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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 995.]      JANUARY 21, 1899.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

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


[Illustration: “‘ARTHUR!--OH--ARTHUR!’ SHE GASPED.”]

_All rights reserved._]


CHAPTER XVI.

Lady Darcy left the young people by themselves after luncheon, and as
was only natural, conversation at once turned on the proposed visit to
London. Peggy was too much perturbed to speak, but Mellicent put the
very inquiry which she most wished answered, being never troubled with
bashfulness in asking questions.

“Has your mother’s tooth been hurting her very much, Rosalind?”

“Tooth! what tooth? Oh, I think she did have a little twinge one night;
but it’s not the dentist whom she is really going to see. That’s only
an excuse. She really wants to go to some parties,” said Rosalind
lightly, whereat her brother scowled at her under heavy brows.

“What business have you to say that? What can you know about it, pray?
If mother says she is in pain, it is not for you to contradict, and
make up your own explanations. Leave her to manage her own affairs----”

He spoke rapidly, but Rosalind only shrugged her shoulders, and
whispered something in Max’s ear at which he smiled and nodded his
head, evidently taking her part against her brother, to Peggy’s intense
indignation.

No words were exchanged between the partners on the subject of the
calendar until they were once more at home; when Robert took advantage
of the first quiet opportunity and came up to Peggy with a face of set
determination.

“Mariquita!” he said, “_I am--not--going--to give in!_ If you stick to
me, I think we can still manage to get the calendar off in time. There
are twenty more quotations to be found. I’ll sit up to-night and fix
them off, and go on writing as long as I can keep awake, but I can’t
take a dozen books up to town with me, so I must leave it to you to
finish up. I’ll mark the passages I choose, write the full address on
a piece of paper, and leave everything ready for you to make up the
parcel. All you will have to do will be to write the remaining cards,
and to see that it is sent off on Friday. Five o’clock will be time
enough, but if you can get it off in the morning, so much the better.
You think you can manage as much as that?”

“Oh, yes! I’d do anything rather than give up now. It would be too
grudging. I am not afraid of a little more work.”

“You have done more than your share already. I am mad about it, but it
can’t be helped. I couldn’t refuse to go with the mater, and I wouldn’t
if I could. She is really not at all strong, and does not like the life
down here. It will do her good to have a few days’ change.”

Peggy looked at him steadily. She did not speak, but her eyes grew soft
and shining, and there was something at once so sweet, so kindly, and
so gentle in her expression that Rob exclaimed in surprise--

“I say, Peggy, you--you do look pretty! I never saw you look like that
before--what have you been doing to yourself?”

“Doing!” Peggy straightened herself at that, in offended dignity.
“Doing, indeed! What do you mean? Don’t you think I am pretty as a
rule?”

“Never thought about it,” returned Robert carelessly. “You are
Peggy--that’s enough for me. A nice state I should be in to-day if it
were not for you! You are the jolliest little brick I ever met, and if
I get this prize it will be far more your doing than my own.”

Well, that was good hearing! Peggy held her head high for the rest
of that evening, and felt as if nothing would have power to depress
her for the future. But alas, when the pendulum is at its highest, it
begins to swing downwards. Peggy’s heart sank as she watched Robert
drive away from the door the next morning, and it went on sinking
more and more during the next twenty-four hours, as she realised the
responsibility which weighed upon her shoulders. When she came down to
breakfast on Friday morning the calendar was finished and ready to
be made up for the post, but her head was splitting with pain as the
result of the long hours’ work stolen from sleep, and a dead weight
of depression had settled on her spirits. It seemed of a sudden that
all this work and effort was waste of time; that the chances of being
successful were infinitesimally small; that even if it were gained,
the prize was of little value; that if Robert’s absence for four days
made such a difference in the life at the vicarage, it would become
altogether unbearable when he said good-bye at the beginning of the
year and went up to Oxford; that she was a desperately unfortunate
little unit, thrust into the midst of a family which was complete in
itself, and had only a kindly toleration to offer to a stranger; that,
in all probability, there would be a war in India, when her father
would be killed, her mother die of a broken heart, and Arthur be called
out to join the ranks of the recruits. She conjured up a touching
picture of herself, swathed in crape, bidding good-bye to her brother
at the railway station, and watching the scarlet coat disappear in the
distance, as the train steamed away. It was all most miserable and
picturesque, and outside the fog gathered, and the rain poured down
in a fine, persistent drizzle. It was one of those typical November
days when it seems as if the earth itself is in the blues, and that it
becomes everyone living on its surface to follow its example.

When afternoon came Peggy curled herself in an armchair in the corner
of the study, and stared gloomily at the fire. It was four o’clock.
In another hour the postman would call for the letters and she would
deliver the precious packet into his hands. She had made it up in the
dinner hour with some faint idea of carrying it to the village, but
she was tired, the rain poured, and Rob had said that the afternoon
post would do. She had given up the idea of going out, and taken a nap
instead on the top of her bed. And now it was four o’clock. Mellicent
called out that she was dying for tea-time to come; it had seemed
such a long, long day; they really ought to have tea earlier on these
dreary, murky afternoons. “_I want my tea!_” she chanted, in shrill,
penetrating tones, and instantly the refrain was taken up by the other
voices, and repeated over and over again with ever-increasing volume,
until the mistress of the house rushed in to discover the reason of the
clamour.

“Bless your hearts, you shall have it at once!” she cried. “I’ll ring
and have it brought in, and ransack my cupboards to see what treats I
can give you. Poor dears, it _is_ dull for you sitting indoors all day
long. We must think of some bright, exciting games for this evening.”
No sooner said than done; she did not wait until Mary appeared, but
bustled off to meet her, to enlist the cook’s sympathy, and put out the
promised delicacies, and when the table was set she returned to the
room and seated herself, smilingly, in Esther’s place.

