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[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.—NO. 1017.]      JUNE 24, 1899.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




EARLY MORNING NATURE-STUDY.


[Illustration: MRS. BRIGHTWEN IN HER GARDEN.]

_All rights reserved._]

To a true lover of nature hardly anything can be more thoroughly
enjoyable than a quiet hour spent in some shady spot early on a
summer’s morning, whilst the dew is still upon the flowers, and before
any sounds can be heard except those made by happy birds and insects.

In my garden there is a little dell embowered by trees, where I often
spend an hour or two before breakfast for the special purpose of
enjoying the company of my pet wild creatures.

On one side are five arches, formed possibly some hundreds of years
ago, since the great stones are grey with age and picturesquely
moss-grown and ivy-clad. Young trees, too, are growing here and there
out of the crevices into which the wind has wafted their seeds.

In an open space before me are groups of stately foxgloves of every
tint, ranging from purple through rose-colour to pure white. Some of
them have stems fully seven feet in height, each bearing not fewer than
a hundred and forty or fifty flowers.

Not only amongst these foxgloves, but in the lime branches overhead
innumerable bees keep up a continuous murmuring sound as they busily
gather their morning store of honey.

Various tall grasses are sending up their feathery plumes, and in
a special bed where only wild flowers are allowed to grow, teasel,
hypericum, valerian, and bog-myrtle are delighting my eyes by the free,
graceful way in which they make themselves at home as if in their
native habitat.

Under one of the arches the birds always find an abundance of food,
which I strew for them several times in the day.

There I see young blackbirds, chaffinches, hedge-sparrows, wrens, and
titmice feasting and flitting about, quite regardless of my presence.
One advantage of this retreat is that no house-sparrows come here to
annoy the more timid birds.

The quietness and peace of this secluded spot is in marked contrast
to the scenes I witness near the house. There sparrows reign supreme.
They come down in flocks to gorge themselves and their offspring upon
the sopped bread, rudely driving away many other kinds of birds that I
would fain encourage.

It may be observed that I have not spoken of robins feeding under the
archway, because only one haunts this spot, and he is my special pet,
and elects to sit on a bough close to me warbling his sweet low song,
and occasionally accepting some choice morsel from my hand.

When he was a brown-coated youngster I began to feed and attract him,
and in one week he gained so much confidence as to alight on my hand.

He is now my devoted adherent, flying to meet me in different parts of
the garden as soon as he hears my voice.

I am much interested, and I think he is also, in the development of
the little scarlet waistcoat which marks his arrival at maturity. I saw
the first red feather appear, just a mere tinge of colour amongst the
rest, and now daily I see the hue is deepening. If bathing and pluming
will tend to make him a handsome robin, he bids fair to outshine his
compeers, for he is always busy about his toilet, first fluttering in
a large clam-shell, which contains water, and then becoming absorbed
in his preening operations, which nothing will interrupt but the
appearance of another robin, who, of course, must be flown at and
driven away.

Birds, however, are not my only visitors. Some tame voles or field-mice
creep stealthily in and out of the rockwork and find their way to the
birds’ feeding-ground, where they also enjoy the seeds and coarse
oatmeal, and amuse me much with their graceful play and occasional
scrimmages. Field-mice are easily tamed and made happy in captivity.

Last year I coaxed a pair of these voles into a large glass globe,
and kept them long enough to observe sundry family events, such as
nest-building, the arrival of some baby-voles, and their development
from small pink infants into full-grown mice, and then I set the whole
family at liberty under the archway, where they now disport themselves
with all the confidence of privileged rodents.

By remaining absolutely still for an hour or two, quietly reading or
thinking, one has delightful opportunities of seeing rare birds quite
at their ease.

A green woodpecker, all unconscious of my presence, is clinging to an
old tree stem near by, and I can not only hear his tapping noise, but
I am able to observe how he is supported by the stiff feathers in his
tail, which press against the tree, and how his long tongue darts into
crevices in the bark and draws out the insects upon which he feeds.

I follow his upward progress around the stem until he flies away with
the loud laughing cry which has earned for him the local name of Yaffle.

Hawfinches are by no means common in this neighbourhood, but one
morning I was much interested to be able to watch three or four of
these birds, which had alighted on the top of a spruce fir in this
dell. Their golden-red plumage glistened brightly as they busily
flitted from branch to branch, snapping off small fir-sprays with
their powerful beaks, and chattering to each other all the while like
diminutive parrots.

Now the early morning sun is sending shafts of brilliant light through
the thick foliage, and bringing out special objects in high relief.

Just beside me is a large mass of grey stone, moss-grown and
fern-shaded. The sun has lighted up one side of this; the rest is in
shadow, so that it forms a picture in itself, and my robin has alighted
on it as though on purpose to give the touch of colour that was needed.

All my readers may not have so sweet a spot in which to study nature,
but I do strongly commend to them the delight of a quiet time spent
alone out-of-doors in the early morning.

The air is then so pure and fresh that it seems to invigorate one’s
mind no less than one’s body, and in the country the sights and sounds
are such as tend to helpful thoughts of the love and goodness of the
Creator Who has blessed us with so much to make us happy, if only we
will open our eyes and hearts to see and understand the works of His
hands.

    ELIZA BRIGHTWEN.




LETTERS FROM A LAWYER.


PART VIII.

    The Temple.

MY DEAR DOROTHY,—Nothing seems to puzzle the ordinary public so much
as the law of omnibus travelling, and in one of two cases which I saw
reported the other day, the worthy County Court judge seems, if he
were correctly reported, to have made a slip and nonsuited a plaintiff
with a good cause of action. I am inclined to think, however, that it
was the reporter who made the slip and not the judge, by omitting an
important point in the case which had escaped his notice, and I think I
can pretty well guess what that point was.

As both the actions arose out of incidents of everyday occurrence,
which might happen to anyone, I will here relate them for your benefit.

The first case was one in which a lady claimed damages from an omnibus
company—I think it was the London General, but that is a detail—on
account of injuries received through the misconduct of the conductor.
It appears that there had been a previous altercation between the
parties, and that when the lady rose to go out, he pushed her off the
step and started the bus, so that the lady fell down and injured her
leg.

The judge very properly nonsuited the plaintiff, because it is not
part of an omnibus conductor’s duties to violently push people off
his omnibus; such behaviour on his part was something outside of his
ordinary duties as a servant of the Company. The lady therefore had
no cause of action against the Company; her remedy was against the
conductor for the assault.

This may seem to you, my dear Dorothy, to be a very unsatisfactory
state of affairs, but so it is, and it seems to me to be good sense
and good law, although I admit that an action against a wealthy omnibus
company and one against a poor conductor are not quite the same thing.

In the other case a lady brought an action against an omnibus
company to recover the value of a dress, which she stated had been
damaged owing to her falling into the mud through the negligence or
carelessness of the conductor in starting the omnibus before she had
taken her seat.

According to the report, as I read it, she was going upstairs, but
before she got to the top, the conductor, without giving her any
warning, rang his bell, and the omnibus started with a jerk, which
threw her off into the mud and spoilt her dress.

Now if these had been the only facts in the case, I should have said
that this lady was entitled to recover the value of her damaged costume
from the omnibus company, because it is undoubtedly part of the
conductor’s duties to ring his bell and stop to take up and set down
passengers, and if a passenger is going outside he ought not to start
the omnibus until the passenger has secured his seat, or without giving
him warning or taking other reasonable means to see that he gets his
seat in safety.

But in this also the plaintiff was nonsuited, and, although it did
not appear so in the report, the learned judge must have thought that
there was some negligence on the part of the lady. Possibly she had
got on to the omnibus whilst it was in motion, as so many ladies do
nowadays. This would at once put her out of court. If there had not
been contributory negligence of some kind, this lady would have won her
case.

If you meet with an accident through getting on or off an omnibus
whilst it is in motion, you contribute to the accident in not ordering
the conductor to stop, and you have only yourself to blame; if,
however, you had ordered the conductor to stop and he had neglected or
refused to do so, you would probably succeed in an action against the
company.

Nowadays, when nearly all the omnibus companies issue tickets, you
are not bound to show your tickets whenever they are demanded by a
conductor or inspector, but it is wiser to do so because the absence
of a ticket will generally be regarded by the magistrate as evidence
of your not having paid your fare, and unless you have any friends
travelling with you who are ready to come forward and swear that they
saw you purchase a ticket, you will very likely be fined and have to
pay costs as well. If you are travelling in a train or a tram, you are
bound to produce and deliver up your ticket whenever it is demanded by
a servant of the company, the railway and the tramway companies having
special powers to make bye-laws to this effect.

The muzzling orders still remain in force for the Metropolis, although
in the country the dogs are freed of their muzzles.

A man who was summoned the other day for allowing his dog to run about
unmuzzled, tried to make a point by pleading that he did not permit the
dog to run about unmuzzled. Whenever he took the dog out he always put
his muzzle on, but on this occasion the dog had gone out without his
permission. However, the magistrate fined him all the same, just as he
did

    Your affectionate cousin,
        BOB BRIEFLESS.




THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.

BY ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object
in Life,” etc.


CHAPTER XIII.

STARTLED!

When once Lucy’s work began at the Institute her days were very full.
She rose early, gave her simple household orders, and prepared Hugh
for the Kindergarten, where she left him while she held her classes.
Hugh took his lunch with him, for he stayed at the Kindergarten rather
longer than the other children, so as to wait till his mother fetched
him. Lucy had explained her peculiar position to the Kindergarten
governess, a Miss Foster, and that lady had readily entered into this
arrangement.

It was a great relief to Lucy to find that Hugh was soon quite happy
among his new surroundings, returning home with plenty of wonders to
tell, and being always eager for next day’s start. Miss Foster often
came to the door to see Lucy and to deliver over her pupil. She was
loud in praise of the little boy, confiding to Lucy that his state
of mental development was so different from that of too many of her
pupils. They had generally been left so much in the care of servants
and nurses.

“A little one who is generally in the company of its mother, or
of somebody who really cares for it, may be said to enjoy all the
advantages of kindergarten from its very cradle,” she remarked. “Its
education has been going on happily and unconsciously all the while.
Its little brain and hands have found occupation in imitating the work
or doings it sees. It is not left to gape and stare at the things
around—all wonders to it—but it is encouraged to ask questions, and it
gets its questions cheerfully and patiently answered.”

“I suppose that is a very important item,” said Lucy.

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Foster. “A careless nurse may often answer
a question, but she does this snappily, perhaps with a hasty shake
or a cross remark that the child is ‘a silly, little worrit.’ That
encourages no further inquiry, and the baby-mind often closes over
ridiculously wrong impressions, which can only confuse and blur its
mind and all its processes.”

Lucy smiled.

“Yes,” she answered, “I can understand that, for children generally
want a second answer to explain the first. I remember Hugh once asked
me as we walked past some burial ground what it was used for. I told
him ‘to put people’s bodies in when they die.’ He said ‘Oh!’ and
walked along quietly, but looking puzzled. I felt sure he had some
afterthought, so I said, ‘You have learned what a burial ground is now,
Hughie, haven’t you? To put people’s bodies in when they die.’ Hughie
snuggled up to me and whispered the confidential question, ‘If they
only put their bodies there, what do they do with their heads?’ What
an idea he would have carried away if his second question had not been
drawn out!”

Miss Foster laughed.

“Such things occur constantly,” she said. “I daresay we have all heard
the story of the little girl who said she liked to go to church when
they sang the hymn about the bear. No? Well, it runs that she made
this remark to her mother, who was more interested in her child’s
preferences than it is likely any servant would have been. So she
asked, ‘Which hymn is that, my dear?’ ‘Oh, the one about the bear that
squints.’ ‘The bear that squints!’ said the mother, surprised, and
knowing at once that something was wrong. ‘What does this mean?’ She
could not ask the child to show the hymn, for she could not yet read.
But instead of saying ‘Don’t be silly!’ she pursued the inquiry. ‘What
makes you think there is anything about a bear that squints?’ ‘Oh, I’ve
heard you sing it often,’ replied the child. ‘You sing “the consecrated
cross-eye bear!”’”

