable logic, the grotesque and preposterous idea.
Very well; it is now William's turn.
"James," he said one day as they chanced to sight each other in the awful solitude of Space, "I have been thinking over that world of yours, and your crowning absurdity, 'man.' Pray do not become too inflated with weak conceit at my condescending to think about such trivialities; for the fact is, any subject of thought—however hopelessly foolish—is a relief amid the tediousness of Space. Well, I have been reflecting upon that characteristic which you conceive as distinguishing your puppet 'man'—I allude tointelligence. I think you suggested that he would possess intelligence?"
James only fidgeted uneasily, and made a feeble sign of affirmation.
"Very well," continued William. "Now, I have been putting two and two together, and have found out the nature of that quality which you mistake for intelligence; its true name is 'low cunning.' Every fresh piece of absurdity which you have told me touching the tricks of your queer creatures has supplied new evidence of this. Your creatures were to feed upon the substance of the 'world' on which they lived, and, ever increasing in numbers, would logically in course of time find there was not a mouthful apiece. I think we agreed about that? Well, let us consider that period, some time before the creatures should actually become exterminated by the natural evolution of events—the time when all the eatable products of their world would be growing scarce. You went so far as to imagine a great many products——"
"Yes!" said James, gazing afar off in the absorption of his imagination. "Yes—there were eggs, and oysters, and poultry, and mushrooms, and——"
"Ah!—the very things I've been reflecting about. Well, I've been dreaming that, at the period of which I speak, when all the commodities were becoming scarce, your human beings would agree to make poisonous artificial articles of consumption with which to poison themselves by degrees, and thus reduce the population to convenient limits."
"No!" cried James, pondering deeply. "Their idea would be to poison notthemselves, buteach other!"
"POISON.""POISON."
"Ah! I see. Then they would make some sort of effort to prevent themselves being poisoned?"
"Oh, yes; they would pass Adulteration Acts for the purpose."
"I see; and any creature who did not wish to be poisoned could take advantage of these Acts to protect himself?"
"Certainly. The Acts would be very stringent. Let us suppose, for example, that a certain man suspected that the butter supplied to him was not butter at all, but a deleterious compound—well, all he would have to do would be to go to the shop, accompanied by a guardian of the peace, and, standing on one leg, with both hands on the counter and one eye shut, order a pound of the butter in certain words prescribed by the Act. He would then say to the tradesman, 'I am about to divide this pound of butter into three equal portions for the purposes of analysis'; and, taking the butter-man's knife in his left hand, and passing it to his right, would cut the butter into three portions exactly equal.
"After this, hermetically sealing the three portions in three jars provided for the purpose, he would hand one jar to the tradesman, the second to the guardian of the peace, and retain the third. Then he would bring an action; and (provided that all the conditions had been accurately fulfilled, without the slightest flaw) the erring tradesman would be told by the Court not to do it again; while the complainant would have to pay all costs, and possibly a fine; and would be sneered at by the magistrate as a fussy idiot and a common informer.
"If, on the other hand, the complainant should omit to secure the company of a custodian of the peace, or fail to stand on one leg with both hands on the counter, or take the knife in his right hand first, or should leave out the prescribed words, or blink his eye, or stammer, or sneeze, or in any other way fail to observe the regulations of the Act; he would, of course, have no case or remedy. The Adulteration Acts would be extremely stringent——"
"Against the victim of adulteration?"
"Ye—es," murmured James, a little nonplussed.
"THE SHOP.""THE SHOP."
"Ah—well, then, I think we can afford to ignore these Adulteration Acts—like the adulterators and the public authorities would—and proceed with the question of the adulteration. I had a most vivid vision or dream of the details of this adulteration as they would be carried out on your world at the period we are now considering. I imagined that I was actually in a part of your world called 'America,' and that one of yourhuman beings politely invited me to walk through his factory and see how things were made. I think you mentioned 'oysters'——"
"NO CASE.""NO CASE."
"Yes," said James, "that's one name the article of food would possess; newspaper writers, however, would not recognise them by that name—they would only know them as 'the succulent bivalve.'"
"The very idea!" exclaimed William. "That's exactly what I seemed to have become—a newspaper writer. I fancied I went to see the factory, and then sent in the following account:—
"One of the most interesting factories in America is the stately building of the Ephraim Q. Knickerbocker Natural Products Manufacturing Corporation, of Spread Eagle Springs, N.J. That the structure is itself an imposing one may well be imagined in view of the vast productive energy expended within its walls; and the feebleness and inefficiency of the productive operations of Nature are never so fully realized as after a visit to this marvellous factory, and a comparison of the two systems.