“I am going to stay with you this afternoon,” she said brightly. “Draw
up your chairs, dears, and let us be jovial. There is no credit in
being happy when the sun is shining, as dear old Mark Tapley would have
said; but it will really be praiseworthy if we succeed in being festive
this afternoon. Come, Peggy dearie!”

Peggy turned her dreary little face and stared at the table. From
outside came the sound of the opening and shutting of the door, of
footsteps in the hall. She glanced at the clock, wondering if it could
possibly be the postman already, found it was only ten minutes past
four, and dismissed the supposition with a sigh. “I don’t--think--I
want----” she was beginning slowly, when, of a sudden, there came a
tremendous rat-tat-tat on the schoolroom door; the handle was not
turned, but burst open; a blast of chilly air blew into the room, and
in the doorway stood a tall, handsome youth, with square shoulders, a
gracefully poised head, and Peggy Saville’s eave-like brows above his
dancing eyes.

“Oh, what a surprise!” came the cry in loud laughing tones. “How do you
do, everybody? Just thought I would step in as I was passing, and have
a cup of tea, don’t you know.”

“My boy! My boy! Oh, how good to see you!” cried Mrs. Asplin
rapturously. Mellicent gurgled with surprise, and Peggy stood up by her
chair and stretched out both arms like a child to its mother.

“Arthur!--oh--Arthur!” she gasped, and there was a pathos, a longing,
an almost incredulous rapture in her voice which made the tears
start in Mrs. Asplin’s eyes, and brought a cloud of anxiety over the
new-comer’s face.

“Why, Peg!” he cried. “My little Peg! Is something wrong, dear? You
look as melancholy as----”

“Peggy has not been like herself for the last few weeks. I think she
has had an attack of home sickness, and longing for her own people. I’m
so glad you’ve come. You will do her more good than a dozen tonics.
Bless the boy; how big he is! And how did you manage to get away, dear,
and how long can you stay? Tell me all about it. I am consumed with
curiosity----”

“I can stay till Monday or Tuesday, if you can put me up; and I came
away because I--I suppose I am not quite up to the mark. My head
bothers me. It aches, and I see black specks floating before my eyes.
The doctor advised me to knock off for a few days, and I thought I
would rather come here than anywhere.”

“I should think so, indeed. Of course we can put you up--proud and
pleased to do so. Well, this is a pleasant surprise for a dull November
day! You couldn’t have had a better one if you had had a hundred
wishes, could you, Peggy? You won’t feel melancholy any longer?”

“I’m just enraptured! Saturday, Sunday, Monday--three whole days
and two halves, as good as four days--almost a week! It’s too
delicious--too utterly delicious to realise!”

Peggy drew deep sighs of happiness, and hung on to Arthur’s arm in
an abandonment of tenderness which showed her in a new light to her
companions. She would not loosen her grasp for a moment, and, even when
seated at the table, kept her fingers tightly locked round his arm, as
though afraid that he might escape.

As for Arthur himself, he was in the wildest spirits. He was as
handsome a young soldier as one could wish to see, and his likeness
to Peggy seemed only to make him more attractive in the eyes of the
beholders.

“Hurrah!” he cried cheerily. “Hurrah, for a good old vicarage tea!
Scones? that’s the style! Mary made them, I hope, and put in lots of
currants. Raspberry jam! I say, mater, do you remember that solemn
waitress you had, who told you that the jam was done again, and when
you exclaimed in horror, said, ‘Yes, ’um, it’s not a bit of good buying
raspberry jam. _They like it!_’ Ha, ha, ha, I’ve often thought of
that! That looks uncommonly good cake you have over there. Thank you,
I think I will! Begin with cake, and work steadily back to bread and
butter--that’s the style, isn’t it, Peggums? Esther, I looks towards
you! Mellicent, you are as thin as ever, I see. You should really do
something for it. There are regular hollows in your cheeks.”

“Nasty, horrid thing! You are always teasing! How would you like it
if you were struck fat yourself?” cried Mellicent, aggrieved. But,
in spite of herself, her chubby cheeks dimpled with smiles as Arthur
rolled his eyes at her across the table, for there was something
irresistibly fascinating about this young fellow, and it was like old
times to see him seated at the tea-table and to listen to his merry
rattling voice.

“The dominie must grant a general holiday to-morrow,” he declared,
“and we will do something fine to celebrate the occasion. We’ll have
out this wonderful camera in the morning and take some groups. You
and I must be taken together, Peggy, to send out to the parents. You
promised to send me copies of all the things you took, but you are as
false in that respect as the whole race of amateur photographers. They
are grand hands at promising, but they never, by any chance---- Hallo!
What’s that? My cup over? Awfully sorry, mater, really! I’ll put a
penny in the missionary-box. Was it a clean cloth?”

“Oh, my dear boy, don’t apologise! I should not have felt that it was
really you if you had not knocked your cup over! To see the table-cloth
swimming with tea all round, convinces me that it is Arthur himself,
and nobody else! Tut, tut! What does a table-cloth matter?” And Mrs.
Asplin beamed upon her favourite as if she were really rather delighted
than otherwise at his exploit.

It was a merry, not to say noisy, meal which followed. Peggy’s lost
spirits had come back with the first glimpse of Arthur’s face; and her
quips and cranks were so irresistibly droll that three separate times
over Mellicent choked over her tea and had to be relieved with vigorous
pounding on the back, while even Esther shook with laughter and the
boys became positively uproarious.

Then Mr. Asplin came in, and Arthur was carefully concealed behind the
window-curtains, while he was asked whom he would most like to see if
the choice were given him. In provoking manner he mentioned at once a
brother in Australia, and when informed that relations were not on the
list, recollected an old college chum who was out in the Mauritius.