They both laughed.

“That may be apocryphal,” commented Miss Foster, “but if so it is a
fable which covers a great deal of fact.”

“It need not be apocryphal,” returned Lucy. “A distinguished preacher
once told me that as a child he learned the lines—

    “‘Satan trembles when he sees
    The weakest saint upon his knees.’

Surely a beautiful image, and one which to the adult mind it seems
impossible to misunderstand. But from the standpoint of the child,
accustomed himself constantly to sit on people’s knees, the idea
presented itself differently. He fancied that it was the saint’s
sitting on Satan’s knees which caused Satan’s agitation! It never
occurred to him that there could be any other meaning, and his puzzle
was not over any doubt on that head, but only concerning what, in such
a circumstance, was the cause of Satan’s dismay, for he knew that if he
himself sat on anybody’s knees, he was rather in that person’s power,
and could be easily got rid of. He went on saying and singing that hymn
for years, the wonderment always recurring. He told me that the truth
did not dawn on him till he was a grown youth attending theological
classes. Then he said it came with such a lightning-flash that it
nearly made him cry out in chapel!”

“There is even a more serious aspect of this kind of misunderstanding,”
said Miss Foster, “which may really lead to a wrong stratum of
character if children are not encouraged to speak out and show how they
take things. Grown-up people sometimes say hasty or playful words which
no other ‘grown-up’ would take literally, but children do. It often
seems to me as if, though the little folk are themselves ready to ‘make
believe’ to any extent, yet they cannot credit any ‘make believe’ in
others. Let me tell you a story in illustration.

“A friend has lately bought a house, on whose staircase is a beautiful
stained glass window; but its value is rather spoiled for her by the
fact that in its centre are the initials of the late owners of the
house, not interesting people in any way, but very commonplace folk who
made money by speculations. One day a little boy-visitor was admiring
the window, and asked about the initials. My friend explained them to
him, and then, turning to another visitor, laughingly said, ‘We must
get somebody to throw a stone through that pane.’ Presently she noticed
that the little boy kept very closely to her side, and by-and-by he
whispered, ‘Mrs. Gray, I can hit very well. I’ll throw a stone at
that window. I’ll do it to-day if you like.’ ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said,
‘that would never do at all. We must get it done properly some other
time.’ He was disappointed, but said no more then. When he was taking
leave, however, he whispered, ‘Mrs. Gray, when do you want that stone
thrown? You’ll ask me, won’t you? You won’t let anybody else do it?’
Now if he had not been a child accustomed to free speech, he might have
taken that lady’s jest in earnest and have thrown the stone, which
would likely have missed its aim and done incalculable mischief. Mrs.
Gray would have quite forgotten her remark. Overwhelmed by his failure
and by censures unaccountable to him which would have fallen upon
him, he would, according to all the precedents of childish criminals,
have ‘reserved his defence,’ and he would have been set down as a
mischievous monkey, if not a malignant little wretch, for making such
return for pleasant hospitality.”

“I suppose too,” said Lucy, “that every time we let a child talk a
matter out and help it to follow the explanations we give, we are
really unconsciously training its mind to think out things for itself,
and not to rest content at any point where it is not really satisfied.”

“Exactly so,” answered Miss Foster. “The facts which a child learns are
always of little importance compared with the exercise of its mind in
grasping them. That is why learning anything by rote is useless save
as an exercise of memory, and that explains, too, why some people who
are said to have ‘no book-learning’ are far keener observers and arrive
at more judicious conclusions than do pedants. The plainer folk have
probably learned to use their minds upon the work of their hands. It is
with minds as it is with bodies: unless the digestion is in order, food
does not nourish, is not assimilated, and only results in disease. So
though there is more ‘knowledge’ in the world to-day than ever before,
and though it is more widely distributed, yet at every turn the public
mind—with its violent prejudices, its unreasonable fluctuations, and
its inability to look below any surface conclusions that are offered to
it—proves that the Hebrew prophet’s complaint ‘that the people do not
consider’ is as true as ever it was. Probably in face of present day
opportunities and issues it is even truer. I often think that it will
remain so till parents take more interest in their children’s society
before they are eight years old.”

“I hear that many school children have so many home lessons that they
can’t have much time for home talk,” said Lucy.

“That is so,” consented Miss Foster, “and in my opinion, during the
regular school age home lessons ought to be almost unknown. All the
time at home is needed for home society and home usefulness if the
child is to have a good all-round development. The worst cases I have
known of this kind of loss and defect have been among the children of
modish women, who had ‘social duties’ which they preferred to walking
out and talking with their little ones. If women can’t have patience
and pleasure in their own children, why should they expect it in their
nursemaids? And they don’t get it. I have often seen children dragging
along, silent, listless, gaping, with an irritable or indifferent
nurse, and a few minutes after I have met ‘mamma’ driving out to pay
her calls.”

“I am always so sorry for widows who have to leave their children to
others simply that they may discharge other duties to their children
themselves,” observed Lucy. “A woman cannot at once play with her
babies and earn their bread. I’m afraid we don’t think enough about
the hardships which beset some lives. Perhaps they seldom press on our
attention till we feel a touch of them ourselves.”

“I think a crèche is a very useful form of charity,” answered Miss
Foster, “provided that rules are carefully made not to encourage
married women to think of becoming wage-earners as if that was the
proper thing when their husbands can and should be working for them.”

Lucy smiled a little sadly.

“I am not thinking only of the class who can be helped by a crèche,”
she said. “I was thinking of another type of widowed women who uphold
their homes by being authors or artists, or by managing shops or
businesses. They are forced to leave their children so much under other
influences, and it is so sad if, after bravely playing a father’s part
for years, it ends in the disappointment of their mother-heart and the
frustration of their best hopes.”

“Ay, I quite agree with you!” cried Miss Foster heartily, “and I
congratulate you warmly on being one of those whose light affliction,
lasting but a little while, suffices to open new and wider sympathies.
I hope you are always getting the best news of Mr. Challoner?” she
added. For Lucy had told the little teacher how she was placed at the
present time.

“The very best of news, thank you,” Lucy answered. For Charlie’s ship
letter had been followed by others, posted at various ports, and all
telling the same good tidings of revived health and strength. Indeed,
the very last letter had hinted that the improvement was so marked and
so stable that Charlie was sorely tempted to shorten his absence and
return home by steamer. He wrote that he had suggested this to Grant,
who “seemed very much cut up about it, but had raised no difficulty.”

In reply to that letter Lucy had written at once, urging her husband
not to think of such a thing. The better he was, the better reason was
there for carrying through the original plan. “Because the foundation
is so good, there is the brighter prospect in building on it,” she
said. And besides, Lucy confided to Charlie that Captain Grant’s wife,
in writing to her, had said that the fee for Charlie’s trip would just
enable her husband to pay off the last of his father’s debts, which he
had honestly taken upon himself. “And when they have brought us such
good luck in enabling you to take this voyage,” wrote Lucy, “we must
not spoil any good luck that our share in the matter may have brought
them. Let us be wise and patient,” wrote Lucy, crushing back a sneaking
hope that Charlie might even have started homeward before he could get
her reply to his letter. “In that case we must pay the Grants all the
same,” she reflected, “though I am afraid they would not take it.” Then
she proved to herself the sincerity of her counsels to Charlie by still
resolutely withholding the story of her domestic changes, which she
had meant to tell him at this time when she had pulled through so far.
But if she did so, it might add the last link to the yearning that was
pulling him home, and she would do nothing to strengthen a temptation
whose force was revealed in her own heart.

She walked home rather soberly after her little conversation with the
Kindergarten mistress. Certainly it strengthened her in the resolutions
she had formed and had steadily carried out. But she could not refuse
to know that she was living under considerable strain. Her teaching
at the Institute was strenuous and exacting. Apart from the mental
exertion, she was on her feet all the time. By the time she reached
home, she was thoroughly exhausted, and was really fit for nothing but
a nap, or at least an afternoon’s repose on the sofa, half dreaming
over some simple book. But there could be no such rest for her. For
this was the only time when Hugh could have a walk, and so off they
went together. She often wondered whether he noticed that she was not
quite so lively as she used to be, not so ready for a run, or so good
at a game of ball. But a little child takes much on trust. Then they
came home to tea, which generally refreshed her considerably. After
that, Hugh sat at her side, with his bricks, his picture books, or his
“transparent slate,” while she did all the household mending. Jane
Smith never put a finger to this, not because she refused to do so, but
because when she attempted it on one occasion, she ruined a pair of
fine grey woollen hand-knitted stockings, by drawing a slightly-worn
heel together with coarse white worsted, showing that she had not the
most rudimentary idea of what darning should be.

Now this is just the kind of household work for which it would be
a waste of time and power to hire help, especially in such a small
family. Then as the washing was no longer done at home, Lucy had
to prepare the account for the laundry, and to see that the things
were sent home correctly, which as they scarcely ever were, led to
correspondence and general worry.

By the time all these inevitable little tasks were accomplished, it
was generally time for Hugh to go to bed. After that Lucy was free. Of
course, in the winter nights, painting was impossible. But through the
art dealers, Lucy had heard of an opening for pen-and-ink sketches, and
it was this eventide that she had hoped to give to this work. She could
reckon on about two hours’ solitude, and yet retire to rest early.
She soon found out, however, that leisure is of little avail for such
pursuits if energies and spirits are exhausted beforehand.

Yet Jane Smith was the very last person with whom Lucy could relax her
vigilance in keeping Hugh to herself. She often shuddered to think
how, had Mrs. Morison’s fair appearances held out a little longer, she
might have been tempted to trust her boy with the nice motherly-looking
widow—a misplaced confidence which might have ended in a terrible
catastrophe. But Jane Smith offered no such temptation. She was so
plainly nothing but the common professional servant, who does her
work as well as any work can be done without genuine interest or any
sense of what is fitting or pretty. After she had spread a tablecloth
Mrs. Challoner generally had to straighten it; she drew the blinds up
askew; she never noticed when a stair-rod slipped from its socket. Lucy
herself always had to be watchful that clean sheets were well aired.
Once she found them put quite damp upon the beds. Pollie had always
fed the cat in the kitchen, and so had Mrs. Morison, and certainly the
poor animal had thriven well under her brief _régime_, till that day of
disgrace, when she dropped boiling gravy on it! But Lucy remarked that
pussy, who had always come upstairs for “company,” now often came up
mewing. Puss seemed getting thin, so Lucy took its meals into her own
care. She asked Jane Smith if she neglected her. Jane Smith said “No,”
but owned she “might have forgotten it sometimes.”

That was Jane Smith all over. She took her wages and did her work, but
it was without any “head,” and also, Lucy was forced to admit, without
any heart.

There was not much definite fault to be found with this Jane. The
kitchen was fairly clean and tidy; it had only ceased to look snug and
inviting. The public rooms were presentable—after Lucy had gone round
everywhere, shaking out a curtain here, removing a chair from grazing
the wall there, and lifting china bowls from perilous positions on the
very edge of a shelf. As for the bedrooms, Jane did not seem to know
how to make a bed comfortably, and did not seem able to learn. Lucy
generally had much adjustment to do before she could happily court
slumber.

Still Jane carried on what may be called “the ruck” of household labour
after a fashion. Lucy did not dream of giving her notice to leave, not
being one of those mistresses with whom that possibility is for ever
present. Indeed with her strained nerves and strength it seemed really
far easier to supplement Jane’s perfunctory work than to entertain any
thought of once more facing change and a wrestle with the unknown.