"It was, therefore, with no little satisfaction that we lately received a courteous invitation from the able and energetic managing director General Sardanapalus J. Van Biene to inspect the operations of the Corporation at its factory. Accordingly, we proceeded to the New York terminus of the Natural Products Manufacturing Corporation's New York, Sumner Ferry, Thanksgiving Flats, and Spread Eagle Springs Railroad, along which a special train speedily whirled us to the front door of the works. On the steps stood the genial managing director, supported by the principal manager Colonel Exodus V. Rooster, the head chemist Major Madison B. Jefferson, and the assistant chemists Judge Vansittart J. Sumner and Admiral Hudson W. Killigrew.
"They received us with open arms, and, after entertaining us at arecherchélunch, conducted us to the chemistry and analysis section occupying a little over seventeen acres and employing a permanent staff of thirteen thousand four hundred and thirty-two, assistants, among whom are chemists, microscopists, sub-inventors, etc., etc. There it is that the productive operations of Nature are studied and improved upon.
"'You must not imagine that we have any kind of sympathy or admiration for Nature's system,' explained General S. J. Van Biene, hastening to sweep away any false impression which we might have formed.
"THEY RECEIVED US WITH OPEN ARMS.""THEY RECEIVED US WITH OPEN ARMS."
"'On the contrary, we just entirely despise her and her ways, and should have discarded her way back but for the prejudicesof the consuming public. It's just like this—the consumers still believe in natural products, and so we have to go on reproducing them instead of starting right away on our own lines and bringing out new and original commodities far in advance of anything Nature can do. How we're stultified you'll see as we work through. We just have to copy, anyway, in place of originating. We make oysters, for example. Now quite a while ago, our head chemist Major Madison B. Jefferson invented a new edible way, finer in every essential than the oyster; but the consumers wouldn't have it: they shied at it, and declared it wasn't wholesome; and we had the whole stock on our hands, and had to vat it down again, and recolour it, and make tomatoes of it. Then they took it down and just chaired it round. Of course, we have to say wegrowthe products—that's another effect of popular prejudice; if we had said we made those tomatoes, the public would have started right off again, and talked of "adulteration," although our tomatoes whip Nature's by 50 per cent, in all the elements of nutrition and flavour. Just taste this one.'
"We hesitated, and the director, perceiving it, promptly consumed another from the same case. Thus reassured, we ventured to nibble at the artificial vegetable, and found it excellent in every respect—decidedly superior to the natural product, as he had stated.
"'But,' we asked, 'do you not suffer considerable losses when these products—necessarily perishable in the natural course of things—begin to decay?'
"JUST TASTE THIS ONE.""JUST TASTE THIS ONE."
"'That's just another point where we show our superiority to Nature.Ourproductsdon'tdecay; on the contrary, they improve by keeping. Here is a tomato seven years old,' he continued, taking down another case. 'Try it.'
"We did. The other was not to be compared with it. The older tomato had matured and mellowed, the skin having a finer colour and lovelier gloss, the flesh possessing a firmer body and more delicate flavour; it was far in advance of any tomato we had ever conceived.
"'Wonderful!' we exclaimed.
"'A very simple matter,' said the director. 'All that is required is a thorough mastery of chemistry. In all our goods we employ a special patent preservative of our own, which is naturally a secret. We calculate it to be worth one hundred and fifty quadrillions of dollars.
"'But let us show you how we make oysters! See, these are the tanks which contain the mixture—the compound which forms the body of the bivalve. This tank contains the beard-mixture; and this one the gristle.'
"'And what are the principal ingredients?'
"'Glue, made from horses' heels. This is a very important factor in our products. This glue, after undergoing a peculiar treatment which prevents its hardening and losing its elasticity in the course of years, is flavoured and coloured in various ways. This great tank contains the composition for the internal parts of the oyster—nearly black, you perceive; that tank over there contains the compound for the flesh that covers the internal parts; that tank farther along holds the beard mixture; and the one beyond that the gristle which attaches the oyster to the shell. First, the flesh of the oyster is run into moulds, each oyster being in two parts; then the inside of the animal is run into another mould, and the two halves of the body are automatically placed around it and cemented together.
"'Meanwhile the beards have been rolled, stamped, frilled, and coloured along the edge by special automatic machinery. The body of the oyster then passes to the fixing-up room, where the beard is cemented to it by hand, and finishing touches of colour added; and then it passes along and has the gristle attached: and the oyster itself is complete.'
The Oyster Factory Affixing the Beards.The Oyster Factory Affixing the Beards.
"'But it wants a shell!'
"'Just so. As far as the supply will go, we buy up old shells from dustyards and use them; but most of them are damaged by previous opening, so we make the bulk of our shells, and they're a good deal more natural than the real ones. They're made of lime.'
"'All alike?'