“Oh, dear, what a stupid man!” cried his wife in despair. “We don’t
mean the friends of your youth, dear! Think of the last few years and
of your young friends! Now, if you could choose whom would you----”

“Arthur Saville!” said the Vicar promptly, upon which Arthur made a
loophole between the curtains and thrust his mischievous face through
the gap, to the Vicar’s amazement and the uproarious delight of the
onlookers. A dozen questions had to be asked and answered about
studies, examinations, and health, while Peggy sat listening, beaming
with happiness and pride.

It came as quite a shock to all when the Vicar announced that it was
time to dress for dinner, and Mrs. Asplin looked at Peggy with an
apologetic smile.

“We were all so charmed to see Arthur that I’m afraid we have been
selfish and engrossed too much of his attention. You two will be
longing for a cosy little chat to yourselves. If you run upstairs now,
Peggy, and hurry through your dressing, there will be a little time
before dinner, and you could have this room to yourselves.”

“Yes, run along, Peg! It won’t take me ten minutes to get into my
clothes, and I’ll be here waiting for you!” cried Arthur eagerly. And
Peggy went flying two steps at a time upstairs to her own room.

The gas was lit; the can of hot water stood in the basin, the towel
neatly folded over the top; the hands of the little red clock pointed
to six o’clock, and the faint chime met her ear as she entered.

Peggy stood still in the doorway, an icy chill crept through her veins,
her hands grasped the lintel, and her eyes grew wide and blank with
horror. There, on the writing-table lay a brown paper parcel--the
precious parcel which contained the calendar which had been the object
of such painful work and anxiety!

(_To be continued._)




TWO OF THE GREATEST AFFLICTIONS OF GIRLHOOD:

BLUSHING AND NERVOUSNESS.

BY “THE NEW DOCTOR.”


Some years ago an enterprising physician discovered that the whole
human race was insane.

This doctrine naturally drew forth from the public considerable
indignation. We do not believe that we are insane. But the answer of
the author was concise: “You cannot prove that you are sane, therefore
you are insane!”

And a large number took his word and believed it. Nay; even now people
are to be met who believe that everyone is insane. Nay--further!
There are many persons who not only believe everyone to be insane, but
believe that all physicians hold the same opinion!

And yet, if you ask one of these philanthropists if he thinks that he
himself is insane: “Oh, well--no; you see I am an exception. I do not
mean to say that I am better than anyone else, but I am different from
everybody that I know. No, I do not think that I am insane.”

Yesterday we were interviewing a gentleman “lodger” in an asylum, who
had come to the conclusion that all the inmates of the house--nurses,
patients, physicians and servants--were all insane, himself alone
excepted. This is a common creed in lunatic asylums.

No, everyone is not insane. The doctrine is fallacious. But we all pass
through phases in our lives when our minds are not capable of fully
grasping every detail of the situation. In other words, we are all
liable to nervousness.

What is nervousness? Think for yourself and try to answer the question.
It is difficult, we admit.

Is not nervousness a state in which the mind does not rise to the
situation? Is it not a condition of uncertainty? Is it not, as it were,
a feeling that you know not what step to take next or what answer to
give to a question? Is it not a conviction that you are out of place?

Indeed, it seems to us that nervousness is the expression of being
mentally ill at ease.

Few persons realise what a terrible disease nervousness really is.
It is one of the greatest annoyances of youth. It renders many girls
utterly miserable when they first “come out.” It is most fearful
suffering, and one which brings many girls to a life of misery.

There is but one other condition which troubles girls more than
nervousness, and that is excessive blushing, and blushing is but a
physical expression of nervousness.

It is commonly held that the work of physicians is confined to the
body, and that they have no knowledge of the troubles of the mind. It
follows from this that the study of the mind has been grossly neglected
by medical men, and even the simplest mental aberration will baffle
many worthy practitioners, simply because they consider that the mind
is not their province.

We can delay no further and must get on to consider the practical side
of our task, the causes and treatment of blushing and nervousness.

We suppose that we must first mention the physical causes of blushing
and nervousness. Many would consider these to be of the first
importance. They are not.

Blushing is a momentary relaxation of the minute blood-vessels of the
skin of the face, caused by an impression received by the brain. The
vessels relax, they become distended with blood, and the face becomes
red, hot and swollen.

If this phenomenon lasts but a minute it is called a blush; if it lasts
for a longer period it is called a flush. The former is usually due to
mental causes, the latter invariably to physical conditions.

Blushing is the direct effect of a more or less powerful stimulus
passing to the brain from one of the special senses. Flushing is the
effect of a stimulus from one of the internal organs, usually the
stomach.

Anæmia, indigestion, constipation, and various other ailments cause
flushing, and very rarely they produce blushing.

This is all we have to say of the physical causes of blushing and
nervousness, except that people who are ill or run down are often
irritable and nervous. But the illness is not the cause of the
nervousness, it only paves the way for it to become manifest; it only
reduces the force by which nervousness is normally overcome.

It is in the workings of the mind that we must seek the causes of
nervousness.

We are not all born with the same mental powers. Each inherits from
her parents certain hereditary tendencies. We all know that insanity
runs in families; so does nervousness; so does every kind of mental
inclination, but only to a certain extent. We do not inherit the
virtues, the vices, the powers or the mental shortcomings of our
parents; we inherit a tendency to them--a tendency which may develop
and reproduce in us the minds of our fathers. Or these tendencies may
be modified or suppressed by education; or they may be overwhelmed
by some individual peculiarity which we have not inherited from our
parents, but which had its beginning in our own minds.

The mind of anyone is an individual in itself. It has its own passions
and inclinations different from those of any other, but it must be
educated. Each of us must have a solid basis of general knowledge ere
she can use her mind. In other words we must all be educated.

And in education, or rather in the lack of some portion of education,
you will find the causes of blushing and nervousness.

Nervousness is more common amongst the highly educated classes than
amongst others. And yet you say that nervousness is caused by defective
education. How can this be?

