The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 980, October 8, 1898
    
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Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 980, October 8, 1898

Author: Various

Release date: June 9, 2015 [eBook #49185]

Language: English

Credits: Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Pamela Patten and
        the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
        http://www.pgdp.net


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER, VOL. XX, NO. 980, OCTOBER 8, 1898 ***




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. 980.]      OCTOBER 8, 1898.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of "A Girl in
Springtime," "Sisters Three," etc.

[Illustration: THE INTRODUCTION. (_See_ CHAP. III.)]

_All rights reserved._]


CHAPTER I.

The afternoon post had come in, and the Vicar of Renton stood in the
large bay window of his library reading his budget of letters. He was
a tall, thin man, with a close shaven face, which had no beauty of
feature, but which was wonderfully attractive all the same. It was not
an old face, but it was deeply lined, and those who knew and loved
him best could tell the history and meaning of each of those eloquent
tracings. The deep vertical mark running up the forehead meant sorrow.
It had been stamped there for ever on the night when Hubert, his
first-born, had been brought back, cold and lifeless, from the river
to which he had hurried forth but an hour before, a picture of happy
boyhood, in his white boating flannels. The Vicar's brow had been
smooth enough before that day; the furrow was graven to the memory
of Teddy, the golden-haired lad who had first taught him the joys of
fatherhood. The network of little lines about the eyes were caused by
the hundred and one little worries of every-day life, and the strain of
working a delicate body to its fullest pitch; and the two long, deep
streaks down the cheeks bore testimony to that happy sense of humour
which showed the bright side of a question, and helped him out of many
a slough of despair. This afternoon, as he stood reading his letters
one by one, the different lines deepened, or smoothed out, according
to the nature of the missive. Now he smiled, now he sighed, anon he
crumpled up his face in puzzled thought, until the last letter of all
was reached, when he did all three in succession, ending up with a low
whistle of surprise--

"Edith! This is from Mrs. Saville. Just look at this!"

Instantly there came a sound of hurried rising from the other end
of the room; a wicker-work basket swayed to and fro on a rickety
gipsy table, and the Vicar's wife walked hurriedly towards him,
rolling half-a-dozen reels of thread in her wake, with an air of fine
indifference.

"Mrs. Saville!" she exclaimed eagerly. "How is my boy?" and without
waiting for an answer she seized the letter and began to devour its
contents, while her husband went stooping about over the floor picking
up the contents of the scattered basket and putting them carefully
back in their places. He smiled to himself as he did so, and kept
turning amused, tender, little glances at his wife as she stood in the
uncarpeted space in the window, with the sunshine pouring in on her
eager face. Mrs. Asplin had been married for twenty years and was the
mother of three big children, but such was the buoyancy of her Irish
nature and the irrepressible cheeriness of her heart, that she was
in good truth the very youngest person in the house, so that her own
daughters were sometimes quite shocked at her levity of behaviour, and
treated her with gentle, motherly restraint. She was tall and thin like
her husband, and he, at least, considered her every whit as beautiful
as she had been a score of years before. Her hair was dark and curly;
she had deep-set grey eyes and a pretty fresh complexion. When she was
well and rushing about in her usual breathless fashion, she looked like
the sister of her own tall girls; and when she was ill, and the dark
lines showed under her eyes, she looked like a tired, wearied girl, but
never for a moment as if she deserved such a title as an old or elderly
woman. Now, as she read, her eyes glowed, and she uttered ecstatic
little exclamations of triumph from time to time, for Arthur Saville,
the son of the lady who was the writer of the letter, had been the
first pupil whom her husband had taken into his house to coach, and as
such had a special claim on her affection. For the first dozen years of
their marriage all had gone smoothly and well with Mr. and Mrs. Asplin,
and the vicar had had more work than he could manage in his busy city
parish; then, alas, lung trouble had threatened; he had been obliged
to take a year's rest, and to exchange his living for a sleepy little
parish, where he could breathe fresh air, and take life at a slower
pace. Illness, the doctor's bills, the year's holiday, ran away with a
large sum of money; the stipend of the country church was by no means
generous, and the vicar was lamenting the fact that he was shortest of
money just when his children were growing up and he needed it most,
when an old college friend, Major Saville, requested, as a favour,
that he would undertake the education of his only son, for a year at
least, so that he might be well grounded in his studies before going on
to the military tutor who was to prepare him for Sandhurst. Handsome
terms were quoted, the vicar looked upon the offer as a leading of
Providence, and Arthur Saville's stay at the Rectory proved a success
in every sense of the word. He was a clever boy who was not afraid
of work, and the vicar discovered in himself an unsuspected genius
for teaching. Arthur's progress not only filled him with delight, but
brought the offer of other pupils, so that he was but the forerunner of
a succession of bright, handsome boys, who came from far and wide to be
prepared for college, and to make their home at the vicarage. They were
honest, healthy-minded lads, and Mrs. Asplin loved them all, but no one
had ever taken Arthur Saville's place. During the year which he had
spent under her roof he had broken his collar bone, sprained his ankle,
nearly chopped off the top of one of his fingers, scalded his foot, and
fallen crash through a plate-glass window. There had never been one
moment's peace or quietness; she had gone about from morning to night
in chronic fear of a disaster; and, as a matter of course, it followed
that Arthur was her darling, ensconced in a little niche of his own,
from which subsequent pupils tried in vain to oust him.

Mrs. Saville dwelt upon the latest successes of her clever son with a
mother's pride, and his second mother beamed and smiled and cried, "I
told you so!" "Dear boy!" "Of course he did!" in delighted echo. But
when she came to the second half of the letter her face changed, and
she grew grave and anxious. "And now, dear Mr. Asplin," Mrs. Saville
wrote, "I come to the real burden of my letter. I return to India in
autumn, and am most anxious to see Peggy happily settled before I
leave. She has been at this Brighton school for four years, and has
done well with her lessons, but the poor child seems so unhappy at the
thought of returning, that I am sorely troubled about her. Like most
Indian children, she has had very little home life, and after being
with me for the last six months, she dreads the prospect of school, and
I cannot bear the thought of sending her back against her will. I was
puzzling over the question yesterday, when it suddenly occurred to me
that perhaps you, dear Mr. Asplin, could help me out of my difficulty.
Could you--would you, take her in hand for the next three years,
letting her share the lessons of your own two girls? I cannot tell
you what a relief and joy it would be to feel that she was under your
care. Arthur always looks back on the year spent with you as one of
the brightest of his life; and I am sure Peggy would be equally happy.
I write to you from force of habit, but really I think this letter
should have been addressed to Mrs. Asplin, for it is she who would be
most concerned. I know her heart is large enough to mother my dear girl
during my absence, and if strength and time will allow her to undertake
this fresh charge, I think she will be glad to help another mother by
doing so. Peggy is bright and clever like her brother, and strong on
the whole, though her throat needs care. She is nearly fifteen--the
age, I think, of your youngest girl, and we should be pleased to pay
the same terms as we did for Arthur. Now, please, dear Mr. Asplin, talk
the matter over with your wife, and let me know your decision as soon
as possible."

Mrs. Asplin dropped the letter on the floor and turned to confront her
husband.

"Well!"

"Well?"

"It is your affair, dear, not mine. You would have the trouble. Could
you do with an extra child in the house?"

"Yes, yes, so far as that goes. The more the merrier. I should like
to help Arthur's mother, but----" Mrs. Asplin leant her head on one
side, and put on what her children described as her "ways and means"
expression. She was saying to herself, clear out the box room over the
study. Spare chest of drawers from dressing-room--cover a box with
one of the old chintz curtains for an ottoman--enamel the old blue
furniture--new carpet and bedstead, say five or six pounds outlay--yes!
I think I could make it pretty for five pounds. The calculations lasted
for about two minutes, at the end of which time her brow cleared, she
nodded brightly, and said in a crisp, decisive tone, "Yes, we will take
her. Arthur's throat was delicate too. She must use my gargle."

The vicar laughed softly.

"Ah! I thought that would decide it. I knew your soft heart would not
be able to resist the thought of that delicate throat! Well, dear, if
you are willing, so am I. I am glad to make hay while the sun shines,
and lay by a little provision for the children. How will they take it,
do you think? They are accustomed to strange boys, but a girl will be
a new experience. She will come at once, I suppose, and settle down
to work for the autumn. Dear me! dear me? It is the unexpected that
happens. I hope she is a nice child."

"Of course she is. She is Arthur's sister. Come! the young folks are
in the study. Let us go and tell them the news. I have always said it
was my ambition to have half-a-dozen children, and now, at last, it is
going to be gratified."

Mrs. Asplin thrust her hand through her husband's arm, and led him
out of the room, down the wide flagged hall, towards the distant room
whence the sound of merry young voices fell pleasantly on the ear.

(_To be continued._)




[Illustration:

         OUR
 PUZZLE POEM REPORT:
  "PREPOSITIONS."]


SOLUTION.

PREPOSITIONS.

    A preposition is a word
      Which other words with nouns relates,
    And as its name denotes is heard
      Before the noun it dominates.

    The noun, poor thing, objects in case,
      And this may partly be because
    It much dislikes the minor place
      Assigned to it by grammar's laws.

    But if you take away its noun,
      The preposition's altered quite,
    Into an adverb has it grown
      Which puts things in a diff'rent light.

    For now this lordly part of speech
      Which erstwhile governed, needs must be
    Slave to a verb, and this should teach
      A lesson in humility.


PRIZE WINNERS


_Ten Shillings Each._

 Lily Belling, Wribbenhall, Bewdley, Worcestershire.
 Isabel Borrow, 219, Evering Road, Upper Clapton.
 M. A. C. Crabb, c/o Miss May, 10, Beaufort East, Bath.
 Edmund T. Loader, 5, Richmond Terrace, Brighton.
 Nellie Meikle, 2, Newsham Drive, Liverpool.
 M. Theodora Moxom, Hillside, Ilfracombe.
 Hilda Pickering, 42, Linnæus Street, Hull.
 Elizabeth Yarwood, 59, Beech Road, Cale Green, Stockport.


_Five Shillings Each._

 Eliza Acworth, 9, Blenheim Mount, Bradford.
 Nannette Bewley, 40, Fitzwilliam Place, Dublin.
 M. S. Bourne, 14, The Broadway, Bromley, Kent.
 Ellen H. Kemp, Haughley Vicarage, Suffolk.
 Ethel C. McMaster, 23, Ross Road, Wallington, Surrey.
 Mabel Wheeler, Holmesdale, Winkfield, Windsor.


_Very Highly Commended._

Rev. S. Bell, E. Blunt, J. A. Center, Edith Collins, R. D. Davis, E.
M. Le Mottee, Jas. S. Middleton, Alice M. Motum, H. W. Musgrave, J. D.
Musgrave, Mrs. Nicholls, Gertrude Smith, Ellen C. Tarrant, Violet C.
Todd, Horace Williams.


_Highly Commended._

Guy Baily, Elizabeth A. Collins, Eva Gammage, Mrs. A. D. Harris, Edward
St. G. Hodson, Edith L. Howse, Annie G. Luck, May Merrall, F. Miller,
Margaret G. Oliver, E. Phillips, M. G. Phillips, Alice M. Seaman, Katie
Whitmore.


_Honourable Mention._

Mrs. Adkins, Muriel V. Angel, Mrs. Astbury, Mrs. L. Bishop, M.
Bolingbroke, Louie Bull, Helen M. Coulthard, Constance Daphne, B.
Duret, Annie K. Edwards, C. M. A. Fitzgerald, Edith E. Grundy, Edith
M. Higgs, S. D. Honeyburne, J. Hunt, Ethel L. Jollye, Edith B. Jowett,
Carlina V. M. Leggett, Mrs. R. Mason, Wm. E. Parker, A. A. L. Shave,
Helen Singleton, Clara Souter, W. Fitzjames White, Emily Wilkinson,
Henry Wilkinson, Amy G. Wiltshire, Emily C. Woodward, Diana C. Yeo,
Sophia Yeo.


EXAMINERS' REPORT.

