The Strand Magazine, Volume V, Issue 28, April 1893 | Page 7

cause of his staying so long as he had; but one Sunday the climax was
reached and the Royal patience fairly exhausted. Mr. Gladstone (then in
office) was on a visit, and his solemn, grim countenance as he stood in
the church quite frightened the poor man, inasmuch as he lost his head
completely. The organ left off in the chants, persisted in playing in the
prayers, and altogether acted in such an erratic manner, that it was no
wonder that anger was depicted on one countenance, sorrow on another,
and amusement on a few of the more youthful ones! The old institution
had to give way to a new, however, and a repetition of such
performances was thus avoided.
[Illustration: H.R.H. PRINCESS VICTORIA AND H.R.H. PRINCESS
MAUD OF WALES.
From a Photo. by W. & D. Downey.]
The Sunday afternoon is quietly spent in the house or grounds; then in
the evening some may, perhaps, drive to West Newton or Wolferton
Church--the Prince, Princess and family often do--while others may
prefer to stay in for music or reading.
On your way to either place you cannot but notice the prosperous look

of the villages and villagers, pointing unmistakably to the certainty of a
good landlord. Had you longer time here, you would hear many an
anecdote of the kindness and generosity of the Prince and the goodness
of the Princess and her daughters. Hardly a cottager but has some
anecdote to tell you of the family: how the Princess visits the sick and
afflicted, talking to them, reading to them, and helping them in their
needs. Every child seems to know and to love the "beautiful lady," and
every man and woman seems almost to worship her; and if you heard
the anecdotes I have heard there, you would not wonder at it. "Think o'
they R'yal Highnesses"--they would say--"making o' things wi' their
own 'ands fer sich as us! Did yew ever heerd tell o' sich, says I; none o'
yer frames and frimmirks (airs and graces) wi' they." And then they
would go on with their "says I" and "says she," and tell you all about
summer flower shows for villagers, treats on Royal birthdays,
invitations to see sights in the park, how the family have given a
wedding present to this one, what they have brought or sent the other
one when ill; and so on, and so on, until you come to think what a pity
it is a few land-owners, with their wives and families, cannot come here
for the lessons so many need, and see how well this family interpret the
words: "Am I my brother's keeper?"
[Illustration: THE DUKE OF YORK.
From a Photo. by W. & D. Downey.]
Sandringham has saddening associations for its owners, but "Joy
cometh in the morning," and as we take our farewell of this favourite
residence of the Prince and Princess, we will wish them a bright future
and continuance of good health to enjoy their Norfolk home.

Shafts from an Eastern Quiver.
X.--THE HUNTED TRIBE OF THREE HUNDRED PEAKS.
BY CHARLES J. MANSFORD, B.A.
I.

"Are you awake, sahibs?" questioned Hassan, our guide, as he eagerly
roused us from sleep one night. "The Hunted Tribe of Three Hundred
Peaks is about its deadly work: Listen!"
[Illustration: "LISTEN!"]
We sat up and leant forward as he spoke, straining our ears to catch the
slightest sound. Across the plain which stretched before us came at
intervals a faint cry, which sounded like the hoot of a night bird.
"That is their strange signal," continued the Arab.
We rose, and, going to the door of the tent, scanned the wide plain, but
could see no human being crossing it.
"You are mistaken this time, Hassan," said Denviers. "What you heard
was an owl hooting."
"The sahib it is who misjudges," answered the Arab, calmly. "I have
heard the warning note of the tribe before."
"It seems to come from the direction of Ayuthia," I interposed, pointing
to where the faint outlines of the spires of its pagodas rose like shadows
under the starlit sky.
"It comes from beyond Ayuthia," responded Hassan, whose keen sense
of hearing was so remarkable; "and is as far away as the strange city
built on the banks round a sunken ship, which we saw as we floated
down the Meinam. Hist! I hear the signal again!"
Once more we listened, but that time the cry came to us from a
different direction.
"It is only an owl hooting," repeated Denviers, "which has now flown
to some other part of the plain and is hidden from us by one of the
ruined palaces, which seem to rise up like ghosts in the moonlight. If
Hassan means to wake us up every time he hears a