The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 1002,
March 11, 1899, by Various

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license


Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No. 1002, March 11, 1899

Author: Various

Release Date: April 23, 2018 [EBook #57027]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER, MARCH 11, 1899  ***




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










[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.—NO. 1002.]      MARCH 11, 1899.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]

[Illustration: A YOUTHFUL PIANIST.]

_All rights reserved._]




“OUR HERO.”

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of “Sun, Moon and Stars,” “The Girl at the
Dower House,” etc.


CHAPTER XXIV.

A BARRED WINDOW.

How the next fortnight passed, Roy never afterwards could recall. He
was sick and dazed with the shock he had had, grieving for Will Peirce,
and all but hopeless. He had ceased to care for food, and, though he
slept much, passing hours at a time in heavy doze, it was not the kind
of sleep to rest him. Life at this time seemed awfully hard to live.
Sometimes he envied little Will.

The Colonel, who had spoken to him that day, spoke to him again often
when they met in the yard; and Roy was grateful, but he could not rouse
himself. He had lost all interest in what went on around him. He hated
the yard, and he always kept as far as possible from the spot where
that terrible exposure had taken place.

His one longing was to know how the other poor boys in the hospital
were; but accounts in that direction were uncertain and not to be
relied upon.

About a fortnight later, one cold afternoon, he was leaning against the
wall at the further end, hardly thinking, only drearily enduring. He
became aware of a man coming across the yard, carrying a large basket,
or _hotte_, piled up with loose wood—not a gendarme, but evidently one
employed in the fortress on manual work.

Something about the fellow arrested Roy’s attention, though why it
should be so Roy had no idea. He was of medium height, broad-shouldered
and long-limbed, and he walked in a slouching manner. As he drew near
the basket tilted over, raining the whole mass of wood at Roy’s feet.

“Hallo!” exclaimed Roy.

The man muttered something, and went slowly down upon his knees to pick
up the wood. No one else was near. A body of prisoners had been that
morning removed elsewhere, and the yard was not so full as usual. Roy,
after a moment’s hesitation, good-naturedly bent to help; and as he did
so, their faces came close together.

“Hist!” was whispered cautiously.

Roy started.

“Hist!”—again. “Does monsieur know me? But not a word—hist!”

Roy drew one quick breath. Then he picked up more pieces of wood,
tossing them into the _hotte_. He cast another glance at the man,
his whole being on the alert. In an instant he saw again the small
French town, the crowd in front of the _hôtel de ville_, the released
conscript, the old mother clinging to Denham’s hands, and Denham’s
compassionate face. All was clear.

“Jean Paulet,” he breathed.

“Hist!”—softly.

“But—you are he?”

“Oui, M’sieu.”

Jean piled some of the wood together, with unnecessary fuss and noise.

“Will M’sieu not betray that he has seen me before? It is important.”

“Oui.”

Roy tossed two more bits of wood into the _hotte_. Then he stood up,
yawned, and stared listlessly in another direction. After which he hung
lazily over the _hotte_, as if to play with the wood, and under cover
of it a touch of cold steel came against his left hand.

“Hist!”—at the same instant.

Roy grasped and slipped the something securely out of reach and out of
sight, without a moment’s hesitation. His right hand still turned over
the wood.

“Bon!” Jean murmured, making a considerable clatter. Then, low and
clearly—“Listen! If M’sieu will file away the bar of his window—ready
to be removed—I will be there outside, to-morrow night after dark. When
M’sieu hears a whistle—hist! But truly this weight is considerable—oui,
M’sieu—and a poor man like me may not complain.”

Jean hitched up the big _hotte_, now full, and passed on, grumbling
audibly, while Roy strolled back to his former position. His heart was
beating like a hammer, and he dreaded lest he might betray his change
of mood in his face. To return to his former dejected attitude was not
easy when new life was stirring in every vein; but he managed to shirk
observation, and when two o’clock came it was a relief to be alone in
his cell. He could safely there fling his arms aloft in a frenzy of
delight.

If only little Will might have escaped with him! That thought lay as a
weight of sorrow in his joy.

But there was little leisure for regrets. He had a task to accomplish
in a given time, and it might not be an easy task. Many a time he had
examined the stout iron bar wedged firmly in across the small window.
If that could be taken out, he would be able to squeeze himself
through; but to take out the bar, or at least to move it on one side,
meant first to file nearly through it—quite through, indeed, for the
noise of breaking it might not be risked. What might lie on the other
side, down below, he could only guess, since the deep embrasure within,
and the thickness of the wall without, prevented him from seeing.

The gendarmes visited him at stated intervals, and he could pretty well
reckon upon their visits; yet he knew well that he was never secure
against a sudden interruption at any moment. He had to work at the bar
in a difficult and cramped position, supporting himself in a corner
of the slanting embrasure and filing lightly, so that no sound should
reach the ears of any passer-by outside, while his own hearing had to
be incessantly strained towards the cell-door to catch the faintest
intimation of anybody entering.

One narrow escape of detection he had. Absorbed in his toil, he failed
to hear the first preliminary click of the lock, and the door began to
open. Roy flung himself to the ground, reckless of bruises, and the
noise of his fall was happily drowned in the creak of the door. When
the gendarme entered, he found a sleepy prisoner, lying with head on
folded arms. Roy wondered that the thumping of his heart did not betray
him.

Thoughtful Jean had provided him with three files; and but for this the
plan would have proved a failure. Two of them broke. The third held out
to the end.

A good part of the night he worked, growing terrified lest the task
should not be done in time. In the dark, by feeling instead of sight,
silently and persistently, despite aching muscles, he kept on at it.
His hands were strained and bleeding, and next day he had carefully
to guard them from notice. In the morning he was again up in the
embrasure—after the usual visit from a gendarme—filing, filing, softly
and steadily. By mid-day he had worked his way through the heavy bar.

Roy stirred it cautiously. Yes, it yielded. The other end alone would
not hold it firm. One good wrench, and it could be forced aside.

That was all he had now to do. The bar would have to remain in position
till the last moment. He cleared away every speck of iron filing, and
then he had to go into the yard. What if the gendarmes should examine
the cell during his absence and find out what he had done? What if,
any hour before night, they should take it into their heads to test
the bar? What if, before Jean came, Roy himself should be removed
elsewhere? Then came another question. What if his mother’s prayers
were being answered?

And by-and-by the afternoon had waned away without any mischance, and
the gendarme’s evening visit had been safely paid. Roy’s allowance of
food lay upon the floor, the window had not been examined, and Roy was
left alone for the night. He wisely disposed of the food, knowing that
he would need all his strength. Then he waited, minute after minute, in
a suspense hardly to be imagined, not to be described.

A slight faint whistle, close to the window.

In a moment Roy was up in the slanting embrasure, where for hours he
had clung, getting through his task.

Jean’s hand met his, and together, noiselessly, they wrenched the bar
aside.

“Hist! Be still as death!” whispered Jean.

Roy squeezed himself through the opening, Jean’s grasp steadying him.
He found his feet to be resting on the topmost rung of a ladder. Jean
whispered one or two directions, then himself went down and held it
firm below while Roy followed. Little need was there to bid the boy
be quiet in his movements. The slightest sound might betray them,
destroying every hope of escape.

The moment Roy reached the bottom, Jean’s hand grasped his wrist and
led him away. The ladder had to remain where it was. Its removal would
have meant too great a risk. Roy could not see where they were, for
pitch darkness surrounded them; but Jean moved with confidence, though
with extreme care.

Soon they had to pass near a sentry, and a sharp challenge rang out.
Roy’s heart leaped into his mouth, and Jean promptly replied with the
password for the night. Veiled by the darkness, which was increased by
a drizzling rain, they went by in safety.

The outer wall at length was gained—that same wall which the middies
had reached in their attempted escape, though at a different part of
it. Jean had chosen this mode of escape, not daring to take Roy under
the eyes of sentries at the gates, where, despite his command of the
password, the prisoner must almost inevitably have been found out.

In a quiet corner, where nobody was or seemed to be near, Jean drew
down the end of a stout rope, already secured at the top of the wall,
the loose end having been knotted up out of easy reach. This had been
his doing after dark, before he went to Roy’s cell. With the help of
the rope they made their way to the top, Roy first, Jean next, pulling
it up after them, and lowering it on the other side. Then, together,
they trusted their weight to it once more.

As they hung over the depth, Roy could not but recall the cold-blooded
act of two or three weeks earlier and its dire consequences. If any man
had obtained an inkling of Jean’s intentions, or had discovered the
rope placed in readiness, the same tragedy might now be repeated on a
smaller scale. One clear cut would do the business. He and Jean would
fall heavily downward, and, in an instant, he too, like little Will,
might be in that land where battles and dungeons and cruel separations
are things of the past.

These thoughts came to Roy—unbidden—even while his whole attention
was bent to the task of working himself, hand under hand, swiftly and
noiselessly, down the rope. Already his hands were torn and strained,
yet, under the excitement of the moment, he felt no pain.

The rope remained taut. There was no sudden yielding from above—no
abrupt and helpless plunge earthward. He and Jean arrived in safety on
firm ground.

Again Jean gripped his wrist.

“Now, M’sieu, hist!” he whispered; and as fast as might be, yet with
extreme caution, avoiding even the sound of a footfall, they hurried
away from that grim surrounding wall. Roy could not see in the darkness
where they were, or whither they were going. He could only trust
himself blindly to Jean’s guidance, and Jean seemed to be in no doubt.
He never paused or faltered.

Running at full speed, then slackening for breath, running again, and
halting anew, walking at a brisk swing, then breaking into a fresh race
side by side, only to come to another short pause—so they passed the
hours of that night. During the first twenty or thirty minutes extreme
care was needful; and more than once Jean had to make use of the
password, which he had somehow learnt. When once thoroughly away from
Bitche, however, immediate discovery became less likely; and the chief
aim then was to put as wide a space as possible between themselves
and the fortress before morning. That was as much as Roy had in mind.
Jean’s object was more definite, including arrival at a particular
hiding-place within a given time; but at present he attempted no
explanations.

So soon as Roy’s disappearance should become known, and the gendarmes
should have started in pursuit, Roy’s danger—and, for the matter of
that, Jean’s also—would be intensified a hundred-fold. At present they
had a clear field, favoured by darkness and by the fact of a world
mainly asleep.

Few words were spoken by either. While in the vicinity of Bitche even
the lightest whisper meant a risk of being overheard; and when the fear
lessened, breath and strength were too precious to be wasted.

Roy’s powers were severely taxed. Excitement kept him going. But he had
slept and eaten little, and had worked hard, during the last thirty
hours; and after six months without proper exercise, he was direfully
out of training. His muscles had grown flabby, and he so soon began to
pant as to become angry with himself. Still, he fought doggedly onward,
making no complaint.

At first they followed by-paths or kept to fields for greater safety;
but by-and-by Jean struck into the high road, and here advance was
easier. It was unlikely that Roy would be missed before early morning;
and, even if pursued now, they would see the approaching gendarmes
before they could be seen, and to hide in the darkness would not be
difficult.

As hour passed after hour, and still they made uninterrupted progress,
Roy grew light of heart. Breathlessness, aching limbs, sharp cold,
growing hunger—all these were as nothing compared with the fact that he
was free! No stone walls, no iron-bound and padlocked doors, shut him
ruthlessly in!

From time to time a brief halt became necessary, and Roy was allowed to
fling himself flat on the icy ground for ten minutes, after which he
could always start with redoubled energy.

“Wonder what happened to take you to Bitche, Jean?” he said, after one
of these breaks.

“M’sieu, I had a friend at Bitche.”

“A gendarme! A soldier?” asked Roy, with quickness.

“Oui, M’sieu. Un soldat. M’sieu will perhaps refrain from putting many
questions. It is a friend whom I have known from boyhood. He was taken,
like others, in the conscription, and no kind Messieurs were at hand
to help to buy him off. And his mother, M’sieu, his poor mother became
_imbécile_.[1] La pauvre femme? See what might have come to my mother
also, but for the goodness of _ces Messieurs_.”

“She became _imbécile_ because he had to go to the war?”

“Oui, M’sieu. What wonder? For see—it was not a common parting.
Hundreds, thousands, go thus, and never return. They vanish from their
homes, and no more is heard of them. Here or there, far away, they have
died and have been buried—_hélas!_—and that is the end.”

“A soldier’s end, Jean!” the boy said proudly.

“Oui, M’sieu. Sans doute. But not all men have a taste for soldiering.
I myself, for one——”

“You didn’t want to fight?”

“I had no wish to leave my home, M’sieu. Of late, it is true, I have
had other thoughts—some thoughts of entering the army, after all. Le
petit Caporal is no such bad leader for a man to follow, when he is not
held by ties which bind him down.”

