ambition in life, the sea of course is just the chamber—without These remarks are the result of actual experience, and it is hoped may prove useful in correcting some false notions respecting life aboard ship, as well as in exposing the meretricious character of the literature provided for juveniles; though here we would take occasion to remark that sea stories are but too often written by compliant authors to order of their publishers, whose aim seems to be to inspire youth with inflated notions of what is termed the romantic side of the picture. The would-be tar will always do well to remember, that though life as a passenger may be pleasant enough, life as a sailor is about the hardest, most thankless, and most menial which a youngster can betake himself to. THE STORY OF AN OLD COAT. IN TEN EPISODES. I. Of course, there was a time when the coat was new. We shall go farther back even than that, and speak of a period when it had no existence, ere ever the idea took possession of the narrow brain of stingy old James Gelsworthy to invest five pounds of his beloved money in a warm garment, of excellent quality, wherewith to protect his lean carcase from the chills of December. It was December in Cribble Street, Mile End, London, E., as well as in Curzon Street, Mayfair, W. Around the mansions of the wealthy and refined, the cruel, snow-laden blast howled in impotent fury, because it could not shake the massive doors or make the heavy, tightly-fitting windows rattle. When it discovered a stray chink, and contrived to sneak through insidiously, thick curtains barred its way, rich carpets checked it, blazing fires warmed it, an equable temperature absorbed it. The bitter herald of a hard winter had to content itself with screaming viciously outside: 'I'm here, and I won't go away. I'll not leave you for months- for months. I'll bring bronchitis, and inflammation, and death to some of you yet. You shan't escape me, with all your tricks. -Whoof! Puff!' --- Then the wealthy and refined smiled confidently in their comfortable apartments. They were prepared for the siege. Far otherwise was it with the poor and vulgar. They shrank and shivered at the fearful menace, for they knew it was no idle threat. The windfiend is their savage enemy. He rejoices at their defenceless condition, their miserable dwellings, their meagre food, their scanty fuel, their insufficient clothing. He comes to kill; he tells them so, as he whistles through their chattering teeth. And he never jokes. The two rows of rickety tenements known as Cribble Street, Mile End, were let out to the poor and vulgar, in suites, generally comprising one room and a cupboard for each family, irrespective of size. At No. 12, a certain back a cupboard-was occupied by a man, a wife, and a very wee morsel of humanity. The man was young-only threeand-twenty. His name was Mark Roper. The woman was also young-some nineteen years, perhaps-and she was called Pattie. The wee morsel was still younger, being but three days old, and having no name yet decided upon. But they thought of calling her Pattie also-at least Mark did. Mark Roper's misfortunes may be summed up with terrible simplicity. He was out of work, and had been so for the past six months, in consequence of a strike, which he had no hand in originating, and with which he totally disagreed. During that time, the neat little cottage at Stratford had been given up; the furniture had disappeared bit by bit, the pawnshop had swallowed up their blankets and counterpanes and warm clothing. At present, the room in Cribble Street, whither they had fled as the cheapest refuge upon earth, except the workhouse, contained only two chairs, a table, some articles of crockery, and a mattress on the floor, upon which the young wife lay with her firstborn folded lovingly in her arms. The parish doctor had attended her; the parish dispensary had provided medicine; the parish overseer had allowed a little oatmeal and a little port-winequite as a favour-to help to get up her strength. So she ought to have been grateful, poor thing! Well, and so she was grateful to God that her husband loved her, and that her child lived. 'Mark! I can't eat any more now. Finish up this basin of gruel for me while it's hot. Do, dear,' she said coaxingly. 'Not I. I can't abide it-I hate it!' he replied, trying to look nauseated by the very idea. 'You She raised herself upon one elbow. have had nothing but a saveloy all day, Mark ; and if you don't swallow this, I'll not taste another drop you make for me-there!' 'But, dear, I don't like it.' 'It's a story. You do. You shall! Finish it at once, or you'll make me ill talking about it. Go on now.' He took a few spoonfuls, and pretended to drain the basin; but his wife was too sharpeyed. She watched him closely, and never relaxed her vigilance until the whole was consumed. 