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Drupal 6 JavaScript and jQuery 1st Edition Matt
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Author(s): Matt Butcher
ISBN(s): 9781849510042, 1847199720
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File Details: PDF, 2.59 MB
Year: 2009
Language: english
jQuery 1.4 Reference Guide

A comprehensive exploration of the popular

JavaScript library

Karl Swedberg
Jonathan Chaffer

BIRMINGHAM - MUMBAI

This material is copyright and is licensed for the sole use by Betty Vaughan-Pope on 1st February 2010
2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
jQuery 1.4 Reference Guide

Copyright © 2010 Packt Publishing

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior written
permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embedded in
critical articles or reviews.

Every effort has been made in the preparation of this book to ensure the accuracy
of the information presented. However, the information contained in this book is
sold without warranty, either express or implied. Neither the authors, nor Packt
Publishing, and its dealers and distributors will be held liable for any damages
caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by this book.

Packt Publishing has endeavored to provide trademark information about all of the
companies and products mentioned in this book by the appropriate use of capitals.
However, Packt Publishing cannot guarantee the accuracy of this information.

First published: January 2010

Production Reference: 1190110

Published by Packt Publishing Ltd.

32 Lincoln Road
Olton
Birmingham, B27 6PA, UK.

ISBN 978-1-84951-004-2

www.packtpub.com

Cover Image by Karl Swedberg (karl@englishrules.com)

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2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
 Credits

Authors Production Editorial Manager

Karl Swedberg Abhijeet Deobhakta
Jonathan Chaffer
Editorial Team Leader
Reviewers Mithun Sehgal
Joydip Kanjilal
Project Team Leader
Dave Methvin
Lata Basantani

Acquisition Editor
Project Coordinator
Swapna V. Verlekar
Joel Goveya

Development Editor
Proofreader
Swapna V. Verlekar
Chris Smith

Technical Editor
Graphics
Tariq Rakhange
Nilesh R. Mohite

Copy Editor
Production Coordinator
Sneha Kulkarni
Dolly Dasilva

Indexer
Cover Work
Hemangini Bari
Dolly Dasilva

This material is copyright and is licensed for the sole use by Betty Vaughan-Pope on 1st February 2010
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 About the Authors

Karl Swedberg is a web developer at Fusionary Media in Grand Rapids,

Michigan, where he spends much of his time solving problems with JavaScript
and implementing design. A member of the jQuery Project Team and an active
contributor to the jQuery discussion list, Karl has presented at workshops and
conferences, and provided corporate training in Europe and North America.

Before he got hooked on to web development, Karl worked as a copy editor,

a high-school English teacher, and a coffee house owner. He gave up his dream of
becoming a professional musician in the early 1990s about the same time that he
stumbled into a job at Microsoft in Redmond, Washington. He sold his hollow-body
Rickenbacker ages ago, but still keeps an acoustic guitar in the basement.

I wish to thank my wife, Sara, for keeping me sane. Thanks also to

my two delightful children, Benjamin and Lucia. Jonathan Chaffer
has my deepest respect for his programming expertise and my
gratitude for his willingness to write this book with me.

Many thanks to John Resig for creating the world's greatest

JavaScript library and for fostering an amazing community around
it. Thanks also to the folks at Packt Publishing, the technical
reviewers of this book, the jQuery Cabal, and the many others who
have provided help and inspiration along the way.

This material is copyright and is licensed for the sole use by Betty Vaughan-Pope on 1st February 2010
2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
Jonathan Chaffer is a member of Rapid Development Group, a web development
firm located in Grand Rapids, Michigan. His work there includes overseeing and
implementing projects in a wide variety of technologies, with an emphasis on PHP,
MySQL, and JavaScript.

In the open source community, Jonathan has been very active in the Drupal CMS
project, which has adopted jQuery as its JavaScript framework of choice. He is the
creator of the Content Construction Kit, a popular module for managing structured
content on Drupal sites. He is responsible for major overhauls of Drupal's menu
system and developer API reference.

Jonathan lives in Grand Rapids with his wife, Jennifer.

I would like to thank Jenny for her tireless enthusiasm and support,
Karl for the motivation to continue writing when the spirit was
weak, and the Ars Technica community for constant inspiration
toward technical excellence.

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 About the Reviewers

Joydip Kanjilal is a Microsoft MVP in ASP.NET, and the author of a number

of books on .NET and its related technologies. He has over 12 years of industry
experience in IT with more than 6 years in Microsoft .NET and its related
technologies. He has authored a lot of articles for some of the most reputable sites
such as www.asptoday.com, www.devx.com, www.aspalliance.com,
www.aspnetpro.com, www.mcpressonline.com, www.sql-server-performance.
com, www.sswug.com, and so on. A lot of these articles have been selected at
www.asp.net—Microsoft's official site on ASP.NET. Joydip was also a community
credit winner at www.community-credit.com a number of times. Joydip was also
selected as MSDN Featured Developer of the Fortnight in November and December,
2008. Joydip has authored the following books:

• ASP.NET 4.0 Programming (Mc-Graw Hill Publishing)

• Entity Framework Tutorial (Packt Publishing)
• Pro Sync Framework (APRESS)
• Sams Teach Yourself ASP.NET Ajax in 24 Hours (Sams Publishing)
• ASP.NET Data Presentation Controls Essentials (Packt Publishing)

He is currently working as an independent software consultant and author. He has

years of experience in designing and architecting solutions for various domains. His
technical strengths include C, C++, VC++, Java, C#, Microsoft .NET, AJAX, Design
Patterns, SQL Server, Operating Systems, and Computer Architecture. Joydip blogs
at http://aspadvice.com/blogs/joydip and spends his time reading books,
blogs, and writing books and articles. His hobbies include watching cricket, soccer,
and playing chess.

This material is copyright and is licensed for the sole use by Betty Vaughan-Pope on 1st February 2010
2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
Dave Methvin is the Chief Technology Officer at PC Pitstop and one of the
founding partners of the company. He provides technical direction for the PCPitstop.
com (http://www.pcpitstop.com/) web site and oversees software development.

Before joining PC Pitstop, Dave had an extensive career in computer journalism.

He served as an Executive Editor at both Windows Magazine and PC Tech Journal,
co-authored a book on Windows NT networking, and wrote articles for more than
two dozen publications. Dave blogs on Windows issues for the InformationWeek
(http://www.informationweek.com) web site.

Dave holds both a bachelor's and a master's degree in Computer Science from the
University of Virginia. He has been active in the jQuery community since 2006 and
has written several popular plug-ins such as Splitter.