“But your mother, what would she say? Would she be pleased? Did she
mind your coming away now?”

“M’sieu, I have not left my mother. It is she that has left me. Le bon
Dieu has called her away to another place.”

Roy gave one glance of sympathy, which he could not easily have put
into words. He was forgetting himself, walking faster, and panting
less. Jean saw that it might be well to encourage a little talking now
and then.

“But till the last she had her Jean. And she was content. She did
not die alone, forsaken and desolate. For that I shall be eternally
grateful to _ces deux Messieurs_, that her last days were in peace.”

“I remember now, Jean, you said you would like some day to do something
for my father and for Captain Ivor. Yes—I know—and this is for them. If
they could thank you——”

“M’sieu, if I could thank them——” interjected Jean.

Then for a while they pressed on in silence.

Morning had begun to break, and they plodded forward still. Roy had
pleaded for one more little break, for the boy was nearly at an end of
his powers; but Jean refused.

“_Courage_, M’sieu! _Courage!_ But a little farther, and we will rest.
To stop here, if the gendarmes come quickly, would be fatal. Does
M’sieu wish to be re-taken? See, the day dawns, and we have made good
advance; but soon the gendarmes will scour the country round. And here,
where could we hide, if overtaken? _Courage!_ A little further yet!”

“All right,” panted Roy, dragging along his leaden-weighted limbs.
“I’ll keep it up—as long as you wish. Wonder how many miles we’ve done.”

“Not so many as M’sieu would think. In the darkness one must walk with
care.”

“And are we to hide all day?”

“Mais oui. It is safer to be in hiding than to journey on. There is a
cottage in a wood, which belongs to a friend of mine, and he has made
ready for our coming. A little way ahead still. The danger increases
each minute. For if any man should see us now, and the gendarmes coming
here should learn that we have lately passed—voyez-vous? Can M’sieu
increase his speed?”

Roy made a vehement effort, and Jean grasped his arm, urging him along.
Presently they neared the wood, and turned in thither, Jean’s look of
anxiety lessening as the trees closed round them. He consented then to
a slight relaxation of their pace, though reiterating his “_Courage_,
M’sieu—one more half-hour, and the worst is done.”

The half-hour seemed a very long one to Roy.

“Eh bien, a little slower—oui—but we are nearly there, and M’sieu will
be able to rest. At night-fall we shall start again, refreshed.”

“Will you come with me still? Jean, you _are_ a good fellow!” gasped
Roy.

“If I can see Monsieur safe off French ground, then I will let _ces
Messieurs_ know at Verdun, and it will gladden their hearts.”

“But what made you think of it? Did you come to Bitche only to see your
friend?”

“M’sieu will not ask too many questions. No one at Bitche knew that we
were friends. If M’sieu should be re-taken, it is well that he should
know nothing.”

“You don’t think I’d betray you, Jean!”

“Non. But for the sake of M’sieu himself——”

“And I hope I’m not going to be re-taken.”

“The good God grant it, M’sieu.”

“Then you came there just to see him,” persisted Roy.

“Non. To see M’sieu.”

“You knew I was there?”

Jean assented.

“Who told you?” Roy was again interested, and walked the better for
being so.

“M’sieu, it was a young lady—not English. She is French, and she lives
under the same roof with Monsieur’s friends—le bon Colonel et Monsieur
le Capitaine.”

“But how did she come across you?”

“I was at St. Mihiel, M’sieu.”

“I know. We drove there once, to see the place. My father had to pay a
pretty big douceur, but we went.”

“Naturellement. St. Mihiel is but seven leagues from Verdun, and on the
river. And this Demoiselle——”

“Mademoiselle de St. Roques——”

“M’sieu has the name—precisely. Mademoiselle de St. Roques had some
affair in the place, claiming her attention; and she was there for some
days. Mademoiselle and I chanced to meet—it matters not how at this
moment—and when I learnt that she was from Verdun, I asked her, had she
ever seen M. le Colonel and the tall Monsieur le Capitaine, and the
young gentleman with them? Then she asked me questions, and I found
that she knew them—ah, very well indeed, as M’sieu is aware. And she
told me of M’sieu being sent to Bitche, and of the great trouble it was
to those others.”

“Did she say—were they all well, Jean?”

“Monsieur le Capitaine had been ill. Mademoiselle de St. Roques said
that doubtless it would make him well, and would comfort greatly
Madame votre mère, could they but hear of your welfare. Then I said to
Mademoiselle that I would myself go to Bitche, and would in time bring
word of Monsieur to Verdun. And she emptied her pocket of all the money
that she had—cette bonne Demoiselle—and said I might have what more I
wanted, so that only I could bring word of Monsieur.”

“But Captain Ivor—what was wrong with him? Ill, you said.”

Jean discreetly did not repeat all that Lucille had said.

“Monsieur le Capitaine had fallen ill after his march from
Valenciennes, and he was so troubled about Monsieur at Bitche, that it
retarded his recovery, so Mademoiselle informed me. And I thought, if
I might but compass Monsieur’s escape from that terrible Bitche, and
could take word that he was gone to England, then Monsieur le Capitaine
would have a light heart, and would grow strong once more.”

“Jean, you’re the best fellow that ever was!” muttered Roy. “Won’t they
be glad!”

(_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Fact.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Illustration: A GROUP OF GALLICIAN EGGS.]





EASTER EGGS.


In many European countries the egg is a prominent feature in the
observance of Easter.

Many things indicate, however, that the Easter egg is older than that
great Christian feast. It seems probable that the egg was dedicated
to the goddess of Spring and played an important part in the heathen
spring festivals.

Even to-day all sorts of curious superstitions attach themselves to
eggs laid on Maundy Thursday. They are supposed to protect those who
eat them from all sorts of diseases, and it is firmly believed that if
a shepherd buries the shells of one or more of these Maundy eggs in his
pasture land, he will not lose a single sheep during the year following.

It is no doubt owing to the strong belief in their power of conferring
benefits that we send eggs to our friends at Easter.

But long before the observance of Easter people wanted to improve upon
the eggs as they came out of the nest, and proceeded to spend time and
talent in colouring and beautifying their shells.

Originally Easter eggs were coloured red, which to our forefathers was
a symbol of the rising sun.

Later, all possible colours were used for this purpose, and the eggs
were adorned with coloured patterns, pictures and proverbs.

[Illustration: GIRL ENGRAVING EGGS.]

Here and there, especially in Austria, this custom still obtains,
and in many of the villages and districts may be found skilled “Egg
Painters,” who supply artistically-ornamented eggs at Easter.

The number of these artists is rapidly decreasing, for in modern times
people, specially in towns, prefer to present their friends with eggs
of chocolate and sugar. In Moravia, among the German population in
Iglau, the Easter egg still holds a very important place. Young and old
present them one to the other, and young girls are allowed to give them
to their sweethearts. A very interesting feature is that eggs are sent
by those at home to their relatives in foreign lands. Great care is
taken to have these beautifully painted or adorned with mottoes. There
are skilful people in the surrounding district, who devote themselves
to decorating and adorning with mottoes Easter eggs.

[Illustration: A PAINTED AND ENGRAVED GOOSE EGG.]

Franz Paul Piger, who has lately written a very interesting paper on
Easter eggs for the Austrian folk, says that “the art of decorating
Easter eggs is not so simple as one might think.” The artist first
colours the egg yellow with the bark of apple trees which he has cooked
in water; the part which is to remain yellow he covers with fine layers
of wax, and then proceeds to cook it in water, with onion skins, which
turns it red. This being done, he rubs the wax off and he has a yellow
and red egg. Now he takes a sharp-pointed instrument and scratches his
drawing on the egg-shell, which shines on the yellow or red ground in
pure white. In this way he represents human figures, creatures and
flowers.

The most important things on Easter eggs are the mottoes which are
usually specially given by the person who orders the eggs. These
mottoes are often full of sentiment, of expressions of love, friendship
and good wishes; sometimes they are jests.

Not only are hens’ eggs used for this purpose, but those of geese also,
which look more stately, and being larger admit of longer mottoes.

Men, women and girls also are occupied in ornamenting Easter eggs.

Our illustration shows a Moravian woman at the work of scratching or
engraving. Many of the Easter eggs are quite works of art in Moravia.
There is a great variety of patterns, including geometrical figures,
leaves, flowers, sprays, hearts, and stars.

The dark blue Easter eggs are especially beautiful covered with
heart’s-ease.

In the illustration “Moravian Eggs,” we see in No. 1 a red egg engraved
with a sharp-pointed instrument; No. 2 is yellow-red; No. 3 is painted;
No. 4 is blue, and engraved.

The decoration of Easter eggs is a custom with the Sclavonic National
Races of Austro-Hungary, and our illustration shows us something of
the Gallician skill. In Poland the women blow Easter eggs and cover
them with coloured satin, after which they stick on them all sorts of
threads and tinsel. No. 4 in the illustration is an example of such an
one, while No. 2 is an engraved and coloured egg; the two remaining
patterns are of Ruthenian origin.

In Bohemia light-red eggs prevail, while in Salzburg Easter eggs
resemble marble. It is only on close inspection that one discovers that
the hens’ eggs have received the veining by the most skilful and tender
colouring.

The painting and other preparation of Easter eggs form quite an event
in a country household, and here and there, especially in Hungary, the
preparation is accompanied by national songs.

It is most amusing to note the care bestowed by the maidens on the eggs
intended for the betrothed, the usual ornamentation being caressing
doves and intertwined hands. If a Ruthenian youth receives from a girl
an egg adorned with threads of wool he is thereby assured of her love
and fidelity.

The same is the case in Carinthia and in the Rosenthal. Girls must
present their lovers with at least two eggs adorned with inscriptions
in order that there may be no doubt as to the firmness of their
affection.

The artistic Easter egg, such as we have shown here, is gradually being
set aside for eggs of chocolate and sweets, and the time will certainly
come when, if we want to see artistic eggs, we must look for them in
museums.

They will, we hope, for many years continue to appear in all their
beauty at the sound of the Easter bells, be a proof of love and
friendship, and awaken joy in many a heart, both abroad and at home.

[Illustration: MORAVIAN EGGS.]




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of “Sisters
Three,” etc.


CHAPTER XXIII.

While the young folks had been enjoying themselves in the ball-room,
their elders had found the time hang somewhat heavily on their hands.
The evening had not been so interesting to them as to their juniors.
Lady Darcy was tired with the preparations of the day, and the Countess
with her journey from town. Both were fain to yawn behind their fans
from time to time, and were longing for the moment to come when they
could retire to bed. If only those indefatigable children would
say good night and take themselves off! But the echo of the piano
still sounded from the room, and seemed to go on, and on, in endless
repetition.

Everything comes to those who wait however, even the conclusion of a
ball to the weary chaperon. At long past midnight the strains died
away, and in the hope of an early release the ladies roused themselves
to fresh conversational effort. What they said was unimportant and
could never be remembered; but at one moment, as it seemed, they were
smiling and exchanging their little commonplace amenities, two languid,
fine ladies whose aim in life might have been to disguise their own
feelings and hide the hearts that God had given them; the next the
artificial smiles were wiped away, and they were clinging together,
two terrified, cowering women, with a mother’s soul in their faces—a
mother’s love and fear and dread! A piercing cry had sounded through
the stillness, and another, and another, and while they sat paralysed
with fear, footsteps came tearing along the passage, the door was burst
open, and a wild, dishevelled-looking figure rushed into the room.
A curtain was wound round face and figure, but beneath its folds a
long white arm gripped convulsively at the air, and two little feet
staggered about in pink silk slippers.

Lady Darcy gave a cry of anguish; but her terror seemed to hold her
rooted to the spot, and it was her husband who darted forward and
caught the swaying figure in his arms. The heavy wrappings came loose
in his grasp, and as they did so an unmistakable smell pervaded the
room—the smell of singed and burning clothing. A cloud of blackened
rags fluttered to the ground as the last fold of the curtain was
unloosed, and among them—most pitiful sight of all—were stray gleams
of gold where a severed lock of hair lay on the carpet, its end still
turned in glistening curl.

“Rosalind! Rosalind!” gasped the poor mother, clutching the arms of her
chair, and looking as if she were about to faint herself, as she gazed
upon the pitiful figure of her child. The lower portion of Rosalind’s
dress was practically uninjured, but the gauze skirt and all the frills
and puffing round the neck hung in tatters, her hair was singed and
roughened, and as the air touched her skin she screamed with pain, and
held her hands up to her neck and face.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! I am burning! Cover me up! Cover me up! I shall die! Oh,
mother, mother! The pain—the pain!”

She reeled as if about to faint, yet if anyone attempted to approach
she beat them off with frantic hands, as if in terror of being touched.