You have not got a true notion of education! You say education but you
mean study; you confine the term to that part of education which is
learnt at school and from books; you have fallen into the common error
of the age by supposing that education is synonymous with schooling!

At school we learn to read, to write. We learn a little science,
perhaps a smattering of art and the elements of a language or two. Is
this all the education required by man? Is this sufficient food for the
mind of man for threescore years and ten? Do you learn nothing else in
your life than this little handful of unimportant subjects? No, you do
not! Far more than nine-tenths of your education is gained without your
knowing how: not without effort, but without your knowing that you are
educating yourself.

Our forefathers had no books; they never went to school; they knew but
little of art or science, and their technical skill was of the rudest.
We call them barbarians, but why? They had their passions as we have
them; they had their joys and their sorrows; they had their thoughts;
they were educated. The viking of old was a man with a highly wrought
mind. Though differing in detail, his education was the same as ours.
It was the study of himself and his companions.

Let us glance a little into these defects of education which cause
nervousness.

From what has been said, the reader will perceive that the lack of
knowledge of herself or her companion is the commonest cause of
nervousness; this indeed is the case. The girl who leaves the nursery
for the first time is shy and retiring: she cannot speak to anyone
without confusion; she has no experience of life. A new episode has
occurred and she cannot at once rise to the situation. She is not at
home; she is nervous.

And so if you think over the position in which you have been nervous,
you will see that in the majority of cases, your trouble was due to
inexperience.

The girl who has never spoken to anyone except her own friends is
nervous when she first speaks to a stranger. After she has been
introduced to one or two persons her nervousness vanishes, for she has
become used to her new situation.

Who has not felt nervous when she first appeared in public? Who has not
felt most unpleasant sensations when she first sang or played before
an audience? Yet after her second or third appearance all traces of
nervousness vanish, because now she is accustomed to her surroundings.

The warrior who will face death on the field without compunction may
fly in terror if he hear the buzz of a moth. Or if he is unused to
feminine society he will be completely cowered by a single woman.

The scientist who has astonished the world with his inventions is yet
too nervous to deliver a lecture to half-a-dozen students, for he is
used to his laboratory but is a stranger to the lecturer’s chair.

These are examples of what may be called healthy nervousness. They are
transient and can be overcome by the will. We will now talk of some
more complicated causes of nervousness.

There are many girls who have the misfortune of having been spoilt
during their childhood, and who as girls have had every wish gratified.
When these girls go into the world they often become irritable and
impertinent, or shy and retiring, or excessively nervous and bashful.

There are girls (and we are sorry to say there are a great many of
them) who between the ages of fifteen and twenty do nothing but loll
on a sofa and read cheap novelettes and other wretched and unwholesome
literature. These persons usually blush like beetroots when spoken to.
They are always nervous and usually silly and rude.

Self-consciousness is one of the greatest and most important causes of
nervousness. The fear of “giving oneself away” is a very potent factor
in the causation of nervousness.

Some people confuse self-consciousness with self-conceit. But they are
diametrically opposite conditions. The self-conceited girl believes
herself perfect. She cannot make a mistake. What she says must be
right. She has no fear of committing herself. Why should she ever be
nervous? And she never is nervous.

The self-conscious girl is the reverse of this. Not only does she
know her shortcomings, but she takes an exceedingly gloomy view of
everything. Truly she is always thinking about herself, but her
thoughts are not flattering. She puts herself in the worst light and
imagines that everyone else sees her in the same way. She imagines
everyone is laughing at her. She is confused. She is nervous.

Not all girls are nervous or blush from the same cause, nor are they
nervous in the same way nor in the same situations. Some girls blush
only when in the company of strangers, others even when speaking to
their greatest friends. Some blush or are nervous only when talking to
persons of the opposite sex, others when talking to anybody.

We can divide the various kinds of nervous girls into the following
groups--

    1. Girls who blush or are nervous when talking to strangers, but
    are not nervous among their friends.

    2. Girls who are nervous when talking to friends or strangers.

    3. Girls who are more nervous with their friends than with
    strangers.

    4. Girls who are only nervous when talking to one person, but who
    are quite at home in a crowded room.

    5. Girls who are nervous in a crowded place even when they are
    talking to nobody, or when they neither know nor are known to
    anybody.

    6. Girls who are only nervous when talking to persons of the
    opposite sex.

    7. Girls who are nervous at all times and everywhere.

    8. Girls who are only nervous when they are run down in health.

There are many other kinds of nervousness, but we cannot enter into the
discussion of them here.

To everyone who glances down this table it will be apparent that
the same explanation will not accord for all these conditions. Such
diametrically opposite states as that of Nos. 4 and 5 cannot be due to
the same cause. We must therefore briefly describe the various mental
states on which each form of nervousness depends.

The first case, girls who blush or are nervous when talking to
strangers but are perfectly at home when talking with their friends,
is one of the commonest of the eight types of nervousness. This is the
purely natural result of inexperience.

The very many girls who are exceedingly annoyed to find that they
cannot be introduced to anybody without blushing or stammering or
vainly trying to break a distressing silence, may be comforted by the
assurance that ere many months are passed they will have become more
accustomed to the very strange conditions imposed upon us by social
usage and to abruptly starting a conversation with a person whom they
have never seen before.

To some girls it may be a relief to know that young men are very much
more bashful, more inclined to blush, and find much greater difficulty
in starting a conversation to the first person to whom they are
introduced than girls do. The news will certainly be well received by
all girls suffering from this form of nervousness that a very short
space of time will see the end of their annoyance.

The sixth division of nervousness, that condition in which girls are
only nervous when talking to persons of the opposite sex, is only a
mild form of the first and, like it, it is a very transitory state.

The second class of nervous girls is that in which the members are
nervous when talking to friends as well as to strangers. This is the
most numerous class of all. This form of nervousness is sometimes due
to indigestion or other derangements of health. It is to this class
that we shall more especially refer when considering the treatment of
nervousness.

