Chapter III: Success at Last

Alfred Roberton was too politic to make known the full extent of his discomfiture. He made light of the matter: most authors had had their difficulties at first, and why should he expect to escape? He made himself very agreeable to the old gentleman. The short experience he had had of trying to earn money had led him to reflect that a man having a snug going business and a farm worth four or five thousand pounds might not be such an undesirable father-in-law after all, even though he _was_ an innkeeper. He threw greater fervour than ever into his manner towards Anne, and talked in a gay and hopeful way of the future. But she was too keen-sighted to be deceived; she read the secret of his crushed hopes in his sunken eyes and cheeks, and was not at all misled by his forced cheerfulness of manner. She forbore to annoy him with prying questions, and affected in the meantime to see as roseate a prospect as he himself did. When the colour came back to his cheeks and he began to look more like his former self, she spoke to him seriously. Would he allow her to see the returned manuscripts?

‘You know, Alfred,’ she said, ‘I have been a great reader of what is called “light literature” in my day, and perhaps I might—from a reader’s point of view, you know—happen to light on the secret of your want of success. Give me two or three of your stories, and I will have a look at them before I go to bed to-night.’

He was astonished! To think of this simple country girl proposing to criticise his literary work!

‘Well, Nan, I’ll select two or three of my best,’ he said; ‘but I fear you will prove far too indulgent a critic to be a just one.’

‘No, Alfred,’ the girl replied gravely; ‘you need not fear that. You may depend that any faults that I may perceive will be carefully pointed out to you. Don’t look for any kidglove treatment at my hands; and be prepared, in any case, to keep your temper.’

The next morning, after breakfast, she handed him his papers back. He could not possibly guess from her countenance what her impression had been. Her face had an earnest, but not an altogether unhopeful look about it; certainly, it did not show any signs at all of a wondering admiration for his genius.

‘Well, sir, I’ve read your stories, as I promised I would. I will say all my disagreeable things about them first. To begin: I think they lack the narrative power which leads a reader on, once he has commenced a story, and almost compels him to read it to the finish. Of course he is disappointed at the denouement; but he is equally ready to be cheated again by the next book he takes up, provided the author has the same power to lure him on. I think the first aim of a magazine writer should be to make his stories readable.’

‘And are not mine readable?’ he said, biting his lips and a frown overshadowing his brow.

‘Ah, I see you are wincing, Alfred! But didn’t I warn you I would be a severe critic? No; I did not say your stories were _not_ readable; but they might be made much more so.’

And to his amazement, this young girl launched into a critical analysis of the plots, characters, and treatment of his three stories; and her remarks, strange to say, pretty closely agreed with those expressed by the ignorant London editors! Nan had verily profited by her old lover’s literary conversations; but Alfred knew nothing at all of that. She was then graciously pleased to say a few words of commendation.

‘Your style of composition is far too even for that sort of work. It lacks eccentricity’——

‘Pardon, Nan!’ he interrupted; ‘but are you serious? I have hitherto understood eccentricity was considered a blemish in any author’s style.’

‘Nonsense!’ she said. ‘If not overdone, it lends a piquancy to writings that without it would attract no attention and be passed by as prosy. When an author happens to hit on a good original phrase, he should “ring the changes” on it. The reader recognises it as an old friend met under new circumstances, and is not at all displeased. An author who can originate a few phrases, put them in his mental kaleidoscope, so to speak, and sprinkle the resulting combinations through his book, is said to have acquired “a style,” and his books are sought after.’

‘By Jove, Nan, but you surprise me!’ he cried, looking at her with a puzzled air. ‘What, then, would you advise me to do?’

She was prepared for this question, and had been framing an answer to it in her mind for some days past. Obviously, the most sensible advice was for him to abandon his literary dreams, and settle down to the pursuit of his profession. But then sensible advice is rarely palatable, and still more rarely adopted. That he was determined to make a mark of some kind in literature, was evident, and she rather admired her lover’s indomitable pluck, in refusing to accept as final the unfavourable criticisms of London editors. If he hadn’t been her lover, she would probably have called it ‘stupid obstinacy.’ She therefore determined to urge him on in his literary projects; he was undoubtedly clever, and was certain, sooner or later, to see his productions in print. When he reached that goal, the glamour which possessed him would probably vanish; and he would then most likely return to his profession, as a surer road to success and distinction.

‘Did you ever try the _Olympic_, Alfred?’ she said.

‘O no,’ he rejoined. ‘You see, it is more of a review. Besides, it is a very high-class, exclusive magazine, and one not at all likely to encourage beginners like me.’

‘I know they don’t publish stories,’ continued Nan; ‘but they have often short descriptive articles. Now, I was thinking if you were to send the editor a short sketch of some kind in your very best style, he might perhaps put it in.’

‘And what kind of sketch would you propose?’ he inquired.

‘What would you think of “A Summer Ramble in Kirkcudbright?” she replied. ‘The editor belongs to that quarter; and if the description of the scenery and folks were well done, I think he might put it in.’

‘A capital idea, Nan. Why, I’ll set about it at once,’ he said impetuously.

