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LITERARY EXTRACTS.

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LITERARY EXTRACTS. TIIE DARKEST STAIN UPON NAPOLEON'S CHARACTER. —The Due d'Enghien, an inoffensive princelet, was living at Eltenheim, a few miles from Strasbourg, but in the territory of Baden, where he gave up his days to sport. At midnight on March 15, 1804, he was seized by a party of dragoons and hurried to Paris. Five days latsr he was arraigned before a military commission in the Fort Vincennes, found guilty on his own admission of having borne arms against the Republic, and then shot, out of hand. Great efforts have been made to absolve Napoleon from the guilt of this atrocious murder, which he planned entirely himself. It has been pretended that the Duke was mistaken for a mysterious person, the much-looked-for Prince who never came to Paria, whose description was accurately known, and was entirely different from the victim's, while it was clearly shown on another occasion to be Pichegru himself. Savary, the chief agent in the affair, said afterwards that the First Consul was horrified at the haste displayed, and declared that the sen- tence of the Court should have been suspended until the prisoner had been interrogated by a judge. Even if they ever imposed on the credulous, no such subterfuges can be accepted now. There was no accident or confusion, no hurry or mistake in the tragedy of Vincennes. Everything had been deliberately and minutely pre- pared in advance—selection of the gaoler, a confi- dential person, no other than Harel, who had betrayed the Corsican conspiracy in 1800; the sub- stitution of a military for the ordinary civil tribunal, of devoted soldiers blindly obeying their mandate to convict after no proper form of trial, the approval of the death sentence, which was signed in ad- vance on a blank sheet. The very grave in the moat was already dug when the hapless youth passed the gates of the fortress. Napo- leon's apologists declare that he was greatly grieved and agitated when this cowardly crime was being perpetrated. Meneval describes the family party at Malmaison. and the gloom that overshadowed all-Josephine with moist eyes, the suite whispering privately together in a distant gallery. Bonaparte silent and absorbed, vainly seeking to read a book Others say that he roamed alone through the woods for hours, terribly depressed and disturbed. Thiers. in his history, declares that during the week he hardly did any business or dictated a single letter. Yet this at least is an error, for an examination of his corre- spondence shows he dictated 27 big, voluminous, and minute despatches between March 15 and the 23rd nd on the 20th, the very day he was most distressed he sent off seven. So little was he really affected that he wrote his brother Joseph, I cannot repent of my decision. This was the only means I had -of leaving no doubt as to my intentions, and oi annihilating the hopes of the partisans of the Bour- bons. I shall never be tranquil on thf throne while the Bourbons exist, and this Bourbon is one the less. If whr t I have done were still, to be done, I would do it again, and if I had a favourable opportunity I would get rid of the rest.' All Europe was shocked by this murder, the infamy of which still remains as the darkest stain upon the character of Napoleon. If the crime passed uncriti- eised at home it was because public opinion could find no voice in France, gagged by the new despotism.—English Illustrated Magazine. How TO WRITE STonips.-An English novelist was asked by a young aspirant for literary honours whether there was any special course of training re- quired for success in fiction. Hie reply was an emphatic "No." "Nearly all our living story- writers," he said, were educated for other profes- sions or trades. Thomas Hardy was an architect before he was a novelist, and Hall Caine started in the same way. Anthony Hope was a barrister; R. D. Blackmore was a solicitor, and F. Anstey was called to the bar." He went on with the list and named Sir Walter Besant, Dr. Conan Doyle, William Black, J. M. Barrie, Rider Haggard, and Rudyard Kipling, all of whom began life without any thought of becoming novelists. We are jacks.of-all-trades; he said, "although we are all writing novels now. There can be no technical school for novelists," he continued. Those who succeed in fiction have generally failed in some other calling. Literature has come as an afterthought after they have dreamed their dreams and have come to know something of real life." Another anxious inquirer who had written three or four stories without finding a publisher, went in despair to a successful novelist and asked for advice. "I have re- written my stories," he said, until I am weary and heart-sick, and each fresh manuscript is returned with thanks. How can I learn the art?" The novelist had a kind heart and gave him a useful hint. "Depend upon it," he said, that there is something wrong in your method. Lock up your manuscripts for a while and study some good models. Find out how some of the masters of fiction produce their effects, how they manage their plots