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Chapter 1 Employability Skills for Drafting and Design Technicians
Goal
campus should be able to set up internet and email accounts for the students. Have the students send
email messages to each other. You could use email to simulate two CAD operators working on the same
drawing, but in different locations. When using the internet, provide students with a directed task.
They should have step-by-step instructions to follow that allow them to visit a variety for computer and
CAD sites.

© 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.

4
Chapter 2 Drafting Tools: Conventional, CAD, and Solid Modeling
Goal
The goal of this chapter is to teach students how to: 1) use the most common conventional drafting
tools; 2) explain the concepts of CAD and solid modeling.

Discussion Topics
1. Discuss the most frequently used conventional drafting tools and the methods/tools that replaced
them.

2. Discuss the concept of computer-aided drafting (CAD).

3. Discuss the most important features of CAD Software and compare opinions.

4. Discuss the concept and history of solid modeling.

5. Discuss the impact of consumer-based 3D printing on the direction of the industry.

Chapter Objectives
After studying this chapter you should be able to:
1. Recognize the most frequently used conventional drafting tools.

2. Demonstrate the proper use of the most frequently used conventional drafting tools.

3. Explain the concept of computer-aided drafting (CAD).

4. Explain the most important features of CAD software.

5. Explain the concept of solid modeling.

Teaching Hints
The field of drafting and design has come a long way since the advent of personal computers with the
power to run sophisticated CAD software and with advances in the concept of solid modeling and 3D
printing. Although students are going to learn drafting and design using CAD and solid modeling, there
is still value in them learning to use selected conventional drafting and design tools. It is helpful to re-
quire things be done manually and use that competency as ‘license’ to use the far easier technology-based
tools. Some of the concepts that are fundamental to drafting and design and engineering communication
can still be taught more effectively suing these conventional instruments.
Begin the lesson by discussing how some conventional drafting equipment is still important and may
be used in conjunction with CAD and how many of the CAD commands are based on the operation
of certain items of conventional drafting equipment. For instance, in CAD, circles can be drawn from a
given center point, the same way a compass and circle templates operate. During the lesson, discuss with
the students how a drafting tool corresponds to similar CAD commands.
Another option for students to learn how the tools operate is to give each of them two or three tools
for practice use. As you monitor their progress they should write a brief description of the tool, how it
operates, and its purpose. The students can then teach the rest of the class about their particular tool.
Finally, as students work on drawings with drafting tools, ask them individually about the tool they are
using and why they chose it. This will reinforce what they have learned and give you an opportunity
to check their understanding. Once students have a grasp of how these selected conventional tools
are used, move on to CAD and teach them how the conventional tools evolved into CAD and solid
modeling.

© 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.

5
Chapter 3 Sketching and Lettering for Engineering Communication
Goal
The goal of this chapter is to teach students how to develop skills in lettering and sketching.

Discussion Topics
1. Explain the concept of talking sketching.

2. Discuss the various styles of freehand lettering and good lettering characteristics.

3. Discuss the various types of lines used on technical drawings.

4. Discuss the four styles of sketches. Which is best, when?

5. Discuss the materials needed to make sketches.

6. Discuss the most commonly used sketching techniques.

Chapter Objectives
After studying this chapter you should be able to:
1. Explain the concept of talking sketching including the two kinds.

2. List the various styles of freehand lettering and the characteristics of good lettering.

3. Explain the techniques one must know in order to do freehand lettering.

4. Illustrate the various types of lines used on technical drawings.

5. Illustrate the four types of sketches.

6. Explain what materials are needed in order to make sketches.

7. Demonstrate the most commonly used sketching techniques.

Teaching Hints
Begin this chapter by discussing the advantages and disadvantages of sketching. Students should see that
sketching is a part of the design process and essential for those who want to communicate ideas quickly.
Pass out a napkin, a scrap piece of paper, or a piece of notebook paper to each student. Put the students
into pairs and give them the name of a fictitious product that they are to design by sketching on the pro-
vided medium. Because they are in pairs, students should discuss the elements of the product and how
it should function and look.
When discussing lettering, students should understand why proper lettering is essential to quality
sketches. Although precise and neat lettering can be done using a CAD system, the skill of lettering is
still important since much of the communication between engineers and drafting and design technicians
involves sketching and lettering. Distinguish between lettering and writing. The PowerPoint slide pre-
sentation illustrates the differences between the font and style of letters. Finally, discuss with the class the
five characteristics of good lettering technique: neatness, uniformity, stability, proper spacing, and speed.
These are described in the PowerPoint slide presentation.
The final section of the chapter covers sketching in more detail. Students primarily learn how to draw
various types of projections using graph paper. Demonstrate this skill by showing small groups of stu-
dents at a time. The proper sketching technique cannot be seen as well on the chalkboard in front of the
entire class. When demonstrating the aspects of sketching, explain the principles of proportion and the
differences between the types of projections.
© 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.

6
Chapter 4 Geometric Construction
Goal
The goal of this chapter is to teach students how to develop technical drawings using geometric
construction.

Discussion Topics
1. Quiz students on geometric nomenclature and terms.

2. Recite the steps required to perform basic constructions.

3. Recite the steps required to perform polygon constructions.

4. Describe the six types of polygons.

Chapter Objectives
After studying this chapter you should be able to:
1. Define the most frequently used terms in geometric nomenclature.

2. Properly apply the elemental principles of geometric construction.

3. Demonstrate the proper procedures for polygon construction.

4. Demonstrate the proper procedures for circular construction.

5. Demonstrate the proper procedures for supplementary construction including the following: spiral;
helix; involute of a line, triangle, square, and circle; and cycloidal curve.