Alfred went to work with renewed hope and vigour. After ten days’ alternate rambling and writing, he one evening announced that his paper was finished, and read it over to Nan in the parlour. On the whole she gave a favourable verdict on its merits; and it was sealed up and duly addressed to the editor of the _Olympic_. She had insisted on him using a _nom de plume_. He chose that of ‘Ariel;’ and the address was: ‘Post-office, Glenluce.—To lie till called for.’

The evening passed pleasantly in chat and song; and when Nan rose to bid good-bye for the night, she said: ‘By-the-bye, Alfred, you had better give me your letter with the manuscript. I will see the postman as he passes in the morning, and hand it to him.’

‘Nonsense, Nan!’ he returned. ‘Why, the mail-gig passes before six o’clock. There’s no use in disturbing you so early. I will hand it to him myself.’

She was inexorable in her request, however, and ended the dispute by playfully seizing the letter, and tripping up-stairs before he could prevent her. Once in the privacy of her own room, a strange change came over her. With knitted brow and compressed lips, she slowly paced the apartment. Evidently, she was making up her mind on some important resolve. At last she clasped her hands and whispered to herself: ‘Yes; I’ll do it—but is it fair?’

She had a tired and drowsy look next day; and when Alfred asked if she had been in time to give the postman the all-important letter, she answered somewhat petulantly in the affirmative. After a time he took to walking to Glenluce daily to see if there were any letters for ‘Ariel.’ For ten days he came back empty-handed and dispirited; on the eleventh he bounced into Nan’s private parlour in a state of wild delight.

‘I knew it—I was sure of it, Nan!’ he cried, ‘that the moment my writings came before a competent judge they would be fully appreciated. Look! here is a bank draft for twenty pounds. It only took me ten days to write the sketch. Why, it is payment at the rate of six hundred a year!’

‘Was there a note with it?’ she asked quietly.

‘Yes; a precious short one, though. “The editor of the _Olympic_ acknowledges receipt of Ariel’s manuscript, which he accepts, and begs to inclose bank draft for twenty pounds as an honorarium.” That is all.’

‘The editor has remunerated you very handsomely, I think,’ she said, continuing her sewing. ‘But mind that one swallow does not make a summer. Don’t be too sanguine. Other editors may not be so generous to you.’

‘Stuff!’ he replied loftily. ‘Do you mean to say he would have sent so much unless he knew he had got value, good value for it too? Do you know, Nan, I made up my mind, after getting the letter, to start for London to-morrow? I’ll call on the editor of the _Olympic_—perhaps he may’——

‘On no account must you do that, Alfred!’ she cried, dropping her sewing, and with a terrified look in her face. ‘Go to London, if you think proper; though I think you would be foolishly spending money in doing so. But you mustn’t call on the editor.’

‘And why mustn’t I call on him?’ he said in a displeased tone of voice.

‘I have reasons—private reasons of my own, Alfred, to wish you to refrain from doing so,’ she replied a little awkwardly. ‘I cannot explain them to you just yet; perhaps I may again. Meantime, you must promise me solemnly not to call on him, or send him any more contributions, unless you choose to do so in your own name. On no account must he be made aware that you are “Ariel.” Remember, it was through my advice you scored this first success; continue to follow it, for I can assure you it is for your own good.’

He grumbled a good deal, but in the end agreed to the restriction imposed on him. He held firm, however, to his intention of going to London; and Anne did not press her objections further. He could not understand why she was not more elated at this auspicious beginning of his literary career. In fact, he fancied he saw a pained expression passing over her countenance, when, in the exuberance of his spirits, he enlarged on the brilliancy of his prospects in the metropolis. Somehow or another, the success of ‘A Summer Ramble in Kirkcudbright’ detracted from rather than added to the happiness of the lovers. The slightest possible degree of coldness sprung up between them. He was annoyed, and even felt some distrust at the prohibition put on him regarding the _Olympic_. That Nan was annoyed at something, was apparent; but whether it was his anxiety to leave her and be off to the scene of his future triumphs, or what it was, was not very apparent. The only one who enjoyed unalloyed satisfaction from the event was old Mr Porteous. The bank draft convinced him more than a thousand arguments that there was money in literature, and that his proposed son-in-law possessed the Open Sesame to its stores. He had far too high an opinion of his old friend the editor’s sense than to suppose he would have given twenty pounds for a short sketch unless it was of real merit. These reflections made him a trifle more cordial to Alfred than he had yet been; and when he and Nan drove him to the railway station, they all parted the best of friends, the lovers promising to correspond punctually as before.

A HUMBLE SPRIG OF NOBILITY.

A RED RIVER STORY.

Towards the close of the last century, Mr Beauchamp, a young Englishman of good family—a friend of Pitt, Fox, Burke, and Sheridan—entered a large mercantile house in London with a view, it was supposed, of ultimately becoming a partner therein. With this firm he passed the earlier years of his manhood. With the single exception of having lost both his parents in his youth, he was regarded as a singularly fortunate individual; and at the age of nineteen he formed a matrimonial engagement with Julia Middleton, a young lady of considerable prospective wealth, and of remarkable personal attractions. But just at the time when an announcement of the marriage was expected by the friends on both sides, Mr Beauchamp disappeared in a mysterious manner; and neither the parents nor Miss Middleton had any explanation of the cause of his disappearance, or whither he had gone. It was, however, but a nine days’ wonder; and all minds, but one, ceased to trouble themselves further about the matter. _That_ one was the poor girl herself, who was deeply attached to her lover. Whenever any hint was thrown out which cast a doubt over the moral rectitude of Henry Beauchamp’s character, she indignantly repudiated the idea, and would believe no evil concerning him that originated in mere conjecture on the part of the speaker.