and dialogue and how they convey vivid impressions of character. When yon have learned some of the secrets of their art, take the best one of your unpublished stories and condense it into six magazine pages." That was not a suggestion which the author of four unsuccess- ful novels was prepared to welcome, but it was good advice. He had begun his work on too large a scale. He was trying to paint on alarge canvas before he had learned how to sketch. He needed to be reminded that fiction is an art to be studied from good models and learned in detail. Foralthough itistruethat there isno school for novelists, as there is for lawyers, doctors, or engineers, there is a literary method to be acquired, and there are artistic processes to be mastered. The early career of nearly every successful novelist is a record of failures, by which he is trained for higher and better work. His own library is his technical school. GIYE free play to a man's love of literature, and you will kindle his brain and make it brighter, and more active. The man whose brain is stimulated and made active by contact with great poets and great thinkers is not the worse but the better mechanic. If people would only remember that what they really work with is not their hands, but their brains, they would not imagine that time spent on cultivating the brain and giving it power and flexibility is time thrown away. but would see that it is time most (usefully de- voted. Spectator. TIIE POACHER'S Doc,For accomplishments—of a nefarious character—this brindled, lithe,fierce, crafty creature can give points to the best bred, best trained dog that ever rivalled his performances at shows and in the field trials. The least signal, imperceptible to other eyes, is enough for him—nay, he often needs none at all. For instance, his surly proprietor not seldom accompanies a higgler of particularly shady character in his light cart,, drawn by a clever pony, as it speeds with little noise through various lanes running between fields and woods where game if abundant. On these occasions, if anybody heaves in eight and especially a rural policeman, the dog slinks back from under the cart, pretends he has no connection whatever with it, and writhes, weazle- like, through a gap in the hedge, running along and keeping up with the cart inside it until the lane is solitary again. If there be no gap and the hedge is impervious, he gets into the ditch and strikes back at a wolf-like gallop till he is a long distance off. appearing to be an ownerless dog which has lost its bearings, and does not belong to anybody. The gamekeeper he deems hostis humani generis,' and evades him with splendid dexterity and a low snarl of hate. But when he is employed at night in furthering his owner's schemes, he shows an amoupt of cleverness which, to borrow from conventional copy-book morality, were well devoted to a better cause. Along the field a few yards from the copse (not on a shiny night "-that is a popular mistake, founded, like others, on a popular song-but on a -cloudy and starlit one), the net has been pitched. Beyond this the hares and rabbits are feeding far out in the luxuriant dewy grass. Behind this, with a stout bludgeon—sometimes alone oftener with a comrade—is the dog's proprietor. The dog himself, crouched low, awaits a wave of the hand. That being given, he slinks out of the field like a cat, tops the gate, runs along the road, and re-enters the field at the further end, getting as noiselessly as possible through the hedge, or, if it be low, jumping it like a greyhound. He gallops along the boundary hedge at measured pace, not uttering a sound--he knows better than to make such a mistake—and, making a wide circuit, drives all the feeding rodents at a wild scamper towards the net, and at the proper distance, which experience, not to say kicks have taught him, drops couchant like a well-bred setter, and so remains till a low whistle signals him. Meanwhile, the hares and rabbits rush headlong into the nets-provided the former have not been netted before, for they are far more wary in this respect than rabbits—and a succession of thuds with an occasional aunt-aunt from a hare, shows that the poachers arc dexterously killing their spoil. The hare which criis, by the way, is the animal which of all others they hate, just as the bird which they re- gard with the same feeling is the lapwing, lightest of feathered sleepers, and, awaking with its constant a pee-wit" when any intruder, human or animal, disturbs its repose. Now and again a hare or rabbit does not run, but remains couchant and within reach of the dog. He gives one savage bite with his iron jaws, and noiselessly squeezes the life out of the prey, ind when things are quiet brings it up to his master, always by a devious course. The net is rolled up and hidden in some bramble covered ditch, the rabbits are put in a sack and either carried off or hidden, like the net, to be fetched next day-by the wife-when the coast is clear. This depends on the possible proximity of the gamekeeper or policeman. In any case the dog does not joii his master, but IDeake home by himself.-—(xlob*, „ .j- i. — THE PI;USF.U'S NERVE.