The general opinion seems to be that "Prepositions" was a very
difficult puzzle. It was certainly unpopular, judging by the number
of solutions sent in, but we were inclined to think that this was
accounted for by the subject. Who wants to learn anything about
prepositions in the middle of summer, and who would be so extremely
foolish as to spend any of the precious--not to say "honied"--hours
over a grammatical puzzle? In the summer of 1897 about fifteen hundred
individuals tried to unravel a page full of curious suppositions. But
then suppositions are always dear to the girl mind, while prepositions
seldom are, because they pertain to a science which the girl mind
(as a rule) little understands. So the subject repelled, and as the
difficulty also repelled, we begin to be surprised that there were any
solutions at all.

With these unpopular features to contend with, it was particularly
unfortunate that the puzzle should have been marred by two serious
mistakes. In line 11 no amount of solving ingenuity could convert gr
divided by rown into "grown," though a shrewd guess helped nearly all
the solvers to the right word. In line 15 the minus sign should have
been the sign of division, giving hold divided by u. The point of this
mistake was not so widely apprehended, and no wonder.

Of the rest of the puzzle little need be said. Probably the ninth line
was the most obscure, and it needed a truly expert solver to discover
that _lake_ plus a short line (inserted in the right place) becomes
_take_. The _waits_ were now and then taken for a German band, giving
the quaint reading, "But if you take a German noun." Obviously, the
alteration that an English preposition would undergo if tacked on to a
German noun would be extremely serious, though the precise nature of
it would not be easy to define. Many solvers failed to notice that an
e was left out of different in line 12. The word was intended to be so
written, with of course the addition of an apostrophe, because of the
rhythm.

We must not fail to thank M. T. M. for her exceedingly kind and
encouraging letter. Referring to our puzzles generally she writes:
"I am an invalid, and the diversion of thought and interest is very
welcome to me." It is indeed good for us to know that even our more
frivolous efforts can be so helpful, and no form of commendation could
give us more sincere pleasure.

We append our foreign award on Fluctuations. It is rather late, but
we have been anxious to include solutions from the remotest parts of
the world. One comes to us from Coomooboolaroo, wherever that may be,
and the author mildly suggests that she is afraid her solutions do not
arrive in time as she has never had honourable mention. Now that we
allow a reasonable extension of time, we hope the writer will continue
to solve, for if THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER can reach even a place with eight
o_s_ in it so can a Puzzle Poem Prize.

It is very odd, but a puzzle which is popular at home is certain also
to be popular abroad.


FOREIGN AWARD.

FLUCTUATIONS.


_Prize Winners (Seven Shillings Each)._

 Charles Glasgow, 6A, Sleater Road, Tardeo, Bombay.
 Clara and Edith Hardy, Finch Street, East Malvern, Victoria, Australia.
 Ada F. Sykes, 1, Grant's Lane, Calcutta.


_Very Highly Commended._

Ivie D. Ashton, Gertrude Burden (Australia), Ethel Danford (Canada),
Lillian Dobson (Australia), Aveline Gall (Demerara), Maggie Glasgow,
Mrs. Hardy (Australia), Mrs. Manners, Maud C. Ogilvie (India).


_Highly Commended._

Evalyn Austin (Australia), M. C. C. (Ceylon), Mrs. F. Christian, Lily
Harman, Harry John (India), Philippa M. Kemlo (Cape Colony), Elizabeth
Lang (France), Frances A. L. Macharg (S. Africa), Grace Rhodes
(Australia), Frances E. Scott (Austria), Mrs. Sprigg, Mrs. F. H. le
Sueur (Cape Colony), A. G. Taylor (Australia), Dora M. C. Webbe (New
York).


_Honourable Mention._

Mrs. G. Barnard (Australia), Annie Barrow (Switzerland), Winifred
Bizzey (Canada), Mabel E. Broughton (Australia), Marcelle Crasenster
(Belgium), Elsie V. Davies, Barton Egan (Australia), Hattie L. Elliot
(Canada), Lena Gahan (Burma), Ethel L. Glendenning (New Zealand),
Dora von Grabmayr (Austria), Agnes Henderson (S. Africa), Violet
Hewett (Canada), A. Hood (France), Annie Jackson, Mabel C. King
(Canada), Blanche Kirkup (Russia), Mina J. Knop (India), Percival
Laker (Australia), Mrs. J. R. Lee (Burma), Annie Leipoldt (S. Africa),
Mrs. G. Marrett (India), Gertrude E. Moore, Amy F. Moore-Jones (New
Zealand), Annie Orbiston (Australia), E. Nina Reid (New Zealand), Hilda
D'Rozario (India), A. Shannon (Australia), Laura O'Suleivan (Burma), J.
S. Summers (India), Gladys Wilding (New Zealand), Elsie M. Wylie (New
Zealand).




TAME VOLES.


One day last August, when strolling in a secluded part of my garden, I
was surprised to see some little brown mice playing about and racing
after each other without at all regarding my presence.

I stood and watched these playful gambols, and soon discovered that the
little animals were short-tailed field-mice, or voles, as I believe
they ought to be called. Some differences in structure separate the
voles from the true mice and rats; they also differ in their food, the
voles being almost entirely vegetable feeders.

The water-rat, so called, is a vole and a perfectly harmless little
animal. I often endeavour to explain this fact to farmers and
working-men, who seem to think they have done something meritorious
when they have hunted to death one of these voles, whose harmless diet
consists chiefly of duckweed, flag, rushes, and other water-plants;
but, unfortunately, it looks like a land rat, and so it has to suffer
for the evil reputation of its relative.

There are two small voles, the red field-vole and this commoner
short-tailed species which inhabits my garden.

I had often wished to catch and keep these little animals as pets for
purposes of study; and, finding some specimens already so tame, I began
to entice them to come to a special place under a stone archway by
daily strewing at exactly the same spot some oatmeal and canary seed.

Very soon the tiny creatures would allow me to stand and watch them
feeding, and I drew nearer and nearer until I could almost touch them.

I then put a mouse-cage under the arch in the hope that they might
accept it as a home and thus be led into voluntary captivity. This new
idea met with a measure of approval, for one little vole scooped out
a small cavity beneath the cage and appeared to make itself quite at
home there, even allowing me to lift up the cage without moving, gazing
curiously at me with its small black eyes.

This went on from August until October. The voles and I grew to be
quite good friends; but, as the colder weather would soon be hindering
my daily visits, our friendship would have to cease unless I could
bring my small pets indoors.

[Illustration: VOLE, THIRTEEN DAYS OLD.]

It struck me that they might be coaxed into captivity by another
device. I placed a glass globe under the arch, containing their
favourite food, and a piece of wood leaning against the globe to enable
the mice to climb up and leap in.

When I went next morning there was a little vole inside the globe
and by no means frightened, for it allowed me to stroke its soft fur
without alarm.

[Illustration: VOLE, THREE DAYS OLD.]

I have had great pleasure in watching the graceful attitudes of this
small creature. It sits up like a squirrel holding a grain of wheat in
its paws; then, its meal over, it thoroughly cleans its fur, brushes
its whiskers, and performs a careful toilet before going to sleep,
curled up in a lump of cotton wool and moss.

My ultimate aim being to obtain some baby voles to be trained into
absolute tameness, I set to work to secure a mate, and placed the globe
as before, baited with tempting food.

In a few days' time I caught a second vole, and now Darby and Joan
live happily together in a square glass case where they have room for
exercise and where I can see and record their doings.

All this may seem to some readers exceedingly trivial and not worth
writing about; but, seeing that we cannot be all day out-of-doors
making observations about these and other subjects of study, there
seems some use in keeping creatures in happy captivity, because one can
thus become ultimately acquainted with them and learn many facts about
their life and habits which would otherwise be difficult or impossible
to observe.

I am now testing their liking for various plants, and after a time I
may be able to make a list of the weeds they consume which may possibly
be a set-off to the damage they do in other directions.

Voles have an acute sense of smell, as I learn in this way. The little
pair may be sound asleep in their bed of moss and wool, but I no sooner
place an earthy root of groundsel or chickweed in their glass case than
I see an inquisitive nose at the entrance of the dormitory sniffing the
air, and in another minute out comes mousie to enjoy the feast of fresh
greenery.

The winter passed by uneventfully, until on the morning of January
26th I heard quite loud growls and squeaks proceeding from the voles'
residence.

The cotton-wool quivered and was upheaved by unseen forces. Something
serious must evidently be going on, so I cautiously interfered.

In lifting the woollen mass I disturbed four little sprawling infants
of a bright pink colour and no particular shape! They were, of course,
speedily replaced, and I could well understand the state of affairs.

[Illustration: THE VOLE'S RETREAT.]

The father mouse must be removed somehow as he was evidently in the
way and quite upsetting the nursery arrangements, but how I was to tell
which was which was a real puzzle.

I thought I would try to learn a lesson from the wise king of old and
see whether maternal love would not prove a sure test. I thought I
would allow the vole that first returned to the nest to remain and
place the other in a separate globe.

The plan was successful, for the mother mouse went back to the nest
at once and set to work to repair the dwelling which I had somewhat
disarranged.

The young voles were by no means beautiful. Bright red in colour, the
thin hairless, almost transparent, skin allowed one to see the beating
of the heart and its circulation very plainly.

The head was nearly half the length of the body, and the eyes were, of
course, closely shut, yet, feeble though they were, when only two days
old the small creatures were full of life, and resented being touched
by giving angry little kicks and plunges. Indeed, I never knew any
family so forward.

I purposely stroked and handled the four small mites daily so that they
might grow up to be perfectly tame from their babyhood. In doing this I
noted one or two rather curious traits of instinct.

Whilst still quite blind, the young voles, if placed on a table, would
invariably creep backwards and continue a retrograde movement, until at
last they would have fallen over the edge of the table if I had allowed
them to do so.

I imagine nature teaches this evolution so that, in their native
burrow, these defenceless weak young creatures may invariably retreat
as far back as possible out of the reach of danger.

About ten days later, whilst I was holding one of the young voles in
my hand in order to take its portrait, it surprised me by sitting up
and beginning to clean its fur and whiskers as carefully and neatly
as if it had been a cat by the fireside, even licking each little paw
in succession until its toilet was complete. The creature was only
thirteen days old and still quite blind, so it shows how soon instinct
teaches the important lesson of cleanliness.

On the morning of the fourteenth day the little mice could see and
became quite enterprising, nibbling lettuce leaves and oatmeal and
roaming about their small domain. A little later on they could
feed themselves, and I believe I ought then to have taken away the
hard-worked little mother, for I imagine family cares and worries must
have accounted for my finding poor Joan had died on the very day when I
purposed letting her and her mate have their liberty.

I set Darby free in his old home under the archway, where no doubt
he will soon find another mate, and I shall probably discover by
their depredations in my garden that he has reared strong and healthy
families to prey upon my cherished plants and trees.

At present the young voles are by no means tame, and still indulge in
kicking, squeaking, and scratching if I attempt to stroke them, but I
have learnt a good deal about their domestic life and derived a great
deal of amusement from my experiment in vole-rearing.

    ELIZA BRIGHTWEN.

[Illustration: DARBY AND JOAN.]




"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 II.

HOW MOLLY HEARD THE NEWS.

"Molly, Molly, listen to me. I've something to tell you, Molly."

"What is it?"

"Put that book down. What are you reading? _The History of a Good
Little Girl._ Oh, I know; and there was a naughty boy, who tied a
string across the stairs, and the grannie tumbled down and broke her
leg. That's all; at least, she got well again, and he was sorry, and
never did anything naughty again. So now you know, and you can stop.
Listen to me, Molly."

Roy jerked the book out of his twin-sister's hands. It was not a
handsome and well-illustrated volume, like those now in vogue, but it
was bound in dull boards, and the woodcuts were fantastically hideous.
To Molly Baron, who had never seen anything better, such a volume
brought delight. She loved reading, while Roy hated it, unless he found
a book about battles.

Molly had a pale little face, with large anxious black eyes, and short
dark hair, brushed smoothly back. She wore a frock of thick blue stuff,
short-waisted and low-necked, while her thin brown arms were bare.

