Page images
PDF
EPUB

with the world, and which, like many young people, are guilty of indiscretions. When a few weeks old, the cubs eat the delicacies given them by their parents, and play themselves at the mouth of the den. They soon cause a litter-fur, hair, and feathers, with heads, feet, and bones, representing almost every beast and bird in the 'forest,' being strewn about in disorder. Moreover, the mouth of the den, whether in the rocks, as is commonly the case in the Highlands, or in sand-holes, is rendered black with the trampings of the cubs, and every vestige of grass about it is worn off for some yards. Evidence of the den is thus made conclusive, and the consequence is often disastrous to reynard and his young family.

His

silence her for ever. The roedeer is a different stamp of animal, and when the fawn is attacked, fights with great ferocity, and not unfrequently makes the enemy retreat crest-fallen. The fox, however, kills many fawns, and has been known even to kill the calves of the red deer. relish for venison is so keen that it occasionally makes him forget his innate caution and commit errors of judgment; he now and then walks into a trap baited with venison. The carcase of a deer is the best bait that can be used to trap him. With all his exalted notions of sport, he condescends at times to exert his great power upon very small game. The only time the writer observed him in the act of hunting, he was after mice! On getting their scent, he stood still for At a certain age, the cubs manifest unbounded a moment, with his right foot suspended in the playfulness and activity. They come out of their manner of a pointer, then moved stealthily dens every day when the sun is at the hottest, towards the game, and having got near enough, to enjoy themselves. It is quite a little panto- sprang upon them, and shook the nest of tiny mime to watch them at their amusement, leaping creatures about his ears. Having performed this over, biting, and surprising each other in every exploit, he looked about him with the air of a imaginable and unimaginable way, and, when man who thinks he has done a brave deed, frightened, scampering off to their holes. Their entitling him to applause; but at that instant, drollery is inimitable; but unlike kittens and he perceived he was watched, and fled. The fox some other animals, they will not share their fun kills all his prey in much the same way. Winged with man. A fox-cub is probably the most stub-game often baffle him, but in the end, his perborn and perverse creature in existence. It will severance is crowned with success. He seldom not even look at its captor. Most young animals, chases the hare, but pounces upon puss, and kills particularly birds, on being seized, give one a her before she is aware of the presence of a foe. curious or supplicating look. Not so the young Grouse are so plentiful that the fox rarely visits fox; it averts its eyes with something like a sneer. a farmyard in the Highlands. The heads of Catch him by the neck, as the writer has done poisonous snakes (the adder) are seen at the den; several times, and peer into its eyes, and it will so that, as a change of diet, he sometimes treats jerk its head aside, to avoid looking you in the the cubs to a reptile. The writer has seen two face. It would be a mistake, however, to take families of foxes in one den in Sutherlandshire. this liberty with a full-grown fox. The eyes of The female has usually four, but occasionally reynard, be the animal young or old, are full of five, and even six cubs at a time. meaning and artfulness, and not pleasant to look

at.

The fox may be tamed, and reciprocates friendly overtures; but, of course, he cannot always be depended upon.

Until they are a month or six weeks old, the cubs, though timid and shy, suspect no secret plot, looking merely at the surface of things, and may be trapped without difficulty. The traps should be placed in the principal holes of the den, and, if it be wished to preserve the cubs alive, thickly covered with moss or grass, to prevent the possibility of injuring them. The whole should then be carefully concealed with mould. A bait is not needed; on the contrary, by opening the minds of the young foxes to suspicion, it would in all probability defeat its object. A number of cubs are annually captured in this manner in the Highlands, some of which are sent to England, where they thrive and multiply. An old fox, however, rarely allows himself to be trapped.

Reynard leaves no department unexplored in hunting for the cubs, which, in the fashion of all young animals, are always hungry, always ready to gobble up some new dainty. He accustoms them to almost all kinds of flesh-food. His liking for lamb and venison is very decided, and every den shows that he largely avails himself of these delicacies as articles of household consumption. Lamb is easily obtained, as, when the poor animal is pounced upon, the ewe makes no great resistance, and if she did, it would be of no avail, for reynard with his powerful teeth could

The fox goes a long distance from the denfrequently ten or twelve miles-before he begins hunting operations, passing his prey on the journey with an assumption of great innocence, as if the idea of murdering a grouse or lamb could not possibly enter his thoughts. Lambs and hares frisk about his den unmolested, because, for reasons of policy, he is too tender-hearted to touch them. For instance, if he killed lambs in proximity to his abode, the sheep would raise a piteous bleating-which is continued for some days-the den would be discovered, and the culprit punished. Reynard is wide awake as to what takes place around him, and, as in this case, exercises his wit to throw dust in the eyes of mankind and perpetuate his posterity.