It must be borne in mind that at the period of which we are writing, international communication was not carried on with the same speed and facility as in these days, and a considerable time elapsed ere it became known that Henry Beauchamp had embarked for Canada. But of his real whereabouts nothing was known for years. The facts we are about to record were divulged to us by a lady to whom we shall hereafter refer. He had, it appeared, entered into business with a Fur Trading Company, and with them he passed many years in a country called ‘The Kepigong,’ between Lake Superior and James Bay. Half a century ago, traders were often men of low type, who led lax and vicious lives. As ill-luck would have it, it was amongst such a class that the young adventurer chanced to fall. Out in that wild territory, with no sort of restraint on his actions, in the midst of lawless and strange companions, he often fell a victim to their evil influence and example, and his very weakness and ignorance made him an easy prey to their wiles and cupidity. If he made money, they cheated him out of it. He was often reduced to the brink of starvation; and at one period he subsisted for two months on a miserable species of fish called ‘suckers.’

After countless trials and vicissitudes, he obtained employment at Lake Winnipeg, where he passed another decade; but even there his evil genius seemed to pursue him, for he received accidentally the contents of a loaded gun in his leg, which wound caused him at times great suffering throughout his whole life. But he was a man of pluck and courage, and would never yield to any obstacle which perseverance could overcome. Having resolved to try his fortunes on his own account in a district involving several hundred miles of travel, he provided himself with a couple of horses, and set out attended by one serving-man. On they went till nightfall through a wild uninhabited region, where nature asserted her right to repose in their wearied limbs and failing spirits. So, having first picketed their horses, they lay down to rest in the best shelter they could find. Feeling amply refreshed by daybreak, they determined to continue their journey with no further halt till eventide. But alas for their horses! The animals had either decamped or been stolen, probably the former. After some cogitation as to the next step to be taken, Mr Beauchamp decided to send his servant in quest of the animals, whilst he remained at his post. The day passed, the night pressed onwards, and morning dawned without either horses or man having appeared. Unprovided with a compass, chart, or guide of any description, Mr Beauchamp then felt how futile his hopes must prove—that the poor man had probably lost his way, and that there would be no more meeting between them.

For a while utterly disconsolate, the solitary traveller bethought him of retracing his steps; but when he attempted to walk, he found himself so broken down by fatigue and over-exertion that he could only limp along, or drag his wearied body on all-fours. Finally, ‘worn out,’ as he himself expressed it, ‘both in body and mind,’ and when within but ten miles of his trading-post, he lay down with the fervent hope that death would put an end to such torture; but not liking the idea of his body being devoured by wild animals, he crawled about to get together branches of trees wherewith to cover himself. But in spite of all the man had suffered, death was still to be balked of its prey. Some Red Indians fortunately came upon him, and by his discoverers he was kindly cared for and nourished, and taken to his post, where, after some weeks, he gradually recovered.

Was it retribution or destiny, or what, that made him again such a cruel martyr to circumstances in the next episode of his career? After Lord Selkirk began to colonise the Red River, Mr Beauchamp gave up his prospects in the Fur Company and turned settler. In opposition to the Hudson’s Bay Company, another had been formed, called the North-West Company. Between the two there was great rivalry and jealousy. At the instigation of some of its people, Mr Beauchamp was made prisoner, thrown into a dungeon in Fort-William, and from thence taken to Montese, where his alleged trial was to take place, without his ever having been told of the crime whereof he was accused. After weeks of weary waiting and dread expectation, he was set at liberty without a single question having been put to him, the sole object of his oppressors having been to detach him from Lord Selkirk’s interest, which they considered was synonymous with that of the Hudson’s Bay Company.

Lord Selkirk’s agents having meanwhile discovered that a plot was hatching at M‘Gillivray’s house in Montreal—and the nucleus of the North-West Company—to upset altogether the infant settlement at Red River, Mr Beauchamp volunteered to set off at once and convey the first intelligence of this Guy Fawkes business to the poor unsuspecting colonists. To this end, he started for Moose Factory, in James Bay, in an Indian canoe. When about midway, he was overtaken by the rigours of a Canadian winter, with all its impediments to continued and safe travel. He had to walk to the above-named Factory, and thence along the coast of Hudson’s Bay to Albury, Severn, and York factories, and on to Red River—a journey of two thousand miles, a feat which only a nature inured to privation and hardship such as we have described, together with the substratum of an iron constitution, could possibly have performed.