Nobody else was in the schoolroom, which served also as a playroom for
the two children. Its furniture was scanty, including no easy-chairs
or footstools, but only straight-backed hard-seated chairs and
backless wooden stools. Mrs. Baron was a mother unusually given to the
expression of tender feeling, in a sterner age than this of ours; but
even she never dreamt of permitting her children opportunities for
lounging. They had to grow up straight-backed, whatever might befall.

In this room Roy and Molly had done all their lessons together, till
Roy reached the age of nine years; and the day on which he began
to attend a day-school had witnessed the first deep desolation of
little Molly's heart. An ever-present dread was upon her of the
coming time--she knew it must come--when he would be sent away to a
boarding-school, and she would be left alone. But as yet no date had
been named to her, and she hugged the present condition of affairs,
trying to believe that it would go on indefinitely.

Since Molly had read the book at least six times already, she made no
protest, but simply waited to hear the news.

"Guess what's going to happen. Guess, Molly."

"How can I tell? What sort of thing?"

"I'm going to France--to Paris!"

Roy turned head over heels, and came right side up again.

"Why? What for? Why are we going?"

"I didn't say you. I said I was. Papa and mamma mean to take me with
them. And Den too."

"And not--me!"

Molly held up her head resolutely, trying not to let even her lips
quiver. She gazed hard at the opposite wall.

Roy was far too much absorbed with his own prospects to notice her
distress. To leave Molly for the delights of foreign travel meant
nothing to him, though, had she been the one to go, and he the one to
stay behind, he would no doubt have felt differently. In all their
lives the twins had never yet been separated for more than one or two
nights. Naturally, however, when the first real separation came, it
would mean more to the girl than to the boy. Roy had to the full a
boy's love of novelty.

"We shall go over the sea, and then I shall know how the sailors feel.
If I wasn't going to be a soldier I should want to be a sailor; but of
course I'm going to be what papa and Den are, and I like that best,
only I've got to wait longer for it. And we shall stay in Paris, and
there will be mounseers everywhere. Won't that be funny? And I shall
write and tell you all about it"--as her silence dawned upon him. "And
you'll have Jack and Polly, you know."

"If I was going to Paris, would you think Jack and Polly enough
instead?" demanded Molly, out of her sore heart, still staring fixedly
at the wall. A great lump was struggling in her throat.

"But you're not going, and I am. And you and Jack can have fun
together."

"Jack's grown up; he isn't a boy, like you." Molly would have liked
much to add, "He isn't my twin, Roy," but at the bare idea of saying
such words her whole heart seemed to rise up in one huge billow, and
very nearly swamped her self-control. She had to clench her hands and
to bite her lips fiercely. If Roy did not care about leaving her, she
was not going to let him see that she cared about losing him.

Roy seated himself astride on a chair, with his face to the back, and
told his tale. He described his position outside the drawing-room
window, and related the stray words which had reached his ears, making
no secret of the fact that he had done his best to hear more. A glitter
appeared in Molly's eyes, as she listened, and when the story was ended
she said, with a catch of her breath--

"I think I shouldn't be so glad to go if--if you--weren't going too.
And I shouldn't like to be you, to have listened on the sly. It was
mean."

Roy sat motionless. That view of the matter had not yet occurred to
him. He dismissed Molly's first words as unimportant, being merely
a girl's unreasonable view of things, with which he as a boy could
not be expected to agree. But that he--Roy Baron, son of a Colonel
in His Majesty's Guards--should be accused of "meanness!" The word
stung sharply. Roy always pictured his own future in connection with a
scarlet coat, a three-cornered cocked hat, a beautiful pigtail, and the
stiffest of military stocks to hold up his chin. He knew something of
a soldier's sense of honour, and even now he felt ready to fight his
country's battles. And that he should be accused of meanness--and by a
girl!

"I do think so," Molly added. "It was horridly mean. Prying into what
you weren't meant to hear! And then coming and telling me! If I had
done such a thing, you'd have been the first to call it mean."

Roy stood bolt upright.

"You needn't have said it to me like that!" he said. "You might
have told me, Molly--different, somehow. But I wouldn't be mean for
anything, and I'm going to tell papa, straight off."

Roy did not ask Molly to go with him, and she was keenly sensible of
the omission. He marched off alone, carrying his head as high as if the
military stock had already encircled his throat. When he went into the
drawing-room there was a pause in the conversation; and this seemed to
show that Molly was in the right. She might be cross, but perhaps she
had judged correctly.

"Run away, Roy," the Colonel said. "We did not send for you, and we are
busy."

"Please, sir, may I say something first?" Roy advanced unfalteringly,
and stood in front of the Colonel.

"Well, be quick, my boy. You are interrupting us."

Roy's honest grey eyes met his father's. "I was out there," he said,
pointing to the verandah. "And I heard something. I didn't think about
its being a secret, and I listened. I heard about going to Paris,
and I--I went and told Molly. And she said it was mean of me. And
I--couldn't be mean, sir!"

"No, Roy, you couldn't," the Colonel answered with gravity, while
delighted at the boy's openness.

"I didn't mean any harm; but I suppose I oughtn't to have listened. I
won't ever again, sir."

"Well, yes; of course that was wrong," the Colonel said, with a careful
choice of words. "You should have told us that you were there. And you
must not look upon the plan as--ahem--as quite settled. We are merely
discussing it; and we might change our intentions----"

"I am sure, my dear sir, I heartily wish you would," chimed in Mrs.
Bryce.

The Colonel made her a stately bow.

"And if I had found you out, Roy, overhearing us, I should certainly
have blamed you. But as you have voluntarily confessed it, I"--the
Colonel hesitated, conscious of his wife's pleading gaze--"well, we
need say no more about the matter. You have acted rightly in coming at
once to me; and I am convinced that you will not do such a thing again.
Now you may run away."

Roy bounded off in the best of spirits, and Mrs. Bryce remarked, "There
is an opportunity to give up your scheme. Best possible punishment for
the boy. Were he my boy he should suffer for his behaviour."

"But Roy is _my_ son," the Colonel said, and there was an accent of
pride in his voice.

The pretty girl, with tall feathers in her bonnet, glided softly out of
the room after Roy. She did not follow him far. She saw him vanish in
the direction of the garden, flourishing his heels like a young colt,
and she went the other way, towards the school-room. For Roy had told
Molly about the Paris plan, and Polly guessed what that would mean to
Molly.

Mary Keene and her brother John, commonly known as "Polly" and "Jack,"
were not really cousins to Roy and Molly, though treated as such by
the family. Their widowed grandmother, Mrs. Keene, had, some fourteen
years earlier, married a second time--rather late in life--and her new
husband, Mr. Fairbank, had one daughter, Harriette, then just married
to Captain Baron. Two or three years later her own grandchildren, Jack
and Polly, were left orphans, and were taken in permanently by Mr.
and Mrs. Fairbank. When Mr. Fairbank died, some four or five years
before this date, his twice-widowed wife took up her abode, with her
grandchildren, in Bath, then a fashionable place of residence for "the
quality." Jack, who was a year and more older than Polly had, at the
beginning of this story, just been gazetted to a regiment of the line,
which was quartered in Bath.

Molly was very fond of Polly, and she had also a warm admiration
for Jack; but no one in the world could be to her like her own
twin-brother, Roy; and Roy's indifference to this first serious
separation had cut her to the quick. When Polly entered the schoolroom,
she at first thought that Molly had fled; but she detected a little
heap in the farthest and darkest corner, and soon she heard the sound
of a smothered sob, followed quickly by a second and a third.

Polly waited a moment, to draw off her gloves, and then she made her
way to the corner, sat down on the ground, and put a pair of gentle
arms round the child.

"O fie, little Molly, fie! This won't do at all, you know. Crying to
have to go home with me! That is altogether wrong and silly. And so
unkind too. It makes me feel half inclined to cry also, because I
wanted to have dear little Molly, and now I know that Molly does not
care to come. Molly, you dear little goose, don't you know that people
can't be always and for ever together the whole of their lives? It
isn't the way of the world, dear; and you and I can't alter the world
to please ourselves. Roy is glad to go to Paris, of course; and so
would you be, and so should I be, in his place. But everybody can't go
to Paris at the same time. Fie, fie, little Molly, to mind so much what
isn't worth making your eyes red about! Fie, dear! Wake up, and don't
be doleful. Always laugh, if you can; because if you are unhappy, it
makes other people unhappy as well. And that is such a pity. You don't
wish to set me off crying too, do you?"

The elder girl's eyes had a suspicious look in them of tears not far
off, as she bent over the child.

"Other people have troubles, as well as you, little Moll. Try to
believe that, and try to be brave. We don't all--I mean, they don't
all talk about their troubles always. It is of no use. Things have to
be borne, and crying does no good. So stop the tears, Molly, and hold
up your head, and think how nice it will be to see my grandmother and
Jack, and the Bath Pump-room, and all the fine ladies and gentlemen
walking about in their smart clothes."

A squeeze of Molly's arms came in reply.

"There will be Admiral and Mrs. Peirce to see, for the Admiral is now
at home, and they are in Bath--and little Will Peirce, who soon is to
be a middy in His Majesty's Navy. And Jack shall show himself to you in
his new scarlet coat. You would not think how well he looks in it. I am
proud of him, and so must you be; for Jack is everything in the world
to me. No, not quite everything, but a great deal, as Roy is to you.
Yet, I do not expect always to keep Jack by my side. He will have to
go some day, and he will have to fight for old England. And when that
day comes, I shall bid him farewell with a smile; for I would not be a
drag upon him, nor wish to hold him back. And Roy will go also; and you
will bear it bravely, little Moll. I am sure you will--like a soldier's
daughter."

The soft caressing voice, the cool rose-leaf cheek against her own,
the lovely dark eyes smiling upon her, all comforted poor Molly's sore
heart; and she clung to Polly, and cried away more than half her pain.

"Don't tell Roy," she petitioned presently. "He doesn't mind, and he
must not think that I do."

"Why not? That is naughty pride, Molly. It is always the women who
care, not the men." Polly held up her head, and a far-away look crept
into the soft eyes. "Dear, you must expect it to be so. Men have so
much to do and to think about. But we have time to grieve, when they go
away to fight; and they are always so glad to go."

"Are they?" a deep and quiet voice asked, close to her side, and
Polly started strangely. For a moment her tiny shell-pink ears became
crimson, and then she looked up, smiling.

"How do you do, Captain Ivor?"

Denham Ivor in his uniform--large-skirted military coat, black
gaiters, white breeches, pig-tail, and gold-laced cocked hat in
hand--looked even taller than out of it, and at all times he was wont
to overtop the average man. He had a fine face, well browned, with
regular features and dark eyes, ordinarily calm, and he bore his
head in a stately fashion, while his manners were marked by a grave
courtesy, which might seem strange beside modern freedom. As he looked
down upon Polly, a subdued glow awoke in those earnest eyes.

Polly had not sprung up. She was still kneeling on the floor beside
Molly, and her slim figure in its white frock looked very child-like.
The flush had died as fast as it had arisen. Molly was clinging to her,
with hidden face, and for an instant the fresh voice failed to reach
the younger girl's understanding. Then Molly became aware of another
spectator, and quitting her hold, she fled from the room. Polly rose
gracefully.

"We will now go to the drawing-room," she suggested.

"Nay, wait a moment, I entreat. One instant"--and the bronzed face had
grown positively pale. "I beseech of you to listen to me. For indeed, I
have somewhat to say which I can no longer resolve to keep to myself.
No, not even for one more day. Somewhat that you alone can answer,
thereby making me the most happy or the most miserable of men."

A tiny gleam came to Polly's downcast eyes.

"If you have aught that is weighty to say, it may be that I could but
refer you to my grandmother," she suggested demurely.

"But perhaps you can divine what that weighty thing is. And what if
already I have written to your grandmother; and if she has consented to
my suit?"

Young ladies did not give themselves away too cheaply in those days.
Polly was barely eighteen; but, for all that, she had a very dainty
air of dignity. And if, during past weeks, she had gone through some
troublous hours, recognising how much she cared for Captain Ivor,
and wondering, despite his marked attentions, whether he seriously
cared for her, she was not going to admit as much in any haste to the
individual in question. So she dropped an elegant little curtsey, and
asked, with the most innocent air imaginable--

"Then, pray, sir, what may be your will?"