Jane’s lover, the young carpenter, came regularly once a week, and
stayed about two hours. Mrs. Challoner saw him once or twice, when
household business took her to the kitchen, during his visits. He
looked a dull, decent young man, with a shock of red hair and a smooth
boyish face. He sat close beside the fire, even when the spring
evenings had grown warm. Lucy addressed him with a cheerful “Good
evening,” and made one or two slight remarks about the weather, to
which he made little response save a movement of the lips, and a glance
towards the area-window. He did not rise when Lucy entered the kitchen,
but that rudeness seemed due only to shyness or slowness, for he always
rose a few minutes afterwards and remained standing for the rest of
her stay. Altogether, Lucy decided that he was not very bright; he was
by no means one of those young working men who come to the front at
evening colleges and clubs, and are the moving spirits of their trades’
union. All the more, he seemed a fit enough match for Jane, who would
have been indeed a hopeless drag on the life of any rising man.

Sitting in her dining-room, Lucy could hear through its floor the
sound of the voices in the kitchen, though the words, of course, were
inaudible. The conversation of these courting evenings did not seem
very lively. Jane said a few words, and the gruffer voice replied with
a monosyllable, and then there would be a long pause, and presently the
performance would be repeated.

But one evening a week or two after Easter, the conversation seemed to
have grown much livelier. It was the man who had the most to say, and
he spoke faster and in a higher key than before.

“Is he waking up at last?” thought unsuspicious Lucy, “or is it
possible that they have had a little tiff, and that he is defending
himself or scolding her? Perhaps he does not like her new bonnet.”

For Lucy had seen Jane go out on the previous Sunday evening in fresh
and gorgeous spring attire, her neat brown dress and black jacket
crowned by an incompatible hat, round whose crown pink, green and blue
roses, feathers and rosettes “screamed” loudly at each other. Lucy had
thought to herself that her mother, in the old days, would at once have
“put her foot down” on such headgear, but Lucy’s own sense of fairness
rebelled against any arbitrary interference with a girl’s taste in
dress (when going about her own business) simply because the girl was
in her wage-paid service at other times.

“I have seen Florence in hats I have liked as little, though they
were different,” thought Lucy. “I know many mistresses can’t bear
their servants to copy their style of dress—dear mother would have
regarded it as an unpardonable impertinence—but I should be only too
proud and happy if my servants would copy mine! Pollie was turning in
that direction—with just a few extra bows and flowers, and silk velvet
ribbon where I put modest braid!”

But next week, when the courting evening came round, the hitherto
silent lover was again voluble. Even sounds of laughter arose—a thing
unprecedented! Lucy was always watchful to hear the kitchen door
close and the manly step mount the area steps at the precise hour she
had named. She had never had any reason to complain on this score.
The carpenter had taken his departure with painful punctuality. But
to-night, the nearest church-clock chimed nine, and the chat in the
kitchen went gaily on. Presently Lucy looked at her watch—it was
half-past nine. She hated to begin fault-finding for any trifling
accidental lapse. Still it was time the supper-tray was brought up.

She had her hand on the bell when there was quite a lively stampede
in the kitchen, the area door closed with a hilarious bang, fleet
feet mounted the area steps as if by two at a time, and the area gate
clanged to the sound of a merry whistle.

Jane, with the supper-tray, seemed more alert than usual, almost
officious in her endeavour to do of her own accord little things of
which Mrs. Challoner generally had to remind her.

Next week, when the same evening came round, and the kitchen voices
were again audible, it chanced that Lucy found she had left her
housekeeping book on the kitchen dresser. She thought to herself that
she would not ring for it, but would fetch it herself, and so take
opportunity of keeping in touch with the domestic idyll whose new
developments were beginning to interest her.

But when she opened the kitchen door she started and almost cried out.

(_To be continued._)




HOUSEHOLD HINTS.


UNDER no circumstances whatever should bread be thrown away. Some
can be baked hard in the oven, and then crushed with a rolling-pin
and put away in a glass bottle or tin to use when frying chops or
fish. Delicious puddings can be made also by soaking stale bread and
crusts in milk, and beaten up when quite soft with eggs and mixed with
raisins, candied peel and some spice, and baked. These can be eaten
either hot or cold.


THIN clean paper should never be thrown away, but kept in a kitchen
drawer, for wiping out saucepans and frying-pans, and wiping butter off
knives, to save cloths being cut by the latter.


VERY early potatoes are often very unwholesome, having been forced by
the aid of chemicals and not grown naturally.


SEPARATE days should be arranged for cleaning the silver and brass
articles in a house, and separate cloths and dusters used for them.


A HARD broom should be kept in every coal-cellar to sweep up the loose
coal each time coal is fetched, otherwise it is taken up on the shoes
and carried over the house.


SOILED linen should never be kept in bedrooms, but in a basket outside
on a landing, or in the bath-room.


IT is a pity to throw away clean paper-bags. They should be kept
together and given to some small tradesman who will be glad to use them
again. Old newspapers should be given to some poor invalid who will be
glad of something to read, or sent to the workhouse or hospital.


THE plug in a lavatory basin should not be left out, as it is liable to
let sewer gas into the house.


FLOWERING plants and their seeds should be planted with the growing and
not with a waning moon.


AFTER cooking is done, the dampers of a kitchen range should be shut in
to save the coals.


CULTIVATE the grace of thoughtfulness for others. This is invaluable
in a household, and makes the wheels go round smoothly. Want of
consideration for others, and thoughtlessness, is the source of much
trouble.


GAME and fowl bones should never be given to pet dogs. They cannot
digest them, and such bones have been the cause of painful deaths.


A FRUITFUL source of friction between the servants of a household is
the unauthorised use of each other’s dusters, brooms, etc. To avoid all
such unpleasantness, the cook and housemaid should have a completely
independent and distinct set of things, and kept in different places;
they should also be of a different colour or pattern, so as to be
easily identified by the owners. The cloths should be returned clean
each week to whoever presides over the linen cupboard, and fresh ones
given out. It is bad economy and worse management to use the same
cloths over and over again.

[Illustration]




SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE.

A STORY FOR GIRLS.

BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen
Sisters,” etc.


CHAPTER XII.

A FAIR ISLAND.

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Sheila.

The glow of a golden sunset was on sea and shore, as the great vessel
rounded the corner and came into view of the harbour of Funchal.
The lonely Desertas to their left lay bathed in the reflected light
from the westering sun, whilst upon their right lay the fair island
of Madeira, its wild mountain range cleft with great ravines, and
dotted with innumerable quintas and little houses shining in a sort of
shimmering glory, the white city with its many buildings and spires
lying peacefully on the margin of the sea, the shore alive with little
boats, looking like so many caterpillars upon the green water as the
rowers pushed them outwards towards the great in-coming steamer.

“Oh, Miss Adene, I am quite sorry the voyage is over; but how lovely
Madeira is!”

“Yes, I told you you would be pleased! And see over yonder, beyond the
town, on that sort of promontory as it looks from here, that is the New
Hotel, where we are all going. It looks a little bare from here, but
the garden is a wilderness of flowers when we get there. It is the most
homelike hotel I was ever in, and I have had a good many experiences.
Yes, those boats are to take us off. We cannot get very close inshore.
The harbourage is not good, and in rough weather the mails have to
stand a good way out, and I have known passengers swung on board in
baskets by the steam-crane. But that is quite exceptional. Generally it
is like to-day, calm and quiet, and the boats take us off without any
trouble. Mr. Reid will come out in one, and take all trouble off our
hands. We just give him our keys and tell him the number of our boxes,
and he passes it through the Customs and brings it up, and we have no
sort of trouble at all.”

Mrs. Cossart was very much relieved to find how easily everything was
done when once the kindly hotel proprietor came on board. She was able
to give her undivided care to Effie, whilst Sheila was running about
saying good-bye to captain, officers, and such passengers as were going
on to the Cape or the Canaries, and in the end found herself left
behind by that boat, and had to go ashore under Miss Adene’s wing,
which, however, troubled her no whit.

“A bullock-cart! Oof! How perfectly delicious!” she cried, as they were
shown the conveyance in which they were to be carried to the hotel.
“Oh, you dear creatures! What sweet faces they have! Oh, I hope they
are kind to you! Miss Adene, isn’t it lovely to go in a bullock-cart?
Oh, I hope it is a long way!”

“It takes about twenty minutes. You see, the bullies do not go very
fast,” laughed Miss Adene, as she took her place. “This is what we call
a carro; it has runners like a sledge instead of wheels. You see, all
the streets are paved with cobble-stones, so that the runners slide
easily along them; and it is the same everywhere in the island right up
into the hills; nothing but these paved roads for bullock carros, and
running carros, and sleds for carrying goods. But the mountain carros
are much lighter than these that they use in the town, or they could
not get them up the steep, steep roads.”

Sheila was in an ecstasy as they went jogging along through the
quaint little town. She exclaimed with delight at everything she saw,
the little brown-legged, dark-eyed children, the women with shawls
over their heads, the little boys running with strange calls at the
heads of the bullocks, and, above all, at the gorgeous masses of the
flowering creepers which draped the walls of the houses and fell
in great curtains over the outside mirantes. Deep orange bignonia,
bougainvillia, purple and scarlet, delicate plumbago, with roses and
heliotrope in such masses that the eye was dazzled and the air heavy
with perfume.

“I could not have believed it if I had not seen it!” cried Sheila again
and again. “And, oh, how hot and delicious it is! Effie must get well
here!”

The New Hotel was a fine building, and there was pretty little Mrs.
Reid waiting smiling in the hall to give them a welcome. Miss Adene had
several kindly questions to ask, and went off with Mrs. Reid to the
suite of rooms which had been bespoken for the Dumaresqs, whilst Sheila
was handed over to the care of a tall, slight, ladylike girl, who took
her up and up to the rooms selected by Mrs. Cossart.

“It is a long way up, but they thought the air would be fresher and the
rooms more quiet for the lady who is ill,” she explained; and Sheila,
to whom stairs were no trouble, was delighted. After all, it was only
on the second floor; only, the rooms being lofty, the journey seemed a
little long.

“Oh, Effie,” cried Sheila, “what a splendid room! How high, and cool,
and delicious! Oh, I do like these white walls! And what views we get!
Oh, how I love those great, great wild mountains! And there is the dear
sea out of this one. It is nice to have two different views, and both
so lovely! Oh, how happy we shall be!”

Effie was lying on the sofa, but she was looking interested and
animated. The maid passed in and out, looking about her, and keeping an
eye on her young charge.

“Yes, I like being up here. I feel as though I could breathe. I was
afraid it might be too hot below. Father and mother have the room next
but one looking south over the sea, and Susan has the next one, though
it is big, so that we are all together. She may have to move when the
hotel fills up; but she is to be there now. I think I shall like this
place, Sheila; and the people seem so kind.”

Kindness indeed seemed to prevail here. The Portuguese chambermaid,
in her odd, broken English, was wishful to know what kind of bedding
and pillows the ladies liked; and when she brought in anything asked
for, she would set it down with a beaming smile, saying, “Sank you, my
ladies.” The curly-haired waiter who brought up afternoon tea almost at
once was wishful to know what the ladies liked; and before long, Mrs.
Reid had come up to see if Effie were comfortable, and talk cheerfully
and kindly to her till called off in another direction.

“I must just run down and round the garden!” cried Sheila, after they
had eagerly drunk their tea. “I wonder if I might bring you back some
flowers? If I see Mrs. Reid, I will ask her.”

Mrs. Reid quite laughed at the question as Sheila passed her going out.

“As many as ever you like. And take care not to slip on the pebbled
paths. People have got to get used to them.”