On the night of Mr Beauchamp’s arrival at his destination, there happened to be some kind of bacchanalian revelries going on in true military style, got up by the commandant at Fort Douglas, Red River. In these our adventurer took part, but in a way that did not greatly redound to his credit. Nothing, it may be presumed, was known there of his antecedents, and as he was heart and soul devoted to Red River, he was advised to find a wife amongst the native women of Caledonia residing on the spot. The choice was soon made of a widow, and in the absence of any clergyman, the knot was tied by the civil magistrate. Shortly after, his pecuniary affairs being now in a satisfactory condition, he resolved to return to England. Whilst there, a longing came over him to see once more the love of his youth and to ask her forgiveness for the past and the boon of her friendship in his declining years. More than thirty years had elapsed since they parted, but the lady had never married. After the death of her parents, she had come into possession of a fortune, and had a handsome establishment in Portman Square. There she resided for the rest of her life, and there, too, she saw again the friend of her youth, and received his explanation. What that explanation was, never passed her lips. We may be sure that no man of birth, fortune, and social position would have sacrificed all for a trifle, and become to all intents and purposes an outlaw.

It was during this sojourn in England that he formed the plan of a ‘Buffalo Wool Company,’ making himself the managing partner. It turned out a miniature South Sea Bubble, for it left Mr Beauchamp minus six thousand pounds. He had returned to Canada in 1820, and an occasional interchange of letters with Miss Middleton followed. In his perfect diction and finished phrases there was still much to remind her of the fascinating polished friend of her youth, from whose pen she had received an unvarnished account of his strange career. In testimony of this, a touching record was found amongst her papers at her decease, which took place some years after that of Mr Beauchamp. When the news reached him in 1826 of the failure of his last venture, the shock it gave him reduced his fine athletic form in a few weeks to a shadow. He was first attacked by delirium, and then fell into a state of absolute despondency. But his mental faculties completely recovered their power; and just at the most critical period of his illness, he was received and cared for by the English chaplain and his wife. When sufficiently restored, he sought some new means of employment which involved neither risk nor outlay. His last occupation was the mastership of a private boarding-school for the families of the Company’s officers at the Red River. In this way he managed to support himself and his family until his death. He used to speak of himself to the clergyman’s wife as ‘a humble sprig of nobility,’ and had ingeniously drawn out a genealogical tree—still in the possession of this lady’s family—tracing his descent from Richard Cœur-de-Lion.

A1 AT LLOYD’S.

A1 at Lloyd’s is a sufficiently familiar expression; it meets our eye in the newspaper paragraph; it stares at us from the wall-placard; and it haunts us in Fenchurch Street, E.C., Water Street, Liverpool, and other chosen homes of shipowners. Every one recognises in it a nautical equivalent for ‘first quality;’ but here information on the subject usually ends. As Lloyd’s Register of British and Foreign Shipping, the institution granting the title in question, has not long since celebrated its jubilee, we believe a short account of the origin of that undertaking and of the work in which it is engaged may prove of interest.

The business of underwriting or insuring against marine risks is of very ancient date; to say that it existed among the Phœnicians takes us back a long way in the world’s history; and as a necessary preliminary to legitimate underwriting, as distinguished from mere chance-work, lies, and must ever have lain, in knowing that the vessel proposed to be insured is seaworthy, we may also claim for the business of the ship-surveyor a respectable antiquity.

The primitive underwriter was probably a man with a practical knowledge of ships, and who, when asked to insure a certain vessel, surveyed it himself. As business increased, however the inconvenience attending this system would soon make itself felt, and the obvious expedient of the underwriter employing a skilled man to make the survey for him and send in a report, would be adopted. From an underwriter receiving reports of the condition of individual ships, to his arranging these in tabular form, is but a step; and from individual underwriters drawing up such lists for their own guidance, to their agreeing generally to place them at the service of their brothers in the business, is but another, although the length of time that elapsed ere this latter result was reached was doubtless considerable. The oldest classified list of shipping extant dates only from the beginning of the reign of George III.; but this document—of which more anon—bears unmistakable internal evidence of being at the time no novelty.

Our story opens during the early years of the reign of Charles II.; English colonies across the sea were beginning to prosper; English commerce, notwithstanding oppressive fiscal laws, was on the increase, and the business of the underwriter naturally followed. London was then, as now, the headquarters of the marine insurance business of the country; and the city coffee-houses, then but of recent origin, were the common meeting-places of all connected with the shipping interest: it is the name of the proprietor of one of these establishments that now lives in that of the great corporation of Lloyd’s.

Edward Lloyd is one of those men of whom we would gladly know more than history has brought down to us, but of whose personality apart from his work we know practically nothing, even his proper name having been lost, until recovered by the researches of a recent writer. Finding his house in Tower Street regularly frequented by underwriters, Lloyd—who must have been a man of great ability and foresight—appears to have formed the resolution of making it the headquarters of the business; and to this end, gave facilities for meetings, arranged for sales of vessels and cargoes, started a newspaper, and practically identified his interests with those of his patrons. The newspaper was short-lived, being suppressed by government; but his labours were rewarded by his seeing his establishment—latterly removed to Lombard Street—the centre of marine insurance business not only for London but for the kingdom. Three generations of underwriters met at the Lombard Street coffee-house, and when, in 1770, having formed an association, they removed to premises of their own, and shortly after to the Royal Exchange, they took the name of their old headquarters with them; and thus it has come about that the greatest marine insurance corporation the world has seen owes its name, and to a certain extent its origin, to a London coffee-house keeper at the time of the Restoration, to whose memory the foreign shipowning Companies’ titles of ‘Austrian Lloyd’s,’ ‘North German Lloyd’s,’ ‘Argentine Lloyd’s,’ &c. are additional tributes. The classified list of shipping already referred to as the oldest extant is dated 1764, but is, unfortunately, somewhat mutilated. The work is arranged in a form very similar to that of the register books of to-day, giving in parallel columns the name of the vessel, tonnage, date of building, owner, &c.; and also what is evidently intended for a character or class, one or other of the vowels A, E, &c., in conjunction with the letters G, M, or B. The key to this system of classification is missing; but Mr Martin, the historian of Lloyd’s, has surmised, with every appearance of justice, that the vowels refer to the character of the hull of the vessel; and the accompanying letters, being the initials of the words _good_, _middling_, and _bad_, to the character of the equipment; AG being thus a good, well-equipped ship, and UB the reverse.

