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-The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 997,
-February 4, 1899, by Various
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
-whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of
-the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at
-www.gutenberg.org.  If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 997, February 4, 1899
-
-Author: Various
-
-Release Date: November 28, 2017 [EBook #56071]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Pamela Patten and
-the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
-http://www.pgdp.net
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
-
-VOL. XX.--NO. 997.]      FEBRUARY 4, 1899.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
-
-
-
-
-A BRIDAL SONG.
-
-
-[Illustration: “GOD SPEED THEE!”]
-
-        Oh, happy bride!
-    Heaven’s sunlight wraps thee in a golden gleam,
-    And in thine eyes the light of love supreme,
-    And in thy heart the dawning of a dream,
-        And what beside!
-
-        Hopes reaching wide,
-    Out into the new life unbegun,
-    Into the untrodden ways thy feet may run
-    And the dim future only known by One--
-        The One Who died.
-
-        And a sweet pride
-    That thou art chosen the whole world above,
-    And girt about with mightiness of love,
-    Which waits to cherish thee as tend’rest dove
-        Till death divide.
-
-        And there abide
-    In thy full heart most sweet-sad memories
-    Of one who smiles on thee from out the skies,
-    Thy best belovèd, now in Paradise,
-        Thy earliest guide;
-
-        At whose dear side
-    Thy girlhood’s opening flower sweetly grew,
-    Till death transplanted her into the blue;
-    There to watch over thee with love more true
-        And purified.
-
-        In the untried
-    And varying life which waits thee, rosy-hued,
-    God speed thee! and give daily grace renewed,
-    And bless with all His large beatitude
-        Thy marriage-tide.
-
-        Though thou be tried
-    And troubled oftentimes in this new life,
-    Christ wall be with thee through the calm and strife,
-    Help thee to beautify the name of wife,
-        Oh, happy bride!
-
-
-_All rights reserved._]
-
-
-
-
-“OUR HERO.”
-
-A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.
-
-BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
-Dower House,” etc.
-
-
-CHAPTER XIX.
-
-ORDERED TO BITCHE.
-
-Roy forgot everything except the affair on hand. He dashed upstairs and
-into the salon at a headlong pace, knocking over a chair as he entered.
-It fell with a crash, and Roy stopped short. Denham was on the sofa, no
-one else being present except Lucille, who, with her bonnet on, as if
-she were going out, had just taken an empty cup from his hand.
-
-“Roy, you unkind boy,” she said, turning with a look of positive anger.
-“How you can do it!”
-
-“O I’m sorry. I didn’t remember. Isn’t Den better?”
-
-“Not remember! But you ought to remember. So without thought. It is
-selfishness.”
-
-For Lucille to be seriously displeased with Roy was an event so new in
-his experience, that Roy gazed with astonished eyes.
-
-“No matter,” interposed Denham. “Had a good time, Roy?”
-
-“I’ve seen lots of people. Den, I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean----”
-
-“No, of course not. It’s all right.”
-
-“Where is my father?” Roy asked in a subdued voice.
-
-“Gone out--but ten minutes since,” said Lucille. “General Cunningham
-sent to see him on business. And Colonel Baron has to go with him
-somewhere, and cannot return soon. So dinner is put off till six.”
-
-“And mamma?”
-
-“Mrs. Baron had a call to pay in the same direction. Captain Ivor
-thought he might get half-an-hour’s sleep. Roy, be good, I entreat.
-Do not fidget, and knock over chairs, and talk, talk, talk, without
-ending.”
-
-Roy nodded, and Lucille moved towards the door, adding, as she went, “I
-also have to see someone, but I shall be back soon.”
-
-Roy sat down in a favourite attitude, facing the back of a chair, and
-wondering what to do next. Would it be right to tell Denham what had
-happened? Would it be wrong to put off telling? Curtis had enjoined him
-to speak at once; but Curtis had not known the posture of affairs. The
-matter might be of consequence, or it might not. Roy was disquieted,
-but not seriously uneasy; and he hesitated to worry Denham without
-cause.
-
-“Seen anybody?” asked Ivor.
-
-“Yes; numbers.”
-
-Then a break.
-
-“Found Curtis?”
-
-“Yes. And Carey too. Would you like to hear all about it?”
-
-“By-and-by, I think. It will keep.”
-
-Silence again, and Roy debated afresh. What if his action should mean
-bringing Curtis into trouble? That thought had considerable weight.
-
-Three times he formed with his lips the preliminary “I say, Den!” and
-three times he refrained. The third time some slight sound escaped him,
-for Denham asked drowsily, “Anything you want?”
-
-“Lucille told me not to talk. Does it matter?”
-
-Ivor did not protest, as Roy had half hoped. He was evidently dropping
-off, and Roy decided that a short delay was unavoidable. He took up
-a volume that lay near; and, being no longer a book-hater, he became
-absorbed in its contents. General Wirion, chips of wood, the Imperial
-nose, and irate landladies, faded out of his mind. The matter was no
-doubt a pity, but after all it meant only--so Roy supposed--a pull
-upon his father’s purse. Boys are apt to look upon parental purses as
-unlimited in depth.
-
-Denham was sound asleep, and Roy kept as motionless as any girl; not
-that girls are always quiet. An hour passed; another half-hour; and he
-began to grow restless. Might it be possible to slip away?
-
-Gruff voices and heavy trampling feet, in the hall below, broke into
-the stillness, and Denham woke up. “This is lazy work,” he said
-wearily. “Roy--here yet! What time is it?”
-
-“Nearly five. Dinner isn’t till six. Head any better?”
-
-“Yes. I’m wretched company for you to-day. Different to-morrow, I hope.”
-
-“You can’t help it. You’ve just got to get rested--that’s all. I say,
-what a noise they are making downstairs. Frenchmen do kick up such a
-rumpus about everything.”
-
-The door opened hurriedly, and Lucille came in, wearing still her
-bonnet, as if just returned from a walk.
-
-“I am so sorry,” she said. “I do not know what it means, but I must
-tell. I have no choice. O it surely must be a mistake, it cannot be
-truly----”
-
-Lucille startled herself no less than her listeners by a sharp sob. She
-caught Roy’s arm with both hands, holding him fast. “Roy--Roy--what is
-it that you have done? O what have you done?” she cried.
-
-“Is it that bosh about the cast? O I know. They want to be paid, I
-suppose. Lucille, Den has been asleep, and I’ve been as quiet as
-anything--and then for you to come in like this! Den, you just keep
-still, and I’ll go and speak to them. I’ll settle it all. I know my
-father will pay.”
-
-“No, no, no--stay--you must not go,” panted Lucille. “Stay--it is the
-gendarmes! And they come to arrest you--to take you away!”
-
-The word “gendarmes” acted as an electric shock, bringing Denham to his
-feet in a moment.
-
-“What is it all about? I do not understand.” He touched Roy on the
-shoulder, with an imperative--“Tell me.”
-
-“It was only--I’d have told you before, only I didn’t like to bother
-you. It was at Curtis’. There was a bust of Boney on the mantelshelf,
-and I just shied bits of wood at it, in fun. And I said ‘_À bas
-Napoléon_,’ or something of that sort; and then I threw a ball,
-and the idiotic thing tumbled down and broke into pieces. And the
-landlady--she’s a regular out-and-out virago--happened that very
-moment to come in, and she saw and heard. And she vowed she would tell
-of it. Curtis tried to explain things away, and I offered to pay,
-but she wouldn’t listen. She went on shrieking at us, and said it
-was an insult to the Emperor, and Wirion should know of it. She’s a
-Bonapartist--worse luck! Curtis made me hurry off, and said I was to
-tell my father at once. But he was out, and you--you know----” with a
-glance at Lucille, who wrung her hands, while Ivor said,
-
-“Roy, were you utterly mad?”
-
-“I--don’t know. Was it very stupid? Will it matter, do you think? I’m
-sorry about you--most. I thought they would wait till to-morrow; but
-I suppose they want me to go and pay directly. Is that it?” looking
-towards Lucille.
-
-“No, no, no,” she answered, again wringing her hands. “It is to
-take--to take Roy--to the citadel!”
-
-“To the citadel!” Roy opened his eyes. “O I say, what a farce! For
-knocking down a wretched little image, not worth fifty sous!”
-
-“For breaking a bust of the Emperor, and for shouting--‘_À bas_----’”
-Lucille could not finish.
-
-“You mean--that they will keep him there to-night?” Denham said.
-
-She looked at him with eyes that were almost wild with fear.
-“Oui--oui--the citadel to-night! And to-morrow--they say--to Bitche.”
-
-“To--Bitche!” whispered Roy. He grew white, for that word was a sound
-of terror in the ears of English prisoners, and his glance went in
-appeal to Ivor.
-
-“Stay here, Roy. I will speak to them.”
-
-Ivor crossed the room with his rapid resolute stride, and went out,
-meeting the gendarmes half-way downstairs. Lucille clutched Roy’s arm
-again, half in reproach, half in protection. “Ah, my poor boy! mon
-pauvre garçon! how could you? Ah, such folly! As if there were not
-already trouble enough! Ah, my unhappy Roy!”
-
-“Shut up, Lucille! You needn’t jaw a fellow like that! It can’t mean
-anything really, you know. Wirion just thinks he can screw a lot of
-money out of my father. And that’s the worst of it,” declared Roy, in
-an undertone. “I hate to have done such a stupid thing--and I hate the
-worry of it for Den, just now when he’s like this. But you know they
-couldn’t really send me to Bitche only for smashing a paltry image. It
-would be ridiculous.”
-
-“Ah, Roy! even you little know--you--what it means to be under a
-despot, such as--but one may not dare to speak.”
-
-Lucille’s tears came fast. They stood listening. From the staircase
-rose loud rough voices, alternating with Ivor’s not loud but masterful
-tones. That he was prisoner, and that they had power to arrest him too,
-if they chose, made not a grain of difference in his bearing. It was
-not defiant or excited, but undoubtedly it was haughty; and Lucille,
-just able to see him from where she stood, found herself wondering--did
-he wish to go to prison with Roy? She could almost have believed it.
-
-“Eh bien, messieurs. Since l’Empéreur sees fit to war with schoolboys,
-so be it,” she heard him say sternly in his polished French. “To me, as
-an Englishman, it appears that his Majesty might find a foe more worthy
-of his prowess.”
-
-“But, ah, why make them angry?” murmured Lucille.
-
-A few more words, and Denham came back. One look at his face made
-questions almost needless.
-
-“Then I am to go, Den?”
-
-“I fear--no help for it. The men have authority. You will have to spend
-to-night in the citadel. But I am coming with you, and I shall insist
-upon seeing Wirion himself.”
-
-“But you--you cannot! You are ill!” remonstrated Lucille. “Will not
-Colonel Baron go? Not you.”
-
-He put aside the objection as unimportant.
-
-“Roy must take a few things with him--not more than he can carry
-himself. I hope it may be only for the one night. They allow us twenty
-minutes--not longer. That is a concession.”
-
-“I will put his things together for him,” Lucille said quickly.
-
-“One moment. May I beg a kindness?”
-
-“Anything in the world.”
-
-“If Colonel Baron does not return before we start--and he will
-not--would you, if possible, find him, and beg him to come at once to
-the citadel? Then, Mrs. Baron----”
-
-Ivor’s set features yielded slightly; for the thought of Roy’s mother
-without her boy was hard to face. Lucille watched him with grieved eyes.
-
-“I will tell her, but not everything--not yet as to Bitche, for that
-may be averted. I will stay with her--comfort her--do all that I am
-able. Is this what you would ask?”
-
-“God bless you!” he said huskily, and she hurried away.
-
-“Den, must I go with those fellows really?” asked Roy, beginning to
-understand what he had brought upon himself. “I never thought of that.
-Can’t you manage to get me off? Won’t they let me wait--till my father
-comes back?”
-
-“They will consent to no delay. He will follow us soon. And, Roy, I
-must urge you to be careful what you say. Any word that you may let
-slip without thinking will be used against you. I hoped that you had
-learnt that lesson.”
-
-A listener, overhearing Denham with the gendarmes, might have
-questioned whether he had learnt it himself; but Roy was in no
-condition of mind to be critical. Dismay grew in his face.
-
-“And if you can’t get me off---- If I am sent to Bitche----” with
-widening gaze.
-
-“If you are”--with much more of an effort than Roy could imagine--“then
-you will meet it like a man. Whatever comes, you must be brave and true
-through all. Keep up heart, and remember that it is only for a time.
-And, my boy, never let yourself say or do what you would be ashamed to
-tell your father.”
-
-“Or--you”--with a catch of his breath.
-
-“Or me!”--steadily. “Remember always that you are an Englishman--that
-you are your father’s son--that you are my friend--and that your duty
-to God comes first. For your mother’s sake, bear patiently. Don’t make
-matters worse by useless anger. And--think how she will be praying for
-you!”
-
-Denham could hardly say the words. Roy’s lips quivered.
-
-“Yes, I will! Only, if you could get me off!”
-
-“My dear boy, if they would take me in your stead----”
-
-“Den, I’m so sorry! I’m not frightened, you know--only it’s horrid to
-have to go! Just when you’ve come and all! And it would have been so
-jolly! And it’s such a bother for you, too! I do wish I hadn’t done it!”
-
-Ten minutes later the two started--Roy under the gendarme-escort, Ivor
-keeping pace with them.
-
-Lucille then hastened away on her sorrowful mission, leaving a message
-with old M. Courant, in case either Colonel or Mrs. Baron should return
-during her absence--not the same message for Mrs. Baron as for the
-Colonel.
-
-Half-an-hour’s search brought her into contact with the latter, and she
-poured forth a breathless tale. Heavier and heavier grew the cloud upon
-his face. He knew too well the uses that might be made of Roy’s boyish
-escapade. At the sound of that dread word--“Bitche”--a grey shadow came.
-
-“Captain Ivor went with Roy to the citadel. He ought not--he has been
-so suffering all day--but he would not let Roy go alone. And he asked,
-would you follow them as soon as possible? For me, I will find Mrs.
-Baron, and will stay with her.”
-
-The Colonel muttered words of thanks, and went off at his best speed.
