



Produced by Susan Skinner, Chris Curnow, Pamela Patten and
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[Illustration: THE RENDEZVOUS.

_From the Painting in the Salon by_ E. L. LABITTE.]




[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 984.]      NOVEMBER 5, 1898.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




"THE NIGHT COMETH."


      Heard ye the heavenly voice?
    Solemn and deep, its warning soundeth near,
    Falling like thunder on the careless ear,
      Bidding the heart of humble faith rejoice:--
    "Arise! and list not idly to my strain,
    Fulfil your task while daylight may remain,
      For the Night cometh on!"

      Oh! while the morning hour
    Of life is yours, upon the youthful brow
    Be the pure seal of Heaven imprinted _now_!
      Oft the "Great Reaper" culls the early flower.
    But not untimely culled, to whom 'tis given
    To show how brightly shines the light of Heaven
      Through the Night coming on!

      Oh! sound of joy to him
    Who "the good fight" hath fought, and on the field,
    So hardly won, may slumber on his shield,
      Looking to Heaven, while Earth around grows dim.
    Tracing his Saviour's footsteps to the tomb,
    He sees no cause of fear, no shade of gloom,
      In the Night coming on.

      May we, too, see the light,
    Shining beyond the darkness that we fear,
    And tread the path, whereon its radiance clear
      Shall guide our footsteps, if we walk aright.
    Be ours to labour on, in humble trust
    To share the blest repose that waits the just,
      When the Night cometh on!

[Illustration: HOME TO FOLD.]

_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 VI.

Three or four more days of strain, and then the abscess in the ear
broke, causing speedy relief. The first thing that Roy did was to fall
into a profound sleep, which lasted some hours.

When he woke up, feeling markedly better, his murmur was for "Den!" as
usual; and since no reply came, he said "Den!" more loudly.

Then he took a good look round. The light from the window was getting
dim, and the pain in his ear was gone. He saw Denham near, leaning
back in the only pretence at an easy-chair which the room could boast
of. Ivor's head was resting against the wall, and he seemed to be in
a heavy slumber. Boys of twelve or thirteen are not always thoughtful
about other people; but an odd feeling came over Roy, as he noted the
fine-looking young soldier in that attitude of utter weariness. All
these days and nights of his illness he had actually never once seen
Ivor asleep until now.

"He must be tired, I'm sure," Roy said aloud. "But I think I'm hungry.
I wish he would wake up."

The room door opened very slowly and softly, and Roy's eyes grew round
with astonishment. Nobody entered this infected place except the doctor
and the old Frenchwoman in the mornings, and the latter always got away
as fast as she could. This new-comer seemed to be in no hurry. She
stepped inside, closed the door, and advanced towards the bed. There
she stood still to look at Roy; and then she turned to gaze pityingly
at Ivor.

Roy stared hard, fascinated. She was quite a girl, perhaps two or
three years older than Polly. She was very slight, with a plain
neatly-fitting dress. The lighted candle in her hand threw a strong
glow upon her face. It was a particularly sweet face, delicate and
gentle; and it would have been exceedingly pretty, but for the very
evident ravages of a long-past attack of small-pox. There were no
"pits" on her skin, but a certain soft roughness characterised the
whole, as if, once upon a time, it had been covered with pits. Now it
was pale, and the features were even, while short black hair curled
over a wide forehead, and the dark eyes were full of an intense
sadness. Even Roy could not but see that great sadness. As he looked at
her she looked at him, and then she sighed.

"Pauvre petit!" she said softly.

She came close to the bed, and Roy put out his hand, only to snatch it
back.

"Oh, I mustn't; I forgot. Den told me I must not touch anybody except
him, not even that ugly old woman who comes in, because I'm all
small-poxy, you know. And oh! I'm so thirsty. I wish he would wake up."

"Pauvre enfant!" She went to the table, and brought back a glass of
milk, which she held to his lips. Roy drank eagerly. Then she smoothed
his bed-clothes, and put his pillow straight.

"But you oughtn't to be here, you know; you might catch it," Roy's weak
voice said. "Den would tell you to go. Can you talk English? I only
know a wee bit of French."

"Yes; I can talk English." She said the words in foreign style, with
a slow distinctness and separation of the syllables, but with a pure
intonation. "I learnt English in your country. Yes, I have been there,
for three, four years. Monsieur votre frère--your brother--il a l'air
d'être très fatigué."

"Den isn't my brother. He's only--he's just Den, you know. Captain
Denham Ivor, of His Majesty's Guards. He hasn't been to sleep for ever
so long, and that's why he's tired. My ear has been so awfully bad, oh!
for days and days. And I couldn't get to sleep, and Den was always by
me--always."

The girl left Roy, and went closer to the sleeping man. He remained
motionless; his arms loosely folded; a slight dew of exhaustion upon
the brow; the face extremely pale. She sheltered the light from his
eyes with her hand, and looked steadily. Then, turning away, she began
putting things straight in the room. A few womanly touches altered
wondrously the aspect of the whole. Roy lay and watched her.

"What's your name?" he asked. "Are you M. de Bertrand's daughter? I'm
deaf in one ear still, so please don't whisper."

"No; I am Lucille de St. Roques. M. and Mme. de Bertrand are my good
friends." She flushed slightly. "They are my best friends in all Paris."

"And do you live here?"

"No; I am come unexpected--quite sudden. My friends did not look for
me. When they tell me of the English boy upstairs, and of the kind
Monsieur who nurses him, then I say I will go and help. I have had the
complaint, and I do not fear."

"I wonder where your home is?" Roy said, interested.

"Ah, for that, I have not now a true home. My home was in the south of
France, but it is my home no longer. Cependant, I have kind friends
at Verdun, where I live." She laid a hand on Roy kindly, murmuring,
"Pauvre petit!"

"You don't call me 'little,'" protested the insulted Roy. "I'm nearly
thirteen; almost a man. And I am going to fight Napoleon soon. Do
you like Napoleon?" She shook her head. "That's right. Then you're
Royalist; and I am glad, for I like you, and I don't like Napoleon. I
shall soon be an officer in King George's Army. I'm going to have a
commission as soon as I'm sixteen. And then I shall be a brave soldier,
you know, like Denham. And have you a father and mother at that place,
Ver--something?"

"Verdun." Little dreamt Roy how familiar a name it would soon become
in his ears. "My father and mother, they were of the old noblesse, and
they lost their lives in the Revolution, hélas! Thirteen years ago they
were guillotined."

"Oh, I say, how horrid!" exclaimed Roy, at a loss to express the
sympathy which he really felt. "How dreadful! Why, you must have been
quite a child then."

"I was not yet eight years old. But that was in truth a terrible time.
I was in prison with them for many, many weeks, before they went out to
die."

Ivor woke suddenly, opening his eyes without warning. Then he stood up,
leaning against the solid four-poster for support, since the room went
round with him dizzily. He saw a girlish figure, and he vaguely felt
that she had no business there, but a momentary pause before speech was
necessary.

"Do not make so great haste. Will you not rest a little longer?" a kind
voice said, and a soft hand came on his wrist.

"But indeed, mademoiselle, you must go away at once," he urged
earnestly. "It is small-pox. It is----" And he tried in vain to recall
the French word, though ready enough usually in talking French. "Pray
go. You will take the infection."

"But me, I do not intend to go," she replied cheerfully, with her
pretty foreign accent. "You need not be afraid for me, monsieur. See, I
have had it. I am not in danger, not at all. You are fatigué, n'est-ce
pas? It has been a long nursing--yes, so I have heard. When did you
take food last?"

Denham confessed that he had not eaten for some time; he had not been
hungry. Well, perhaps he was a trifle _fatigué_, but 'twas nothing,
nothing at all. He was ready now for anything. If Mademoiselle would
only not put herself in danger! By way of showing his readiness, he
made a movement forward, but he was compelled to sit down, resting his
forehead on his hand. The long strain had told upon even his vigorous
constitution.

"Ah! C'est ça!" she murmured. "But you will be better, monsieur, for a
cup of coffee."

Ivor had no choice but to yield, and she moved daintily about, making
such coffee as only a Frenchwoman can, and bringing it presently to his
side.

"This is not right," he protested. "I cannot allow you to wait upon me,
mademoiselle."

She would listen to no remonstrances, however, and when he had disposed
of it, she insisted that he should lie down on a couch in the small
adjoining room, while she undertook to look after Roy. She had her
friends' permission, she said, not explaining that she had refused to
be forbidden, and Monsieur in his present state could do no more. How
long was it since he had slept? Ah, doubtless some days!

Ivor gave in, after much resistance, and in ten minutes he was again
heavily asleep, not to wake for many hours. Nature at last was claiming
her revenge.

When he woke, after five hours' unbroken rest, he was another man. Roy
seemed much better. The doctor had paid a visit and was gone; the room
could scarcely be recognised as the same; and Ivor warmly expressed his
gratitude, wondering as he did so at Lucille's look of steady sadness.
She insisted on coming again the next day, while he should rest and
have an hour's walk.

"Isn't she nice and jolly?" Roy demanded, when the door closed behind
Lucille. "I like her, don't you? She has told me lots of things
while you were asleep. Only think, her father and mother were both
guillotined. _Both_ of them had their heads cut off. And they hadn't
done one single thing to make them deserve it. They were awfully good
and kind to everybody, she says. And she was only a little girl then,
and when they were dead, somebody took her away to England, and she was
there three or four years. And then she came back to France, and she
lives with some people at a place called Verdun. She says they give her
a home, and she works for them. And she would like to go to England
again some day."

But Lucille de St. Roques had not told Roy the most recent sorrow
which had come to her. She let it out to Captain Ivor a day or two
later. Only one year before this date she had become engaged to young
Théodore de Bertrand, son of the old couple downstairs; and three
months later he had been drawn for the conscription. No use to plead
that he was practically an only son, since the second son Jacques was
a ne'er-do-well, who had taken himself off, nobody knew whither. More
soldiers were wanted by the First Consul for his schemes of foreign
conquest, and young De Bertrand had to go. Scarcely four months after
his departure, news came that he had been shot in a _sortie_ in the Low
Countries. Large tears filled Lucille's eyes, and dropped slowly.

"Ah, so many more!" she said. "Thousands, thousands, called upon to
be slain, for nothing! Not for their country, but for the ambition of
one bad man. It makes no difference, Monsieur, that they love not the
usurper. My Théodore was of the Royalist party, yet he had to go. And
the poor old father and mother--they are left without one son in their
old age!"

(_To be continued._)




SOME PRACTICAL HINTS ON COSMETIC MEDICINE.

BY "THE NEW DOCTOR."


PART III.

THE TEETH.

That "The Pearls of the Mouth," according to an Eastern expression,
are a great adjunct to the beauty of the face nobody will dispute. But
that the irregular, saw-edged series of half-decayed stumps that not
uncommonly take their place are disfiguring, every woman who possesses
them knows to her cost.

Naturally the teeth form an almost even edge. There is no appreciable
space between them. They are of a pure ivory white colour, and they are
thirty-two in number. Very few of us, unfortunately, have our teeth in
the natural condition. Too often, alas, do we lose one or two before
growth is completed, and how few of us keep a respectable complement of
teeth to the end of our three-score years and ten?

The reason why our teeth are so bad is partly due to our own faults and
partly due to our civilisation.

You never saw a savage whose teeth were either decayed or missing. Yet,
as far as I know, no uncivilised person ever used a toothbrush. But,
with ourselves, unless we use a toothbrush our teeth rapidly decay.
What is the cause of this? It must be something in our civilisation.
This we cannot alter. But we can preserve our teeth in face of their
tendency to decay by a little care.