Teaching Hints
Students need to develop a working definition of the terms in the chapter to fully understand and imple-
ment geometric construction. A working definition includes a written and a drawn example, plus it
describes the subject item’s use in everyday life. The terms and a written definition have been provided
in the PowerPoint slide presentation. As you proceed through each term, be sure to draw an example of
each on the board. Students then should be able to identify where they have seen the shapes being used
in everyday life.
If students understand the basic concepts of constructing geometric shapes using drafting tools, then
they will make an easier transition to the fundamentals of CAD. It may not be necessary to work through
every shape detailed in the chapter as a class. Many of the directions have been summarized in the
PowerPoint slide presentation. These can be projected onto a screen and drawn at the same time. Some
of the problems should be given to the student to follow the directions and solve individually. Have the
students check their work by writing an explanation of why they did each particular step. Although they
may find this exercise tedious, when they need to reference their work later it will be easier to remember
the procedures.
Finally, demonstrate to the student how to draw some of the common shapes (circle, square, ellipse,
octagon, tangent arcs and lines, triangles, and lines) detailed in the chapter using CAD. To improve their
CAD skills, you could also have the students follow the directions given in the chapter to draw the shapes
using CAD as if it were a drafting tool. In other words, when they are to draw a tangent arc between
two lines, students should draw the arcs parallel to each line, attach tangential lines, and then draw the
resulting arc from the line intersection. This will show them that the same techniques are possible with
CAD, and sometimes absolutely necessary.

© 2016 Cengage Learning®. All Rights Reserved. May not be scanned, copied or duplicated, or posted to a publicly accessible website, in whole or in part.

7
Other documents randomly have
different content
 "I want no thanks, Lizzie; it was a pleasure to me to make the
dress for you. Let me sit by your bedside a little--in the dark. Take
off the dress; I am glad you like it--there, that will do. Now jump
into bed. You have to get up early in the morning."

She arranges the dress over the back of a chair, and blowing out
the light, sits by the bed in darkness.

"I don't think I shall sleep any more to-night, Mrs. Lenoir."

"Yes, you will, Lizzie. Sleep comes to the young and happy."

"You speak so sadly--but it is your way."

"Yes, Lizzie, it is my way."

"You don't sleep well yourself, Mrs. Lenoir."

"Not always."

"It must be dreadful not to be able to sleep. One has such happy
dreams. Do not you?"

"I dream but seldom, Lizzie; and when I do, I wake up with the
prayer that I had died in my sleep. When I was as young as you, I
used to have happy dreams, but they never came true."

"I wish I could do something to make you feel less sorrowful,"

says Lizzie, overflowing with pity and gratitude.

"You can do nothing, Lizzie. When you are married----"

"O, Mrs. Lenoir!"

"As I hope you will be soon, I will make you a prettier dress than
this."

"It's not possible--nothing could be prettier."

 "Charles--your lover, Lizzie--is not much older than you."

"Oh, yes, he is; ever so much! I am nearly nineteen; he is twenty-

three."

"He truly loves you, Lizzie?"

"Truly, truly. I think no one ever loved as much. Am I not a

fortunate girl! When I am working--you don't mind my rattling on?"

"Say what is in your heart, Lizzie."

"When I am at work, I whisper to myself, 'Charlie! Charlie!' and I

talk to him just as though he was next to me. And Charlie tells me
he does the same by me--so that we're always together. The moon
is shining through the window, Mrs. Lenoir. Is it a watery moon? Go
and see if it is sure to be fine to morrow."

Mrs. Lenoir goes to the window and draws the curtain aside. A
shudder passes over her as she sees how bright and clear and
beautiful the night is.

"Is it a fine night, Mrs. Lenoir?"

"Clear and bright, Lizzie. There is no sign of rain. To-morrow will

be a lovely day."

"I am so happy!"

Mrs. Lenoir resumes her seat by the bedside.

"Do not take any notice of me, Lizzie. I will sit here quite quietly,
and when you are asleep, I will go to my room."

So long a silence follows--or it seems so long to the happy girl--

that she falls into a doze, to be but partially aroused by Mrs. Lenoir's
voice, calling very softly:
 "Lizzie!"

"Yes, Charlie!" Thus betraying herself.

"It is not Charlie; it is I, Mrs. Lenoir."

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Mrs. Lenoir. What a foolish girl you must
think me--and how ungrateful!"

"Not at all, Lizzie; it is I who am inconsiderate in keeping you

awake. I will say goodnight."

"No, no," cries Lizzie, understanding instinctively the woman's

need for sympathy, "don't go, or I shall think you are angry. You
were going to speak to me."

The girl raises her arm, and draws Mrs. Lenoir's head to her
pillow. "Remember, I have no mother." She presses her lips to Mrs.
Lenoir's face, which is wet with tears. "Mrs. Lenoir, you have been
crying."

"It is nothing, Lizzie; I often cry when I am alone."

"But you are not alone now; I am with you, and I love you."

"It is kind of you to say so; you are in the mood to love, and to
believe all things fair and good."

"And do not you believe so, Mrs. Lenoir?"

"Once I did. There was a time----" What reminiscence was in the

speaker's mind remained there unexpressed. "Lizzie, you lost your
mother when you were a child."

"Yes."

"How old were you when she died?"

 "Not quite five years."

"And you remember her?"

"Yes."

"With love?"

"Oh, yes."

"If," says Mrs. Lenoir, with almost painful hesitation, "she had
died, or you had lost her earlier, do you think you would have
forgotten her?"