Ronald was outside, and hailed Sheila eagerly.

“Come along and let us explore!” he cried. “Give me your hand. These
cobbles are mighty slippery. They say gravel would be washed away by
the tropical showers even if they could get it. But it’s precious queer
walking down these steep places. One wants to be a bullock for that.”

It was a strange, wild garden, with great palms growing in the beds,
and the walls of the terraces, for it was all more or less terraced
out of the face of the cliff, covered with curtains of creepers, most
of them a mass of bloom. Roses in sprays as long as your arm drooped
temptingly within reach, and the little heavy-scented gardenia filled
the air with fragrance.

Sheila ran from place to place, exclaiming and admiring, glancing
with shy interest at other visitors strolling about, and making her
companion laugh again and again by her enthusiasm.

“Oof, a tennis-court!” she cried, darting suddenly through an opening.
“Oh, did you ever see anything so lovely? It is like a Tadema picture!”

It was rather, for the floor was of concrete, looking white in the
fading light, and there were stone seats all round it for spectators,
whiter still. All round a trellis had been placed, wired in against
balls, and this trellis was just one sheet of glorious colour. Curtains
of bougainvillia hung over at one place, at another heliotrope of roses
made a perfect screen, intermingled with scarlet geranium, poinsettia,
and plumbago. Through little gaps in this floral curtain, and through
vistas of palm and cactus beyond, could be caught glimpses of the blue
sea, and overhead the sky rose sapphire clear, with that peculiar
purity and depth of colour which characterises those latitudes.

“Oh, isn’t it lovely?” cried Sheila in ecstasy.

“Awfully pretty,” replied her companion, “though the floor might be
better for playing. There are some big cracks. Do you like tennis, Miss
Cholmondeley?”

“Oof, yes!” cried the girl eagerly; “but I have not had much practice
this summer. Effie was ill, and I was not going to parties. Do you play
well, Mr. Dumaresq?”

“No, not well according to the modern standard; but perhaps you will
condescend to play with me. But come along; I want to see what that
little building is up there. In there is the bungalow, a sort of
dependence of the hotel. The Reids offered it to us as an independent
home of our own, but as Guy is rather lame and weak, and we should have
to come up to the hotel for meals, we declined; there are too many
steps. But it is a pretty place; such a sheer drop to the sea below. It
must be like living in a ship’s cabin. Now I want to see how to get to
that other building. I think there’s a sort of a path round here. I’ve
a fancy it may be the billiard-room from my aunt’s description of the
place.”

A billiard-room it was—half of it, at least; the other half was quite
empty save for a piano and some chairs round the walls.

“It looks made for a dance!” cried Sheila, pirouetting round. “Are all
hotels as perfectly delightful as this?”

The sun had just dipped behind the hills, and the shadows were coming
on apace.

“I suppose it gets dark pretty soon here,” said Ronald. “Let us go back
to the house now. We must finish the garden to-morrow. There is plenty
more to see.”

Sheila had sprays of roses and heliotrope in her hands as she ran
upstairs to Effie. A lamp had been brought in, and the big, lofty room
looked quite gay.

“Oh, what roses!” cried Effie in real delight. “Aren’t they splendid? I
am going to like this place immensely, Sheila, and we have such a good
plan. Susan isn’t to have the big room next door; it’s to be turned
into a sitting-room for us. Mrs. Reid will get it done to-morrow, and
Susan will sleep in a little room close by; then this great turret
place will be all our own, and we can have our friends up to tea and
all that sort of thing. I want to get to know the Dumaresqs better. You
get on with them very well, don’t you, Sheila?”

“They are very kind to me. I think they were sorry for me on ship-board
because I was alone at first. Lady Dumaresq is lovely, and the little
boy is so sweet, and Miss Adene has always been like a friend.”

Effie was moving about the room a little restlessly.

“I don’t quite know how it is—I suppose it’s being ill—but I don’t seem
to get on with people quite in the easy way you do, Sheila; but you
know at home, before I was ill, they all used to listen and laugh as
they do now to you. I don’t want to be left out in the cold.”

“Oh, no!” cried Sheila eagerly, though with a slightly heightened
colour. Somehow she too had the feeling that people did not take very
much to Effie. They all asked kindly after her, but a little of her
conversation seemed to go a long way.

Mrs. Cossart here came in to say that she would dine upstairs with
Effie, but that Sheila had better go down with her uncle. So Susan
was sent for to get at a dress, the luggage having arrived all safe,
and the girl was soon arrayed in a soft black net evening gown, very
simple, but very becoming, with a spray of white roses fastened upon
her shoulder.

“Mind you tell me about all the people when you come back!” said
Effie, who was quite lively and bright in spite of the fatigues and
excitements of the day; and Sheila was all curiosity herself, for she
had never before stayed at a big hotel, and the novelty of the life
amused and interested her immensely.

In the drawing-room there were a few old ladies and a couple of
gentlemen reading the paper. They did not look very amusing, Sheila
thought. Then the Dumaresqs came in, except Sir Guy, who was not well
enough to appear. But Lady Dumaresq looked bright and happy, confident
that the warmth and beauty about him would soon put him right.

A gong sounded, and there was a move to the adjoining dining-room,
and Sheila found herself seated at a long table between her uncle and
Ronald Dumaresq, who coolly took possession of the empty seat laid for
Effie, whilst the other guests filed in, some to the long table, and
some to the small ones at the side, and the business of dinner began.

Sheila was not hungry, but she enjoyed watching and listening. A rather
handsome lady opposite was making advances to their party with an air
of assurance and friendly patronage which rather amused Sheila.

“A regular old hotel stager,” whispered Ronald to her in an aside,
“would know the sort anywhere. Keeps her husband in good order, one can
see. Rather a fine woman, but I don’t care for her style.”

Then there were the usual habitués of a health resort—a wife with a
delicate husband, a husband with a delicate wife, a mother with a
little asthmatic boy (who would have been better in bed at such an
hour), a few travellers bent on pleasure and relaxation rather than
health. Sheila tried to piece histories on to the different faces, and
Ronald made some comical remarks and shrewd guesses. But the party was
not large for the size of the hotel. The season was quite early. It was
not often so full as this till after Christmas. A rather wet summer and
the threatened outbreak of influenza had frightened a good many people
off before the usual time.

“I think I’m glad of it,” said Sheila. “It is such fun watching them.
They are all rather quiet now, but I suppose they will make more noise
when they get to know each other.”

“We must try and set a good example,” answered Ronald. “Now come on to
the verandah outside and see the moonlight on the sea.”

The covered verandah outside the drawing-room, with its comfortable
chairs and lounges, was quite an institution at the New. Although on
the entrance side the drawing-room appeared a ground-floor room, from
the verandah one looked right down over the terraced garden with a
sheer drop on to the next level of twenty or thirty feet. The view over
the harbour was lovely, the town lights and those of the ships gleaming
out in the soft darkness.

“There goes the _Plymouth Castle_,” said Ronald, pointing out the
vanishing lights of the great steamer. Sheila waved her hand in a
parting salutation.

“Good-bye, dear old ship. I liked being on you very much, but I don’t
want to be on you now, for you have brought us to the most charming and
delightful place. Oh, how happy I am going to be here!”

(_To be continued._)




FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.

BY “THE LADY DRESSMAKER.”


[Illustration: THE TUNIC SKIRT.]

Our sketches of to-day’s fashions in our present issue are so
absolutely true to life that there is no difficulty in guessing the
nature of the frocks for to-morrow. As will be gathered from them, we
are quite out of date if we be fat; therefore, if ambitious of shining
in the world of dress, we must begin to reduce our size at once. Have
you noticed, as I have, how much the number of fat women is decreasing?
Perhaps, after a time, they will be a marvellous exception, and we
shall notice them just as we notice sloping shoulders and attenuated
waists; to both of which our immediate forbears were addicted. The
waists of the present day seem generally in excellent proportion, and
for this we have to thank our adoption of the bicycle, on which the
corset cannot be worn, or, at least, very short ones, and not at all
tight. In one way, at least, we need improvement, and that is in our
carriage, for in that so many women and girls fail. They stoop from the
neck, or from the waist, and slouch along in a most ungraceful way.

I must begin with a few notes on underclothing. So far as I can see,
the petticoat bodice is very little worn; most ladies seem to prefer
having the bodice fitted over the corset, and wearing it in that
manner, the corset itself being worn over the petticoat. The only
drawback to this is that the dress-bodice would so speedily become
soiled at the back of the neck. So I think one of those pretty muslin
under-bodices, which are cut in Bolero style, and trimmed with lace,
would be the best thing to prevent it. I have lately found some very
good and well-woven cotton combinations, which ranged in price from 1s.
9d. up to 4s. and 5s. They are more economical wear than either woollen
or silk ones, and entail less risk of catching cold than either. They
wash well, and are very well-fitting. I find this woven underclothing,
either as combinations or vests, is more used than anything else.
Indeed, one could fancy as much from the enormous supply laid in at the
shops, of every material, size, and colour. Many of them are so thin
that they will hardly bear washing.

In the way of petticoats, we have an unlimited choice, and a vast
improvement in the cut and manufacture, as well as in the material. The
fashionable colour of the season for them is pink—a bright and rather
violent shade, but it looks well with most things, especially black.
The new moreens of the present season are of such a good description
that they are almost like a watered silk, and they quite rustle like
one. They have, however, rather changed their names, and they are
called by some Marshallette, or watered woollen moirés.

The new collars for our dresses are, most of them, very high indeed,
and pointed up to the ears at each side. The swathing of the neck with
lace and the high collars make everyone look very much covered up
indeed, and as the season progresses it will be very hot. There are
all kinds of boas made, and they appear to be the only season’s wear.
These boas are made of feathers—ostrich, of course—in black, white,
grey, and black and white mixed; in silk, lace, fringe, in chiffon of
all colours, silk muslin, spotted nets, and gauzes, the spotted nets
being, I think, the prettiest, though, of course, the most perishable.
Although they are so expensive, everyone seems to find money to
purchase them, and some few girls manage to find out the way to make
them for themselves.

Where skirts are concerned, we appear to have no choice but to make
them quite tight-fitting about the hips, and they must flow out about
them; but we need not quite adopt the eel-skin skirt, for there are
several shapes from which we can make our choice. First, there is the
old umbrella skirt, as it used to be called, which is cut without
seams, and from material wide enough to cut it without any join, save
the one. Then there is a skirt cut in the same manner, with a join
up the back, and then a skirt with two widths, one of which is very
wide and the other narrow. This seems to be the most popular, as it is
more easy to fit. The last skirt that I have seen is one with three
widths, the front one being narrow and the other two wide, meeting in
the centre of the back in a bias seam. This, I am told by a first-rate
dressmaker, is the best skirt-pattern for very thin people, who are
gifted with big hips, however, and who are tall.

I am bound to notice the extravagances of fashion, so I must tell you
that if you have not enough width of hips to make your dress look
well, you can make up the deficiency by purchase; and a large drapery
firm in the West End was exhibiting a few days ago the necessary
framework in their windows. But it does not do always to trust to such
machinery _pour se faire belle_, as I must tell you also that they
sometimes get out of place, and then you have hips where you do not
want them! I heard this funny story told the other day, but I cannot
vouch for its truth, though I think the foolish people who adopt such
things would deserve to be made ridiculous.

There is one great comfort in the midst of the frills and furbelows
of fashion, that we may be quite as fashionable, and twice as happy,
if we elected to stick to our coats and skirts and our pretty blouses
of cotton and muslin. The newest ones of this year are really quite
tight-fitting bodices. They are not gathered at the shoulder seams nor
at the neck, and they are cut so tightly to the figure that they allow
of next to no fulness at the waist, which makes them sit in a far more
tidy and neat way. They are all made with yokes at the back, and they
have generally a very tight bishop’s sleeve.