"Sweet Polly, may I speak?"

A solid square stool--well adapted for present purposes--was close
at hand, and promptly down upon this with both knees went the tall
grenadier, in the most approved fashion of his day. Sweet Polly could
not long stand out against his earnest pleading. So, with a show of coy
reserve, she gradually yielded, intimating that she did like him just
a little; that some day or other she thought she could be his wife;
that meantime she would somehow manage to keep him in her memory.

"And next week you are away to Paris!" she said, perhaps secretly
wondering why he did not prefer to spend his leave in Bath. "For a
whole long fortnight!"

"I could wish that I were not going. But all is arranged and the
Colonel desires it. I must not fail him now at the last. If I can see
my way to return at the end of a se'night, I will assuredly do so. If
not--I shall still have a fortnight after my return. I shall know what
to do with that time, sweetheart."

It is to be feared that Polly found small leisure thereafter for
meditating on the childish woes of little Molly, so full was her head
of the brave young Grenadier Captain, who had vowed to devote his life
to her.

Just one or two weeks of separation, and then she would have him with
her again; and hers would be the ineffable delight of showing off this
gallant lover among all her Bath friends. How they would one and all
envy Polly!

A small touch of feminine vanity no doubt crept in here, though Polly's
whole girlish heart was given to Denham. But in his deeper love for her
there was no thought of what others might say. He would, of course, be
proud of the fair creature whom he had won; yet in his love there was
no room found for the puerile element. It pervaded the man's entire
being.

He stood very much alone in the world as regarded kinship, having been
left an orphan at an early age, under the guardianship of Colonel
Baron, his father's cousin, and having no brothers, sisters or other
near relatives. The Barons' house had been, ever since Colonel Baron's
marriage, a home to him; and while Colonel Baron was in some sense
almost as his father, Mrs. Baron occupied rather the position of an
elder sister. To Roy and Molly, Denham had always been like a brother.
He had seen a good deal of both Polly and Jack in their childhood, but
during later years he had been much on service abroad; and his first
view of Polly Keene, his quondam playmate, transformed into a grown-up
young lady, had been but a few weeks before this date. Denham had lost
his heart to her in the first half-hour of their renewed acquaintance;
and Polly soon discovered that he was the one man in the world who had
her happiness in his keeping.

Despite the warm affection of his Baron cousins, Denham had possessed
hitherto none as absolutely his own. Now that he had won "Sweet Polly,"
life would wear for him a new aspect.

And when, three or four days later, good-byes were said, no voice
whispered to him or to Polly, how long-drawn-out a separation lay ahead.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration]

[Illustration: TWILIGHT MUSIC.]




MARY'S PART.

BY WILLIAM T. SAWARD.


    Not only in that village home
      To minister to many needs;
    Fulfil the tasks that hourly come,
      Or meditate along the meads;

    Bring sunshine to a darkened life;
      Make home the sweetest place on earth;
    Fresh smiles to smooth away the strife,
      Or gather for the time of dearth.

    She trained her ear to catch the strains
      Of all the harps on Sion's Hill;
    Where Jordan's sacred valley drains
      The tiny streamlets as they fill.

    The Homeland, cumbered round with care--
      Trees, flowers and rivers--useless things--
    No voices on the evening air,
      No twilight and the peace it brings--

    A clump of trees, a scarp of rock,
      A long, low valley, colourless;
    Clouds in a heavy sky, that mock
      Thoughts tinged with their own bitterness.

    But, passion-hushed, the quiet mind,
      Attuned to Wisdom's sweeter way,
    Hears, even in the sobbing wind,
      The promise of a better day.

    Thus higher wisdom teaches still
      A lowliness of mind and heart;
    The sweet subservience of the Will,
      The gladness of that better part.

[Illustration]




CHRONICLES OF AN ANGLO-CALIFORNIAN RANCH.

BY MARGARET INNES.


CHAPTER I.

It has been suggested that the experiences of some English people in
search of and on a ranch in California might be of interest to others,
especially, perhaps, to those who are looking about more or less
anxiously to find some promising opening for the future of their boys,
and who, seeing the Old World so crowded, and realising the difficulty
of finding a possible niche at home, may desire to try an altogether
new life in the New World.

Many fathers and mothers, also like ourselves, would fain discover, if
possible, some way of keeping their boys beside them; some business
which they can work together, and in which they may find a satisfactory
livelihood for all. Of course, I am speaking of those who have no
well-established family business or firm; for them many difficulties
and anxious questions are solved.

These were the reasons, together with the delicate health of our
two boys, and my own long-standing lung trouble, which, after much
thought and study, led us to pack up all our worldly goods, label them
"Settlers' effects," and start off on the weary long journey of 6,000
miles, to the land of sunshine, on the Pacific coast. Having some
acquaintances living at a little summer holiday place on the coast,
and within some seventeen miles of the busy and enterprising town of
Los Angeles, we decided to go there, and, if convenient, make it our
headquarters while looking about and getting all possible information
on the important subject of ranching.

We arrived about the end of October, when the heat of summer was over;
for even on the coast, the glare of full summer is trying to people
coming from northern latitudes.

But we found the climate most exquisite all the winter. The sunshine
was perfectly glorious; the colours, the distances and the sunsets were
like fairyland. Indeed, they were quite an excitement to us, and we
would often come to a sudden standstill in our evening walks to watch
the splendid transformation scene, saying how exaggerated everyone
would think our descriptions, if we tried to put them all down exactly,
on paper. It is true Holman Hunt had such colours in his pictures
of Palestine, but it needs a genius to make such impossible colours
accepted as realities.

The little town is built near the edge of the bluffs, and it was
delightful to sit under the eucalyptus trees and look out at the sea,
so wonderfully blue, with its broad white fringe all round the bay,
where the big rollers broke on the yellow sands, and rushed away up the
level shore.

The happiness too of all the living creatures seemed quite infectious.
We saw flocks of dainty wee sea-ducks, tumbling and swimming about in
the sea, just where the huge rollers broke, vying with each other in
the show of bravery, going under with the huge crest of a wave and
bobbing up again, so rapidly, and with a jaunty toss of the head.
Enormous golden brown butterflies came floating down the soft air and
hung over the white surf.

Schools of porpoises made the most demonstrative show of enjoyment,
jumping high out of the sea and careering round, in a rushing mass,
that would churn up the water as they went into a perfect whirlpool.
Here and there, in the quiet evening, the head of a friendly seal would
appear silently, and then go under without a ripple.

Stately, solemn-looking pelicans, too, flew past constantly, always
in single file, as though they were going to some grave and important
function. There were crowds of blue birds, looking like jewels in the
bright sunshine; and the humming-birds made quite a noise with their
wee wings round our honeysuckle-covered verandah.

Every living thing seemed to have just discovered how gay and charming
a thing life was.

All this helped to give us a very favourable impression of the new
land, and to heal a little the painful home-sickness and longing that
beset us almost at once, when we realised more and more the strangeness
of much around us.

Finding, on arriving there, that this little town would suit us for
some months, we "rented" a pretty little house of seven or eight rooms,
with a good verandah, shaded with honeysuckle, and a small garden, for
which we paid thirty dollars a month.

Many of the ranchers from the inland valleys come there for three or
four of the summer months, as the heat is then almost unendurable
anywhere out of reach of the sea breeze. We had been advised to bring a
servant with us from England; for help of every kind is very expensive,
all over the States, and especially in California. The usual wages are
twenty-five dollars a month for women servants, and thirty to forty
dollars for a Chinaman.

Unfortunately we were not able to bring a well tried and trusted
servant, but had to content ourselves with choosing the best we
could from a large number who, tempted by the high wages, came to be
interviewed, in answer to our advertisement; but only very few of the
applicants were at all suitable.

The usual plan as to the fare--which is of course expensive--is to
make a clear and binding arrangement with the girl engaged; that it
shall come out of her first six months' wage, also that she shall give
a promise to stay at least two years, and that after this period she
shall receive the full California wage, having, meanwhile, been paid
somewhat less. These arrangements were all made, most clearly in our
case, and were at once forgotten by our carefully chosen maid. She was
an absolute failure, so far as we were concerned, and as few people out
here ask any character when engaging a servant, it was quite easy for
her to get another place at once at the usual high wages and simply
march off and leave us; which she did.

Our house agent, a kindly Englishman, who had been many years in
California, told us that even if we desired to go to law about it,
the case would most certainly be given against us. The jury would be
composed of men, all more or less of the same class as our servant, and
their sympathies would be with her, and we should not have the least
chance of getting justice.

It was rather comforting, at the time, to find how many others among
our acquaintances had gone through the same experience!

Before this catastrophe came about, however, we had been exceedingly
busy visiting innumerable ranches and examining possible and impossible
land that was waiting to be made into ranches. We saw most of the
well-known "settled-up" parts, and many lovely valleys and foothills
which were said to be the coming fruit districts of the near future.

It takes some years for English eyes to get accustomed to the bareness
of the hills of California, or to find out the true beauty of these
dried-up looking slopes. Once the love for them begins, however, it
grows at a great pace, and one discovers constantly fresh wonder and
charm in them. Surely no other hills have the gift of holding the
splendid sunset colours with such transfiguring power. Even the Alps
cannot outrival them in this. But at first it is their uncompromising
bareness, dryness and barrenness which hurts one's sensitiveness. We
were also disagreeably impressed by the tracts of waste ground, lying
promiscuously among the more finished streets, and all scattered over
with empty tins and other rubbish, giving a decided effect of disorder
and unkemptness, even though the neighbouring houses might be pretty
and have dainty gardens. Some of the older established fruit districts
were very prosperous looking, and had quite a busy social life. But our
minds were quite made up, that of what the land had to offer, we would,
without hesitation, choose a real country life, free and untrammelled,
in one of the less settled neighbourhoods.

However we conscientiously went to see all the most promising parts,
and in this way we learnt a great deal. We found that in this part
of Southern California the heat during the summer months was so very
great, that all who had the means to do so, left these inland valleys
and came every summer to the coast for three or four months, leaving a
reliable man in charge, and also going back and forward several times
to see that everything was being well cared for. To many people this
would be no drawback, but only a pleasant change. We did not wish,
however, to settle in any place where we should be absolutely compelled
to leave home for so long every year.

Another disadvantage of buying a ranch in one of these established
parts is the very high price demanded for all such land. However, it
is an open question whether it really costs more in the end to buy a
ready-planted and bearing ranch at the very high figure generally
quoted.

If you buy in a less settled neighbourhood the rough untouched land at
a tenth of the price--which would be about the cost of good land with
water--there is the hard work of clearing and grading, laying out,
planting and piping it. Then the long waiting before the trees can
bring in any income, and when household and ranch expenses have to be
met, must be counted as so much more money invested. It is just here
that so many sad failures occur.

There has been so much exaggeration about the wonders of California,
that those who have caught from such one-sided accounts the fever of
longing for the sunshine and free life, do not make allowance for this
necessarily long pause before any income is possible from a ranch. Thus
it comes to pass that so many ranches are mortgaged; and when a ranch
is mortgaged, it is a hopeless business for the poor rancher who has
worked so hard at his unaccustomed labour.

It has been said that small fruit--berries of different kinds--may be
grown meanwhile, and that the profits from these will help out the
expenses until the ranch trees bear. If you are made of cast iron, you
may possibly be able to give the necessary work to your ranch, and at
the same time cultivate small fruit; but if you come from the ordinary
comfortable middle-class at home, you cannot have the strength or
resistance to stand this additional toil.

I believe there is a vague but sanguine idea among those at home,
bitten by the Californian fever, that you have only to plant trees or
vegetables and then sit down comfortably in the sunshine and wait for
them to grow, condescending eventually to put aside your book and your
pipe for a little while, and gather in all the rich harvest which this
wonderful climate has produced for you. This is not so. Ranching is
really hard work, and moreover the greatest strain of the life to men
coming from a different climate, is that all this unaccustomed labour
has to be done in the hot glare of unbroken sunshine.

(_To be continued._)




VARIETIES.


IT STRIKES ONE AS REMARKABLE.