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2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
This material is copyright and is licensed for the sole use by Betty Vaughan-Pope on 1st February 2010
2601 S Broadway St, Unit 29, La Porte, , 77571
 Table of Contents
Preface 1
Chapter 1: Anatomy of a jQuery Script 7
A dynamic table of contents 7
Obtaining jQuery 8
Setting up the HTML document 9
Writing the jQuery code 11
Script dissection 12
Selector expressions 12
DOM traversal methods 13
DOM manipulation methods 13
Event methods 14
Effect methods 14
AJAX methods 15
Miscellaneous methods 15
Plug-in API 16
Summary 16
Chapter 2: Selector Expressions 17
CSS selectors 17
Element (T) 17
ID (#myid) 18
Class (.myclass) 18
Descendant (E F) 19
Child (E > F) 20
Adjacent sibling (E + F) 20
General sibling (E ~ F) 21
Multiple expressions (E, F, G) 22
Numbered child (:nth-child(n/even/odd/expr)) 22
First child (:first-child) 24

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Table of Contents

Last child (:last-child) 24

Only child (:only-child) 25
Not (:not(E)) 25
Empty (:empty) 25
Universal (*) 26
Attribute selectors 26
Attribute ([foo]) 27
Attribute equals ([foo=bar]) 27
Attribute does not equal ([foo!=bar]) 27
Attribute begins with ([foo^=bar]) 28
Attribute ends with ([foo$=bar]) 28
Attribute contains ([foo*=bar]) 28
Attribute contains word ([foo~=bar]) 29
Attribute contains prefix ([foo|=bar]) 29
Form selectors 30
Custom selectors 31
Element at index (:eq(n)) 31
Greater than (:gt(n)) 32
Less than (:lt(n)) 32
First (:first) 32
Last (:last) 33
Even element (:even) 33
Odd element (:odd) 34
Is parent (:parent) 34
Contains text (:contains(text)) 35
Contains element (:has(E)) 35
Visible (:visible) 36
Hidden (:hidden) 37
Header element (:header) 37
Currently animating (:animated) 37
Chapter 3: DOM Traversal Methods 39
The jQuery function 39
$() 39
Filtering methods 42
.filter() 42
.not() 44
.has() 46
.eq() 47
.first() 48
.last() 49

[ ii ]

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 Table of Contents

.slice() 49
Tree traversal methods 51
.find() 51
.children() 52
.parents() 53
.parentsUntil() 55
.parent() 56
.closest() 57
.offsetParent() 59
.siblings() 60
.prev() 61
.prevAll() 62
.prevUntil() 63
.next() 64
.nextAll() 65
.nextUntil() 66
Miscellaneous traversal methods 68
.add() 68
.is() 69
.end() 70
.andSelf() 72
.map() 73
.contents() 74
Chapter 4: DOM Manipulation Methods 77
General attributes 77
.attr() (getter) 77
.attr() (setter) 78
.removeAttr() 80
Style properties 80
.css() (getter) 80
.css() (setter) 81
.height() (getter) 82
.height() (setter) 83
.innerHeight() 84
.outerHeight() 84
.width() (getter) 85
.width() (setter) 86
.innerWidth() 87
.outerWidth() 87
.offset() (getter) 88

[ iii ]

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Table of Contents

.offset() (setter) 89
.position() 89
.scrollTop() (getter) 90
.scrollTop() (setter) 90
.scrollLeft() (getter) 91
.scrollLeft() (setter) 91
Class attributes 91
.hasClass() 92
.addClass() 92
.removeClass() 93
.toggleClass() 95
DOM replacement 96
.html() (getter) 97
.html() (setter) 97
.text() (getter) 98
.text() (setter) 99
.val() (getter) 101
.val() (setter) 101
.replaceWith() 102
.replaceAll() 103
DOM insertion, inside 104
.prepend() 104
.prependTo() 106
.append() 108
.appendTo() 109
DOM insertion, outside 111
.before() 111
.insertBefore() 112
.after() 114
.insertAfter() 115
DOM insertion, around 117
.wrap() 117
.wrapAll() 118
.wrapInner() 119
DOM copying 121
.clone() 121
DOM removal 122
.empty() 122
.remove() 123
.detach() 125
.unwrap() 125
[ iv ]

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 Table of Contents

Chapter 5: Event Methods 127

Event handler attachment 127
.bind() 127
.unbind() 131
.one() 134
.trigger() 135
.triggerHandler() 136
.live() 137
.die() 139
Document loading 140
.ready() 140
.load() 141
.unload() 143
.error() 144
Mouse events 144
.mousedown() 145
.mouseup() 146
.click() 148
.dblclick() 149
.toggle() 151
.mouseover() 152
.mouseout() 154
.mouseenter() 156
.mouseleave() 157
.hover() 159
.mousemove() 160
Form events 162
.focus() 162
.blur() 163
.change() 165
.select() 166
.submit() 167
Keyboard events 169
.keydown() 169
.keypress() 171
.keyup() 172
Browser events 174
.resize() 174
.scroll() 175

[v]

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Table of Contents

Chapter 6: Effect Methods 177

Pre-packaged effects 177
.show() 177
.hide() 179
.toggle() 181
.slideDown() 184
.slideUp() 185
.slideToggle() 186
.fadeIn() 189
.fadeOut() 190
.fadeTo() 192
Customized effects 193
.animate() 193
.stop() 198
.delay() 199
.queue() 200
.dequeue() 201
.clearQueue() 202
Chapter 7: AJAX Methods 203
Low-level interface 203
$.ajax() 203
$.ajaxSetup() 209
Shorthand methods 210
$.get() 210
.load() 211
$.post() 212
$.getJSON() 213
$.getScript() 214
Global AJAX event handlers 215
.ajaxComplete() 215
.ajaxError() 217
.ajaxSend() 218
.ajaxStart() 219
.ajaxStop() 220
.ajaxSuccess() 221
Helper functions 223
.serialize() 223
.serializeArray() 224

[ vi ]

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 Table of Contents

Chapter 8: Miscellaneous Methods 227

Setup methods 227
$.noConflict() 227
DOM element methods 228
.size() 228
.get() 229
.index() 230
Collection manipulation 232
.each() 232
$.grep() 234
$.makeArray() 235
$.inArray() 236
$.map() 237
$.merge() 239
$.unique() 240
$.extend() 240
$.trim() 242
$.param() 243
Introspection 244
$.isArray() 244
$.isFunction() 245
$.isPlainObject() 245
$.isEmptyObject() 245
$.isXMLDoc() 246
Data storage 246
.data() 246
.removeData() 248
Chapter 9: jQuery Properties 249
Global properties 249
$.browser 249
$.support 250
$.support.boxModel 250
$.support.cssFloat 251
$.support.hrefNormalized 251
$.support.htmlSerialize 251
$.support.leadingWhitespace 251
$.support.noCloneEvent 251
$.support.objectAll 251
$.support.opacity 252
$.support.scriptEval 252
$.support.style 252
$.support.tbody 252

[ vii ]

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Table of Contents

jQuery object properties 252

.length 252
.selector 253
.context 254
Chapter 10: The Plug-in API 255
Using a plug-in 255
Developing a plug-in 256
Object method 256
Global function 258
Selector expression 261
Plug-in conventions 262
Use of the $ alias 262
Naming conventions 263
API standardization 263
Chapter 11: Alphabetical Quick Reference 265
Selector expressions 265
Methods 268
Properties 281
Appendix A: Online Resources 283
jQuery documentation 283
JavaScript reference 284
JavaScript code compressors 285
JavaScript code decompressors 286
(X)HTML reference 286
CSS reference 287
Useful blogs 287
Web development frameworks using jQuery 289
Appendix B: Development Tools 291
Tools for Firefox 291
Tools for Internet Explorer 292
Tools for Safari 293
Tools for Opera 294
Other tools 294
Index 297

[ viii ]

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 Preface
jQuery is a powerful, yet easy-to-use, JavaScript library that helps web developers
and designers add dynamic, interactive elements to their sites, smoothing out
browser inconsistencies and greatly reducing development time. In jQuery 1.4
Reference Guide, you can investigate this library's features in a thorough,
accessible format.