The tunic, or, as perhaps you may hear it called, and more usually
so, the double skirt, as they are really only modifications of each
other, looks as if it had come to take up its abode with us, having
been threatened for a long time. We have illustrated two or three of
the most popular, which are undoubtedly the ones with points which
fall nearly to the hem. Besides this there is a very long all-round
tunic, the edges of which are scallopped, and fall very low on the
under-skirt. As all our gowns are made much too long, and must be held
up, this is the most uncomfortable shape of all.

Perhaps the greatest change of the year has taken place in the
sunshades, which are striped in various and wonderful ways, and some
surprising colours. As to the embroideries, chiffons, laces, and
ornaments lavished on them, they are so many I have no room to describe
them. The latest I have seen was of chiffon, embroidered in straw; and
on another I counted sixteen rows of gathered baby-ribbon in three
colours, the foundation being in green satin.

[Illustration: A CLOTH GOWN.]

Our first group of three figures shows, as we have already said, three
varieties of the tunic. The gown on the extreme left is of heliotrope
canvas, over white silk. It has a pointed tunic, trimmed with white
silk, or satin, ribbon, or tucking. The same is placed in rows on the
top of the sleeves, and there are rows of heliotrope satin on the
collar and on the edge of the skirt. This is a very pretty and girlish
gown, which could be carried out in any thicker material if desired.
The figure on the right hand side wears a gown of plain grey alpaca,
with an under-dress of a crimson-figured poplin, which has rows of
narrow black velvet round the edge. The tunic is also trimmed with rows
of black velvet, with cream lace, and the bodice has a white satin
yoke, with a front of crimson and trimmings of black velvet also, with
double revers, which fold back. The hat is of the new boat shape, and
has three ostrich feathers in it. These are very much uncurled, as it
is no longer the fashion to curl them very tightly, and the stem must
show down its entire length. They are often of shaded colours, and are
of moderate length.

[Illustration: TWO CAPES AND HATS.]

The centre figure wears a very smart gown in muslin, with flowers, the
colour being blue, in shades. It is made up over blue. There are three
scalloped flounces, and a tunic, which are edged with blue velvet, and
a tiny lace. The bodice has revers of cream-coloured chiffon, and there
are frills of the same at the side front, and the waist-band is of
heliotrope velvet, and is very narrow.

The charming figure in a fawn cloth tailor-made gown wears one of the
rather long and rounded jackets. The trimmings consist of rows of
satin ribbon and cream lace, three rows of which go round the skirt
and jacket. The front is of white satin and cream lace, and the collar
has rows of satin on it to correspond. These narrow satin ribbons and
tuckings, made of silk and satin, are the special trimmings of the
year, and they seem quite ubiquitous, and look so pretty that we have
not got tired of them yet.

There are so many muslins—organdies, and the ordinary corded ones—that
it is quite a muslin year, and the lace and narrow ribbons used on them
are enormous in amount. Lawn of the same colour is generally used for
the linings if you do not choose to afford silk. A fine sateen will
also answer.

Our third drawing shows two pretty hats and two of the most fashionable
capes, which still contrive to hold their own in the dress of the
present season. The figure on the left wears a short cape of heliotrope
silk, tucked and trimmed with frills of white chiffon, and it has one
of those stoat fronts, which are quite new this year. The cape to the
right is of grey satin, with pointed fronts, and a large collar of
white satin, with front revers of the same. The whole is edged with a
_ruche_ of black chiffon. The hat is of the new Cavalier shape, with
feathers and a buckle.

The prettiest change of the year is in the sailor hats, which are now
trimmed and made to look quite different from the plain and useful
things they used to be. A white one that I saw the other day had six
rows of narrow velvet ribbon at equal distances round the crown, and
a rosette of the same at the right side. Another had a wide band of
red velvet on it, with an upstanding spray of cherries at the side,
and bows of red velvet mixed in with them. Both were to be worn with
washing veils.




VARIETIES.


A SUFFICIENT REASON.

_Author:_ “But why do you charge me more for printing this time than
usual?”

_Publisher:_ “Because the compositors were constantly falling asleep
over your novel.”


LIVING HAPPILY TOGETHER.—A few more smiles of silent sympathy, a few
more tender words, a little more restraint on temper, may make all the
difference between happiness and half-happiness to those we live with.


FRIENDSHIP.

    Well-chosen friendship, the most noble
    Of virtues, all our joys makes double
    And into halves divides our trouble.

        _Denham._


HOW THEY CLOSED THE DAY.

When Dr. Walsham How was rector of Whittington, an old woman, on the
occasion of his first visit, said to him—

“The old man and me, sir, never go to bed without singing the Evening
Hymn. Not that I’ve any voice left, for I haven’t, and as for him, he’s
like a bee in a bottle, and then he don’t humour the tune, for he don’t
rightly know one tune from another, and he can’t remember the words,
neither, so when he leaves out a word I puts it in, and when I can’t
sing I dances, and so we get through it somehow.”


SHOWING AND SEEING.—Behaviour is a mirror in which everyone shows and
might see her own image.—_Goethe._


MENTAL EXERTION.

A lady took her Irish maid to task for carelessness and forgetfulness.
“Why is it, Mary,” said she, “that you keep on making the same mistakes
over and over again? Why don’t you try to remember what I tell you?”

The day happened to be very warm, so Mary returned the quaint reply,
“Sure, ma’am, I can’t be aggravatin’ me moind this hot weather.”


CONSOLATION.—There never was a night which was not followed by a
morning, nor a winter which was not succeeded by a summer. A most
consoling reflection, this, to those distressed in the night and winter
of spiritual trial and trouble.




COURTESY.

BY ELIZABETH A. S. DAWES, M.A., D.Lit.

    “_Plus fait douceur que violence._”—_La Fontaine_, vi. 3.

    “A beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful form; it gives a
    higher pleasure than statues and pictures; it is the finest of the
    fine arts.”—_Emerson._

       *       *       *       *       *

I have chosen “courtesy” as the subject of my little address this
time, as it is a virtue which is perhaps somewhat in danger of being
forgotten and overlooked in these modern days of continual hurry
and bustle; and yet it forms such an essential part of a beautiful
character that nobody can justly claim the title of “gentleman” or
“gentlewoman” if he or she neglects the practice of it, which is, too,
the opinion of our Shakespeare, for he writes, “We must be gentle now
we are gentlemen” (_Winter’s Tale_, v. 2).

The derivation of the word, which really means the manners and
behaviour to be observed at a royal court, is neatly given by Spenser
in his _Faerie Queene_, Book vi. 1.

    “Of _court_, it seems, men _courtesie_ do call,
      For that it there most useth to abound;
    And well beseemeth, that in princes hall
      That vertue should be plentifully found,
    Which of all goodly manners is the ground
    And root of civil conversation”;

and Milton likewise says that “_courtesy_ was first named in _courts_
of princes.” And as an example of a prince who practised this virtue
we may quote from an old memoir about Henry VIII., “We cannot omit
to observe this _courtly_ (shall I call it?) or good quality in him;
that he was _courteous_, and did seem to study to oblige.” However,
the English girls of to-day need not look far for the pattern of a
perfectly gracious and courteous woman, for who fulfils this ideal
better than her Gracious Majesty, Queen Victoria? Who better known than
she for the courteous message of thanks to her troops when they have
nobly done their duty, or for the quick expression of sympathy to the
suffering victims of an accident or some personal bereavement?

Then for a definition or short explanation of what _courtesy_ is we
cannot do better than turn to _The Greatest Thing in the World_. Here
on p. 26 we learn that courtesy is an ingredient of Love, that it is
“Love in Society, Love in relation to Etiquette,” and has been defined
as “love in little things”; in a word it is the quality denoted by the
sentence, “Love doth not behave itself unseemly.” From these words
we can also gather the reason why we should all show courtesy, for,
as it is one of the components of love, and Christ said that all His
disciples were to be distinguished from the rest of the world by their
love for another, we shall not be true followers of Christ, or have
a really beautiful character, if we omit any part of love; just as a
beautiful mosaic could never be otherwise than imperfect, if, though
complete in all other respects, the stones of one certain colour were
everywhere missing.

It must also be remembered that a courteous behaviour should be worn
always and everywhere, and not only put on like a grand robe for state
occasions, for courtesy is “a happy way of doing things, and should
adorn even the smallest details of life, and contribute to render
it as a whole agreeable and pleasant.” Hence, first and foremost,
courtesy should be practised in the home by the children both towards
their parents and towards each other. This is a matter which merits
more attention and thought than is generally given to it, for by a
courteous manner and a gentle tongue, more influence in the government
of others is often attained than by qualities of greater depth and
substance. Now woman, not man, is the true home-maker, therefore girls
should take great pains to be courteous, and thus by their gentleness
lead and direct the perhaps rude and selfish brother who will probably
unconsciously sooner or later imitate and adopt his sister’s gracious
ways. A sweet-tongued gentle maiden cannot fail to render the home,
be it a poor or rich one, both pleasant and dear to her brothers and
sisters. And then to parents how far more gentle and courteous we
all should be than we are. It has been well said that a blessing is
never fully realised until it is lost, and so I fear we hardly any of
us realise clearly and distinctly to ourselves how much our parents,
especially our dear mothers, do and suffer for us until the day comes
when we know what it is to be without them.

Dr. Miller, in his book _The Building of Character_, which I should
earnestly recommend every girl to read, says, “Wherever else we may
fail in patience, it should not be in our own homes. Only the sweetest
life should have place there. We have not long to stay together, and
we should be patient and gentle while we may.” And to enforce this
teaching, he quotes one of the tenderest little poems ever written, and
of which I subjoin a couple of verses:—

    “The hands are such dear hands;
    They are so full; they turn at our demands
    So often; they reach out
    With trifles scarcely thought about;
    So many times they do
    So many things for me, for you,
    If their fond wills mistake,
    We may well bend—not break.

    They are such fond frail lips,
    That speak to us. Pray, if love strips
    Them of discretion many times,
    Or if they speak too slow or quick, such crimes
    We may pass by; for we may see
    Days not far off when those small words may be
    Held not so slow or quick, or out of place, but dear,
    Because the lips are no more here.”

Further, a courteous manner should be used towards the servants, orders
given politely and unnecessary troubling of them avoided; for instance,
lying late in bed, though intensely pleasant, often necessitates the
disarrangement of the servants’ morning work, for which the delinquent
herself will perhaps blame them later in the day.

At _school_, again, how many “open doors” are there for doing little
courtesies to mistresses and schoolfellows, and for aiding to maintain
the peace and harmony both in class-room and playground by a gentle
look or word, and for the “soft answer which turneth away wrath,” and
stays the rising quarrel. The girl who will be most beloved, and
who will have the best influence in a school, is undoubtedly she who
is ever ready with a pleasant smile to play with the little ones,
to say a kind word to another when in trouble, and who shows by her
whole behaviour that she wishes to make those around her happy and
comfortable. Then on those days of discouragement, when, in spite of
all endeavours, the lessons are not well known, and it seems useless
to go on trying to do as well as the other girls, or when, perchance,
unmerited blame or irritating teasing has unnerved and tired you,
how you welcome the friend who, without being told, knows how “wrong
everything is going,” and with gentle loving words strives to cheer
you, and bids you take heart again and bravely return to the fight.

If we look at the reverse of the picture and contemplate the
discourteous girl, be it at home or at school, we cannot fail to
observe how many opportunities she loses of giving pleasure. She may
come down to breakfast, and just mutter a “Good morning” and omit
the morning kiss; during the day she may never notice how often she
might fetch something for her mother or mistress, jump up or open the
door for somebody with their hands full, or try to subdue her loud
boisterous laughing or talking in a room where others are busy reading
or writing—she will also pass in and out of a door in front of her
elders, pay little attention to the wants of her neighbours at table;
in short, she will not increase in any way the pleasantness of her
surroundings.