How to express satisfactorily the condition of a ship by means of symbols was evidently about this time a disputed point, as in a register dated four years later an entirely new system appears, the letters _a_, _b_, _c_ being used in conjunction with the Roman numerals 1, 2, 3, 4. Under this system, _a_1, an approximation to the now familiar character, represented a good vessel; and _c_4 its antithesis. Seven years later still, in 1775, the vowels again make their appearance for expressing the character of the hull, the Roman numerals being retained, and A1, as the symbol for a first-class ship, comes on the scene. To decide what shall be the classification letters or numerals used in describing ships of varying character is one thing; to give to each ship the class to which it is justly entitled is another and decidedly more difficult matter. So the London underwriters found; but instead of treating the question as one in which many interests were involved, they treated it as concerning themselves alone, and, during the closing years of last century, came to a decision the sole merit of which was its simplicity. The London shipbuilders of the day got a better price for their work than the builders at other ports, and consequently were able to, and admittedly did, turn out a better ship. Further, it might be _primâ facie_ supposed that a ship, built even on the Thames, was not so good after being afloat ten years as on the day of its launch. Putting these two things together, the compilers of the Register decided to class ships simply according to their age and where they were built; such events as a ship newly built on the Tees being occasionally better than a Thames-built craft of the same size that had been knocking about the seas for five years; or a thirteen-year-old ship under good management being actually in better repair and more seaworthy than an eight-year-old one in careless hands, being held to be contingencies needless to provide against. It was hardly to be supposed that the shipowners would agree to a system of classification which practically placed a monopoly in the hands of certain builders, and which decreed that existing ships after a certain period would lose their class, no matter how perfect their state of repair; and the result of indignation meetings on the subject was the starting of a new Register of shipping; thereafter known as the ‘Red Book;’ the former, or underwriters’ register, being known as the ‘Green Book.’ From the date of founding of the Red Book, the history of ship-classification, from being fragmentary, becomes continuous; and, had the popular saying, that competition is the life of trade, been of universal application, great advance might have been looked for; the law of supply and demand, however, stopped the way. There was not sufficient work for the two Registers; each found it difficult to meet its expenses without taxing its supporters; and although, during the thirty odd years the rivalry lasted, some advance was made, still, during the whole of that period the relationships of shipbuilders, shipowners, shippers, and underwriters one to the other were on an unsatisfactory footing. Nowadays, it is recognised—and no one thinks of disputing the justice of the arrangement—that the shipowner, being clearly the person most interested in his ship bearing a high class, should pay the expense of all surveys. This apparently elementary truth was, however, far from being recognised sixty years ago, the opinion then being that the interested parties were the shippers and underwriters.

After the close of the war with Bonaparte, when privateering was a thing of the past, and convoys of frigates were no longer required, the shipping trade of England rapidly increased; each Register was impelled to keep pace with its rival in adding to its number of ships registered, and the expense of surveys increased in proportion, the number of subscribers remaining but little altered. This was the beginning of the end. By the time that a fourth of the present century had elapsed, the rival Registers were in a hopeless condition; but ten years more of trouble and dispute had to pass ere differences were adjusted, jealousies set at rest; and the ‘Red’ and the ‘Green’ now united, commenced a fresh career of usefulness under the title of ‘Lloyd’s Register of British and Foreign Shipping,’ the new departure dating from January 1835. The Committee of management of the new Register was supposed to represent in equal proportions the interests of the shipowners, shippers, and underwriters, and, so far as London was concerned, it doubtless did so. With, however, that preference for men and things metropolitan, not unknown yet on the banks of the Thames, the interests of the other shipping ports of the United Kingdom received scant recognition, and the result was the perpetuation of grievances, the effects of which have lasted to our own day. Of much greater importance than the mere union of the rival Registers was the adoption of the system of surveying and classification, which, although improved in detail to an extent then undreamt of, is in operation still. It was settled that henceforth vessels were to be classed on their own merits as at date of survey; that the class should be fixed by the committee on the report of the surveyor; that vessels built with a view to class should be under survey during the course of construction; and that the shipowner should pay the survey fees.