-
-Would he and Captain Ivor be able to do anything? Would they even be
-admitted to the presence of the autocratic commandant? Denham might
-talk of insisting; but prisoners had no power to insist. If he did, he
-might only be thrown into prison himself! Was that what he wanted--to
-go with the boy?
-
-“Ah, j’espère que non!” Lucille muttered fervently.
-
-And if they were admitted, what then? Would money purchase Roy’s
-immunity from punishment? General Wirion’s known cupidity gave some
-ground for hope. Yet, would he neglect such an opportunity for
-displaying Imperialist zeal?
-
-Lucille put these questions to herself as she flew homeward. On the way
-she met little Mrs. Curtis, and for one moment stopped in response to
-the other’s gesture.
-
-“Is it true?” Mrs. Curtis asked, with a scared look. “They tell me Roy
-has been arrested. Is it so? My husband could do nothing. The landlady
-was off before he could speak to her again. He thought that Roy and the
-Colonel would be coming round directly, and so he waited in. But they
-did not come. And now two gendarmes are quartered in our lodgings, and
-Hugh may not stir without their leave. It is horrid! But--Roy?”
-
-“I cannot wait! Roy is taken to the citadel! I have to see to his
-mother! Do not keep me, Madame.” And again Lucille sped homeward.
-
-As she had half hoped, half dreaded, she found Mrs. Baron indoors
-before herself, alone in the salon, and uneasy at Captain Ivor’s
-absence.
-
-“He ought not to have gone out,” she said. “He will be seriously ill
-if he does not let himself rest. It is Roy’s doing, I suppose--so
-thoughtless of Roy! I must tell Denham that I will not have him spoil
-my boy in this way. It is not good for Roy, and Denham will suffer for
-it. You do not know where he is gone?”
-
-“Oui!” faltered Lucille, and Mrs. Baron looked at her.
-
-“You have been crying! What is it?”
-
-As gently as might be, Lucille broke the news of what had happened; and
-Mrs. Baron seemed stunned. Roy--her Roy--in the hands of the pitiless
-gendarmes! Roy imprisoned in the citadel! Lucille made no mention of
-Bitche; but too many prisoners had been passed on thither for the idea
-not to occur to Mrs. Baron.
-
-“And it was I who brought him to France! It was I who would not let him
-be sent home when he might have gone! O Roy, Roy!” she moaned. Lucille
-had hard work to bring any touch of comfort to her.
-
-Hour after hour crept by. Once a messenger arrived with a pencil note
-from Colonel Baron to his wife--
-
-“Do not sit up if we are late. We are doing what we can. I cannot
-persuade Denham to go back.”
-
-Not sit up! Neither Mrs. Baron nor Lucille could dream of doing
-anything else. This suspense drew them together, and Lucille found
-herself to be one with the Barons in their trouble.
-
-Nine o’clock, ten o’clock, and at length eleven o’clock. Soon after
-came a sound of footsteps. Not of bounding, boyish steps. No Roy came
-rushing gaily into the room. Lucille had found fault with him that
-afternoon for his noisy impulsiveness; but now, from her very heart,
-she would have welcomed his merry rush. Only Colonel Baron and Ivor
-entered.
-
-The Colonel’s face was heavily overclouded, while Denham’s features
-were rigid as iron, and entirely without colour.
-
-“Roy?” whispered Mrs. Baron.
-
-Deep silence answered the unspoken question. Colonel Baron stood with
-folded arms, gazing at his wife. Denham moved two or three paces away,
-and rested one arm on the back of a tall chair, as if scarcely able to
-keep himself upright.
-
-“Roy!” repeated Mrs. Baron, her voice sharpened and thinned. “You have
-not brought--Roy!”
-
-A single piercing laugh rang out. She stopped the sound abruptly with
-one quick indrawing of her breath, and waited.
-
-Colonel Baron tried to speak, and no sound came. Denham remained
-motionless, not even attempting to raise his eyes.
-
-“Oui!” Lucille said restlessly. “Il est--il est----”
-
-The Colonel managed a few short words. There was no possibility of
-softening what had to be said.
-
-“To-night--the citadel. To-morrow--to Bitche!”
-
-“To Bitche!” echoed Lucille. “Ah-h!”
-
-To Bitche--that terrible fortress-prison, the nightmare of Verdun
-prisoners! Their Roy to be sent to Bitche! Mrs. Baron swayed slightly
-as if on the verge of fainting. Roy, her petted and idolised
-darling--her boy, so tenderly cared for--to be hurried away to Bitche!
-
-Lucille hardly could have told which of the two she was watching with
-the more intense attention--Mrs. Baron, stunned and wordless, or
-Denham, with his fixed still face of suffering.
-
-“And nothing--nothing--can be done?” she asked.
-
-“We have tried everything!” the Colonel answered gloomily.[1]
-
-
-(_To be continued._)
-
-[1] Actual fact: A young fellow at Verdun, prisoner on parole, was
-closely imprisoned for knocking down a bust of the Emperor in his
-lodgings.
-
-
-
-
-A RAMBLE ABOUT CHILDHOOD.
-
-BY MRS. MOLESWORTH.
-
-
-No true child-lover would maintain that all children are equally
-lovable, or indeed, in some--though, I think, rare instances--lovable
-at all.
-
-But in this, speaking for myself, I detect no inconsistency, no
-falsity to one’s colours. For the qualities or deficiencies which
-make a child unlovable may be summed up in one word; they are such as
-make it unchildlike. And this, not necessarily, if at all, as regards
-a child’s mental qualities. It is the moral side of child-nature
-that attracts--the heart, the spirit. For painful as it is to meet
-with precocity of mind in some instances, especially the precocity
-of the kind forced upon the children of the poor not unfrequently,
-this, unchildlike as it is, is by no means incompatible with
-great sweetness and beauty of the moral character, great power of
-affection, delightful candour, even that most exquisite of childlike
-possessions--trustfulness.
-
-Yes, the root of a child’s nature, the essential groundwork of it, to
-be lovely and lovable, must be childlike. But a literal meaning must be
-given to the pretty adjective. I would not even altogether eliminate
-from it certain qualities which might, strictly speaking, be perhaps
-more correctly described as _childish_, seeing that if we limited
-the word too narrowly, we should lose others of the great charms of
-children, their queer, delightful inconsistencies and exaggerations,
-their quaint originality, their grotesque imaginings, all of which, in
-more or less degree, a real child, even a dull or stupid one, possesses.
-
-Take, for example, the unconscious egoism, almost amounting, logically
-speaking, to “arrogance,” of most children. The world, nay, the
-universe, is their own little life and surroundings; their house and
-family are the rules, the proper thing, all others exceptions. It is
-not, in most instances, till childhood is growing into a phase of the
-past, that the sense of comparison is really developed, or that the
-young creatures take in that other circumstances or conditions besides
-their own may be what _should_ be, that they themselves do not hold a
-monopoly of the model existence.
-
-There is something pretty as well as absurd in this--to my mind, at
-least, in certain directions, something almost sacred, which it would
-be desecration to touch with hasty or careless fingers; which, one
-almost grieves to know, must pass, like all illusions, however sweet
-and innocent, when its day is over.
-
-To recall some recollections of my own childish beliefs--if the egotism
-may be pardoned, on the ground that one’s own experiences of this
-nature cannot but be the most trustworthy. I often smile to myself,
-with the smile “akin to tears,” when I look back to some of the faiths,
-the first principles, of my earliest years.
-
-Foremost among these was the belief in the absolute perfection of
-my father and mother. I thought that they could not do wrong, that
-they knew _everything_. I remember feeling extremely surprised and
-perplexed on some occasions when, having involuntarily--for I,
-like most children, but seldom expressed or alluded to my deepest
-convictions--allowed this creed of mine to escape me, the subjects of
-it--though not without a smile--endeavoured tenderly to correct my
-estimate of them.
-
-“There are many, many things I do not know about, my little girl,” my
-father would say, adding once, I remember--for this remark impressed
-me greatly--“I only know enough to begin to see that I am exceedingly
-ignorant.” And my mother was even more emphatic in her deprecation of
-our nursery fiat that “mamma was quite, quite good.”
-
-Not that these protestations shook our faith. In my own case I know
-that the unconscious arrogance with regard to family conditions
-extended to ludicrous details. I thought that the Christian names of
-my parents were the only correct ones for papas and mammas; I believed
-that the order in which we children stood--there were six of us, boy,
-girl, boy, girl, boy, girl--was the appointed order of nature, that all
-deviation from these and other particulars of the kind was abnormal and
-incorrect, and I viewed with condescending pity the playmates whose
-brothers and sisters were wrongly arranged, or whose parents suffered
-under “not right” names.
-
-Gradually, of course, these queer, childish “articles of belief”
-faded--melted away in the clearer vision of experience and developing
-intellect. But they left a something behind them which I should be
-sorry to be without; and they left too, I think, a certain faculty
-of penetration into infant inner life, which circumstances have
-shown themselves kindly in preserving and deepening. I have learnt to
-feel since that nearly all children have their own odd and original
-theories of things, though many forget, as life advances, to remember
-about their own childhood’s beliefs and imaginings. And this is not
-unnatural, when we take into account the rarity and difficulty of
-obtaining a child’s full confidence, for uncommunicated, unexpressed
-thoughts are apt to die away from want of word-clothing. One really
-learns more about children from the revelations of grown-up men and
-women who “remember,” and have cherished their remembrances, than from
-the children of the moment themselves.
-
-Still, queer ideas crop out to others sometimes. Not often--if it
-happened oftener we should be less struck by their oddity, by their
-grotesque originality. A few which, in some instances, not without
-difficulty and the exertion of some amount of diplomacy, I have
-succeeded in extracting--no, that is not the right word for a matter
-of such fairylike delicacy--in drawing out, as the bee draws the honey
-from the tiny flowers--occur to me as I write, and may be worth mention.
-
-A small boy of my acquaintance, after a fit of extreme penitence for
-some little offence against his grandmother, whom he was very fond of,
-added to his “so very sorry,” “never do it again, never, never,” the
-unintelligible assurance, “I will be always good to you, dear little
-granny, always; and when you have to go round all the houses, I’ll see
-that our cook gives you lots and lots of scraps--very nice ones--and
-nice old boots and shoes, and everything you want. I’ll even”--with a
-burst of enthusiastic devotion--“I’ll even go round with you my own
-self.”
-
-Grandmother expressed her sense of the intended good offices, but
-gingerly, with my assistance, set to work to find out what the little
-fellow meant--what in the world he had got into his head; and it was
-no easy task, I can assure you. But at last we succeeded. It appeared
-that the confusion in the boy’s mind arose from the, in a sense, double
-meaning of the word “old.” He associated it, naturally enough, with the
-idea of poverty, material worthlessness, in conjunction with that of
-age and long-livedness. Every human being, he believed, had to descend,
-“when you gets very old,” to a state of beggardom; his dear granny,
-like everybody else, would have to wander from door to door with a
-piteous tale of want; but from his door she should never be repulsed;
-nay indeed, he himself would take her by the hand and lead her on the
-painful round. Nor did he murmur at this strange order of things; to
-him it was a “has-to-be,” accepted like the darkness that follows the
-day; like the gradual out-at-toe condition of his own little worn-out
-shoes; and I greatly doubt if our carefully-worded explanation of his
-mistake carried real conviction with it. I strongly suspect that he
-remained on the look-out for granny in her new _rôle_ for a good many
-months, or even years, to come.
-
-Some other curious childish beliefs recur to my memory. I knew a little
-girl who cherished as an undoubted article of faith a legend--how
-originated who can say?--perhaps suggested by some half poetical talk
-of her elders about the aging year, the year about to bid us farewell
-and so on, perhaps entirely evolved out of her own fantastic little
-brain--that on the 31st of December the “old year” took material human
-form and strolled about the world in the guise of an aged man, though
-unrecognised by the uninitiated crowd. She had the habit on this day
-of taking up her quarters in a corner of the deep, old-fashioned
-window-sill of her nursery, and there, in patient silence, gazing down
-into the street till Mr. Old-year should have passed by. Nor were her
-hopes disappointed. She always caught sight of him and nodded her own
-farewell, unexpectful of any response.
-
-“He couldn’t say good-bye to everybody; he wouldn’t have time,” was her
-explanation to the little sister to whom she at last confided her odd
-fancy, and through whose indiscretion it leaked out to the rest of the
-nursery group.
-
-“But how do you know him?” she was asked. “Is he always dressed the
-same?”
-
-“Oh, no,” was the reply, “he sometimes wears a black coat and sometimes
-a brown; and one year he had a blue one with brass buttons. That was
-the first year I saw him, and I have never missed him since. He has
-always white hair, and he walks slowly, looking about him. I always
-know him, almost as well as you’d know Santa Claus if he came along the
-street, though, of course, he never does. _He_ comes down chimneys, and
-I don’t think children ever do see him, for they’re always asleep.”
-
-The little woman was, wisely I think, left undisturbed in her innocent
-fancy. How many more times she ensconced herself in her window on the
-31st of December I cannot say. The belief in the poor Old-year’s lonely
-wandering interested her for the time and did her no harm, then gently
-faded, to be revived perhaps as a story of “When mother was a little
-girl,” when mother came to have little girls of her own to beg for her
-childish reminiscences.
-
-This personification of abstract ideas is a peculiarity, a speciality
-of children, as it was no doubt of the children of the world’s
-history--our remote ancestors. And I have noticed that among abstract
-ideas that of _time_ has a particular fascination for imaginative
-little people. Many years ago I happened to be staying in a country
-house when a group of children arrived from town to spend their summer
-holiday with the uncle and aunt to whom it belonged. Entering the
-room where these little sisters were quartered, early in the morning
-after their journey, I was surprised to find the trio wide awake,
-each sitting up in her cot, in absolute silence as if listening for
-something.
-
-I too stood silent and still for a minute or two, till yielding to
-curiosity I turned to the nearest bed, which happened to be that of the
-youngest, a girl of five or six.
-
-“What is it, Francie?” I inquired. “Are you trying to hear the church
-bells”--for it was Sunday morning--“or what?”
-
-With perfect seriousness she turned to me as she replied--
-
-“No, auntie dear. We are listening to _time passing_. We can always
-hear it when we first come to the country. In London there is too much
-noise. Meg”--her mature sister of ten--“taught us about it. So we
-always try to wake early the first morning on purpose to hear it.”