A train starts daily, let us say, from San Francisco to New York, and
one daily from New York to San Francisco, the journey lasting seven
days. How many trains will a traveller meet in journeying from San
Francisco to New York?

It appears obvious at the first glance that the traveller must meet
seven trains--and that is the answer which will be given by nine girls
out of ten to whom the question is new.

The fact is overlooked that every day during the journey a fresh train
is starting from the other end, whilst there are seven on the way to
begin with. The traveller will, therefore, meet not seven trains but
fourteen.


THE TWO SACKS.

    "At our birth, the satirical elves
    Two sacks from our shoulders suspend:
    The one holds the faults of ourselves;
    The other, the faults of our friend.
    The first we wear under our clothes
    Out of sight, out of mind, at the back;
    The last is so under our nose,
    We know every scrap in the sack."

        _Imitated from Phædrus._


IN DEBT FOR EVER.

A man who owes a shilling, proceeds to pay it at the rate of sixpence
the first day, threepence the second day, three half-pence the next,
three farthings the next, and so on--paying each day half the amount he
paid the day before.

Supposing him to be furnished with counters of small value, so as to be
able readily to pay fractions of a penny, how long would it take him to
pay the shilling?

The answer is that he would never pay it. It is true that he would pay
elevenpence-farthing in four days, but after that his progress would be
slow and he could never get out of debt.


GOOD VERSES BY A BAD POET.

Few things in Dryden or Pope, it has been remarked, are finer than the
following lines by a man whom they both continually laughed at--Sir
Richard Blackmore--

    "Exhausted travellers, that have undergone
    The scorching heats of Life's intemperate zone,
    Haste for refreshment to their beds beneath
    And stretch themselves in the cool shades of Death."


LOVE OF COUNTRY.

    "The love we bear our country is a root,
    Which never fails to bring forth golden fruit;
    'Tis in the mind an everlasting spring,
    Of glorious actions which become a king--
    Not less become a subject. 'Tis a debt
    Which bad men, though they pay not, can't forget;
    A duty which the good delight to pay,
    And every man can practise every day."

        _Churchill._


THE PASSING CLOUD.

Cloud and storm only intimate the passing commotion needful to purify
the air and the water; and compared with the azure depths above and
below, they are superficial and transitory. They retire, and the
beautiful blue of heaven reappears, and the ocean again becomes a
sapphire foundation on which the sun scatters his jewels of light with
regal lavishness.

And so no dark trial, no grievous judgment, can cross our sky without
revealing some spot of heavenly blue in the midst of it, or if
concealed for a moment, breaking forth again with greater brightness
and beauty.

        _Rev. Dr. Hugh Macmillan._




CHINA MARKS.

ENGLISH PORCELAIN.


PART I.

The name porcelain is derived from the Italian _porcellana_, signifying
a cowrie shell, on account of the delicate translucent glaze on its
surface. At how early a date the manufacture of pottery began in this
country, before the Roman invasion, is not absolutely known. In the
Anglo-Saxon times the pottery of the Celtic tribes was confined to the
manufacture of cinerary urns and very common utensils of household
use; as they preferred the employment of glass and horn for drinking
purposes, and metal or wood for solid food. In the thirteenth century
pottery was reinstated in public favour; and a great advance was
made in the art, a glaze being employed from the fourteenth to the
beginning of the sixteenth century, when a new description of pottery
was invented, a salt-glazed stoneware, which came into the market with
importations of Italian fayence and oriental porcelain.

It was not until the good Père d'Entrecolles introduced into this
country the learning of that ancient Empire of China, in the mysteries
of the ceramic art, that our own ideas became enlarged and elevated
above the improvements made in our potteries. The Père, being a
resident in a district distinguished for its porcelain manufactories,
sent samples to his own country (A.D. 1727, 1729,) with information as
to the substances employed at King-te-Chin, for which kilns affording
greater heat and suitable for firing the differently-coloured enamels
were employed.

Hard paste was made at Plymouth, Bristol and Lowestoft, and the soft
paste at Chelsea, Bow, Derby, Nantgarw, Liverpool, Pinxton, Swansea,
Rockingham, Worcester, Shropshire and Staffordshire; felspar being
superadded in the latter two manufactories. The soft paste is produced
from an alkaline flux, combining chalk, bone-ash, sand or gypsum.


STRATFORD-LE-BOW.

At Stratford-le-Bow (called "New Canton") soft-paste china was produced
in the old pottery works, believed to have been established in 1730,
though little is known of them till 1744, when Edward Heylin and Thomas
Frye, a painter, took out the first patent, and a second in 1749. The
marks attributed to these works are as here illustrated.

[Illustration]

The glaze on the Bow ware was very brilliant, but sometimes erred
in point of thickness. The blue china was generally decorated with
birds, flowers, figures and Chinese landscapes. A pattern of hawthorn
was a favourite, consisting of two sprigs united. The bow and arrow
mark is usually found on small objects, and the dagger and anchor,
with a crescent at times, appears on figures. A small blue crescent,
with the horns turned up, have also been used. The monogram of Thomas
Frye, sometimes reversed, identified some figures from the Bow works
at a date previous to 1760. Many variations of Frye's signature have
been used by the workmen of this factory; too many for the space at
disposal in these columns. It was carried on for many years by Messrs.
Crowther and Weatherby, who employed some ninety painters, of whom one
was Thomas Craft. The Bow paste is very hard and compact, and therefore
heavy. But the most delicate ware was also produced; as in cups and
saucers, which were like egg-shells in thinness, and of a milky
whiteness.

Under Thomas Frye the china was brought to great perfection. It was
after him we find that the works passed into the hands of Weatherby
and Crowther, and were closed by the bankruptcy of the latter in 1763,
Weatherby having died the previous year.

I may observe that sprigged tea-sets, Dresden sprigs and white bud
sprigs--all very popular patterns--were largely produced at Bow, in
addition to landscapes and dragon services; also statuettes and groups
of figures, vases, etc.


CHELSEA PORCELAIN WORKS.

The Chelsea manufacture of china is said to date from _Cenvirons_,
1745-49, but a species of porcelain was produced in a glass factory
at Chelsea in 1676, established there by some Venetians, patronised
by the then Duke of Buckingham. Clay from Dorsetshire, sand from the
Isle of Wight and kaolin, and chinastone from Cornwall and Devonshire,
were employed at this factory. An anchor sometimes barbed, and at other
times with amulets, and one within a double circle; as also a triangle,
with the name "Chelsea," and the date "1745" beneath it, were the marks
chosen to distinguish this ware. On the finest specimens the anchor is
gilt, on those of second quality in red, brown or purple upon the glaze.

[Illustration]

The porcelain of Chelsea bears some resemblance to that of Venice of
about the same date--the Cozzi period, 1780--which is natural, the
founders of the manufactory having been Venetians; and the porcelain
produced there stands amongst the very first of our English ceramic
works in every respect, ranking higher than that of Bristol. The
workmen were originally procured from Bow, Burslem and other works;
the china manufacture being carried on at first by William the Duke of
Cumberland and Sir Everard Faulkenor, the latter dying in 1755 or 1758,
and the former in 1765, when Sprimont became sole proprietor. Three
blemishes, or spots, characterise the china of this factory, appearing
at equal distances where the glaze has been removed, apparently by
contact with what the article rested upon.

The work executed at the Chelsea factory ranked in the highest place
that was ever attained at others in this country. It was greatly
admired by Wedgwood, and was scarcely inferior to the best at Sèvres.
The whole contents of the manufactory were sold by auction by M.
Sprimont on his retirement; Mr. Duesbury purchasing the house, etc.,
and the remainder of the stock was sold by Christie and Ansell in 1779.

One of the earliest of the Chelsea marks is here given showing the
date; and two anchors side by side and one inverted, in gold, is only
found on the finest examples.

[Illustration]

The early productions of Chelsea were of soft paste, and the glaze
was thick and creamy, much of the white ground being left without
decoration. The pieces with the _bleu de Vincennes_, the peacock green
and turquoise blue, copied from the Sèvres ceramists, were of later
date. Those of claret-colour are very rare. All these self-coloured
examples are highly gilt.

(_To be continued._)




RINGS LOST AND FOUND.

BY DORA DE BLAQUIÈRE.


Nothing is more curious and interesting in the changes and chances of
the world than the stories of things "lost and found." One constantly
hears of such on the best authority, being told by people in whom one
has the most perfect confidence, and who have no reason to deceive
us. Nearly everyone has tales of this kind to tell you when once they
understand your interest in the subject, and generally they are about
some article of jewelry, and nearly always of finger-rings. I have a
large number of notes taken down from people's own lips, some of which
would be too strange to be believed if you did not know the character
of the narrator. Tales of what we call coincidences, of dreams, of
apparitions, all connected with the recovery of certain articles,
appear in the collection, but in the following papers I shall try to
avoid taxing your powers of belief too severely, for though I may
believe what has been related to me, you, not having had my experiences
and knowledge of my sources of information, would probably refuse to
credit them.

One of the most remarkable tales of rings lost and found is that told
of the discovery, in June, 1820, of the signet-ring of Mary, Queen of
Scots, in the ruins of the Castle of Fotheringay. The finder was a
workman named Robert Wyatt, formerly a private in the Prince of Wales's
3rd Foot. In latter years he gained his living as a guide to the ruins
of the castle, and often related to visitors how he assisted in the
digging-up of the drawbridge and the filling-up of the moat; and that
a Scottish gentleman had measured out the banqueting-hall, where the
Queen was executed, and found it correct, and finally, how the ring
was found by himself. It is supposed to have been swept away with the
blood-stained sawdust, and to have fallen from her finger during the
last agonies of her violent death. Wyatt died in September, 1862, at
the good age of 83. It has an inscription, _i.e._, "Henri L. Darnley,
1565," the monogram of H and M bound up in a true lovers' knot, and
within the hoop the lion of Scotland on a crowned shield.

This ring was exhibited at the Stuart Exhibition in 1889 (No. 337 in
the catalogue), but the description is not quite accurate. It was in
the collection of Mr. Waterlow, of Walton Hall, Yorkshire, and a full
account is given in the _Archæological Journal_, vol. xv., p. 253,
and also in _Archæologia_, vol. xxxiii., p. 355. No doubt seems to be
entertained that it was Mary's nuptial ring, as well as the betrothal
one, the date "1565" being that of their engagement, and they were
married the following year.

Mary's rings, indeed, seem to have been addicted to being lost, for
I saw at the Peterborough Exhibition, in 1887, a ring lent by Lord
Wantage, found in the garden of Sywell Hall, which is believed to have
been given by her to one of her attendants there. It has the motto
"_Tre loyalement ma souvreyn_" engraved inside, and is of fine gold.
A thumb signet-ring was found at Borthwick Castle, with her cipher on
it, "M.R.," and is believed to have been lost during her stay at the
castle, to which she fled with Bothwell, 1567. This was at the same
exhibition.

Though called a signet-ring, it is well to say here that a signet-ring
used by her is now in the British Museum, which was formerly the
property of Queen Charlotte, and subsequently belonged to the Duke of
York. The betrothal ring, however, is not a signet, though it might
have been used for sealing.

Another interesting case of a ring lost and found is that of Dean
Bargrave's signet, who was Dean of Canterbury in the days of Cromwell.
This ring was probably either lost or hidden in the deanery garden
when the dean was seized by Cromwell's Roundheads, and dragged to the
Fleet Prison. It was found a few years ago, and was recognised by its
appearance in the portrait of the dean, who has it on his finger. The
portrait now hangs in the dean's study at Canterbury.