This book offers an organized menu of every jQuery method, function, and selector.
Entries are accompanied by detailed descriptions and helpful recipes that will assist
you in getting the most out of jQuery, and avoiding the pitfalls commonly associated
with JavaScript and other client-side languages. If you're still hungry for more, the
book shows you how to cook up your own extensions with jQuery's elegant
plug-in architecture.

You'll discover the untapped possibilities that jQuery makes available and hone
your skills as you return to this guide time and again.

What this book covers

In Chapter 1, Anatomy of a jQuery Script, we'll begin by dissecting a working jQuery
example. This script will serve as a roadmap for this book, directing you to the
chapters containing more information on particular jQuery capabilities.

The heart of the book is a set of reference chapters, which allow you to quickly
look up the details of any jQuery method. Chapter 2, Selector Expressions, lists every
available selector for finding page elements.

Chapter 3, DOM Traversal Methods, builds on the previous chapter with a catalog of
jQuery methods for finding page elements.

Chapter 4, DOM Manipulation Methods, describes every opportunity for inspecting

and modifying the HTML structure of a page.

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Preface

Chapter 5, Event Methods, details each event that can be triggered and reacted to
by jQuery.

Chapter 6, Effect Methods, defines the range of animations built into jQuery, as well as
the toolkit available for building your own.

Chapter 7, AJAX Methods, lists the ways in which jQuery can initiate and respond to
server communication without refreshing the page.

Chapter 8, Miscellaneous Methods, covers the remaining capabilities of the jQuery

library that don't neatly fit into the other categories.

Chapter 9, jQuery Properties, lists properties of the jQuery object that can be inspected
for information about the browser environment.

With the catalog of built-in functionality concluded, we'll dive into the extension
mechanisms jQuery makes available. Chapter 10, Plug-in API, reveals these powerful
ways to enhance jQuery's already robust capabilities using a plug-in.

Chapter 11, Alphabetical Quick Reference, offers a handy list of all methods and
their arguments.

Appendix A, Online Resources, provides a handful of informative web sites on a wide

range of topics related to jQuery, JavaScript, and web development in general.

Appendix B, Development Tools, recommends a number of useful third-party

programs and utilities for editing and debugging jQuery code within your personal
development environment.

What you need for this book

This book is a reference guide, not a tutorial. As such, prior exposure to the
jQuery library will be beneficial in navigating this reference. The book Learning
jQuery 1.3 is well-suited for this purpose.

To understand jQuery concepts, some knowledge of JavaScript is required, and

familiarity with HTML and CSS is helpful.
The jQuery library itself can be downloaded from http://jquery.com/. The
majority of examples in this book require only this library, a text editor, and a
web browser. Some AJAX examples require web server software as well, such as
Apache, but this requirement is avoided wherever possible.

[2]

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 Preface

Who this book is for

This reference is designed for web developers who want a broad, organized view of
all that the jQuery library has to offer, or want a quick reference on their desks to refer
to for particular details. Basic knowledge of HTML and CSS is required. You should
be comfortable with the syntax of JavaScript, and have basic knowledge of jQuery to
make best use of this book.

Conventions
In this book, you will find a number of styles of text that distinguish between
different kinds of information. Here are some examples of these styles, and an
explanation of their meaning.

Code words in text are shown as follows: "The .removeAttr() method uses the
JavaScript removeAttribute() function."

A block of code is set as follows:

<ul>
<li>list item 1</li>
<li>list item 2</li>
<li>list item 3</li>
<li>list item 4</li>
<li>list item 5</li>
<li>list item 6</li>
</ul>

When we wish to draw your attention to a particular part of a code block, the
relevant lines or items are set in bold:
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type"
content="text/html; charset=utf-8"/>
<script src="jquery.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<script src="jquery.plug-in.js"
type="text/javascript"></script>
<script src="custom.js" type="text/javascript"></script>
<title>Example</title>
</head>

New terms and important words are shown in bold. Words that you see on the
screen, in menus or dialog boxes for example, appear in the text like this: "After this
code executes, clicks on Trigger the handler will also display the same message."

[3]

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Preface

Warnings or important notes appear in a box like this.

Tips and tricks appear like this.

Reader feedback
Feedback from our readers is always welcome. Let us know what you think about
this book—what you liked or may have disliked. Reader feedback is important for us
to develop titles that you really get the most out of.

To send us general feedback, simply send an email to feedback@packtpub.com, and

mention the book title via the subject of your message.

If there is a book that you need and would like to see us publish, please send
us a note in the SUGGEST A TITLE form on www.packtpub.com or email to
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If there is a topic that you have expertise in and you are interested in either writing
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Customer support
Now that you are the proud owner of a Packt book, we have a number of things to
help you to get the most from your purchase.

Downloading the example code for the book

Visit http://www.packtpub.com/files/code/0042_Code.zip
to directly download the example code.
The downloadable files contain instructions on how to use them.