-
-Another friend of mine, now an elderly, if not quite an old, woman,
-had a curious fancy when a very young child, in connection with which
-there is a pretty anecdote of the poet Wordsworth, which may make the
-story worth relating. This little girl believed that during the night
-before a birthday a miraculous amount of “growing” was done, and on the
-morning on which her elder brother attained the age of six, she, his
-junior by two years, flew into the nursery when he was being dressed,
-expecting to see a marvellous transformation. But--to her immense
-disappointment--there stood her dear Jack looking precisely as he had
-done when she bade him good-night the evening before. Maimie’s feelings
-were too much for her.
-
-“Oh, Jack,” she cried, bursting into tears, “why haven’t you growed
-big? I thought you’d be kite a big boy this morning.”
-
-Jack and nurse stared at her. I am afraid they called her a silly girl,
-but however that may have been, her disappointment was vivid enough for
-the remembrance of it to have lasted through well nigh half a century,
-and her tears flowed on. Just then came a tap at the door, followed by
-the entrance of the cook, a north countrywoman and a great favourite
-with the children. A glance at her showed Maimie that she was weeping,
-and when their old friend threw her arms around the little people, and
-kissed them, amidst her sobs Maimie felt certain that the source of her
-grief was the same as of her own.
-
-“Is you crying ’cos Jack hasn’t growed for his birthday?” asked the
-little girl. But Hannah shook her head.
-
-“I don’t know what you mean, my sweet one,” said the old woman. “I’m
-crying because I’ve got to leave you. This very morning I’m going, and
-I’ve come to say good-bye.”
-
-This startling announcement checked Maimie’s tears, or if they flowed
-again it was from a different cause.
-
-“Oh, dear Hannah,” the two exclaimed, “why must you go if it makes you
-so unhappy? Doesn’t mamma want you to stay?”
-
-“Oh, yes, dearie,” was the reply, “but it’s my duty to go to my old
-mistress. She’s ill now and sad, and she thinks Hannah can nurse her
-better than anyone else.”
-
-So with tender farewells to the children she was never to see again,
-poor Hannah went her way.
-
-Her “old mistress” was Miss Dorothy Wordsworth. And though Jack and
-Maimie never saw the faithful servant any more, they heard from, or
-rather of, her before long. For only a few weeks had passed when one
-morning the postman brought a small parcel directed to themselves, and
-a letter to Jack, Hannah’s particular pet. The letter and the addresses
-were in a queer, somewhat shaky hand-writing, that of Mr. Wordsworth
-himself, now an aged man, for it was within a few years of his death;
-the parcel contained a tempting-looking volume, bound in red and
-gold--“Selections for the young”--of the laureate’s poems, with Jack’s
-name inscribed therein, and even more gratifying, from the kindly
-thoughtfulness it displayed, a little silk neckerchief in tartan--the
-children’s own tartan, for they belonged to a Scotch clan--for Maimie.
-And the letter, written to the old servant’s dictation, for she could
-not write herself, told of her consultation with her master as to the
-most appropriate presents to choose for her little favourites.
-
-Almost more touching than the trustfulness of children is their
-extraordinary endurance--a quality often, I fear, carried to a painful
-and even dangerous point. It has its root, I suspect, in their innate
-trust, their belief that whatever their elders deem right must be so;
-also perhaps, in a certain almost fatalistic acceptance of things as
-they are. But on few subjects connected with childhood have I felt more
-strongly than on this. No parent is justified in “taking for granted”
-the moral qualifications, even the suitability of the persons in charge
-of their little boys and girls, however unexceptionable may be the
-references and recommendations they bring. It takes tact and gives
-trouble, but it is among the first of the duties of mothers especially
-to make sure on such points for themselves. For besides their trust
-in their elders and their natural resignation to the conditions about
-them, there is an extreme sense of loyalty in most children, a horror
-of “tell-taling,” such as are often far too slightly appreciated or
-taken into account.
-
-As these remarks are professedly a “ramble” I may be forgiven for
-reverting to that beautiful trustfulness, by relating an incident
-which, though trivial in the extreme, has never faded from my memory.
-We were returning, late at night, or so at least it seemed to me, from
-some kind of juvenile entertainment at Christmas time. It was a stormy
-evening; I was a very little girl, and since infancy, high wind has
-always frightened me, and that night it was blowing fiercely. I was
-already trembling, when the carriage suddenly stopped. My father at
-once sprang out, for there was no second man on the box; there was
-nothing wrong, only the coachman’s hat had blown off! He got down and
-ran back for it, and my father replaced him and drove on slowly, for
-the wind had made the horse restless.
-
-“Oh, mamma,” I exclaimed, “I am so frightened. The coachman has gone
-away.”
-
-“Yes, darling,” said my mother, “but don’t you see papa is driving?”
-
-I shall never forget the impression of absolute comfort and
-fearlessness that came over me at her words.
-
-“Papa is driving,” I repeated to myself. “We are quite, quite safe.”
-
-And all through the many years since that winter night, the impression
-has never faded; often and often it has returned to me as a suggestion
-of the essential beauty of trust, the germ of the “perfect love”
-towards which we strive.
-
-Not _a propos_ of the foregoing reminiscences, yet not, I hope, _mal
-a propos_ in a roundabout paper, two anecdotes of a different kind,
-of children, recur to me, showing the odd directions that their
-cogitations sometimes take.
-
-A little boy of my acquaintance, partly perhaps from nervousness, was
-subject to violent fits of crying, most irritating and perplexing to
-deal with. Once started--often by some absurdly trivial cause--there
-was literally no saying when Charley would leave off. One day, after an
-unusually long and exhausting attack, to his mother’s great relief, the
-floods gave signs of abating; she left the room to fetch him a glass of
-water. On her return the sobs had subsided.
-
-“Oh, Charley,” she said, with natural but ill-advised expression of her
-feelings, “you have really worn me out. If ever you have children of
-your own, who cry like you, I hope you will remember your poor mother.”
-
-Forthwith, to her dismay, the wails and tears burst out again, and it
-was not till some time had elapsed that the child would listen to her
-repeated inquiries as to what in the world he was crying for now. At
-last came the little looked-for reply.
-
-“It wasn’t because of this morning,” (what had started the fit I do
-not remember) “I’d left off crying about that. It was you thinking I
-would bring up my children so badly.”
-
-Anecdote No. 2 relates to a more exalted personage than Master Charley.
-
-Several years ago I was gratified by hearing from a friend then
-resident in Italy and acquainted with the Court circle, that one of my
-earliest books for children, _Carrots_, had found great favour in the
-eyes of the young Crown Prince, then a mere boy. His exact sentiments
-on the subject were conveyed to me in a letter written at his request.
-The story had amused and interested him at a moment when he was
-specially in want of entertainment, for it was just at the date of the
-death of his grandfather, the great Victor Emanuel, and his little
-namesake had not been allowed to go out riding or driving as usual for
-several days. He did not know how he would have passed the time but for
-_Carrots_, he said. He wished Mrs. Molesworth to know this, and he also
-wished to make a request to her. Would she write another book as soon
-as possible--(not, as one might have expected, of further details of my
-little hero’s boyhood, but)--to tell how “Carrots” brought up his own
-children when he became a big man and was married!
-
-
-
-
-ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.
-
-BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of “Sisters
-Three,” etc.
-
-
-CHAPTER XVIII.
-
-“Something has happened! Something terrible has happened to the child!
-And she was left in our charge. We are responsible. Oh, if any harm has
-happened to Peggy, however, ever, ever, can I bear to live and send the
-news to her parents----”
-
-“My dearest, you have done your best; you could not have been kinder or
-more thoughtful. No blame can attach to you. Remember that Peggy is in
-higher hands than yours. However far from us she may be, she can never
-stray out of God’s keeping. It all seems very dark and mysterious,
-but----”
-
-At this moment a loud rat-tat-tat sounded on the knocker, and with one
-accord the hearers darted into the hall and stood panting and gasping
-while Arthur threw open the door.
-
-“Telegram, sir!” said a sharp, young voice, and the brown envelope
-which causes so much agitation in quiet households was thrust forward
-in a small cold hand. Arthur looked at the address and handed it to the
-Vicar.
-
-“It is for you, sir, but it cannot possibly be anything about----”
-
-Mr. Asplin tore open the envelope, glanced over the words, and
-broke into an exclamation of amazement. “It is! It is from Peggy
-herself!--‘Euston Station. Returning by 10.30 train. Please meet me at
-twelve o’clock.--Peggy.’ What in the world does it mean?” He looked
-round the group of anxious faces, only to see his own expression of
-bewilderment repeated on each in turn.
-
-“Euston! Returning! She is in London. She is coming back from town!”
-“She ran away to London, to-night when she was so happy, when Arthur
-had just arrived! Why? Why? Why?” “She must have caught the seven
-o’clock train.” “She must have left the house almost immediately after
-going upstairs to dress for dinner.” “Oh, father, why should she go to
-London?”
-
-“I am quite unable to tell you, my dear,” replied the Vicar drily. He
-looked at his wife’s white, exhausted face, and his eyes flashed with
-the “A-word-with-you-in-my-study” expression, which argued ill for Miss
-Peggy’s reception. Mrs. Asplin, however, was too thankful to know of
-the girl’s safety to have any thought for herself. She began to smile,
-with the tears still running down her face, and to draw long breaths of
-relief and satisfaction.
-
-“It’s no use trying to guess at that, Millie dear. It is enough for
-me to know that she is alive and well. We shall just have to try and
-compose ourselves in patience until we hear Peggy’s own explanation.
-Let me see! There is nearly an hour before you need set out. What can
-we do to pass the time as quickly as possible?”
-
-“Have some coffee, I should say! None of us have had too much dinner,
-and a little refreshment would be very welcome after all this strain,”
-said Arthur, promptly, and Mrs. Asplin eagerly welcomed the suggestion.
-
-“That’s what I call a really practical proposal! Ring the bell, dear,
-and I will order it at once. I am sure we shall all have thankful
-hearts while we drink it.” She looked appealingly at Mr. Asplin as she
-spoke, but there was no answering smile on his face. The lines down his
-cheeks looked deeper and grimmer than ever.
-
-“Oh, goody, goody, goodness, aren’t I glad I am not Peggy!” sighed
-Mellicent to herself, while Arthur Saville pursed his lips together,
-and thought, “Poor little Peg! She’ll catch it. I’ve never seen the
-dominie look so savage. This is a nice sort of treat for a fellow who
-has been ordered away for rest and refreshment! I wish the next two
-hours were safely over.”
-
-Wishing unfortunately, however, can never carry us over the painful
-crises of our lives. We have to face them as best we may, and Arthur
-needed all his cheery confidence to sustain him during the damp walk
-which followed, when the Vicar tramped silently by his side, his shovel
-hat pulled over his eyes, his mackintosh coat flapping to and fro in
-the wind.
-
-They reached the station in good time, and punctually to the minute the
-lights of the London express were seen in the distance. The train drew
-up, and among the few passengers who alighted the figure of Peggy, in
-her scarlet trimmed hat, was easily distinguished. She was assisted
-out of the carriage by an elderly gentleman, in a big travelling coat,
-who stood by her side as she looked about for her friends. As Mr.
-Asplin and Arthur approached, they only heard his hearty, “Now you are
-all right!” and Peggy’s elegant rejoinder, “Exceedingly indebted to you
-for all your kindness!” Then he stepped back into the carriage, and she
-came forward to meet them, half shy, half smiling, “I--I am afraid that
-you----”
-
-“We will defer explanations, Mariquita, if you please, until we reach
-home. A fly is waiting. We will return as quickly as possible,” said
-the Vicar frigidly, and the brother and sister lagged behind as he led
-the way out of the station, gesticulating and whispering together in
-furtive fashion.
-
-“Oh, you Peggy! _Now_ you have done it! No end of a row!”
-
-“Couldn’t help it! So sorry. Had to go. Stick to me, Arthur, whatever
-you do!”
-
-“Like a leech! We’ll worry through somehow. Never say die!” Then the
-fly was reached, and they jolted home in silence.
-
-Mrs. Asplin and the four young folks were sitting waiting in the
-drawing-room, and each one turned an eager, excited face towards the
-doorway as Peggy entered, her cheeks white, but with shining eyes, and
-hair ruffled into little ends beneath the scarlet cap. Mrs. Asplin
-would have rushed forward in welcome, but a look in her husband’s face
-restrained her, and there was a deathlike silence in the room as he
-took up his position by the mantelpiece.
-
-“Mariquita,” he said slowly, “you have caused us to-night some hours
-of the most acute and painful anxiety which we have ever experienced.
-You disappeared suddenly from among us, and until ten o’clock, when
-your telegram arrived, we had not the faintest notion as to where you
-could be. The most tragic suspicions came to our minds. We have spent
-the evening in rushing to and fro, searching and inquiring in all
-directions. Mrs. Asplin has had a shock from which, I fear, she will
-be some time in recovering. Your brother’s pleasure in his visit has
-been spoiled. We await your explanation. I am at a loss to imagine any
-reason sufficiently good to excuse such behaviour; but I will say no
-more until I have heard what you have to say.”
-
-Peggy stood like a prisoner at the bar, with hanging head and hands
-clasped together. As the Vicar spoke of his wife, she darted a look at
-Mrs. Asplin, and a quiver of emotion passed over her face. When he had
-finished she drew a deep breath, raised her head and looked him full in
-the face with her bright, earnest eyes.
-
-“I am sorry,” she said slowly. “I can’t tell you in words how sorry I
-am. I know it will be difficult, but I hope you will forgive me. I was
-thinking what I had better do while I was coming back in the train,
-and I decided that I ought to tell you everything, even though it is
-supposed to be a secret. Robert will forgive me, and it is Robert’s
-secret as much as mine. I’ll begin at the beginning. About five weeks
-ago Robert saw an advertisement of a prize that was offered by a
-magazine. You had to make up a calendar with quotations for every day
-in the year, and the person who sent in the best selection would get
-thirty pounds. Rob wanted the money very badly to buy a microscope,
-and he asked me to help him. I was to have ten pounds for myself if we
-won, but I didn’t care about that. I just wanted to help Rob. I said I
-would take the money, because I knew if I didn’t he would not let me
-work so hard, and I thought I would spend it in buying p--p--presents
-for you all at Christmas.”--Peggy’s voice faltered at this point, and
-she gulped nervously several times before she could go on with her
-story.--“We had to work very hard, because the time was so short.