In nearly all the cases I am about to relate, I have the names and
addresses of the narrators, and all of them are apparently true, and
quite to be relied upon. The first one was told me by the daughter of
an old lady, who was the daughter of a clergyman in Essex, and nearly
related to one of the Archbishops of Canterbury. She was walking in
the garden of the rectory one day, not long before her marriage, when
in some way a ring she was wearing slipped from her finger, and no
searching availed to recover it. Apparently it was lost for ever.
The path was an ordinary gravelled garden walk, and there seemed no
place where even so small an object could have found a sheltering to
conceal it. The next year, after her marriage, she was paying a visit
to her father at the rectory, and was walking down the same path in
the garden, when she saw the lost ring lying on the ground in front of
her. From the same authority I heard two other stories, the first of a
ring lost in a hay-field while the hay-making was going on. After an
interval had elapsed of a year and a half, one morning the coachman
came in with the lost ring in his hand. He said he had been cutting out
hay from the stack, and had felt something hard against the edge of
his cleaver, and on putting in his hand, he had immediately discovered
the ring. The second story was not of a ring, however, but of a very
valuable scarf-pin, lost by a great fox-hunter while riding through
a gap in a hedge. The next year the same ground was gone over, and
the same gap revisited, which reminded the owner of his lost pin. He
dismounted from his horse, and after a short search, found his pin,
which was sticking upright in the ground near the hedge.

Many of these modern stories of lost and found sound like repetitions
of old ones--"chestnuts," in fact. But they are not; and in this
matter, as well as in others of a different kind, history appears to
repeat itself. The Canadian story which follows is one of these, but
it is quite a new one. It was told me by a friend, and confirmed by
her husband, and by the original letter containing the account of the
dream, which came from far-off Assiniboinia.

The tale begins with a family who dwelt on a farm by the lake of J----
in Ontario; but finding that the rocky land on its shores was not
conducive to successful farming, they moved up to the Great North-West
and took up fresh land in Assiniboinia. The family consisted of the
father and mother, their son and his wife, and several children, and my
tale relates to the son's wife only, who had lost, some years before
her departure, in the garden of the old home, her wedding-ring. To a
woman it will not be at all wonderful to hear that this loss was a
subject of great concern, and also somewhat superstitious fear; for by
many people such a loss is thought to be an omen of ill-luck. Some of
the family still remained on the lake of J----, a married daughter, the
sister-in-law of the loser of the ring. One morning, about two years
after the departure of her family, she had a letter from her brother's
wife, to beg her to go across the lake to the old homestead, for she
had had a very vivid dream about the lost ring; and in this dream she
had seen it, lying at the root of a white flower, a phlox, she thought,
which grew on the right side of the front door, close to the wall of
the house and the door-step.

A few days after the receipt of this letter, Mrs. B---- and her husband
rowed across the lake and visited the old farm. It had never been let,
and a buyer in those regions is hard to find; so the garden paths were
overgrown, and the house neglected and forlorn; but growing by the
front door-step there was a white phlox in full bloom, and taking the
spade they had brought with them, they dug it up, and at its roots they
found the lost wedding-ring.

I also gleaned another story in Canada of the same kind. A worthy
alderman of a small town in Ontario was digging potatoes in his garden
one summer morning, in the year 1894. His wife had several times
summoned him to breakfast, but on her last summons he declared he could
not come until he had dug up one more hill. When he finally came in to
breakfast he brought with him a ring which she had lost in the garden
seven years before, and which he had unearthed in that last potato hill.

A story which I thought very remarkable was told me the other day, and
happened, I believe, at Hastings. A maidservant in the family of a
resident found a brooch in the street, and as it was both pretty and
rather valuable, an advertisement was put into a local paper by the
finder, who wished to discover the owner, but without success. Two
years elapsed, and the girl and her mistress both agreed that there was
no hope of an owner turning up, and so she wore it. The very first day
she put it on she went out, and walking down one of the main roads into
Hastings, she met a lady who, looking at her closely, said, coming up
to her, "I think you are wearing my brooch." The wonderful part of this
story is that the lady was only a visitor, and had not been in Hastings
since the day she had lost her brooch, two years before.

A writer in the _Globe_, a short time ago, gave a very remarkable
account of a coincidence which is said to have been quite
authenticated. A lady finding that the setting of a valuable ring had
become insecure, entrusted it to a lad in her service to take it to the
jewellers to be repaired. She lived on her estate at a short distance
from the neighbouring town, and on his way the messenger had to cross a
wooden bridge over a stream in the park. This, of course, presented the
usual attraction. The boy lingered, and bethinking him of his charge,
took the ring from the case for a closer inspection. But ill-luck
followed him, for the ring suddenly slipped from his hold, and falling
on a muddy bank, disappeared from view. The lad searched in vain; and
being apprehensive that he might be charged with its theft, absconded
from his situation and went to sea. Being a quick and handy boy, he
grew into an energetic and enterprising man; settled in a colony, and
in the course of time realised a large fortune. Returning to England,
he found the estate on which he had formerly served was in the market,
whereupon he bought it and took up his residence in the Manor House.

Walking through his grounds one day with a friend, they came to the
scene of the lost ring, and he related the story which had indirectly
led to his present position. "And that is the very spot where it
dropped," said he, thrusting his stick into the bank. The lost ring was
found upon the stick when it was withdrawn. It had actually impaled
the lost jewel, which was its own startling verification of the story.
The strange part of this tale is that the loser should have been the
finder, for there is nothing marvellous in the misadventure until we
come to the finding of the ring.

One of the interesting things shown at the Stuart Exhibition was the
keys of Lochleaven Castle. I am sure my readers will all remember the
romantic story of Queen Mary's escape from thence in 1568, with the
help of young Douglas, who locked the gates to prevent pursuit, and
then threw the keys into the lake, where they lay until discovered in
1805.

Many people have looked at the dredging and cleansing of the Tiber,
which has been going on for the last few years, with much interest,
in the hope that, during the course of these labours, many precious
objects would be discovered, and amongst others, the spoils of the
Temple at Jerusalem, which were brought by Titus to grace his triumph,
and which may be seen depicted on the inside of the arch erected to
commemorate his victories. Amongst these were the seven-branched
candlesticks and the table of the shewbread. These, with other
treasures, are said to have been thrown into the Tiber.




JAP DOLL SCENT SACHETS.


One of these little ladies travelled safely all the way from Ohio,
United States, wrapped up in a newspaper; her sister came only from
the other side of London, and arrived with a smashed head. Two kind
friends, knowing I am always on the look-out for some novelty for "Our
Girls," were seized simultaneously with the desire, which they carried
into effect, to send me an "idea" by way of a birthday present, and
here is the result.

[Illustration: _FIG. 1_]

The wee "Jap" dolls may be bought for a penny each at many fancy shops.
For Fig. 1, three-quarters of a yard of satin or any good ribbon three
inches wide, and one yard of a contrasting colour an inch wide, is
required. Double the piece of wide ribbon and fringe both ends for an
inch and a half, oversew one side, insert a thick layer of wadding
to within two inches of the top, plentifully besprinkled with sweet
sachet-powder--obtainable at any chemist's--oversew the otherside and
along the bottom above the fringe, cut a hole at the top sufficiently
large to insert the doll's body--poor thing, she requires no legs--fix
it firmly at shoulders and waist, take the narrow ribbon and drape it
gracefully round according to the drawing, leaving a loop for hanging
purposes. Fig. 2 requires but half a yard of wide ribbon, two yards
of quarter-inch ditto, and half a yard of one inch wide. Two little
sleeves are made of the wide ribbon folded lengthwise and fringed at
one end; the remainder is folded, filled, and sewn up. In this case
only the doll's head is retained; there are no arms within those
sleeves as in Fig. 1. A "toby" frill is made with the half yard of
inch-wide ribbon, and the narrow is arranged artistically according to
Fig. 2.

[Illustration: _FIG. 2_]

It is quite possible, of course, to make these sachets with any odds
and ends of silk without buying special pieces of any particular
width. The little dolls and some sachet-powder are the only absolute
necessaries, and, if good colourings are chosen, an array of them look
most tempting and fascinating on a bazaar stall. They should not be
sold for less than sixpence, and in some places might fetch a shilling.

    "COUSIN LIL."




LETTERS FROM A LAWYER.


PART I.

The Temple.

MY DEAR DOROTHY.--You do not often favour me with your correspondence,
so that I was particularly pleased and flattered by the receipt of your
letter asking for my opinion, as a rising barrister, on the following
important legal points, which I will now proceed to deal with. As you
have approached me without the intervention of a solicitor, it may
possibly gratify you to know that I am not entitled to make any charge
(even were I disposed to do so) for my professional opinions. This
statement will, I am sure, remove a great weight from your mind; but a
truce to jesting, now to business.

In your first question you ask me to decide whether you or Mr.
Anstruther were right on the question of paying excess fares on your
return from the Crystal Palace the other evening.

So far as the arguments adduced on either side are concerned, I can
tell you frankly that you were both wrong; but let me have the facts of
the case clearly stated before me. It appears that Aunt Anne, Robert
and yourself went down last Wednesday to the Crystal Palace, where
you met Miss Anstruther and her brother; and I have no doubt enjoyed
yourselves immensely, wandering through those lovely grounds, gazing at
the antediluvian monsters on the lakes or listening to the bands in the
rosary or on the terrace.

In my opinion the Crystal Palace is just the place to spend a happy
day. This, however, is a digression.

Instead of dining at the Palace, Aunt Anne invited the Anstruthers to
return to town with you and to take their chance of getting--what I
from personal experience can vouch for as certain to have been--an
excellent impromptu meal.

On the return journey--we are getting to the point at last--the tickets
were collected at Battersea Bridge, your tickets were returns to
Victoria, but the Anstruthers had returns to Clapham Junction only, and
accordingly Mr. Anstruther was invited to pay excess fare on them.

As a matter of fact the price for a return ticket from Victoria to the
Palace is exactly the same as a return from Clapham Junction to the
Palace, and such being the case, you considered that the collector had
no right to demand an excess fare on Mr. Anstruther's tickets. You were
wrong. Mr. Anstruther, you say, paid the excess on the ground that it
was merely a concession on the part of the Company to those booking
at Victoria to charge them the same fare as those booking at Clapham
Junction; this may or may not be the case, it is beside the question.

The matter is entirely one of contract between yourself and the Railway
Company. They contract to carry you for a certain sum to a certain
place; in your case it was from Victoria to the Palace and back, and
in the case of Mr. Anstruther and his sister from Clapham Junction to
the Palace and back. On their return, therefore, to Clapham Junction,
the contract between themselves and the Railway Company was completed,
and on their remaining in the train and travelling up to Victoria a
new contract was commenced between themselves and the Company. Mr.
Anstruther was right, therefore, in paying the excess demanded,
although his reason for doing so was not the right one.

To turn to quite another matter, I see that you want my advice on a
point in connection with bicycles. So you also have not escaped the
cycling craze of the day. Oh, Dorothy, after this I shall not be
surprised to hear that you have taken to golf!

I am very sorry that you should have been annoyed by the insolence of
the cabman; I am afraid our London jehus are not called "growlers"
without reason, and some of them are only too ready to take advantage
of ladies, when travelling without male escort, to insult them with
impunity.

In offering the man twopence extra for carrying your bicycle on his
cab, Aunt Anne was paying him not only more than he deserved, but more
than he was legally entitled to demand.

It may appear to be very ridiculous to the unlegal mind, such as yours,
my dear Dorothy, but it has been decided by the London magistrates that
a bicycle is not luggage.

The result of this decision is that a cabman is not entitled to charge
anything extra for carrying a bicycle on his cab, unless he has
previously made an arrangement with his fare.

This piece of legal information you might bear in mind and make use
of on a future occasion; if, therefore, a cabman ever behaves rudely
towards you again when you are paying him extra for carrying your
bicycle, just give him his correct fare, and if he is troublesome, take
his number and send it to your legal adviser, or, in other words, to

    Your affectionate cousin,
        BOB BRIEFLESS.




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

MARIAN.--So many different affections are included under the term
"nervous disease of the heart," that it is quite impossible to say
whether any one case is dangerous or not, without knowing for certain
which of the various forms of "nervous heart" the patient suffers from.
The commonest of these ailments is that arising from indigestion. It is
also the least serious, for it is fairly easy to cure. It is impossible
for us to tell what is the cause of your friend's illness without
knowing more about her. You should have told us her age, which is a
most important point in coming to a conclusion as to what is wrong with
a patient. Some forms of "nervous heart" are very serious, but most
kinds can be cured.