'Now I'm satisfied,' she said, sinking back upon the bolster.-'Where is uncle's letter? What time did he say he would come? Six o'clock, wasn't it?' 'Yes, dear.' 'It's nearly that now-don't you think so? Uncle will do something for us. I'm sure he will, when he sees baby. Look at her. Isn't she an angel! Such large brown eyes, just like yours! She's the image of you, Mark.' 'Your uncle may help you, but not me,' returned Mark gloomily. 'He can't help me without you, love-that's one comfort.' 'He'll try it on, though. I know he'll try it on,' muttered Mark, as he walked to the stove and placed four small knobs of coal, with great care, between the bars. But Pattie did not catch the words, because she was listening to a footstep on the landing outside. Then the door was opened abruptly, and her uncle, James in livery in first-class establishments. Then he gave minute instructions as to the shape, the size, the pockets, the buttons, all according to his own notions of what a coat ought to be, without any regard to the prevailing fashions,' which the tailor vainly sought to bring under his notice. 'It wasn't a pigsty I took her to first,' broke in Mark, with a flash of indignation. 'You shut up, Mark Roper. You're a fool, and you'll never be anything else,' said Gelsworthy, waving him away contemptuously. 'You married Pattie in spite of me. You ran away with her, and thought you were mighty clever, no doubt. But you shan't have much of my money-you shan't.' 'Uncle! dear uncle!' exclaimed Pattie, 'you must help us you really must, if only for baby's sake. See what a beauty she is! She smiles at you already.' O yes. She's all right. I don't mind her, nor I don't mind you; and I'll act straight by the pair of you, if you do what I want.' "What is that?' 'Do! Work-emigrate-go to Australy-go to Canady! Anywhere, so long as he keeps out of our way. I don't mind stumping up the coin to pack him off.' "You want-to-separate-me-and-Mark?' she inquired very slowly, fixing her eyes sternly upon his face. 'Jes so,' said the old rascal, unabashed by the glance; that's it. He can't keep you, and I can. If he likes to hook it, I'll help him to keep hisself; not otherwise.' 'Mark!' cried Pattie, sitting bolt upright upon the mattress, as a burning flush mounted to her thin cheeks, and her trembling finger pointed to the door-Mark! Turn that man out? 'You ungrateful, disobedient hussy!' cried Gelsworthy in a passion. After all I've done for you! Brought you up from a child, fed, and clothed you, beggar's brat that you were!' That was the last they ever saw of Uncle Gelsworthy, alive. II. He He He James Gelsworthy was extremely proud of this new item to his limited wardrobe. wore it on every possible opportunity. turned it to account by knocking off fires in February, and keeping it on in the house, for the sake of its more economical warmth. used it as a second counterpane thrown over his bed at night. This last fact was discovered in March by his landlady, who, not having seen anything of him for two days, became alarmed on the third, and caused the door of his room to be burst open. They found him lying upon his bed, still, and peaceful, and cold, with the favourite coat resting across his limbs. James Gelsworthy was dead. Over the mantelshelf was a bit of paper, fastened with pins; and upon it a few words written in a shaky but legible hand: In case of my death, the furniture and other things belonging to me in my two rooms, I give to my niece PATTIE ROPER, 12 Cribble Street, Mile End. There ain't no money, only just enough to bury me. I drawed it all out and disposed of it months ago. Signed by me, JAMES GELSWORTHY.' III. The furniture and things' were a real godsend to Mark and Pattie. I'll tell you what we'll do,' said the husband. 'We'll sell the lot. I'll give over looking after odd jobs, and we'll get an assisted passage to Melbourne. I've heard as how there's heaps more chance for a poor man in Australy.' 'I'm willing to go anywhere,' answered Pattie, so long as we can only manage to stick to The real and personal estate of old Gelsworthy produced about twenty-five pounds in cashtruly a blessing to the extremely impecunious, as any one will know who ever had the bad fortune to stand in urgent want of a similar amount, and the good fortune to come into it unexpectedly just in the hour of need. The last thing disposed of was the heavy drab overcoat, by private treaty with Mr Isaac Solomons, dealer in anything. I suppose it was the keen north-easter and the driving sleet, in the teeth of which James Gelsworthy had to fight his way home that evening, that made him think what a very thread-gether.' bare, thin, and comfortless overcoat he had on. And seeing that he had worn it now for some ten winters, and had originally procured it secondhand, his reflections