There is not one person in ten who knows how to keep her teeth really
clean. You get up in the morning, and when you have dressed yourself
you scrub your teeth with a hard brush, using some indifferent powder.
This you consider is sufficient attention to the teeth for the day.
Suppose that your work consisted of handling greasy bones all day, do
you think your hands would remain clean if you only washed them once
a day? The teeth have very dirty work to do, and they will not remain
clean if only washed once a day. As a matter of fact your teeth will
only remain clean till you have had breakfast--about ten minutes during
the twenty-four hours.

This system of looking after the teeth is radically wrong. The teeth
must be washed more than once a day. It is better to clean your teeth
after every meal. This is often inconvenient, but they should certainly
be cleaned at least twice a day, and always before going to bed. If
the teeth are cleaned before going to sleep, they will remain clean
throughout the night.

How any person can use a stiff toothbrush is beyond my comprehension.
"Oh, but I cannot get my teeth clean if I use a soft brush!" Of course
you cannot get your teeth clean if you only wash them once a day. Use
the softest badger brush you can get, and gently wash your teeth twice
or thrice a day instead of tearing your gums once a day with a hard
brush. You must never make your teeth bleed. If you tear your gums
every morning, can you wonder that your teeth get loose and decay?
Whenever blood comes from the gum surrounding a tooth, it comes from a
tear. That tear must be repaired by inflammation of the gum, and all
inflammation around a tooth tends to loosen the tooth and causes it to
die.

Any good tooth-powder may be used. A powder containing an antiseptic is
better than any other. Carbolic acid toothpowder is the best of all.
The powder should also contain some grit to give it a good "grip."
Precipitated chalk alone is not a good powder, but it is an excellent
basis for an antiseptic.

Sometimes the teeth get coated with "tartar." As the deposit gets
thicker it tends to lever the tooth out of its socket. It has also
an unsightly appearance and often gives the breath a bad smell, from
particles of food getting beneath it and decomposing. If there is a
considerable amount of tartar on your teeth, have the teeth scaled; it
is not an expensive business, and well repays the fee and few minutes
discomfort that it costs.

If it were only for their nasty appearance, decayed teeth should be
treated at once. But besides being unsightly, they are a real danger to
health. Have them stopped or extracted.

When a tooth falls out or is extracted, it leaves a gap. This gap gets
smaller in time because the other teeth fall together to fill up the
space. This causes a most disfiguring condition by leaving a small
space between each tooth. When you have had a tooth extracted, have it
replaced immediately by a false one, so that your teeth may form an
even line without any gap between them.

Sugar, very hot and very cold drinks, tea and sweets, are great
enemies to the teeth. How many girls have lost their teeth from eating
chocolates!

Some drugs have a deleterious influence upon the teeth. Iron causes
them to become a dirty transparent brown. It is only temporary,
however, and if the teeth are well cared for during a course of iron,
no permanent damage will ensue.

Calomel is supposed by nearly everybody to be a great enemy to the
teeth, but given as it is now, in small doses, it in no way affects
them.

(_To be continued._)




SILVER POINT DRAWING.


So light and airy, dainty and delicate, is this delightful process,
that it may well be called the fairy queen of the graphic arts. So
white is the paper or card on which it is produced, and so beautiful
the chemical changes of colour it undergoes when first produced, that
no process of reproduction can give more than a faint idea of the
beauty of an original silver point drawing.

Many times have I been told, "Oh, I have a silver point drawing by
So-and-so," but on nearly every occasion, when inspected, the treasure
has turned out to be merely a photographic reproduction, giving, it is
true, the form of the original, but without a particle of its colour or
daintiness of appearance.

Under these circumstances it will be well to commence by stating
what a silver point drawing is, and how to tell an original from a
reproduction.

[Illustration: TWO OF THE QUEEN'S PETS.]

A silver point is a drawing made with a stylus of pure silver on paper
or card specially prepared for the purpose with a coating of chalk or
china clay applied under heavy pressure. To tell a real silver point,
hold the drawing to the light edgeways. You will then see in bright
silver every stroke made by the stylus. Also you will find, when
looking at the drawing in the ordinary manner, that its colour varies
in different places; looking at one part a faint brown, another blue,
another grey; in fact, assuming, where it has been much worked on, the
appearance of the surface of a bright silver article which has been for
some time exposed to atmospheric influence.

[Illustration: A SLEEPING BEAUTY AT SANDRINGHAM.

(_By Ernest M. Jessop._)]

Before the advent of lead pencils silver point was greatly in vogue
with the old masters, and fine examples by some of the greatest
of these are to be found in the national collections of England
and France. Notable among them are drawings by Raphael, Perugino,
Botticelli, Holbein and Albert Durer. The art, which had fallen into
disuse, has of late been revived by many eminent artists. The late Sir
Frederick Leighton was an ardent devotee of silver point, and has left
many beautiful specimens of his own drawing.

Both the Prince and Princess of Wales are great admirers of the art and
possess several specimens drawn by my friend Mrs. C. Sainton, R.I., and
myself. The Princess, in the scant leisure allowed her by the cares of
state, I have reason to believe, practises the art of silver point, as
well as that of burnt wood work, a description of which will be given
in these pages very shortly.

And now let me give a few hints on how to practise almost the most
difficult of all the graphic arts. To begin with the tools. These are
very simple. From a jeweller you may procure three pieces of round
silver wire a few inches long. They should vary in thickness from
that of the thinnest lead in an ordinary pencil to that found in a
six B, and may be used similar to the leads in an ordinary pencil case
or mounted in wooden handles of the thickness of a lead pencil. You can
buy (although only of the largest artists' colourmen) both silver point
paper and card; the latter is the best from its non-liability to cockle.

[Illustration: STUDY FROM LIFE IN SILVER POINT.

(_By Ernest M. Jessop._)]

The silver wires may be sharpened to any point desired on a piece of
very fine emery cloth. Two sizes of round and one flat point are those
usually used.

As to the card or paper. This, it must be at once understood, is one
of the most delicate of substances. Its surface once soiled, it is
absolutely useless. No mark of any nature can be erased from it. There
is no rubbing out or slurring over to be practised. If you scratch its
surface with an erasing knife it alters the colour and the stylus will
no longer mark on the scratched surface. The same result occurs from
the contact of a hot or greasy hand or the spilling of a spot of water
no matter how quickly removed.

For these reasons no silver point can be entirely drawn direct from
nature. A fairly finished sketch must first be made; from this it
is advisable to take a careful tracing. Through this tracing bore
very small holes with a broken etching-needle or small piercer at
all the salient points and at short intervals along the outline of
your subject. Then lay your tracing on the silver point paper in the
position you intend it to occupy, secure it by weights, and with your
smallest silver point make a tiny dot through each hole on to the
paper. This is the only guide you can make to help you. Now lightly
indicate your drawing with fine strokes made diagonally from right to
left downwards, always remembering that the silver point cannot be
rubbed backwards and forwards the same as a pencil without destroying
the surface of the paper. All shadows should be put in very lightly at
first, as lights cannot afterwards be added, although they may be taken
away where not required. To get your deeper shades you may go over the
same places many times with the silver point if you continue to work
downwards. Either parallel or diagonally crossed lines may be used to
shade. It is as well to avoid all firm hard outlines, as silver point
mainly depends for its beauty on its misty and shadowy effects.

As in all classes of art work portraits, after having been fixed
from a sketch, should be finished direct from nature. Without using
this method you may preserve the features of your model, but soul
and character will always be wanting. For land and seascape silver
point is peculiarly adapted, as some of the most delicately beautiful
aerial effects may be attained by its use. For foliage also, used with
a careful knowledge, it is incomparable. To look its best no silver
point drawing should occupy more than one-fourth of the paper on which
it is drawn, and any attempt to finish square up to a mount or frame
must be studiously avoided. In fact, the edges of the drawing should
imperceptibly melt away into the paper. In very fine work, such as
the face of a baby or young girl, a singularly beautiful effect may
be produced by finishing the features through the aid of a magnifying
glass, thereby removing all traces of lines, and then in the ordinary
manner and with bolder lines adding hair, figure, costume, etc.

One last word on the choice of paper. This is made with two kinds of
surface, dull and slightly glazed, like the backs of playing cards. The
latter I have found to give the best effect in colour. All drawings
after they are completed should be exposed to the atmosphere (but not
to dust) for at least a week, it taking some time for them to acquire
their beautiful colouring. After the period above mentioned the colour
is absolutely permanent.

In framing the edges of the paper should be hermetically sealed to the
glass so as to exclude dust.

Frames are always a matter of taste. Personally I have used with the
happiest effect a wide flat frame of white enamelled wood with a very
narrow pale gold Louis Seize edging to enrich the opening of it. A fine
silver point in a well-made frame of this kind is indeed one of those
things of beauty which are joys for ever.

    ERNEST M. JESSOP.

⁂ The original drawings from which these illustrations are taken
were recently exhibited by desire to H.R.H. the Princess of Wales at
Marlborough House, and H.R.H. was pleased to say that she had derived
great pleasure from her inspection of them.

(_All copyrights of drawings reserved by the artist._)

[Illustration]




LETTERS FROM A LAWYER.


PART II.

    The Temple.

MY DEAR DOROTHY,--Accept my heartiest congratulations on your
engagement to Gerald Anstruther. He is a good fellow, and I feel sure
that you will be very happy together. Your engagement is not one that
has been hurriedly rushed into. You have known each other for some time
and have had an opportunity of discovering each other's merits and
demerits, if any of the latter exist.

I am glad to hear that the wedding is to be an event of the immediate
future, and I have no doubt that Gerald is quite of my way of thinking.

I am patriotic enough to be pleased that you are going to marry
an Englishman. Not that I have any particular prejudice against
foreigners; but their marriage laws differ from ours and thereby lead
to complications.

For instance, a Frenchman, no matter what his age, cannot legally marry
without the consent of his parents, a fact which it is just as well for
English girls to remember.

Now I know that you will not be offended with me when I tell you that
your _fiancé_, although a man of business, is not a business man.

This may sound contradictory, but is not really so. There are many
men who follow regular occupations and attend to their own particular
business and yet are not, strictly speaking, men of business habits
and instincts. Literary men, musicians, artists, and inventors may
be generally regarded as instances in point. And Gerald, who is an
engineer and inventor, is not one of the exceptions to the rule, which
is my reason for offering you the following suggestions.

In the first place I would strongly advise you to persuade Gerald to
insure his life in some respectable English office; the American ones
are risky.

It is true that he is making a good income, but he has very little
money put by for a rainy day, for both of which reasons I would suggest
that he takes out a policy for £1,000 with profits. The premium for
insuring without profits would be a little less, but I am certain that
it is better on the whole to insure with profits.

The policy he can assign to you or leave you in his will, or, if he
waits till you are married, he can, if he likes, effect what is called
a trust policy for your benefit, and, so long as any object of the
trust remains unperformed, the policy will not form part of his estate
or become subject to his debts. The last few words of the foregoing
sentence you will be able to understand. You need not trouble your head
about the meaning of "trust" and "performance"; it is sufficient for
you to know that the arrangement is intended to benefit married ladies,
and can be carried out under the provisions of the Married Women's
Property Act.

All the above I am aware sounds dreadfully technical; but it is
extremely difficult when writing on legal matters to avoid legal
phraseology, the danger being that the omission of a single word in a
sentence may have the effect of giving a totally wrong interpretation
of the law.