That form of nervousness in which the sufferer is perfectly at ease in
the excitement of a crowded room but who cannot endure to talk with one
person alone is a comparatively rare condition. It is typically met
with in cases of nervous exhaustion. It is tolerably common in persons
who have just recovered from some forms of depressing diseases.

The fifth class contains two very distinct groups of cases. There are
many people who are distressed in a crowded place. Many persons who are
not feeling up to the mark are often depressed and get a headache in a
crowded place, even where there is no noise or conversation going on.
This is a form of nervousness that is almost exclusively met with in
elderly or middle-aged persons.

It is in the second of the groups of people who are nervous in large
assemblings that we see the most advanced grades of self-consciousness.
We have seen girls in drawing-rooms, at concerts, and even in church,
suffering from this malady (for though it appears as vanity or
self-conceit, it is neither one nor the other, but a true disease).
They shift about, looking from one person to another, wondering what
the various members of the assembly are thinking about them. If anyone
happens to turn his glance in the direction of a girl with this form
of nervousness, a regular outburst occurs; she blushes and perspires
profusely, putting her hand up to her hat or fringe or rearranging some
part of her dress, wondering what can be a amiss, or she wipes her
nose with her handkerchief, thinking that there must be a smut there
to cause the unknowing agitator to turn round and look at her. It will
never strike her that the unwelcome gaze of the stranger is purely
accidental, or may be excited by the elegance of her dress or person.
No, there must be something “funny” for anybody to turn round and stare
at her like that!

The two last divisions of nervousness need but little comment. They are
due to bodily ill-health and are part and parcel of physical weakness.

We must now turn to the most important and most difficult part of our
task--the description of the means by which these various forms of
nervousness may be overcome. We have several times mentioned that many
forms of nervousness are commonly caused by ill-health, and we may now
state that all forms are rendered worse by any departure from physical
health. It is therefore obvious that if the sufferer is anæmic or has
indigestion, or any of the other ten thousand diseases to which we
poor humans are subject, it is essential that the unhealthy state of
her body should be cured ere she should try the special methods of
treatment to cure herself of nervousness.

As nervousness is so frequently the result of a one-sided education
and lack of experience, we would expect that persons who have secured
a varied tuition would be less subject to nervousness than their less
widely but perhaps more deeply educated sisters. And this we find to be
the case. It is a knowledge of a wide scope of learning, of the little
ins and outs of our very elaborate social customs, of a more or less
superficial knowledge of current views and events, which will help a
girl to be at home in society, rather than a deep knowledge of any one
subject. This is the proper place to point out that the popular idea
that nervousness is due to a feeble intelligence is totally untrue.
It requires a considerable amount of mental power to be able to be
nervous. Some of the greatest men in history have been conspicuously
nervous.

The girl who rapidly falls in with social customs, who can join in
conversations on the ordinary subjects of talk, and who can grasp and
retain the little ways of society which she cannot fail to observe,
need never fear of retaining any temporary nervousness she may have
experienced when she first “came out.”

Since experience is so antagonistic to nervousness, it follows that
the pursuit of experience is a very necessary point in the treatment
of nervousness. Of all ways of acquiring experience none can equal
travelling; for the experience gained by moving from place to place is
exceedingly varied, and it is this varied experience that is needed to
cure nervousness.

Often when nervousness is so intractable that it cannot be cured by
other means, we advise the subjects to leave society for a year or two,
to travel, if possible, or else to gain an insight into the ways and
working of the world before again attempting to face the terrors of
social life.

In many parts of this article we have maintained that
self-consciousness was an exceedingly common and important factor of
nervousness and blushing. If we could remove self-consciousness we
could cure most, if not all, forms of nervousness.

Suppose that a girl is self-conscious and she enters into conversation
with another girl who is not self-conscious. The question is broached
by the healthy-minded girl. She asks--

“Do you think that Mr. Jones’s French poodle would look better if he
were shaved?”

The nervous girl will undergo severe agitation as to what she ought
to answer. “You see, if I say ‘no,’ it may show that I do not know
anything about dogs. In fact, I must be very careful not to give myself
away as an ignoramus.”

As a matter of fact neither of these girls knows much about dogs,
perhaps neither would recognise a French poodle if she saw one. The
questioner, still waiting for the simple reply which her question
needs, looks into the face of her nervous companion, and at once the
latter’s wits desert her altogether. “Why did she look into my face? I
must be looking very ugly to-day? I know my dress is old-fashioned, but
it is very rude of her to notice it!” etc., etc. This poor girl cannot
bring her mind to bear on the subject of the conversation; she is
eternally thinking of herself. If she would only think about what her
questioner is talking of, instead of thinking about what her companion
is thinking about her, she would no longer be self-conscious, no longer
nervous.

The conversation concerning the French poodle has upset her altogether;
she leaves her first companion and seeks another. But here she can
boast no greater success. Perhaps she will brave a third effort at
conversation, but it is all to no purpose; she is either too fearful
of committing herself or saying something unseemly, or else she knows
that her companion is secretly laughing at her. Utterly downhearted she
eventually sits down in a corner and remains silently agitated for the
rest of the evening.

What a terrible state is that of self-consciousness, and yet how
common! And yet of the large number of persons who suffer from it how
many try to overcome it? Because it is far easier to foster than to
subdue these feelings is no reason for not making any attempt to quell
them.

A very important piece of advice to give to all nervous girls is to
avoid all trivial conversations, especially talking scandal. It is
unfortunately a fact that nervous girls are often quite themselves
when discussing the weaknesses of their friends and neighbours, but
such conversation begets a distrust of their friends, and we have no
doubt that the habit of talking against one’s neighbours is sometimes
a direct cause of that form of nervousness in which girls cannot talk
to their own friends without blushing. They know what their friends
say about others behind their backs, and they fear that they too will
be discussed in their absence. To such girls as these we may say,
give over such worthless friends and try to know others who use their
tongues to a more proper purpose, and never, under any circumstances,
talk scandal yourselves.