upon the subject are not surprising. Anyhow, the following morning, as he gazed from his window at the unabated inclemency of the weather, and turned his eyes upon the dilapidated garment, hanging from a nail in his bedroom door, he settled it definitely in his mind when he muttered: "That's what I'll do; I'll have a coat made a-purpose.' So he went to a tailor's, and overhauled his entire stock of piece-goods before he finally hit upon a cloth to his taste. It was a heavy, closely woven, waterproofed, drab-coloured texture, of the best quality; similar to that worn by grooms Well, what do you want for it?' inquired Mr Solomons, after having turned it over several times and regarded it suspiciously, as though it were an infected garment. 'Suppose we say thirty bob?' suggested Mark tentatively. If you had watched Mr Solomons transacting business in his own shop, you would have wondered how, in the name of all the common laws of finance, he contrived to keep clear of the bankruptcy court. Continually to be selling goods without a profit is generally supposed to bring about very unsatisfactory results. But to part with them at an appalling loss-to have them literally wrenched from you by a greedy public, heartlessly taking advantage of the perpetual slackness of trade-ought to culminate in disaster, speedy and complete. And yet Mr Solomons was not submerged. He contrived in some fashion to keep his head above water, and his shoulders too, in spite of the terrible sacrifices he solemnly professed to make every hour of the day. Perhaps it was but a grim joke, a melancholy satire, when he ticketed the coat acquired from Mark for fifteen shillings, as a Tremendous bargain-only two pounds ten shillings' Cost me three pounds-s'help me! if I never speak another word!' he exclaimed to the pale and patient faced young woman who stopped to inspect it. It would just fit father nicely,' she said, more to herself than to the Jew. And very warm and comfortable; but rather a funny shape, isn't it?' 'Funny shape! Why, it's one of Poole's latest styles, made expressly for a markiss, who only wore it three times, and then got tired of it.' 'What is the lowest you will take?' 'Lowest! Well, if I'll touch a farden less than two-ten; not if the Prince of Wales was to go down on his bended knees! Ten bob is enough to drop over one article-rather!' 'I am unable to spare more than two pounds; in fact, I have no more with me. If you cannot accept that, I must go without.' Lose a pound! lose a whole pound! Oh, shtrike me, I can't, I can't! What with one and another of you, I shall be driven to the workhouse,' cried Mr Solomons pathetically. 'Well, then, good-day, sir. I must try and find something that will do, elsewhere.' 'Don't go. Say two-five-make it as light as you can for me-say two-five!' he pleaded, seizing her by the hem of her mantle. 'Impossible! I tell you, I have only two pounds.' Solomons groaned, as in anguish of spirit. 'Give us your money!' he said desperately. 'I must try and make it up some other way, I suppose.' So the young woman carried away her 'tremendous bargain.' V. The The father reclined in an arm-chair by the fire, smoking a too highly seasoned brier-root pipe. The daughter sat at a small table by the window, colouring photographs. The father's face was of that shrunken, bloated type, frequently observable in drunkards when their usual supply of alcohol has, for some reason or other, been cut off. His eyes were heavy, expressionless, and leaden; his lower lip was pendulous; his chin was unshaven; his hands were dirty. daughter was graceful and pretty. Her features were delicate; her complexion pale; her expression sweet, sad, and patient. What did it matter to her gin-swilling parent that she worked for him, tended his wants, nursed him when he was ill, was robbed by him when he was wellstruggled, laboured, fought to save him both soul and body! Was it not her duty! He was her father! What did it matter to him that her young life was wrecked, her future rendered hopeless, the one love of her girlhood crushed and blighted by his miserable being! That was a simple necessity. He had brought her up to the idea-to hold him over and above all earthly considerations. Was he not her father! The man who had won her whole heart was noble and worthy; yet she would not marry him. home she might have made a smiling paradise, would never be formed. Well, the sacrifice was required. Somebody must reap the benefit of her existence; and was he not her father! . The "That's a wretched ugly thing, that topcoat,' he grumbled from his easy-chair. 'But it fits you, papa. It is nearly new, and above all, it is thoroughly warm and well made. Those are the principal points, with your liability to rheumatism and gout.' "That's right-fling my misfortunes in my face! Remind me of my ill-health-of my pain and suffering. It's like you! Don't let me forget them, not on any account.' 