MAJORIE.--What you have got is, in all probability, merely a slight
attack of chronic catarrh of the throat following upon an acute nasal
catarrh. Get a spray and thoroughly spray out your throat three times
daily with the following paint--solution of menthol in paroleine, sixty
grains to the ounce. Take an astringent lozenge occasionally, and avoid
highly spiced food. It is almost certain that your complaint will
disappear within a few weeks.

MIGNON.--Of course quinine and iron made your indigestion worse. Both
drugs are exceedingly indigestible, and should not be taken unless the
stomach is in good condition. Your neuralgia is probably due partly
to anæmia or indigestion, or both. You should therefore persist in
your treatment of dyspepsia, the cure of which would do you much more
good than quinine and iron ever could. Locally you might apply to the
nerve a very small blister, or a liniment of soap and camphor. Menthol
applied locally gives temporary relief. We think that caffeine would
be the best drug for you to take internally. You can get tabloids of
caffeine citrate (5 grs.), one of which may be taken when the pain is
especially severe.

KATHERINE RUSSEL.--Yes; we advise you to obtain the advice of a
specialist about your daughter's eyes. It is probably nothing very
serious, but it ought to be seen to at once.

F. ROGERS.--Unfortunately, the physician mentioned by "Ada Wright" is
no longer alive, so that we are afraid that we cannot help you.

SWEET BRIAR.--We do not think that there is anything seriously wrong
with you, and there is no reason to alarm yourself with groundless
fears. If, as you say, your health is good, you need not worry yourself
about your neck. Follow the advice that we gave to "A Mother."

ANXIOUS ONE.--Use a hard, opaque toilet soap. Any of the really good
soaps before the public (which are _not_ patent soaps) will suit you.
The opinion held by many that, in scented soaps, the scent is added to
cover the smell of bad fats, is not correct. Wash your face about once
a week in borax and hot water (one teaspoonful of borax to a pint of
water). Soft water is preferable to hard for washing purposes.

ARTHUR.--We advise you to give up tea entirely for a time, and to
carefully attend to your digestion. You will find all about indigestion
in the medical articles and correspondence in last year's GIRL'S OWN
PAPER. Read the answer to "Fair Isobel," which appeared some months
ago, and contained a long account of acne. We would however suggest
ichthiol rather than sulphur ointment in your case. Otherwise, follow
all the advice given in the above-mentioned answer. You are at the age
for acne, and although it is sure to disappear in time, you will have
to persevere in your treatment.

MARY NOBLE.--Undoubtedly you do suffer from chronic nasal catarrh. It
is the rule for persons afflicted with this malady to be subject to
constantly recurring attacks of acute inflammation of the nose. You
must get the following powder made up and use it three or more times
a day:--Chlorate of potash, bicarbonate of soda and borax, of each,
one part; powdered white sugar, two parts. Dissolve one teaspoonful of
the powder in half a tumbler of tepid water, and use it as a nose wash
and gargle. Wash out your nose thoroughly with this lotion, and then
apply the following paint with an "atomiser" or nasal spray--menthol in
paroleine, sixty grains to the ounce.

FLUFF.--Wash your head in borax and water once a week, and then rub
a little sulphur ointment into the roots of the hair. It is quite
impossible for us to answer any correspondent in less than six weeks'
time from receiving her letter. Often, at this time of the year, it is
two or three months before a letter can be answered.

A READER.--See answer to "Fluff" for scurf on the head. Scurf on the
face is usually secondary to that on the head. Apply sulphur ointment,
made with lanoline, for a week or so. Be careful of the soap you use.

THROAT.--Catarrh of the throat is of course at the bottom of your
trouble, and if we can cure this, we will probably at the same time
improve your hearing. You should treat your throat in the same way
that we advised "Mary Noble" to do. The great secret of success is to
thoroughly and completely wash out the nose and throat while you are
about it. We would advise you to syringe out your left ear to make
certain that there is no wax there.

ST. CECILIA.--The reason why you so frequently suffer from "colds" is
most probably because you are the subject of chronic nasal catarrh.
Read the answer to "Mary Noble" above, and do the same as we advised
her to do.

SYLVIA.--Inhalations of steam impregnated with medicinal substances are
exceedingly useful, especially in bronchitis or catarrh of the throat.
If you have an inhaler handy so much the better; if not, you can make
an excellent inhaler out of a jug. Fill the jug or inhaler with hot
water, add the drugs prescribed (most probably, compound tincture of
benzoin or camphor), place your face over the jug, being careful not to
scald yourself, and cover your head with a large dry towel, shrouding
yourself with the jug beneath its folds. Inhale for about half an hour
or less. Be very careful to keep out of draughts after inhaling. Very
severe colds, if nothing worse, may occur from carelessness in this
respect.

FAIR JAPAN.--No; it will do you no harm to ride a bicycle. If you sit
well on the machine, and do not ride too fast, bicycling is a good and
healthy exercise. All girls of thirteen and fourteen "grow very fast."
We do not quite understand your second question--"When a girl leaves
school, what science ought she to know best?" The only science commonly
learnt at school is mathematics. If you want to know which science
is the best to study after leaving school, it depends entirely upon
yourself. That science in which you have greatest interest is the best
to learn. Whatever science you take up, you must study for many years
before you can become proficient in it.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

C. A. E.--We have read your rhymed fairy tale with interest. It is not,
however, sufficiently good for publication. We will criticise any story
you like to send, but it should be short. On the first page of _The
Valour of Veramon_ a line ending with "deem" finds no rhyme, and on the
last page:

    "Their rescuer married one; the rest found husbands at his court,"

is a halting line. The verse does not run smoothly enough, and this
from no fault of the "recurring letter S." We applaud, however, your
choice of a fairy tale; it is a far better subject than sentimental
woes and afflictions. You will find the rules in a recent number. We do
not return MSS. unless a stamped envelope is sent for the purpose.

F. H.--We only accept the work of experienced writers for THE GIRL'S
OWN PAPER. The sentiment of your elegy on Mr. Gladstone is excellent,
but it is not very poetical. Your rhymes, however, are usually correct.

B. C. D. QUIXADA (S. Australia).--1. Your "lullaby" is irregular in
metre. Such a poem should flow smoothly throughout. "The Orphan's Song"
is also incorrect in metre. Every poem should have a certain metre in
which it is written, the lines being of regulated lengths. You will
observe that there are more syllables in

    "Mother, mother you have left me"

than in

    "Angels they will sing around,"

yet they are both "first lines."--2. We believe the sound in a shell
held close to the ear is due to the imprisoned air. The same sound can
be observed when the hand is curved over the ear.

ADELINA GRILLO.--You will ere this have seen your request in print, and
we hope you have found a correspondent.

A READER OF THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER.--Many thanks for your note. We will
consider the point you raise.

MISS NELL.--1. "Thematic" means, connected with the theme; _e.g._,
a _thematic_ catalogue of musical works is a catalogue in which the
first few bars--the _theme_--of the whole work, or of each movement, is
given. You can apply this explanation to the instances you give.--2. We
do not wish to discourage you, but the "Associated Board" Examination
you name, is not supposed to qualify for advanced teaching. If you pass
in honours, it is of course more valuable. You could not expect a high
salary with only this certificate, if, indeed, you could obtain a post
as pianoforte teacher in a good school; but we cannot name any sum
without more knowledge of your capabilities.

KATE CREGEEN.--1. Your quotation:--

    "Because right is right, to follow right,
    Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence,"

is from Tennyson's _Ænone_.--2. Your writing is very good for a girl
of sixteen. To improve it, never let yourself scribble or write
carelessly, and copy any model you admire.

SWEET SULTAN.--Spenser's "Faerie Queen" is not to be had in
nineteenth-century English, but it is easy to read and understand in
its original form; and in the "Globe Edition" published by Macmillan &
Co. at 3s. 6d., there is a glossary to explain the obscure words. You
can also get some of the books with valuable notes in the Clarendon
Press edition, published at 2s. 6d. the volume.

A. D. S.--We give the whole poem of which you quote two lines:--


TO DAY.

    So here hath been dawning
      Another blue day:
    Think wilt thou let it
      Slip useless away?

    Out of Eternity
      This new day is born,
    Into Eternity
      At night will return.

    Behold it aforetime
      No eye ever did:
    So soon it forever
      From all eyes is hid.

    Here hath been dawning
      Another blue day:
    Think wilt thou let it
      Slip useless away?

It is one of the few poems by Thomas Carlyle, and is to be found in his
"Miscellaneous Essays."

A LOVER OF NATURE.--Your verses are correct in metre and rhyme. We
cannot say that they are particularly original, for the same thought
has been frequently expressed already; and there is nothing very
poetical in them. But to write poetry is a difficult art. Many thanks
for your kind little letter. We may add that we are pleased to know the
beauty of June gives rise to the thoughts you embody in your lines.

"ONE WHO KNOWS" writes to correct a statement in a recent answer. "B.
M." is the daughter of the late Dr. Miller of Rothesay, and her married
name is Macandrew. ERIN kindly adds that her Christian name is Barbara.

ADELINA GRILLO (Italy).--Many thanks for your kind card and words of
praise. We are glad you have found a correspondent.

IVY.--We are inserting your request. As to the delinquencies of your
French correspondent in not writing oftener, we are unable to help you.
It is not an unusual thing for correspondence to flag; but if you feel
that "every three or four months" is not sufficiently often to receive
a letter, the best way is to write a kind and pleasant note telling her
so, and close the correspondence. We do not think it is worth while
to be "annoyed" about the matter, as she may, owing to some change of
circumstances, be quite unable to command her time.


OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

"GÉNIE" writes to inform Lilian that the author of "The Mill will never
grind with the water that has passed" is Sarah Doudney. The fourth
verse is--

    "Work while yet the daylight shines,
        Man of strength and will!
    Never does the streamlet glide
        Useless by the mill.
    Wait not till to-morrow's sun
        Beams upon thy way,
    All that thou canst call thine own
        Lies in thy 'to-day';
    Power, and intellect, and health
        May not always last,
    'The mill cannot grind
        With the water that is past.'"

"Génie" wishes to know if anyone can tell her the author of the hymn
beginning, "The righteous dead--they dwell with God."

GUINFRID refers Mademoiselle Nemo to page 315, No. 164, February, 17th,
1883, of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER.

CATHERINE M. ROBERTSON writes kindly sending "Adelaide" the poem she
inquires for. It is by Mrs. Norton. We transcribe the first verse:--


THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE.

    Word was brought to the Danish King (Hurry!)
    That the love of his heart lay suffering,
    And pined for the comfort his voice would bring;
    (Oh! ride as though you were flying!)
    Better he loves each golden curl
    On the brow of that Scandinavian girl,
    Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl;
    And his Rose of the Isles is dying!

Doubtless the poem will be found in any collection of Mrs. Norton's
works.

"A FAITHFUL FRIEND OF THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER" writes in reply to C.
Pegler that "The Faithful Negro Boy" was a favourite poem of her own
as a child, and appeared in _My Little Friend_ for August, 1876. If
C. Pegler will forward her address to Miss L. S. Coleby, 6, Brunswick
Terrace, Mount Sion, Tunbridge Wells, she will receive a copy.

"YUM-YUM" is very anxious to know who is the author of the following
lines:--

    "If you are tempted to reveal
    A tale someone to you has told
    About another, make it pass,
    Before you speak, three gates of gold.
    Three narrow gates, first, "Is it true?"
    Then, "Is it needful" in your mind,
    Give truthful answer, and the next
    Is last and narrowest, "Is it kind"?
    And if to reach your lips at last
    It passes through these gateways three,
    Then you may tell the tale, nor fear
    What the result of speech may be."


INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.

MISS EDYTH K. STEER, Grove House, Evesham, Worcestershire, wishes to
correspond with an educated French girl. She suggests that each should
write in the other's language and that the letters should be returned,
corrected, to the sender. Any French girl correspondent would find Miss
Steer's writing exquisitely clear, and her letters well composed.

CISSIE had better send her full address and further particulars, as her
letter is somewhat vague.

LILIAN DOUGLAS, 32, Medina Road, Seven Sisters Road, Finsbury, London,
would like to correspond with either P. or H. Pierson, the Dutch girls
who asked for correspondents. She is, however, not yet twelve years
old, and cannot write in French.