-Robert had not seen the advertisement until it had been out some
-time. I printed the headings on the cards; that is why I sat so much
-in my own room. The last fortnight I have been writing every morning
-before six o’clock. Oh, you can’t think how difficult it was to get it
-finished, but Robert was determined to go on; he thought our chance was
-very good, because he had found some beautiful extracts, and translated
-others, and the pages really looked pretty and dainty. The MS. had to
-be in London this morning; if it missed the post last night all our
-work would have been wasted, and at the very last Lady Darcy took Rob
-away with her, and I was left with everything to finish. I _may_ have
-slept a little bit the last two nights; I did lie down for an hour or
-two, and I _may_ have had a doze, but I don’t think so! I wrote the
-last word this morning after the breakfast-bell had rung, and I made
-up the parcel at twelve o’clock. I thought of going out and posting
-it then; of course, that is what I should have done, but”--her voice
-trembled once more--“I was so tired! I thought I would give it to the
-postman myself, and that would do just as well. I didn’t put it with
-the letters because I was afraid someone would see the address and ask
-questions, and Rob had said that I was to keep it a secret until we
-knew whether we had won. I left the parcel on my table. Then Arthur
-came! I was so happy--there was so much to talk about--we had tea--it
-seemed like five minutes. Everyone was amazed when we found it was
-time to dress, but even then I forgot all about the calendar. I only
-remembered that Arthur was here, and was going to stay for four days,
-and all the way upstairs I was saying to myself, ‘I’m happy, I’m happy;
-oh, I _am_ happy!’ because, you know, though you are so kind, you have
-so many relations belonging to you whom you love better than me, and
-my own people are all far away, and sometimes I’ve been very lonely! I
-thought of nothing but Arthur, and then I opened the door of my room,
-and there, before my eyes, was the parcel; Rob’s parcel that he had
-trusted to me--that I had solemnly promised--to post in time----”
-
-She stopped short, and there was a gasp of interest and commiseration
-among the listeners. Peggy caught it; she glanced sharply at the
-Vicar’s face, saw its sternness replaced by a momentary softness, and
-was quick to make the most of her opportunity. Out flew the dramatic
-little hand, her eyes flashed, her voice thrilled with suppressed
-excitement.
-
-“It lay there before my eyes, and I stood and looked at it ... I
-thought of nothing, but just stood and stared. I heard you all come
-upstairs, and the doors shut, and Arthur’s voice laughing and talking;
-but there was only one thing I could remember--I had forgotten Rob’s
-parcel, and he would come back, and I should have to tell him, and see
-his face! I felt as if I were paralysed, and then suddenly I seized
-the parcel in my hands, and flew downstairs. I put on my cap and cloak
-and went out into the garden. I didn’t know what I was going to do,
-but I was going to do something! I ran on and on, through the village,
-down towards the station. I knew it was too late for the post office,
-but I had a sort of feeling that if I were at the station something
-might be done. Just as I got there a train came in, and I heard the
-porter call out ‘London express.’ I thought--no! I did not think at
-all--I just ran up to a carriage and took a seat, and the door banged
-and away we went. The porter came and asked for my ticket, and I had a
-great deal of trouble to convince him that I had only really come from
-here, and not all the way. There was an old lady in the carriage, and
-she told him that it was quite true, for she had seen me come in. When
-we went off again, she looked at me very hard, and said, ‘Are you in
-trouble, dear?’ and I said, ‘Yes I am, but oh, please don’t talk to
-me! Do please leave me alone!’ for I had begun to realise what I had
-done, and that I couldn’t be back for hours and hours, and that you
-would all be so anxious and unhappy. I think I was as miserable as you
-were when I sent off that telegram. I posted the parcel in London, and
-went and sat in the waiting-room. I had an hour and a half to wait,
-and I was wretched, and nervous, and horribly hungry. I had no money
-left but a few coppers, and I was afraid to spend them and have nothing
-left. It seemed like a whole day, but at last the train came in, and I
-saw a dear old gentleman with white hair standing on the platform. I
-took a fancy to his appearance, so I walked up to him, and bowed and
-said, ‘Excuse me, sir, I find myself in a dilemma! Will you allow me to
-travel in the same carriage as yourself?’ He was most agreeable. He
-had travelled all over the world, and talked in the most interesting
-fashion, but I could not listen to his conversation. I was too unhappy.
-Then we arrived, and Mr. Asplin called me ‘M--M--Mariquita!’ and
-w--wouldn’t let you kiss me----”
-
-Her voice broke helplessly this time, and she stood silent, with
-quivering lip while sighs and sobs of sympathy echoed from every side.
-Mrs. Asplin cast a glance at her husband, half defiant, half appealing,
-met a smile of assent, and rushed impetuously to Peggy’s side.
-
-“My darling! I’ll kiss you now. You see we knew nothing of your
-trouble, dear, and we were so very, very anxious. Mr. Asplin is not
-angry with you any longer, are you, Austin? You know now that she had
-no intention of grieving us, and that she is truly sorry----”
-
-“I never thought--I never thought--” sobbed Peggy; and the Vicar gave a
-slow, kindly smile.
-
-“Ah, Peggy, that is just what I complain about. You don’t think, dear,
-and that causes all the trouble. No, I am not angry any longer. I
-realise that the circumstances were peculiar, and that your distress
-was naturally very great. At the same time, it was a most mad and
-foolish thing for a girl of your age to rush off by rail, alone, and
-at nighttime, to a place like London. You say that you had only a few
-coppers left in your purse. Now suppose there had been no train back
-to-night, what would you have done? It does not bear thinking of, my
-dear, or that you should have waited alone in the station for so long,
-or thrown yourself on strangers for protection. What would your parents
-have said to such an escapade?”
-
-Peggy sighed, and cast down her eyes. “I think they would have been
-cross too. I am sure they would have been anxious, but I know they
-would forgive me when I was sorry, and promised that I really and
-truly would try to be better and more thoughtful! They would say,
-‘Peggy, dear, you have been sufficiently punished! Consider yourself
-absolved!...’”
-
-The Vicar’s lips twitched, and a twinkle came into his eye. “Well,
-then, I will say the same! I am sure you have regretted your hastiness
-by this time, and it will be a lesson to you in the future. For
-Arthur’s sake, as well as your own, we will say no more on the subject.
-It would be a pity if his visit were spoiled. Just one thing, Peggy, to
-show you that, after all, grown-up people are wiser than young ones,
-and that it is just as well to refer to them now and then, in matters
-of difficulty! Has it ever occurred to you that the mail went up to
-London by the very train in which you yourself travelled, and that by
-giving your parcel to the guard it could still have been put in the
-bag? Did not that thought never occur to your wise little brain?”
-
-Peggy made a gesture as of one heaping dust and ashes on her head. “I
-never did,” she said, “not for a single moment! And I thought I was so
-clever! I am covered with confusion!”
-
-(_To be continued._)
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-[Illustration: WILD ROBIN AND OAK-LEAF.]
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-
-
-
-LINNÆA;
-
-THE STORY OF A FRIENDSHIP.
-
-
-CHAPTER I.
-
-    “What a thing friendship is, world without end!”--_Browning._
-
-Yes, Linnæa March was the dunce of the school. She was neither
-pretty nor attractive, nor did she seem to wish to be either. Nobody
-understood Linnæa. She made friends with no one, and no one made
-friends with her. Even the teachers said she was a girl nothing could
-be done with, and concluded to leave her alone.
-
-One new governess, Miss Golding, had brought a look of interest to the
-girl’s face over a story of Indian life, and had determined to follow
-up her advantage and make friends with this solitary pupil; but her
-next advance had been met with such decided coldness that Miss Golding
-went over to the opinion of the other teachers, that “it was best to
-leave Linnæa March alone.”
-
-The truth of the matter was that Linnæa had overheard a remark from
-the lips of the wit of the school--“Golding is trying to cultivate the
-March hare. Don’t you wish she may succeed?” This name had been given
-her by the same girl, Marion Edwards, very soon after she came to
-school. Marion was not a girl who actually meant to be unkind, but she
-had a ready tongue, and, when she saw a chance to make a witty remark,
-did not trouble herself to consider anyone’s feelings.
-
-How cruel schoolgirls are to each other without knowing it! And these
-were not hard-hearted girls--some of them developed into the very
-sweetest and best of women. Had they known or thought what a lonely
-life Linnæa had had, they might have taken more trouble to approach
-her; but it was the fashion of the school to shun her, and she
-certainly gave no one any encouragement to do otherwise.
-
-No one came into Linnæa’s cubicle to discuss some little bit of gossip
-before going to bed; no one gave a playful tap on the wooden partition,
-which divided her room from the next, as was done to everyone else now
-and then. Friends kissed each other when they met in the morning; no
-one dreamed of kissing Linnæa, unless it was the governesses, who did
-it to all as a matter of form.
-
-Did she miss it, do you ask?
-
-She said vehemently to herself over and over again that she did
-not--she loved none of them, and wanted nobody’s love. Nobody knew it,
-nobody suspected it, but--ah, what a wealth of love lay dormant in that
-lonely heart!--what a hungering after affection that seemed doomed to
-be for ever denied!
-
-She nursed and fostered an intense love for the mother she had never
-seen, unless in babyhood. She had been born in India, where her parents
-still were, and her mother had been so ill for a long time after
-the birth that it had been deemed wise to send the delicate baby of
-eighteen months home to England to be brought up by a maiden aunt, as,
-in any case, she must very soon, like all Anglo-Indian children, leave
-the trying climate. Thus Linnæa could not remember the face of her
-mother, but she cherished a photograph of her, and her letters were the
-bright spots in an otherwise colourless life.
-
-Miss March had no love for the child committed to her care, and made
-no pretence of any. Her comfort and training were strictly looked
-after--no suspicion of neglect could be breathed--but the love which
-is necessary to the happiness of a child’s life was a-wanting.
-
-“Such a very unattractive child!” Miss March described her to her
-acquaintances, even at times in the presence of the little girl, so
-that she grew up with the idea firmly rooted in her mind that she
-was plain, stupid, and that no one cared for her. Companions she had
-none--in fact, was not allowed to have--for her aunt could not tolerate
-any noise or disorder in her well-regulated house. Mrs. Sedley, the
-Rector’s wife, had invited the solitary child to come and have a romp
-with her lively boys and girls; but the invitation had been refused,
-because Miss March could not think of having them at her house in
-return.
-
-Mrs. Sedley’s motherly heart was glad when she heard it had been
-decided that Linnæa should go to a boarding school. “She will have
-companions now, poor child; and lead a much brighter life than she has
-led here.” But the life she led now was little if any brighter than the
-other had been.
-
-The first morning after her arrival in school Linnæa was introduced to
-her companions by Miss Elder, the principal.
-
-“This is a new companion for you--Linnæa March. I hope you will all be
-friendly to her as she is a stranger yet.”
-
-Plainly dressed to severity, her face more forbidding than usual from
-the fact that she felt shy but would not show it, Linnæa sat on a chair
-near the door, and the other girls did their duty by staring at her
-unmercifully.
-
-One governess was in the room and, unfortunately, not a very judicious
-one. After a few minutes had passed, she looked over at the newcomer
-and said--
-
-“Now, little girl, don’t look so sulky. You must put on a nice pleasant
-face, so that your companions will like you.”
-
-It was an unhappy remark. Some of the more forward girls tittered, and
-the forlorn, lonely child felt even more isolated and friendless than
-she had felt in her aunt’s house.
-
-“Come away over here,” said the governess again, “and tell us how old
-you are and where you come from.”
-
-“From the Ark, I should guess!” whispered one girl, who was supposed to
-be witty by some--herself in particular.
-
-Linnæa was forthwith subjected to a string of small questions, which
-she answered mostly in monosyllables. The whispered remark had been
-overheard by the sensitive child, and her heart had begun to harden
-towards girls and governess alike.
-
-Some of the pupils made advances at first, but Linnæa met them all with
-a suspicion and distrust that chilled and disappointed. Therefore,
-incredible as it may seem, at the age of sixteen, and after seven years
-at Meldon Hall, Linnæa March was utterly without a friend in the school.
-
-
-CHAPTER II.
-
-THE “NEW GIRL.”
-
-“And was her grandfather really an earl?”
-
-“And shall we have to call her Lady Gwendoline when we speak to her?”
-
-“I wonder what she is like; I am dying to see her!”
-
-“She is coming to-night; but perhaps Miss Elder won’t trot her out
-until to-morrow.”
-
-What an excited hubbub was going on in Meldon Hall schoolroom. The
-girls had been told that a new pupil would arrive that night. This
-alone, in mid-term, would have been enough to arouse some interest, but
-when it got abroad by some means or another that the importation was a
-beauty, an heiress, and related to an earl, their excitement knew no
-bounds.
-
-Marion Edwards, perched on the back of a chair, gave out what she had
-heard, and a little more, to an admiring audience who took Marion’s
-words for vastly more than they were worth. In every school there
-are one or two leading spirits, and Meldon Hall had at present two
-leaders--Marion Edwards and Edith Barclay. Edith was the clever,
-studious girl of the school; and amongst those who were inclined to
-be industrious, she was looked up to with great reverence. Marion was
-handsome, rich, and had an aptitude for making witty remarks, which
-made her at once admired and feared by her “set.” The two leaders
-were quite friendly; they were in no wise rivals of each other, being
-altogether different in disposition and aims. Edith loved study for
-study’s sake, and had secret thoughts of entering a profession. Marion
-cared nothing for her lessons, but easily managed to get along in a
-superficial way; she was an only daughter and rich, and was looking
-forward to entering society after she left school. Marion’s feelings
-were divided between pleasure at the prospect of knowing a girl whose
-grandfather was an earl, and a secret fear that this rich beauty might
-want to queen it even over her, and that her set might forsake her for
-the greater light.
-
-The only one who was really indifferent to the new arrival was Linnæa.