A word of warning, too, must be given to those girls who, with the best
of intentions to try and do right and help others, make the mistake
through their very excess of zeal of directing or correcting others
in a rough, brusque way, and perhaps enforce their words by a not too
gentle push or shove! These must read La Fontaine’s fable of _Phoebus
and Boreas_, or _The Sun and the Northwind_, and see how the north
wind, for all his violent blowing, could not divest the traveller of
his cloak, whereas the sun by the influence of his gentle warming rays
soon accomplished that in which the rough blasts of Boreas had failed.
And if they follow the teaching of this fable, they will soon see how
much more the gentle word accomplishes than the rough one.

And now to close, I would like to ask you, who read these few remarks
of mine, to endeavour to put more gentleness and courtesy in your
dealings with other people than you have done heretofore; for in all
of us there is always room for improvement, and there is not one of
us surely but must admit that we often leave little courtesies undone
and little gentle words unsaid. Courtesy is like the drop of oil that
enables machinery to work noiselessly and smoothly, for it lessens the
jars and friction of life and the consequent worry and fretfulness.
Little things make or mar the peace of life, therefore exhibit courtesy
which is “Love in little things,” and you will gain the gratitude and
esteem of those around you, and carry away in your minds these lines of
Lord Houghton, and never, if you can avoid it, lose an opportunity of
putting them into practice—

      “An arm of aid to the weak,
        A friendly hand to the friendless,
      _Kind words, so short to speak,
        But whose echo is endless:_
    The world is wide—these things are small,
    They may be nothing, but they are All.”




THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.

BY LA MÉNAGÈRE.


Glorious June! Can anyone complain of a lack of the least good thing?
Rather we have _un embarras de richesse_; so much so, indeed, that
we hardly know what to select for our typical _menu_. Look at the
vegetable market, for instance. See the piles of snowy cauliflowers,
the crisp cabbages and spinach, the quantities of salad stuffs,
cucumbers, spring carrots and turnips, asparagus, artichokes, peas
and French beans, while the very potatoes look attractive. Then see
the fruit, the ever-welcome green gooseberries, strawberries, early
raspberries, and ripe cherries galore. The fruiterers have golden
apricots, nectarines, custard apples, and many other luscious things.
The fishmongers are showing plovers’ eggs in their little nests of
moss, the pinkest of prawns and crabs, scarlet lobsters in a garnish
of parsley, magnificent salmon, salmon-trout, speckled trout, and
beautiful fine soles, with mackerel that glisten like the whitebait.

Game is, of course, of no account now; but young chickens are coming to
the fore, and pigeons are excellent, so also are the plovers.

Then look at the wealth of June blossom that is poured into the market.
Can anything surpass the beauty of these roses? Lilies and hydrangeas,
snowy narcissi, gorgeous tulips, iris, and peonies, and if you can find
a sweeter or a more splendid flower than a blush peony of the Dutch
variety, you will be clever indeed. Sweet mignonette, sweet peas, and
still sweeter pinks, make the air quite heavy with their fragrance.
Then we have quantities of beautiful grasses, mosses, ferns, and
foliage plants here for all sorts of purposes, for June is the harvest
month of the floral decorator. Dinners, balls, receptions, weddings, at
homes—all make great demand on the markets this month.

The place of game at fashionable dinners is taken by plovers’ eggs,
or by an aspic jelly. As the eggs are usually sold ready boiled, and
require no accompaniment, we may leave them without further remark; but
it might be useful here if we considered the making of a simple aspic
jelly such as could be manufactured by the home cook.

_Aspic Jelly._—Get a knuckle-bone of veal and one of ham and crack
them in pieces. Put with them a large onion, with two cloves, a large
carrot, a bunch of savoury herbs, and two quarts of water. Let these
simmer gently in a brown stone jar for several hours, then strain off.
To a pint of this stock (which should be perfectly clear) add one
ounce of Swinborne’s isinglass previously soaked in cold water, also
a teaspoonful of salt, a little pepper, a tablespoonful of tarragon
vinegar; and then a wineglassful of strong sherry. Stir over the fire
until it nearly boils, then break into the liquor the whites of two
eggs and the shells, stir well, and draw to the side of the fire; let
it simmer for a quarter of an hour, then strain through a jelly-bag
three or four times until it is perfectly clear. Keep the mould in a
very cold place until it is wanted. The quart should make two moulds of
jelly. A good jelly will keep for some time, and is often most useful
for an invalid.

An aspic of game or poultry makes an excellent luncheon dish, and will
prove an easy and dainty way of serving up the remains of cold poultry,
etc.

Pour some ready-made aspic jelly into the bottom of a plain round mould
which has been wetted with cold water. Next make a layer of stars and
diamonds from the white and yellow of a hard-boiled egg, a few fine
sprigs of parsley, and the red part of a cold tongue here and there.
Let this set, then lay on thin slices of cold fowl and ham, leaving
plenty of space to run more jelly in between. Fill the mould up to the
top with jelly, then put it away to set. When quite stiff turn it out
on to a dish.

Suppose that for our June _menu_ we take the following:

                  Bisque of Crab.
                Devilled Whitebait.
    Grenadines of Veal.      Jardinière Sauce.
                   Aspic Jelly.
        Saddle of Lamb.      French Beans.
                 Gooseberry Tart.
   Cream Cheese.      Oaten Wafers.      Coffee.

_Bisque of Crab._—Wash well in several waters half a pound of the
best rice, put it into a saucepan with a quart of the best clear
white stock, and add a little milk. Add also an onion, a small piece
of cinnamon, a little salt and pepper and a good bit of butter. Let
the rice simmer a long while, then add to it the pith from the body
of a freshly-boiled crab, and another pint of milk or stock. Rub all
carefully through a sieve, then pour it into a stewpan with the flesh
from the claws torn into flakes, add a teaspoonful of the essence of
anchovies, a teaspoonful of arrowroot dissolved in a little milk, and a
few drops of cochineal to deepen the colour. At the last moment, before
serving, after the soup has boiled up once, add a small cupful of hot
cream.

_Devilled Whitebait._—To fry whitebait a good depth of clear frying fat
is needed, and a frying basket in which the fish can all be plunged
into the fat at once. They should be carefully wiped, then lightly
shaken in a well-floured cloth, just so as to coat them sufficiently.
Plunge into boiling fat for about three minutes, then withdraw them
from the fat, sprinkle them with black and red pepper, return to the
pan for another minute, then drain and serve on a napkin with fried
parsley as a garnish. Send quarters of lemon and brown bread and butter
to table with them.

_Grenadines of Veal, Jardinière Sauce._—A slice of the best lean
fillet of veal, about two-thirds of an inch thick, should be shaped
into small pieces, and then dipped into beaten egg and into a mixture
of breadcrumbs, minced ham and seasoning. Fry these carefully on both
sides to a light brown, then put between two plates and stand in a hot
oven.

For the sauce take a pint of stock, and one onion, a large carrot,
a turnip, a few French beans, a few peas, and any other available
vegetable. Mince these finely and evenly, fry them in dripping, drain
and add to the stock. Thicken this with a spoonful of potato flour, and
season highly. Boil gently for a while, then pour in the centre of a
hot dish and set the grenadines around the edge. Let boiled potatoes
(small ones) accompany this dish.

The saddle of lamb should be simply roasted and served with its own
gravy; the French beans boiled first, then sautéd, in butter with
chopped parsley, and potatoes, if liked, treated the same way. Pass
mint sauce around as well.

Cream should accompany the gooseberry tart, and strawberries with cream
might appear at the same time, or in lieu of the tart as preferred.

A roast duck and green peas might take the place of the saddle of lamb,
according as means and circumstances permit.




OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES;

OR,

VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES.


PART IX.

There is a kind of cottage, chiefly found in the North of England, but
also not unfrequently to be seen in the western and central counties;
it is constructed entirely of stone or granite. The mullions of the
windows, “dressings” of the gables, doorways, and sometimes the walls
themselves, are built in “ashlar.” “Ashlar,” in England, means stone
brought to a smooth surface, not only on face but round the sides as
well. Now this is rather important for all who are engaged in building
operations, because “ashlar” means a different thing in England from
what it does in other parts of the United Kingdom. In Ireland, for
instance, “ashlar” means stones brought to a smooth surface in front
alone, the edges being left irregular, and if you require them to be
cut smooth and squared at the edges, you have to specify that they
shall have “even beds and joints.”

A curious trial occupied the Irish Law Courts for many weeks some
time back. An English architect and an Irish builder were engaged
in erecting an important edifice in Ireland. The architect in his
specification stipulated “ashlar” for the frontage of the structure.
The builder carried it out in the English manner and then sent in
a heavy bill of extras for “beds and joints.” This was opposed by
the architect on behalf of his clients. At the trial all the Irish
witnesses maintained that the builder was right, and all the English
that he was wrong. The judge and jury became thoroughly puzzled, and
could not understand the disputed point, as evidently both sides were
perfectly sincere. At last the judge, perfectly bewildered, appealed to
a very eminent counsel who was engaged, and said to him—

“Mr. ——, can you explain what all this means? We have been for some
days listening to the apparently endless dispute about ‘beds and
joints.’”

“Well, my lord, I can only suggest that it must be in some way
connected with a question of _board and lodging_,” answered the counsel.

The matter remains unsettled, I believe, to this day. Of course we use
the word “ashlar” in its English signification.

In addition to all the northern counties stone cottages are found in
Derbyshire, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, Herefordshire, Monmouthshire,
Oxfordshire, Somersetshire, Dorsetshire, Devonshire, and Sussex.

They are usually very solidly built, and, though they present sometimes
a stern and severe aspect, they are well suited to a rough climate, as
they are warm and comfortable, and so substantial that they can resist
the floods which often inundate mountainous districts. The group of
cottages which we sketched some years back at Glossop, in Derbyshire,
bore up against a singularly severe catastrophe. The little mountain
stream shown in the foreground was dammed by a very solid earthwork
higher up the valley so as to form a reservoir. During a terrible storm
of wind and rain the dam was swept away, and the vast torrent of water
poured down the valley, sweeping everything before it, and completely
submerging the lower part of the village. The old stone houses shown in
our drawing were flooded to their upper storey. A man who described the
occurrence to us said—

“It was all so sudden-like. I heard a loud roar, followed by a rushing
noise, which made the house seem to rock. I jumped out of bed and found
myself up to my knees in water. I got my wife and children to stand
upon the table and chairs, while I tried to find out what was going on,
half expecting that the old house would come down, but it stood like a
rock; and when the water subsided, it was as good as ever, though some
of the modern houses were reduced to ruin.”

[Illustration: LOOSE STONE AND PEAT COTTAGE, SCOTLAND AND N. ENGLAND.]

These stone cottages, with their heavy mullioned windows and
low-pitched gables, continued to be built down nearly to the end of
the last century. Of course, they must have been expensive; but their
durability seems to prove that the extra outlay was, in the end, true
economy. Artistically, they appear well suited to their bleak grey
surroundings. These great, wild woodlands, interspersed with shapeless
and fantastic rocks and strange-looking bowlders, swept by howling
winds, so that no tree can lift its head save under shelter of the
hillside, are not so unkindly as they seem.

[Illustration: STONE COTTAGES, GLOSSOP, DERBYSHIRE.]

We once knew a beautiful and delicate girl who had to leave London and,
with her parents, live in one of these wild-looking districts. After
a short time she grew strong and still more beautiful. Later on she
married, and went with her husband to live in a southern land under the
influence of a more genial climate. But, alas, it proved less friendly
to her than the rugged North, for within six months she died. Three
days before this sad event she said to her husband—

“If I could only feel the wind over the great moor I think I could
live.”