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Other documents randomly have
different content
 Jamrach's.
The shop we are about to visit—
perhaps quite the most remarkable in
London—stands in a remarkable street,
Ratcliff-highway. Ratcliff-highway is not
what it was—indeed, its proper name is
now St. George's-street, but it still
retains much of its old eccentric
character. The casual pedestrian who
wanders from the neighbourhood of the
Mint, past the end of Leman-street and
the entrance to the London Dock, need
no longer fear robbery with violence;
nor may he with any confidence look to
witness a skirmish of crimps and
foreign sailors with long knives; but, if
his taste for observation incline to more
tranquil harvest, his eye, quiet or
restless, will fall upon many a reminder
of the Highway's historic days, and of
those relics of its ancient character
which still linger. Sailors' boarding-
houses are seen in great numbers,
often with crossed flags, or a ship in full sail, painted, in a
conventional spirit peculiar to the district, upon the windows. Here
and there is a slop shop where many dangling oilskins and
sou'westers wave in the breeze, and where, as often as not, an old
figure-head or the effigy of a naval officer in the uniform of fifty
years ago stands as a sign. There are shops where advance notes
are changed, and where the windows present a curious medley of
foreign bank notes, clay pipes, china tobacco-jars, and sixpenny
walking sticks, and there are many swarthy-faced men, with ringed
ears, with print shirts and trousers unsupported by braces; also
there are many ladies with gigantic feathers in their bonnets, of
painful hue, and other ladies who get along very comfortably without
any bonnets at all.
In a street like this, every shop is, more or less, an extraordinary
one; but no stranger would expect to find in one of them the largest
and most varied collection of arms, curiosities, and works of savage
and civilised art brought together for trade purposes in the world,
and this side by side with a stock of lions, tigers, panthers,
elephants, alligators, monkeys, or parrots. Such a shop, however,
will be the most interesting object of contemplation to the stray
wayfarer through St. George's-street, and this is the shop famed
throughout the world as Jamrach's. Everybody, of course, knows
Jamrach's by name, and perhaps most know it to be situated
somewhere in the waterside neighbourhood of the East-end; but few
consider it anything more than an emporium from which the
travelling menageries are supplied with stock. This, of course, it is,
but it is something besides; and, altogether, one of the most curious
and instructive spots which the seeker after the quaint and out-of-
the-way may visit is Jamrach's.
The shop, which we find on the left-hand side as we approach it
from the west, is a double one, and might easily be taken for two
separate establishments. The first window we reach might be passed
as that of an ordinary bird fancier's, were the attention not attracted
by the unusually neat, clean, and roomy appearance of the cages
displayed, and the uncommon shapes and colours of the birds which
inhabit them. The next window is more catching to the eye. Furious
Japanese figures, squatting Hindoo gods, strange and beautiful
marine shells, and curious pottery bring the pedestrian to a stand,
and arouse a desire to explore within. All this outside, however, gives
small promise of the strange things to be seen and learnt behind the
scenes. Returning to the door by the aviary window, we enter, and
find ourselves in a bright, clean room, eighteen or twenty feet
square, properly warmed by a stove placed in the centre. The walls,
from floor to ceiling, are fitted with strong and commodious wire
cages, in which birds of wonderful voice and hue and monkeys of
grotesque lineament yell, whistle, shriek, and chatter. Great and
gorgeous parrots of rare species flutter and scream, and blinking
owls screw their heads aside as we pass. But the cause in chief of all
this commotion is the presence of an attendant in shirt-sleeves, who,
carrying with him a basket, is distributing therefrom certain eatables
much coveted hereabout. Beaked heads are thrust between bars,
and many a long, brown arm reaches down-ward and forward from
the monkey-cages, in perilous proximity to the eager beaks. In a
special cage, standing out from the rest, a beautiful black and white
lemur sits and stretches his neck to be fondled as the attendant
passes, but shyly hides his face when we strangers approach him.
Here Mr. Jamrach himself comes to meet us—a fine old
gentleman, whose many years and remarkable experiences have left
but small impression upon him. Coming from Hamburg—where his
father before him was a trading naturalist—he founded the present
business in Shadwell more than fifty years ago, and here he is still in
his daily harness, with all the appearance of being quite fit for
another half-century of work among snakes and tigers. His two sons
—one of whom we shall presently meet—have assisted him in the
business all their lives. The elder of these, who was a widely-known
naturalist of great personal popularity, died some few years since.
Mr. Jamrach takes us into a small, dusty back room, quaint in its
shape and quaint in its contents. Arms of every kind which is not an
ordinary kind stand in corners, hang on walls, and litter the floors;
great two-handed swords of mediæval date and of
uncompromisingly English aspect stand amid heaps of Maori clubs,
African spears, and Malay kreeses; on the floor lies, open, a deal box
filled with rough sheets of tortoise-shell, and upon the walls hang
several pictures and bas-reliefs. Mr. Jamrach picks up by a string a
dusty piece of metal, flat, three-quarters of an inch thick, and of an
odd shape, rather resembling a cheese-cutter. This, we are informed
is a bell, or, perhaps more accurately, a gong, and was used on the
tower of a
Burmese temple
to summon the
worshippers.
Reaching for a
short knobkerry,
which bears
more than one
sign of having
made things
lively on an
antipodean
skull, Mr.
Jamrach strikes
the uninviting
piece of metal
upon the side in
such a way as
to cause it to
spin, and we,
for the first
time, fully
realise what
sweet music
may lie in a bell.
The sound is of
the most THE AVIARY.
startling volume
—as loud as that of a good-sized church bell, in fact—and dies away
very slowly and gradually in a prolonged note of indescribable
sweetness. The metal is a peculiar amalgam, silver being the chief
ingredient; and oh that all English church bells—and, for that matter,
dinner bells—had the beautiful voice of this quaint bit of metal!
Then Mr. Jamrach shows us wonderful and gorgeous marine
shells, of extreme value and rarity, and some of a species which he
 originally
introduced to men
of science, in
consequence of
which it now bears
an appalling Latin
name ending with
jamrachus.
Passing from
the back of this
little room, we
enter a very large
one, extending
from the front to
the back of the
entire premises,
with a gallery on
three sides above.
Here we are joined
by the younger Mr.
Jamrach, and here
we stand amid the
most bewildering
A QUEER GONG. multitude of bric-a-
brac and quaint
valuables ever
jumbled together: fantastic gods and goddesses, strange arms and
armour, wonderful carvings in ivory, and priceless gems of old
Japanese pottery. Merely to enumerate in the baldest way a tenth
part of these things would fill this paper, and briefly to describe a
hundredth part would fill the magazine. And when we express our
wonder at the extent of the collection, we are calmly informed that
this is only a part—there are more about the building—four or five
roomfuls or so!
 We have come to St. George's-street expecting to see nothing but
a zoological warehouse, and all this is a surprise. That such a store
as we now see were hidden away in Shadwell would have seemed
highly improbable, and indeed we are told that very few people are
aware of its existence. "The museums know us, however," says Mr.
Jamrach the younger, "and many of their chief treasures have come
from this place." Among the few curious visitors who have found
their way to Jamrach's there has been the Prince of Wales, who
stayed long, and left much surprised and pleased at all he had seen.
The late Frank Buckland, too, whose whole-souled passion for
natural history took him to this establishment day after day, often for
all day, could rarely resist the fascination of the museum, even while
his beloved animals growled in the adjacent lairs. The Jamrachs do
not push the sale of this bric-a-brac, and seem to love to keep the
strange things about them. Their trade is in animals, and their
dealings in arms and curiosities form almost a hobby. Many of the
beautiful pieces of pottery have stood here thirty years, and their
proud possessors seem in no great anxiety to part with them now. A
natural love of the quaint and beautiful first led Mr. Jamrach to buy
carvings and shells from the seafaring men who brought him his
birds and monkeys, so that these men soon were led to regard his
warehouse as the regulation place of disposal for any new or old
thing from across the seas; and so sprang up this overflowing
museum.
Among hundreds of idols we are shown three which are especially
noteworthy. The first is a splendid life-sized Buddha—a work of
surprising grace and art. The god is represented as sitting, his back
being screened by a great shell of the purest design. The whole
thing is heavily gilt, and is set, in places, with jewels. Every line is a
line of grace, and the features, while of a distinct Hindoo cast, beam
with a most refined mildness. What monetary value Mr. Jamrach sets
on this we do not dare to ask; and, indeed, we are now placed
before the second of the three—a Vishnu carved in alto-relievo of
some hard black wood. This is a piece of early Indian art, and it has
a history. It was fished up some twenty years ago from the bottom
of the river Krishna, where it had been reverently deposited by its
priests to save it from insult and mutilation at the hands of the
invading Mohammedan; and there it had lain for eight hundred
years. It is undamaged, with the exception that the two more
prominent of the four arms are broken off; and that it has escaped
the insult which its devout priests feared is testified by the fact that
the nose—straight, delicate, and almost European in shape—has not
been broken. It is an extremely rare thing for a Vishnu free from this
desecration—a fatal one in the eyes of worshippers—to be seen in
this country. Above the head are carved medallions representing the
ten incarnations of the god, for the last of which mighty avatars
millions still devoutly wait in mystic India; while here, in Ratcliff-
highway, after all its dark adventures, and after its eight centuries of
immersion below the Krishna, stands the embodiment of the god
himself, mildly serene and meekly dignified.
 A FRIENDLY DEITY.