Self-conscious girls must get out of the habit of revolving in their
minds what answer to give to a simple question. When you are talking
socially, it is really of very little consequence whether your answer
is correct or not. You should indulge in conversation with everybody
whom you wish to know, and with whom your parents or guardians wish
you to be intimate. You must not sit in a corner and mope because
you thought that Miss Smith was criticising your dress when you were
trying to converse with her. Be a woman and bravely attempt to join
in conversation. It does not matter if you make mistakes. We are all
human. We all make mistakes. But it would indeed be a funny world
if we never attempted to open our mouths lest we should say what is
indiscreet or fallacious. Remember that when you have once braved your
inclination to sit down and be silent, half the battle is over and you
will soon grow to look with astonishment at your foolish behaviour of
some weeks back. Since experience is the great cure for nervousness,
gain all experience you can both by reading, by the study of the arts
and sciences and by observation of the doings of others and the working
of this great world. Keep your eyes open and look around you. However
limited your own circle may be, it still contains more to be studied
than you can learn in your lifetime. Trivial literature, and especially
cheap novelettes, should be avoided, for they give you a false notion
of life and deal with silly and impossible predicaments.

There are doubtless many people who think that nervousness can be cured
by diet, exercise and drugs. To such as hold this view we readily
admit that when nervousness is caused by bodily ill-health, or by lack
of precautions to the laws of well-being, such is the case. But the
true nervousness, seen so commonly in perfectly healthy persons, who
rigorously follow all the laws laid down by physicians and general
experience, is totally uninfluenced by physical treatment of any kind.

Blushing, which is one of the forms of nervousness most frequently due
to physical causes, is often to be cured by careful diet and other
therapeutical measures. There is one drug which is often of use in
this condition. Ichthiol taken in 2½-grain doses will often help to
cure blushing due to physical causes. No drug whatever is of use in
“nervousness.”

We have now finished our account of nervousness. If it has been
somewhat lengthy, it is nevertheless extremely brief when the gravity
and complexity of the subject is considered. We have not described all
forms of nervousness, nor do we expect to cure all persons suffering
from those varieties that we have described. But we hope and trust that
those who suffer from these most distressing ailments will derive some
benefit from our task.




“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 XVII.

IN THE YEAR 1807.

More than eighteen months had slid away since the day when Denham Ivor
had been summarily despatched with other détenus to Valenciennes. Once
or twice a letter from him had reached the Barons, but it was now
long since the arrival of the last. Whether Denham remained yet at
Valenciennes was a matter of supposition, not of certainty. For aught
that his friends knew to the contrary, he might have been passed on to
the grim fortress, Bitche, to Sédan, or elsewhere.

Roy continued to live at Verdun with his parents, for the long-desired
passport to England had never been granted. Though not compelled to
give his parole, or to sign his name twice daily at the _maison de
ville_, as were all détenus who did not care to pay a monthly tax for
freedom from this bugbear, he was practically as much one of Napoleon’s
prisoners as any man in the place.

One day in the spring of 1807 he stood upon the ramparts, gazing
eagerly towards the nearest town gate. Roy at sixteen was much the same
that Roy at twelve or fourteen had been, only decidedly taller and
broader. He looked almost as boyish as ever, with the same curly fair
hair and honest grey eyes. Not so good-looking, perhaps, as in more
childish days, but attractive enough.

To some extent habit does and must mean use. Four years out of a
boy’s life are a goodly slice of time, and Roy had now been four
years a captive, banished from England, and separated from his
twin-sister. He might and often did chafe and fume, and it had been a
sore disappointment not to find himself on his sixteenth birthday an
officer in the English Army. Still, he had good health and unquenchable
spirits, and however impatient he might be by fits and starts, no one
could have described him as unhappy. He had the gift of making the best
of things; and a certain breezy spirit of philosophy stood him in good
stead. Hard as it had been to find himself cut off from Molly for an
indefinite period, harder still to lose Denham, he managed on the whole
to enjoy life, finding entertainment in everything and everybody.

“I say. Hallo! There’s something going on,” he exclaimed.

Roy gazed with widely-opened eyes, trying to make out the cause of that
gathering throng.

Colonel Baron had gone into a neighbouring street on business, telling
Roy that he would meet him presently on the ramparts. Roy supposed
that he would be expected to remain where he was till his father should
return. But as he watched, the pull became too strong. Something
certainly was happening. What if Colonel Baron had forgotten all about
him, and had gone in that direction to discover what was being done?

Roy could endure himself no longer. He descended to the ground, set off
full tilt, and speedily reached the outskirts of the crowd, running
plump against the Rev. Charles Kinsland, who received the onslaught
with a “Hallo, Roy!”

“I beg your pardon, sir. What’s up?”

“A party of détenus back from Valenciennes, I believe,” the young
clergyman answered. “There was a report this morning that we might
expect them; and it seems to be true. Any friends of yours, I wonder?
There they come through the gate.”

Both pressed on, but Roy made the quicker advance, edging himself among
the crowd with great dexterity. The thought of Ivor had come up like
a flash of lightning. Not that he expected to see Denham himself--the
chance was too remote, the delight would be too supreme--but that some
news of him might now be obtained. Somebody who had arrived would
certainly have seen him, have talked with him. Roy might keep up his
spirits and enjoy life, despite partings and deprivations; but no one
who could have known how the boy’s heart leaped at the very idea of a
word about Ivor, would ever have accused him of lack of feeling.

He forced his way to a good position near the gate, and scanned face
after face of the returned wanderers. Many were familiar; but it was
one, not many, that Roy wanted; and though he had assured himself that
he did not expect, yet keen disappointment laid hold upon him when Ivor
failed to appear.