-She had had her times of hidden excitement over an expected newcomer,
-and vague longings that she might be “nice,” but these feelings
-were over and done, with long ago. Successive disappointments had
-embittered her, and now it was a matter of little moment to her who
-came and went. This night she had a slight headache and felt tired of
-her schoolfellows’ chatter and not inclined to face the introduction
-of a new girl, proud and haughty, who would doubtless criticise her
-looks and manners and set her down--as all the others had done--as
-hopelessly unattractive. She therefore slipped quietly away to her room.
-
-“Oh, I do wish Miss Elder would bring her in to-night!” said one;
-and, as if in response to her wish, the door opened and the principal
-entered, followed by the new girl.
-
-“This is Miss Gwendoline Rivers,” said Miss Elder, introducing a few of
-the girls who were nearest her by name. “I shall leave her with you for
-twenty minutes, but after that she must go to bed, as she has come a
-long way to-day.”
-
-Shyness was not one of the new pupil’s failings, and she asked more
-questions than she answered. Soon she had found out all the rules and
-regulations of the school, and had taken mental note of a few of the
-characters around her. Report had been correct as far as her beauty
-and wealth were concerned--her connection with the earl was a little
-more remote--she was indeed a lovely girl. Her dark eyes were large and
-lustrous, and her face had an almost southern richness of colouring.
-Her appearance was aristocratic to a degree, and her clothes were
-expensive and in the best of taste.
-
-[Illustration: THE DUNCE OF THE SCHOOL.]
-
-“Are you all here?” she said by-and-by, looking round on the group.
-
-“All except two. Alice Melrose is in bed with neuralgia, and Linnæa
-March has retired for the night.”
-
-“And, pray, why has Linnæa March retired for the night? Had she not the
-curiosity to wait up and see the newest thing in girls? I suppose she
-knew I should arrive to-night, as you all did, and I know you were all
-dying for me to put in an appearance so that you might deluge me with
-questions. But I think I have got more out of you than you have out of
-me. I find the only way to avoid too many questions is to ask a great
-many yourself. Tell me about Miss March, please; I am quite excited.
-What an outlandish name, too? She is altogether very mysterious!”
-
-“There is not much to tell about Linnæa March, as you will soon know.
-You will find the best way is to leave her alone, for, as sure as fate,
-she will not trouble herself about you, any more than she has about the
-rest of us.”
-
-“But that is precisely what I never do! I never allow anyone to be
-indifferent to me; they may hate me, if they please, but they shall not
-be indifferent!”
-
-“You don’t know Linnæa. I don’t believe she knows what love and hate
-are--love, at least; she might manage to hate you, perhaps!”
-
-“I shall make her love me then!”
-
-The girls laughed. There was something very fresh and original about
-this young lady who spoke as if the world and anything in it were hers
-for the asking. It was easily seen she had not been denied much during
-her life, and most of them felt very much inclined to carry on the
-spoiling process if only they might be termed friends of this beautiful
-and determined young woman; for if there is anything young people
-worship, it is determination. But to talk of making Linnæa March love
-her was a little too absurd.
-
-“How long is it since this unimpressionable young lady left the
-company? She won’t be in bed yet, will she? One of you go up to her
-room and tell her the new girl wants to see her, and bring her down.”
-
-Really, this was most ridiculous! Who was to go and give this
-extraordinary message to Linnæa March? As if to-morrow were not soon
-enough to see her! Whoever went would not get a very great reception.
-
-“Has she a chum here?”
-
-“She has no chum at all.”
-
-“Then do you go!” said the imperious Miss Rivers, pointing to a
-pleasant-looking girl beside her. “Listen to me,” said Gwendoline, when
-the messenger had departed; “I mean to make this Linnæa March like me;
-in fact, I mean to make her fall over head and ears in love with me,
-and none of you must say a word to influence her in any way. I have
-never yet made up my mind to do a thing that I have not done, and I
-shall show you that I can do this.”
-
-The excitement of the school was aroused, and the girls awaited
-with great interest the development of the comedy to be enacted in
-their midst. Would it be a comedy or a tragedy? If, as she boasted,
-Gwendoline Rivers were able to awaken the love which lay dormant in
-that sensitive heart, woe to Linnæa if she should discover the motive
-which had called it forth; it would run a chance of souring her whole
-after life.
-
-After a few minutes the door opened and the messenger returned,
-accompanied by Linnæa.
-
-“Now, you know, I don’t think it was nice of you to go off to bed
-without waiting to see me!” said Gwendoline, advancing towards her with
-a smile and holding out her hand.
-
-Linnæa’s sensitive face flushed.
-
-“I am sorry if I appeared rude,” she said; “I did not think of it.”
-
-“You will be forgiven this time; but”--looking serious--“I hope you
-have not a headache; if so, I shall be sorry I brought you down.”
-
-“Oh, no, thank you! I am quite well. I often go up earlier than the
-others.”
-
-“Well, I sha’n’t keep you down long, for I am going to bed myself. I
-shall go up with you now and try if I can find my cubicle again.”
-
-Calling good-night to the others, Gwendoline slipped her arm through
-Linnæa’s, and the two walked away in the direction of the stairs.
-
-“How strange it is, coming in amongst a lot of girls one has never seen
-before! It is fortunate for me I am not shy, else, I suppose, I should
-feel dreadfully put out. How long have you been here?”
-
-“Seven years.”
-
-“Seven years! Such a long time to be away from home!”
-
-“My father and mother are out in India. I shall go there when I am
-finished with school.”
-
-“Oh, how splendid! I should love to go to India. I have a brother who
-went out last year, and when I leave school I mean to pay him a visit.
-Perhaps we may happen to go together. Wouldn’t that be nice? Is this
-your cubicle? Horrid, bare places, aren’t they? I was warned about it
-and brought some pictures and things with me; but I sha’n’t unpack them
-to-night--I am too sleepy. Shall we say good-night, then? I somehow
-think we shall be friends.”
-
-Gwendoline, as she spoke, leant over and kissed Linnæa on the cheek,
-then ran away to find her bedroom.
-
-“Funny, quiet little thing!” said Gwendoline as she went. “I wonder if
-I shall make good my words? She seemed almost workable to-night. I was
-prepared to brave a few snubs to begin with.”
-
-And what about Linnæa? She did not begin to undress at once as usual.
-Why was she so excited to-night? Something had come over her, and
-it was nothing more nor less than a subtle magnetism towards this
-beautiful girl who had taken more notice of her than of any of the
-others--who had kissed her when she bade her good-night. Why had she
-felt so wooden and stupid? Why had she not returned the kiss? What must
-this girl think of her?
-
-She was in bed at last, but could not sleep. She seemed to feel the
-kiss on her cheek and hear the voice saying they might be friends.
-By-and-by, when sleep came, she dreamt that her father and mother
-had come to school to take her home--the time she had looked forward
-to through all the seven years--and she told them she wanted to stay
-another year because Gwendoline had come.
-
-(_To be continued._)
-
-
-
-
-THE PRINCESS ELIZABETH: AUNT OF THE QUEEN.[2]
-
-
-The letters of a favourite daughter of George III., and an aunt of
-the Queen, whose life extended through the eventful period 1770-1840,
-make a book of great interest and permanent value. The period referred
-to takes in some of the more momentous events in modern history--the
-loss of the American colonies, the French Revolution, the battle of
-Waterloo, and the fall of Napoleon--as well as various important
-parliamentary movements at home. Letter-writing is now generally
-supposed to be a lost art; but the Princess Elizabeth, as one who “ever
-remained an Englishwoman to the backbone,” wrote letters of the genuine
-old-time order to her confidante. She imposed wholesome restraint on
-herself in days when party spirit was more violent than we can realise;
-but being in fullest accord with her father, who aimed at personal
-government, her sympathy was rather for the cause of “Church and King
-than for that of reform and progress.” The Princess did not deal in
-scandal, however, she was not a politician, and in other respects she
-showed a delicacy of language not common in those times.
-
-In reference to his heroine, Mr. Yorke says that “the familiarity of
-her style brings us all the closer to her, and the more familiar it
-is the more intimate becomes our friendship for her. Sometimes it is
-the case that where the style is most imperfect, there most appear
-the individuality and originality of the Princess, and her portrait
-drawn by herself must be of more value and interest to us than any
-accuracy or polish of diction.” The Princess also loved her friends,
-and this led her to write to them _con amore_, so that, as we read, “a
-whiff of old times is breathed upon us.” She was in the best sense a
-woman of her own times, one who inherited her father’s good qualities;
-and during the ailments of youth she proved her good constitution by
-surviving the medical treatment of the day. A girl of fifteen in these
-days may still be liable to congestion of the lungs, but what would
-she now say to being bled five times in forty-eight hours, to having
-to take “emetics every other day,” and to having her “backbones rubbed
-with musk?” In other respects the Princess seems to have been subjected
-to very old-fashioned treatment. Even at the age of twenty-six she
-was not allowed to read a book which her mother had not previously
-examined. Nor does she appear to have possessed an income of her own
-until she was forty-two years old. The Princess was six years older
-when she married Frederick VI. of Hesse-Homburg.
-
-The attention which the Princess extended to certain of her chosen
-friends, appears to have been quite extraordinary. Thus, Lady Harcourt,
-wife of the second Earl, says: “Once, when I was ill and confined
-to the house for six weeks, I received from her in that time 143
-letters.” The crosses of life, its joys and sorrows, with adventures
-which vividly show how different those times were from our own, all in
-turn come in for a share of attention. The journey between Windsor and
-Weymouth was then a familiar one, and it was possible even for Royalty
-to meet with rough adventures on the road. On October, 3, 1792, the
-Princess writes: “Anything so disgusting as the breakfast at Woodgate’s
-Inn, on the way from Weymouth, I thank God I never saw before and never
-wish to see again. Bad butter, tea, coffee, bread, etc.; nothing to
-eat but boiled eggs, which were so hard that I could not eat them.
-So I returned to the carriage just as I got out--starved.” Anxieties
-connected with public affairs and the wars gave far more serious
-trouble, however. The brothers of the Princess, the Duke of York, and
-the father of the present Duke of Cambridge, were with the army on the
-Continent in the summer of 1793, and when news came that the heroes
-were “within sixty yards of Valencienne,” their sister turned sick at
-thought of the peril; but the Queen, their mother, showed “such an
-uncommon share of fortitude,” that she would not even speak about it.
-Still more alarming was the King’s being attacked by the mob when on
-his way to open Parliament. A bullet even entered the royal carriage,
-the street crowd following “in an insolent manner, moaning and
-screaming.” In private the Queen cried over that adventure; “but I, who
-naturally cry a great deal, scarcely shed a tear,” remarks Elizabeth.
-“It was indeed very horrid,” she adds; “and my poor ears, I believe,
-will never get the better of the groans I heard on the Thursday in the
-Park, and my eyes of the sight of that mob!” A plot to murder the King,
-and to attack the Tower, the Bank and the prisons, and on account of
-which Colonel Despard and six others were executed, followed in 1801.
-In May, 1810, the Duke of Cumberland was attacked while in bed by a
-servant. “My brother, by all accounts, has been mercifully preserved
-by the interference of a wise and good Providence, but sadly wounded,”
-remarks the Princess; and then she adds, “We live in such a state of
-constant anxiety, that upon my word when I rise in the morning I feel,
-‘What will happen before night?’”
-
-Things happened beyond what were looked for, so hard and troublous
-were the times; but the heaviest trials of the Royal family culminated
-in the blindness and insanity of the King and in the death of the
-Princess Charlotte in November, 1817. As regarded the old monarch, the
-distress occasioned by his condition was for others rather than for
-himself; personally, his bodily health was good, he was happy in his
-mind, and found something wherewith to amuse himself through each day.
-
-There is one letter relating to the death of the Princess Charlotte
-which affords us a vivid glimpse into the inner circle of the Royal
-family in November, 1817--
-
-“Just after we had set down to dinner at six, Gen. Taylor was asked
-out; our hearts misgave us; he sent out for Lady Ilchester, which
-gave us a moment for to be sure that something dreadful had happened:
-the moment he came in my mother said, ‘I am sure it is all over,’
-and he desired her to go upstairs. You may conceive that the horror,
-sorrow, and misery was far beyond show, for it struck the heart, and
-no tear would fall after such a dreadful shock.... It is indeed most
-tremendous, but it is the Lord’s doing, and we must with great humility
-bow, and kiss the rod, and remember that the Lord giveth and the Lord
-taketh away, and that all that proceeds from that hand is right; and
-that He does all things for the best.”
-
-This faith in God was as characteristic of the King as it was of this
-favourite daughter. It is true that at the time of Princess Charlotte’s
-death George III. knew nothing of the crushing sorrow which had come
-upon the Royal family; but the King had very remarkable lucid intervals
-in his insanity when his Christian fervour never failed to find
-expression. It had been so before his intellect had become finally
-clouded, however.
-
-At that crisis of danger from the mob already referred to, the King
-sought to calm the feelings of excited peers, when about to step into
-his carriage after opening Parliament, by saying--
-
-“Well, my lords, one person is proposing this, and another is supposing
-that, forgetting that there is One above us all Who is disposing of
-everything, on Whom alone we depend.”
-
-After her marriage in 1818, the Princess was thoroughly happy with her
-husband, the Landgrave Frederick VI. of Homburg. Some would ridicule
-the state and ceremonial of the little court as being a mimicry of the
-Royal magnificence of greater nations; but it was picturesque, full of
-interest, and probably gave far more satisfaction or enjoyment than
-courtiers found either at London or Paris. At all events, while she
-remained thoroughly English, and never even quite conquered the German
-language, the Princess would speak of her own “dear little Homburg” in
-the language of genuine affection. After the death of the Landgrave,
-who expired April 2, 1829, through influenza affecting an old wound
-received in the wars, she refers to the palace as “My own dear home,
-once the happiest of happy homes.”
-
-Certain fashionable people in London made it their business to ridicule
-the Landgrave; but all impartial readers will see that his character
-was superior to that of his detractors.
-
-The Princess lived for about twenty-two years after her marriage, and
-during half that period she was a widow. In some respects, to the
-English reader, this was the more interesting period of a quietly
-interesting life. Home life afforded genuine pleasure, and while there
-may have been no pretentious magnificence, gardens, pictures and books
-afforded tasteful recreation, though the poor were not forgotten. The
-Princess even lent books to such friends as could be trusted with them.
