river-god Scamander was outraged by the manner in which Achilles polluted his waters with the slain until his choked streams no more their course can keep, Nor roll their wonted tribute to the deep, and how in his rage he all but drowned the hero. Up to the present day, or days immediately antecedent, English rivers have been propitiated, and in earlier days human lives were not seldom sacrificed to streams or wells. The number of wells even now regarded as holy is much larger than is to be expected in prosaic and scientific days. Yorkshire alone, as the largest county, has sixtyseven holy wells, while the entire number chronicled by Mr. Robert Charles Hope in his "Legendary Lore of the Holy Wells of England" is between 400 and 500. How tolerant Christianity has been of such beliefs is evident when we read of the Pool of Bethesda; and those concerned with such questions may see in the Pyrenees, or, without going so far, in Wales, the votive offerings hung up by those who believe themselves to have received benefit. Interesting enough is the subject: no subject connected with human credulity and superstition can be otherwise. I have indicated the sources whence full knowledge may be derived, and will not dwell further upon it. I will, however, point out one form of belief that I do not remember to have seen noted. Among the attributes of wells was that of purging the flesh of grossness "till all be made immortal."” Fletcher, in "The Faithful Shepherdess," tells how to "a holy wood" -for woods as well as wells are holy YET is consecrate A virtuous well, about whose flow'ry bank IN BEHALF OF BIRDS. ET once more do I turn to a subject to which I find myself compelled constantly to recur. Men, Englishmen I fear in particular, are unwearying in their crusade against bird life. It appears as if the close season, on which we built so many expectations, leads only to a more gruesome slaughter so soon as the restrictions are withdrawn. "Sportsmen "-heaven save the mark!—and “naturalists "-heaven amend the breed!-seem only anxious to make up for lost time. I quote now, as generally, at second or third hand, for my opportunities of personal observation are few, but I have read within the last few days of dozens of kingfishers being destroyed in one town. I was holiday-making in one of the sweetest spots of pastoral England, and was told I might be shown a kingfisher, but no such bird could be found. Sir John Lubbock, I read, told an audience "recently" that he had seen in a gamekeeper's cottage seventeen nightingales transfixed, the reason being that "their songs kept the young pheasants awake"! I do not know whether a plea of this kind is more silly or more horrible. Still the destruction, which for one cause or other goes on, is such that many classes of singing and other birds will have ceased to exist. То REMEDIES AGAINST THE DESTRUCTION OF Bird Life. O extend the close season for most kinds of birds to all the year round, though it would not constitute a remedy, would at least do somewhat to diminish the evil. Another measure to be commended is a close investigation into the right to carry a gun. A portion of that particular destruction of sea birds which is one of the most hopeless signs of the brutality of our populace is attributed to the fact that in many of our watering places guns are now let out by the hour or the day to those presumably with no gun licenses. A very little supervision on the part of the police might suffice to remedy this. Why might not also the men of our preventive service, whose time apparently weighs heavily on their hands, be employed for a small reward by our protection societies to hunt out the offenders? Such a service would scarcely interfere with the discharge of their regular duties. When all measures of protection conceivable are taken, the destruction of birds by the Latin races will still threaten their extermination. The Italian, against whom Ouida so forcibly inveighs, destroys birds, however, for food; and, much as we may deplore the practice, it is infinitely less deplorable than that of the Englishman, with whom wanton slaughter is the result of inherent callousness and love of destruction. SYLVANUS URBAN. THE GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE NOVEMBER 1898. AN INVOLUNTARY MURDERER. BY VLADIMIR KOROLENKO. TRANSLATED BY JESSIE MACKENZIE. I. HEN I drove up to the ferry with a troika of post-horses, day was already waning. A fresh, keen breeze rippled the surface of the river, dashing it against the steep bank in great waves. Having heard our post-bell in the distance, the ferrymen arrested their flat-bottomed boat and awaited us. Our cart-wheels were fastened up, the cart itself lowered, and the boat loosed from her moorings. The waves beat against her wooden sides, the steersman forcibly turned his wheel, and the bank began gradually to recede, just as if borne away by the force of the swell. There were two other carts on board besides ours. In one I observed a staid-looking man, no longer young, who appeared to be of the merchant class; in the other, three fine young fellows, seemingly low-class townsfolk. The merchant sat motionless in his vehicle, turning