The Act which I have mentioned above also gives you the right to retain
sole control of the money left you by your god-mother. It was not a
very large amount--£50, if I remember rightly. I should advise you to
deposit it in the Post Office Savings Bank if you have not already
done so. You will receive two and a half per cent. annual interest for
it, which is rather more than double what any ordinary bank would offer
you.

There is only one thing more that I wanted to mention, and I have
left it to the last because it is perhaps the most important thing of
all--it is on the subject of wills. It is not generally known that
every will is revoked by marriage.

You cannot make a will, my dear Dorothy, because you are not yet
twenty-one years of age; but Gerald can, and I consider that it is his
duty, and the duty of every man who gets married, to make his will, no
matter however small the amount of the property he has to dispose of
may be.

There is no great difficulty about making an ordinary will. All that
is necessary is that the intentions of the maker should be clearly
expressed, that he should sign it in the presence of two witnesses, who
should also affix their signature, and that is all.

There is only one other thing to remember, and that is that the
witnesses should not be people who benefit by the will, or rather, I
should say, who are intended to benefit by it, for the result of such
witnesses being left a legacy would be that, although the rest of the
will would hold good, they would not get their legacies. Also it is
important for anyone making a will to give the name of one willing to
act as executor.

I need hardly say that, when any difficulty arises in the making of a
will, it is advisable to consult a solicitor or a barrister such as

    Your affectionate cousin,
        BOB BRIEFLESS.




CHRONICLES OF AN ANGLO-CALIFORNIAN RANCH.

BY MARGARET INNES.


CHAPTER II.

After we had very exhaustively explored this middle part of the
State, we determined to go to San Francisco and see how we liked the
conditions in the North.

We took rooms in a fairly comfortable boarding-house, and settled down
for an indefinite time. Our boys went to the public schools, which, in
the towns, are very good indeed.

We found a great charm and attraction about San Francisco, with its
splendid bay and curious town; the latter, built partly on a tract
of land snatched from the sea, and partly on the drifting shifting
sand hills, which stretch for miles around, is a triumph of energy
and enterprise. Some of the streets had to be carried up at an angle
of almost forty-five degrees, and the quays, water front and business
quarter are built on what was at one time a shallow part of the bay.
Now innumerable electric and cable cars fly up and down the steep
hill streets. It is a strange sensation to "go the round trip" on
any of these beautifully built machines; a sensation not altogether
comfortable at first. One seems to be either slipping down the polished
seats, on to the top of the next person, from the steep upward incline
of the car, or one is trying to look quite easy-minded as the thing
glides smoothly up to the edge of a cliff, and, without pause, runs
straight down the face of it. Accidents, however, seem very rare,
and all is so well managed, that one soon forgets to be uneasy, and
some of these rides are delightful. One in particular--to the Cliff
House--where the railroad is cut out of the cliff half way up its
steep side, with the beautiful Pacific Ocean spread out below, and the
Golden Gate in full view, is magnificent. China Town was thrillingly
interesting to us, and we behaved like veritable _gamins_, hanging and
dawdling about, flattening our noses against windows, and trying to see
all we could of the ways of these mysterious people. Our impressions
were, and still remain, that they are marvellously quick and clever,
but unlovely.

Now began again the same diligent search that had kept us so busy in
the South; far and near, to different neighbourhoods on all sides we
went, seeing a great deal, and receiving much kindness from strangers,
anxious to aid us to find what we wanted. Indeed, all over the United
States we were impressed with the goodwill everyone showed, taking
trouble and thought to help us if possible, and ready to be most
hospitable, though we were absolute strangers.

This was often very comforting during those long months of undecided
wanderings, when we felt so particularly homeless, and so anxious about
the future, and the great importance of choosing wisely.

We were often amused to find what very unexpected people had ranches,
somewhere in the Golden State. The black porter on the train; the man
who swept out and attended to the church opposite our boarding-house;
the driver of the hotel omnibus; our Chinese laundryman, and the Irish
woman who succeeded him. This last-named proprietor was very anxious
to warn us against unwise speculations. She considered speculation the
only business worth going into, and herself made quite a good deal in
this way. Then there was the learnèd head of a university, and the
pretty young lady teacher at one of the Normal schools; also the rich
Easterner, coming over three thousand miles in his private car to
escape the cruel winter of the East. All these had ranches of different
kinds, and all were ready to help and advise.

The only people whom we were very shy of consulting were the "real
estate" men. It is true we had many a useful drive with them to inspect
new neighbourhoods, but we would never have dreamt of buying on their
recommendation. We had heard too much from others of the tricks they
play, and the schemes they carry through, to influence possible buyers,
and we took a rather wicked delight in making them useful, while
remaining perfectly independent of them. We discovered that everyone
who had a ranch spoke as though that part of the State were the only
possible neighbourhood where ranching was sure to pay; yet we could not
but notice that each one was most ready to sell his ranch.

It is said that every ranch in California is for sale, if the proper
price be offered. But an explanation of this is that there seems to be
a kind of restlessness and a speculative spirit in all Americans, which
leads them to undertake everything in a tentative spirit, and makes
them always ready to change, if any profit or advantage can be assured.
Most of the ranches have that air, very plain at least to English eyes;
there is nearly always the appearance of the owner being ready to move
on to something else.

Such changes are regarded in America as perfectly natural occurrences.
A man who changes his business often, from whatever cause, in England
is looked upon as unsteady and unreliable, almost good for nothing in
fact; but here the habit is so universal that it calls forth no comment.

Considering how very difficult it is for an ordinary young man entering
upon life to hit upon just the best thing for his abilities and tastes,
it seems a sensible view to take that the door should be left open for
change, without any slur being cast on the stability or steadiness of
the worker.

The changes made by men over here are most unexpected and often quite
startling. The man who did all the hauling of our heavy furniture out
to the ranch from the water front in San Miguel, some seventeen miles
by road, was once a lawyer in the East. The indoor life did not suit
him, and he never really liked his profession, so he came out here and
has drifted into this, becoming one of the most skilled teamsters in
all the neighbourhood.

On a neighbouring large ranch, where a good deal of labour is employed,
and which the proprietor only visits occasionally for a few odd days,
the manager and overseer is, or rather was, a doctor, and a very good
manager he makes.

An elderly rancher we came across had been a soldier during the Civil
War; a farmer in the East; had driven an express waggon, and after
ranching a short time in the South and finding it difficult to make
both ends meet, emigrated to Oregon and became a member of the State
Legislature, in which position the salary was probably not the only
pecuniary advantage.

We had not been long in the North when we decided that the climate was
not good enough. We had left home and come six thousand miles, and were
critical. It was damp and windy. In the fruit valleys, the summers were
quite as hot, if not more so, than in the middle South. Most of the
early fruit comes from this part, and in the winter there was rain,
more or less constantly, for four months.

In consequence of the heavier rainfall, the North is much greener than
the South; the hills too are beautifully wooded with every variety of
tree. But in many neighbourhoods the work of ranching is more fatiguing
than in the South; the soil is heavier, and the longer wet season has
many disadvantages for people who do their own ranching.

By this time the uncertainty and general homeless feeling of our lives
was beginning to be almost unendurable.

There were so many things to consider; firstly, which kind of
fruit paid the best and was the least subject to accidents and the
disappointments of bad seasons; secondly, the quality of land best
suited to such fruit and the conveniences for getting it to market;
thirdly, the amount of water to be had; this last quite as vital as any
point whatsoever about the land. In fact one might almost be said to
buy water with land attached, so great is the value of a certainty of
enough water.

We were so much impressed with this, that we were quite determined
to buy land only where there was a well-tried and well-established
irrigating system, and where all the water difficulties of the
neighbourhood were solved and settled.

This resolve, with some others, had eventually to go by the board; but
of this much we made sure when we bought, that there was water enough
running in a satisfactory flume some two miles from our land. The part
which had to be taken more or less on trust was the piping of the
water to our little settlement, and the dividing of it in a fair and
workable manner; this has given us more trouble than we would care to
undertake again. The climate, too, had to be carefully examined, even
in California. And the view meant a great deal to us; we were very
unwilling to settle in a plain or valley, where soon our own windbreak
trees would be the only outlook, year in, year out.

A school within reach for the younger boy was another point about which
I was resolved to be stubborn.

Then, though we had so unhesitatingly chosen the absolute freedom of
country life, in preference to pretentious villadom, we did not want
isolation.

I was haunted with the remembrance of those terribly lonely farms which
one passes as the train rushes through Kansas and Missouri, where each
desolate building stands absolutely surrounded by miles and miles of
dreary-looking prairie waste.

We realised before long that if we could find a place fulfilling some
of the most essential qualities for which we were striving, we should
have to let the rest go. Indeed, in our diligent search, which brought
us into contact with so many ranchers of several nationalities, we
heard and saw so much that was discouraging, that we determined not to
take any definite or binding steps for some time, but go south, see how
we liked the climate and other conditions of San Miguel, and then make
our decision.

There is something of the same spirit of jealousy between San Francisco
and San Miguel as there is (or used to be) between Manchester and
Liverpool; we could therefore hear very little but the proverbial faint
praise of San Miguel while in the North. All the same, we were resolved
to try to find a better climate, after travelling six thousand miles in
search of it.

(_To be continued._)




[Illustration: YOUNG EYES.]




OLD EYES AND YOUNG EYES.

BY HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.


    Oh, the young eyes looking forward
      Through the rosy mists of hope;
    Oh, the young feet, glad and eager,
      As they mount the sun-lit <DW72>!
    "'Twill grow fairer"--youth is saying,
      "Better things before us lie,
    Ah, how beautiful and happy
      Looks the land of by-and-by!"

    Oh, the old eyes looking backward,
      From the hill-tops chill and wide,
    Ere the old feet, in the sunset,
      Journey down the further side:
    "Life was fairer"--age is saying
      "In the morning's golden glow--
    Ah, how beautiful and happy,
      Was the land of long ago!"

    Yet, oh, young eyes looking forward,
      And, oh, old eyes looking back,
    Be it noon-tide--be it sunset,
      That is shining on the track--
    Life is beautiful and happy,
      Unto _all_ who look on high--
    Unto _all_ whose hopes are centred,
      In the Heavenly by-and-by!

[Illustration]




FATHER ANTHONY.


CHAPTER I.

It was a glorious summer morning in the year of grace 1635, when a boy,
aged some ten years, and a pretty fair-haired maiden five years his
junior, were lolling in the shade of a gigantic copper-beech, which
towered in front of the old manor house known by the name of Combe
Abbey. Hugh Travers, the heir and only child of Sir Ralph Travers,
was a sturdy, well-grown lad, who bade fair to follow in his father's
footsteps as a soldier and a courtier, for even now his manner towards
his little cousin, Cecily Wharton, was marked by gentleness and good
breeding, and he was ever her protector and guardian in any childish
scrapes or difficulties in which they might involve themselves.

Cecily was the orphan daughter of Lady Travers's only sister. The
child had lost both her parents soon after her birth by the small-pox,
and her aunt had brought her to Combe that she might be trained and
educated under her own eyes, and fitted for the position which would be
hers when she came of age, for she was no penniless waif, and also that
she might be a companion for her own son Hugh. Lady Wharton, though a
devoted mother, tempered her devotion with common-sense, and she well
knew the temptation to selfishness and egotism which must assail a lad
in her Hugh's position were he brought up without companions of his own
standing, and amid the society of his elders only. Her plan had so far
been marked by success. Hugh's gentle nature had been brought more to
the fore by the companionship of the little girl, and her society had
taught him that there was the pleasure of others to be thought of as
well as his own.