At the date of the founding of Lloyd’s Register, and for untold generations before, the one material used for building ships was wood. Long experience had made its properties common knowledge, and it might reasonably be supposed that shipbuilders would long since have come to an agreement as to the dimensions, say, of the ribs, keel, or planking of a ship of given size; such, however, was far from being the case. Owing, possibly, in part to the fact of ships built at one port being assumed inferior to those built at another, and the builders accepting the situation, and certainly in part to the fact that the rule of thumb was then the leading rule in British naval architecture, the practice in one part of the country differed widely from that in another. To induce the adoption of a uniform scale of ship scantlings founded on the best practice was one of the first tasks attempted by the Committee; but while its members were yet considering the proportions of wooden ships, an influence was at work in the world that was shortly to render their labours of small account. Along with the old familiar click of the calker’s mallet, the dwellers by river-banks began to hear mingle a new sound, the rattle of the riveter’s hammer; and by the time Lloyd’s Register had completed its tenth year of work, the _Great Britain_ had crossed the Atlantic, and the Iron Age had come. The ship-designer found his business brought back at a single step to the experimental stage, and the Committee and surveying staff of Lloyd’s Register found that they had a new business to learn. It is probable that every branch of human industry has been, at one period or another of its history, the subject of trade secrets; iron shipbuilding in its earlier days was no exception, and, as no builder thought it his interest to initiate Lloyd’s Register, that body had no share in the development of the iron ship. This was probably the best arrangement; the days of competitive tenders and ‘poor man’s ships’ were yet in the future; and the men who launched the _Great Britain_, the _Persia_, and the _Great Eastern_, were more in a position to teach than to be taught. In 1844, Lloyd’s Register agreed, for the first time, to give the A1 class to iron ships built under their survey, on the surveyors’ report that they were of good and substantial materials and workmanship; and eleven years later, their first rules for iron ship-construction were issued.

Landsmen who voyaged in the wooden ships of the past were but too familiar with the creaking that went on without intermission whenever weather of a certain degree of roughness was met with. This was due to a slight rubbing of the timbers one on another, and was no sign of weakness, it being impossible with a yielding material like wood to drive bolts absolutely tight. The amount of straining and actual distortion that a wooden ship might undergo and yet remain fairly seaworthy, was astonishing; and a go-ahead skipper preferred a springy ship to a stiff one. With iron, the conditions were entirely changed; rigidity proved essential to safety, and loose fastenings were fatal. It was this necessity for rigidity that made it possible to frame constructive rules from the observation of the behaviour of comparatively _new_ ships, old and tried ones not being then in existence. On examining an iron ship after a single voyage, the surveyor, provided always the painter had not been at work before his arrival, could point unchallenged to the weak points of her structure—started joints, cracked plates, and bent bars, telling their tale only too plainly. For reasons which are not far to seek, but which need not be entered upon here, the rules for the construction of iron vessels issued by Lloyd’s Register in 1855 did not meet the success their framers intended. Greatly improved rules were issued in 1863; but it was not until 1870 that the Committee emancipated itself from various obsolete ideas, and, under the guidance of the honoured gentleman who now holds the position of Secretary to the Register, issued rules in the form now existing. Various editions of these rules appeared from time to time, each more comprehensive than its predecessor; for some years past they have been issued annually; and those now current leave little to be desired so far as completeness is concerned. Lloyd’s Register grants three leading classes—namely, 100A, 90A, and 80A; the numeral 1, making 100A1, being added to keep up the time-honoured classification mark. The system of classification a century ago provided, as we have seen, for differing qualities of outfit in ships otherwise bearing the same character, and the numerals 1, 2, 3, &c. were used accordingly; but the fact has come to be recognised that a good ship with a bad or insufficient outfit is practically a bad ship, and the 100A class is not granted unless the outfit be up to the requirements of the numeral 1.

In addition to the above-named classes, Lloyd’s Register will survey and grant the class A for a vessel designed for almost any desired service, the plans being submitted for their approval; for instance, the swift steamers that carry the mails in connection with the South-Eastern Railway are classed ‘A. Folkestone and Boulogne Passenger Service.’ These special classes, however, are not taken advantage of to any great extent.—Two classes of surveys are held—the ‘Ordinary’ and the ‘Special.’ The first consists in a given number of visits paid to a ship at certain periods during construction; the second, in a systematic inspection of the vessel at short intervals, from the time of laying the keel to that of certifying to the anchors and cables being the proper weight. The first of these, as might be imagined, is open to various drawbacks; and few shipowners who desire a class at Lloyd’s hesitate to incur the somewhat greater expense of a ‘special survey,’ which, as it includes the machinery also if the vessel be a steamer, practically saves the expense of a private inspector. Lloyd’s survey only extends to the _structure_ of the ship, and takes no account of the fitting-up of the cabins and other work connected with the accommodation or comfort of crew and passengers; the class meaning simply that, in the opinion of the Committee, the ship is strong and seaworthy. The work of surveying is carried on in the United Kingdom by about one hundred surveyors, who give their whole time to it; in addition, about three-fourths of this number scattered throughout the world give their services in part. The Committee of management, whose headquarters is in Cornhill, consists of fifty members, representing the different ports of the country, although by no means in proportion to their relative standing, London securing about half the total representation. The Register Book, which represents the results of the labours of Committee and surveyors, is a ponderous volume, and gives the particulars of all the vessels now afloat that have received Lloyd’s classification, in addition to the particulars of numbers of other vessels not so classed; in fact, the Register Book is a great shipping directory, the ship, not the owner, being the leading feature.