—It was a cosy room, with antique hangings and furniture and walls hung with handsome works of art which oould be only indis- tinctly seen by the light of the flickering fire on the hearth.' The little party agreed with the beautiful hostess that the room was just dark enough for a ghost story. I don't know a ghost story," said one of the men, "but the dramatic rescue of the Veen- dam's passengers by the St. Louis reminds me of my experience on board the old Gallia, when she was caught in a hurricane in midwinter about seven hun- dred miles from Queenstown. The waves broke in our decks and Hooded the cabins, and nobody thought for a little while that anyone on board the vessel would ever see land again. There was no panic, no shouting, no weeping, and it seemed that all were Perfectly prepared to go, though they looked far from appy iloundering about in the water dressed in such garments as they could grasp when they were aroused from their sleep by the crash which sent tons of water into the ship. It was about seven o'clock in the morning, the stewards had begun to set the table for breakfast, and, as I recall the picture, I can see men and women, most of them with heavy wraps over their nightdresses, standing on the table and dancing a forced minuet between the guard railsand the dishes. At one end of the cabin, while others were silently praying, stood a young fellow with nothing on but a suit of blue and white pajamas, holding a snap camera in front of him. If you folks'll hold still a minute,' he said, we'll have a picture of this if we ever get out of it,' and for a moment people forgot the terrible situation, and I have always believed that one of the women adjusted her water-soaked gown so that she might look well in the picture taken under the shadow of the destroying angel. Well, we got through it all right, although we came to Liverpool in a sadly battered condition, and when they hoisted the trunks from the hold the water ¡ ran out of them as though each piece were a sieve. We had service on board the ship the Sunday following our disaster, and although two days had passed since we thought we were gone, we seemed to appreciate fully what had happened. Men and women who had shown sign of fear now moped in corners with trembling lips, unable to speak because of the lump in their throats, and the service of song was a flat failure, because no one could sing any more than the young woman at the organ could get a note out of that water-soaked, dripping piece of furniture. We reached Liverpool too late at night to leave the ship, and the men, who had become better acquainted than they would have been on a less tempestuous voyage, gathered in the saloon, and for the hundredth time exchanged congratulations. This was nothing,' said our purser, to the experience I once had—and not so long ago. To go down with all hands must be hard enough, but to be the only one of a wholeshipful to go, and to see all the rest saved—that's pretty hard. That came near being my case, and I don't want another similar experience. I was an officer on the Ohio when she knocked a hole in her bottom, and I helped transfer the passengers and save what we could. When all had been sent to the ship which came to our relief we made ready for the last boat- load, of which I was to be one. We had a lot of money and valuables in the ship's safe, and I went below, took a tablecloth from the cabin table and into this [dumped the contents of the various compart- ments of the safe. I made a bag of it, carried it on deck, and when I came to where the boat should have been I found that it had gone, and I, with the treasure, was left in the rapidly sinking ship. I can think of any number of situations which I would have preferred to mine just then. The wind being against me, I could not make myself heard. I put up signals, and no one would ever guess what I did then. I wanted to keep my wits abont me and block all chances for nervousness, so I did what requires a man's full attention-began to shave; and I doubt whether I ever did a cleaner or a better job. By the time I had finished, my companions must have missed me, for I could see them returning, and when they came alongside there were not many inches to step I down from the sinking big boat to the little thing that took us away. I tell you this story to show how necessary it is to have nerve on board ship. And did he tell it for a true story ?" asked the hostess. He swore to every detail." Then he did have nerve."—New York Tribune. STIBMAKNFE CABLES.