If the fox finds, on returning from his foraging expeditions, that any one has been at the den, he takes the alarm, and removes the cubs at once to other quarters. If they are too young to walk, he carries them, one at a time, with the greatest tenderness; and if they exhibit wilfulness or disobedience, which frequently happens, he chas tises them. He generally takes them far away, selecting a place totally unlike their original den. When, therefore, a den is found, a watch is put upon it. Meanwhile, a hunting-party is organised. They proceed to the scene with their terriers and guns, and provisions for a night's encampment. The terriers run into the den, and kill as many of the cubs as they can get hold of; and if the cubs be strong enough, they sometimes bolt out of their holes, like rabbits

from a ferret. The huntsmen are on the alert at different points, each hoping to win the coveted honour of shooting a fox, and when the animal makes his appearance, a deafening volley salutes him. In the excitement of the moment, reynard is often missed by all the shooters. The chief business, however, takes place late in the evening, when the parent foxes are foraging. The shooters are then placed by their leader in tactical positions; and in those parts where, in midsummer, the reflections of the sun are not wholly eclipsed at midnight, lying in wait for the fox is a sport fraught with a kind of eerie fascination. Each watches his station with eagerness, all listen with earnestness for the quarry. At length he comes in sight on the sky-line away in the distance. From the restless way in which he moves to and fro, he is fully aware that his den is besieged-he scents his enemy from afar. He usually slips out of sight again, and then the hills for miles around re-echo with his cry-a grating sound like the screech of a crane, but much louder. No sooner has the sound died away, than the female commonly answers it in a clearer and more clamorous voice. They both circle about to windward of the den, and at times will come within fifty yards of it. The most deadly shots are placed at the best stations, and on these occasions poor reynard very frequently loses his life. Supposing he is fired at and missed, he is certain to come back again early in the morning. The fox ordinarily comes to the den between nine P.M. and midnight, and again about half-past one or two in the morning.

Such is a glimpse of reynard as he generally conducts himself in the Highlands; and were foxes allowed to breed undisturbed there, they would soon overrun the country.

A HOUSE DIVIDED AGAINST ITSELF.

CHAPTER XIX.

'WHERE is George? I scarcely ever see him,' said the general in querulous tones. 'He is always after that girl of Waring's. Why don't you try to keep him at home?'

Mrs Gaunt did not say that she had done her best to keep him at home, but found her efforts unsuccessful. She said apologetically: 'He has so very little to amuse him here; and the music, you know, is a great bond.'

'He plays like a beginner; and she, like alike a-as well as a professional. I don't under

stand what kind of bond that can be.'

'So much the greater a compliment is it to George that she likes his playing,' responded the mother promptly.

'She likes to make a fool of him, I think,' the general said; and you help her on. I don't understand your tactics. Women generally like to keep their sons free from such entanglements; and after getting him safely out of India, where every man is bound to fall into mischief'

'Oh, my dear,' said Mrs Gaunt, if it ever should come to that-think, what an excellent connection. I wish it had been Frances; I do

wish it had been Frances. I had always set my heart on that. But the connection would be the same.'

"You knew nothing about the connection when you set your heart on Frances. And I can't help thinking there is something odd about the connection. Why should that girl have come here, and why should the other one be spirited away like a transformation scene?'

'Well, my dear, it is in the peerage,' said Mrs Gaunt. Great families, we all know, are often very queer in their arrangements. But there can be no doubt it is all right, for it is in the peerage. If it had been Frances, I should have been too happy. With such a connection, he could not fail to get on.'

'He had much better get on by his own merits,' retorted the general with a grumble.-'Frances! Frances was not to be compared with this girl.— But I don't believe she means anything more than amusing herself,' he added. This is not the sort of girl to marry a poor soldier without a penny-not she. She will take her fun out of him, and then'

The general kissed the end of his fingers and tossed them into the air. He was, perhaps, a little annoyed that his son had stepped in and monopolised the most amusing member of the society. And perhaps he did not think so badly of George's chances as he said.