The third of these gods is quite a different person. There is

nothing resembling beauty—either of conception or workmanship—
about him. He is very flat-chested, and his form is faithfully
represented in the accompanying illustration; without an illustration
he would be indescribable. The head is very small, and grotesquely
carved, with a large boar's tusk projecting from the jaw. The trunk
and limbs, however, are the parts of interest; they consist of an
entire human skin stretched on a sort of flat wooden framework, and
partly stuffed with dried grasses. The skin is a light brown, leathery
looking stuff, with here and there a small crack. The legs are clothed
with loose blue trousers, which appear to be of dungaree, or a
similar material, and the complete deity came from the Friendly
Islands some time since. Just at his feet lie, in an open packing box,
certain mummified heads, some bearing unmistakable marks of hard
knocks, all having been, no doubt, among the most cherished
possessions of the gentleman who had separated them from the
shoulders upon which they originally grew.
Of heads and skulls we see many, and among them the skull of
an undoubted cannibal—a thing of very peculiar conformation. And
so we go on from room to room, where the sunlight peeps in with
difficulty, and paints with light and shadow the memorials of savage
art, warfare and worship, as well as many exquisite specimens of
porcelain and metal work from Japan and Florence. We see the
garment of cowtails which Ketchwayo wore when taken prisoner, and
we see a testimony to the guile of the wily Maori in an axe made of
iron only, but painted and got up to exactly resemble greenstone.
The reason of the disguise becomes apparent when it is explained
that for the genuine greenstone article of this pattern a collector will
gladly pay a hundred pounds, while the metal imitation is worth its
weight as old iron, and no more. We see two pairs of magnificent
china vases five or six feet high, the like of which it would be difficult
to find offered for sale anywhere. Another pair, which had stood here
for thirty years, were bought only a week or two back by a visitor of
title with a cheque of three figures—a bargain which the buyer
jumped at. We are shown old Satsuma ware of wondrous delicacy
and richness, commanding something more than its weight in
sovereigns in the market. We see grand old repoussé work in very
high relief. We linger over a singular old Japanese medicine cabinet,
the outside of which is covered with hundreds of little silver charms,
against as many varieties of disease—each charm a quaintly-wrought
oval or scarabæus. We examine two immense Japanese vases of
copper, each six feet high, and of the most elaborate workmanship,
the design revealing here and there, in a surprising manner,
elementary forms and principles usually supposed to be wholly and
originally Greek. There are stone weapons, bronze weapons, steel
weapons, and wooden weapons of every outlandish sort, and
musical instruments such as one sees represented on Egyptian
sculptures. There are many things bought at the sale of the effects
of the late king of Oude, an enthusiastic old gentleman whose
allowance from the British Government was a lac of rupees a month,
and who managed to spend it all, and more than all, on curiosities
and works of art, so that his funeral was followed by a sale on behalf
of his creditors. Among the old king's treasures in this place are
seven small figures, of a dancing bear, a buck antelope, a gladiator,
a satyr riding a furious bull, another riding a camel, an armed man
on a rhinoceros, and a monkey mounted on a goat, respectively.
Each of these little figures is built up of innumerable smaller figures
of beasts, birds, and fishes, fighting and preying upon each other,
not one speck of the whole surface belonging to the main
representation, while, nevertheless, the whole produces the figure
complete with its every joint, muscle, sinew, and feature. And so we
pass, by innumerable sacred masks, pashas' tails and alligators'
skulls, toward the other and main department of this remarkable
warehouse—that devoted to natural history.
We cross Britten's-court, where we observe a van with a small
crowd of boys collected about it. A crane is swung out from a high
floor, and from the end of the dependent chain hangs a wooden
case or cage, violently agitated by the movements of the active
inhabitant. He is a black panther, the most savage sort of beast with
which Mr. Jamrach has to deal, and, as this one feels himself
gradually rising through the air, his surprise and alarm manifest
themselves in an outburst strongly reminding the spectator of Mark
Twain's blown-up cat "a-snorting, and a-clawing, and a-reaching for
things like all possessed." He arrives at his appointed floor at last,
however, and, as the cage is swung in, the blazing eyes and
gleaming teeth turn from our side toward the attendant who
receives him.
The wide doors on the ground floor are swung open, and we
enter a large apartment fitted with strong iron-barred cages on all
sides. This is the lowest of three floors, similarly fitted, in which is
carried on a trade in living creatures which is known from one end of
the earth to the other. Jamrach's is the market for wild animals from
all the world over, and whatever a menagerie-keeper or a zoological
collection may want, from an elephant to an Angora cat, can be had
in response to an order sent here. Whatever animal a man may have
to sell, here he may sell it, providing that it be in good and healthy
condition. Mr. Jamrach has lived a lifetime among his beasts, and
has had his troubles and adventures with them. One of the most
exciting of these adventures took place some thirty years ago. A
fine, full-grown Bengal tiger was deposited, in his rough wooden
cage, on this very spot at the gates, having just been delivered from
a ship in the docks. The lair at the back was being prepared for his
reception, when, the attention of Mr. Jamrach and his merry men
being otherwise engaged, Tigris regalis set his hind quarters against
the back of his temporary receptacle, and, using all his strength,
managed to burst out the boards. Then he quietly trotted out, and
down the main street. The sudden appearance of a full-sized tiger at
mid-day on the pavement of Ratcliff-highway was the signal for a
general skedaddle, excepting on the part of a little boy of about
eight years of age, who, never having seen a thing of the sort
before, innocently extended his hand and stroked the big cat. A
playful tap of the great soft paw at once knocked the child upon his
face, stunned; and, picking him up by the loose part of the jacket,
the animal was proceeding up the next turning, when Mr. Jamrach,
who had just discovered the escape, came running up. Empty-
handed as he was, he sprang at the tiger's neck from behind, and,
grasping the throat with both hands, drove his thumbs into the soft
place behind the jaw. Mr. Jamrach was an unusually powerful man—
indeed, he is no weakling now, though nearer eighty than seventy
years of age—and at his scientific grasp the tiger, half choked, let his
captive fall, when a couple of heavy blows across the eyes from a
crowbar thrust into the naturalist's hands by an attendant thoroughly
cowed the great beast, who turned tail and meekly trotted back
straight into the lair prepared for him, the door of which stood open
for his reception. The little boy was without a scratch; but, although
£50 was offered his father as compensation, Mr. Jamrach's intrepidity
was rewarded by an action for £500 damages. In the end the
smaller amount first offered was awarded, and the loss in costs was
made sweeter by the judge's praise of the defendant's prompt and
courageous action. The monetary loss had already been discounted
by the arrival, in hot haste, the day after the accident, of a
showman, who gladly paid £300 for the culprit. This was no bad
speculation on his part, it was found, when he had counted up the
sixpences received all over the country for admission to see the
"tiger that had eaten a boy alive in Ratcliff-highway."
 TACKLING THE TIGER.