-
-“If you wish to take any home, I shall be happy to lend them, knowing
-you to be careful,” she writes to Miss Swinburne. “I have been obliged
-to give it up here, for if you could have seen some that were returned
-to me you would have been disgusted; I was quite provoked.”
-
-Unhappily, the ill-usage of books is not confined to Germany. On many
-matters strong common-sense opinions are expressed. She does not accept
-exaggerated local gossip; and though she never had measles, she says,
-“I have no fears, I trust in God, and don’t let myself think about
-catching anything, otherwise I should be miserable.”
-
-We have glimpses of Brighton as it was sixty or seventy years ago, when
-the reigning sovereign had a palace there.
-
-“It appears as if it was a petty London, and all the fine ladies come
-down in parties to enjoy a few days of the sea and back again in no
-time,” writes the Princess in December, 1832.
-
-There was a great procession to celebrate the town being made into a
-parliamentary borough by the Reform Bill of 1832; but “why they would
-not turn it at once into a marine city or town, I cannot think. It was
-large enough when I was there and now much increased.”
-
-Early in 1835 we find the Princess at the Pavilion on a visit to her
-brother William IV.
-
-“I generally drive out with my brother,” she writes. “He goes out, and
-stays out till the lamps are well lighted, when we come in; to-day the
-dear Queen is gone with him, so I may remain quiet.”
-
-Political feeling still ran high, but Princess Elizabeth confessed to
-hating politics. “I had rather talk of winter potatoes, though a very
-mealy subject.”
-
-In 1833, being over sixty, she realised that she was growing old.
-
-“I am still from all accounts a fine old lady,” she remarks. “My
-looking-glass tells me at times rather tall, and I say to you with
-truth that no one enjoys more their old age than me, and am convinced
-that I have been a much happier being since the spring and summer of
-life are over--so many things I do and can do without bearing anything
-unpleasant.” She was able even to wear a winter tippet which her
-sister Augusta presented. “I look like a bear in it; but what signifies
-looks when health is in question?”
-
-As time passed, Elizabeth had other reminders that she was growing old.
-
-“I blush to think how often I am late of a morning, which is not like
-me, but my poor legs require time,” she writes in November, 1833.
-“First I read my serious readings, then write, and do what business
-I must do, and of late I have had a good deal of what I call parish
-business, settling work for the poor and trying to content them if
-possible.” She seems to have cultivated her mind in a wholesome way
-without harbouring any foolish ambitions. “I have taught myself to see
-everything with pleasure and without envy,” she remarks, and added
-later, “Without religion there can be no peace, no order, no blessing.”
-
-The Princess was struck with the excess of luxury in England in 1836.
-“More jewels and more extravagance than ever.”
-
-It was then that she saw the last of her brother William IV., whose
-death in the following year she sincerely deplored. Elizabeth thus
-survived to see the opening of the present reign; but she belonged too
-much to a former age and to a different order of things to have much
-sympathy with the new and more promising outlook of the Victorian era.
-
-The memorial volume which Mr. Yorke has so well edited is of
-considerable interest and of permanent value.
-
-    G. H. P.
-
-[2] _Letters of Princess Elizabeth of England_, daughter of George
-III., and Landgravine of Hesse-Homburg. Written for the most part
-to Miss Louisa Swinburne. Edited by Philip Ch. Yorke, M.A., with
-portraits. London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1898.
-
-
-
-
-VARIETIES.
-
-
-HE THREW AWAY THE STONE.
-
-The haughty favourite of an oriental monarch once in the public street
-threw a stone at a poor dervish or priest.
-
-The dervish did not dare to throw it back at the man who had assaulted
-him, for he knew the favourite was very powerful. So he picked up the
-stone and put it carefully in his pocket, saying to himself: “The time
-for revenge will come by-and-by, and then I will repay him for it.”
-
-Not long afterwards this same dervish, in walking through the city,
-saw a great crowd coming towards him. He hastened to see what was the
-matter, and found to his astonishment that his enemy, the favourite who
-had fallen into disgrace with the king, was being paraded through the
-principal streets on a camel, exposed to the jests and insults of the
-populace.
-
-The dervish, seeing all this, hastily grasped the stone which he
-carried in his pocket. “The time,” he said, “has now come for my
-revenge, I will repay him for his insulting conduct.”
-
-But after considering a moment he threw the stone away, saying: “The
-time for revenge never comes, for if our enemy is powerful, revenge
-is dangerous as well as foolish; and if he is weak and wretched, then
-revenge is worse than foolish, it is mean and cruel. And in all cases
-it is wicked and forbidden.”
-
-
-WHEN THINGS GO WRONG.
-
-    What’s the use of wooing trouble,
-      And of nursing every sorrow?
-    Though to-day is black as Egypt,
-      There’s another day to-morrow.
-    Lightly treat each hour’s distresses--
-      Sing a song for gloom to borrow;
-    Mirth and cheer can chase all phantoms--
-      There’s another day to-morrow.
-
-
-WHY THEY HANGED THE DOGS.
-
-On one of the early visits to Scotland of Sir Edwin Landseer, the
-famous animal painter, he stopped at a village and took a great deal
-of notice of the dogs, jotting down rapid sketches of them on a bit of
-paper.
-
-Next day, on resuming his journey, he was horrified to find dogs
-suspended from trees in all directions, or drowned in the river with
-stones round their necks.
-
-He stopped a weeping urchin who was hurrying off with a pet pup in
-his arms, and learned to his dismay that he was supposed to be an
-excise officer, who was taking note of all the dogs he saw in order to
-prosecute the owners for unpaid taxes.
-
-
-CHARITY AS IT OUGHT TO BE.--If our mercy to the poor is to be true
-mercy, it must never be careless giving, dictated by mere sentimental
-impulse. Sentiment may be nobler than insensibility, but it often does
-more harm. The Samaritan would have been no good example for us if he
-had passed on with an easy conscience after administering the two pence
-and had omitted to consider whether the special needs of the case did
-not also require oil and wine.
-
-
-THE AVERAGE WOMAN.--We have been favoured with this definition of the
-average woman:--She is lovable but limited, for on the north side she
-is bounded by servants; on the south by children; on the east by her
-ailments, and on the west by her clothes.
-
-
-TAKE A RIGHT VIEW OF LIFE.--It is a sad thing to begin life with low
-conceptions of it. It may not be possible for a girl to measure life,
-but it is possible for her to say, “I am resolved to put life to its
-noblest and best use.”
-
-
-TRIPLE ACROSTIC I.
-
-    In yonder bower, one glorious May,
-      Three lovely sisters grew;
-    _One_, in imperial bright array
-      Of richest purple hue;
-    _One_, who conceal’d her drooping head
-      Amid her foliage green;
-    And _one_ with fragrant petals spread,
-      Our beauteous Summer-Queen.
-
-    1. Waster of time, of mind, of health,
-         This useless creature see:
-       Yet once, in print, he gather’d wealth
-         And greatly sought was he.
-
-    2. From the north-east adventurers came
-         And built this City fair;
-       They call’d it by the river’s name
-         And yet--no river’s there!
-
-    3. A monster was to be destroy’d,
-         A hero claim’d the feat;
-       Alas! the means that he employ’d
-         Were sadly incomplete.
-       My ready help he needs would ask,
-         Which I was prompt to give,
-       Or else he must forego his task
-         And let the creature live:
-       While he, with heavy axe in hand,
-         Struck off each slimy head,
-       I tear’d the wound with flaming brand
-         And laid the monster dead.
-
-    4. ’Tis sometimes good, and sometimes bad,
-         And sometimes none at all;
-       This in his belt the Roman had,
-         Sharp-pointed, bright, and small.
-       For centuries it fix’d remain’d,
-         And might have kept so still
-       But that a Pontiff pow’r obtain’d
-         To change it at his will.
-
-            XIMENA.
-
-
-
-
-MISCHIEVOUS JACK.
-
-[Illustration]
-
-
-I am gradually learning to estimate rightly the responsibility of
-having a jackdaw loose upon the premises.
-
-There is really no way of circumventing Jack’s craftiness except by
-keeping him shut up all day in an outdoor aviary. I feel sorry to be
-driven to this course, and would far rather let him roam where he
-pleases; but his mischievous pranks have become unendurable.
-
-I thought to-day I had made a great discovery, and that by placing a
-large stuffed flamingo at the open French window I should effectually
-frighten the jackdaw from entering.
-
-I found him in the drawing-room on my writing-table busy about some
-evil deed, so I held up the great stuffed bird, at which Jack cast one
-horrified glance and then fled precipitately out at the window as if
-his last hour had come. Now, I thought, by placing the flamingo near
-the window, I could leave the room with an easy mind. Vain hope! I came
-back after a few minutes and found the impertinent jackdaw hopping
-about as happy as a king. He had pulled to pieces a rare foreign
-insect I had just been setting on a piece of cork. He had overturned
-all the small curios he could find, had pulled all the pins out of a
-pin-cushion, and, worst of all, he had opened a Mudie book and torn its
-map and pages to ribbons. That book will have to become my property and
-remain a monument of Jack’s misplaced energy.
-
-It was humiliating to think how he must have chuckled at my flamingo.
-He had seen through the device at once and had no idea of submitting to
-be scared away by such a bogie.
-
-During the winter months we do not often have weather which will admit
-of open windows, so Jack exercised his talent for mischief out of doors
-by hiding the padlock of the aviary, pulling up flower labels, and
-drawing nails out of the walls. In these varied occupations he managed
-to spend his hours of idleness.
-
-[Illustration: He disdaineth the Fair Sex]
-
-As a rare treat he was sometimes allowed to bask on the fender before
-the fire, and, charmed by the delicious warmth, he would assume the
-various attitudes shown in the illustration. His wings and tail
-expanded, his head on one side and beak wide open, he looked like a
-dying bird, but we knew that in reality he was in a state of ecstasy.
-
-When next summer arrived Jack was again kept in the aviary, and I am
-sorry to have to reveal a very dark page in his moral character. He
-was usually content with raw meat and sopped bread; but, alas, he much
-preferred to catch his own dinner! And when, attracted by his food,
-innocent little robins, chaffinches, and sparrows found their way into
-his domain, I grieve to record the dreadful fact that none came out
-alive! Jack feasted on their small bodies, and left only a little bunch
-of feathers to show what he had been doing.
-
-I have said enough to prove that Jack is neither to be loved nor
-respected; but he is unquestionably clever, and evidently has his own
-thoughts and ideas.
-
-[Illustration: “Jack” sunneth himself.]
-
-He will fly at one’s hand like a fury even when food is being given
-him; but when his mood changes and he wishes to be caressed, he picks
-up a twig or a dead leaf. This is a signal of peace, and whilst he
-continues to hold it in his bill he is quite safe, and may be stroked
-and petted.
-
-[Illustration: He studieth Entomology.]
-
-One day in the height of summer Jack was perfectly electrified by a
-visit from six lively young magpies. The aviary door happened to be
-open, and these birds came hopping in with their usual free and easy
-manner, chattering to each other and coolly abstracting any morsels of
-food which suited their taste. At first Jack tried to drive out these
-audacious visitors, but they ignored him altogether and at last he had
-to stand aside and watch their depredations, a very discomfited and
-astonished bird. The magpies came at intervals for several days in
-succession, and then I suppose they went off to the woods, for we saw
-them no more.
-
-[Illustration: He arrangeth the Table.]
-
-It is rather curious that the mating instinct has not led Jack into the
-bands of matrimony. I have seen several attractive specimens of his own
-kind making overtures to him, but he treats them all with lofty disdain
-and elects to remain a bachelor.
-
-Perhaps next year he may yield to the fascinations of a wild mate,
-and settle happily somewhere in my woods. It would be the best thing
-that could happen, only I fear we should all eagerly bid him good-bye
-without the addition of _au revoir_.
-
-    ELIZA BRIGHTWEN.
-
-
-
-
-NEW DRIED FRUITS.
-
-BY DORA DE BLAQUIÈRE.
-
-
-Most of my readers can recall, I fancy, the days when we had only
-prunes and Normandy pippins in the way of dried fruits. The dried
-apricots, apples, and plums of the present day are very modern and
-recent gifts to a grateful world. So recent are they indeed that the
-ignorance about them is very great; and, strange to say, the grocers
-who have them for sale have not been supplied as they should have been
-with small printed papers describing how to cook them.
-
-In using the term “dried fruits,” you will notice, I hope, that I am
-dealing with what may be called stewing fruits; for, though we stew,
-or can stew, raisins, figs, and even currants, I believe the first
-treatment of these fruits is not to cook them in that manner. Raisins
-and currants speak to us more distinctly of our Christmas mince-pies
-and plum puddings, and of a regular dessert dish throughout the year in
-some houses, than of any other kind of cooking.
-
-The stewing of raisins was introduced, I believe, by vegetarians, and
-in this form with a flavouring of lemon-peel. They are not at all bad
-when added to a milk pudding or some blancmange.
-
-The stewing of dried figs comes almost under the same description, and
-their chief objection lies in their extreme sweetness, which is a cause
-of quite unmerited and needless toothache at times. The best way of
-cooking figs will always be in the way of a fig pudding, which is an
-excellent though rich dish.
-
-Dried apples have always been a great household requisite in cold
-countries like Canada and the northern states of America, and I
-remember that the making of them constituted a very large part of the
-many winter preparations which used to be necessary when the country
-was less civilised than it is now, the fruit less plentiful, and the
-means of keeping it very imperfect.
-
-It was not always easy to guard against the frost, which penetrated the
-ground to a depth of four or even five feet when the winters were too
-snowless. On these occasions when the earth is left bare and without
-her warm coating of snow, the frost has been known to penetrate even
-six feet into the ground in exposed places. This fact is verified in
-cold countries like Canada in a very painful manner when graves have to
-be dug. So difficult is this that in large cities where there are many
-to dig a cemetery hall is built to contain the bodies of those who die
-in the winter, so that the frost may be out of the ground before the
-graves are dug.