On the morning in question the two young people had been for a long
ramble in the park with their dogs, and had returned in time for
the midday meal, the summons to which they were awaiting under the
beech-tree. As they thus rested, their gaze and their conversation had
turned on the old pile of buildings facing them.

"Then Uncle Ralph did not build it," Cecily was saying, in connection
with some remark of Hugh's on the weather-beaten appearance of the
mansion.

"Uncle Ralph! Indeed, no! Why, Cecily, it was old, very old, before
my father was thought of, or, for the matter of that, his father, and
grandfather before him."

"Then it must be old! And didn't his father live here?"

"Yes; and his grandfather, too."

"Oh!"--in a puzzled tone from the child, as if her ideas were not
equal to going back so far; and then, in a brighter key, consequent on
feeling on safer ground, "Then who did build it?"

"The monks."

"What monks?"

"The monks who afterwards lived in it. It was an abbey till Harry the
Eighth, of gracious memory, turned them out and gave it to one of my
forefathers."

"What did he do that for?"

"Well, I know not for certain. Some say one thing, and some another,
but he gave it to one of our forebears, and for that I bless his
memory."

"But he was cruel, and killed his wives."

"Some of them; yet I doubt not they deserved it." And then, pointing to
two niches or small alcoves high up in the outer wall, and only some
ten feet or so below the parapet, "See, Cecily--there is one of the
builders of the abbey, Abbot Swincow."

"That figure in the cowl?"

"Yes; and 'tis said he keeps guard over the place to this day, though
he has been dead these hundreds of years."

"And is it true?" asked the little girl, turning a look of
semi-wonderment and awe on her companion.

"Nay, I know not, save that no harm has befallen the place, or us who
live in it, since I can remember."

"Then it _is_ true, I make no doubt," said the easily convinced child.
"But who stands in the other little hole?"

"No one now. I have heard father say that there was a figure of a
Father Anthony once, but that stem of ivy you see crept up, and,
getting into the joints of the stone at the base, loosened them, and in
a storm one night it was blown down and broken to pieces."

"And did they never stick the poor man together again?"

"Never. His head now rests beside the fountain basin in the lower
garden, and bits of his body and legs are in a heap against yon wall."

"Poor man, poor man! and the ivy is taking his place: one spray is
growing right across the opening where he stood."

"I've oft thought I should like to climb up and get in the niche and
see what the garden and park look like from there, but the ivy is not
strong enough."

"Oh, no, no, Hugh--you must not! You'd be killed; and then what should
I do?" And in her eagerness Cecily clasped her cousin's arm.

"Nay, I don't think I shall," replied Hugh, laughing. "I have no
hankering for a broken neck; and, besides, you could not come with me,
and it would be no sport alone."

"No, don't go. It must be much nicer down here than being like that
poor broken man was up there."

"Well, Cecily, I don't feel much like an image just now, for there's
the horn for dinner, and I'm hungry. Let us go." And scrambling to
their feet the two happy children raced across the grass to the house,
and left Abbot Swincow and the empty niche bathed in the midday
sunshine.

(_To be continued._)




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

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


CHAPTER V.

In the explanations that followed, no one showed a livelier interest
than Peggy herself. She was in her element answering the questions
which were showered upon her, and took an artistic pleasure in the
success of her plot.

"You see," she explained, "I knew you would all be talking about me,
and wondering what I was like, just as I was thinking about you.
As I was Arthur's sister, I knew you would be sure to imagine me a
mischievous tom-boy, so I came to the conclusion that the best way to
shock you would be to be quite too awfully proper and well-behaved. I
never enjoyed anything so much in my life as that first tea-time, when
you all looked dumb with astonishment. I had made up my mind to go on
for a week, but mother is coming to-morrow, and I couldn't keep it up
before her, so I was obliged to explode to-night. Besides, I'm really
quite fatigued with being good----"

"And are you--are you--really not proper after all?" gasped Mellicent,
blankly; whereat Peggy clasped her hands in emphatic protest.

"Proper! Oh, my dear, I am the most awful person. I am always getting
into trouble. You know what Arthur was? Well, I tell you truly, he
is nothing to me. It's an extraordinary thing. I have excellent
intentions, but I seem bound to get into scrapes. There was a teacher
at Brighton, Miss Baker, a dear old thing. I called her 'Buns.' She
vowed and declared that I shortened her life by bringing on palpitation
of the heart. I set the dressing-table on fire by spilling matches and
crunching them beneath my heels. It was not a proper dressing-table,
you know--just a wooden thing frilled round with muslin. We had two
blazes in the last term. And a dreadful thing occurred! Would you
believe that I was actually careless enough to plump down on the top of
her best Sunday hat, and squash it as flat as a pancake."

Despite her protestations of remorse, Peggy's voice had an exultant
ring as she detailed the history of her escapades, and Esther shrewdly
suspected that she was by no means so penitent as she declared. She put
on her most severe expression, and said sternly--

"You must be dreadfully careless. It is to be hoped you will be more
careful here, for your room is far away from ours, and you might be
burned to death before anyone discovered you. Mother never allows
anyone to read in bed in this house, and she is most particular about
matches. You wouldn't like to be burned to a cinder all by yourself
some fine night, I should say."

"No, I shouldn't--or on a wet one either. It would be so lonely," said
Peggy calmly. "No; I am a reformed character about matches. I support
home industries, and go in for safeties, which 'strike only on the
box.' But the boys would rescue me." She turned with a smile, and
beamed upon the three tall lads. "Wouldn't you, boys? If you hear me
squealing any night, don't stop to think. Just catch up your ewers of
water, and rush to my bedroom. We might get up an amateur fire-brigade
to be in readiness. You three would be the brigade, and I would be the
captain and train you. It would be capital fun. At any moment I could
give the signal, and then, whatever you were doing--playing, working,
eating, on cold, frosty nights, just when you were going to bed, off
you would have to rush, and get out your fire-buckets. Sometimes you
might have to break the ice, but there's nothing like being prepared.
We might have the first rehearsal to-night----"

"It's rather funny to hear your talking of being captain over the boys,
because the day we heard that you were coming, they all said that if
they were to be bothered with a third girl in the house, you would have
to make yourself useful, and that you should be their fag. Max said so,
and so did Oswald, and then Robert said they shouldn't have you. He had
lots of little odd things he wanted done for him, and that he could
make you very useful. He said the other boys shouldn't have you; you
were his property."

"Tut, tut," said Peggy pleasantly. She looked at the three scowling,
embarrassed faces, and the bright, mocking light danced back into her
eyes. "So they were all anxious to have me, were they? How nice! I'm
very pleased to hear it. Is there any little thing I can do for your
honourable self now, Mr. Darcy, before I dress for dinner?"

Robert looked across the room at Mellicent with an expression which
made that young person tremble in her shoes.

"All right, young lady, I'll remember you," he said quietly. "I've
warned you before about repeating conversations. Now you'll see what
happens. I'll cure you of that little habit, my dear, as sure as my
name is Robert Darcy----"

"The Honourable Robert Darcy," murmured a soft and silvery voice from
the other side of the fireplace. Robert turned his head sharply, but
Peggy was gazing into the coals with an air of lamb-like innocence, and
he subsided into himself with a grunt of displeasure.

The next day Mrs. Saville came to lunch, and spent the afternoon at the
vicarage. As Maxwell had said, she was a beautiful woman, tall, fair,
and elegant, and looking a very fashionable lady when contrasted with
Mrs. Asplin in her plain, well-worn serge, but her face was sad and
anxious in expression. Esther noticed that her eyes filled with tears
more than once as she looked round the table at the husband and wife
and the three tall, well-grown children, and when the two ladies were
alone in the drawing-room she broke into helpless sobbings.

"Oh, how happy you are! How I envy you! Husband, children, all beside
you. Oh, never, never let one of your girls marry a man who lives
abroad. My heart is torn in two; I have no rest. I am always longing
for the one who is not there. I must go back--the Major needs me; but
my Peggy, my own little girl! It is like death to leave her behind."

Mrs. Asplin put her arms round the tall figure, and rocked her gently
to and fro.

"I know! I know!" she said brokenly. "I _ache_ for you, dear; but I
understand! I have parted with a child of my own--not for a few years,
but for ever, till we meet again in God's heaven. I'll help you every
way I can. I'll watch her night and day; I'll coddle her when she's
ill; I'll try to make her a good woman. I'll _love_ her, dear, and she
shall be my own special charge. I'll be a second mother to her."

"You dear, good woman! God bless your kind heart!" said Mrs. Saville
brokenly. "I can't help breaking down, but, indeed, I have much to be
thankful for. I can't tell you what a relief it is to feel that she
is in this house. The principals of that school at Brighton were all
that is good and excellent, but they did not understand my Peggy." The
tears were still in her eyes, but she broke into a flickering smile
at the last word. "My children have such spirits! I am afraid they
really do give more trouble than other boys and girls, but they are
not really naughty. They are truthful and generous, and so wonderfully
warm-hearted. I never needed to punish Peg when she was a little girl;
it was enough to show that she had grieved me. She never did the same
thing again after that; but--oh, dear me!--the ingenuity of that child
in finding fresh fields for mischief! Dear Mrs. Asplin, I am afraid
she will try your patience. You must be sure to keep a list of all the
breakages and accidents, and charge them to our account. Peggy is an
expensive little person. You know what Arthur was."

"Bless him--yes! I had hardly a tumbler left in the house," said Mrs.
Asplin, with gusto. "But I don't break my heart about a few breakages.
I have had too much to do with schoolboys for that. And now give me all
the directions you can about this precious little maid while we have
the room to ourselves."

For the next hour the two ladies sat in conclave about Miss Peggy's
mental, moral, and physical welfare. Mrs. Asplin had a book in her
hand in which from time to time she jotted down notes of a curious and
inconsequent character. "Pay attention to private reading. Gas-fire
in her bedroom for chilly weather. See dentist in Christmas holidays.
Query: gold plate over eye-tooth? Boots to order, Beavan & Co., Oxford
Street. Cod-liver oil in winter. Careless about changing shoes. Damp
brings on throat. Aconite and bella-donna." So on, and so on. There
seemed no end to the warnings and instructions of this anxious mother,
but when all was settled as far as possible, the ladies adjourned into
the schoolroom to join the young people at their tea, so that Mrs.
Saville might be able to picture her daughter's surroundings when
separated from her by those weary thousands of miles.

"What a bright, cheery room," she said smilingly, as she took her seat
at the table, and her eyes wandered round as if striving to print the
scene in her memory. How many times, as she lay panting beneath the
swing of the punkah she would recall that cool English room, with its
vista of garden through the windows, the long table in the centre,
the little figure with the pale face and long plaited hair, seated
midway between the top and bottom. Oh! the moments of longing--of wild,
unbearable longing, when she would feel that she must break loose from
her prison-house and fly away, that not the length of the earth itself
could keep her back, that she would be willing to give up life itself
just to hold Peggy in her arms for five minutes, to kiss the dear sweet
lips, to meet the glance of the loving eyes----

But this would never do! Had she not vowed to be bright and cheerful?
The young folks were looking at her with troubled glances. She roused
herself and said briskly--

"I see you make this a playroom as well as a study. Somebody has
been wood-carving over there, and you have one of those dwarf
billiard-tables. I want to give a present to this room--something that
will be a pleasure and occupation to you all; but I can't make up my
mind what would be best. Can you give me a few suggestions? Is there
anything that you need, or that you have fancied you might like?"