—The laying of the first Atlantic cable was the initial of a supreme effort to unite the family of nations. It was costly, and in a commer- cial sense, up to a certain date, a failure, but as a triumph of engineering science it marked an epoch in international communication. Other cables had somewhat of a dismal beginning, but enterprise did not stop at disasters, nor did the engineer halt at what, after all, was but temporary obstruction. The good work continued, and has reached such massive proportions that a navy of 41 telegraph ships, fully equipped and manned, is distributed over the oceans of the world, representing a gross tonnage of 60,000 tons. The manufacture of cables represents huge investments of capital and an army of workers. Great Britain has so far led the way in this modern industry, and was for a time as supreme atthc bottom as at the top of the sea. The honours are now being divided by France, Italy, and Germany. Manufac- I ture is no longer an exclusive monopoly. New cables will continue to be laid, and as time, corrosion, accidents, submarine convulsions, and the encroachments of marine shell-fish and monsters cause breakages and loss, the supervision of repairs will be a permanent occupation both to experts and seamen. The follow- ing table shows the mileage and number of cablea now in use: Cables under 5 miles in length «* 761 Exceoding 5 miles and under 50 223 Exceeding 50 miles and under 100 65 Exceeding 100 miles and under 500. 155 Exceeding 500 miles and under 1000 64 Exceeding 1000 miles and under 2000 29 Exceeding 2000 miles and under 8 Total 1305 The expenditure of money in the laying and manu- facture of these submarine lines has been roughlv estimated at 200,000,OOOdols. These are hig figures, but they will be larger as the network of wire spreads on ocean bottoins.-Tlie Age of Steel. CLOUD BELTS.—Anyone who has made a voyage beyond the equator will, no doubt, retain a good recollection of a day or so of disagreeable, oppressive, damp weather, when moisture seemed to be exuding from all sides, just as if one had come out of a dense Scotch mist, and everything was coated with a thick film of moisture, which trickled down in great beads. The journey through the watery-laden atmo- sphere and almost constant rain, is really a passage through the equatorial cloud belt which girdles the planet on which we happen to be located and although we may admire Jupiter with his many cloud belts as seen through a telescope, yet we feel thankful for the invention of steamships, which enable us to leave behind as quickly as possible the most marked cloud-belt appended to our earth, rather than be becalmed in these doldrums," where ships have been known to drift listlessly about for whole weeks. The general appearance of the sky in this" rainy sea," as it, has been called, in a steamy haze—sometimes growing into uniform gloom, with or without heavy rain, at other times gathering into small ill-defined patches of soft cumulus. After dark there is always a great development of sheet lightning till about two in the morning. Besides this equatorial cloud belt, however, there are two other rings encircling the earth, where rain falls perhaps more incessantly even tLnn in the equatorial belt itself, though by no means in such large quan- tities. These latter belts occur near latitude 6Udeg. in both hemispheres and perhaps more of us have passed through these than that of the equatorial belt, especially to one crossing the Shetlands and South Norway about Bergen, where it rains nearly every day throughout the year, and which place tourists speak of as especially relaxing, thus experiencing some of the effects described by Commodore Sinclair. It is not necessary to go into detail as to the actual cause of these cloud belts-that is a matter for text- books sufficient to say that in the case of the equa- torial belt, the north-east and south-east trade winds flowing into the equatorial regions to supply the up- draught caused by the intense heating of the atmos- phere surrounding the equator, pass over zones about 20 degrees in width, from which all, or nearly all, the vapour of evaporation is carried into the compara- tively narrow zone of the equatorial calm belt before it ascends to higher and therefore colder levels. In these upper reaches condensation takes place, thereby producing a constant canopy of dense cloud which forms a nearly continuous cloud girdle. The equa- torial calm belt, therefore, is also a cloud and rain belt. From certain causes the rain and cloud belt, as it exists at any given time, is mostly wilder than the belt of calms, but of course neither have very definite limits these, however, are much better defined over the great oceans, where the trade winds blow much more steadily than on the Continents, where regularity is very much interfered with by the various abnormal disturbances of uneven surfaces^and mountain ranges, and likewise by the monsoons of the Indian and other oceans. The rain and cloud belt is, how- ] ever, clearly traceable across the whole of Africa, 1 wherever observations have been made, as also 1 across the American isthmus; but it has greater j width and its limits are not so well de- fined. These cloud zones, on which large amounts j of rain fall, are traced out naturally for us on | the surface of the globe, and it has been truly j said that these regions are the reservoirs of the great rivers;" e.g., those originating from the equa- torial cloud belt being the Amazon, Orinoco, Niger, Nile, and Congo,whilst the Yenesei, Obi, Mackenzie, and St. Lawrence largely derive their supplies from J: the minor belt in the northern hemisphere.—W. j Shackleton, F.Ii.A.S., in Knowledge, s J ),I i-u .• J" J.. ('' I! ,ë

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