"Oh, no, Mrs. Lenoir; I should have always remembered her, have
always loved her."

"She was kind to you Lizzie."

"She loved me more than all the world."

"You mean," says Mrs. Lenoir, with fierce eagerness, "she loved as
a mother loves, as a woman loves--as only a woman loves!"

"Mrs. Lenoir," asks Lizzie slowly, "do not men love as faithfully as
women?"

"Ask your own heart. You love Charlie and he loves you. Which do
you suppose is the stronger love, the most constant, the most likely
to endure?"

"I do not know," replies Lizzie, her sadder tone denoting that Mrs.
Lenoir's sadness is contagious. "I do not want to think that Charlie's
love is not as strong as mine, and yet--and yet--I do not believe he
can love me as much as I love him."

"It need not distress you, Lizzie, to think so; it is in the nature of
things. It is impossible for a man to love with the whole soul as a
woman loves--often, alas! unhappily for her."

"And often, too, happily for her," remonstrates Lizzie, with sudden
and tender cheerfulness. "A moment ago I felt inclined to regret the
thought you put into my mind--that a woman's love is naturally
stronger than a man's; but when I think of it, as I am thinking now,
I would not have it altered if I could. It is far better for us that it
should be so. If I loved Charlie less, I should be less happy; and it
makes me glad to think that I can give him more love than he can
give me."

"God forbid," says Mrs. Lenoir, "that I should endeavour to shake

your faith in Charlie. I was speaking out of the experience of a
woman with whose sad history I am acquainted. I am tired, Lizzie.
Good night. A happy day to-morrow!"

But Lizzie's fond arms cling to Mrs. Lenoir's neck; she is loth to let
her go without obtaining from her a mark of affection which has
been withheld.

"Mrs. Lenoir, I have kissed you twenty times."

"Well, Lizzie."

"And will kiss you twenty times more--there, and there, there! O,
Mrs. Lenoir, will you not give me one kiss?--you have not kissed me
once."

Mrs. Lenoir gently extricates herself from Lizzie's affectionate

embrace.

"I made a vow years ago, Lizzie, never to press my lips to human
face until I met with one that my eyes may never behold. Good
night."
 CHAPTER XXI.

Still another picture. This one on the sea, to give variety to the
group.

A fresh breeze is blowing, the white sails are full, and a noble
vessel--the Blue Jacket, a famous clipper--is ploughing her way
through the snow-crested waves. Holding on to the bulwarks, a lad,
scarcely eighteen years of age, is gazing now into the billowy depths
into which they are descending, now to the curling heights up and
over which the ship is sailing. A rapture of delight dwells in his great
spiritual eyes, and a flush rises to his pale and pensive face, as he
gazes on the wonders of the deep. His heart is pulsing with worship
of the beautiful, and with his inner sight he sees what is hidden from
many. The breeze brings to him musical and thrilling whispers; the
laughing, joyous waters teem with images of spiritual loveliness.

By his side, gazing also into the water's depths, and holding on to
a rope with a stronger and more careless grip, stands a man whose
years exceed two score. A handsome, strongly-built man, with a
mole on his right temple which adds to rather than detracts from his
beauty. That he is of a commoner order than the lad by whose side
he stands is clearly apparent; yet he is one in whom the majority of
women would instinctively take a deeper interest because of his
riper development and the larger power expressed in him. His
features are wanting in the refinement and delicacy which
characterise his young companion, but they have boldness and
fulness which, allied with good proportion, possess a special and
individual attraction of their own.
 The young gentleman's name is Arthur Temple; the name of his
valet is Ned Chester; and the ship is ploughing her way to England's
shores.

What the lad sees in the restless, laughing waters is created by

his poetical nature. What the man sees is the issue of an actual
experience in the past. In the lad's dreams there is no thread of
connection: images of beauty appear and disappear; slowly form
themselves, and fade as slowly away; and are not repeated. In the
man's, one face is always present, and always visible to his fancy;
the face of a beautiful child, whose eyes rival heaven's brightest
blue, whose cheeks are blooming with roses, whose head is covered
with clusters of golden curls.

A word of retrospect is necessary.

The lad is the only child, by his wife, Lady Temple, of Mr. Temple,
a name famous in the superior Law Courts of England, a gentleman
of wealth, distinction, and high position in the land. From his birth,
Arthur Temple has been the object of the most anxious and devoted
care of his parents--the devotion mainly springing from the mother's
breast, the anxiety from the father's. Not that the father was
wanting in love. On the contrary. As much love as it was in his
nature to bestow, he bestowed upon his son. But it was not like the
mother's love, purely unselfish; it was alloyed with personal
ambition, and was consequently of a coarser grain. From a delicate
babe, Arthur Temple grew into a delicate boy--so delicate that his life
often hung upon a thread, as ordinary people express it, and he was
not sent to a public school for his education. The best private tutors
were obtained for him, and the lad showed an eager desire to
acquire what they were engaged to teach. But his mental vigour ran
ahead of his physical power, and the physicians ordered that his
studies should be discontinued. "His brain is too wakeful," they said,
"his nerves too sensitive. The difficulty will be not to make him
study, but to keep him from it." So it turned out. Free from the
trammels of enforced study, and left to follow his own inclination,
the lad flew to the books most congenial to his nature, and learnt
from them what he most desired to learn. The intellectual power
apparent in the lad delighted his father as much as his lack of
physical strength distressed him. Mr. Temple's ambition was various.
Wealth he loved for the sake of the luxury and ease it conferred;
power he coveted, and coveted the more as he rose, for its own
sake, and because it placed him above his fellows, and gave him
control over them; but beyond all, his chief ambition was to found a
family, which should be famous in the land. To the accomplishment
of this end two things were necessary: the first, that he himself
should become famous, and should amass much wealth; the second,
that his son--his only child--should marry, and have children. In the
first, he was successful. It is not necessary to inquire by what
means--whether by superior talent, by tact, by industry, or by force
of patronage--he rose to power, and passed men in the race who at
least were equal with himself. The fact is sufficient; he rose above
them, and it was acknowledged that the highest prize in his
profession might one day be his.