-
-This will explain to you why in Canada all kinds of root crops and
-apples must be so carefully guarded from frost; and when the country
-was less settled, and even to-day in the less inhabited parts, the
-apples are still dried in a primitive manner. They are peeled generally
-by a small machine, then quartered and cored, and strung on long
-threads by means of a coarse needle. Then they are dried, either near
-the stove or else in the sun; but this last is not often possible,
-because of the lateness of the season. The apples thus dried are very
-good, but if cooked carelessly are apt to be rather tough.
-
-In Italy figs are dried in the sun by the peasantry. Each fig is cut
-open, but not divided, and carefully dried. Then, when dried, they are
-closed together so as to look like whole figs again, and strung one by
-one on the long flexible mulberry twigs. They are very good and are
-less sweet than the dried fig of commerce, as no sugar is added to them
-in drying.
-
-Last year I saw quantities of figs dried by the peasantry in this
-manner for sale in Switzerland, where they appeared to be quite a
-novelty. I could not find out where they came from; but I daresay from
-the Italian canton of Ticino, or, as the French call it, Tessin. This
-is, of course, warmer than its sister cantons on the northern side of
-the Alps. I have not seen these yet in England, but there have been
-some Californian dried figs that were very good for eating, and perhaps
-we shall see more of them in the future, as the market for them grows
-more assured.
-
-Dried figs are said by the scientists to contain nerve and muscle food,
-heat and waste, but to be bad for the liver. The same is said of dried
-prunes, but they afford the best and highest kind of nerve or brain
-food. They also supply heat and waste; but they are not muscle feeding.
-
-All stone fruits are said to be injurious for people who suffer from
-the liver and should be used rather cautiously.
-
-Apples are thought a most valuable food in every way but one--they do
-not afford staying properties, but they supply the highest nerve and
-muscle food.
-
-If you be fond of almonds, you may like to know that they afford no
-heat, but give the highest brain, nerve, and muscle food. I hope this
-applies to the salted almonds which are so popular.
-
-The process of drying is called “desiccation” or, usually in America,
-“evaporated.” The original desiccator is an apparatus much used in
-chemistry and physics and the word comes from the Latin _desicco_, “I
-dry up”--meaning that the water is evaporated out of the fruit or any
-substance to be dried. This idea was carried out into the drying up of
-the water and fruit juices for commercial purposes. An oven with trays
-in it to hold the fruit is one of the forms of using heat, and in Lower
-California the heat of the sun is utilised for the drying of prunes.
-Some time ago there were notices of the commencement of this industry
-and the importation of work-people from the neighbourhood of Tours.
-
-The ordinary prunes sold in the shops are the fruit of the St. Julian
-plum, a common species which is grown everywhere in France for the
-purpose. The best French or dessert plums come from Provence, and the
-Californian plums must be of the same variety as the Brignole plum. The
-latest competitor in the English market is Bosnia, and those which I
-have tried were quite as good as the French plums. Under Austrian rule,
-Bosnia has developed wonderfully, and the climate is a delightful one,
-well suited to fruit growing.
-
-The best of all the French dried prunes come from Provence, the land
-of poetry and romance. They are made of the kinds of prunes called the
-_Perdrigon blanc_, and _Violette_, and _Prune d’Ast_. The two former
-come under one category and are called _Pruneaux de Brignole_, from
-the place where they are prepared, the small town of Brignole, in
-Provence, a name I am sure you will have often seen on the boxes of
-prunes used for dessert. The common kinds of prunes are gathered by
-merely shaking the trees; but those for preparing as French plums must
-be gathered in the morning, before the sun is up, by taking hold of
-the stalk without touching the fruit and laying each plum very gently
-on vine leaves in baskets. The latter must be filled without the plums
-being allowed to touch each other, and then they are carried to the
-fruit-room and exposed to the sun and air for three or four days, after
-which they become quite soft. The next process is to put them on trays
-into a spent oven and shut up quite closely for twenty-four hours. Then
-they are taken out, the oven is re-heated, and made rather warmer, and
-the plums are put in again for the same time; then they are taken out,
-carefully turned over, and the oven is heated to one-fourth hotter than
-it was before, and the plums are returned to it again for the third
-time, and after remaining the twenty-four hours, are taken out and left
-exposed till they become quite cold. Then comes the most curious part
-of the process, which, when once explained to me, was a solution of an
-enigma over which I had much wondered, namely, why the stones of the
-good French plums are loose and unattached, while those of the common
-prune are so much more fixed in the fleshy substance of the fruit. This
-part of the process is called “rounding,” and is performed by turning
-the stones in the plums without breaking the skins, and the two ends
-are then pressed between the thumb and finger to flatten the fruit.
-Then they are once more laid on the sieves for drying and placed in
-a rather hot oven for one hour, the oven being closely shut. Lastly,
-they are put again into a cool oven, left for twenty-four hours, when
-the process is ended, and they are packed in bottles or boxes for
-sale and exportation. Now I have given this long account, taken from
-a recent authority, because I know my readers of the “G. O. P.” are
-world-spread, and because this is the kind of process adopted with any
-kind of dried fruit; and an ordinary brick oven for bread-baking can
-be perfectly well used for doing it. All varieties of the plum can, I
-am told, be dried in this manner, some, of course, with better success
-than others.
-
-After the prunes come the kind which, I daresay, most of my readers
-have seen in the grocers’ shops, namely, the crystal or dried yellow
-plums, which are likewise said to be from California. They are
-so-called silver plums, and are yellow, not black, and were first seen
-in 1897, I believe. They require soaking over-night in just enough
-water to swell them, and the next day should be put into a prepared
-syrup, which has had a little lemon peel boiled in it, and very slowly
-stewed, without breaking them. I find a war rages about this question
-of soaking dried fruit over-night, as many people consider that long
-slow stewing is equally good, or better.
-
-Apricots are amongst the dried fruits that have been introduced within
-the last few years; and although they may be a novelty to us, they have
-been used in the East in this way for centuries. The apricot grows well
-as a wall fruit in England, and is interesting because it was brought
-here and first grown in the gardens of Henry VIII. by his gardener,
-Wolfe, who was a Roman Catholic priest, and who brought it from Italy.
-Indeed, it was during the reign of this monarch, and the subsequent
-Tudors, that horticulture began to make such progress in England; and
-no politics made them forget the interests of their gardens, to which,
-as a family, they appear to have been much attached.
-
-The dried peach we have not yet seen, but it is much used in that way
-in New Jersey, Delaware, and in the Southern States; but probably
-canning has rendered drying needless. Dried pears are also of ancient
-origin, and I find them excellent in the present day, though I consider
-they need careful doing. Any recipe for the stewing of winter pears
-will answer for dried ones; and they must be soaked over-night to
-ensure their being tender. It is well to remember that the less water
-used, the more flavour in the pear, and the syrup should not be very
-abundant.
-
-And now we come to that most useful of all fruits--the apple. This
-has been dried in many forms, and canned as well. The most recent are
-the evaporated apple rings--the apple cut into rounds horizontally
-through the fruit. When these first came out they were called “Alden
-apple rings,” probably from the town or district where they were
-grown. They are said to be made from greenings--the best of American
-cooking apples--and one pound of the apples rings is said to represent
-six pounds of ordinary apples. The best recipe for cooking these is
-an American one, and in this the food is required to be soaked in
-a pie-dish in cold water--just enough to cover it--for four hours;
-then, without pouring off the water, add sugar, a little lemon rind or
-spice, and then put the dish in a slow oven and stew very gently till
-sufficiently cooked. If intended for a tart, soak as directed and stew
-gently in a slow oven for half an hour before adding the crust, or the
-latter will be done before the apples are sufficiently cooked.
-
-The apples, which are dried whole, must be rather differently
-treated. Take about a dozen apples, place them in an earthenware or
-porcelain-lined vessel, and add about a pint and a half of water, and
-let them soak for seven or eight hours. Then add sugar, spice, and the
-rind of a lemon to your taste; put them all together as they are into
-a porcelain-lined saucepan, and stew gently for an hour. If a more
-_recherche_ dish be required than merely the apples plainly stewed, a
-little whipped cream may be inserted in the place from whence the core
-has been taken, and some cream poured round them in a glass dish.
-
-“It is simply absurd,” says a recipe writer in an American paper,
-“to soak evaporated apples over-night”; so, as this is a case of
-doctors differing, I must give the directions which follow. Place
-the evaporated apples in a saucepan, cover with water, and boil till
-done; flavour to taste, and use for sauce, tarts or conserve. Now this
-recipe I have also found good; and I know that the writer considers
-that soaking or leaving the apple rings too long in water renders them
-tasteless and vapid.
-
-It seems strange that the subject of dried fruits, save and except the
-ancient pippins of Normandy, should be quite ignored in our cookery
-books; and yet there can be no doubt of their value as foods, and
-adjuncts to other things, at a time when fruit is dear and scarce. They
-are always inexpensive; a pound goes a long way, and, as a rule, if
-well done, they are liked by the little folks.
-
-But alas, the general remembrance of stewed prunes, apples or apricots
-is enough to make anyone dislike them, sent up as they generally are in
-a slop of tasteless, coloured, watery fluid. If we only examine into
-the ordinary methods of cooking them, we shall see the cook washing
-them first in one water, and then in another; perhaps letting them
-remain for half an hour in soak, then putting them into more water,
-with a cupful of sugar in a dirty saucepan on the fire, where she
-boils it violently, and finishes it in half an hour.
-
-Now, from beginning to end, this is all wrong. In the first place,
-you must remember that the evaporated fruit took a long time to do.
-The moisture was not removed from it in one hour, nor two, but took
-a long time. So if you want to restore it to them you must give them
-time also. Thus, perhaps, you will agree with me that the fruit must
-be soaked for at least twenty-four hours, especially in the case of
-apricots and peaches; and the water should cover the fruit to the depth
-of an inch. When you are ready to stew the fruit, take it out and put
-it carefully into a porcelain-lined saucepan; then pour the water in
-which they have been soaking upon the fruit, leaving at the bottom
-any dregs there may be. If not sufficient to cover it, you must add a
-little more, then give an hour’s very quiet boiling; and a few minutes
-before you remove it from the fire, add a little sugar, and use a
-silver spoon to stir it in. I prefer to take the fruit out when I add
-the sugar, for fear of breaking and spoiling the look of the fruit; and
-then the syrup is boiled up once or twice, and poured over the fruit.
-Peaches require rather more cooking than apricots.
-
-Apples and pears need care in the cooking, and also in the flavouring;
-and the best thing for both is the juice and grated rind of a lemon.
-But before flavouring, you should taste the fruit after stewing, as you
-will then judge whether you should add sugar, or the rind of a lemon,
-and not the juice. The sugar should be put in first and thoroughly
-dissolved, and then the flavouring. If you flavour first, and sugar
-after, you will need double the amount of sugar. Prunes, raisins,
-dates, and figs can all be stewed in the same way; and if you will only
-remember that haste is not possible in preparing dried fruit for table,
-you will always be successful.
-
-
-
-
-QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
-
-
-    A CORRESPONDENT asks: “_Will the Editor of THE GIRL’S OWN
-    PAPER be so kind as to let ‘DORA’ know through his columns,
-    what author first made use of the phrase, ‘Oil on the troubled
-    waters’._”
-
-Although we cannot with absolute certainty point DORA to the first
-author who made use of the expression, she may be interested to know
-that it has its origin in antiquity.
-
-Pliny the Elder (23-79 A.D.) says in his Natural History (Book ii.,
-Sect. 234)--
-
-“Everything is soothed by oil, and this is the reason why divers send
-out small quantities of it from their mouths, because it smoothes every
-part which is rough.”
-
-Plutarch (46?-120?) asks in his _Symposiacs_ (Book viii., Question ix)--
-
-“Why does pouring oil on the sea make it clear and calm? Is it for that
-the winds, slipping the smooth oil, have no form, nor cause any waves?”
-
-The Venerable Bede relates in his Ecclesiastical History (completed in
-735) a story bearing on this point, which he says he had from “a most
-creditable man in Holy Orders.”
-
-A young priest was to set out by land, but return by water, to escort
-a maiden destined for the bride of King Oswy. He sought a farewell
-blessing from St. Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, who gave him a cruse of
-holy oil, saying, “I know that when you go abroad, you will meet with
-a storm and contrary wind; but do you remember to cast this oil I give
-you into the sea, and the wind shall cease immediately.” A storm did
-arise, and the young priest, pouring oil on the waves, reduced them to
-a calm.
-
-Apart from any suggestion of the miraculous, the effect of oil on rough
-waters has been observed in modern times. It is stated that Professor
-Horsford, by emptying a vial of oil on the sea in a stiff breeze,
-stilled the surface, and Commodore Wilkes, of the United States, saw
-the waves calmed in a storm off the Cape of Good Hope by oil leaking
-from a whale ship.
-
-The pictorial application of this physical fact is so obvious that it
-could not help passing into popular usage.
-
-    _“MERCIA,” “THE WOULD-BE WISE ONE,” and “NOTHING BUT LEAVES,”
-    all ask us in effect the same question, the full meaning of
-    self-culture, and how it is to be attained._
-
-In ways too many to particularise, “our girls” are anxiously seeking
-this end. From all quarters of the globe questions come to us; not
-perhaps expressed in the same direct fashion as the one above, but
-showing an eagerness in some way to develop latent faculty, to improve
-the whole nature. What, then, is self-culture? It is briefly personal
-cultivation of self; the bringing forth, or “educing” talent and
-capability, the improvement of taste, the storing of the mind with what
-will elevate and help and inspire. There is the same difference between
-a “cultured” and an “uncultured” person as between a cultivated and
-uncultivated plot of garden-ground. The chief difficulty lies in having
-to perform the affair for oneself. To yield one’s nature to trained and
-skilful teachers is delightful, but when no such teachers are at hand,
-the task assumes a different complexion, and looks well-nigh impossible.
-
-But there are teachers whom everyone can command. The girl to whom
-Newnham and Girton are undreamed-of possibilities, whose education at
-school has been only just long enough to make her crave for more, can
-call to her aid the greatest and wisest of mankind. Self-culture by
-books is within the reach of all.
-
-What books? and how shall they be studied?