"It's very kind of you," said Esther, warmly; and echoes of "Very
kind!" came from every side of the table, while boys and girls stared
at each other in puzzled consideration. Maxwell longed to suggest a
joiner's bench, but refrained out of consideration for the girls'
feelings. Mellicent's eager face, however, was too eloquent to escape
attention.

Mrs. Saville smiled at her in an encouraging manner.

"Well, dear, what is it? Don't be afraid. I mean something really nice
and handsome; not just a little thing. Tell me what you thought?"

"A--a new violin!" cried Mellicent eagerly. "Mine is so old and
squeaky, and my teacher said I needed a new one badly. A new violin
would be nicest of all."

Mrs. Saville looked round the table, caught an expressive grimace going
the round of three boyish faces, and raised her eyebrows inquiringly.

"Yes? Whatever you like best, of course. It is all the same to me. But
would the violin be a pleasure to all! What about the boys?"

"They would hear me play! The pieces would sound nicer. They would like
to hear them."

"Ahem!" coughed Maxwell loudly; and at that there was a universal
shriek of merriment. Peggy's clear "Ho! ho!" rang out above the rest,
and her mother looked at her with sparkling eyes. Yes, yes, yes;
the child was happy! She had settled down already into the cheery,
wholesome home-life of the vicarage, and was in her element among these
merry boys and girls! She hugged the thought to her heart, finding in
it her truest comfort. The laughter lasted several minutes, and broke
out intermittently from time to time as that eloquent cough recurred to
memory, but after all it was Mellicent who was the one to give the best
suggestion.

"Well, then, a--a what-do-you-call-it!" she cried. "A thing-um-me-bob!
One of those three-legged things for taking photographs! The boys look
so silly sometimes, rolling about together in the garden, and we have
often and often said, 'Don't you wish we could take their photographs!
They _would_ look frights!' We could have ever so much fun with a
what-do-you-call-it."

"Ah, that's something like!" "Good business." "Oh, wouldn't it be
sweet!" came the quick exclamations, and Mrs. Saville looked most
pleased and excited of all.

"A camera!" she cried. "What a charming idea. Then you would be able to
take photographs of Peggy and the whole household, and send them out
for me to see. How delightful! Why, that's a happy thought, Mellicent.
I am so grateful to you for thinking of it, dear. I'll buy a really
good, large one, and all the necessary materials, and send them down
at once. Do any of you know how to set to work?"

"I do, Mrs. Saville," Oswald said. "I had a small camera of my own,
but it got smashed some years ago. I can show them how to begin, and
we will take lots of photographs of Peggy for you, in groups and by
herself. They mayn't be very good at first, but you will be interested
to see her in different positions. We will take her walking, and
bicycling, and sitting in the garden, and every way we can think of----"

"And whenever she has a new dress, or hat, so that you may know what
they are like," added Mellicent anxiously. "Are her hats going to be
the same as ours, or is she to choose them for herself?"

"She may choose them for herself, subject, of course, to your mother's
refraining influence. If she were to develop a fondness for scarlet
feathers, for instance, I think Mrs. Asplin should interfere; but Peggy
has good taste. I don't think she will go far wrong," said her mother,
looking at her fondly; and the little white face quivered before it
broke into its sunny, answering smile.

Three times that evening, after Mrs. Saville had left, did her
companions surprise the glitter of tears in Peggy's eyes; but there was
a dignified reserve about her manner which forbade outspoken sympathy.
Even when she was discovered to be quietly crying behind her book,
when Maxwell flipped it mischievously out of her hands--even then did
Peggy preserve her wonderful self-possession. The tears were trickling
down her cheeks, and her poor little nose was red and swollen, but she
looked up at Maxwell without a quiver, and it was he who stood gaping
before her, aghast and miserable.

"Oh, I say! I'm fearfully sorry!"

"So am I," said Peggy severely. "It was rude, and not at all funny. And
it injures the book. I have always been taught to reverence books, and
treat them as dear and valued companions. Pick it up, please. Thank
you. Don't do it again." She hitched herself round in her chair and
settled down once more to her reading, while Maxwell slunk back to his
seat. When Peggy was offended she invariably fell back upon Mariquita's
grandiose manner, and the sting of her sharp little tongue left her
victims dumb and smarting.

(_To be continued._)




VARIETIES.


WHAT "GEORGE ELIOT" WAS LIKE.

A graphic portrait in words of the famous novelist "George Eliot" has
been given by Mrs. Katherine S. Macquoid. "George Eliot," she says,
"was very plain, much plainer than any of the portraits make her out to
be. Her mouth was repulsive, and seen in some lights the nose seemed
to protrude unnaturally over the mouth; it did not in reality, but one
sometimes received that impression.

"Her eyes were of that greenish hue seen in the hazel nut; you might
say almost that they were hazel eyes shot with green. They were not at
all prominent, but had such a wonderful look in them as they gazed at
you, or rather scanned you in a curious, sidelong manner, peculiar to
her. The only person whom I can think of with eyes like George Eliot
was Home the medium."


GET OUT OF IT.

Nothing is so narrowing, contracting, hardening, as always to be moving
in the same groove, with no thought beyond what we immediately see and
hear close around us.


THE GREAT CREATOR.--"I feel profoundly convinced," says Lord Kelvin,
"that the argument of design has been greatly too much lost sight
of in recent biological speculations. Overpoweringly strong proofs
of intelligent and benevolent design lie around us, and if ever
perplexities, whether metaphysical or scientific, turn us away from
them for a time, they come back upon us with irresistible force,
showing to us through nature the influence of a free will, and teaching
that all living things depend on one everlasting Creator and Ruler."




QUEENS AS NEEDLEWOMEN.

BY EMMA BREWER.


CHAPTER II.

NEEDLEWOMEN ROYAL AND RENOWNED.

After the time of Adelicia of Louvaine there seems to have been a
period wherein little or no special needlework was done by great and
royal ladies, though its practice was kept up in what were called "The
Schools." In these, young gentlewomen were taught fine needlework and
embroidery to qualify them to beguile in a becoming manner the many
enforced hours of leisure in their lives, brought about by the lack of
outdoor amusements for women.

Many a rich and sumptuous vestment was made in these schools for the
service of the Church, and some of the beautiful work done there found
its way to the Palace of Westminster.

But towards the end of the 13th century, when Eleanor of Castille was
queen of Edward I., needlework came to the front again with enthusiasm.
She herself was a wonderful needlewoman, and her example made it the
fashion in every class of life.

Before accompanying her husband on a crusade to the Holy Land, she
embroidered a beautiful altar-cloth with her own hands, and gave it to
the church at Dunstable.

It is to this queen we owe the use of needlework tapestry-hangings as
furniture for walls. Up to this time tapestry had been used solely for
the decoration of altars and other parts of churches.

Tapestry hangings were worked originally entirely with the needle, and
they were found to be worth all the trouble and time bestowed upon them
in the increase of comfort they brought into the palaces and castles of
the great people of the land. At first they were rude in design, but
those introduced by Queen Eleanor were in very superior workmanship. To
her they must have been very welcome, for she felt the change from the
sunny south to the damp, bleak English climate greatly.

Tapestries never remained permanently hanging on the walls of a special
hall or castle, but accompanied the great people, when travelling from
one residence to another, under the care of the grooms of the Chamber,
whose special office it was to hang them.

The history of tapestry is full of romance, but can only be touched
upon here when worked by special royal seamstresses.

_Margaret of Anjou_, wife of Henry VI., was a very good needlewoman,
although the troublous times in which she lived prevented her devoting
much time to the art. It was she, however, who formed the first band of
women needle-workers, known in history as the _Sisterhood of the Silk
Women_.

Needlewomen found a very valuable patron in Elizabeth of York, wife of
Henry of Lancaster. She and her ladies spent much time in needlework of
all kinds.

    "How oft with needle, when denied the pen,
    Has she on canvas traced the blessed name
    Of Henry, or expressed it with her loom
    In silken threads, or 'broidered it with gold."

During the "Wars of the Roses" ladies of high rank were often compelled
to earn their bread and that of their children by the use of the
needle. The Countess of Oxford in the reign of Elizabeth of York was an
example of this. She was the first peeress who is said to have earned
her living by the use of the needle. Edward IV. had deprived her of
her dower, and she and her little children would have starved had she
not been a skilful needlewoman. She lived dependent on the work of her
hands for fifteen years, until her husband's rank and fortune were
restored.

_Katherine of Arragon_, the first wife of Henry VIII., was very skilful
with her needle, having learned the art from her mother, Isabella of
Spain, and it is more than likely that in her early days she took part
in the trials of needlework established by Isabella among Spanish
ladies.

She was in the habit of employing the ladies of her Court in
needlework, working with them and encouraging them.

Her work with the needle has been celebrated both in Latin and English
verse.

    "(Although a queene), yet she her days did pass
    In working with the _needle_ curiously;
    As in the Tower, and places more beside,
    Her excellent memorials may be seen;
    Whereby the _needle's_ prayse is dignifide
    By her faire ladies, and herselfe, a queene."

In a letter to Wolsey she writes, "I am horribly busy, making
standards, banners and badges."

It is a matter of history that when Wolsey and the Pope's Legate went
to Bridewell to visit Queen Katherine on the subject of her divorce,
they found her and her maids at work, and she came to them with a skein
of red silk round her neck.

Katherine of Arragon's successor, _Anne Boleyn_, could not help being
a good needlewoman, for she had been educated at the Court of Francis
I., under the superintendence of Anne of Bretagne who made needlework
the business and the pleasure of her life. It was her habit to collect
the children of the nobility within her Court daily and teach them
tapestry, embroidery and plain sewing till they became accomplished
seamstresses.

As wife of Henry VIII. Anne Boleyn and the ladies of her Court spent
much time in making garments for the poor in plain sewing as well as in
embroidery and tapestry--much of the last may still be seen in Hampton
Court. All this notwithstanding, she did not love needlework and never
resorted to it for solace or amusement.

_Katharine Howard_, another wife of Henry VIII., was skilful in making
pretty kerchiefs and other dainty articles of the toilette, some of
which she once made out of an old shirt of fine holland which had been
given her by her lover Derham. She is said, in return for the shirt,
to have worked for him with her own hand a band and a pair of finely
embroidered shirt sleeves.

She and her maidens made a great many shirts and smocks for the poor.

_Katharine Parr_, the last wife of Henry VIII., was almost as skilled
a needlewoman as his first. When young she objected strongly to
learning needlework; this was probably because it had been foretold
by an astrologer that "she should sit in the highest seat of imperial
majesty." At all events history reports her as saying--

"My hands are ordered to touch crowns and sceptres, not needles and
spindles."

She must have thought better of it, however, for there are some
beautiful specimens of her work preserved in Westmoreland; specially a
counterpane and toilet cover.

_Lady Jane Grey_ is said to have been a clever needlewoman, and that
"instead of skill in drawing she cultivated the art of painting
with the needle." There is still preserved at Zurich a toilet cover
beautifully ornamented by her own hands and presented by her to
Bullinger.

About this time the dress of the nobles was gorgeous and beautiful in
the extreme; not that the materials themselves were so costly, but
because of the exquisite work and embroidery bestowed upon them by
ladies of high rank.

The beds also at this period owed their rich beauty to women's work;
they were not at that time excluded from the day apartments and were
frequently among the richest ornaments of the sitting-room, so much
taste and expense were bestowed upon them.

The curtains of the bed were often of rich material adorned with
embroidery.