This is an envious world. As worshippers of the successful and

powerful are everywhere to be found, so are detractors, and men
who by innuendoes throw dirt at those who occupy the best seats.
But whatever might be said to his detraction by the envious few, he
was quoted in public as a man of rare virtues and integrity. The
public prints never neglected an opportunity to point a moral by
means of his example. They never tired of quoting his stainless life,
his probity, his righteous conduct as an administrator of justice, and
holding him forth as a practical illustration of the highest qualities of
human nature. It cannot be denied that he, by his conduct,
contributed to this result. There was manifest in him a distinct
assertion to the possession of spotless honour and blamelessness;
so pure a man was he that he had no pity for human failings; that
"earthly power doth then show likest God's when mercy seasons
justice," found no assenting response within his breast. Woe to the
fallen wretches who appeared before him for judgment; he gave
them their deservings, with no compassionate regard of the tangled,
dirt-stained roads they had been compelled to travel. His stern
manner said, "Look upon me. Have I fallen? Why, then, have you?"
And in his addresses to criminals when passing sentence, he
frequently embodied this in words--whereupon the world would
rejoice that the law had such an interpreter, justice such a
champion. All other things, therefore, being smooth before him, the
full accomplishment of his dearest ambition hung upon the health of
his only child, and he experienced the keenest anxiety in the
circumstance that as the lad grew in years, he failed in strength. At
the age of sixteen, Arthur Temple was a pale, dreamy stripling, full
of fine fancies, and sensitive to a fault. The physicians spoke gravely
of his condition.

"There is but one chance of his attaining manhood," they said; "a
complete change must be effected in his life. He must travel. Not on
the Continent, or in cities where money can purchase the
indulgences of existence. A long sea-voyage in a sailing vessel, to
the other end of the world. A sojourn there of twelve or eighteen
months. Then home again, with blood thickened, and bones well
set."

"But if he should die!" exclaimed the anxious mother, distracted at

the thought of parting with her darling.

"He may," replied the physicians; "but there, at all events, he has
a chance of living. Keep him at home, and you condemn him to
certain death."

After this there was, of course, nothing to be said, and

preparations were made for the lad's temporary exile. Arthur
received the news with joy. It was the realisation of a cherished
dream. He felt like a knight-errant going out in search of romantic
adventures. The glad anticipation made his step lighter, his manner
cheerier.

"He is better already," said the physicians.

 The difficulty was to find a companion for him. His father's
professional duties would not permit of his leaving England; his
mother's health was too delicate. The need was supplied by the
younger member of a family of rank and distinction, who, with his
family, was going out to settle in the new land across the seas. Into
their care Arthur Temple was given. Before he left England, his
father conversed privately and seriously with the lad, and in some
part made a disclosure of his views of the future. Arthur listened
with respect and attention; he had a sincere regard for his father,
although between their natures existed an undefinable barrier which
prevented the perfect merging of their sympathies.

"You are my one only hope," said Mr. Temple to his son; "but for
you, all the honours I have gained would be valueless in my eyes.
Get strong, for your mother's sake and mine, and come home to
take your proper position in society--a position which I have made
for you, and which you will worthily sustain. You have yet to choose
your career--it will be politics, I hope; it opens out the widest field to
a young man of wealth and talent. Before I die, I may see my boy in
office."

Arthur shook his head. He had his dreams of the path in which he
would choose to walk; the pen should be the weapon by means of
which he would carve his way to fame. He expressed his hope, with
a boy's timidity and bashfulness, to his father, who was too wise to
fan the fire by a show of opposition.'

"All that is in the future," he said; "your first care is to get

strong."

This conference between father and son was one of solemnity to

the lad; he was going on a long voyage, and he and his father might
never meet again; there was a thought in his mind to which he was
impelled to give utterance.
 "Be sure of one thing, sir," he said, gazing steadily with his
truthful eyes into his father's face, "whatever occurs, in whatever
groove my life may run, I shall never do anything to disgrace the
name of Temple."

"My dear lad!" murmured his father.

"Whatever career I adopt," said the lad, with a heightened colour,

"I solemnly promise always and for ever to set right and justice
before me, and to be guided by their light."

His right hand was slightly raised as he spoke, and he looked

upwards, as though he were registering a vow. The words were the
outcome of his truthful nature, and were a fit utterance at such a
time and under such circumstances.

"If I believed," continued the lad, "that it were possible I should

ever commit an act which would reflect shame upon the name we
bear, I should pray to die to-night. I should not be happy if I went
away without giving you this assurance. Believe me, sir, I will be
worthy of the trust you repose in me."

Mr. Temple received this assurance with averted head. He was

accustomed to boyish outbursts from his son, but this last bore with
it, in its more earnest tones, a deeper signification than usual.

"You afford me great pleasure, Arthur," he said slowly; "I am sure

I shall not be disappointed in you. Yet you must not forget that, in
the practical issues of life, sentiment must occasionally be set aside."

The lad pondered for a few moments, saying then:

"I do not quite understand you, sir."

