Caring for the Children.—Some interesting details concerning the work of the National Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children were issued recently from the Society’s head offices at 40 Leicester Square, London. The inspectors engaged on the work of protecting children throughout the country number 250, whilst the number of cases needing investigation by the Society average 500 per day. Over 54,000 cases were dealt with in the last year of the Society’s records, and these involved the needless suffering of over 158,000 children, many of them babies. Prosecution is the last argument of the Society, and in only 2,000 of the cases dealt with last year was it found necessary to prosecute; and in the overwhelming majority of these the Courts approved of the Society’s action. Of the cases in last year’s record, only 8 per cent. were discovered by the inspectors. Of the rest, 55 per cent. were brought to the Society’s notice by members of the public, the remainder by public officials.
A Luther Letter.—Leipzig despatches announce, says the Glasgow Herald, that Mr. Pierpont Morgan has acquired by auction there to-day an autograph letter from Martin Luther to the Emperor Charles V. of the Holy Roman Empire, dated 28th April, 1521, for £5,100. The letter, which is in Latin, is still in a state of excellent preservation. It is described as the most important letter Luther ever wrote. It is the communication he sent to Charles V. after escaping from the Diet at Worms, where the fate of the Reformation was sealed, and it recapitulates the Diet proceedings and his actions there. The letter, however, never reached the Emperor, as Luther had in the meantime been incarcerated at the Castle of Wartburg; and no one dared to deliver the message from the heretic into the hands of the Emperor. One wonders what Luther’s thoughts would be in connection with this affair. There were times in his life when poverty stared him in the face and when the tenth of the above would have appeared as a princely fortune.
The Theatre Disaster in Edinburgh.—Now and again the pleasure-seekers of this country have been rudely awakened from their dreams and confronted with the stern reality of death in terrible forms. The recent catastrophe in an Edinburgh theatre has made a profound impression on the country, not so much from the number of lives lost—though that was large enough—but from the thought that hundreds instead of tens might have been destroyed by one of the most terrible elements that man has to face. To serious-minded persons the passing of men and women from a theatre, with its vanities and giddy pleasures, into the presence of the great God, is unspeakably solemn. This theatre where the fire occurred was to be the scene of a command performance, which was to have the presence of the King during his stay in Edinburgh. This part of the Royal programme is now cancelled.
What Did It Mean?—An extraordinary incident connected with the above was the burning of “The Great Lafayette,” as he termed himself. A few days before, a favourite dog of his died, and from the following cutting the reader may gather for himself some idea of the grossness of mind possessed by this poor mortal. “It had become widely known (says the Glasgow Herald) throughout Edinburgh that last week ‘Beauty,’ a female Virginian hound which had been Lafayette’s companion and assistant in his performances for over 16 years, had died, and since then those who were coming in personal contact with Lafayette were conscious that the loss of his pet had been preying heavily on his mind. He appeared to be almost broken-hearted, and was heard to express a wish that he was being buried with the dog. His intense love for the dog was evidenced by the fact that some years ago he took out American citizenship papers for her, and that on the door-plate of his London house is inscribed ‘The Great Lafayette and
Beauty.’ The dog lay embalmed in the Caledonian Station Hotel, where Lafayette was staying, and upon her pillow was a collar adorned with silver plates bearing the names of places all over the world to which she had accompanied her master. At the time of the dog’s death Lafayette was so upset that he at first refused to go through with his performance. The remains of the dog were interred yesterday. Orders had been given for the building of a vault in Piershill Cemetery, where he had bought a lair valued at £60. Lafayette was told that a dog could not be buried in consecrated ground, but he replied that the vault was for his ashes, and his dog would be buried with him. A magnificent tombstone was also ordered, and the whole burial cost about £300. The remains of the dog were placed in a little oak coffin. Several members of the deceased’s company, including two negroes, attended. One of the wreaths bore a card with the inscription—’In loving remembrance of Dear Beauty, from Lafayette.’
Buried with a Dog.—The end of this deplorable business was that Lafayette’s ashes were to be sooner in the grave than he anticipated. According to his instructions he was to be cremated, but, owing to mistaken identity, another man’s body underwent that pagan process. Afterwards the body of Lafayette was discovered and cremated, the urn with the ashes being placed in the grave with his dog. We can understand affection for an animal, but the scenes enacted in Piershill Cemetery were revolting in the extreme, and well deserve the characterisation of a northern paper:—”One can scarcely imagine that such could be possible,” it says, “anywhere in Scotland, let alone in the reputed centre of the culture and refinement of the nation. How painful to think that, some time before, in a prominent part of Piershill Cemetery, a costly vault had been built to receive the embalmed carcase of a dog. And then to read that the casket containing the cremated remains of its master, who had come to such a tragic end, had been placed in the same vault and in the same coffin as the dog, and between the animal’s forepaws—surely such an interment constitutes the last word in the expression of a sickly and diseased sentimentalism. Even the matter-of-fact reporters described it as a weird spectacle, recalling rather some old pagan rite than anything within the domain of modern experience. In so far as the authorities share responsibility for an act of desecration in permitting the burial of the dog, they owe an apology to the Scottish public, and it is to be hoped the whole affair will be made the subject of full and careful investigation.” We apologise to our readers for taking up so much of our space with this painful and degrading exhibition of the weakness of so-called cultured men and women, but it is worthy of being put on record as an event happening in Scotland in the twentieth century.
In Defence of the Sabbath.—We have before us two papers whose mission it is to promote the observance of the
Sabbath. The first is The Lord’s Day, issued quarterly at the price of one penny, from the offices of The Lord’s Day Observance Society, 18 Buckingham Street, Strand, London, W.C. This little quarterly lays stress on the obligation to keep the Sabbath in virtue of the Divine command. The other paper referred to is The Sunday Guardian, which is now in its second issue. It is also published at a penny, every two months, from the offices, at 10 Palace Chambers, 9 Bridge Street, Westminster, London, S.W. It takes a broader attitude than The Lord’s Day, and is thus not quite so acceptable to us; but it is especially useful in giving an idea of the various movements in this country and on the Continent affecting the observance of the Lord’s Day. Its almost invariable use of the pagan term “Sunday” is objectionable, and its discontinuance of this usage would be acceptable to many who have the cause of Sabbath observance deeply at heart.