One of the ladies ran forward with a shawl, and wrapped it forcibly
round the poor scarred shoulders, while the gentlemen hurried out of
the room to send for a doctor and make necessary arrangements. One
of the number came back almost immediately with the news that he had
failed to discover the cause of the accident. There was no sign of fire
upstairs, the ball-room was dark and deserted, the servants engaged in
setting the entertaining rooms in order. For the present, at least, the
cause of the accident remained a mystery, and the distracted father and
mother occupied themselves in trying to pacify their child.

“I’ll carry you upstairs, my darling. We will put something on your
skin which will take away the pain. Try to be quiet, and tell us how it
happened. What were you doing to set yourself on fire?”

“Peggy! Peggy!” gasped Rosalind faintly. Her strength was failing by
this time, and she could hardly speak; but Lady Darcy’s face stiffened
into an awful anger at the sound of that name. She turned like a
tigress to her husband, her face quivering with anger.

“That girl again! That wicked girl! It is the second time to-night!
She has killed the child; but she shall be punished! I’ll have her
punished! She shall not kill my child, and go free! I’ll—I’ll——”

“Hush, hush, Beatrice! Take care! You frighten Rosalind. We must get
her to bed. There is not a moment to lose.”

Lord Darcy beckoned to one of the servants who, by this time, were
crowding in at the door, and between them they lifted poor, groaning
Rosalind in their arms and carried her up the staircase, down which she
had tripped so gaily a few hours before. Tenderly as they held her, she
moaned with every movement, and when she was laid on her bed, it seemed
for a moment as if consciousness were about to forsake her. Then
suddenly a light sprung into her eyes. She lifted her hand and gasped
out one word—just one word—repeated over and over again in a tone of
agonised entreaty.

“Peggy! Peggy! Peggy!”

“Yes, darling, yes! I’ll go to her. Be quiet—only be quiet!”

Lady Darcy turned away with a shudder as the maid and an old family
servant began the task of removing the clothes from Rosalind’s writhing
limbs, and, seizing her husband by the arm, drew him out on the
landing. Her face was white, but her eyes gleamed, and the words hissed
as they fell from her lips.

“Find that girl and turn her out of this house! I will not have her
here another hour! Do you hear—not a minute! Send her away at once
before I see her! Don’t let me see her! I can’t be responsible for what
I would do!”

“Yes, yes, dear, I’ll send her away! Try to calm yourself. Remember you
have work to do. Rosalind will need you.”

The poor old lord went stooping away, his tired face looking aged and
haggard with anxiety. His beautiful young daughter was scarcely less
dear to him than to her mother, and the sound of her cries cut to his
heart, yet in the midst of his anguish he had a pang of compassion for
the poor child who, as he believed, was the thoughtless cause of the
accident. What agony of remorse must be hers! What torture she would
now be suffering!

The guests and servants were standing huddled together on the landing
upstairs or running to and fro to procure what was needed. Every
thought was concentrated on Rosalind, and Rosalind alone, and the part
of the house where the dance had been held was absolutely deserted.

He took his way along the gaily decorated hall, noted with absent eye
the disordered condition of the “harem,” which had been pointed out so
proudly at the beginning of the evening, and entered the empty room.
The lights were out, except for a few candles scattered here and there
among the flowers. He walked slowly forward, saw the silver candlestick
on the floor before the fireplace, and stood gazing at it with a quick
appreciation of what had happened. For some reason or other Rosalind
had tried to reach the candle, and the light had caught her gauzy skirt
which had burst into flames. It was all easy—terribly easy to imagine;
but in what way had Peggy Saville been responsible for the accident, so
that her name should sound so persistently on Rosalind’s lips, and who
had been the good Samaritan who had come to the rescue with that thick
curtain which had killed the flames before they had time to finish the
work of destruction?

Lord Darcy peered curiously round. The oak floor stretched before him
dark and still save where its polished surface reflected the light
overhead; but surely in the corner opposite to where he stood there was
a darker mass—a shadow deeper than the rest?

He walked towards it, bending forward with straining eyes. Another
curtain of the same pattern as that which had enveloped Rosalind—a
curtain of rich Oriental hues with a strange unaccountable patch of
white in the centre. What was it? It must be part of the fabric itself.
Lord Darcy told himself that he had no doubt on the subject, yet the
way across the room seemed unaccountably long, and his heart beat
fast with apprehension. In another moment he stood in the corner and
knew too well the meaning of that patch of white. Peggy Saville lay
stretched upon the curtain, white and unconscious, to all appearance
dead!

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration]




OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: IN PERILOUS TIMES.


IN PERILOUS TIMES.


AN ACCIDENTAL CYCLE.


_Catching Fire._

    If your clothing catches fire,
      Do not rush about for aid,
    Simply roll on mat or mire
      And a fearful death evade.


_Railway Collision._

    If a railway collision you fear,
      Jump on the seat of the carriage, for so
    Your legs of calamity may be quite clear,
      And the spring that’s in wood may all safety bestow.


PRIZE WINNERS.

_Seven Shillings and Sixpence Each._

    Lily Belling, Wribbenhall, Bewdley, Worcestershire.
    Nanette Bewley, 40, Fitzwilliam Place, Dublin.
    A. C. Carter, Shottery Hall, Stratford-on-Avon.
    Maude Gibney, 37, Newton Road, W.
    G. D. Honeyburne, Abbotsbury, 23, Duke Street, Southport.
    Mrs. Mason, 30, Cambridge Street, Great Horton, Bradford, Yorks.
    E. Mastin, 261, Western Bank, Sheffield.
    P. Miller, 104, Brecknock Road, N.
    Agnes Oliver, 13, Fountainhall Road, Edinburgh.
    Janet Scott, Willmington House, Dunster.
    Fred and Violet Shoberl, Hookwood, Edge Hill, Wimbledon.
    Wm. Dunford-Smith, 71, Ondine Road, E. Dulwich, S.E.
    W. Fitzjames White, 9, Kinfauns Terrace, Low Fell, Gateshead.
    John R. Whyberd, 308, Crystal Palace Road, S.E.


_Special Mention._

Annie A. Arnott, E. Lord, A. Phillips.


_Very Highly Commended._

Mrs. Atkins, Amelia Austin, Margaret Bailey, M. Bolingbroke, A. T.
Child, Ethel M. A. Darbyshire, Frederick Fuller, Miss Fryer, Thomas
Gale, Ellie Hanlon, Mrs. Ethel Hartley, Ethel Winifred Hodgkinson, W.
E. Llewellyn, W. M. Madden, E. M. Le Mottée, Ellen M. Price, Helen
Simpson, S. Southall, Agnes Mary Vincent, Gertrude Whicker, Emily
Wilkinson, Helen B. Younger.


_Highly Commended._

Maude Abbott, Eliza Acworth, Rev. S. Bell, Gladys M. Bernays, Dora
A. Blake, E. M. Blott, Isabel Borrow, Nellie D. Bourne, Rev. F.
Townshend Chamberlain, M. J. Champneys, F. Clark, Lillian Clews, C.
A. Cooper, Rev. E. N. Dalton, S. Dewhirst, Ethel Dickson, Violet F.
Doney, Louie Drury, William Fraser, F. M. Goodchild, Annie M. Gooden,
A. Grainger, E. A. Hedge, Mrs. Hickman, Hilda G. Hinkson, Gertrude
Hire, E. St. G. Hodson, Edith M. Howard, Annie M. Hutchens, George L.
Ingram, K. H. Ingram, Elsie M. Jay, L. Foster-Jones, D. Langley, Eva
H. Laurence, Eliza Learmount, Ethel C. McMaster, John Marshall, Marian
Eva Messenger, F. M. Morgan, M. Theodora Moxon, Robert Murdoch, Eben.
Mullen, A. St. J. O’Neill, Mrs. Morgan Owen, Hannah E. Powell, Jessie
Powell, Helen J. Ransom, Ada Rickards, Eleanor M. Rickie, Alexandrina
A. Robertson, Wilhelmina Robson, Eva M. Roper, Annie Saunders, S.
Sedgwick, Katherine H. Shorto, Caroline Skinner, Mildred M. Skrine,
M. Stuart, Mona Taylor, May Tutte, N. J. Warren, M. S. Webster, A. J.
Weight, V. M. Welman, Louisa Whitcher, Henry Wilkinson, R. Williamson,
Elizabeth Yarwood.

       *       *       *       *       *


EXAMINERS’ REPORT.

The “Accidental Cycle” series promises to be very popular, a large
number of solutions having already been received. It is really very
pleasing to see how our readers struggle to acquire useful knowledge,
no matter how fantastic the shape in which it is presented. Certain it
is that knowledge acquired by solving a puzzle poem is likely to be
retained, and we can only hope that when our solvers’ clothes catch
fire, there may be a rug, a mat, or a sufficient quantity of mire at
hand.

We know a doctor who had to examine a class of boys on the ways of
dealing with various kinds of accidents. One lad appeared to be very
nervous, and the doctor, thinking he was not able to do himself justice
before the others, kept him back to test his knowledge alone.

“Now,” said the examiner, “supposing I were to catch fire in this room”
(a bare schoolroom, by the way), “what would you do?”

The boy seemed to be extremely unhappy and vainly searched the ceiling
and floor in turn for an inspiration. It was not until the question had
been repeated with a kindly word of encouragement that the answer came:

“Put it out, sir.”

Even then the doctor did not laugh, at any rate not obtrusively.

“Excellent,” said he, “but how?”

“Throw a blanket over you, sir,” was the more confident reply.

As there were no blankets in the building, the doctor gave up his
examination in despair, which was, however, somewhat tempered by his
thankfulness that the boy’s “knowledge” had not been put to a practical
test.

This little anecdote, which is perfectly true, suggests the question:
“What would you do if the extinguishers mentioned in the puzzle were
not available?” Doubtless our readers know; if not, they will be well
advised to find out without delay.

The puzzle form of our advice was not difficult to decipher, but,
regardless of rhythm, many solvers gave the first line as

    “If your clothing catch fire.”

A large number wrote “around” for “about” in line 2, failing to discern
the essential difference, and several substituted “end” for “death” in
the fourth line. For this latter reading we can find no justification.

In “A railway collision” the metre proved to be very troublesome. It is
certainly very modern, the lines being respectively, nine, ten, eleven
and twelve syllables long. We do not know the rule which governs such
a metre, and are inclined to ascribe it that licence which every true
poet sometimes takes.

Considering the difficulty, we were surprised to find from thirty to
forty solutions giving the verse correctly. Three out of the four lines
were not difficult to solve, but the progressive nature of the metre
not being established, the first was not so easy. In many solutions an
adjective was inserted before railway as:

    “If a terrible railway collision you fear,”

and so long as some sort of rhythm was maintained, we did not much
object.

A few competitors complained that the first picture in the last line
was very obscure. In our copy it was plain enough and a large majority
of solvers adopted “Spring,” in preference to any other reading.

One correspondent ventures to hope that ladies will be well assured of
their peril before acting on the advice given. As he points out, it is
not at all desirable that a carriageful of people should, for instance,
be disturbed by such athletic exercises every time a fog-signal is
heard.

Such a caution is perhaps, not wholly unnecessary, for there are people
who “fear” a collision every time they enter a train.

By the time this “Cycle” is ended how wise we shall all be!

Competitors whose names have not been mentioned above may rest assured
that their papers have been carefully preserved in view of the special
award to be made at the end of the series. Not one solution has been
destroyed, and quite possibly the greater prizes will fall to outsiders
after all.

[Illustration: ARTISTS.]




THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS.

BY ERIC BROAD.


    We wander through the smiling fields,
      We gather fragrant flowers,
    Our childish eyes the sunshine watch
      From shady, sheltered bowers;
    We have our dreams of joy to be,
      Nor give a thought to loss;
    For youth is all too blind to see
      The Shadow of the Cross.

    Years come and go; tears flow and fall,
      Grief touches us awhile;
    And then we sleep, while round us glows
      The sunset of a smile;
    Joy lingers just a day with us,
      Life’s pathway seems as moss:
    But, faintly purple, looms ahead
      The Shadow of the Cross.

    Time’s drifted snows have gathered thick,
      Yet still the chase is long,
    Truth’s snow-white bird soars out of sight,
      But faint we hear its song;
    And we have lost Hope’s Light awhile,
      Count Love at best but dross;
    We struggle through a purple gloom—
      The Shadow of the Cross.

    At last! At last! a music rare
      Enchants our aching ears;
    And once again, not far ahead,
      The radiant sun appears:
    Our souls on buoyant wings are borne,
      And we retrieve our loss,—
    A rich content is ours, beyond
      The Shadow of the Cross.