"'Not in the least. You see, we have some thousands of moulds, every one differing slightly from the rest. There's a special department for hingeing the two shells together. We had some trouble to find a substance for the hinge; but at last one of our chemists hit on a way of subjecting old hide-scraps to a peculiar process, and that did the thing. The mother-of-pearl is made of a sort of soft glass, somewhat after the appearance of Venetian glass, and put on the shell hot. Lastly, the oyster is attached to the shells by its cartilage; a little liquor is put in, and the shells are closed up.'
"'But surely people must observe that they are not alive?' we said. 'For instance, they can't open their shells!'
"'That's just where you're astray,' replied the General. 'Owing to the mechanical action of salt upon the composition of the cartilage, the oyster opens when placed in salt water. Iron, however, exercises an electro-magnetic influence upon the composition forming the body of the bivalve, causing a sudden contraction—so that, on a knife being introduced into the shell, the latter closes in the most natural way. We manufacture pearls on the premises, and advertise that one oyster in every gross taken from our beds contains a pearl of more or less value; and there's a greater demand for our oysters than for any others in the world. Our oyster beds are way down along the coast, about ten miles off; and are inspected by thousands yearly. Taste this egg.'
The Pearl.The Pearl.
"He took up a fine specimen of a new-laid egg, and proceeded to break it into a glass. It was a delightful egg. 'That's our latest pattern of egg,' explained the General, 'You perceive that it has three lines around it, where the substance of the shell is weaker than elsewhere; the lines near each end enable a person about to consume the egg in a boiled state to easily cut off the top or bottom with a knife, or run his nail around it; while the line about the middle greatly assists cooks in breaking it into a basin. There is also a thin spot at either end, to facilitate sucking. These eggs are always new-laid; we send tons to Europe, particularly to Great Britain, where ours are the only fresh eggs they ever get.'
The London EggThe London Egg
"'But you must find some difficulty in making an egg?'
"'Just as easy as smiling. The white is simply jelly-fish subjected to a chemical process—jelly-fish aren't costly. This tank is full of the liquor. The main ingredient of the yolk is the horse-heel glue mentioned before; we also boil down vast quantities of rats—they come cheap, too; it's only the cost of catching them; and then there's a vegetable colouring, and the preservative, and a few other trifles. First, the two halves of the white are made in two moulds, and frozen; then the two frozen halves are frozen together, and the yolk-mixture poured in through a small hole, which is then closed. Then comes the skin; and that is the most expensive part, for it contains a certain quantity of rubber. We have tried in vain to find a substitute for rubber, but failed hitherto. The rubber is mixed with a gum from a South American tree, and the mixture is applied with a brush over the frozen egg; and then the egg, still frozen, is dipped in a lime composition very nearly identical with the oyster-shell mixture; and, lastly, the whole thing is passed through the finishing machine, which turns the three thin lines and the two thin spots, imitates the pores of the shell, and delivers the finished egg to the warehouse.'
"'Marvellous!' we involuntarily exclaimed.
"'Oh, that's nothing at all,' said the director. 'We're meditating turning out eggs that will hatch and become fowls. At present we have to manufacture fowls; but we calculate to make a great saving by producing them from the eggs we make. That building over yonder is the terrapin factory; we turn out eleven tons of terrapin weekly. We make clams, of course—in the oyster department. In this next house we make kidneys and sweetbreads. Fruit? Oh, yes, we turn out masses of fruit; peaches pay best, but we do very well with nuts.'
"We were then conducted to the show-room, where we tasted a number of other products of the wonderful factory; and we had just said a grateful farewell to our courteous guide, when we were seized with pains of the most acute description.
The Pain.The Pain.
"The arrangements of the hospital were admirable. The kindliness and attention we received made our five years' sojourn there a time to look back upon with feelings of gratitude. We are assured that, with strict diet and unremitting care, we may last some time yet—possibly even three months."
"It was a marvellous vision," said James, fervently, as the voice of William ceased. "Surely after that you must think better of those beings of mine?"
But William merely sniffed.
J. F. Sullivan.
A TURNIP RESEMBLING A HUMAN HAND.A TURNIP RESEMBLING A HUMAN HAND.
The above photographs represent two views of an extraordinary turnip grown by Alderman David Evans, Llangennech Park, Carmarthenshire. We are indebted for the photographs to Mr. Morgan W. James, of Llanelly.
A ROOM PAPERED WITH STAMPS.A ROOM PAPERED WITH STAMPS.
The above photograph represents the study of Mr. C. Whitfield King, of Morpeth House, Ipswich, which he has papered with 44,068unusedforeign postage stamps, bearing the value of £699 16s. 9d., and containing 48 varieties of different sizes and colours, presenting an example of mosaic work which is altogether unique of its kind.
DrinkingDrinking
VESSELS OF ALLVESSELS OF ALL
A CROCODILE STORY.A CROCODILE STORY.