Mr. Temple briefly explained his meaning.

 "Merely, my son, that the circumstances of life frequently call for
the exercise of wisdom, and that we must look carefully to the
results of our actions."

Arthur Temple was always ready for an argument.

"I do not know how I should act if wisdom and sentiment clashed.
I have heard you say I am given to sentiment."

"Yes, Arthur; but you are young."

"I hope never to alter, sir. What I intended fully to say was this:
that if a matter were before me in which wisdom and sentiment
clashed, I do not know how I should act. But I do know how I
should act in a matter where wisdom and justice pulled different
ways. I may not always be wise; I should despise myself if I
suspected that I should not always be just. Had I to choose between
a wise and a just man, I know whose hand I should take. Why, sir, it
enters into my love for you"--his arm here stole around his father's
shoulder--"that I know you to be a just man, incapable of a base or
mean action! I will follow in your footsteps; the example you have
set me shall not be thrown away."

The conversation was then continued in another strain, and

shortly afterwards Arthur Temple bade his parents farewell, and
started for the New World. From the moment the lad placed his foot
upon the vessel which conveyed him from his native land, it seemed
as though he were animated by a new life. The lassitude and
languor which had weighed upon him were blown away by the fresh
breezes that swept across the seas; his pulses beat more briskly, his
blood flowed through his veins with fuller force. The pale, sickly lad
whose feeble health had but yesterday caused his parents so much
anxiety, became drunk with animal spirits, and was the life and soul
of the ship. He had his quiet hours, when he would sit in happy
silent communion with the spirit of beauty which touched every
natural effect in air and sea with heavenly colour, which whispered
to him in the silence of the night, when the stars shone peacefully
on the waters, and in the storm, when fierce winds lashed the seas
to fury. There was exhibited in him that combination of forces which
is the special attribute of some highly-strung sensitive natures: a
wild riot of animal spirits which compelled him to become the
noisiest and foremost in every noisy crew, and a calm, spiritual
repose which demanded perfect peacefulness of body and soul. In
the New World, he passed a happy time. His name and his father's
position and reputation in the home-land were sufficient to ensure
him a welcome in every circle, and the rare qualities he displayed
endeared him to all with whom he came into association. Wherever
he travelled he heard his father spoken of with honour and respect,
as a just man and a just judge; and this oft-repeated experience
caused him intense pleasure. He grew prouder than ever of his
father's good name, and stronger than ever in his resolve to emulate
him. It was during this temporary absence from home that he met
and engaged Ned Chester for his valet.

Ned's career in the Australias had been one of adventure, and it

had made him a jack of all trades and master of none. He had been
by turns a stone-breaker, an auctioneer, a splitter of wood, a
storekeeper, a shepherd, many times a gold-digger, a newspaper
runner, and Heaven knows what besides. Had he been ordinarily
industrious, he would most certainly have verified his mother's
prediction that he would one day achieve sudden fortune--saying
nothing of honour; but his love of indolence was incurable. His slips
'twixt cup and lip were numerous. Having in a tipsy fit purchased a
piece of land for a song at a government land sale, he found himself,
by reason of his disinclination for work, compelled to dispose of it,
and he sold it--a day too soon. Twenty-four hours after it passed
from his hands, rich deposits of gold were discovered in its vicinity,
and the allotment was worth thousands of pounds. He sunk a shaft
on a gold-lead, and having obtained fifty ounces of gold, "went on
the spree" till every shilling was spent. When he returned to his
shaft he found it in possession of a party of miners, each of whom
was making ten ounces a day out of it. He had by the mining laws
forfeited all claim to it by his desertion. This run of misfortune, as he
termed it, followed him all through his career, and he failed to see
that he was in any way accountable for it. Truth compels the further
admission that he made the acquaintance of the interior of some
colonial prisons, and that in the entire record of his experiences
there was little that redounded to his credit. Strange, however, to
state that in the midst of the lawlessness that prevails in all new
communities, tempting to excess those whose passions are difficult
to control, Ned Chester's besetting sin of intemperance which
threatened to cut short his life in the Old Country lessened instead of
gained in strength. And almost as strange is the fact that, with some
indefinite idea that he would one day be called upon to play a
gentleman's part in life, he endeavoured to fit himself, by reading
and in manners, for this shadowy framework; with so much success
as to cause him occasionally to be sneered at by his equals as a
"stuck-up swell," a species of abuse which afforded him infinite
satisfaction. Undoubtedly, the tenderness with which he held in
remembrance the beautiful child-Duchess of Rosemary Lane was the
leading incentive to this partial reformation. Her face and pretty
figure were constantly before him, and constituted the tenderest
episode in his past life--the only tender one indeed, for any love he
may have felt for his devoted mother was so alloyed with rank
selfishness as to be utterly valueless. As the years rolled on,
thoughts travelled apace, and with them he saw the child-Duchess
growing to womanhood--to beautiful womanhood. Then began to
creep upon him a thirst to see her, and to be with her--a thirst which
increased in intensity the more he dwelt upon his wish. The
circumstance that kept them apart was to his sense monstrous. She
was his--by what right, or if by any, mattered not; she was his, and
he was hers; they belonged to each other. But by this time fortune
seemed to have entirely deserted him, and he had settled into a
from-hand-to-mouth vagabond condition of life which was
destructive of every chance of crossing the seas with a shilling in his
pocket. At this point of his career chance brought him into
communication with Arthur Temple. He had taken service, under an
assumed name, as a shepherd, an occupation which gave full scope
to his indolent habits, and he was lying on the hills on a summer
day, while through an adjacent forest of iron and silver bark trees,
Arthur Temple was cantering, in high spirits. The subtle invisible links
which draw lives into fatal connection with one another are too
strange and mysterious for human comprehension. Between these
two men, unconscious of each other's existence, stretched the link
which was to bind them in one mesh thousands of miles across the
seas, wherefrom other links were stretching to draw them
homewards. Ned Chester, lying on the hill, in gloomy abstraction
hitched from his pocket a common tin whistle, and began to play his
sorrows through the keys. This one accomplishment had never
deserted him; the cheap and common instrument became in his
hands a divine medium for sweetest melody. The music reached the
ears of Arthur Temple as he rode through the silent woods, and he
reined in his horse, and listened. He was alone, making his way to
the home station of the rich squatter who employed Ned Chester,
and the music stirred his poetic mind. He wove from it romantic
fancies; it peopled the woods with beautiful images; it made the
stillness eloquent. He rode on to meet it, prepared for any surprise,
in the shape of delicate nymph or sprite, and came upon a shabbily-
dressed man, with a fortnight's beard on him, playing with dirty
coarse fingers upon the keys of a common tin whistle. Ned Chester
ceased, and gazed at the newcomer. He saw that he was a
gentleman, and he ground his teeth with envy; but he gave no
expression to the sentiment. Arthur Temple opened the ball.