LESSONS FROM NATURE.

BY JEAN A. OWEN, Author of “Forest, Field and Fell,” etc.


PART IV.

THE LOCUSTS THAT GO BY BANDS.

The locusts we take as an instance of what unity in action—co-operation,
in fact—can effect. “They have,” says the wise man, “no king, yet
they go forth all of them by bands.” Creatures these are so frail,
so unsubstantial, that they can be crushed to naught almost; yet
they are able to thwart man’s watchful care, and to undo the work of
the industry of months, when they settle in hosts, brought by some
mysterious instinct, sometimes by the scarcity of those other creatures
which, under the laws that keep even the balance of nature, feed upon
them, so reducing their numbers.

Whole tracts of land are devastated by these winged armies. In the
south of England some of you have seen, during the last dry summer
that we had, what legions of caterpillars covered vast tracts of land,
eating every vestige of green and leaving bare stalks where fine
cabbages and other crops had been looked for. Ravagers of forests,
also, some of these insignificant insects have been called, and with
good reason.

The term locust we take as a symbol, and we will include here the
various groups of tiny beings which, by reason of their vast numbers
and the way in which they come and go “in bands,” become such
formidable enemies of our race.

The caterpillars of the large white cabbage butterfly, and also those
of the small white species, attack several valuable crops besides
cabbages. They consume in the larvæ stage an enormous amount when their
size is considered. Mr. Wood tells us that it has been calculated
that one caterpillar alone, a month after birth, has increased to ten
thousand times its original weight on leaving the egg, and has devoured
in the meantime no less than forty thousand times that weight in food;
and although during the winter months it may be frozen into a brittle
condition, it survives this frost uninjured and becomes itself the
parent of two broods during the ensuing summer.

These particular caterpillars feed also on the leaves of turnip
plants and on the pods that are left for seeding; they eat radishes,
horse-radish and water-cress.

[Illustration]

Some years they show in myriads. Describing a flight of butterflies
that arrived on a certain day years ago, the _Zoologist_ says that it
was one of the largest flights ever seen in this country. It crossed
the Channel from France on a Sunday in July.

“Such was the density and extent of the cloud formed by the living
mass that it completely obscured the sun from the people on board
our Continental steamers. The decks were strewed with the insects in
all directions. The flight reached England about twelve at noon, and
dispersed themselves inland and alongshore, darkening the air as they
went. During the sea-passage of the butterflies the weather was calm
and sunny, with scarcely a puff of wind stirring; but an hour or so
after they reached _terra firma_ it came on to blow great guns from the
south-west, the direction whence the insects came.” On a calm sea the
butterflies are able to settle frequently, as though the water were
land, and to rise again; otherwise, that is, in windy weather, these
long flights would be of course an impossibility.

Louis Figuier, a French entomologist, has told how a swarm of plant
lice once appeared between Bruges and Ghent, “hovering about, in
troops” in such numbers as to darken the light of day. The walls of the
houses were so covered that they could no longer be distinguished, and
the whole road from the one town to the other was rendered black by the
legions of this insect. These were called “smother-fly.”

A female Blight, as one creature is termed—a very destructive
aphis—which was shut up for observation by another naturalist, brought
forth ninety-five little ones in less than three weeks, and she can
repeat this as often as twenty times during one summer if the weather
be favourable to her. The calculations which have been made by such
scientists as Professor Huxley prove that, were it not for our allies
and friends, our unpaid and often ill-appreciated bird labourers,
“there would be room in the world for nothing else” but those tiny
creatures the aphides!

Mole crickets in the south of France and in Germany do great harm to
the pea and bean crops. They have been known to destroy one-sixth,
and even one-fourth, of a crop of young corn by eating off the roots.
Barley and potatoes also they do a vast amount of harm to. The mole
devours this insect, as it does many underground enemies of the
agriculturist, and yet mole-catchers still receive so much an acre,
year by year, from landholders for destroying the mole, whose heaps
help to fertilise the soil, even if they do make it uneven, and if not
levelled they injure the mowing machines; but their services are worth
the extra labour in levelling.

Winged beetles swarm in the end of May, and they attack beans, broad
and other beans. Horses fed on Sicilian beans are often injured
in their health by the numbers of these creatures that have been
contained in their food. One farmer in England wrote that he calculated
he had as many of these small hurtful beetles as he had beans. Another
farmer complained that he lost two whole sowings of turnips owing to
the ravages of earwigs, and a writer in the _Field_ states that he
had one September to cover his windows with muslin and to shut all
his doors at sunset because of the army of earwigs that invaded his
precincts. “They dropped,” he says, “on the supper-table, they swarmed
in the pantry, getting into fruit pies after cooking, and running out
when the pies were cut. They pushed their way into the bread, so that
we frequently cut slices of these wretches in cutting bread and butter.
They found their way into the beds, linings of hats, coats, etc. When
the doors were opened in the morning they dropped in such numbers that
the mats were literally covered with them,” etc., etc.

To stop the ravages of caterpillars in some forests trenches have
had to be dug. Into these they fall as they pour forth “in serried
columns,” after having devoured one section of a wood, when on their
way to attack a sound part. In the trenches they are stifled by numbers
of men heaping earth on them. Sometimes great trees in the forest have
to be set on fire as the only way of stopping their ravages. Then
there are concealed foes who hollow out galleries in trees before
their presence is suspected. One little insect has been dubbed by
a naturalist with the formidable name of “the great pine-gnawer.”
It ravages forests of fir-trees in such wise that not a single tree
escapes its attacks.

Stag-beetles haunt our oak-trees, bruise the bark, and then lick up the
sap, and in its larval stage this beetle feeds in the solid wood of the
finest trees, keeping near the bark. We read also of the antler moth
flying “in countless myriads.”

In Galway in 1868 cockchafers arrived in hosts, forming a dense cloud
which darkened the sky for a distance of three miles. “The whole
country at midsummer assumed the appearance of winter. The noise of
their innumerable jaws sounded like the sawing of wood, and the buzzing
of their countless wings filled the air with a sound like the distant
rolling of drums.” And to add to the misery of this appalling picture,
the famine-stricken Irish were then “driven to eat them in order to
support life”!

Whole fields of turnips are often cleared, that is, the leaves of the
plants are stripped off, by myriads of the turnip fly or beetle that
come flying unexpectedly, one knows not whence. It was estimated
that the loss through this to one county in a single season was once
£100,000, and Miss Ormerod states that in 1881, when there was an
invasion of the turnip fly, spreading nearly all over our country, the
loss amounted to considerably more than half a million.

A prince in Bohemia once employed two hundred men for four days and
a half in collecting caterpillars during a plague of these, and they
gathered twenty-three bushels of them, which they reckoned amounted to
4,500,000 of these creatures. In the year 1574 cockchafers gathered
in such numbers on the banks of the Severn that the water-mills were
stopped working.

Miss Edith Carrington, who has written many useful little books on
out-door life, has lately brought out one called _The Farmer and the
Birds_, in which she has collected many valuable facts and statistics
which would be of interest to you.

Think of the size and the weight of one of these cockchafers, and then
ponder again on what can be effected by persistent co-operation. And if
for evil, yet also for good. That is our lesson just now.

One of my earliest lessons in French, when I was at school at Neuwied
on the Rhine, where we had to learn many fables and moral poems by
heart, both in French and German, was the story of a father who knowing
that he had not long to live, called his children together and bade
each of them go and cut a hazel rod and bring it to him. The rods he
bade them tie in one bundle, and then he told them to try and break the
sheaf of sticks. They could not do this. Next he ordered each to take
his rod and break it, which of course was an easy matter. “Now,” said
he, “the lesson I want to teach you is combination and united effort.
So long as you keep together, you will do something; if you separate,
you fail utterly.”

To co-operate means, of course, to work together. “Two are better far
than one, for counsel or for fight,” says an old and well-known hymn,
and a poet has written that even

    “Heaven’s gate is shut to him that comes alone,
    Save thou a soul, and it shall save thine own.”

Perhaps one of the chief causes of spiritual deterioration in
Christians has been that fallacy that one can worship God as well alone
as in the congregations of the faithful. “Forget not the assembling of
yourselves together” we read in the Book of books. Again the gracious
presence of our Lord is especially promised “where two or three are
gathered together.”

One of the saddest stories that I ever read is that of two maiden
sisters who lived in one large room in Edinburgh. They quarrelled about
something, and so bitter was the animosity engendered that they never
spoke to each other again, although they continued to live in the same
room for many years. Perhaps they were too poor to live in separate
apartments; or they may have had that proverbial Scotch decency and
reserve that prevented them from publishing their quarrel to their
little world, as an open separation would have done.

They drew a chalk line across their joint domain, which ran from the
middle of the fireplace to the centre of the doorway, and they cooked
and ate their separate miserable meals and went in and out in solitary
fashion, and probably grimly observed each other kneel down in prayer
(_sic_) to her Maker. Perhaps in the silence of the night hours one
would lie wakeful, with bated breath, listening to the unconscious
breathing of her sleeping sister. Could anything be more dreadful?
Whether they died thus, the one left alone in a room with lips that
were finally sealed in death, the story does not reveal; it is left
half told.

“See that ye fall not out by the way,” was Joseph’s wise counsel to
his brethren. “Two are better than one.... For if they fall the one
will lift up his fellow; but woe to him that is alone when he falleth;
for he hath not another to help him up ... and a threefold cord is not
quickly broken.” So said the preacher in Ecclesiastes iv. The old words
are very forcible in their quaint simplicity.

I knew five sisters once very intimately. They had a bad father whom
they never saw—though he was living—after the eldest of the five was
about twelve, and their mother was very poor. But they clung together
and shared the daily labour—pleasure they knew little of—and when
two families of richer relatives had become poor, and the members
separated, disunion having partly ruined them, the sisters still held a
brave and respectable front to the world, being able to do this because
they kept together, serving their mother’s God and having a common
faith and practice. “Did none of them marry?” I fancy some of you
asking mentally. Yes, two have now good husbands and pleasant homes;
and God comforts and strengthens the other three in His own way which
is always for the best.

(_To be continued._)




VARIETIES.


THE EDUCATION OF WOMEN.

Few in the present generation know how very modern the real education
of women is. Dr. More, in the middle of last century, was frightened at
his daughter Hannah’s cleverness, and made her leave off the study of
Latin and mathematics.

Mrs. Somerville, who was born in 1780, says that when she was getting
on with mathematics her father, Admiral Fairfax, said to her mother,
“We must put a stop to this or we shall have Mary in a strait-jacket
one of these days.”

When Hannah More and her friend, Miss Harrison, began teaching poor
girls in barns and brick kitchens, they were told they would ruin
agriculture, that if servants learned to read they would read their
mistresses’ letters, and if they learned to write they would forge
their mistresses’ names.


IN A YOUNG LADY’S ALBUM.

The American author, James Russell Lowell, had as happy a knack as has
ever been known of writing album verses. When he was in this country,
Professor Max Müller’s daughter, Beatrice, asked him to give her a few
lines, and this is what he wrote—

    “O’er the wet sands an insect crept,
      Ages ere man on earth was known,
    And patient Time, while Nature slept,
      The slender tracing turned to stone.
    ’Twas the first autograph; and ours?
      Prithee, how much of prose or song,
    In league with the creative powers,
      Shall ’scape Oblivion’s broom so long?”


RICHES.—Virtue is the best riches; knowledge the next, and what are
usually called riches the worst.


THE RIGHT RENDERING.

The following incident is recorded by the Bishop of Durham: Archbishop
Whately, in his last illness, begged a friend to read to him St. Paul’s
description of the Christian’s hope as he looks “for the Saviour, the
Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change” (so the friend read from the
Authorised Version) “our vile body that it may be fashioned like unto
His glorious body.”

“No, no,” interrupted the Archbishop, “give his own words! He never
called God’s works vile!”

And so we now read in the Revised Version, “Who shall fashion anew the
body of our humiliation that it may be conformed to the body of His
glory?”


TO-MORROW.—To-morrow is the fool’s seed-time.




HIS GREAT REWARD.


CHAPTER II.

Sunday came, and with it a fine dry day, causing Mrs. Duncan to
congratulate herself upon her good fortune. She was a martyr to
rheumatism in damp weather, and obliged consequently to be very
careful. To-day, however, she would be able to go to church, and at
the thought her heart bounded with pleasure. For, unlike a great
many—indeed, I fear I might almost say the majority of people—Margaret
Duncan really loved to go to God’s house. To her the services were
never long, nor the familiar prayers and collects wearisome. On the
contrary, she realised, as few do, the beauty of the concise language
in which they are written, and frequently caught herself wondering how
much could be expressed in so few words. This morning, although alone,
both husband and son having been called away to see sick people, the
service seemed especially sweet, and the sermon to bring more comfort
than usual to her heart.