Greetings between friends parted for eighteen months passed warmly,
and the buzz of voices was considerable. Suddenly his glance fell upon
a man standing somewhat apart, leaning against a wall. A little child
lay asleep in his arms, and Roy’s first impression was of somebody who
was awfully tired with the march. He actually gazed full at the face
without recognition, so much was it altered; the features sharpened
into a delicate carving in very pale bronze, like a profile on some
rare old coin, and the dark eyes set in hollows. “Poor fellow; he does
look done!” thought Roy, and he went nearer.

“I say--hadn’t you better give me that little thing to hold?”

“Why--Roy!”

The voice too had a worn-out intonation, but the smile was not to be
mistaken.

“Den--you don’t mean to say----”

Their hands met in a prolonged grip.

“You’ve come back! I _am_ glad!”

“Yes. How are you all?”

“Den--I say--what’s wrong with you?”

A man came limping up, in appearance a respectable artisan. He took the
child from Ivor’s arms.

“No words can thank you, sir, for your goodness to us,” he said, not
noticing Roy. “God will reward you. _I_ never can.”

“I shall be at Colonel Baron’s. Come and see me some day--tell me how
you’re getting on.”

“I will, sir. Thank you kindly.”

Ivor remained in the same position, and a hand touched Roy. He turned,
to find himself facing the young artist, Hugh Curtis.

“You back too! That’s good. And your wife?”

“Wife and baby coming. Didn’t you know I had a little one? Well, I
have. Jolly little thing too. They’re in a cart with others--thanks
to Captain Ivor”--in a lower tone. “Never mind about us; get him
home”--with a glance towards Denham. “I’ve got to find rooms for
ourselves, after I’ve been to the citadel. Must report myself there
first, I’m told. And then I shall have to meet my wife.”

Roy moved two or three paces away with him.

“I say, tell me--what’s been the matter with him? He looks as if----”

“Not well for some time, and sharp attack of illness a few weeks ago.
He has walked the whole way here from Valenciennes. Got a horse for
himself, and at the last gave it up to young Carey--a poor consumptive
young fellow. Said Carey needed it most. Just like him, you know. And
then carrying that child for hours yesterday and to-day!”

“What for?”

“Child’s father hurt his foot, and could barely get along. And the
little thing cried with everybody except Ivor. You know his way with
children. But he’s about used up now. Get him home, and make him rest.”

Curtis went on, and Roy touched Denham’s arm.

“I’ll get a fiacre to drive you up the hill. Stay where you are till I
come back. There’s one near.”

He rushed away, and happily was successful in his search.

Ivor had taken his seat, when Major Woodgate walked briskly up.

“Roy--got Ivor? That’s right,” he said in his quick fashion. “Don’t
bring him to the citadel. I’ll go and answer for him, and fee the
gendarmes, if needful. Just met Curtis, and heard what’s been going on.
Done the hundred and fifty miles on foot, I’m told, and ill to begin
with. A piece of Quixotism! I shall come and give you a bit of my
mind, Ivor, another day. You don’t look up to understanding it now.”

Denham laughed slightly, but made no effort to defend himself, and they
drove off, Roy watching his restored friend with a rapt gaze.

“Den, what was it for? Why didn’t you ride?”

“I did intend. Somebody else was in more need.”

“Couldn’t you have had a second horse?”

“No. The order took everyone by surprise. Most of us were short of
cash.”

Roy thought of what Curtis had said. “And I suppose you gave what you
had to everybody else, and kept none for yourself.”

“I shared with others--of course--”

“But you ought to have kept enough for riding. You’d no business--Den,
you’re awfully used-up.”

“When did you hear from me last?”

“Oh, ages and ages ago. I began to think--Are you glad to come back?”

“To my friend, Roy? Yes,” with an affectionate glance.

“Isn’t it a beastly shame that I can’t be in the Army yet?”

“Ah, that sounds like the Roy of old!”

“But it is. A beastly shame. What made you carry that little girl?”

“Her father fell lame, and she didn’t take to other people, I could
not stand the wailing. He’s a good honest fellow--badly off through no
fault of his own.”

“Shame!” muttered Roy again. “What is the reason for your all being
sent back now, I wonder?”

“I don’t know.”

Ivor seemed incapable of starting remarks himself; and Roy, realising
his condition, sank into silence, unable still to take his eyes from
that worn face. They reached the house, and he sprang down. “Shall I go
and tell them?”

“No--no need. I’ll come. Can you pay the driver? I’m cleared out
completely.”

In the salon upstairs were Colonel and Mrs. Baron, and with them was
Lucille, as was often now her custom. She had gradually become almost
a member of the Baron family, and one and all they were extremely fond
of her. When Roy flung the door open, and marched triumphantly in,
his arm through Ivor’s, one startled “Ah-h!” broke from her, before
the other two had grasped what was happening; and then her face,
usually almost without colour, became crimson. Her eyes shone, the lips
remaining apart.

“Denham!” the Colonel and his wife exclaimed.

Colonel Baron’s grasp of Ivor’s hand and his fixed gaze were like those
of Roy. Mrs. Baron’s delight was even more plainly expressed. She had
long been as an elder sister to Denham, and when he bent to kiss her
hand, with the grave deference which he always showed towards her, she
did what she had never done before--gave him a sisterly kiss on the
cheek.

“This is joy! O this is joy,” she said. “Nothing else could be so great
a happiness--except going home. Welcome, welcome!” Then she held his
hand, with eyes full of tears searching his face. “But, my dear Denham,
you have been ill--surely you have been ill. How thin!--how altered!
What have you been doing to yourself?”

“He has walked the whole way here from Valenciennes,” cried Roy, before
Denham could speak. “He was to have ridden, and he gave up the horse to
somebody else.”

“Was that necessary?” the Colonel asked.

“I thought it so, sir.”

“Papa, he had no money left. That was why. He gave it all away. He
couldn’t even pay the driver, coming up here.”