Lloyd’s Register is not alone in the field of surveying and classifying ships. Liverpool up till a year ago had a registry of its own, the ‘Liverpool Underwriters’ Registry.’ This has now united itself with Lloyd’s Register, a fact which, for some reasons, is to be regretted. Paris is the headquarters of the ‘Bureau Veritas,’ an undertaking whose classification is in repute in Scandinavia, North Germany, the Netherlands, and France; and which maintains a staff of surveyors in the United Kingdom. This undertaking is not a representative one, and on this ground has been objected to. It is doing useful work, nevertheless; and its system of classification is superior to Lloyd’s, inasmuch as it takes into account the service for which the vessel is intended. A kindred institution to the ‘Bureau Veritas’ looks after the shipping of Italy, and is known in this country as the ‘Italian Veritas;’ while the ‘American Lloyd’s’ controls to a certain extent the building of ships on the Delaware, but is unknown in this country, on account of the well-known navigation laws by which only native-built craft can sail under the stars and stripes.

Classification Societies are not an unmixed benefit to the community, still less have they an unmixed influence for good on the design of ships. Theoretically perfect rules would proportion the strength of every individual ship to the _work_ it had to do; but, as Lloyd’s Committee, through whose hands the designs for over eight hundred ships probably pass in the course of a year, have no possible time for going into such detail, standard types of vessel have been adopted, the designs submitted being compared with these on the basis of their _dimensions_ alone. The natural result of this is that ships are in many cases built to suit Lloyd’s type; and the art of the ship-designer but too often has degenerated into getting the maximum of advantage out of certain dimensions which are known to bring the vessel just within the limits of one of these types.

In the days gone by, ships were built for a certain trade, and kept at it, the East Indiaman, the West Indiaman, and the Atlantic packet seldom interfering with each other. The leading steamship Companies naturally adhere to this system still; but, during recent years, hundreds of individually owned ships have been set afloat, designed for no special trade, but simply to carry the maximum cargo on the minimum cost wherever a freight offers itself. It is largely from the necessity of making its rules applicable to these privateers of trade that the frequently grumbled-at oppressiveness of Lloyd’s Register arises. This brings us to notice that some first-class steamship Companies do not class their vessels at all; and it may cause surprise to many to know that of those steamers whose rapid passages across the Atlantic have made their names familiar, the majority are _not_ A1 at Lloyd’s. The reason for this is simply, that a skilful designer who knows thoroughly the requirements of the service for which a ship is intended can always turn out a better and more economical vessel than one built to class, a fact which more of the leading steamship Companies will doubtless come to recognise before long. The rules of Lloyd’s Register for the construction of iron vessels are growing in stringency from year to year; a vessel built to class ten years ago, and which has proved her efficiency by doing the work for which she was designed during all that period without a complaint, would, if built to-day, require a large percentage of additional weight put into her structure to bring her strength up to the demands of the current rules. That this is so is due to the fact that, up till quite recently, Lloyd’s Register has taken account of one element only out of the several that the question of the safety of a ship on the ocean involves. For years past, the aim of the Committee has been to take from the shipbuilder more and more of the responsibility which he at one time bore for the strength of the vessels he builds, until now his share is practically _nil_; while it has been but too evident for years past, from the disclosures that now and again have been elicited before the Commissioner of Wrecks, that a good ship may be badly stowed, overloaded, or undermanned, and, under such circumstances, be in much greater danger from sea-risks than a far inferior ship in good hands.

The aim of Lloyd’s Register is the protection of the shippers and underwriters against undue risks, and the present high rates of marine insurance show that this protection is not what it might be. If the trouble and expense now devoted to securing strong vessels are not to continue to be thrown away, as they certainly are at present in a fair percentage of cases, the Committee will require to take steps to insure that a ship bearing their highest class shall not take the sea with a cargo badly stowed, an insufficient crew, or too little freeboard. The question of freeboard is already engaging attention; the other points cannot long be left in their present state; and the day will then come when shippers will think with wonder on the times when premiums at the rate of ten per cent. were paid for insuring cargoes in ships that were 100A1 at Lloyd’s.

DESTRUCTIVE INSECTS.

The Agricultural Department has issued two Reports by Mr C. Whitehead, F.L.S., F.G.S., dealing with Destructive Insects. The first of these treats of ‘Insects Injurious to Hop-plants.’ In the opinion of the writer, there is an increased and increasing risk of loss and destruction from injurious insects to many of the crops cultivated in this country. We scarcely grow anything exempt from the ravages of these pests. They attack corn of all kinds, fruit-trees, hop-plants, clover, turnips, mangold-wurzel, &c. Although some kinds are well known and long known, others are new, or, at anyrate, they have only recently been noticed. In certain instances they appear to have been imported with the plant, as, for example, the mangold-wurzel fly, _Anthomyia betæ_, which, within the last five years—contrary to the opinion of Curtis, who, writing in 1859, thought its injuries would not be of much consequence—has wrought much mischief. The turnip-fly again, which originally fed upon charlock and other cruciferous plants, has now quitted these, because the turnip supplies more suitable food. With its increased cultivation, this fly has multiplied enormously, as the farmer knows to his cost, for, in seasons favourable to its development, it sometimes destroys whole fields and causes great loss.