It was perhaps by design that Mr. Mellis preached from the text “That
which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die,” dwelling upon the
necessity for the death of the body, that the soul might rise again,
and particularly on the hope—nay, certainty—of a blessed reunion above
with those who had “gone before.”

Listening to the comforting words, and looking on the face of the dear
old Rector, which fairly shone, as he spoke, with intense conviction,
it was little wonder that Mrs. Duncan felt happier than she had done
for a long time. Her child was not lost, only safe in Christ’s keeping,
till she, too, should go to join her.

How the strong faith of one individual helps the feeble faith of
others! In such a manner did Mr. Mellis help his friend and parishioner
to-day.

Not that Mrs. Duncan really doubted God’s wisdom in taking away from
her her child, but just as we crave a fresh protestation of love from
one dear to us, drawing pleasure from it, so did she find comfort and
consolation in the renewed assurances of divine love, spoken by the
Rector this morning. To her husband, Margaret Duncan never mentioned
such topics. Years before she had made the discovery that, although
the doctor was careful to keep all the ordinary religious observances,
being a regular attendant at church, yet he was not imbued with that
_living_ faith which delights in dwelling upon a future life when this
one shall be ended. A loving husband and tender father, Dr. Duncan had
felt the death of his little daughter keenly at the time, but though
his wife had hoped for some permanent spiritual awakening and an
expression of it, nothing was said which could lead her to suppose it
had taken place. Belief does not come to all with equal facility, and
knowing this, Mrs. Duncan never even in thought blamed her husband, but
was content to wait.

It was at this juncture that good old Mr. Mellis had proved himself so
true a friend to the almost broken-hearted mother, and the faith which
had always been so precious to Margaret Duncan became even more so
under the fostering guidance and help of the good Rector of St. Jude’s.

By a fortunate turn of events it so happened that both Dr. Duncan and
his son Magnus were able to accompany “little mother” to St. Jude’s on
the evening of this last Sunday in Lent.

It was a fine church, and there was, as usual, a full congregation, for
people will rally round a consistent Christian man, such as Mr. Mellis.
Were there more like him, we should less frequently hear the familiar
remark, “such a poor congregation.”

The service proceeded as usual until after the Third Collect, when the
curate announced that “The words of the anthem would be found in the
three hundred and thirty-second hymn.” There was a slight pause, and
then the opening bars of Gounod’s “There is a green hill” rang through
the church.

Magnus Duncan drew a long breath of delighted anticipation.

Presently the tones of a rich mellow contralto voice floated down the
aisles and up to the vaulted roof of the building. It was a voice of
rarest quality, powerful but sweet, and the singer sang as though her
whole soul was wrapped up in the words and music.

The tender pathetic verses seemed to have gained a new meaning when
sung as Marielle Heritage sang them that night. Magnus craned his neck
to get a glimpse of the singer, but she was almost hidden from view
by the reading-desk, for she had taken a seat in the choir-stalls on
entering the church that evening, and a mass of fair hair under a black
hat was all that could be seen.

On and on sang that glorious voice till the last verse was reached, and
then with what tender insistence came the repetition of the words, “we
must love Him too,” as if in pleading with a most precious child.

Mrs. Duncan glanced up at her husband’s face, to see there an
expression which it had never worn before, and one which made a glad
hope spring up in her heart.

As the last notes died away, a tear, noticed by the loving eyes that
watched him, trickled slowly down the doctor’s face, and with a
long-drawn sigh he sank upon his knees as the congregation knelt for
the rest of the prayers. “For the Lamb which is in the midst of the
throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of
waters, and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes,” was the
text of the curate’s sermon that night. He was only a young man, but
very earnest, and Dr. Duncan could not help thinking that he himself,
though so much older, was as a very child in comparison, with regard to
spiritual things. Only God knew how fervently John Duncan prayed to be
led to the “living fountains of waters” that night!

It was about ten o’clock on the Saturday night following. Magnus, tired
with a long day’s work, had just said “Good night” to his parents, and
betaken himself off to bed, leaving them sitting by the drawing-room
fire.

John Duncan was ostensibly reading the paper, but a close observer
might have noticed that the reading progressed in a most eccentric
fashion. He had not got beyond the first six lines of the leader during
the last hour, but was staring absently at the printed matter before
him, evidently without cognisance of the news it contained. Eventually
he dropped the paper and gazed into the fire instead. Mrs. Duncan was
occupied in finishing an interesting article in a favourite magazine,
and when she had concluded it, she said, without looking up:

“What is the news in to-day’s paper, John? Anything fresh taken place?”

Finding that her husband did not reply as usual, she hastily glanced at
him, laying down her magazine as she did so.

“He did not hear my question,” she decided in her own mind; then rose
and knelt beside his chair saying, “What can you be thinking about
so deeply, my dear old man? It must be something very interesting, I
should think, seeing that you did not even hear me speak to you just
now!” And Margaret gave a happy little laugh, and looked teasingly at
him.

“Thinking of, my darling? Why, something that has been on the tip of my
tongue to tell you all the week, but I was almost afraid to; besides, I
was not quite sure of myself.”

“It sounds like an enigma, John! But do tell me. I am all curiosity to
know what you mean.”

Placing one arm round his wife as she knelt beside his chair, the
doctor drew her closer to him and began:

“You remember last Sunday evening, Maggie?”

Mrs. Duncan nodded, and her eyes lit up with pleasure at the
recollection.

“Well, it is a wonderful thing to me, and it may seem strange to you,
my wife; but ever since I heard that girl sing that song, I have felt
quite differently about religious matters.”

A glad cry burst from Margaret Duncan’s lips, but she checked it as her
husband continued:

“I cannot tell how it was, but the _reality_ of Christ’s death for us
was borne in upon me as it had never been before. The story of Jesus
had always seemed more like a beautiful dream, or myth, somehow, to
me; perhaps I had not felt the need of a Saviour. But now, oh! Maggie,
I can only wonder that I have been blind so long. I feel like a child
when it first opens its eyes upon the world, and notices the beauties
it contains. I had so often wished I could feel as you did, and draw
the same comfort from religion, but I never could. And last Sunday
evening it was as if Christ revealed Himself to me all at once, showing
me my need of a Saviour, and asking only my love in return. All the
week I have been thinking of it, Maggie, but the only prayer I could
find to say was, ‘Lord, I believe, help Thou mine unbelief!’”

“Oh, Jack! my Jack! If you only knew how I have prayed for this, and
what it means to me!” cried Maggie, flinging her arms round her husband
as she burst into a very passion of tears—tears of joy, not sorrow.

Drawing her head down to the shelter of his breast, John Duncan held
his wife very tightly to him, as he said, in a voice which shook with
emotion:

“You will help me, won’t you, my darling? I want help so much, and we
can speak of these things together now. I am groping in the dark yet.”

“Nay, John,” said Margaret, smiling through her tears, “I think you are
just dazzled with the light. But all the help I can give is yours, you
know, my dear one.”

Hand in hand, for the first time during their married lives, these two
knelt that night at the feet of their heavenly Father, while Margaret
prayed for strength and guidance for them both; and John Duncan was not
a whit surprised when, in concluding, his wife added a petition for a
blessing upon the dear girl who had been God’s instrument in effecting
the longed-for change in her husband.

“It was just like Maggie,” he reflected, as he helped her to rise from
her knees, and thought, as he kissed her, that she had never looked so
fair in his eyes.

Happiness is a great beautifier, as we all know, and it was a very
happy Margaret Duncan who laid her head on her pillow that Easter Eve.

(_To be continued._)




CHRONICLES OF AN ANGLO-CALIFORNIAN RANCH.

BY MARGARET INNES.


CHAPTER VI.

THE BUILDING OF THE HOUSE—THE WORKMEN—THE COLOURED LADY—AN ILLNESS IN
THE BARN.

The plans for our house were finished. We had been very fortunate in
the choice of our architect, and he had delighted us by working into
them, with great taste, all the peculiarly English features, which we
had set our hearts upon having, in this far-away Californian home.

There was to be a roomy ingle-nook, and large open fire-places,
latticed windows with green shutters, and deep window seats, and great
overhanging eaves to the roof. On the gables outside we were to have
black beams in white plaster, to look like an old farm. To make the
housework easier, and also because we liked it, all the rooms were to
be on one floor, the whole second storey being one large attic.

Finally after many negotiations, the contract was signed, and we began
to look daily for the coming of the men. We had learnt to dread the
desert wind, which according to tradition, comes along in spells of
three, or at most four days, but which we found had a nasty habit of
staying longer, leaving one painfully parched, inside and out, body and
spirit. At such times we watched anxiously for the great bank of white
sea fog, rising up behind the mountains on the west, and always a sign
that the fresh sea breeze was coming back to us.

It was on a Sunday evening, during a specially diabolical dose of
desert wind, when there were bush fires on nearly all the mountains
round us, and the air seemed filled with smoke and the pungent smell of
burning sage, that our men arrived, bringing with them two waggon loads
of materials for putting up the various sheds and tents needed for
their comfort, during the eighty days, which was the contracted time
for building the house.

They had had a breakdown on the way out from town, and what with this
and the scorching heat of the day, had been much tried. However, they
were very good tempered, and seemed to consider the whole business as
a kind of picnic—a holiday in the country. The contractor, Mr. Scott,
who was also the principal carpenter, was a huge man, very capable, as
we soon found, and a splendid workman. He had brought his wife with
him, to serve the two-fold purpose of a change of air for her, and a
satisfactory cook for himself and his men! They had also their two
little children with them and Mr. Scott’s dog. Four more carpenters
arrived with them; the plumbers, plasterers, and painters, were to
follow later, when their work would be wanted.

The whole first day was spent in putting up the temporary houses needed
for the little settlement. They were going to make themselves quite
comfortable, though it was all done with extraordinary quickness. There
was a “cookhouse” as they called it, which was the most ambitious
building of all the settlement, and we thought it showed Mr. Scott’s
good sense, and promised well for the undertaking, that he provided so
royally for the men’s comfort in this particular. The cookhouse had one
good-sized dining-room, with a long table down the middle, and a bench
on each side; out of this was the kitchen, with two beautiful gasoline
cooking stoves, containing large ovens and all the newest American
contrivances. A nice cool cupboard or larder opened out of the kitchen,
and was made with walls of wire gauze to let the air in freely and keep
out the flies. The tent put up for Mr. Scott and his family was quite
a work of art; nicely floored and with walls of wood about four feet
high, to keep out draughts, the rest of the walls and roof being of
canvas. They had it comfortably furnished, and seemed at once quite at
home there.

The tents for the men were simpler, but satisfactory. By evening all
their preparations were made, and when the lights were lit all over
the little settlement, we were strongly reminded of the “Buffalo Bill”
shows we had been to at home.

By early morning the men were hard at work, laying the mud sills of
the house; and now began an exciting time for us, for these wooden
houses are built so quickly, and American carpenters are such clever
workmen, that it is most interesting to watch them. They were all good
humouredly amused at the plans of our house, and said they had never
put down such an irregular and unexpected outline of a house. Now,
too, we proved the very great advantage it was to us to be at hand
during the building; in this way several mistakes, which would have
caused loss of time and vexation, were corrected at once, and some very
decided improvements on the original plan were carried out.

Meanwhile our life in the barn was very dusty and hot. The coloured
lady had unfortunately taken a great dislike to me, and though she
did her work, she was so brutal in her manner, and scowled at me so
savagely, that, half in earnest and half in jest, I made an arrangement
with my husband and the boys that I should never be left alone with
her after dark. In appearance she might have been first cousin to the
gorilla, with his large, protruding mouth and big teeth. On Sundays,
she would go off hunting for wild bees’ nests, an occupation which
seemed to be an absorbing passion with her. At such times, she would
wear a very dilapidated print gown, her feet were thrust into men’s
boots, her head was covered with a red cotton sun bonnet, and she
carried in her hand a tall, heavy stick; and as she came striding
along, over the rough hill-side, with a peculiar movement of the
hips, like a wild animal, and waving her great club, she looked like
some man-eating aboriginal! One day, when her manner had become quite
unbearable, I arranged with my husband that I would speak to her before
him, for I did not dare tackle her alone. I hoped at least to find out
what provoked her specially aggressive manner to me; for she made some
slight attempt at friendliness to my husband and the boys. We got no
satisfaction however; all she would say, standing meanwhile outside the
open barn door, and shouting in her deep bass voice, was, “What does
the woman want? I didn’t insult the woman!” We felt it was hopeless,
and as the quarters were so rough that few good servants would have
put up with them, we decided to bear with our gorilla and her angry
mutterings till the house was built. But I was quite determined that
whatever happened, she should not set foot in the house, even if I
failed to find anyone else.