    "Her bed-chamber was hanged
    With tapestry of silk and silver."

        _Shakespeare._

Royal seamstresses at this time worked rich needlework borders and
belts for their dresses, but they put their richest work on the pouches
or purses suspended from the waist of the dress.

Queen Mary, daughter of Henry VIII. and Katherine of Arragon, must have
had fame as a needlewoman, otherwise John Taylor the historian would
not have written of her--

    "Her greatness held it no dis-reputation
      To take the _needle_ in her Royal hand,
    Which was a good example to our Nation
      To banish idleness from out her Land."

Indeed she seems to have been skilled in all sorts of embroidery, and
beguiled the time after her mother's divorce peaceably and laudably
with needlework. Some of her work is in the Tower. She was clever in
embroidering the covers of books.

The book called St. Mary's Psalter contained the history of the Old
Testament in a series of small paintings, with a very richly worked
cover which is supposed to have been embroidered by Mary herself. The
embroidery as far as one can see was done on fine canvas or coarse
linen put on crimson velvet.

It never occurs to us to think of _Queen Elizabeth_ as a needlewoman,
yet to a certain extent she must have been one, for history tells
us of a cambric smock which she made and presented to her brother
Edward when he was six years old. She seems to have excelled
however in embroidering the backs of books. Needlework although not
enthusiastically practised in Elizabeth's reign was by no means
despised.

But of all royal seamstresses, Mary Queen of Scots carries off the palm
both for beauty, quantity and variety.

    "She wrought so well in needlework, that she
    Nor yet her workes shall ere forgotten be."--_John Taylor._

Her teachers in the art were Lady Fleming--her governess--and Catherine
de Medicis whose needlework was unrivalled. During the time the young
Queen of Scots was at the French Court she and the French Princesses
assembled every afternoon in the private apartments of Queen Catherine,
where for two or three hours all were occupied in needlework.

At no time of her life were her hands idle; she plied her needle even
while listening to the discussions of her ministers. Needlework was to
her a source of real pleasure.

While under the care of the Earl of Shrewsbury at Tulbury Castle she,
with the help of Bess of Hardwick, her guardian's wife, worked a pair
of curtains, a counterpane, and a vallance on green velvet.

In describing her daily life here, she said that all the day she
wrought with her needle, and that the variety of the work made it seem
less tedious.

In the drawing-room at Hardwick there are several pieces of her work
well preserved, and in Scotland there are parts of certain bed-hangings
in which M. S. is worked in very frequently.

Her tapestry work proved a blessing to her, as in the year 1586 she
writes, "My residence is a place enclosed with walls situated on an
eminence and consequently exposed to all the winds and storms of
heaven.... I have for my own accommodation only wretched little rooms,
and so cold that were it not for the protection of the curtains and
tapestries which I have put up, I could not endure it by day and still
less by night."

In the execution of all this work Mary Queen of Scots beguiled many a
weary hour at Chatsworth, Buxton and Sheffield, while brooding over
the plots for her escape and the intrigues and jealousies of Bess of
Hardwick.

She made a vest for her only son but he ungraciously refused it because
she addressed him as Prince and not as King of Scotland. She worked
also with her own hands an altar-piece, and presented it to the church
of the convent where she had been educated. She was the first, I
believe, to do the raised work in crewels.

We now come to a very remarkable needlewoman, whose work is considered
not only equal to that of Matilda, wife of the Conqueror, but superior
to it, because it was all done with her own hands. Her name was Jean or
Joan D'Albret, better known as the mother of Henry IV. of Navarre.

Her needlework which was the amusement and solace of her leisure
hours was designed by her to commemorate her love for the Reformed
faith which she publicly professed on Christmas Day, 1562. She worked
several large pieces of tapestry, among which was a suite of hangings
consisting of a dozen or fifteen pieces which were called "The Prisons
Opened," on which she represented that she had broken the pope's bonds
and shaken off his yoke. She had a great sense of satire and humour
which showed itself in her work.

The Duc de Sully, when sent by King Henry IV. to receive the Cardinal
of Florence at Paris in grand style, ordered the keeper of the castle
at St. German-en-Laze to hang the walls and chambers with the finest
tapestry of the Crown. This he did, but, unfortunately, for the
Legate's own chamber he chose a suite of hangings made by the Queen
Joan D'Albret herself. They were very rich, it is true, but they
represented nothing but emblems and mottoes against the pope and the
Roman Court, as satirical as they were ingenious. Fortunately the
mistake was rectified by Sully before the Cardinal's arrival.

This clever needlewoman died suddenly at the Court of France in 1572.

(_To be continued._)




IN THE TWILIGHT SIDE BY SIDE.

BY RUTH LAMB.


PART II.

OUR OPPORTUNITIES.

    "As we have therefore opportunity, let us do good unto all."
                                                        --Gal. vi. 10.

Now that the days are shortening and the weather dull, those of us who
took holiday during the summer and early autumn will once more gather
round the fireside in the twilight, and find pleasure in looking back
upon the happy time we spent in lovely inland places or by the sea.
Our winter gatherings are brightened by such retrospections, and as
we talk we seem to see again the waves glittering in the sunlight, or
to hear their roar as they break angrily on the beach, more beautiful
in storm than in calm. We tell of new experiences and impressions, of
minds enriched, and of bodily strength renewed by change of scene and
occupation, or it may be by rest and quiet surroundings.

These words apply specially to those amongst you, my dear girl friends
and fortunate holiday makers, who were able to leave ordinary cares and
anxieties behind you, and enjoy to the full the new beauties amid which
you found yourselves.

To take holiday, without need for care about ways and means, and
possessing a good share of health and strength to begin with, would
seem to most of us the perfection of enjoyment. Yet I am by no means
sure that we should judge rightly. Can you not well imagine that the
rare holiday, obtained at the cost of long saving and even self-denial,
may have brought to some an intensity of enjoyment unknown to those
who have only to will in order to obtain any indulgence they desire.
If each could give her personal experience this evening, what varied
stories should we hear. Some, who longed for and much needed a holiday,
would tell that they had been kept at home and at work all through the
hot days by poverty or the sickness of one they loved and could not
bear to leave.

Others, who left home hoping for renewed health, may have returned
disappointed. Some may have expected only enjoyment, and have found
pain and trouble as their constant companions. To those amongst you who
have had all and even more than you hoped for, let me say, "Look back
upon your happy experiences with heartfelt thankfulness to the Giver of
all good, and resolve that, by the help of the Holy Spirit, you will
use your increased knowledge and strength in His service and for your
neighbour's good."

If any of you have spent money lavishly upon yourselves, or upon those
who did not need your gifts, think, before another holiday season comes
round, of some of those who are poor and longing for what you could so
easily give them. You, who can take holiday and have change when you
wish, might make some of your poorer sisters very happy by giving them
a taste of what you can always enjoy even to repletion. Try to diffuse
blessings by sparing something out of your abundance, and your own
enjoyment will be doubled, as well as your sense of wealth, in the very
act of imparting. I am speaking in time--am I not, dear girls? I think
I hear some of you say, "When the days are lengthening again it will be
time enough to talk of the next summer holidays."

It may be so with those who can give out of their abundance, but by far
the greater number of us could only render such help by saving a little
at a time the year round. In all earnestness, but leaving the method to
yourselves, I ask such of you as are able to give in the future to some
poor toiler a taste of the happiness you can now look back upon from
the home fireside. If, in any neighbourhood, a few of you, my dear girl
friends, will combine for this purpose, all your own pleasures will be
increased, and your memories enriched by so doing.

To those amongst you who have this year been saddened by
disappointment, I say, "Look forward hopefully, asking the while that
the power to do this may be given you. Try not to look back upon the
dark days, or to dwell mentally on what cannot be undone."

Several years ago, I was staying in a charming home, from the different
sides of which we could look on scenery of very opposite kinds. The
house stood just beyond what is called "The Black Country," and looking
into a valley in one direction, we could see the glare of the smelting
furnaces, and the smoke rising from the coal-pit banks. From these
indications we knew that both aboveground and below it in the mines
work never ceased.

If we looked from the other side, we saw a lovely range of beautifully
wooded hills in the distance, and below them all the fair features
of an English landscape. If we had kept our eyes fixed on the valley
behind us, we should have seen only blackness and comparative
desolation, whilst the sense of ceaseless toil would have been ever
present to us.

So, dear disappointed ones, I pray you turn your backs on the
inevitable, and, though there may be no fair landscape within sight,
you can always look heavenward with your mind's eye, even whilst your
hands are busy, and, it may be, your spirit is heavy within you.

Friends may be forgetful. No human message of cheer or comfort may
reach you, or bit of much needed help be in sight, but still there are
messages which you can claim, and consolations meant expressly for you,
which are better than the best which mortal lips can utter, for they
come from Him Who cannot lie. You are invited to cast your care upon
God, for "He careth for you." This one sweet assurance is like the fair
landscape on which we can turn the eye of faith, and forget the gloomy
realities which lie behind us.

But God works by human instrumentality, and it is for those whom He has
helped with the power to exercise the precious privilege of brightening
the lives of others. Let your givings be in accordance not only with
your own means, but with the needs of those whom you help.

I daresay you have often noticed the number and costliness of the gifts
bestowed upon those who have already much of this world's wealth. You
have heard such words as these when a friend's birthday or some other
festive occasion called for special remembrance: "I could not give a
poor present. I felt that I must give something really handsome, or I
should have been ashamed of my gift among so many beautiful things."

Oh! it is sad to think that our givings are influenced so much more by
the thought of how they will impress our neighbours, and how the gifts
will look in comparison with theirs.

There is a verse in the Book of Proverbs which I have seldom heard
quoted, but which bears upon what I have said. "He that oppresseth the
poor to increase his riches, and he that giveth to the rich, shall
surely come to want." In beautiful contrast are the words also from the
Book of Proverbs, "He that giveth unto the poor shall not lack" and "He
that hath pity upon the poor lendeth unto the Lord; and that which he
hath given will He pay him again."

So, dear ones who have enough and to spare, I ask you to make the Lord
your debtor--precious thought!--by devising plans for the benefit of
your poorer sisters, and be sure of this--your paymaster will not fail
you. Your reward will not come to you in gold and silver, but it will
satisfy you here, and you will reap an eternal harvest in return for
every hour of happiness purchased for others by willing self-sacrifice
on your part. I trust that by your efforts many hearts will be
gladdened and bodies strengthened, through what we have talked about
to-night, in the twilight side by side.

Now I want to ask you what precious opportunities you had, and whether
you used or wasted them, during your summer holidays? When we last
met, I quoted an expression I had heard from the pulpit, and which
had impressed me deeply. "We should be misers in the use of time and
opportunity." We talked at some length on one of these precious trusts,
but little was said about the second.

I am sure you will feel with me that we cannot be amidst new scenes
and brought into contact with fresh people, and fail to have new
opportunities of speaking kind words, giving little messages of
comfort, and showing, though it may be only by trifling actions,
consideration for others. In order to take advantage of such openings
we must not be self-absorbed. We must be on the look-out for
opportunities, or we may miss them.

It happens, not infrequently, that a holiday-time is regarded as a
season of pure self-indulgence. We have worked hard for our holiday,
or we can afford to have whatever we desire. So we decide to fill our
daily cup of enjoyment to the brim. We care little what trouble we give
by our untidy habits to the tired workers who serve in the houses which
are our temporary homes. We leave orderly ways and punctuality behind
us, and rather enjoy the idea of having escaped from home rule in every
shape, saying to ourselves, "It is holiday-time. Surely we may follow
our own inclinations."