He would have given all he possessed to save her, but the doctors
assured him that she would certainly die on the journey. Health is
often to be found in these rugged stone houses of the North country,
stern and sombre as they look when compared with the cheerful
half-timber cottages of the South.

In some out-of-the-way districts of Northern England, Scotland, and
Ireland, cottages are built of “loose stone”—_i.e._, stones fitted
together without mortar, and are thatched with peat. Sometimes the
angle-stones, window and door openings, have mortar joints, the rest
being left open. In all stone counties of England walls constructed
in this manner divide the fields instead of hedgerows, the top row of
stones being fastened together with mortar when the wall is more than
breast high. This is a very ancient method of building, and is found in
almost every country of the world.

    H. W. BREWER.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration]




“MY FAVOURITE CONTRIBUTORS” COMPETITION.


PRIZES OF ONE GUINEA.

    Jessie Offin, Loughton, Essex.
    “Christabel,” Poole, Dorset.
    “Pansy,” Beverley, East Yorkshire.
    “Rose,” North Muir, Forfar.
    “Wild Orchid,” Croydon Grove, Croydon.
    Agnes Ward Strong, Moseley, Birmingham.
    Nellie Turner Godfrey, Redhill, Surrey.
    Ada Alice Gaze, Norwich.
    Emma Elizabeth Epps, Redhill, Surrey.
    Elizabeth Kerr, Port Charlotte, Islay, N.B.


PRIZES OF HALF-A-GUINEA.

    Edith Mary Foyster, Brentwood, Essex.
    Félicie Buisseret, Namur, Belgique.
    Evelyn Agnes Forster, Crowthorne, Berkshire.
    Edith K. Ellis, Highgate.
    Florence Marie Benton, Swavesey, Cambs.
    Lilian Grundy, Lynwood, Ashton-under-Lyne, Lancashire.
    M. Evangeline Hulse, Carlisle.
    “Modest Violet,” New Whittington, Chesterfield, Derbyshire.
    Mary Agnes Parker, Peterborough, Northampton.
    Agnes Mary Vincent, Warwick Square.


HONOURABLE MENTION.

Mabel Jenks, Cambridge; E. Flesch, Brünn, Mähren; Gwendoline Doughty,
St. Leonards, Bridgenorth, Salop; Kate Kelsey, Crossleigh, Montpelier,
Bristol; “A grateful old woman,” Ballymena, Ulster, Ireland; Millicent
H. Warwick, Manchester; Mary Adèle Venn, West Kensington Park, W.;
Helen Elizabeth Howitt, Dunoon-on-Clyde; A. Park Pearson, Halifax;
Laura Buck, Potters Road, New Barnet; Alice Dunn, Brisbane, Queensland.

       *       *       *       *       *


REPORT.

From the time our first competition was announced until now, it has
been a real pleasure to look over the papers sent in by our readers,
who seem always to have understood the spirit and object of the various
competitions we have placed before them and to have entered into them
enthusiastically and naturally. The consequence is that their papers
have been full of interest and instruction as to matters we never could
have learned by books or by travel. The barrier behind which thousands
of lives are lived could never have been broken down but for the ready
help of the girls themselves. Their papers have made our views of life
broader, they have evoked sympathy and admiration for the toilers in
our great cities; they have permitted us to stand side by side with
them as they work and struggle and fight for what they know to be good
and pure; they have made us free of their homes, whether in the farm
kitchen, or in the streets of our great cities, so that one can sit
down and picture them all, whether in a London factory, a country farm,
a village rectory, or away in our far-off colonies.

But _this competition_ is different from any of those which have
preceded it, for the Editor has asked the opinion of his thousands of
readers as to their favourites among the staff of writers, artists,
and musicians whom he has employed for the last twenty years. It is a
bold thing to have done, and yet it is but natural that a man who has
devoted the best years of his life to a certain object should desire
to know how his methods have answered and whether the material he has
offered for the instruction and healthy amusement of girls has met with
the approbation of those for whom he has catered. It is no easy task
in the present age when independence is growing rampant, to influence
girls and surround them with an atmosphere which, without in the least
coercing them, will keep them pure and gentle and womanly.

So throwing caution to the winds, the editor has submitted himself
and his staff to the microscopic criticism of his many thousands of
readers, and begged them to select ten out of the number whom they like
best and to give a reason for their preference.

We have received some hundreds of papers, each of which has been
conscientiously read and pondered over. Each competitor has stamped her
paper with her own individuality; she knows exactly what she prefers
and why she prefers it. One and all regret that they are limited in
their choice to ten of the staff, seeing that all are so good, but
there seems to have been no hesitation as to the chief favourites.

In awarding the prizes, we have taken into consideration not so much
the handwriting and decoration of the manuscripts as the thoughtfulness
and intelligence with which they have been written.


SIDE-LIGHTS.

Widespread as we consider our knowledge of girl nature by this time,
competition papers often spring upon us surprises, showing us we have
much to learn upon the subject. We confess that, although we have
always taken care to provide our readers with subject-matter for deeper
thought, still we were scarcely prepared to find that in the majority
of cases the first things read were these graver articles and the
papers dealing with instructive and interesting matters, the stories
as a rule being kept till the last. In one paper only were all the
favourites chosen for stories.


QUOTATIONS.

1. I can safely say all the stories and articles in the “G. O. P.” are
the best to be had. In truth one puts down the “G. O. P.” with better
feelings and higher aspirations than when one took it up. Years ago my
father found me reading a paper that he did not think fit for a girl
to read, so he promised to buy me a magazine if I would read only such
books as he provided. I promised, and he set about getting me suitable
reading. As a result, he was shown the “G. O. P.,” and brought it home
to me, and for twenty years I have been a reader of the “G. O. P.,”
and hope to be for as long as I live, for I do not think I could get a
better.

2. May I suggest another competition to you? You have already had one
for girls who work with head and hands—will you not also have one for
those who are preparing to work with head or hands? I am sure there
would be many interesting pictures of student life at our colleges
among the papers sent in. I feel that the “G. O. P.” decided my life
for me. In April, 1881, when I was eight years old, we bought the
number for the month. There was an article in it on the North London
Collegiate School; it mentioned the pupils who were graduates—some were
doctors or medical students. I said I would be one too; the idea stayed
with me. At last the way was opened for me, though it is harder than I
thought.

3. May I hope you will read this as a friendly letter from American
girls who do not wish the pleasure they have received from your paper
to remain unexpressed.

4. I am very proud to be able to say I commenced taking in the “G. O.
P.” on the 2nd October, 1880, being the beginning number of the second
volume, and ever since I have taken the greatest interest in it. When
I got married, one of the first pieces of furniture we bought was a
book-case to put my favourite books in; I often take one of the old
volumes down for information—I appreciate them more every day for the
kind and practical help they give.




OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: AN ACCIDENTAL CYCLE III.


SOLUTION.

AN ACCIDENTAL CYCLE III.


5. _Lamp Explosions._

    Some use cheap lamps, whose oil, alas!
    Is held in china or in glass,
    Such folly no one can surpass.


6. _Escape of Gas._

    When you escape of gas detect,
      Don’t search about with lighted match,
    But for a little while reflect—
      It might your head from form detach.


7. _To Cyclists._

    If you’re cycling down a hill
      With a waggon coming towards you,
            Keep your head;
    And to save an awful spill
      Make for hedge, though it accords you
            Scratches red.

       *       *       *       *       *


PRIZE WINNERS.


_Twelve Shillings and Sixpence Each._

    Jessie F. Dulley, Lindens, Wellingborough.
    Ellie Hanlon, 1, Otranto Place, Sandycove, Dublin.
    G. Meggy, Rimpton Rectory, Bath.
    Janet M. Pugh, Bronclydur, Towyn, Merionethshire.
    Ethel Tomlinson, The Woodlands, Burton-on-Trent.


_Seven Shillings Each._

    Mrs. Ethel Hartley, 310, Rotton Park Road, Birmingham.
    John Marshall, 13, Prospect Road, Child’s Hill, N.W.
    Eben. Mutten, 17, George Street, Devonport.
    Katharine Mary Stanley, The Old House, Washingboro’, Lincoln.
    L. Trotman, 26, Blessington Road, Lee, S.E.
    Helen B. Younger, 5, Comiston Gardens, Edinburgh.


_Very Highly Commended._

Mrs. Acheson, Eliza Acworth, Agnes Amis, Annie A. Arnott, Margaret E.
Bourne, Nellie D. Bourne, Rebecca Clarke, Rev. Joseph Corkey, Mrs. G.
H. B. Cumming, Ethel Dickson, Cecil French, Mrs. W. H. Gotch, Edith E.
Grundy, Meta Kelway, Eliza Learmount, Agnes McConnell, Mrs. Nicholls,
Rev. V. Odom, Annie B. Ormond, Isabel Snell, Frederick Wm. Southey,
Ellen C. Tarrant, Constance Taylor, C. Thompson, Mary F. Wakelin, Edith
Mary Younge.


_Highly Commended._

_Division I._

Edith Ashworth, S. Ballard, Rev. F. Townshend Chamberlain, Lillian
Clews, Helen Margaret Coulthard, J. L. Ellson, Herbert V. French, Annie
M. Goss, Ellen Hambley, Francis Hingston James, Mrs. Latter, Dora
Laurence, Eva H. Laurence, Carlina Leggett, Winifred A. Lockyear, Mrs.
C. A. Martin, Jennie M. M’Call, F. Miller, Helen M. Norman, Violet C.
Todd, W. Fitzjames White, Henry Wilkinson, Alice Woodhead, Elizabeth
Yarwood, Diana C. Yeo.


_Highly Commended._

_Division II._

Eva Mary Allport, Lily Belling, G. Brightwell, Jane Lindsay Campbell,
R. Swan Coulthard, George Robert Davidge, Leonard Duncan, Eleanor
Elsey, Mrs. F. Farrar, C. S. Gregory, Hilda Mary Harrison, Charlotte
Hayward, Florence Hayward, Ethel Winifred Hodgkinson, Madge L. Kemp,
A. Kilburn, Gertrude Longbottom, E. Lord, Annie Manderson, Helen A.
Manning, E. Mastin, Jessie Middlemiss, E. M. Le Mottée, J. D. Musgrave,
E. Pearson, N. E. Purvey, Kate Robinson, M. Winifred Shakespear, Bettie
Temple, Mrs. Mabel Tench, R. Marjorie Thomas, Ellen Thurtell, M.
Tolson, Frances H. Webb-Gillman, Margaret M. Wilcox.

       *       *       *       *       *


EXAMINER’S REPORT.

Here is another award at last to excite indignant comment and
criticism. So large was the number of first-rate solutions that we had
to pounce upon the most trifling errors with a keenness worthy of a
better cause. After we had examined and re-examined again and again, we
were rewarded for our exertions by finding that faults abounded, the
enormity of which might fairly be expressed in sixteenths.

For instance, a failure to indent the lines properly was reckoned
one-sixteenth of a mistake. The substitution of “around” for _about_
was counted two-sixteenths, and so on, with arithmetical precision.
As only a limited number of names can be mentioned, all we have to
do is to draw the line at a certain point (in this case it was at
nine-sixteenths), and say: “Beyond that, no mention.” The result is
an adjudication which can face criticism with a very fair amount of
confidence. And here let us say that if any competitor thinks that
an injustice has been done, we hope she will not harbour the thought
privately, but frankly let us know as soon as the report appears. We
much prefer to have the opportunity of acknowledging a mistake or of
proving that none has been made.