And so, with many an anecdote of his own and his father's
experiences in their peculiar business from Mr. Jamrach the younger,
we go upstairs and wander among the stock. This, of course, is ever
varying in quantity and species, but has always some interesting
feature. We are introduced to a solemn monkey, who salaams
gravely three times, and then waits to be asked to shake hands,
which he does with great ceremony. We see porcupines, black swans
and antelopes, and we hear, at the peril of never hearing anything
afterwards, the noisy cranes. There is a Sumatra civet cat, with a
small, fox-like head, and a magnificent tail; he is not cordial, and
snaps an awkward-looking row of sharp teeth at us. Just behind his
little cage is a large one, which contains a fine, tall guanaco or wild
llama. The docile-looking creature moves to and fro behind the bars,
keeping his eye on us, and pursing his mouth the while. Suddenly
Mr. Jamrach says, "Look out, he's going to spit!" and we all duck in
different directions with great celerity—only just in time. The
intelligent quadruped has conceived a prejudice against the shape of
somebody's hat, or the colour of somebody's tie, and expresses it by
spitting, with much force and precision, at the offender's face.
A large increase in the general chatter and growl around us
announces the approach of an attendant with food. The emus and
cassowaries stretch their long necks as far between the bars as
possible, and the pelicans and cranes yell agonisingly. A large black
panther throws himself against the bars of his cage, and gives voice
unrestrainedly. In contrast to these, the domestic cat of the
establishment follows the man's heels, with much tender purring and
a sharp eye to any stray fallen morsel. There are other cats here in
cages—cats too valuable to be allowed to run loose—magnificent
Angoras and Carthusians, who rub their heads against the wires,
and, as we approach, extend their paws in an appeal to be noticed
and petted.
We are promised an interesting feeding sight downstairs, and we
descend to the ground floor. Among the more risky speculations of
the commercial naturalist are the alligator and the crocodile. They
will sulk and go into a decline on the least provocation or without
any provocation at all, and, being expensive to begin with, often
prove awkward losses. They almost invariably sulk at first, we are
told, and, refusing to take food, would be likely to get into a bad
way unless cured; and the curing of a crocodile's sulks is a surprising
thing to see. We find, on reaching the ground floor, poor crocodilus
laid by the heels and perfectly helpless, lashed immovably to iron
rings and posts. His head is ignominiously sat upon by a sturdy man
 in shirt-sleeves, who
presently pokes the
end of a crowbar
among the big teeth,
and forcibly prizes the
mouth open into that
position of
comprehensive smile
so familiar to the
readers of children's
natural history books.
Then another man
kneels before the
unfortunate reptile and
feeds him. That is to
say, he takes a lump of
meat weighing five or
ten pounds or so, and
dexterously pitches it
into the œsophagus,
afterwards firmly and
decisively ramming it
home with a long pole.
This is the dinner of all
LUNCHEON. naughty, sulky
crocodiles, and, after
having it served in this
fashion regularly four or five times, the victim gives up sulking as a
bad job. He will have to swallow it, one way or another, he argues
within himself, and in that case he may as well take it without being
tied up, and sat upon, and insulted generally; besides which, he may
as well enjoy the flavour as swallow all those eatables without
tasting them. Whereupon he reforms and becomes a respectable
crocodile, taking regular meals, and is in time promoted to the
Zoological Gardens, or a respectable menagerie.
 This and other things we see, and we have it explained how
dangerous animals are transferred from cases to permanent cages,
and back again. To transfer a savage panther or tiger from a case to
a cage is not difficult. Certain of the bars of the cage are raised, the
case is put opposite the opening, and the side removed. Seeing an
opening the captive jumps at it, and the bars are at once shut down.
But to tempt him back again into a case, when he has become to
some extent accustomed to his quarters, is not always so easy a
thing. Carefully baiting the case with food usually has its effect, if
circumstances permit waiting; but, if not, recourse has to be had to
smoke. A little damp straw thrust between the bars and lighted soon
makes the lair uncomfortable, and then ensues a scene. Eyes gleam,
and teeth gnash from obscure corners, and presently, with a bound
and a yell, the powerful beast dashes through the opening into the
case, and is secured. It may be easily understood that any little
clumsiness or mistake at the critical moment might lead to the case
being overturned in the rush, or improperly closed. Then, with a
tiger or black panther worked to the highest pitch of frenzy by the
fire and smoke, some lively adventures would probably take place.
 THE FORCE-MEAL TREATMENT.

And so we reach the door into Britten's-court, and, with cordial

thanks to our entertainers for a most pleasant and instructive
afternoon, emerge into Ratcliff-highway, with its dock labourers, its
sailors' boarding-houses, and its slop-shops.
 The Spider's Web.
A Story for Children: from the French of Jacques Normand.

"SUDDENLY THERE CAME A KNOCK AT THE DOOR."