We laugh perhaps over nearly empty purses when packing-up day comes,
and are apt to wonder where the money has gone. If we ask ourselves
the questions, "How much has been devoted to others? What have I given
towards the expenses of the church I have attended during my stay in
this place?" I fear a blush of shame would often come to the owner of
that purse whose contents have been so carelessly scattered.

I have known, and I still know, dear friends both young and old
who, when going for a holiday, put aside a weekly sum in accordance
with their means to be spent in good doing as opportunities present
themselves. This is their thank-offering to God for their own bright
holiday. Those who have pinched and saved and been obliged to calculate
every penny before leaving home, and who, whilst absent, have "to
turn a penny both sides up before spending it," as I heard a poor
woman remark, cannot spare coin from their purses. But opportunities
come, nevertheless. The possessor of a comfortable seat on shore or
promenade, or beneath a sheltering tree, may give place to a wan-faced
mother, weary with carrying her baby, and looking longingly but vainly
for an empty place whereon to rest.

Ailing people are often eager to speak of the sad time of sickness they
have passed through, and it is no small comfort to them if a stranger,
resting on the same bench, will listen patiently, sympathise with their
weakness and encourage their budding hopefulness by cheering words.
What opportunities these incidental meetings give for saying something
about the Great Physician of souls; of God's love in Christ; of our
daily needs and dependence upon God, and His willingness to supply all
our needs.

If the help of a girl's strong arm can aid age and weakness in the
journey from the shore to the humble lodging, why should any young
servant of Christ wait to compare her pretty summer dress with the
faded black--the badge of poverty and widowhood--worn by the feeble,
old body she would like to help? Should we not try to think how God
regards even the smallest labour of love undertaken for our weak
neighbour, rather than of what our fashionable friend will say if she
sees us in such lowly company?

It needs a very grateful and a very loving nature to be constantly on
the look-out, so as to lose no opportunity of good doing. The heart
must be full of gratitude to God for mercies bestowed, and of tender
consideration towards every human sister and brother, for His dear sake.

Many years ago, I was honoured by the friendship of a good man who
possessed such a nature as I have described. In whatever place or
company he might find himself--and more especially if he had been
unexpectedly brought into it--his first thought would be, "I am not
here for nothing;" his first question, "What work has God for me to do
in this place?"

Stranded on one occasion at a country railway station through the
lateness of a train which caused him to miss another, he was for the
moment inclined to chafe at the delay. Time was very precious to him
that day, and two hours of waiting would probably hinder him from
saying farewell to a son about to start on a long voyage. But the
habits of submission to the inevitable, and of looking around him for
some opportunity of doing his Master's will and serving his neighbour,
asserted themselves. A few minutes later, a young man, a passenger
delayed by the same cause as he was, sat down beside him, and, after
remarking, "You and I are in the same boat, I suppose, sir," began to
find fault with the bad railway arrangements, and to threaten all sorts
of things against the Company--actions for damages, and so on.

My friend could hardly help smiling at his neighbour's impetuosity,
but he listened patiently, and at length the young man cooled down and
laughed also.

"I daresay this seems foolish talk," he added; "and it is a great deal
easier to threaten than to do, when it is a question of taking the
law against a big railway Company; but this delay is a serious matter
to me, as you would say, if you knew all about my business. You are a
clergyman, I see. I am the son of one. May I----"

The young man paused, and my friend, thinking to himself, "I am not
delayed for nothing," finished the question, or rather answered it by
saying, "You may look on me as your father's representative, if you
will, or as a friend to whom you may speak freely."

I am not going to tell you what followed. The story would be too long
in detail, but I may say this much. To the end of his days my friend
thanked God for that delay at the railway station, and the young man
had still greater cause to do so. He was about to take a rash step,
which would have caused sorrow to those who loved him and spoiled his
own career; but, won by the fatherly manner of the old minister of God,
he was induced to confide in him, and the wise advice he received set
him thinking. Thought was followed by repentance, and this by change
of purpose. Instead of continuing his journey, he took the homeward
train, and before my friend resumed his, the two had parted with a warm
hand-clasp and a promise of letters to follow.

Years after, when the old pastor told the story, he said, "I felt sure
that I was not stranded at that railway station for nothing, but that
there must be some chance of usefulness, some work that my Master meant
me to do. The chapters of that young man's life story that have been
written since are very different from what they might have been but for
that opportune delay which gave him time to pause and think. Thank God!
His father never knew how near the lad was to life wreckage, and to-day
he is proud of the son who is the staff and comfort of his age.

"Did I see my own son before he sailed? you ask. No--I was too late,
but the telegraph took him my farewell and blessing, and we have had
many happy meetings and hopeful partings since then."

My dear old friend's earthly labours have long been ended; but, as I
think of him, I seem to see his face shining with glad thankfulness,
as he recalled this opportunity of usefulness given him by God and
so happily utilised, though the delay in another sense cost him a
disappointment.

Had my friend spent the time in grumbling at the delay, instead of
thinking how it could be turned to good account, how different would
have been the result! Or, if he had kept sullenly aloof, or answered
his young neighbour's remark curtly, thus repelling his half-offer
of confidence, the current of a life would have set in the wrong
direction, and the chances of doing and receiving good would have been
lost for ever.

Opportunity comes under so many forms, means so much, and is so often
lost.

We live, it may be, near places of beauty and interest. Because we are
near, we think we can visit them at any time, but we never see them at
all. We have opportunities of obtaining useful information, of gaining
valuable experiences and increasing our stores of knowledge. We put off
availing ourselves of them until some unknown future time, which never
comes.

But the time does come to most of us when we want just the knowledge
or experience that we might have had if we had utilised past
opportunities, and then, we either gain it at much greater cost of time
and trouble, or we suffer for the want of it, to say nothing of the
additional pang of self-reproach which comes with the need.

Money frittered away in vanity and folly means the loss of chances
for making others happy and lifting the burdens from overweighted
shoulders. Lost opportunities for giving pleasure to those we love are
brought home to us with a terrible sting afterwards.

Do we ever lose a relative or beloved friend without feeling our
sorrow intensified by the thought of some little wish neglected, some
opportunity for giving pleasure lost?

It is generally the little ones that are missed, when they concern
those we dearly love. Great opportunities are seldom ignored. But when
it is too late and we feel, oh, so sadly, that we might have availed
ourselves of the lesser ones also, these, however trifling, assume an
importance not realised until, with the sense of omission, comes the
thought that they are lost for ever.

I should feel guilty were I to close our talk to-night without
reminding you, dear girl friends and companions, of the supreme
importance of some opportunities which you may not have valued, because
they are always open to you; I mean the blessed privilege of coming to
God as your Father and unchanging Friend; a Father whom you have often
disobeyed and neglected--even forgotten, but who yet loves you with
an everlasting love, loves you so much that He did not spare His own
beloved Son, "but delivered Him up for us all," that through His death
eternal life might be purchased and bestowed--a free gift on you and me.

May our Father bestow His Holy Spirit upon us all, so that, seeing
our sinfulness and need, we may go to His footstool pleading Christ's
sacrifice, and thus obtain pardon, joy and peace in believing.

(_To be continued._)




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

WAITING IN HOPE.--Freckles are undoubtedly due to the sun. They are
not caused by _heat_ but by _light_. There is always a certain amount
of pigment in the skin, and under the influence of strong light this
pigment increases greatly in quantity, and becomes gathered together
in small patches. These patches are freckles. Where the light of the
sun is more intense than it is in our climate, the patches of pigment
coalesce, and the face and other exposed parts of the body become
uniformly discoloured. Constant exposure to the intense light of the
tropical sun, through many generations, has produced the black or
brown skin of the <DW52> races. Since the light rays which cause
freckles cannot pass through substances  red, persons inclined
to freckles should always wear a red veil, or carry a red parasol.
Remaining in a darkened room for an hour or so after exposure to the
sun will often prevent the face from becoming freckled. The best
preparations to apply to the face for the removal of freckles are
glycerine and rose-water, glycerine and lime-water, and toilet vinegar.
Peroxide of hydrogen bleaches the pigments of the skin, but it is
rarely necessary to resort to it for the removal of freckles, unless
all other methods fail.

CURIOUS ENQUIRER.--This is something new to us! That photographic
films should be "splendid to put on the nose to remove red spots,
or any redness," we have certainly never before heard, nor could we
have guessed this curious and unexpected development of photography.
Films consist of albumen, gelatine, or collodion, impregnated with an
emulsion of an insoluble salt of silver, and how any of these could
influence face "decorations" due to indigestion we cannot tell. Perhaps
the silver might turn the spots black, but what other benefits the
films could produce we cannot conceive.

W. P. W.--Your case is easy to understand, if it is true that you have
heart disease. What do you eat, and how do you eat it? Do you swallow
down a cup of tea and a bite of something for breakfast before rushing
off to catch your train? Do you snatch a hasty lunch at any hour at
which you are at leisure? or do you forego lunch altogether, and take
nothing between breakfast and dinner? If you are guilty of any of
these acts of indiscretion, you must expect to suffer. Your unpleasant
symptoms are probably in the main due to errors of diet. You must be
very careful about your feeding; never take any indigestible food;
never eat in a hurry, and never, not if a whole year's income depends
upon it, must you run off directly after a meal to catch a train. You
should eat slowly; little at a time and often, and take at least four
meals a day. You should take tea in great moderation, and you should
carefully guard against constipation from any cause.

E. T.--What is the size of the spot on your chin? If it is small, it
is a "spider nævus," and can be readily removed by touching its centre
with a red-hot needle. Of course this must be done by a surgeon. No
other form of treatment is of any avail. If the spot is larger than a
split pea, it can hardly be removed in this way, but it will probably
be amenable to some other form of surgical procedure. In any case we
advise you to go to a surgeon about it, and not to try to meddle with
it yourself, for you can do no good by external application.

MIZPAH.--We cannot advertise any special soap in this column. All soap
used for the skin should be hard, opaque or semi-opaque, and either
scented or medicated with carbolic acid, tar, etc. Never use any patent
soap, and above all, never use arsenical soap.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

AJAX.--It is delightful and rare for us to be able to offer musical
commendation twice consecutively. Your compositions are good enough
for us to urge you, in reply to your question, at once to take harmony
lessons. In spite of the merit of the chants, there are blemishes in
them--consecutive fifths, etc.--which good teaching would enable you
to avoid. We particularly like the close of the "Kyrie"; it is very
musical. You should work hard, and may hope to succeed.

TAM O' SHANTER.--1. Much depends on individual taste and preference
in the selection of a subject to study alone. If you are fond of
languages, we should advise you to take up Italian, and get Dr.
Lemmi's Italian Grammar. You might with advantage join the National
Home Reading Union. Address the Secretary, Surrey House, Victoria
Embankment, London.--2. Your friend could certainly study French alone;
if she could get a little help with the pronunciation, it would be
better. We should recommend her to procure Havet's French Course.


OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

M. E. J. (Malvern) kindly sent us some information about an extract
we have repeatedly tried to trace. In consequence of her suggestion,
we wrote to Messrs. Bemrose & Sons, 23, Old Bailey, E.C., who have
forwarded us a small pink card headed "Resolve." On one side are the
words:

"I expect to pass through this world but once; any good thing therefore
that I can do, or any kindness that I can show to a human being, or any
word that I can speak for Jesus--let me do it _now_. Let me not neglect
or defer it, for I shall not pass this way again."