She much preferred to work with the ranch man, at any outdoor labour,
however heavy, rather than do so-called woman’s work. Especially she
loved managing the horses, and we could hear her big guffaw out on the
ranch, where she would try with the rest to trick or compel Dan, who
was giving more and more trouble, into doing his work. All the workmen
had some never-failing plan to coerce him, but each in turn was beaten
by Dan’s obstinacy, and his readiness to spend all day fighting out the
question as to his way or theirs. Poor Dan! before long we discovered
what was really amiss with him: he was going blind, and was in a
constant state of irritation and excitement at not being able to see.
No doubt the two young men who sold him to us, had known that this was
coming on (though his eyes betrayed no sign of it), and were glad to be
rid of him. Eventually we gave him away, and got a pair of young greys,
giving the other horse Joe in part payment for them. Dan has been our
only dead loss; all the other animals have turned out particularly well.

“Poll,” the little Indian pony for Tip, the younger boy, is quite a
character. She finds a trail through the most hopeless-looking bush,
without a moment’s hesitation, is as surefooted as a goat on the steep
rocky hill-sides, and has no vice about her. So that Tip, who was far
from strong when first we came here, has become a very good rider,
without accidents or trouble of any kind. He gallops her, bare-backed,
up and down the steep hills around us at full speed, sitting on the
reins and playing an accordion, waving it about over his head, and
making her fly with excitement. Then there is Jennie, a pretty mare
belonging to Larry, the elder boy. She is very nervous and high strung,
fond of polo, and racing, and good at both, but never quite satisfied
to go along on any quiet, everyday business. Ben is a strong, heavy
ranch horse, dutiful and hardworking; Rex and Dick, the greys, are
general favourites. They were only four years old when we bought them,
and they needed always close watching, for they were full of spirits;
but now they are more sober, and do their part bravely. Dickie is “the
gentleman,” and rarely does much ranch work, but trots the buggy for
miles and miles about the country.

By this time, all was going forward wonderfully quickly with the
building of the house. The carpenters and workmen enjoyed their trip in
the country, and indeed Mrs. Scott prepared such comfortable meals for
them in the cookhouse, that I fancy these alone would have reconciled
them to a much worse lot. She was very proud of her cooking, and used
often to show me her pies, and roasts, and biscuits, etc., as I passed
to and fro.

She was rather a grand lady too, and felt very virtuous about working
so hard at this job for her husband, but she told me privately that,
though he made no show of praising her for doing so well, he always
“came down handsome” after any such time, and that this one would
probably mean a silk dress for her! So though she grumbled in an
ostentatious way at times to me, when he was within hearing, she was
really very cheerful and helpful.

Nowadays, when I see our Chinaman, in his clean white jacket, wandering
about, carrying a basket in his hand, and returning presently with it
full of beautiful tomatoes, we think gratefully of Mrs. Scott and the
cookhouse; for the odd bits she threw from her door in those days,
came up very shortly in fruitful vines, and by this time they have
distributed themselves all over the ranch.

The barn was not a nice place to be ill in, nor was Liza, the darkey,
a nurse any invalid would willingly choose, and during a sharp attack
of influenza I had while we were there, I wondered sometimes if she
worked evil charms over the poultices, before she brought them to me,
with such an angry face. To be ill at all was, I think, in her opinion
a piece of fine ladyism, to which I had no right whatever. Fortunately
I did not depend upon her nursing, but had my three tenderhearted,
helpful menfolk. I lay very ill indeed, the influenza bringing on a
bad attack of congestion of the lungs, which nearly killed me, and of
course in addition to the illness, there was the hopeless discomfort
of the surroundings, the heat and dust, and when I was at my worst, a
spell of desert wind, and oh! the horror of it all. The barn seemed
no protection whatsoever. It was swept through and through by that
parched, scorching air, like a draught from a red-hot furnace. The
cracking and groaning of every wooden thing was like the wrenching and
straining of a ship in a storm; the barn and everything inside the barn
protested loudly. Fortunately our furniture was not to be housed for
long in a building one plank thick, or there would have been but very
little use in bringing it so far; soon it would have been lying about
us, in disconnected bits, all sprang apart during desert wind spells.

Once we were in the house, by shutting all doors and windows we could
keep the fiend out, sufficiently at least to prevent mischief; though
no one can boast of much comfort till our blessed friend the sea breeze
returns to us.

However, notwithstanding the desert wind, Liza’s illwill, and the
influenza, I recovered a little strength and crept out again before
long to see how the house was progressing.

I found the plasterers and brickbuilders hard at work, and their
different encampments added to the rest. Each man brought at least one
horse, often two, with his “rig,” and a dog and a gun. The horses were
tethered all about the land, and we seemed more “Buffalo Bill” like
than ever.

The building of the house went forward splendidly, and it promised to
be both very pretty and very convenient.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration]




THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.

MARCH.

BY LA MÉNAGÈRE.


With March we are in Lent. Now although we may not approve of any
restriction being placed on our dietary with regard to Lent, all the
same as spring is approaching we shall find that those restrictions
have their foundation laid in sound common sense. We do not now need
such substantial faring as we did a month or two earlier; we shall be
all the better for occasionally substituting fish for meat, for more
eggs, and for fewer cakes and puddings.

March does not bring us much that is new in the way of provisions, but
imported fruits and vegetables are not quite so dear as they were, and
in our gardens we should be beginning to have mustard and cress and
radishes. The first shoots of young sorrel—and how good they are—will
be coming above ground, and forced rhubarb is plentiful and cheap.

We are now the worst off for the wherewithal to make our tables pretty,
just before the spring flowers come in. We can supply the deficit by
having some of the pretty little green ferns in fancy pottery—pteris,
ivy, hart’s tongues, and so forth, and few things look nicer. Try,
too, for special occasions, the effect of crossed ribbons on the white
tablecloth. A table that is well-set with regard to its minor points,
namely, salt-cellars, mustard pots, bright knives and forks, clear
sparkling glass, and a clean tablecloth, can hardly ever fail to look
attractive, even if it has to go without other decoration; just as the
most elaborate decoration will never make up for deficiencies in these
respects.

At this time of the year we may make plentiful use of such things as
rice, macaroni, polenta, and other farinaceous foods; remembering, too,
that eggs are at their best as well and fairly reasonable in price.


MENU FOR MARCH.

                    Julienne Soup.
    Boiled Cod; Sauce Maître d’Hôtel, and Potatoes.
           Roast Guinea-fowl; Chicory Salad.
                   Savoury Omelette.
                Stewed Pears and Rice.

_Julienne Soup._—The foundation of this must be strong clear stock,
and preferably that which is made from a knuckle of veal, using a
little Liebeg’s Essence to make it a deeper colour at the last. This
should be strained and left to keep hot in a lined saucepan, while the
vegetables are stewing in a separate pan. There is an art in shredding
the vegetables for julienne soup, and they are best done with one
of the little tools sold for the purpose, as the beauty of the soup
depends on their being cut exactly alike. A fair quantity of vegetables
will be required, enough to give the soup a pronounced character. When
quite tender, these may be put into the tureen with the seasoning and
flavouring, and the hot stock poured over.

_Maître d’Hôtel Butter_ is made by melting about a quarter of a pound
of salt butter in a saucepan and adding to it two tablespoonfuls of
minced parsley, chervil and tarragon, with a shallot to give flavour.
Simmer these well together, and before using add a few drops of
vinegar, and some pepper and more salt if required.

Steam the potatoes if possible and garnish the cod with them.

When we speak of boiled fish by the way, we mean simmered fish, for
it should never be allowed to actually boil, or it will be tough and
flavourless. Very great care is needed in cooking all boiled articles
of food.

_Chicory Salad_, which is, of course, made from the chicory that comes
to us from abroad, requires a cream dressing. This should be made
by mixing the yolk of an egg with oil and cream, a spoonful of made
mustard, and a few drops of tarragon vinegar. Beat these ingredients
together until they resemble a thick cream, and pour over the chicory
(which should be cut into convenient lengths) at the last moment.

A guinea-fowl takes about the same time to roast as an ordinary fowl,
and requires to be well basted. Serve fried crumbs with it.

_Savoury Omelette._—When the art of making a plain omelette has been
acquired, it is easy to ring the changes of variety. The additions that
transform it into a savoury are, minced chives (or shallots), chervil,
tarragon and parsley; in France this is called an _omelette aux fines
herbes_. Four eggs would be needed to make one of a sufficient size
for a dinner. Beat these on a plate with a knife and add the salt and
pepper to them, also a very little milk. Pour into the omelette pan
when the butter is beginning to turn colour, as the right point of
heat has much to do with the ultimate success. Slip the knife under it
a time or two, but as soon as the mixture shows signs of “setting,”
it should be left alone for a minute longer, then the pan should be
put into a very hot oven for another minute, to raise the surface,
then folded over and slipped out of the pan on to a very hot dish. The
savoury herbs should be added to the eggs at the beginning. Lose not a
moment of time in bringing an omelette to table once it is cooked.

To boil rice successfully is not the easiest thing in the world. The
water, of which there should be a large pan three parts full, must be
boiling to begin with; then, while this is getting ready, the rice,
after washing, should be soaking in cold water. Put plenty of salt in
the pan. Boil the rice until it is tender enough to crush the grains
between the thumb and finger, then pour off into a colander; pour more
water through this until every grain is well separated, then return the
rice to the saucepan, cover it tightly, and let it steam gently for
half an hour. It ought then to be perfectly soft, yet every grain free
from the other.

All rice, macaroni, and foods of this kind need to be extremely well
cooked, otherwise they are anything but digestible.




HIGH-CLASS SWEETMEATS.


Whatever the season, sweetmeats, especially high-class confections, are
always in favour, most girls finding them delectable when sitting over
the fire as when resting in a hammock.

I purpose telling the readers of the “G. O. P.” therefore some
delightful recipes which I guarantee will not only be reasonable in
price, but will look professional enough to enable you to refill any
empty bonbon boxes you may possess as acceptable presents for your girl
friends. But you must be very careful to follow my instructions most
minutely, for like most handiwork it is the attention to details that
ensures success. As space forbids I can only give the two following
dainties as examples of what may be accomplished at home. They are
Marrons glaces and Marzipane varieties.

_Marrons Glaces._—For these take one quart of chestnuts, and after
removing the outer skin cover with water, boil gently till soft thirty
minutes to one hour, depending upon the kind of chestnuts. The Italian
chestnut is the best for keeping its shape. Peel very carefully and put
into a pan with any broken pieces there may be on the top.

Make a syrup of one pound of sugar and a quarter of a pint of water,
boil briskly for five minutes or until it threads; by which I mean the
syrup will form a tiny thread on dipping the finger and thumb in cold
water and then into the syrup. Let this cool and then pour over the
nuts and leave for thirty-six hours in a warm place, or longer if more
convenient. Lift the nuts out and drain. Now another syrup must be made
of one pound of sugar, a quarter of a pint of water, and one pinch of
cream of tartar. Boil quickly for seven minutes; this time the thread
must be thicker, and if registered by the thermometer it would be 250°.
Take off the fire and place the nuts in carefully, and merely bring
to the boil. Stir the syrup most gently and then lift out and drain
them. When dry they are ready. Little paper cases make them look more
dainty; they can be got at any large stationer’s.

A few hints on making syrup I think are necessary here before going to
the next recipe. The first point to attend to is the saucepan, which
should be perfectly clean and of strong enough material to prevent the
syrup being likely to burn, and for this reason enamelled saucepans are
not to be recommended. Then care must be taken not to let the syrup
grain, which is the technical term for syrup crystallising again. A
clean paint-brush or piece of rag dipped in water to wipe the sides of
the pan. Skim carefully. Boil quickly, and do not stir, as stirring
causes graining. For those who can afford a thermometer I should
strongly advise its purchase; it simplifies the process of boiling
syrup as it is much more accurate.

_Marzipane Varieties._—Marzipane is made in various ways, but the
recipe I intend giving is one that may be depended upon and will give
satisfaction. One and a half pounds of almonds, two pounds of sugar,
four eggs (whites only), half a saltspoon of cream of tartar, half a
pint of water.