'O papa!' "There, don't begin to cry and whimper. I suppose you mean well, and are a good girl, after all.-Got any money, Madge?' 'Not much,' she faltered, trembling. 'I haven't had a drain worth speaking about for more than a week. You have kept me on short allowance long enough, I think, Madge.' 'But see how ill you have been, papa. You know the doctor said you were to drink scarcely anything.' Confound the doctor! What does he know about it? Besides, I'm well again now-well as ever. I really must run out and get three pen'orth. Lend us sixpence, Madge.' He always said 'lend.' By no chance did he ever employ the word 'give' in pecuniary negotiations. After many promises and much whining and persuasion, he wormed the coveted sixpence from his daughter's slender purse. She knew he had no other money, and that it would be impossible for him to hurt himself on that amount. a definite opinion respecting the lowest market value of his face if put up to auction by a cheap Jack in the neighbourhood of the New Cut, leaped from his vehicle and challenged his tormentor to personal combat. The gauntlet was at once picked up, and the battle began. 'I'll try this overcoat for the first time,' he said, as he put it on. 'Yes; you are right; it is How furiously it raged-how women screamed, very comfortable, and will last me for ages. I'm 'Shame! why don't you part 'em!' and men not hard to please in matters of dress.' replied, 'Get out! why don't you leave 'em alone!' 'Do come back to tea, papa,' were her parting-how a stately policeman, with slow and measured words at the door. The weather is very rough, and you are not yet strong enough to stay out late. Do come back to tea.' 'Of course, of course! How far do you think I can travel with sixpence-a paltry sixpence?' he inquired sarcastically. Between two and three o'clock in the morning, he staggered home drenched with rain, and alas! intoxicated. In Madge was accustomed to the spectacle. silence and without reproach she led him to his room. Suddenly she missed his coat. It was the old story. He had pawned it. She asked him for the ticket, and found that it also was sold for a mere song. The coat she had worked so hard to pay for! The poor grief-stricken girl, in the retirement of her own room, threw herself by her bedside, and wept in anguish to that other Father who has promised how, one day, He will surely wipe away all tears from the eyes of those that mourn. VI. The individual who bought the 'duplicate' from the drunken old man, probably lost or forgot it altogether, as the coat remained undisturbed in the storeroom of Messrs Bate and Grindwell, pawnbrokers, for over the statutory twelve months. It then became an 'unredeemed pledge, and as such was labelled, hung up, and dangled before the public as a remarkable proof of the manner in which the disinterested vendors were prepared to forego all personal profit for the general weal. The coat was fingered and thumbed and twitched, and tried on and turned over by some dozens of persons, before one Shortmiles, a cabman, took a fancy to it, and eventually became its owner. And now it began to see service. He wore it hard, did Shortmiles. What with snow and rain and frost and sunshine, its original colour grew many shades deeper. Beer stained it, tobacco-smoke impregnated it, cold pork greased it. It saw a great deal of outdoor life in London, and acquired an impudent, reckless appearance. Its big bone buttons seemed to stare in awful astonishment at those mean persons who presumed to offer its master less than double his legal fare. When Shortmiles tossed a coin in the palm of his hand, and inquired of a victim: What d'yer call this? What's this for?' the big bone buttons seemed ready to burst from their places with surprise, indignation, and reproach. The victim could imagine them saying: what do yer call it? What is it for? That's what we want to know. Yah-shabby!' Ay, It happened one day that Shortmiles, feeling himself insulted by the remarks of a rival cabman anent the symmetry and attractiveness of his features individually and collectively, including step, approached the scene, forced his way through the crowd, and said: 'Now then, stop this 'ere; show us your badges, both on yer'-how the two combatants were summoned before the magistrate, and fined-and how they ultimately shook hands and swore eternal friendship: are not all these things matters of trifling concern, in comparison with the following fact? When Shortmiles was preparing for the duel, he took off his coat, folded it carefully, and placed it under the box-seat of his cab. Of this he was certain. After the struggle, when he returned to his post, the coat was gone. Of this he was also positive; and he never set eyes upon it again. 