up his collar against the fresh autumn breeze, and bestowing not the slightest attention on his chance fellow travellers. The townsfolk, on the contrary, were cheery and communicative. One of them, who squinted and had a split nostril, began to play the harmonica, and to sing some wild kind of ditties in a strange voice; but the wind soon interrupted these shrill sounds, dispersing them and hurling them across the broad and troubled river. The other, a small bottle and glass in hand, treated my driver to vodka. The third, however, a man of about thirty, healthy, handsome, and powerful, lay extended at full length in his VOL. CCLXXXV. NO. 2015. G G cart with his arms under his head, thoughtfully watching the grey clouds as they flitted across the sky. This was now the second day of my journey from the districttown of N——, and I had met these men on the road so frcquently that I paid no further heed to them. I was travelling on urgent business, with all possible speed; yet neither the merchant, his well-conditioned mare and two-wheeled trap, nor the townsfolk and their wretched, rusty-brown brutes ever left me; after every halt I overtook them somewhere, either on road or ferry. "Who may these fellows be?" I asked my driver when he came up to my cart. "Kostioushka and his comrades,” replied he cautiously. "Who are they?" I cross-questioned, for the name was unfamiliar to me. The driver seemed loth to give me any further information, as our conversation might have been overheard by the townsfolk. Glancing round at them, he then pointed with his whip in the direction of the river. I gazed in the same direction. Over the broad, liquid surface frequent waves succeeded each other in black streaks. The waters were dark and troubled, and above, describing restless circles, flew great white birds, a kind of gulls, now swooping downwards to the river, now again rising with pitifully ravenous cries. "Birds of prey," explained my driver, when the ferry-boat reached the bank and our three horses had dragged us on to the road. "Ay, and those townsfolk," continued he, "are likewise birds of prey. They have neither house nor home. It seems they had some small piece of land, but that, even, they disposed of last summer. Now they just haunt the roads like wolves. Life is a burden because of them." "Do they rob?" "They are a bad lot. To rip open travellers' luggage, steal a bale or more of tea from a caravan of waggons- that is their line of business. When times are bad, before one can look round, they steal a horse from the likes of us, from a driver on his return journey. Naturally one gets drowsy and drops off to sleep-human weaknessand then is the opportunity. This same Kostioushka had his nostril split open by a driver's whip. It is a fact. You bear this in mind: this Kostioushka is-an unmitigated scoundrel. A comrade after his own heart he does not now possess. He had; but the caravan drivers killed him." "The comrade was caught?" "Taken in the act. He was caught out. The lads had their innings-I mean the caravan drivers." The narrator laughed in his sleeve. "First-they chopped his fingers off. Then they roasted him, and finally took out his entrails with a stick, and threw them away. So he died, the dog.” "Yet you seemed acquainted with them. Why did they treat you to vodka ?" "You shall know," said my driver grimly. "I, personally, have drunk no little of their liquor, because-I am always in dread. Remember this: Kostioushka has not sallied forth at night for nothing. He does not urge his beasts in a place like this without reason. He scents booty, the devil; that is the truth." "There is also some sort of merchant," added he reflectively, after a short silence. "Maybe it is the merchant they are now after -yet scarcely-it is hardly likely. And there is some one or other new with them. We have not seen him about before." "The one who was lying in the cart ?" "Ah, well, a thoroughgoing blackguard, we must conclude. A powerful devil! " "I want to say this to you, sir!" he suddenly commenced, turning to me. "You just begin to look out. Do not travel at night. It must be for some bad reason that the rogues stick so fast to you." "Then you know me?" I inquired. My driver turned away, and began to tug the reins. "We do not know," he replied evasively. "It was rumouredthe Koudinov's man of business would be passing through. It is no affair of ours." Obviously I was known hereabouts. I had conducted the lawsuit of the merchants Koudinov versus The Crown, and had lately gained it. My clients were well known in this place and over the whole of Eastern Siberia, and the case had been a sensational one. Now, having received a very large sum from the District Exchequer, I was hastening to the town of N. N., where payments had become due. There was very little time, the post went rarely to N. N., so I carried the money with me. I had to travel day and night, branching off from the highroad here and there, and taking straight cuts. Therefore it was that the rumour which had preceded me, enough to raise a whole flock of rapacious birds of prey, was the reverse of comforting. I looked back. Notwithstanding the darkness which was closing |