'You may be sure,' said Mrs Gaunt indignantly, she will do nothing of the kind. It is not every day that a girl gets a fine fellow like our George at her feet. He is just a little too much at her feet, which is always a mistake, I think. But still, general, you cannot but allow that Lord Markham's sister'

'I have never seen much good come of great connections,' said the general; but though his tone was that of a sceptic, his mind was softer than his speech. He, too, felt a certain elation in the thought that the youngest, who was not the clever one of the family, and who had not been quite so steady as might have been desired, was thus in the way of putting himself above the reach of fate.

For, of course, to be brother-inlaw to a viscount was a good thing. It might not be of the same use as in the days when patronage ruled supreme; but still it would be folly to suppose that it was not an advantage. It would admit George to circles with which otherwise he could have formed no acquaintance, and make him known to people who could push him in his profession. George was the one about whom they had been most anxious. All the others were doing well in their way, though not a way which threw them into contact with viscounts or fine society. George would be over all their heads in that respect, and he was the one that wanted it most, he was the one who was most dependent on outside aid.

'I don't quite understand,' said Mrs Gaunt, what Constance' position is. She ought to be the Honourable, don't you think? The Honourable Constance sounds very pretty. It would come in very nicely with Gaunt, which is an aristocratic-sounding name. People may say what they like about titles, but they are very nice, there is such individuality in them. Mrs George might be anybody; it might be me, as your name is George too. But the Honourable would

distinguish it at once. When she called here, there was only Miss Constance Waring written on her father's card; but then you don't put Honourable on your card; and as Lady Markham's daughter'

'Women don't count,' said the general, as I've often told you. She's Waring's daughter.'

'Mr Waring may be a very clever man,' said Mrs Gaunt indignantly; but I should like to know how Constance can be the daughter of a viscountess in her own right without'

'Is she a viscountess in her own right?' This question brought Mrs Gaunt to a sudden pause. She looked at him with a startled air. It is not through Mr Waring, that is clear,' she said.

'But it is not in her own right-at least, I don't think so; it is through her first husband, the father of that funny little creature' (meaning Lord Markham).

'General!' said Mrs Gaunt, shocked. Then she added: 'I must make some excuse to look at the Peerage this afternoon. The Durants have always got their Peerage on the table. We shall have to send for one too, if'

If what? If your boy gets a wife who has titled connections, for that is all.-A wife! and what is he to keep her on, in the name of heaven?'

'Mothers and brothers are tolerably close connections,' said Mrs Gaunt with dignity. He has got his pay, general; and you always intended, of course, if he married to your satisfactionOf course,' she added, speaking very quickly, to forestall an outburst, Lady Markham will not leave her daughter dependent upon a captain's pay. And even Mr Waring-Mr Waring must have a fortune of his own, or-or a person like that would never have married him; and he would not be able to live as he does, very comfortably, even luxuriously '

'Oh, I suppose he has enough to live on. But as for pinching himself in order to enable his girl to marry your boy, I don't believe a word of it,' exclaimed the general. Fortunately, being carried away by this wave of criticism, he had forgotten his wife's allusion to his own intentions in George's favour; and this was a subject on which she had no desire to be premature.

'Well, general,' she said, 'perhaps we are going a little too fast. We don't know yet whether anything will come of it. George is rather a lady's man. It may be only a flirtation; it may end in nothing. We need not begin to count our chickens'

'Why, it was you!' cried the astonished general. I never should have remarked anything about it, or wasted a moment's thought on the subject!'