-
-The subject is too vast to be dealt with in even the longest answer to
-correspondents, and we can only say here to “Mercia,” “The Would-be
-Wise One,” and “Nothing but Leaves,” that we have begun in this volume
-a series of articles by Lily Watson on “Self-Culture for Girls,” which
-deal practically and in detail with the books that should be read, the
-method of studying them, and everything that girls anxious to make the
-best of their opportunities can wish to know.
-
-
-
-
-ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
-
-
-MEDICAL.
-
-LITTLE DOT.--1. The condition of your face is almost for certain due
-to _acne rosacea_. The only other disease which we think it likely
-that you could be suffering from would be _lupus erythematosus_--a
-form of lupus which is not due to tuberculosis or scrofula, but which
-is a highly-developed form of chilblains. Your description agrees so
-well with that of _acne rosacea_ that there can be little doubt but
-that it is that complaint. This disease would be in no way dependent
-upon nor influenced by any disease that your parents may have had.
-This complaint commonly goes by the name of “grog-blossoms”; but is
-frequently caused by other things than “grog.” In fact it is not the
-alcohol itself so much as the indigestion that it causes which produces
-the “blossoms.” Any form of indigestion may be accompanied by rosacea;
-and so the first thing in the treatment of the affection is to look
-to the digestion. Locally use an ointment of sulphur or ichthiol,
-preferably the latter. You must guard carefully against constipation,
-as this of itself will produce rosacea.--2. We think it highly
-improbable that you suffer from stone in the kidney; but of course we
-could not be certain without personal examination. The only symptom
-you give us is one which you are very likely to have misinterpreted,
-whereas you tell us nothing which to our minds suggests kidney disease.
-
-MARGARET.--You _can_ test for yourself whether the water supplied to
-you contains lead; but it is hardly worth your while to do so. Still,
-if you wish to try, get a glass cylinder two feet long, and place it on
-a sheet of white paper. Fill it with the water to be tested, and pour
-into it a few drops of solution of sulphuretted hydrogen, or let a jet
-of the pure gas bubble through the water. If lead is present a brownish
-discoloration of the water will occur, varying in depth of tint
-according to the amount of lead present. Copper and one or two other
-metals give the same reaction. You must be careful of the sulphuretted
-hydrogen, for it is poisonous. You could get the water tested for less
-money than the cylinder and reagent cost to buy.
-
-O MIMOSA SAN.--Certainly all your symptoms can be traced to your bad
-teeth. You complain of flatulency, headache, constipation, cold feet,
-and poor appetite. Are not all these common symptoms of dyspepsia? And
-what is commoner as a cause of dyspepsia than bad teeth? Go to the
-dentist again and have your teeth thoroughly overhauled. But remember,
-if you have many teeth extracted, you _must_ have false ones inserted
-in their place. Have the false teeth made at once, for after a month
-or two the remaining teeth make an attempt to fill up the gap where
-bad teeth have been extracted and leave your teeth with narrow slits
-between them. How few people recognise the value of teeth! Normal
-digestion is quite impossible without them.
-
-AN IRISH READER.--1. Do you wear a straw hat, and do the spots on your
-forehead correspond to the line where the hat presses? During the
-summer many girls develop spots on their foreheads from the irritation
-of straw hats. These spots often trouble girls, who seek in vain for
-their cause. The real cause scarcely ever presents itself to their
-notice. If you have thoroughly tried sulphur ointment without success,
-use ichthiol ointment 2½ per cent. instead. Also see that your hats do
-not press upon your forehead.--2. The fifth of September, 1877, was a
-Wednesday.
-
-LORNA DOONE.--One would naturally suppose that such a simple subject
-as the care of the nails was completely understood. But this is,
-nevertheless, far from being the case, and it often gives more trouble
-to cure thin or broken nails than it does to cure some of the most
-deadly diseases to which we are subject. We advise your friend to soak
-her finger-tips every night in hot water and then to smear them with
-lanoline or other simple ointment. In the morning she should wipe off
-the ointment and dip her fingers into pure alcohol for five minutes.
-She should also be very careful to cut and trim her nails properly. We
-do not promise to cure her, but we have seen good results from this
-treatment.
-
-MAORI.--The hair frequently falls off in larger quantities in autumn
-than in any other season. Indeed, it appears that the hair of man
-“moults” as does the fur of mammals and the feathers of birds. After
-autumn, the spring is the time of year at which the hair falls out in
-greatest quantities. This periodical moulting of the hair does good
-rather than harm, and there is really no call to stop it--if, indeed,
-it could be stopped, which we question.
-
-AGRICOLA.--“What is the difference between a sprained and a varicose
-vein?” We really do not know what you mean by a “sprained vein,” so
-that part of the question we cannot answer. Systematic rubbing or
-massage is of some value for varicose veins; but it is not altogether
-safe, and is not worth a trial. Rest with the legs elevated, walking,
-and the support given by an elastic stocking are the chief items in
-the treatment of varicose veins. Standing is to be avoided as far as
-possible.
-
-
-GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.
-
-L. M. (_Employment on Board Ship_).--We fear you would find this
-difficult to obtain, seeing that you are not strong at present.
-Stewardesses need to be decidedly vigorous people. Such positions are
-commonly accorded by the steamship companies to the relatives of their
-own officers. It would seem that the work in a cotton mill, though well
-paid, is likely to be injurious to your health, and therefore if you
-could find some more healthy occupation, you should certainly take it.
-Cannot your employer put you in the way of emigrating to South Africa?
-It would be well to lay the case before him. You should likewise apply
-for advice to the Manchester and Salford branch of the National Union
-of Women Workers, 13, Temple Chambers, Brazenose Street, Manchester.
-With this Union many of the most important societies in Manchester for
-women and girls are affiliated, and the secretary could tell you which
-would be most likely to help you. The secretary could also inform you
-whether there is in Manchester any active member of the British Women’s
-Emigration Association, the headquarters of which are at the Imperial
-Institute, Kensington, W. We imagine that emigration would be best for
-you; at the same time it is possible that work might be found for you
-in this country under conditions that would better accord with your
-health.
-
-LACE-MAKING.--We know of no school for lace-making in London, but
-very likely by inquiring of the Secretary of the Home Arts and
-Industries Association, Royal Albert Hall, Kensington Gore, you might
-find somebody to teach you. London ladies have interested themselves
-especially in the revival of Buckinghamshire laces. The different
-varieties of Honiton can best be studied in Devonshire. In your place
-we should be disposed to give particular study to the various kinds of
-guipure, as these are likely to remain fashionable for some time to
-come.
-
-AN ANXIOUS ONE (_Gardening, Dairy-work, &c._).--For you we should
-say, Not gardening. It is too precarious a calling for a young woman
-without private means or any conspicuous fondness for the occupation.
-Dairy-work, which you could learn at the Dairy Institute, Reading,
-would be considerably better. If you would like a colonial life with
-its freedom from social conventions, and if you can do every sort of
-housework (including, prominently, cooking), then by all means try to
-emigrate to Canada or Australia through the British Women’s Emigration
-Association. Except if you think of emigrating, we do not recommend
-you to call yourself a useful help. In this country the woman who
-specialises is the one who succeeds, not the “Jill-of-all-Trades.” Make
-up your mind, we would say, to become thoroughly efficient either as
-cook, dressmaker, laundress or dairy-worker, then you will be sure to
-prosper. Of course these occupations are not for everybody; but one of
-them would be best for you, seeing that your ability seems to lie in
-the direction of practical rather than intellectual work.
-
-A MOTHER (_Clay Modelling_).--The organs of the pottery trade are _The
-Pottery Gazette_ (Scott, Greenwood & Co., 19, Ludgate Hill, E.C.)
-and _The British Potter_ (W. Brickel, Longton, Staffordshire). Both
-of these publications appear monthly, and the second may be obtained
-gratis. But what we should advise is that the modeller call with
-specimens of work upon Messrs. Doulton of Lambeth. It is probable,
-also, that Messrs. Goode of South Audley Street, who deal in some of
-the finest china, both English and foreign, would be kind enough to
-advise in such a matter. But cannot the South Kensington authorities
-themselves put their pupils and examinees in the way of seeking
-employment in the proper quarters? They ought to understand these
-artistic trades better than anyone. Teachers of clay-modelling are in
-some demand for evening continuation schools and the like. It might
-be desirable on this point to consult the Home Arts and Industries
-Association, Royal Albert Hall.
-
-SEVENTEEN SUMMERS (_Typing and Shorthand Writing_).--A typist and
-shorthand writer may earn from 15s. up to £2 a week. Typewriting can be
-learnt in about two months, shorthand takes a year of steady practice
-at the least. You complain that your handwriting is far from good, and
-that you also have great difficulty in expressing yourself. Now both
-these circumstances are serious obstacles in the career of a clerk;
-your prospects in this walk of life are not improved by the other
-disability you mention. We strongly urge you to turn to some other
-occupation. A person who finds it a “hard job” to “compose” a letter is
-evidently not meant to make letter-writing a conspicuous part of her
-business, as she must do if she is to remain a satisfactory clerk or
-secretary. Is there not some other kind of work that is less of a “hard
-job”? You might learn dress-cutting and pattern-cutting, generally, or
-you could enter one of the better kinds of manufactories. Pray think
-over your qualifications, and discover which sort of work you do best
-(for there must be some), and then try to find the means of doing it.
-
-
-MISCELLANEOUS.
-
-M. A. R.--We think that your selection of Malvern seems a wise one,
-especially as others should be considered as well as the invalid.
-The waters are of an alkaline earthy nature, specially suitable to
-scrofulous sores and skin diseases, besides internal complaints. There
-are hydropathic establishments, and apart from the mineral waters,
-the spring water is exceptionally pure. Great Malvern occupies a fine
-position in the centre of the Chase of Malvern, on the slopes of the
-hills, and those who can walk find the latter very attractive, as the
-air is bracing and the view very fine. The distance from London is
-123 miles by railroad. For anæmic patients the ferruginous waters of
-Harrogate are specially suited. It has also sulphureous and saline
-springs.
-
-CURIOSITY.--Do you not confuse the heir presumptive and the heir
-apparent to the throne? The Grand Duke Michael is the heir presumptive
-only, and the “Czarevitch,” a term meaning only king’s son, or prince.
-The title “Cesarevitch,” _i.e._, “son of the Czar,” is only given to
-the eldest son, who is Crown Prince, Nashlyedrik, and heir apparent,
-and his consort is “Cesarevna.” The first Czar of Russia of the House
-of Romanoff was elected, and the succession has never proceeded in
-regular order. Peter the Great left the crown by will to his daughter
-Elizabeth; but Anne was elected instead, to Elizabeth’s prejudice, who
-had to wait till after the death of the Emperor John before she came
-to the throne. The four Empresses of Russia who have reigned alone
-have been Catherine, widow of Peter the Great; Anne, daughter of Ivan,
-his elder brother; Elizabeth his daughter; and Catherine II., widow
-of Peter III., a grandson of Peter the Great. The Czar is the supreme
-ruler, and the Government is an autocracy. The Salic law does not
-obtain in Russia.
-
-PANSY.--The following is the way that rust may be taken from steel, but
-great care is needed to do it. Immerse the article to be cleaned for a
-few minutes, till all dirt and rust be taken off, in a strong solution
-of cyanide of potassium--about ½oz. in a wineglassful of water. Take out
-and clean it with a toothbrush, using some paste made of cyanide of
-potassium, Castile soap, whiting and water, mixed into a paste of about
-the consistency of thick cream.
-
-MARTHA.--When washing linen you will find it advisable not to place
-either soap or soda directly into washing-tubs, coppers, or boilers of
-any kind. Both should be thoroughly dissolved in warm or cold water,
-and then only used in the coppers or boilers. A great deal depends on
-the soaking of linen before it is put into the boiler. It should be
-placed in a large tub of tepid water in which borax has been dissolved,
-or a little good soap has been lathered. One tablespoonful of prepared
-Californian borax to every gallon of hot water will be a very effective
-soaking fluid. Do not use soda at this stage of the process. You have
-probably been using too much. The soaking-water, or bath into which
-you put the linen must be tepid, not hot nor cold. Many people rub a
-little soap on the soiled place after the soaking and before boiling.
-The rinsing is also very important, and must be attended to or else the
-linen will be streaky or of a bad colour. In fact, neglect of rinsing
-is the general cause of a yellow hue in linen. The water used should
-never be cold but warm. Cold water sets, or fixes the grease and soap
-in the fabric. Boiling-bags are very useful, and protect the linen from
-the copper, but we think you will find too much soda is the cause of
-trouble.
-
-WAITING.--It would be impossible for us to give such a list, and,
-indeed, we could not without knowing the kind of work it was and its
-subject, as some firms publish one thing and others another. Some deal
-with purely educational works, others take fiction; and many limit
-themselves to high-class works only, such as those of reference and
-research. The safest way to proceed is, we think, to write to the
-Incorporated Society of Authors, 4, Portugal Street, Lincoln’s Inn
-Fields; Chairman, Sir Walter Besant; Secretary, S. Squire Sprigge, Esq.
-From them you will receive all requisite information and advice on the
-subject.
-
-MAB.--There is no reason why any building or institution should not be
-inspected if it were thought needful. Health and sanitary inspectors
-have power to go everywhere, we believe.
-
-TINY.--Any strong wide-mouthed phial about 2½ inches high and 1½ inches
-in diameter, containing spirits of wine, and having a cork stopper,
-will answer for beetles; the cork should be secured round the neck of
-the bottle by a piece of string. A smaller bottle can be used with a
-quill through the cork for smaller insects. But a proper bottle of
-solid mixture is expressly sold for destroying specimens. There is a
-very nice little book called _The Home Naturalist_, published at 56,
-Paternoster Row, which would be useful to you, as it contains full
-directions for all the processes of catching and preserving insects,
-plants, woods and stones. Its price is 5s. Insects may be destroyed for
-collections of specimens without causing suffering.
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-[Illustration: “THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME.” [_From the painting by M.
-Ellen Edwards (Mrs. Staples), exhibited in the Royal Academy._]]
-
-       *       *       *       *       *
-
-[Transcriber's Note--The following changes have been made to this text:
-
-Page 303: cyclinder to cylinder--“get a glass cylinder”.]
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No.
-997, February 4, 1899, by Various
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