On the reverse side of the card we read:

"This Resolve was written by a New York lady, much impressed with the
thought of the uncertainty of life. Not many days after, she was at
a meeting in Madison Square Gardens, where she had distributed some
printed leaflets with the Resolve, when the hall roof fell in and she
was one of those killed by its fall."

The sentence has been frequently referred, by our correspondents, to
Marcus Aurelius. We give the information just as we have received it.
The cards, we may add, are 5d. per dozen, post free.

M. H. COUPLAND sends Lilian the verse inquired for in "The Lesson of
the Water Mill," by Sarah Doudney. LAIRA, A. S., ACACIA, A SCHOOLGIRL,
point out that the verse Lilian quotes is the fourth, not the last. The
last verse runs as follows:

    "Oh, the wasted hours of life
      That have drifted by!
    Oh, the good that might have been!
      Lost without a sigh.
    Loved ones that we might have saved,
      Maybe, by a word;
    Thoughts conceived, but never penned,
      Perishing, unheard.
    Take the proverb to thine heart,
      Take, and hold it fast:--
    'The mill cannot grind
      With the water that is past.'"

The whole poem may be obtained for 1s. a hundred, from Andrew
Stevenson, Stationer, Mound, Edinburgh; also as a "Stirling Leaflet,
No. 52," from Peter Drummond, Stirling; also in the _Practical
Elocutionist_, published by Blackie & Son. If Lilian will send her name
and address to Mrs. Pawlby, 7, Maida Vale Terrace, Mutley, Plymouth,
she will receive a copy.


MISCELLANEOUS.

ANXIOUS.--With reference to pensions accruing to the widows of
officers, that of a captain is £50 per annum, and £12 to each child
yearly; but should death have resulted from exposure, privation or
fatigue, incident to active duty in the field, fifty per cent. more is
allowed. If from wounds received in action, and within twelve months
after having been invalided, his widow would receive twice the ordinary
pension. But there are certain conditions to be considered.

ISABEL.--As much may be said in favour of one place you name as
another. In the Isle of Wight, Ventnor is much esteemed. In the south
of England, Bournemouth, Torquay, and Penzance. In the Channel Islands,
the south aspects and shore of Guernsey and Jersey; and the Island of
Sark for asthma. We know of no "papers nor magazines" that give the
local information you require. But there are little guides, as well as
local papers, respecting each place, in which you could find addresses
and advertisements as to situations for persons needing employment.

PIN-BASKET.--1. The Mosaic-work made of broken china is called
"crazy-china," of which two illustrations were given in vol. xvi., page
636. The weekly number (doubtless to be had at our office) was for July
6th, 1895.--2. The German-speaking men of Europe wear wedding-rings. We
have not observed whether in other countries the practice obtains as a
rule of national observance.

PETRUCHIO'S KATE.--We could not answer you in a few sentences, so
must recommend you to procure a book on such games, viz., Brand's
_Observations on Popular Antiquities_ (Chatto & Windus), see pages
205-215.

BROWN BEE.--If you failed to get that description of chocolate at the
Junior Army & Navy Stores, and at so many shops, we recommend her to
visit some of the large confectioners and grocers' stores in the City.

M. S. C.--We do not know to which you refer, but a "thunder-bolt"
is a shaft of lightning, or stream of electricity passing from the
thunder-cloud to the earth. In geology it means a belemnite or meteoric
stone, or fire-ball, which sometimes falls to the earth; an aërolite,
at times found of enormous size; _aer_ signifies "air," and _athos_ a
stone. It is a combination of metal and stone. Fire-balls, (_bolides_)
and meteors are explosive, the meteors appearing during the day, and
the fire-balls at night. Iron is specially present, but the metals
appear to be an alloy.

M. A. D.--We do not think you read our answers, or you would not ask a
question already so often answered. There is no rule for the wearing of
a ring on any special finger, excepting only the wedding-ring. But the
third finger of the left hand is not kept exclusively for that.

MILDRED.--Your writing is too large and coarse-looking. <DW72> it a
little from left to right, and reverse the plan in reference to the
light and heavy strokes, the downwards heavy, the upwards light. It
will be more graceful and artistic.

DEAR MR. EDITOR,--I have begun making a collection of photos of
bridges, and am very anxious to get some from everywhere (except
Australia), especially Norway and Russia. Would some of your girls
kindly lend a hand? and in return, I could send, not bridges, as I
live in the bush, but hornets, beetles, or stamps. The bridges must be
_named_, _unmounted_, and _not more than 8×6 inches_, as I put them in
a book.

    Yours faithfully,
        AUNT SCIS.

Mrs. Geo. Barnard, Coomooboolaroo, Duaringa, Rockhampton, Queensland.




[Illustration: THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.

DECEMBER.]


One glance round the markets and shops in any week of December tells
us that Christmas is the prominent thought in the minds of all who
have anything to sell, and that royal bird, the turkey, is very much
_en evidence_. But we cannot eat turkey all the weeks of December, and
every day is not Christmas Day. Let us, therefore, take a look round
with the object of seeing what else there is that is peculiar to the
month, and that will help us in compiling our daily menus, as well as
to make variety on extra occasions.

Among fish we have the dory--supposed by some to be the fish blessed
by our Lord in the miraculous feeding of the five thousand. It is an
unsightly fish, but most excellent for flavour and delicacy, very much
resembling turbot, and it should be boiled and served the same as the
latter.

Turbot is also in excellent condition now, so is cod; then we have
ling, a cheap and nourishing fish, thought much of by dwellers on the
northern coasts, and we have smaller fish in abundance.

All meat is, of course, in prime condition--almost too prime for some
tastes--and we may even indulge in an occasional little roast pork, for
if ever pork may be said to be wholesome it is now. Hams and pickled
tongues make a feature in the shops now, also pork pies of every
imaginable size, weight and kind. The wise and happy are they who can
cure their own hams, pickle their own tongues, make their own sausages
and bake their own pies--these have not to be taken on trust.

The list of vegetables and fruits is a long one; what we have not in
a fresh state we can purchase dried, and there is no lack of variety
either way.

Brocoli, savoys, celery, seakale and Scotch kale are all at their best;
a touch of frost improves their flavour, but the later severe frosts of
January are apt to kill them off entirely. We should make plentiful use
of these now, for there will come a time later on when green food will
be scarce, and we can then bring out our dishes of carrots, parsnips
and the like.

As long as the supply of English apples and pears lasts we should have
them frequently, we can have recourse to the cheaper foreign kinds when
our own are all gone. Almonds, walnuts, filberts, hazel nuts, and many
more, are very plentiful, and this shows us they are the natural food
of winter time.

It might be well this month to devote one of our menus to such dishes
as are Christmas-like in character, and to make the other festive
without being suggestive of this special feast at all.


No. 1. (CHRISTMAS MENU.)

                       Clear Gravy Soup.
     Boiled Turbot, or Cod, with Anchovy or Oyster Sauce.
    Roast Turkey, with Stewed Celery, Sprouts and Potatoes.
                  Baked Ham and Endive Salad.
           Plum Pudding. Apple Soufflee. Meringues.
            Stilton Cheese, Biscuits, and Dessert.


MENU No. 2.

                  Oxtail Soup.
    Fried Fillets of Haddock, Genoise Sauce.
               Chicken Mayonnaise.
     Roast Saddle of Welsh Mutton, Brocoli.
               Salmi of Partridge.
               Neapolitan Pudding.
          Cheese or Anchovy Croustades.

A recipe for _Clear Gravy Soup_ may not be unnecessary. A pound of
gravy beef, and a small knuckle-bone of veal; simmer these in a glazed
earthenware vessel, that will hold about two quarts of water, for
several hours, but never allow the liquor to boil. When about half
cooked add to it a whole carrot cut in four, two or three onions and
a bunch of savoury herbs, but no turnip. Strain off the liquor when
done enough so that the fat may settle on the top, and then carefully
remove it all. When about to re-heat it, pour it into a fresh vessel
and season it to taste, then add a teaspoonful of cornflour wet with
water, and a teaspoonful of Liebig's Extract of Meat, to give a little
more "body" to the stock. Any special flavouring liked may be added at
this time, but if the liquor has been properly cooked its flavour will
be sufficiently good.

When we speak of "boiled" fish of any kind, it must be remembered that
it should never by any means actually "boil," but only simmer gently
until done. To boil anything is to spoil it, although, as a cookery
term, we speak of it so.

Of the sauces, it may be needful to mention one in detail, namely, the
Genoise sauce.

For this take half a pint of milk and put it into a saucepan with a
few strips of thin rind of fresh lemon; when it boils pour it on to a
spoonful of cornflour previously dissolved in a little cold milk, add
this to the yolks of two eggs, an ounce of butter, pepper and salt, and
stir these carefully over the fire. When the mixture boils, withdraw
it, and add gradually the juice of half a fresh lemon. This sauce
should be a clear bright yellow and of the consistency of good cream.

It is usual to stuff a turkey with sausage-meat at the breast end and
put a veal stuffing in the body of the bird, or a mixture of boiled
chestnuts, breadcrumbs and forcemeat is very good, but somewhat rich.
The time the bird will take to roast depends entirely upon its weight,
a quarter of an hour to a pound is the correct proportion to allow.
Keep well basted, and shield it from the fierce heat.

If intended for eating cold a turkey is never so nice as when
"braised," if only a vessel can be found large enough to contain it
and keep it covered. A few slices of fat bacon should be put with it,
and plenty of good dripping, and rather more time allowed than for
roasting; moreover, the cover should be kept tightly closed to keep in
the steam. Drain away all the fat, but leave the bird to get cold in
the pan. Garnish with its gravy when that has set to a jelly.

The sauce for a salmi should be prepared first, and the joints of
the birds just allowed to simmer in it for a little while. Make the
gravy from very good strong stock, adding a thickening that shall be
transparent, and whatever drops of gravy can be gathered together. A
little beef essence may be needed to enrich the stock, also plenty of
seasoning. Chopped mushrooms should be added whenever possible, not
many will be required. Serve fried potato chips with a salmi, but no
other vegetable.

Almost everyone has a recipe for plum pudding; it is one of those
possessions about which every woman is more or less conceited, so we
will not take up space by giving another here. _Neapolitan Pudding_
may, however, be new to some of our readers, and it is one that is well
worth being known by all. For it a few macaroons, some sponge cakes, a
little apricot jam and a pint or more of rich well-flavoured custard
will be needed. Half an ounce of dissolved isinglass should be stirred
into the custard, and this should be flavoured with some essence.
Arrange the macaroons at the bottom and round the sides of a buttered
mould. Spread the sponge cakes with jam, and fit them in, pouring a
little juice over all. Pour in the custard while it is hot, and cover
the mould tightly, setting it aside to become cold and stiff. When it
is turned out, heap some bright jelly around the base and garnish the
top with preserved cherries and greengages cut small.

Meringues are more difficult to make, and require practice to do them
well. The cases require the frothed whites of the eggs to be whisked
until very firm, and the sugar should be beaten in with a light hand.
Drop this by small spoonfuls on to greased note-paper; bake to a
very pale brown, slip off the paper with a sharp knife, scoop out a
little of the inside and fill up with cream whipped very stiffly. Any
flavouring that may be liked can be used.

Croustades of various kinds have been given so often in these pages
that it is hardly necessary to repeat the recipe here. Fry the bread in
butter or lard, and spread with whatever mixture is chosen whilst they
are warm, garnish prettily, and serve warm and fresh though not hot.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No.
984, November 5, 1898, by Various

*** 