MISS FRANÇOIS, à Auzier (Nord) France, being a French girl of eighteen,
and a collector of stamps, would be most pleased to correspond in
English with girls living in New Zealand, New South Wales, or other
foreign countries, who also collect stamps. She, will send twenty-five
or fifty French stamps in exchange for the same number of Australia,
Asiatic or African stamps.

MISS MARGARET E. WESTLAKE, 40, Union Street, Plymouth, would much like
to have letters from, and write to, a French girl.

E. B., The Limes, Berners Street, Ipswich, aged 20, would like to
correspond with a French girl.

"IVY" would like a young lady of the same age (21) interested in
painting, to correspond with her. She thinks they might be of use to
one another in lending studies and suggesting new ideas.


MISCELLANEOUS.

DAFFY-DOWN-DILLY.--The pronunciation of surnames is often so arbitrary
and contrary to ordinary rules that, excepting in well-known names,
such as Cholmondeley (pronounced Chumley), Leveson-Gower (pronounced
Luson-Gore), Marjoribanks (Marchbanks), and others, you should obtain
your information from one of the family. In the case of the name
"Haworth," we should be disposed to pronounce it as in Ha-therton,
certainly not "Horth." We know little about the town of that name in
the W. R. of Yorkshire. It has a population of about 3820. Charlotte
Brontë's father was rector of the parish, and she married his curate,
and died in March 1855.

LOVER OF THE "G.O.P." (Northampton).--The story called "Robina Crusoe,"
which appeared in serial form, can only be had in our magazine. It has
not been re-published apart from it. If you write to our publisher (56,
Paternoster Row, E.C.) and request him to send you the numbers that
contain it, naming the year in which it appeared, and enclose the money
due for them, he will send them to you. Should you send the exact days,
he would supply the weekly numbers, instead of the monthly ones, which
would cost you much less.

TIBBIE.--If accompanied by your sisters (or one at least) you need feel
no scruple in accepting the rector's Sunday hospitality, as you are
helping his services by playing the organ.

POMPEY inquires whether the modern Romans wear the same picturesque
flowing robes at the present day that were worn at the time of Christ?
There is no difference between their dress and that of the rest of
Europe. As to the history of Rome and its ancient buildings and
churches, there is a new book called _Mediæval and Ecclesiastical
Rome_, published by Black. The first volume might add something to the
information you say you have obtained in _The Story of the Nations_
series, _The Last Days of Pompeii_, and a few others--which you do
not specify. The book we name is reputed to be an excellent, and very
exhaustive guide-book, and the best yet written.

JOICE M.--We recommend you to get a little book on _Leather Work_,
by Rosa Baughan (Gill: 17, Strand, W.C.). This will give you all the
direction you can require.

JANIE.--The term "Black Letter," as used in reference to printing, only
means what we call "Old English" type, which is often used on visiting
cards. But old books, such as that interesting historical chronicle
of current events, by Stowe, is all printed in that type, and in the
spelling of that century. It is known elsewhere as the "Flemish, or
German type." Ancient illuminated missals, such as those exhibited in
the British Museum, are in "Black Letter," and most beautifully written
by pen in this style of lettering.

LILY.--Nothing is known of Jannes and Jambres, named by St. Paul in 2
Timothy iii. 8, beyond the fact that they existed, and withstood Moses
before Pharaoh--statements of divine authority. But, according to
very ancient tradition, they were two sons of the rebel, Balaam--who
died fighting against Israel--and, furthermore, that no real miracle
was wrought by them, but that they practised mere jugglery. The name
"Jerusalem," means "the City of Peace," though its history shows the
name very inapplicable. It was the site of the stronghold Jebus, taken
from the native tribe, and made that of the Israelitish capital.
The ancient name was revived by David, for a cuneiform tablet found
at Tel-el-Amarna (in 1890), written centuries before the Hebrew
conquest, appears to refer to that place under the form of Urusalem.
Our authority is that of Robert Anderson, whose interesting work on
_Extinct Civilisation_ is worth your study.

AMY.--You seem to have overlooked our many advertisements of the _Asile
des Billodes_, C. de Neuchâtel. If you look through old numbers of the
"G.O.P.," you will find them in the answers to correspondents. Some of
our earliest writers for this magazine have been taking out stamps for
the institution for many years past, every year, in large quantities.

GEORGIE.--The colour of the Red Sea is due to a thin brick-dust layer
of infusoria, which is slightly tinged with an orange hue. The water
placed in a white glass bottle is changed to a deep violet, but the
surface of the sea shows a brilliant rose colour.

C. M. C.--It is the duty of the clergyman to call on all his
parishioners, but this is almost impossible in extensive, closely
populated parishes. Of course, if attending the services of a church
not in his parish, he can know nothing about you. Should you desire
work under him, you only have to call at the vestry and offer your
services, telling him that you attend his church.

MIMOSA.--You could not call on your intended husband, unless with your
mother as a chaperon, as you say he has no lady relative living with
him.

NARCISSUS.--The plural of the name you have adopted is "Narcissi."

DAY-BOOTS.--1. A cane is only an adjunct to the military uniform. A
man when well dressed in civilian style always carries a stick or
an umbrella, and the latter would be quite unsuited for military
dress--and most men would look awkward had they no use for either
hand.--2. In striking a light you produce combustion, which makes a
noise.

[Illustration]




THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET, AND KITCHEN.

NOVEMBER.


November is one of our months of plenty, and a walk round the great
wholesale provision markets gives us a very bright picture. However
gloomy the weather may be outside, there is "good cheer" abounding
here. We have game and poultry in abundance and just in their prime;
the bag that sportsmen take delight in filling is here emptied for the
benefit of those who rarely or never breathe the air of the moors where
the birds flourished so happily. Rabbits and hares, once so fleet of
foot, hang limply from every available hook, and even the barn-door
fowl is a finer specimen than earlier in the season, while geese,
turkeys, and Surrey capons tempt their purchase, whether we intended it
or not.

       *       *       *       *       *

Freshwater fish appear among their sea-born brethren, and help in
giving us variety. Of fruits and nuts we have large choice, and the
ripe grains and pulse foods are all garnered, while most of the root
vegetables are ready too. Of a truth at this time of the year there is
no lack of food stuffs.

       *       *       *       *       *

Neither is there any lack of other material wherewith to make our
tables gay. Dahlias and chrysanthemums, rich foliage, hedgerow
gleanings and late grasses, these will stay with us until close upon
Christmas, if we take the precaution of sheltering our plants from
frost, and of drying our leaves, giving a touch of gum to either flower
or leaf, when we see one that is inclined to fall.

       *       *       *       *       *

None who are able to cultivate a flowering plant, or to take a walk on
to a piece of waste land or in a lane, need ever plead excuse for an
ungarnished table, and much pleasure is missed by those who think the
table can do as well without garnishing as with it, providing there
be plenty of good food upon it. We are not of their opinion. "A table
well-set is half spread." Care in pleasing the eye will do a vast deal
towards aiding good digestion.

       *       *       *       *       *

Let us look more particularly at what we might call the distinctive
features of the month's provisions. Pike and tench among the freshwater
fish, before mentioned; oysters, skate, and gurnet among the ordinary.
Grouse, snipe, teal, pheasants, hares, and rabbits, also venison
amongst game; while geese and turkeys are rapidly advancing in size and
quality.

       *       *       *       *       *

Celery is fast getting to perfection, Scotch kale is fine, so are
savoys and salsify.

       *       *       *       *       *

Chestnuts, filberts, walnuts, figs, and grapes, in addition to the
grand autumn wealth of pears, apples, quinces, and golden oranges, not
to mention the preserved fruits which are just beginning to be shown in
the windows.

       *       *       *       *       *

What we will call our characteristic menu of the month ought, then, to
be an easy one to compile. We give an alternative one for those who may
find themselves unable to provide the first-named.

       *       *       *       *       *


MENUS.

Let us take for soup: A _purée_ of chestnuts, or cream of celery.

For our fish course: Skate _à la crème_, or baked tench.

For an _entrée_: Baked ham with wine sauce, or curried rabbit.

For a roast: Wild duck and orange sauce, or roast pheasant and fried
potatoes.

As an _entremet_: Scalloped salsify, or Jerusalem artichokes.

As a sweet: Apple mirotons and quince jelly.

       *       *       *       *       *

The recipe for chestnut soup has been given in these columns before.
To recapitulate it as briefly as possible is to remind our readers
that the chestnuts must be first boiled until the husk and peel can
be easily removed, and then to boil them again with minced onion, a
few herbs, a carrot, and an ounce or more of butter, and sufficient
water to just cover them. This should afterwards be rubbed through a
sieve until a _purée_ is obtained, a pint of boiling milk added, and a
teaspoonful of cornflour (previously wetted) stirred in to thicken it.
Boil up once more, then serve at once. It should be of the consistency
of cream.

       *       *       *       *       *

Cream of celery soup is made by stewing a couple of heads of celery,
cut fine, with one or two onions and any garden herbs in a little
water until thoroughly soft, then rubbing all through a sieve, adding
sufficient milk to make up the requisite quantity, a spoonful of
cornflour to thicken, seasoning, butter, and after this has boiled add
a little cream and a few croutons of fried bread.

       *       *       *       *       *

Skate is a cheap fish and one that is somewhat despised in our country,
abroad it is better understood. Young skate are called ray or maids,
and their flesh is very delicate. Skate is improved by being kept for a
day or two in cold weather. Cut it into neat pieces and simmer in white
sauce until done, then lay the pieces on a hot dish, sprinkle crumbs
and a little grated cheese over with a touch of cayenne pepper, and let
them slightly brown in the oven, then pour the sauce around the fish.
Serve very hot.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tench, being a pond-fish, and apt to have a slightly muddy flavour,
should lie in salt water for a few hours. Rub it all over with
lemon-juice, put it into a tin with one or two minced shalots, some
parsley, crumbs, and a little dab of butter, and bake for half an hour
or more if the fish is large. Serve in the same dish.

       *       *       *       *       *

A rabbit jointed and cooked slowly in good gravy made from stock
thickened and flavoured with a spoonful of curry-paste or powder,
onions and any other vegetable liked, seasoning and a _soupçon_ of
vinegar, makes a delicious variation from the more ordinary stew of
rabbit. Serve boiled rice in a separate dish.

       *       *       *       *       *

Orange sauce, or an orange salad, is the correct accompaniment to roast
wild duck. For the sauce: Squeeze the juice of three or four oranges
and stir in a teaspoonful of arrowroot to thicken; add a little sugar
if liked. Wild duck requires a quick hot oven, but should not remain in
it more than three-quarters of an hour, as the gravy should run from it
as from a rump steak. Serve fried potatoes and browned crumbs with this
as with the roast pheasant; the garnish for the duck would be a lemon
cut in quarters, for the pheasant the crumbs are sufficient.

       *       *       *       *       *

Those who possess a few scallop-shells or the little fire-proof
chinaware ramequin pans will find no difficulty in making use of
salsify, and this, one of our daintiest, is one of our least-known
vegetables. The roots require scraping, then boiling in salt water
until they are tender enough to mash, adding then pepper, butter, and a
beaten egg. Fill the pans and sprinkle crumbs on the top, then bake in
a quick oven till slightly browned.

       *       *       *       *       *

For a miroton of apples: Pare and core without dividing six or eight
good-sized apples; cut them in slices to form rings. Place in a
saucepan a piece of butter the size of an egg, a quarter of a pound
of sugar, some grated lemon-rind and the juice. Simmer the apples in
this, and when tender arrange them in the centre of a dish, and when
cool garnish with spoonfuls of quince jelly. A little cream might be
poured around the base. Or the apples might be left whole and steamed,
then coated with the jelly, the place of the core being filled up with
whipped cream, and the dish garnished according to fancy.

       *       *       *       *       *

As in summer-time we arrange our dishes for cool effects, so in
winter months we may try to make as much contrast of bright colour
as possible. All these things are worth studying, for it is in such
details that the hand of the true culinary artist is shown.







*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER, VOL. XX, NO. 980, OCTOBER 8, 1898 ***


    

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