'OVER THE WAY.' No fresh, young beauty, laughing-eyed, She lived upon the shady side Of that old-fashioned country street; A tiny garden, trim and square; Of all the flowers the poets love. Within the trellised porch there hung A branching apple-tree o'erspread In Memory's enchanted land, I see the gentle spinster yet, And when the Spring had grown to June, And dream away the afternoon, With some quaint volume on her knee A gray-robed vision of repose, A pleasant thought in Quaker guise; GEORGE WArrington. Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH. All Rights Reserved. .. POPULAR LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART. Fourth Series CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS. No. 942.-VOL. XIX. SATURDAY, JANUARY 14, 1882. HIS LORDSHIP'S PRIVILEGE. THE TRIAL OF A PEER. For the first time in the annals of our jurisprudence of the present century, the High Court of Parliament was in 1841 convened entirely as a judicial assembly, and sat on the 16th of February to try a remarkable and interesting case. The Court consisted of the peers of the realm in full parliament assembled as triors, assisted by the Chief Justices and the judges. The President was the Lord High Steward of the kingdom, Lord Denman, specially appointed under Her Majesty's royal sign-manual; the prisoner was Lord Cardigan, a peer of the realm, the charge against him being a true bill of indictment for felony. The case was notable in several respects, and presents some points of curious interest. It was the first indictment under the statute to repress duelling, which statute made duelling a felonious crime in principals and accessories, even though no loss of life should happen. It was the first time in this century that a peer had been arraigned for felony, sixty-four years having elapsed since a previous case. It was the last occasion on which a peer of the realm could claim his privilege to avoid the punishment to be awarded for his criminality. Its curious result, too, illustrated in a marked degree the inexorable rule of the law of evidence as then administered, that the proof should not be at variance with the indictment, a result which could not occur now, as the law was subsequently altered, to obviate such technical objections. The Court happily has not sat since; and the case furnishes the solitary instance of its functions having been exercised in modern times. Public interest was so much exercised by the approaching trial, that at one time it was rumoured the Court would sit, as it had previously done, in open Westminster Hall, which alone could accommodate all those persons desiring to be present; but it was resolved to fit up the Painted Chamber, in which the peers had met PRICE 1d. since the destruction by fire of the old House of Parliament; and this was done at considerable expense. The benches, galleries, and floor were covered with crimson cloth, and the walls draped with crimson hangings; the spaces were allotted out for the high officers of state, the peers, the counsel learned in the law, the officials; and so far as the limits would allow, for strangers, of whom the greater part were ladies, None was admitted to the trial except by ticket of the Lord Great Chamberlain, who some days previously issued his official notification of the dress to be worn. A similar notice was issued to the peers themselves. The House of Peers had appointed a special Committee to search for precedents of the ceremonial to be observed, though Her Majesty the Queen had signified her intention not to be present. On the day of trial, the scene in the Painted Chamber was a most magnificent and imposing one. The peers were gorgeously robed, wearing the collars of their respective orders and their decorations; the single exception being the noble prisoner, who was in plain dress, pursuant to the order of the House. The judges in their scarlet and ermine gowns, with their chains and collars of office and their quaint caps; counsel in their full-dress wigs; and the peeresses in splendid toilettes, formed a gathering picturesque and imposing. We collect from the lengthy entries in the Lords' Journals that the stately ceremonial was strictly in accordance with the precedents recorded in the earlier authorities; and indeed we find the courtly observances had followed the elaborate ritual compiled by Lancaster Herald in an old and similar case. Shortly before eleven o'clock A.M., the Lord Speaker, in his stately official robes, entered the House, preceded by the Purse-bearer with the purse, the Serjeant with the mace, the GentlemanUsher of the Black Rod with the Lord High Steward's staff of office, and Garter King-at-Arms bearing his sceptre-all in procession. The proceedings were opened by prayers being read. The roll of peers was then called over |