T that time my aunt Herminie, fatherless and

motherless, was living in the old abbey of Mauvoisin,
near Corbeil, which was disaffected and had become
very national. It was during the Reign of Terror, and
she was nearly twenty years old. She was there with
two old ladies, Madame Maréchal and Madame Badouillet: the
former tall and thin, the latter little, stout, and one-eyed. One
evening—but it will be better to let Aunt Herminie tell the tale
herself. I fancy I can hear her now, relating this story which excited
me so, the story which I was continually asking her to repeat.
 The story? You wish me to repeat it once more, my child? Well, it
was in those days. That evening we were sitting by the fire: Madame
Maréchal and I were chatting, Madame Badouillet had fallen asleep.
It was about ten o'clock; outside it was very windy—blowing hard.
Oh! I remember it well. Suddenly, there came a knock at the door.
I must tell you first of all that a troop of soldiers, about a
hundred, had arrived during the day. The officer in command, a big
red-headed fellow, had shown us a paper, an order to billet them.
They had taken up their quarters in the chapel, and had passed the
day there, eating, drinking, singing, and playing cards. They made a
dreadful din. They all calmed down when evening came, and were
all sleeping in groups.
You will understand, little one, that it was not very reassuring for
three lone women to be near such people. Madame Maréchal's
husband was away, Madame Badouillet was a widow, and I an
orphan; so we bolted ourselves in the little room on the ground floor
which was situated between the high road and the chapel, and that's
where we were when the knock came, as I have just told you.
Madame Badouillet woke up with a jump, and we all three looked
straight at each other with frightened eyes. A moment passed and
there was another knock—louder this time. We had a good mind to
sham deafness, as you may imagine, but joking was dangerous in
those days. If you refused hospitality to patriots, you were regarded
as a "suspect," as they called it, and then—the guillotine! It was all
over with you in no time.
Madame Maréchal began to recite her prayers; Madame
Badouillet shook in every limb; besides, I was the youngest, so I
ought to open the door.
I found some men at the door, with large hats, making quite a
black group on the road-way. They looked harassed, and their boots
were covered with dust. My first impulse was to shut the door in
their faces, but one of them made a step forward, stretched out his
hand, and said in a low, shaking voice:—
"Shelter, citoyenne, give us shelter for the night. We are dropping
with fatigue—have pity upon us!" And these last words were
repeated in a murmur by the group of men.
"Who are you?"
"Fugitives—deputies of the Gironde—we are pursued, save us!"
They were Girondins! You will know one day, my child, what that
meant. It is enough now for you to know that they were poor fellows
flying from Paris, pursued by the Montagnards, that is, by their
enemies.
"Wretched men," I replied, "go away! The chapel is full of
soldiers. If you come in you are lost!"
They hesitated a moment; then a pale young man, quite a youth,
who was leaning upon the arms of two of his comrades, murmured
feebly:
"Walk again! I cannot go a step farther. Go on, comrades; save
yourselves and leave me here. I prefer to die!"
They were brave fellows, those Girondins. They would not hear of
abandoning the poor young fellow.
"Is there no other place but the chapel where we could rest for
two hours—just for two hours only?" asked the one who had already
spoken to me.
"None but this room," I answered, standing a little aside; "and the
chapel has no way out but that door (I pointed to the middle door),
so the soldiers pass through here to enter or go out. Let them see
you, and you are lost!"
Great dejection was apparent in the face of the poor man. I could
see it plainly, for it was a clear night and as light as day.
 "Adieu,
citoyennes," he said
simply. "The district
is full of people who
are pursuing us. Pray
that we may escape
them!" Then, turning
to his companions,
he said in a low
voice, "Onward!"
Well, my child, I
was quite upset; my
heart was rent at the
sight of their
distress. I
understood all that
they had suffered,
and all they would
yet suffer. I looked at
their drooping
shoulders, at their
"HAVE PITY UPON US!"
bruised feet.
Certainly, by sending
them away I was shielding us three from danger, because in helping
them I was making myself their accomplice, and exposing myself
and my companions to severe punishment. Yes, I understood all
that, but pity conquered prudence; a kind of fever seized me, and
just as they were moving away—
"Listen," I whispered to them; "there might perhaps be a way to
help you, but it would be very risky, very daring."
They drew near eagerly, anxiously, with heads bent forward.
Behind me I could hear the trembling voices of Madame Badouillet
and Madame Maréchal as they whispered to each other, "What is she
talking about? What is she saying?" But that mattered little to me.
 "At the other end of the chapel, above the altar," I continued,
"there is a granary for storing fodder. Once there, you would be all
right, but to get there——."
"Speak, speak!"
"You would have to follow a narrow passage, a sort of
overhanging cornice, the whole length of the wall—and just over the
sleeping soldiers. If they hear the least noise, should one of them
wake up——!"
"Who will lead us?"
"I will!"
I have already told you, my child, that I was in a fever, that I was
no longer master of myself; I was acting as if in a dream. To save
them had become my sole aim. They took counsel briefly among
themselves, while Madame Badouillet continually pulled at my skirts
and called me mad. Oh! I remember it all as if I were going through
it now!
"Thanks, citoyenne, for your devotion. We will accept the offer!"
I left the door and they entered noiselessly, on tip-toe. There
were about a dozen; their clothes were torn and their fatigue was
extreme. I told my two companions to keep watch at the door of the
chapel, and turned at once to the fugitives.
"You see those steps leading to the ledge?" I asked them. "Well, I
am going to ascend them. When I reach the top I will open the door
and look into the interior of the chapel, and if the moment is
favourable I will give you a sign. You will then ascend and follow me
along the wall to the granary. Once there—if God allows us to get
there!—you will rest yourselves. I will come to you when the soldiers
are gone—they ought to leave at daybreak. You understand?"
All this was uttered rapidly in a low voice; then, positively, I felt as
if I were lifted from the ground, as if impelled by some superior will.
I felt deep commiseration for these men, unknown to me only a few
minutes before; I felt a protecting sentiment towards them which
elated me. To save them I would have thrown myself in front of the
cannon's mouth, or have rushed upon the bayonet's point. And I,
mite that I was, seemed suddenly endowed with extraordinary
strength and energy. Madame Badouillet was right, I was positively
mad.
I mounted the stairs, opened the door just a little, and looked in.
The soldiers were asleep in groups, their heads resting on their
knapsacks, their forms making dark spots on the white stones of the
chapel. Occasionally one would turn over with a grunt. A slight
murmur of breathing came from this human mass. In the corners
the guns were stacked; outside, the wind howled in fury. A ray of
light from the moon shone through a side window, lighting up one
side of the nave, while the other side—luckily, the side where the
ledge was—remained quite dark. To get to the door of the granary—
dimly visible, like a dark spot, along the narrow ledge, along the wall
at about twenty feet from the sleepers—would be the work of a few
seconds in reality, yet these few seconds would seem an age.
And now came the reaction; the excitement of the first few
minutes was over, and a dreadful feeling of depression came over
me as I saw myself face to face with the reality, and understood the
almost childish temerity of my plan. I was seized with a mad desire
to tell the Girondins that it was impossible to do it; that the soldiers
were waking up; that they must fly at once. Then I became
ashamed of my cowardice, and, turning towards the men who were
watching me from below with uneasy glances, I gave the sign to
ascend.
They obeyed, and the first one was soon by my side. I made a
sign to keep silence—as if they needed it, poor men!—then I
stepped upon the ledge.
What a journey it was! I shall never forget it. I can feel myself
now, moving forward on tip-toe, my left hand lightly touching the
cold wall, my right hand in space, fearing every instant to lose my
balance, or to knock against some stone, some little heap of dirt and
pieces of wall, the falling of which would have roused the soldiers
who were sleeping below, so close to us. And behind me I can still
feel the dumb presence of those creatures who were following me,
risking their life with mine. We glided along the ledge like a troop of
sleep-walkers, holding our breath, treading with extraordinary
carefulness, the eyes of each one fixed upon the one who preceded
him, all making with beating hearts for that little door which grew
larger as we approached it—and it was I who was leading them!
Having reached this exciting point, Aunt Ninie stopped and looked
at me to judge the effect. She ought to have been pleased, for I was
sitting on the edge of my chair, my eyes out of my head, with open
mouth, listening with never-failing interest to a story which I had
heard so many times. "What then?" I asked.
At length, after a few minutes, terribly long minutes they seemed,
I reached the goal. I seized the key which was still in the door,
turned it, pushed the door—and then I thought we were lost!
Nobody had had occasion to go to the granary for a long time, so
that the hinges had become rusty; and as I pushed it open it gave
out a creaking sound, which went all over the chapel, and sent an
icy chill through me.
"What's the matter up there?" growled a soldier, with an oath.
I stood up straight, all of a shake, and I perceived the fugitives,
pale, motionless, and standing as closely as possible to the wall. It
seemed as if our last hour had come. Luckily, it was very windy, as I
have said, and at that very instant a strong gust shook the roof of
the chapel.
"Go to sleep, and rest easy, you great fool! It's the wind!"
answered another voice.
 The first soldier
listened again for a brief
space, then stretched
himself, and went to
sleep. We were saved—at
least for the moment.
The door was only half
open, but it was enough
to enable us to squeeze
in. This I did when silence
was completely restored
below, and the others
followed one by one,
easily enough generally,
without being obliged to
open the door any further.
This was very important,
for another creak would
certainly have done for
us.

"WE GLIDED ALONG THE LEDGE." You cannot imagine the

joy and gratitude of those
men when once they
were all gathered in the granary. They wept, went down on their
knees, and kissed the hem of my dress. One would have thought
that I had finally saved them; but, alas! the danger was still there,
terrible and threatening.
"Rest," I said to them; "stretch yourselves upon the straw. Here
you are fairly safe—for the time being, at least. As soon as they are
gone you will have nothing more to fear, and you can go away in
your turn. Now rest yourselves and sleep, and count on me if any
new danger menaces you."
 I left them and passed through the door, leaving it as it was. Of
course it would have been better to shut it, but that was impossible
on account of the noise it would have made.
My return journey along the ledge was performed without
incident. Alone, I felt lighter, more skilful, and slipped along like a
mouse. At the end of a few seconds I was back in the room, where
the two ladies anxiously awaited me.
Each one received me in a different way. Madame Maréchal,
severe and sharp, reproached me cruelly, saying that that was not
the way to behave: it was risking my life and theirs—that I ought to
have left them outside—that I was a fool, &c. Madame Badouillet, on
the contrary, approved what I had done, and defended me, saying
that nobody could reject the prayer of the fugitives—it would have
been infamous. And this good woman pressed me to her heart, and,
pleased to see me back again, kissed me, while she wiped away the
tears from her one eye.
So we sat down again, commenting in a low voice upon the
unforeseen and terrible events which had come upon our hitherto
peaceful existence. And it was really a dreadful situation. All these
men, enemies, so near to each other; what might happen if the
fugitives were discovered! It was frightful, so much so that Madame
Maréchal proposed that we should run away, out in the night, across
the fields to Corbeil, leaving the men to settle matters amongst
themselves as best they could—that was her expression. Madame
Badouillet and I rejected this proposal with indignation, and we
remained there whispering to each other, and longed for the end of
this interminable night.
The first streaks of dawn began to appear, and we felt within
reach of the moment when our anxiety would end. Suddenly we
heard the gallop of horses on the road-way. What now? We listened.
The horses stopped, and we heard a noise of voices. Everybody
seemed to be paying us a visit that night.
 Then came a knock as before; and, as before, it was I who
opened the door. There was a man before me, surrounded by
several hussars who had dismounted.