"It is you who were playing?"

"Yes."

"On that?" eyeing the tin whistle with intense interest.

"Yes; on this."

"Will you play again for me?"

"I don't mind."

 Ned placed the whistle to his lips, and played a simple Scotch air,
improvising on the theme with rare skill; his organ of love of
approbation was very large.

"Beautiful!" said Arthur Temple. "You have been taught in a good

school."

In the slight laugh with which Ned Chester met this assertion was
conveyed a suddenly-born reproach against society for having
overlooked such superlative talent as he possessed.

"I was taught in no school." Adding proudly, "What I know, I

picked up myself."

Arthur Temple corrected himself, "In the school of nature."

"May be."

"What are you?"

"A shepherd--at present."

"You have not been always a shepherd."

"Oh, no;" with an assumption of having seen considerably better

times and of moving in a much better position.

"What makes you a shepherd, then?"

"A man must live."

"I beg your pardon," said Arthur, with a sensitive flush. "Are you
in Mr. Fitzherbert's employment?"

Mr. Fitzherbert was the name of the squatter for whose home
station he was bound, with letters of introduction.

"Yes," replied Ned Chester.

 "I have come on a visit to him. Can you direct me to his place?"

"Over the hill yonder you will see a wagon track. It will take you
straight to the house."

"Thank you." Arthur, about to depart, suddenly bethought himself.

The musician was poor--was a shepherd from necessity. He took his
purse from his pocket; a bank-note fluttered in his fingers. He held it
towards Ned. Under ordinary circumstances Ned would have had no
hesitation in accepting the gratuity, but as his eyes met the earnest
eyes of Arthur Temple, a happy inspiration inspired him to refuse it;
it was unaccountable, but it happened so. Ned turned his head from
the temptation.

"I beg your pardon," said Arthur Temple, his face flushing again;
"I had no intention of hurting your feelings. Good day."

"Good day."

Arthur Temple rode slowly off, with many a backward glance at

the recumbent form of the musical shepherd--glances of which Ned
Chester was perfectly cognisant, but of which he took no apparent
notice. Before he was out of earshot, Arthur heard the tin whistle at
work once more.

"A genius," thought he, "and a gentleman by instinct. I am sorry I

offered him money."

The impression made upon him by the incident was powerful and
durable, and he inwardly resolved to see the man again. This resolve
being carried out, Ned Chester was not slow in turning to his own
advantage the interest exhibited in him by Arthur Temple. His
superior cunning enabled him very soon to obtain the particulars of
the personal history of the young gentleman who he determined
should become his patron. His patron Arthur Temple certainly did
become; he engaged the vagabond man of the world as his valet at
a liberal salary, and congratulated himself upon securing as his
companion a person whose discovery and undoubted genius formed
one of the most romantic episodes of his travels. It was fortunate for
Ned that during his association with Arthur Temple in the colonies he
met with no friend or acquaintance who might have exposed him to
his young master. Nothing in his conduct betrayed him; he behaved
in the most exemplary manner, and grew day by day in the goodwill
of Arthur. He took pride in his personal appearance, and seizing with
avidity the advantages such a connection opened out to him,
dressed carefully and well, drank little, and was, to all outward
appearance, a most respectable character. He became saving in his
habits, also, and at the end of the nine months, which brought the
visit of Arthur Temple to the colonies to an end, he was in
possession of a sum of money larger than his salary; Ned had not
fought with the world for nothing, and his experience was a key
which fitted many locks. Arthur Temple was recalled home
somewhat earlier than he anticipated.

"If you are well," his father wrote, "and if your health is
sufficiently established to come home, do so at once, my dear lad.
Your mother and myself long for your society. I never cease to think
of you, and I want the world to see and appreciate you as I do,
though it can never love you as you are loved by your father,

"Frederick Temple."

Arthur made immediate preparations for his departure; his nature

was grateful and loving, and his duty also was here concerned. The
news of the home journey troubled Ned Chester; according to the
terms of his engagement, connection between him and Arthur
ceased when the latter quitted Australia. Ned had saved sufficient
money to pay for his passage home, but he would arrive there
comparatively penniless, and in no position to obtain a livelihood. His
efforts, therefore, were now directed to obtaining a permanent
appointment with Arthur; and to his surprise, after much
man[oe]uvring, he found that he could have succeeded much more
easily by a straight than by a crooked method.
 "Certainly," said Arthur; "I shall be glad not to part with you; but I
thought you would have no wish to leave Australia."