To return to the puzzle. Many competitors failed to notice the “s” in
the title, and wrote “Exploding Lamp.” This could only be regarded as a
whole mistake, and was therefore fatal to any chance of success.

The rhythm of the first line, No. 6, was often marred by the insertion
of “an.” In the second line, as we have already intimated, “around”
could not be considered equal to _about_, for a reason which a
reference to the puzzle will divulge. In the fourth line “face” was
continually given for _head_, though the better sense of the latter
reading is obvious, and the puzzle form of spelling “detach” was often
adopted without thought.

In No. 7, “Cycling” was the title generally given, though many solvers
were careful to read the _two_ into it. This was an error we could not
very severely condemn, and as a matter of fact two solutions which were
perfect in every other respect, were admitted into the prize bundle.
In the first line “you are” would not do instead of the contraction
_you’re_, neither did the insertion of “a” before hedge improve the
rhythm of the last line but one. In the same line we did not object to
the more strictly grammatical “accord” in place of _accords_, although
the puzzle gave the latter.

We have received several letters questioning our award on “An
Accidental Cycle II.” We have turned up every solution written about,
and find that absolute justice was done to each. For the benefit of a
very large number of solvers who cherish similar doubts in silence,
we may say that the mistake of spelling “some one” as one word was a
very important factor in the adjudication. That our report should have
contained no reference to this point was an unfortunate circumstance.

The award on the whole series of Accidental Cycles cannot be published
for two or three weeks, the number of solutions being very large.




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

M. H.—1. The thought in your poem is very good, and you describe nature
well and sympathetically. You need, however, to pay more attention to
your _technique_. Your lines are frequently halting—

    “’Tis sunset on the ocean, radiant with light.”

is an instance in point.—2. Water-colours would be suitable for
painting on gauze or satin. No preparation of the material is required.

“BARTY.”—1. Barty Joscelin, in _The Martian_, is a fictitious
character, though some of his early experiences in France were probably
drawn from real life.—2. We are not familiar with the books you
mention, but no doubt you could obtain a list from a bookseller, or the
publisher if you knew the name.

SWEET SEVENTEEN.—1. Your writing is fairly good, but you should not
leave a margin at the end of your lines. Try to write as freely as
possible.—2. Inquire at the chemist’s where you purchase the sulphur
ointment.

NORAH T.—We have never seen a really good book of such dialogues as
you require, but you might apply to The United Kingdom Band of Hope
Union, 60, Old Bailey, E.C., saying what you need. _Twenty Minutes_,
by Harriet L. Childe-Pemberton, is a little book containing amusing
dialogues for recitation, but they are not connected with “temperance.”

STUDENT.—1. A charming book, though not a new one, about animals
is Mrs. Alfred Gatty’s _Worlds not Realised_; and _Parables from
Nature_, by the same author, contains much information mingled with
beautiful allegorical teaching.—2. Apply to the National Health
Society—secretary, Miss Lankester, 53, Berners Street, W., or to the
St. John’s Ambulance Association, St. John’s Gate, Clerkenwell, E.C.,
for full list of books on nursing. We may mention _Hints and Helps
for Home Nursing and Hygiene_, by Dr. Cosgrave, price 1s. (St. John’s
Ambulance Association). We do not think you at all discourteous in your
criticisms on the articles in question.

HILDEGARDE WINTER.—1. It is rather difficult for us to advise you what
music to practise without knowing your powers. There are books of
“Short Voluntaries” (1s. each), by Edward Redhead, published by Orsborn
& Tuckwood, 64, Berners Street, London, W., which might suit you. They
are intended for organ or harmonium, but sound well on the piano. Book
III. contains some charming easy music. Would Mendelssohn’s “Songs
without Words” be too difficult? You should practise at least an hour a
day and as much longer as you can, but we fear that without any tuition
you will find it hard to make much progress.—2. The tails of your g’s
and y’s spoil your writing; they are too long, and badly formed. You
could easily improve your hand.


MEDICAL.

GWEN LEWIS.—Goître or Derbyshire neck is one of those diseases which
are “endemic,” that is, resident in certain localities. It is very
common in some places, chiefly in the mountainous or hilly districts
of Derbyshire, Devonshire and Wales. It is more common in the valleys
than in the hills. It is supposed to be due to some constituent in the
water, possibly excess of lime. Goître, however, is not very infrequent
in persons who have never seen a mountain, and who have lived in
districts which are decidedly not goîtrous. There are many forms of
goître, and the treatment for each variety is different. Unfortunately,
that variety which is “endemic” is most difficult to cure. If the
patient can leave the district where the condition was developed, and
live in a place where the disease does not occur, the mass will cease
growing and often wither altogether. The rational treatment of goître
is therefore to change one’s residence. Iodine, both internally and
externally, is often advised for the relief of simple goître, and it
does sometimes do good. Mercury is often occasionally used with good
results. Surgical procedures have been adopted, but unless the growth
is enormous or interferes with breathing or swallowing, and in other
special cases, this treatment is not to be recommended. Friction,
massage and electricity have been tried with practically no result
whatever.

BUTTERCUP.—Careful and moderate exercise is what you require. All your
troubles, including the curvature of the spine, will be improved by
this means. Gymnastic exercises are extremely valuable, and if we can
only impress upon you to be moderate, we have no hesitation in saying
that you will derive great benefit from gymnastics. The dumb-bells,
the clubs, the horizontal bar, and the other milder exercises are
very helpful, but you must avoid all the violent, we might almost say
furious, exercises which are far too commonly indulged in. Again,
you must not give up walking for gymnastics, but let a little of one
augment a little of the other. Avoid sofas and easy-chairs, for these
tend to weaken the spine. Before doing this, however, we advise you to
have your back examined to find out what was the cause of the curvature.

MYSTIC.—Beer poured over a red-hot horse-shoe will not cure dyspepsia.
On the contrary, it will make it worse. What an extraordinary
superstition!

HEATH PHILLIPS.—You suffer from acne undoubtedly, possibly from that
form known as “acne rosacea.” If you never feel indigestion you
certainly have not got it. Sulphur ointment is very good for acne,
but in the later stages, especially of the rosaceous acne, ichthiol
ointment (2½ per cent.) is better.

MERRY SUNBEAM.—The hair frequently combs out in considerable
quantities, especially during spring and autumn. This is no
abnormality, it is quite healthy, but it frequently alarms girls,
because a very little hair makes a great show. The solution you use is
useful, but you must beware of using much alcohol for the hair, as it
renders it brittle. Wash your head less often, say once a fortnight,
and add a teaspoonful of borax to each quart of water. The yolk of an
egg makes a useful and strengthening hair-wash, but it should not be
used too frequently, and the hair must be well rinsed afterwards.

ETHEL.—Chlorate of potassium lozenges are very useful for a “relaxed
throat.” You must be careful not to swallow too many, for the drug
is very apt to produce indigestion. Never take more than five in the
course of one day. We have seen truly alarming symptoms in a girl who
has eaten an ounce of the lozenges in an afternoon.

MAITLAND.—Singeing the eyebrows would in no way permanently injure
them. The hairs of the eyebrows grow very fast, and in a few weeks you
will be none the worse for the accident.

ENQUIRER.—By an “enlarged neck” you probably mean enlarged glands in
the neck, a condition extremely commonly due to decayed teeth.

HARRY’S GIRL.—Sugar is fattening, and very probably you are getting too
fat because you eat too much sugar. There is no necessity for you to
give up sugar altogether, but be more moderate in the amount you eat.

MIGNONETTE.—We published a long article on blushing and nervousness a
short time back in which you will find all the information you require.


MISCELLANEOUS.

PRIMROSE.—We do not think a stone could be set in a small wedding-ring.
You had better consult a jeweller about it, as we have not seen it and
cannot give a reliable opinion.

DODO.—The distinctions between the heterodox beliefs of a Deist and
an Atheist are considerable. The former believes in the existence of
a God, but rejects the divine revelation of Him given in the Holy
Scriptures. He also believes in the immortality of the soul, and in the
suitable reward of virtue and the punishment of vice. The latter denies
the existence of a God, or Divine Providence, and holds no religious
belief of any description. An infidel, or unbeliever, is one who denies
the Jewish and Christian religions, and may be of any unorthodox belief.

H. H.—Much depends on your finances. There is a good rule which
tells you to “be just before you are generous.” Of course, it would
be best to take nothing that you can help (by self-denial) from the
contributions you usually make in church; but the money required for
restitution of fraudulently-acquired money, it should be your first
duty to make good (see St. Matt. v. 23 and 24). This precept would
apply to such a case as yours. Of course, “there is hope while there is
life.” Our blessed Lord says “He is able to save to the uttermost all
that come unto God through Him”—His blood-shedding—and “Him that cometh
unto Me, I will in no wise cast out.”

OLIVE.—That the Celts are a branch of the great Aryan family is
regarded as beyond all doubt, by their language, which bears a close
resemblance in grammatical structure and vocables to Sanscrit. They
were the first of the Aryan settlers in Europe. Herodotus (B.C. 450)
speaks of the _Keltai_. By this name the Greeks called them, and the
Romans _Galli_, and a very numerous branch of them called themselves
_Gael_. They settled in most of the European countries, and in the
British islands, notably in Scotland and Ireland, but more in England
than is generally supposed. Your own aboriginal family name is clearly
Celtic.

SUNFLOWER.—The fact that your copy of the Bible is 100 years old is
not the only question to be considered. If one of the several editions
named after typographical errors, such as the “Breeches Bible” or the
“Vinegar Bible” (published in 1727), and others, then there would be
a fixed value for it. The celebrated “Bowyer Bible,” illustrated with
7,000 engravings, etchings, and original drawings, was sold to a Mrs.
Heywood, of Bolton, for £500. It was one of the Macklin Bibles. You had
better send a particular account of yours to some large library, and
discover its value from the manager.

QUEENIE B.—Fringes, if worn, are short and encroach little on the
forehead. You should look at the dummies in the hair-dressers’ windows,
and get a hair-dresser to cut your hair properly, or it will not curl.
A situation as “companion” is rarely to be obtained. A girl should have
a good address and good manners, should be a good reader, and write
a good legible hand, be well-informed, sing, or play; have a sweet
temper, and a great store of patience, with tact. As to the salary,
that would vary, and must be left to private arrangement. If you
possess all these qualifications, then advertise.




OUR NEW PUZZLE POEM.

[Illustration]


⁂ PRIZES to the amount of six guineas (one of which will be reserved
for competitors living abroad) are offered for the best solutions of
the above Puzzle Poem. The following conditions must be observed:—

1. Solutions to be written on one side of the paper only.

2. Each paper to be headed with the name and address of the competitor.

3. Attention must be paid to spelling, punctuation, and neatness.

4. Send by post to Editor, GIRL’S OWN PAPER, 56, Paternoster Row,
London. “Puzzle Poem” to be written on the top left-hand corner of the
envelope.

5. The last day for receiving solutions from Great Britain and Ireland
will be August 17, 1899; from Abroad, October 16, 1899.

The competition is open to all without any restrictions as to sex or
age.




TO THE READERS OF “THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER.”


DEAR GIRLS,—I have received a number of letters on the subject of my
last story, “About Peggy Saville,” all expressing the kindest interest
in the heroine, and a desire to know more about her.

These letters have been a great pleasure to receive, for, to tell you
the truth, I myself am very fond of “Peggy Pickle,” and should much
enjoy spending a longer time in her company.

Your kind Editor has expressed his desire to gratify you by publishing
a sequel to the story, and we have arranged that if all goes well, the
first chapter shall appear in October, or early in the spring.

For the next two months, then, you can think of me sitting in my
summer-house every morning with Peggy for my companion, and I will
think of you, and, I hope, work all the better for your kindly
appreciation.

    Your friend,
        JESSIE DE HORNE VAIZEY.