"IT WAS I WHO OPENED THE DOOR."

"They are here, eh, citoyenne?" asked the man, who was not a
soldier, but doubtless some Government agent. He was stout, and
appeared out of breath through having come so rapidly.
I started, but soon recovered my sang-froid. "Here! Who?"
"You know well enough. Those rascally Girondins!"
"There is nobody here but the soldiers who arrived yesterday, as
you probably know."
"That's what we intend to find out."
He motioned to one of the men to hold his horse, and
dismounted painfully, giving a grunt of satisfaction when he reached
the ground. He was certainly not accustomed to that sort of
exercise. He was attired in black, with big boots, and feathers in his
hat. His round, white face seemed good-natured at first sight, but
the look of his little sunken eyes was false and cruel.
He entered, followed by two hussars, and went straight towards
the chapel. As soon as he was perceived, there was a great stir; the
mass of soldiers began to move with a noise of swords and guns
upon the stones, and everybody was soon on foot. The officer in
charge came forward and saluted the new-comer, and we
understood that this fat man was an important personage.
A conversation in a low voice took place between them. Standing
near the door, we tried our hardest to hear what was said, but in
vain; we could only guess from the gestures that the agent was
interrogating the captain, and that the latter was replying in the
negative. We feared to see them raise their heads and perceive the
half-opened door above. This little door seemed enormous now, as if
everybody must see it.
 "A CONVERSATION TOOK PLACE BETWEEN THEM."

However, it was not so, for the agent, finishing his conversation
with the captain, came up to me, and with that cunning look which
boded no good, he said, "So you are quite sure, citoyenne, that
there is nobody here but these men?"
He pointed to the soldiers, who were about to brush themselves
and put themselves in order. I looked him in the face and replied,
"Nobody!"
He put that same question to Madame Badouillet, who bravely
made the same reply. Then it was Madame Maréchal's turn. I
thought she was going to betray us, and I gave her a fierce look.
She hesitated a moment; then, with her eyes on the ground, she
stammered, "I do not know—I have been asleep—I have heard
nothing."
"Well, I know more about it than you," said the agent. "Some
peasants have assured me that the Girondins came in here, that
they have passed the night here, and that they are here still. Is it
true?"
We all were silent.
"Now just think well about it, citoyennes. You know what you are
exposing yourselves to by hiding these traitors?"
It was terrifying to be thus questioned in the midst of men who
were watching us closely, and whose looks seemed to pierce our
very souls. I felt that Madame Maréchal was giving way, that all was
lost. Her lips moved, she was about to speak. I did not give her the
time to do so, and putting a bold face on the matter, I replied:
"Since you doubt us, citoyen, search the place. I will lead you
wherever you like."
He hesitated, thrown off the scent by my effrontery, and I
thought he was going to give up all idea of pursuit, when a voice
cried, "It is my opinion that if any little plot has been contrived, it
has been done up there."
A soldier, doubtless the one who had woke up in the night,
pointed with an evil look to the ledge and the granary door. All eyes
were raised, and my legs trembled under me. I thought of the
unfortunate men who were behind that door, without weapons,
without any possible means of defence, listening to what was said. I
cursed myself for having yielded to their prayer, and having
sheltered them. Outside they would have been in just as great
danger, but it would not have been my fault. They could have
fought, run away, anything; but there they were through my fault! It
was horrible, and I thought I should go mad.
After questioning the soldier—oh, I could have killed him, the
wretch!—the agent turned towards me.
"Well, citoyenne, as you propose it, you shall act as our guide.
Lead us to that door up there; it's a granary, I suppose?"
I nodded. I could not speak, my throat was too dry.
"A few men follow me! On!"
That was a most terrible moment, my child. I had to summon all
my strength to keep from swooning. I drew myself up, however, and
went towards the stair-case which led to the ledge, that stair-case
which I had ascended with the fugitives a few hours before. The
agent came next, then the captain and several soldiers.
What could I hope for in obeying the order? It would require a
miracle to save the Girondins. But I had fought it out to that point,
and I would fight it out to the end. And, frankly speaking, I scarcely
knew what I was doing, I was acting unconsciously—I had been told
to go there, and I was going, that's all!
I soon reached the ledge, the agent following painfully on account
of his corpulence. He seemed, moreover, very clumsy, and his fat
body embarrassed him much. When he reached the top of the
staircase and saw the ledge, on which I had already advanced a step
or two, he hesitated.
"Oh! oh! it is very narrow!" he murmured.
Then he saw that all the soldiers were looking at him from below,
and, stung by their looks, he followed me slowly, supporting himself
against the wall, stepping with infinite caution. Really, if the situation
had not been so dreadful it would have been grotesque.
 Two questions swam
in my head. What
should I do? Should I
run rapidly forward and
join the unfortunate
men and die with
them? Or should I
throw myself down on
the stones and kill
myself?
Still, I went on
slowly, slowly,
expecting every minute
to see the door shut by
the poor fellows as a
frail and useless
obstacle to a certain
capture; and I was so
interested in their fate
that I forgot my own
danger.
We had reached the
centre of the ledge "LOOK! SPIDERS WEBS!"
when suddenly the
agent stopped, and,
turning towards those who followed, said: "Look! spiders' webs!"
and he pointed to the entrance of the granary.
And, in fact, by a providential chance, a large spider's web, torn
when I opened the door, had remained hanging on the woodwork;
and the insect had, during the few hours of the night, partly repaired
the damage. The fresh threads crossed the whole space of the
opening, and nobody could imagine for a moment that men had
passed through that space that very night without breaking the
whole of the web. Yes, my child, a spider, a simple spider, had done
it. But one cannot help thinking that the good God had something to
do with it.
"It is useless to go further," said the agent.
Between you and me I believe the fat fellow was not sorry at
heart, for he was dreadfully afraid of rolling down below, and pride
alone had sustained him.
There is little need to say more. The Girondins were saved, and I
with them. The agent went off, followed by his hussars; and the
other soldiers marched away soon afterwards.
As soon as the chapel was empty I ran to the granary. It is not
necessary to tell you with what protestations of gratitude I was
received. One second more, and, as I had expected, they would
have shut the door, which would have been fatal; but Providence
willed it otherwise.
We gave them something to eat, and they remained all the day
with us; for it would have been imprudent to have left before night.
When night came they left us, after having thanked me much more
than I deserved. I had done my duty—nothing more.
We followed them with our eyes upon the road as long as we
could. Then they disappeared in the darkness.
Did they escape? Were they discovered, and killed on their way? I
have never heard. But I have rejoiced all my life that I, delicate as I
am, was able to go through so much without breaking down.
Madame Badouillet and Madame Maréchal were both ill afterwards.
And that is my story.
 Transcriber's Notes:
Punctuation errors repaired. Uncommon and
inconsistent hyphenation and spelling have been
retained; typographical errors have been corrected.
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