"It has been my endeavour," said Ned, "for years past, but I have
not had the means; and it has been my misfortune until now never
to have met with a friend."

"My father," said Arthur, "will scarcely be prepared for my bringing

home a valet, but he will not object to anything I do. Have you any
family in England?"

"No, sir."

He endeavoured to impart a plaintive tone to this negative, to

show how utterly hapless a being he was; but he failed; the joy of
returning to England and of meeting the Duchess lighted up his
features.

"But there is some one at home," said Arthur, with a smile,

"whom you will be pleased to see."

Then Ned, with guarded enthusiasm, poured out his soul into the
sympathetic ears of Arthur Temple, and spoke, but not by name, of
the Duchess of Rosemary Lane, as one whom he had loved for
years, and to see whom would complete the happiness of his life. He
extolled her beauty, too, with sufficient fervour to carry conviction
with it. He knew that these utterances made his position more
secure, and imparted to his service a sentiment which was far from
disagreeable to Arthur Temple.

This retrospect brings us to the ship, the Blue Jacket, sailing for
England, with Arthur and Ned aboard. Arthur enjoys every hour of
the voyage. All is fair before him. With youth, with good health, with
a pure mind stirred by noble desires, with a father awaiting him
holding a high and honourable position in the land, the book of the
lad's life, the first pages only of which are opened, is filled with
glowing pictures, and he looks forward with calm delight to his
arrival home. Ned is less calm. The ship never goes fast enough, the
days are longer than they ought to be; he burns with impatience to
present himself to the idol of his dreams. Hour by hour the links that
bind these men, so strangely brought into association, to other lives
in the old land are drawn closer and closer. At length the good ship
arrives in port. Arthur is pressed to his father's breast.

"Thank God!" says the father, "that you are home and in good
health."

And he holds Arthur's hand with such warmth as he might have

felt in his young days for the woman he loved.

Ned Chester looks around, draws a free full breath, and murmurs:

"At last!"

CHAPTER XXII.

Mr. Temple celebrated the return of his son by a great dinner, at

which a number of distinguished persons were present; later in the
evening his mother held a reception. The evening before the party
Arthur was sitting with his parents looking over the list of guests,
and he could not help being struck with their quality. Nearly every
man invited was a man of mark in the land--politicians, lawyers, a
few whose chief merit was their wealth, and some few also of the
foremost workers in the ranks of art and literature. Arthur was
pleased at the opportunity of becoming personally acquainted with
these shining lights.
 "You will regard this as your first introduction into society," said
Mr. Temple to his son. "I shall be glad to see you form friendships,
which will bring you both pleasure and profit."

It was unfortunate that, despite his affection for his son, Mr.
Temple could never avoid introducing into their conversations chance
words and phrases which grated upon the sensitive mind of the
younger man. The word "profit" was one of these. Arthur, however,
made no comment upon this, and the rebellious expression which
overcast his features for an instant was not observed by his father.

"You have much to speak of," continued Mr. Temple, "that will be
new and interesting to many of our friends, and I need not say that
as my son you will be heartily welcomed."

"That, of course, sir," said Arthur; "it will not be, I am afraid, for
my own deservings."

"That cannot come, Arthur, until you are personally known, and
then I trust it will be for your sake as well as for mine that friends
will attach themselves to you. But indeed I have no doubt that such
will be the case."

"You are more confident than I am, sir," said Arthur seriously. "I
have my fears as to whether I shall feel at home in this new and
polished atmosphere, after my experiences of the last two years."

"You have no need to fear, Arthur; I am satisfied with you. I think

I shall not make you vain when I tell you that your manners are
fitted for any circle."

Arthur's mother gazed fondly upon him as he replied, "It is an

inheritance, sir, as are honour and truth, which I owe equally to
you."

"I must confess that it was not with entire confidence I saw you
depart for your travels, but you have returned improved, if anything.
Contact with the world has already improved you, and has opened
your mind to the value of the requirements of society."

"Whether it be so," said Arthur, with seriousness, "has yet to be

proved. In the New World, with its rougher manners, I have seen
much to admire--more, indeed, than in these more civilised
surroundings. It is not whether they are fitted for me--it is whether I
am fitted for them."

"There is plenty of romance to be found in these more sober

scenes; it will come to you, Arthur, as it has come to others."

"In what shape, sir? And have you met with yours?"

Mr. Temple coloured slightly, and devoted himself more closely to

his paper, which he was perusing in the intervals of the conversation.
Mrs. Temple sighed and looked away. Arthur had inadvertently
touched a chord which vibrated keenly in the breasts of his parents.
He did not know, and had never heard, that his father had married
for money and position, had married without love, but it was no less
a fact. A fact of which his mother was not aware until after
marriage. It was not a sudden discovery on her part; it was a
gradual awakening, made more bitter by the womanly suspicion of
another face, fairer perhaps than hers, and better loved in the past.
In this she invested Mr. Temple with qualities which he did not
possess, and fashioned a hero--not hers, but another woman's--out
of very common clay. There had never been any bickerings between
her and her husband; she had not distressed him with any outburst
of jealously; and he gave her no cause for complaint that the world
would have recognised and sympathised with. He was an exemplary
husband, faithful and attentive, and was held up as a model by other
wives. Mrs. Temple, before her marriage, had had her romance in
her love for her husband; a romance carefully fed by him at that
time, for he played the lover skillfully. But shortly after they became
man and wife her dreams faded slowly and surely away. She saw
that he had no heart for her, and it was most natural in her to be
positive that, with his attractive person and the soft blandishments
of speech of which she had had experience when he wooed her, he
had bestowed his heart elsewhere. She kept her secret well, and he
was ignorant of it. Had she led him to suspect that she believed
herself to be betrayed, it would have caused him much amazement.
In the early years of her married life she was not regardless of his
movements, but she made no discovery to confirm her jealousy. She
was in the habit of watching his expressions when he opened his
letters, and of listening with agonised attention to the murmurings in
his sleep; but she learnt nothing. Had there been anything to
discover she would not have discovered it; she was no match for him
in subtlety. Slowly she accepted her fate, with no outward repining,
and they lived that calm passionless life which to some souls is
worse than death, and which with some highly nervous
organisations occasionally leads to violent terminations and tragic
results.