Mrs Gaunt was not a clever woman, skilled in the art of leaving conversational responsibilities on the shoulders of her interlocutor; but if a woman is not inspired on behalf of her youngest boy, when is she to be inspired? She gave her shoulders the slightest possible shrug and left him to his newspaper. They had a newspaper from England every morning-the Standard, whose reasonable Conservatism suited the old general. Except in military matters, such questions as the advance of Russia towards Afghanistan, or the defences

of our own coasts, the general was not a bigot, and preferred his politics mild, with as little froth and foam as possible. His newspaper afforded him occupation for the entire morning, and he enjoyed it in very pleasant wise, seated under his veranda with a faint suspicion of lemon blossom in the air, which ruffled the young olive trees all around, and the blue breadths of the sea stretching far away at his feet. The garden behind was fenced in with lemon and orange trees, the fruit in several stages, and just a little point of blossom here and there, not enough to load the air. Mrs Gaunt had preserved the wildflowers that were natural to the place, and accordingly had a scarlet field of anemones which wanted no cultivation, and innumerable clusters of the sweet white narcissus filling her little inclosure. These cost no trouble, and left Toni, the man-of-all-work, at leisure for the more profitable culture of the oranges. From where the general sat, there was nothing visible, however, but the terraces descending in steps towards the distant glimpse of the road, and the light-blue margin, edged with spray, of the sea, under a soft and cheering sun, that warmed to the heart, but did not scorch or blaze, and with a soft air playing about his old temples, breathing freshness and that lemon bloom. Sometimes there would come a faint sound of voices from some group of workers among the olives. The little clump of palm-trees at the end of the garden-for nothing here is perfect without a palm or twocast a fantastic shadow, that waved over the newspaper now and then. When a man is old and has done his work, what can he want more than this sweet retirement and stillness? But naturally, it was not all that was necessary to young Captain George.

Mrs Gaunt went over to the Durants in the afternoon, as she so often did, and found that family, as usual, on their loggia. It cost her a little trouble and diplomacy to get a private inspection of the Peerage, and even when she did so, it threw but little light upon her question. Geoffrey Viscount Markham, fifteenth lord, was a name which she read with a little flutter of her heart, feeling that he was already almost a relation, and she read over the names of Markham Priory and Dunmorra, his lodge in the Highlands, and the town address in Eaton Square, all with a sense that by-and-by she might herself be directing letters from one or other of these places. But the Peerage said nothing about the dowager Lady Markham subsequent to the conclusion of the first marriage, except that she had married again, E. Waring, Esq.; and thus Mrs Gaunt's studies came to no satisfactory end. She introduced the subject, however, in the course of tea. She had asked whether any one had heard from Frances, and had received a satisfactory reply.

'O yes; I have had two letters; but she does not say very much. They had gone down to the Priory for Easter; and she was to be presented at the first drawing-room. Fancy Frances in court-train and feathers, at a drawing-room! It does seem so very strange,' Tasie said. She said it with a slight sigh, for it was she, in old times, who had expounded Society to little Frances, and taught her what in an emergency it would be right to do and say; and now little Frances had

Journal

taken a stride in advance. I asked her to write and tell us all about it, and what she wore.' 'It would be white, of course.'

'O yes, it would be white-a débutante. When I went to drawing-rooms,' said Mrs Durant, who had once, in the character of chaplainess to an Embassy, made her courtesy to Her Majesty, 'young ladies' toilets were simpler than now. Frances will probably be in white satin, which, except for a wedding dress, is quite unsuitable, I think, for a girl.'

'I wonder if we shall see it in the papers? Sometimes, my sister-in-law sends me a Queen,' said Mrs Gaunt, when she thinks there is something in it which will interest me; but she does not know anything about Frances. Dear little thing, I can't think of her in white satin. Her sister, now '

'Constance would wear velvet, if she could-or cloth of gold,' cried Tasie, with a little irritation. Her mother gave her a reproving glance.

'There is a tone in your voice, Tasie, which is not kind.'

'O yes; I know, mamma. But Constance is rather a trial. I know one ought not to show it. She looks as if one was not good enough to tie her shoes. And after all, she is no better than Frances; she is not half so nice as Frances; but I mean there can be no difference of position between sisters-one is just as good as the other; and Frances was so fond of coming here.'

almost unspeakable, 'Lady Markham is not a viscountess in her own right. Dear, no. She is not a viscountess at all. She is plain Mrs Waring, and nothing else, if right was right. Society only winks good-naturedly at her retaining the title, which she certainly, if there is any meaning in the peerage at all, forfeits by marrying a commoner.'

Mrs Durant and Tasie both looked with great admiration at their head and instructor as he thus spoke. You may be sure Mr Durant says nothing that he is not quite sure of,' said the wife, crushing any possible scepticism on the part of the inquirer; and 'Papa knows such a lot,' added Tasie, awed, yet smiling, on her side. 'Oh, is that all?' said Mrs Gaunt, greatly subdued. 'But then, Lord Markham-calls her his sister, you know.'