Make a syrup of the sugar, water and cream of tartar, boil for seven
minutes in the same way as for marrons glaces. Stir in at once the
ground almonds; if these be prepared at home the flavour is improved;
those already prepared cost 1s. 4d. per pound, and answer very well. In
either case add a few drops of almond essence and one teaspoonful of
orange-flower water. Now put in the eggs, without beating; these must
be stirred in off the fire and then returned to cook them slightly.
You will find the quantities given make a large amount of marzipane;
it may be considerably reduced, say to one-fourth, if desired. After
the mixture is made, turn out on to a very large meat dish or marble
slab (which is better) and work it with a wooden spoon until it is
cool enough to knead with the hands. When worked enough it should
look and be of the consistency of a nice dough. The next thing is to
divide the marzipane in three or four portions. Colour and flavour each
differently—cochineal, coffee, vegetable sap green are all suitable,
and one portion may be left its natural colour. Work the colours in
most thoroughly, as a streaky appearance would spoil the whole effect.
To make diamonds—take a piece of each of the colours and roll out
about a quarter of an inch, damp each slightly with a little white of
egg and place on top of each other. Rice paper can be bought quite
reasonably at any good confectioner’s. A small sheet of this damped and
placed both at the top and bottom of the square of marzipane makes a
professional finish to the diamonds. Leave an hour or two till quite
dry, then with a sharp knife cut into slices half an inch wide and
cut crosswise into diamonds. I must only give suggestions for several
other varieties. Farced fruits, for example, farced being the term used
to express stuffed; we will take French plums as an instance. Cut the
plum carefully down the middle and remove the stone; cut a piece of
marzipane about as large as a nut, roll in the palms of the hands till
smooth and oblong, place right inside to show a little of the marzipane
only. Cherries, raisins, etc., are all done in this way.

Another way to use the marzipane. Detach a piece of it as large as a
filbert and roll again between the palms till smooth, and stick half a
walnut on each side, or the walnut may be completely covered with the
marzipane. Almonds may be used in the same way. Do not forget that all
these goodies look much nicer if placed in small paper cases. Also when
arranging them in rows with a little fold of white paper between each
row. These do not by any means exhaust the sweets that can be made at
home with profit and without undue labour.




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

A LOVER OF THE “G. O. P.”—The question you ask we have answered many
times before. Still, as we have not yet discussed the subject in
this year’s volume, we will go over the old ground again, adding a
little new matter which has come to our knowledge during the past few
months. The question of the causation and cure of constipation is
mainly a question of diet. A few weeks ago we gave a long answer on
the treatment of indigestion. Read this and follow the advice there
laid down. But, besides, take plenty of green vegetables and fruit,
especially before breakfast. Stewed prunes, figs, dates, tamarinds,
etc., are very useful for this complaint. You should also drink a fair
quantity of fluid with your meals. In indigestion we restrict fluids;
but in constipation we do the reverse, unless severe indigestion is
present besides. Not only is highly-digestible food not necessary in
your condition, but food which is not so digestible, but which contains
a quantity of non-digestible material is better. Exercise in moderation
every day is essential. An active occupation is preferable to a
sedentary one. Last, and least important, is the question of drugs.
Never take drugs unless absolutely necessary. When you have to take
them, take a pill of aloes and nux vomica, or a small dose of calomel
and bicarbonate of soda. The latter, which is from physiological
considerations the most reasonable drug to take, is also the most
effective, the least unpleasant, and the least dangerous, but it must
only be taken occasionally.

STUDENT.—The little blisters which come out on the eyelids and produce
a pricking sensation for about an hour or two and then go away, are, we
think, experienced by everybody, especially after using the eyes too
long or after reading too small print. Indigestion has nothing to do
with them.

EDNA.—You need not worry yourself about the trouble of getting the
pills. These are frequently used, and most chemists keep them already
made up. You cannot possibly make pills yourself without a machine. We
have already published an article on blushing, where you will see that
it is only in very few cases that internal medication is of any avail.

FRALDA.—We are afraid that you cannot do very much for your finger.
The hardness and induration left after a severe chilblain is often
very difficult to remove. If the chilblain has destroyed the deeper
structures, as it does sometimes when untreated, especially in persons
with feeble circulations, it will leave a hard knotty scar which
nothing on this earth will remove. The best thing for you to do is to
massage the finger every day. This will probably reduce the swelling,
even though there may be a considerable amount of scar tissue present,
which latter is, of course, absolutely incurable. Always wash in warm
water and clad yourself warmly in cold weather.

MIGNONETTE.—Cascara sagrada is a comparatively new drug. It is a liquid
extract made from the bark of _Rhamnus Purshiana_ by maceration in
water and alcohol. Syrup of buckthorn is a country preparation of the
bark of _Rhamnus Frangula_. It is far less efficacious than cascara.
The dose of cascara sagrada is from one-half to two teaspoonfuls. It is
a useful aperient in many cases.

AFFLICTED.—We published an article on blushing and nervousness a short
time back. Of course your heart may be diseased; but remember that
very many diseases of the heart are not very serious, and if care be
taken, do not in any way interfere with or limit life. There is only
one form of valvular disease of the heart which ever kills suddenly.
This is aortic regurgitation—a form of disease very uncommonly due to
rheumatism.

INQUIRER.—The public must be getting rather tired of nostrums
guaranteed to “cure all diseases of the stomach, bowels, liver and
kidneys.” The fact that there are some hundreds of patent preparations
sold to cure everything is sufficient to prove that the “elixir of
life” still remains undiscovered. That any drug will ever be discovered
that will cure every disease, even of one organ, is hardly conceivable.
We cannot understand how any agent could cure two diametrically
opposite conditions. Do you think that millions would die of diseases
of the stomach, liver and kidneys, if a cure for them could be obtained
for 1s. 1½d. per bottle—cure guaranteed after taking two bottles—that
is, for 2s. 3d.?

OLIVE MARY.—1. A few weeks ago we gave a _résumé_ of the treatment of
indigestion such as you suffer from. If you read this column carefully,
you cannot help finding many dozens or hundreds of answers concerning
diet and digestion.—2. You will find the following very useful:—five
drops of essence of ginger, and ten drops of compound tincture of
cardamons in a wineglassful of water. This may be taken occasionally
as required. Do not take it regularly, and leave it off as soon as you
can. You will soon get the upper hand of your indigestion if you carry
out our instructions carefully.

MATER.—Knock-knees are very common. They are almost invariably caused
by rickets in childhood. The treatment for the condition varies with
its severity. If very severe an operation may be required to straighten
the legs. If slight, the deformity may often be cured by splints.

FROM A MALE READER.—There is nothing known which will remove hair or
prevent it from growing. When we say nothing, we mean nothing which is
in any way possible in your case. You can lighten the colour of your
hair and so make it less noticeable with peroxide of hydrogen.

SEFTON PARK.—“Musical stammering” is the same affection as “writer’s
cramp,” the only difference between them being due to the different
purposes to which the hand is put. There is a very large number of
affections of the nervous system called “habit spasms” or “occupation
neuroses.” An example will illustrate the cause and treatment of
all. So let us take your complaint, “musical stammering.” A pianist
discovers one day that she cannot play properly, that her finger
persists in striking the same note constantly. Her arm undergoes spasms
which prevent her from moving her fingers over the keys. She has an
attack of “musical stammering.” What is the cause of this? Well,
this question cannot be directly answered. Let us see what possible
factors have led up to the present outbreak. Obviously the first is her
occupation. Then she has been practising very long. The five-finger
exercise is monotonous. The brain, which at first gave its attention
to the notes, is now fagging. The mind no longer controls the hands.
The exercise ceases to be a voluntary act. It has become a series of
involuntary reflexes which require little effort to continue, but a
considerable amount of volition to stop. The hand becomes tired and
its muscles and nerves exhausted. Now, no longer will they respond
rhythmically to the stimulus of striking the finger, they undergo
spasms and twitchings. It is very difficult to say which causes the
spasms—the brain or the nerves of the arm. But be this as it may, it is
an affection which is most difficult to eradicate. It occurs chiefly
in members of neurotic families, and, occasionally, is only present
when the health is impaired, but it may develop in anybody who is in
perfect health. Now for a few words about the prevention and cure of
“musical stammering.” Of course we cannot give you any absolute cure
for the condition, and you have not been unreasonable enough to demand
one. Drugs may be put out of the question as being totally useless.
The same may be said of dieting. Locally, mild electrical stimulation
and massage of the arms are sometimes useful. The former agent is
often quite useless, and sometimes makes the condition worse; massage
never does any harm. The usual treatment adopted is to give up the
occupation connected with the malady and do something else. This is not
always possible, and, besides, it is rather fighting shy of the evil
and not treating it. The best form of treatment, we feel certain, is
mild and careful exercise. For instance, in your case, practise for
five minutes; if this brings on “stammering,” leave off at once; if it
does not, practise for the five minutes and then leave off. You might
practise twice a day. Every week you should add one minute more to
the time you practise, till you have got to practise for two separate
half-hours daily. The chief points to remember are these:—on the
slightest return of symptoms cut down the time by two or three minutes;
if the symptoms do not return, increase the time very gradually; never
practise unless you can give the whole of your mind to the work—as soon
as the brain begins to fag you are in danger, and even if you were not,
the practising done is of no value whatever. If this form of treatment
fails there is little left, except giving up music altogether, at all
events for some years.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

LIZZIE VAN HARDENBROEK (Algiers).—We thank you heartily for your very
pleasant letter. The English and handwriting are admirable, considering
that you are a foreigner.—1. Your quotation is from Milton’s poem “On
His Blindness.” You may perhaps know that our great poet, who had from
childhood injured his eyesight by excessive study and strain, became
totally blind in about the forty-seventh year of his age. As you may
have difficulty in procuring it, we transcribe the whole sonnet, which
is one of the most beautiful in the English language:—

    “When I consider how my light is spent
      Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
      And that one talent, which is death to hide,
    Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
    To serve therewith my Maker, and present
      My true account, lest he returning chide;
      ‘Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?’
    I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
    That murmur, soon replies, ‘God doth not need
      Either man’s work or his own gifts. Who best
        Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
    Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed,
      And post o’er land and ocean without rest;
        They also serve who only stand and wait.’”

FIDDLER.—We can only confirm your own modest opinion, that your
composition is very incorrect. There appears to be no melody, and it
is without meaning or coherence. We can, however, give you one word
of praise, for the music is most beautifully copied. You should study
the laws of musical composition. Davenport’s _Elements of Music_, and
_Harmony_, are the best books for you to procure.

OLIVE.—The literal Latin words for “Love conquers” are “Amor vincit,”
but as a motto it reads better “Omnia vincit amor”—“Love conquers all
things.”

VICTORIA.—1. Your writing has a small and cramped appearance, and you
do not form your letters well. The tails of your g’s, y’s, &c., are too
long. You write very clearly, and might easily improve with care.—2.
We do not give the private address of the authoress in question, but
letters sent to the office of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER would be forwarded
to her. Ethel Rimmer’s question has been already answered, though we
thank you for your kindness.

SNOWDROP.—1. Yes; we are afraid we must confirm the opinion of your
relations, that your writing _is_ very bad; but do not despair!
Purchase some good copybooks and practise every day.—2. “The Anchor’s
Weighed” is a very well known nautical song, and you could purchase it
in a cheap form by inquiring at any music shop, so that it is hardly
necessary for us to print all the words here.

JOYCE.—The play to which you refer, “The Witches’ Curse,” is by
Miss Alcott, the author of _Little Women_, and you can procure it
separately; “The Witches’ Curse and Other Plays, by Meg, Jo, Beth and
Amy.” Inquire at your bookseller’s. We have seen it prettily acted by
children.

HILDA QUELCH.—1. Write to the Registrar, University of London,
Burlington Gardens, W., for a syllabus of the Matriculation exam.—2.
Your writing does not strike us as “babyish,” but it is a little small
and cramped. We do not admire the backward slope; but if you wish to
retain that, you may still acquire greater freedom by practice and
care. Two questions are our limit. We thank you for your kind little
letter and assure you of our good wishes.


OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

STANMORE’S query concerning some verses is answered by DOROTHY A.
CROSS and “NELL.” The authoress is said by the former to be Miss M.
E. Manners, though the lines are printed anonymously. NELL encloses a
similar poem, which we print _verbatim_.


THE FORGET-ME-NOT.

    It’s said that ages, long ago, when God had formed
        the earth and heaven,
    He called the flowers one by one, until to all sweet names
        He’d given:
    To one, pure Lily, other Rose, another Violet, or Daisy fair,
    As each bright flower before Him passed, to wear anew its
        Father’s care.
    But oh! one day, a tiny flower, with pale blue eye and little tear,
    Came back to Him and said, “Dear Lord, I’ve forgotten quite my name,
        I fear.”
    Then looking down upon the flower, which trembling stood,
        with bended head,
    Without reproof or look unkind, “Forget-Me-Not,” He gently said.

    _Copyright._      E. RIDLEY.