Cultivation is not only favourable to such old offenders, but it seems to have introduced entirely new ones; at least, the farmer now finds that wheat, clover, and other crops raised by rotation in the same fields, suffer injuries from insects, which, if they existed formerly, escaped notice. It may be, however, that the scientific spirit of late introduced into agriculture has only just discovered what in many cases has always been going on. At the same time, it is universally admitted that the destruction occasioned by insects is larger than ever it was, and that there are insects at work in the fields which were little, if at all, known to our forefathers.

One very good reason for the progressive increase of agricultural plagues is that they multiply proportionately at a much quicker rate than the plants on which they feed. We are actually rearing them artificially, and the problem is how to cultivate crops without at the same time cultivating these parasites. High-farming, by pampering plants, no doubt renders them more delicate and more liable to attack; but perhaps we help to make our own trouble by not exercising ordinary caution. Certain it is that destructive insects are imported into, as they are exported out of, this country. The agricultural produce which we bring from various parts of the world must contain many unwelcome visitors, though, fortunately, our climate does not agree with the majority of them. Like the famous Colorado Beetle, even if allowed a fair chance, they would scarcely thrive. Others there are with the Scotsman’s reputation of being able to do well anywhere. They only require a suitable plant to feel perfectly at home. They sometimes get ‘assisted’ emigration at the cost of their favourites, like the hop aphis, which was introduced into America among hop-roots sent from England. The former country has by entomologists been styled ‘the home of insects;’ but, to Europe’s loss, one highly interesting though destructive American crossed the Atlantic—namely, the phylloxera, so destructive to vines. An individual that undergoes various puzzling transformations is not readily identified, and the hop aphis, having these disguises, has alarming opportunities of getting a footing where it is least wanted. Indeed, all such destructive insects should receive more study than they have hitherto obtained. Within the last few years, scale insects were introduced into the Californian orange groves from Australia; and orange, citron, and lemon growers in other parts of the world are now complaining of pests of a similar nature. Considering the evil which has been already accomplished, it is highly important that farmers, fruit-growers, gardeners, and all who cultivate the land should be made acquainted with all that is known regarding the insects which attack their several crops.

The hop-plant in particular has many enemies, some of them so destructive, that if not checked, they would soon ruin the grower. Within the last thirty years, it is believed the liability of this plant to attack by insects has considerably increased. Hop-planters assert that insects now destroy their crops which were not known in the plantations until recently. Mr Whitehead selects ten of the most troublesome species, and gives descriptions of each insect, together with its life-history, its modes of attack, and the injury to the hop resulting therefrom; also a detailed account of methods of prevention, and of measures which have been found efficacious in stopping or alleviating these attacks.

Mr Whitehead originally intended to confine his second Report to insects injurious to corncrops; but as the work progressed, it was found desirable to include those destructive to grasscrops, as some insects are common to both. While dealing with cereals, he also thought it well to treat pulse, under which title are included plants such as peas, beans, and tares, and to describe the principal insects which affect them, especially as they are all crops liable to be attacked by the same insects. A description of a genus the most injurious to different kinds of clover, is also given. To include comparatively harmless insects in a work which is intended not so much for scientific purposes as to enlighten farmers and others regarding the pests which molest them most, was not necessary. For sufficient reasons it has been found most expedient neither to arrange them alphabetically nor according to a recognised scientific classification, but to take the insects of each group as far as possible in the order of their injurious effects. Indeed, there are included what, in the scientific acceptation of the term, are not insects at all. But the Report was written to convey useful and practical instruction to the cultivators of the soil, and wisely it was done in the manner which was likely to benefit them most. ‘With regard to these’ (the chief pests), Mr Whitehead writes, ‘it has been endeavoured to collect all the information that is known about them, and to bring this down to the latest date. It is believed that each monograph is a _résumé_ of all that is known of its subject, of its life-history, and the means of prevention, and remedies against it. It is admitted that in several instances the information is still imperfect; and in compiling this series of Reports, I have been more than ever impressed with the necessity of enlisting skilled workers in this cause, as well as of urging and encouraging habits of observation amongst those who superintend the cultivation of the land and those who work upon it.’

A NURSE.

A nurse, a simple nurse; to the unthinking
Only a nurse, and nothing but a name:
A patient woman in her round of duty,
Living and dying all unknown to fame.

Only a nurse, a messenger of mercy,
An angel sent unto our suffering race,
With quiet step, and tender hand of healing,
Divinest pity on her gentle face.

When all the world lies wrapt in quiet slumber,
Save the poor sufferer moaning on his bed,
Whose watchful eye with Christian love keeps vigil
Through the long night with silent softened tread?

Only a nurse, in duty all unshrinking;
Before such scenes, man’s stouter heart would quail:
See there! that sweet, fair girl, in sorest trial
Is at her post, nor will her courage fail.

The fever we but terror-struck encounter,
Or fly before with selfish, coward dread;
While nurse and doctor hasten to the rescue,
And stand unflinching by the stricken bed.

Hark! that weird bell—an accident at midnight;
The nurse and doctor, wakeful, close at hand,
Who minister to suffering or dying,
The hospital’s heroic little band!

There you or I may in our need find refuge,
With kindly help and loving tender care;
Respect we give those brave, unselfish women,
And night and day, remember them in prayer.

E. M. C.

* * * * *

Printed and Published by W. & R. CHAMBERS, 47 Paternoster Row, LONDON, and 339 High Street, EDINBURGH.

* * * * *

_All Rights Reserved._