'The nobility,' said Mr Durant, are always very scrupulous about relationships; and she is his step-sister. He wouldn't qualify the relationship by calling her so. A common person might do so, but not a man of high breeding, like Lord Markham-that is all.' 'I suppose you must be right,' said Mrs Gaunt. 'The general said so too. But it does seem very strange to me that of the same woman's children, and she a lady of title, one should be a lord, and the other have no sort of distinction at all.' They all smiled upon her blandly, every one ready with a new piece of information, and much sympathy for her ignorance, which Mrs Gaunt, seeing that it was she that was likely to be related to Lord Markham, and not any of the Durants, felt that she could not bear; so she jumped up hastily and declared that she must

'Do you think Constance gives herself airs? O no, dear Tasie,' said Mrs Gaunt; 'she is really not at all-when you come to know her. I am most fond of Frances myself. Frances has grown up among us, and we know all about her; that is what makes the difference. And Constance-be is a little shy.'

At this there was a cry from the family. 'I don't think she is shy,' said the old clergyman, whom Constance had insulted by walking out of church before the sermon.

'Shy!' exclaimed Mrs Durant, about as shy But no simile occurred to her which was bold enough to meet the case.

as'

'It is better she should not be shy,' said Tasie. 'You remember how she drove those people from the hotel to church. They have come ever since. They are quite afraid of her. Oh, there are some good things in her, some very good things.'

'We are the more hard to please, after knowing Frances,' repeated Mrs Gaunt. But when a girl has been like that, used to the best societyBy the way, Mr Durant, you who know everything, are sure to know-Is she the Honourable? For my part, I can't quite make it out.'

Mr Durant put on his spectacles to look at her, as if such a question passed the bounds of the permissible. He was very imposing when he looked at any one through those spectacles with an air of mingled astonishment and superiority. Why should she be an Honourable?' he said.

Mrs Gaunt felt as if she would like to sink into the abysms of the earth-that is, through the floor of the loggia, whatever might be the dreadful depths underneath. Oh, I don't know,' she said meekly. 'I-I only thought-her mother being a-a titled person, a-a viscountess in her cwn right'

'But, my dear lady,' said Mr Durant with a satisfaction in his superior knowledge which was

going, that the general would be waiting for her. I hope you will come over some evening, and I will ask the Warings, and Tasie must bring her music. I am sure you would like to hear George's violin. He is getting on so well, with Constance to play his accompaniments;' and before any one could reply to her, Mrs Gaunt had hurried away.

It is painful not to have time to get out your retort; and these excellent people turned instinctively upon each other to discharge the unflown arrows. 'It is so very easy, with a little trouble, to understand the titles, complimentary and otherwise, of our own nobility,' said Mr Durant, shaking his head.

'And such a sign of want of breeding not to understand them,' said his wife.

"The Honourable Constance would sound very pretty,' cried Tasie; it is such a pity.'

'Especially, our friend thinks, if it was the Honourable Constance Gaunt.'

'That she could never be, my dear,' said the old clergyman mildly. 'She might be the Honourable Mrs Gaunt; but Constance, no-not in any case.'

'I should like to know why?' Mrs Durant said.

Perhaps here the excellent chaplain's knowledge failed him; or he had become weary of the subject; for he rose and said: 'I have really no more time for a matter which does not concern us,' and trotted away.

The mother and daughter left alone together, naturally turned to a point more interesting than the claims of Constance to rank. 'Do you

really think, mamma,' said Tasie, 'do you really, really think-it is silly to be always discussing these sort of questions-but do you believe that Constance Waring actually-means anything?' 'You should say does George Gaunt mean anything? The girl never comes first in such a question,' said Mrs Durant, with that ingrained contempt for girls which often appears in elderly women. Tasie was so (traditionally) young, besides having a heart of sixteen in her bosom, that her sympathies were all with the girl.

'I don't think in this case, mamma,' she said. 'Constance is so much more a person of the world than any of us. I don't mean to say she is worldly. O no! but having been in society, and so much out!'