NINETTE (Budapesth) has four answers. N. E. COOTE tells her she will
find “The Song of the Shirt” and “Somebody’s Darling” in _No. VI. Royal
Reader_. F. W. STONE refers her to _Bell’s Standard Elocutionist_,
published by Hodder and Stoughton. “ROSEBUD” says the poems are both
in _The Art of Speaking_, by Harold Ford. EDITH WALPOLE, 58, Talgarth
Road, West Kensington, London, refers her to vol. v. of _The Royal
Reader_, but offers to copy out and send both poems to Ninette.

JANET wishes to know the title and author of the song in which these
lines occur—

    “Blue seas, and blue skies,
    New friends, and new ties.”

E. M. W. seeks the authors of the two following quotations, and the
poems from which they are taken:—

    (1) “What a single word can do!
        Making life seem all untrue;
        Driving joy and hope away,
        Leaving not one cheering ray;
        Blighting every flower that grew—
        What a single word can do!”

    (2) “Not all who seem to fail, have failed indeed;
          Not all who fail have therefore worked in vain,
        For all our acts to many issues lead;
          And out of earnest purpose, pure and plain,
        The Lord will fashion ends in His good time.”


INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.

⁂ We have to request our correspondents kindly to refrain from sending
us letters stamped with 2½d. stamps for us to forward to foreign
subscribers. This waste of trouble and of postage distresses us, and
we must repeat that we cannot undertake any postal business whatever
in connection with this column. We keep no register of addresses, so
are unable to forward letters, nor can we engage to return them to the
writers. If addresses are not sent for publication on the one side,
they must be so sent on the other. We refer our readers to THE GIRL’S
OWN PAPER for April, 1898, where we endeavoured to explain our method
of procedure.

MISS SISSIE REDMOND, Shortlands, Folkestone, aged fifteen, would like
to correspond with Miss Anice Cress, also to exchange stamps with girl
collectors living abroad. She is an enthusiastic collector and has
about 4000 stamps.

O MIMOSA SAN has offers of correspondence, with a view to exchanging
picture postcards, from Miss Bessie Golding, 9, Handford Street, Derby;
Miss Lizzie van Hardenbroek, Hôtel Continental, Mustapha Supérieur,
Algiers, Africa; Miss Ethel Miller, Effra Dene, Church Road, Brixton
Hill; and Miss Eva Miller, Luthergasse 4, Graz, Styria, Austria. (We
imagine this identity of name is only a coincidence.) Will “O Mimosa
San” write to these addresses? Miss van Hardenbroek, whose house is
near Utrecht, would like to send “O Mimosa San” three Dutch and three
Algerian postcards for six Russian ones.

EDITH WALPOLE should write direct to Miss Valentine Massaria, whose
address we published.

MISS INQUISITIVE has an answer from Miss Islay Campbell, “Newhouse,”
25, Sinza Road, Shanghai, China, who would be pleased to correspond
with her.

NELLIE would very much like to correspond with a girl of her own age
(nineteen) who works with her hands, and if possible lives in the
country, as “Nellie” lives in London.

JAPONICA would be glad if some educated French girl of good
family, aged about twenty, would send her address to this column.
“Japonica” suggests writing alternate French and English letters,
her correspondent doing the same; each to return the other’s letters
corrected, when necessary.

MISS DOROTHY A. CROSS, Minterne, Cerne, Dorset, aged fourteen, fond of
history, French, general reading, and bicycling, wishes for a French
correspondent of about the same age and tastes.

MISS VAN HARDENBROEK, whose address we give in the answer to “O
Mimosa San,” wishes to exchange old Dutch and French stamps with the
three-cornered stamps of the Cape of Good Hope, if any reader of THE
GIRL’S OWN PAPER has the latter.

MISS HILDA QUELCH, Stanley Lodge, Bedford Road, South Woodford, Essex,
would like to correspond with a French girl.


GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.

WOOD VIOLET (_Home Occupation_).—As you wish to do something in your
spare time at home and do not need to earn your living, perhaps it
would be best to learn some handicraft. We would suggest lace-making,
flax spinning, cane basket weaving, or _repoussé_ metal work. By
applying to the Secretary, Home Arts and Industries Association, Royal
Albert Hall, Kensington Gore, W., you would probably hear of some
classes that you might join.

A RELUCTANT HOME-BIRD.—It is natural and proper that you should wish
to be fully employed now that you are young and vigorous. And it is
manifestly not easy to find work enough for several daughters to do
at home. At the same time you must remember that you have had one or
two chances of outside occupation already. You have not cared for
hospital nursing; but as you say you “love children,” how would it be
to be trained either as a children’s nurse (at the Norland Institute),
or as a kindergarten teacher? If you were interested in work among
poor children, and did not require much salary, we would suggest that
some of the London Boards of Guardians are inclined to appoint young
ladies of about your own age as matrons of small cottage homes for
pauper children. Much useful work might be done by ladies acting in
this capacity. But we do not think this is quite the career for you.
Travelling companionships are so scarce that we do not advise you to
seek one. And it is difficult to know otherwise how you are to see the
world as you desire. If money enough could be spared for you to live at
some home for working ladies in London (_e.g._, the Beechwood Club, 6,
Oakley Street, S.W.), it might be worth while for you to come up and
to study shorthand and typewriting with a view to seeking work as a
newspaper reporter. A secretaryship, we fear, would be put almost out
of reach by the circumstance of your handwriting not being first rate.
But you appear to have some natural aptitude for literary expression,
and it is just possible—though we should not like to hold out any
definite hope—that you could obtain a little journalistic work.

RUBES (_Table Decoration_).—This is a precarious employment, and
naturally much affected by the London Season. We do not strongly advise
any girl to adopt it who is in need of a regular income. Pupils are
taken by the Women’s London Gardening Association, 62, Lower Sloane
Street, S.W.

THE STEWARDESS.—The principal steamship companies are those to which
you should apply for a post as stewardess; but successful applicants
are usually the widows or daughters of the companies’ officers.

NETTA (_Book-keeping_).—At twenty-eight you are by no means too old to
learn book-keeping. You might attend classes at the Birkbeck Institute,
or at almost any polytechnic, and then present yourself for one of the
Society of Arts’ examinations. Your handwriting is decidedly good, and
would serve as a recommendation for secretarial work.

AN IRISH GIRL (_Gardening_).—Lady gardeners are decidedly in request,
and you would not do at all unwisely to study at the Horticultural
College, Swanley, Kent. It is probably Kew Gardens in which your
friends have told you that ladies were employed. To be trained at
Swanley would cost about £70 a year for board, lodging, and tuition.


MISCELLANEOUS.

BRITANNIA.—The stains you describe are probably of the nature of a dye,
in which case you can do nothing for them. You might show them to a
cleaner, or have the garment dyed a darker colour.

A. D.—The training classes held by the Home Arts and Industries
Association for voluntary teachers and others, at the Albert Hall,
have now opened for the Autumn Session. Bookbinding, carpentry
and wood-carving, inlaying and marquetry, metal _repoussé_ and
basket-making are taught. Particulars can be obtained from the
Secretary at the Royal Albert Hall, S.W.

LILY OF THE VALLEY.—To turn your light straw hat black there are
several things; but the best is, we think, Berlin black, to be obtained
from any oil shop.

ANNETTE.—We regret that it is not in our power to help you to dispose
of clothes, either old or new ones.

MISS A. A. L.—Nearly all large drapers sell waterproof garments, and
the fashions in cloaks and mantles change every season.

CHAPEAU.—The velvet must be taken off the hat and steamed over boiling
water in order to take out the spots. Hold the wrong side of the velvet
over the steam, and afterwards go over the velvet with either a velvet
brush or a piece of black crape to raise the pile again. The velvet
must not be wetted in the operation, only steamed enough to raise the
pile.

FANNY G.—It is not unusual for a girl to pay a visit to the family of
the man to whom she is betrothed; nor is there anything wrong in it, as
she should know something of them before marriage.

M. E. W.—Unless in use, you had better try to dispose of the water-bed.
It will answer no purpose to put it away, and it is useless save
in sickness. They will allow you for it, where you procured it, as
second-hand.

VEILCHEN.—1. As a general rule it is better to take all such kindly
attentions as meaning nothing beyond what appears on the surface. A man
very often walks home with a girl out of kindness only; and there is no
harm in his doing so, as in the country, where the roads are lonely, he
may feel obliged to do it. If your family object to it, and if you feel
it unpleasant, have one of the servants sent to meet you. It is well to
discourage self-consciousness, and to accept such attentions as they
are, probably, meant; that is, as the natural acts of kindness which a
man feels it right to offer to a woman in need of them.—2. There are
plenty of good hair washes which you can make yourself. Dr. Erasmus
Wilson’s is excellent—

    ℞ Eau de Cologne            8 oz.
    Tincture of cantharides     1  “
    Oil of English Lavender     ½ drachm.
    Oil of rosemary             ½    ”

Mix in a bottle, and shake well.




AN EMBROIDERED PIANOFORTE BACK.


[Illustration: A PIANOFORTE BACK.]

There are few places where a nice piece of embroidery can be more
effectively displayed than in a pianoforte back, and the design here
given may be of use to some who want to take up a piece of work, but
are undecided what it shall be, by suggesting a task and giving some
little assistance in the matter of design; for there is no necessity or
merit in keeping close to the ones I give in these pages. It would be
much better if all workers made their own designs, but some are not so
gifted as others, and a little help in this particular is not therefore
unwelcome. To those who feel shaky about their drawing, and who want
some mechanical means of enlarging a design, I recommend “squaring.”
You divide the small design into, say, one quarter of an inch squares,
and then draw on your paper squares sufficiently large to fill out the
surface; thus if the design is to be increased ten times the squares
on your paper must be two and a half inches. It is comparatively easy
to fill in each square with its corresponding portion; but in such a
design as the one here given a good deal of freehand work could be
employed, and those who are used to sketching should draw out the
design upon the material to be worked in charcoal (use a stick of soft
French charcoal for the purpose). It would be just as well to divide
your material into four by drawing faintly charcoal lines, or better
still rub a fine piece of string with charcoal and then get someone to
hold it at one end while you hold the other and then snap it on the
material. This will give you a straight line which will easily dust off.

Outline embroidery on ironing flannel is very effective, as this
flannel is a pleasant-looking material with good substance, but in this
matter the taste of the individual worker must decide such an issue.
Personally I am very fond of embroidery worked on a brocaded material,
but then the material itself is expensive.

The embroidery might be light on a dark material, say an indigo blue
or deep green, or it might be in tones of yellow or some rich red
material, but I must refer the reader to some recent articles on the
embroidery of curtains where I have gone into the matter in some detail.

I would caution the worker against introducing a number of colours
into the design. It is much more pleasing to see the whole design
carried out in one tone of colour (though there may be a number of
different shades) than an attempt to be naturalesque, as though you
were painting a picture. The present design, though based on nature, is
ornamentally rather than naturally treated. The tree might be worked
in olive green or warm yellow browns. The birds should be kept very
simple indeed. Think of them as shapes and not as “feathered friends.”
These might be worked say in turquoise blue, as they are small objects.
This will bring them off the surrounding work. The turquoise blue could
be used again in the flowers at the bottom, and if we adopt the olive
green harmony, the musical instruments could be worked in light golden
browns and yellows.

If you work the tree in warm browns, then the birds could be worked
in dark brown, the musical instruments in yellows, and the flowers
at bottom in yellow with browns for stems and leaves. Here we have a
harmony in yellows and browns with no contrasting or opposing colour,
such as the turquoise blue in the former arrangement, and harmonies are
on the whole safer and more pleasing than contrasts. Eastern nations
understand this, and a reference to some of their needlework at such a
place as South Kensington Museum would be a good lesson to a worker.
I have in former articles advocated outline embroidery as being very
effective and quickly produced. In a large work such as the piano back
coarse crewels can be used with advantage, the split stitch or the
ordinary one being employed, or both.

Those who enlarge the design on paper need not do more than one-half,
as the other side can be reversed and repeated. The trunk of the tree
could easily be sketched on so that you could enlarge the foliage
of the tree and the flowers at the base. It would be better to use
tracing paper and prick the design over with a coarse darning needle.
Some charcoal roughly crushed up in muslin and rubbed over the pricked
design will leave an impression upon the material which can be marked
over with some Indian Ink, using a brush. You will find it more
difficult to get the powder to pass through the side of the design you
prick than the other one, so you must take care to rub the powdered
charcoal well on to the design to insure it passing through the pricked
holes.

       *       *       *       *       *

[Transcriber’s Note: The following changes have been made to this text.

Page 383: aleady to already—occupation already.]






End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX. No.
1002, March 11, 1899, by Various

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER, MARCH 11, 1899 ***

***** This file should be named 57027-0.txt or 57027-0.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/5/7/0/2/57027/

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


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.