"You were saying, Arthur," said Mr. Temple, with a direct evasion
of Arthur's light question, "that you saw much to admire in the
rough manners of the men among whom you travelled."

"Very much, sir. The proper assertion of a proper independence,

for instance. The kingliness of manhood has no such exemplification
in this city of unrest as it has in the free air of the New World, where
men and women are not unhealthfully crowded together in small
spaces. I see here, among the lower classes of society, no such free
step, no such blithe spirits, as I have been accustomed to see
among men in the same position at the other end of the world."

"There are grades even there, Arthur."

"Surely, sir; and human beings, wherever they cluster, must be

dependent upon each other; but there, all grades express in their
tone and bearing their obligation to each other, as equally from
those above to those below, as from those below to those above. It
is mutual, and there is no shame in it. Now, such dependence as I
see here is ingrained in either real or assumed humiliation. Where it
is real, it is pitiable and unnatural; where it is assumed, it is
detestable. Either way it is bad and degrading."

"Admitting all this--which I do not--to what do you attribute this

worse condition of affairs?"

"If you will pardon me," replied Arthur with modesty, "I have not
gone as far as that. I have my thoughts, but I must see more before
I should consider myself justified in accusing. I merely record what
present themselves as clear pictures to my mind."

"When you see more, and are able from positive experience and
observation to form just conclusions, you will admit that we must
accept the world as we find it, and that the only wise course is to
make use of it to our advantage."

"To turn its foibles to our advantage, sir?"

"Most certainly."

"Its shipwrecks and calamities--you know what I mean, sir--to

turn even those to our advantage?"

"It is always a difficult thing to argue with an enthusiast,

especially with an enthusiast whom one loves as I love you."

"I know you love me, sir," interrupted Arthur, warmly, "but I do
not like the idea you have expressed. I think you would scarcely
uphold it in its fulness."

"It is not difficult for a skilful disputant to turn his adversary's

words against himself, and so to colour them as to make them bear
a stronger and therefore different interpretation. Logic is an
excellent weapon, Arthur, but it may be much abused."
 "Admitted, sir. But it seems to me that it would be more noble
and honourable to turn the experience we gained of the world to the
world's advantage instead of to our own."

"The two aims may go together; but it is an absolute necessity

that we should never lose sight of ourselves."

"And of our own aggrandisement?" interrupted Arthur.

"Yes, if you put it that way, though there are pleasanter ways of
expressing it."

"More polished ways, sir?"

"Yes."

"But not more truthful."

"Probably not," said Mr. Temple, with no show of irritation, though

he was secretly annoyed. "Remember that self-preservation is
Nature's first law."

"Which does not mean," said Arthur, flying off at a tangent, as is

the way with most impulsive natures, "that we should be continually
stabbing our comrades in the race, or grudging to others honours
worthily won--such as yours, sir--or withholding from others a true
meed of admiration because our own merits--which, of course in our
own estimation, are very great--have not been so generally
recognised."

"These are common phrases, Arthur. Let me warn you to beware

of platitudes. No platitudinarian ever rose in the world, or made for
himself more than a mediocre reputation."

"That is flying away from the argument, sir," said Arthur

vivaciously.
 "Very well, then. I understand you to express that you should
deem yourself as fortunate if you were unsuccessful in an ambition
as if you had accomplished it."

"Not quite that, sir, but in some small way I can imagine
circumstances in which I should deem defeat a victory."

"Do not imagine, Arthur--or, at all events, imagine as little as you

can. Action is what the world calls for, is what the world demands of
its leaders. And if you can act in such a way as not to oppose an
established order of things, success is all the more sure."

"There is much to admire in souls which, animated by high

desires, suffer from opposing an established order of things, and are
consequently not prosperous."

"You have hit a nail, Arthur," said Mr. Temple, with emphasis;
"'consequently not prosperous.'"

"Exactly so, sir; you take my meaning. I see in these

unprosperous men much more to admire than in successful time-
servers. And remember, sir," said Arthur, who frequently showed
much pertinaciousness in argument, "that the very carrying out in its
integrity of the axiom that preservation is Nature's first law would
rob history of its most noble and heroic examples. I hope you do not
mind my expressing myself thus plainly and, as I perceive,
antagonistically to your views."

"Not at all. It is better that you should speak plainly to me what is

in your mind than that you should needlessly betray yourself to
strangers, who would not understand you." (Arthur was about to say
here that he should not be deterred from expressing himself clearly
in any society, but his father anticipated the declaration, and gave
him no opportunity of expressing it.) "It does one good to be able to
relieve himself in confidence of the vapours that oppress him. The
air becomes clearer afterwards. Notwithstanding our seeming
difference, I trust that our sympathies are in common----"