'I should like to know in what kind of society she has been,' said Mrs Durant, who took gloomy views. "I don't want to say a word against Lady Markham; but Society, Tasie, the kind of society to which your father and I have been accustomed, looks rather coldly upon a wife living apart from her husband.-Oh, I don't mean to say Lady Markham was to blame. Probably, she is a most excellent person; but the presumption is that at least, you know, there were-faults on both sides.'

'I am sure I can't give an opinion,' cried Tasie, 'for, of course, I don't know anything about it. But George Gaunt has nothing but his pay; and Constance couldn't be in love with him, could she? O no! I don't know anything about it; but I can't think a girl like Constance'

A girl in a false position,' said the chaplain's wife, is often glad to marry any one, just for a settled place in the world.'

'Oh, but not Constance, mamma! I am sure she is just amusing herself.'

'Tasie! you speak as if she were the man,' exclaimed Mrs Durant, in a tone of reproof.

WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT THE SUN. THE study of all things relating to our great central luminary has always been, and must always be, an intensely interesting one. Worshipped at one time as a god, and long regarded with awe and reverence, it is now recognised as the source of all our energy. Where, indeed, can man find a more fitting study than the great ruler of our planetary system, the prime origin of our light and lives, without which this earth would wander through space a cold, black, uninhabited and uninhabitable globe?

In all advancement of knowledge, it is interesting, and indeed expedient, occasionally to take one's stand and to survey the labour of the past years, asking one's self what has been already done, and what yet remains for future generations to do. What do we know? and what do we want to know? The last quarter of a century has been a fruitful one in all branches of natural, and especially physical science; few, indeed, are the departments of research which cannot show some great advance or some important point gained; and this advance has been greatly characteristic of the science of physical astronomy, especially in relation to solar phenomena. In view of the brilliant discoveries made in electricity and the kindred sciences, we are apt to lose sight of the importance of pure science. The

former, by ministering to the everyday wants of man, appeals to his less refined nature; while the latter, appealing only to the mind, and not to the body, takes root with more difficulty.

Now, let us turn our attention to the sun. What do we know about it, first, as regards its place in the universe; second, its physical and chemical constitution; and third, its relation to our earth? The first of these questions may, in the present state of our knowledge, be almost completely and satisfactorily answered, and it is not now necessary to pass in review all the results which have been achieved. We know, of course, that the sun is an enormous globe, distant some ninety-four million of miles from our earth, and round which our earth revolves. Its diameter is about eight hundred and fifty-two thousand miles; and, as far as can be detected by the most delicate measurements, it is perfectly spherical, and, unlike the planets, there is no difference between its equatorial and polar diameter. We must not, however, jump to the conclusion that the laws of nature are cancelled in the solar regions, and that centrifugal force has no effect; but we must remember that measurements where the true body of the sun can never be seen, are at the best exceedingly difficult and untrustworthy. According to Laplace's nebular theory, which in a modified form is nowadays accepted by most astronomers, the sun once extended over the whole space now occupied by the planets, and by its gradual contraction, has given birth to the solar system, with its countless array of planets, asteroids, and satellites. This contraction of bulk is supposed by many to be still going on, and to be the source of all the sun's heat. Other theories have been from time to time advanced to account for the origin of the immense amount of energy, in the form of heat, hourly radiated away from the sun's surface, among which we may mention the meteoric theory, which supposes the heat to be generated by an incessant shower of meteorites, which, falling with great velocity on the sun's surface, raise it to an intensely high temperature. There seems, however, to be no reason for going far afield to search for the source of the sun's energy, and the simple theory of contraction has been mathematically shown by Helmholtz to be amply sufficient to account for the vast amount of energy radiated into space, and, with the exception of a very small portion of it, lost.

Following almost immediately upon the discovery of the telescope was the discovery of the most remarkable physical phenomena observed on the surface of the sun-the solar spots. It is not well known who first observed them, nor, indeed, is it very important. Their discovery follows as a necessary consequence on the invention of the telescope, and no particular credit is due to their first observer. The appearance of a sun-spot is familiar to most people, yet there is hardly a more striking object in the whole realms of astronomy. When viewed with a powerful telescope, its appearance is indeed beautiful-the dark black nucleus or central portion, surrounded by the penumbra, which has something of the appearance of an interlaced and entangled mass of silver threads, but with a general tendency in direction towards the centre of the spot, sometimes projecting into the centre, forming promontories,

« PreviousContinue »