“But you could have borrowed from somebody--you would know that I
should repay!”

“If I could have been sure, sir, that you would still be here--but
there was no certainty. And so many now are in difficulties, that it
is no easy matter to borrow--except by going to those whom I will have
nothing to do with.”

“How did you manage about food? My dear, make him sit down. How did you
manage?”

The question was disregarded. “Any letters?” Ivor asked.

“One from Mrs. Fairbank a few weeks since. That is all. Good accounts
of Polly and Molly. Have you not heard from them?”

“Not since leaving Verdun.”

“They may not have heard of your going to Valenciennes. Did you see a
statement in the _Moniteur_ not long since, as to correspondence with
England? To the effect that more than a hundred thousand letters had
been taken possession of by the French Government, and bills to the
value of millions of pounds sterling.”

“No wonder we détenus are not flush of cash! No, I did not see it. That
may have been when I was ill.”

“You have been ill, then?”

“Yes. Nothing to signify. How did Mrs. Fairbank’s letter reach you?
Post?”

“Through M. de Marchand--under cover to him. We have advised her
repeatedly to try again that mode, since it seems the most hopeful. But
doubtless our letters don’t reach them.”

Lucille, after exchanging a warm English handshake with Denham, had
held back, waiting her opportunity to slip away. She glided now towards
the door, unseen by Ivor, who was gazing thoughtfully on the ground.
Roy ran to open it, and she said softly as she went out, “Do not be
merciless to your friend. Give him some small repose. He is what you
call--dead-beat.”

Roy nodded. “You always did seem to see exactly how Den was, didn’t
you?”

Lucille made her escape promptly, with heightening colour, and Ivor
asked, “Where is the letter?”

“Roy has it, put away,” Mrs. Baron said. “It is partly to Roy and
partly to my husband. But you need food and sleep before anything else.”

“Nay, if you knew how we have travelled and slept at night, you
would allow the more pressing need to be for a bath and a change of
clothing,” Ivor said, rather drily. “Well, since you can assure me that
’tis all good news, I will wait half-an-hour.”

“And then I’ll read it to you, if you like,” observed Roy. “It isn’t
very interesting, Den. More than half is from my grandmother to my
father; and you know how she writes always of the things which nobody
wishes to near. And the rest is from Molly to me. But as for Polly, my
grandmother does not say much--does she?” with a look at his mother.
“Save that Polly is well.”

“Which point settled, I will beg, if I may, for a supply of water,”
Ivor replied.

(_To be continued._)




HOUSEHOLD HINTS.


MANY people think night air injurious and carefully close their windows
even in hot weather, whereas, in towns, the night air is the purest
and best, free from smoke and other impurities. And the sleep is more
restful where there is some fresh air coming into the room of the
sleeper.


A LITTLE powdered borax on a damp flannel cleans dirt off white marble
and china basins.


WHEN the edges of palm leaves in pots get torn and unsightly, they can
be cut and trimmed with a pair of scissors.


WHEN tortoiseshell combs get to look dull, polish them with a little
olive oil with the hand. If very bad, soak them in oil for a few hours.


IN case of fire in a house, if the staircase be alight and retreat that
way be impossible, the inhabitants should shut all the doors behind
them and wait in a front room till help comes. A window that is over a
doorway is preferable as there is then foothold for the firemen. If it
is possible to escape otherwise, crawl on hands and knees on the floor
rather than walk upright, for smoke rises and the nearer the floor
the clearer the air. In any case doors and windows should be shut to
prevent a draught.


IF you do not want the smell of dinner all over the house, see that
the slide over the kitchen range is open for the smell to go up the
chimney. You will also save your coal bill largely if you keep this
slide open except only when it is wanted closed for a short time to
make a fire fiercer.


THE seeds of the first blossoms on a plant or flowering shrub grow into
the best plants.




BREAD AND CAKES.


HOUSEHOLD BREAD.

_Ingredients._--Three pounds and a half of flour (household), about one
pint and a quarter of warm water, one dessertspoonful and a half of
salt, one ounce of dry yeast, one ounce of moist sugar.

_Method._--Put the flour and salt in an earthenware pan, and mix well
together; put the pan to warm; work the yeast to a cream with the
sugar, and add to it a gill and a half of the warm water. Make a well
in the flour and mix in the yeast and water, so that there is a soft
batter in the middle of the flour; sprinkle flour over this, lay a
cloth over the pan and put it in a warm place for fifteen minutes to
set the sponge; then stir in the rest of the water; flour the board and
knead the dough for about twenty minutes until very elastic; replace
it in the pan with a deep cross scored on the top to help it to rise,
cover up and put in a warm place to rise one hour and a half. Make into
loaves and bake; the oven should be very hot at first and moderate
for the rest of the time. A quartern loaf will take nearly two hours
to cook. If the water used is hot instead of warm, the yeast will be
killed and will not act.

[Illustration]


GINGERBREAD.

_Ingredients._--One pound of flour, six ounces of golden syrup, four
ounces of brown sugar, four ounces of dripping, one ounce of ground
ginger, two teaspoonfuls of carbonate of soda, one teaspoonful of mixed
spice, two-thirds of a gill of milk.

_Method._--Put the flour, sugar, ginger and spice in a basin and mix
well together; put the treacle, milk, soda and dripping in a saucepan
and melt over the fire; pour the contents of the saucepan into the
contents of the basin, mix well, beat for five minutes, pour in a
greased tin and bake in a moderate oven.

[Illustration]


SCONES.

_Ingredients._--One pound of flour, two ounces of dripping, three
ounces of sugar, half an ounce of cream of tartar, one teaspoonful of
carbonate of soda, milk to mix, a few sultanas (floured and picked).

_Method._--Mix the tartar and the soda well with the flour in a basin,
rub in the dripping, add the sugar and sultanas, mix with milk rather
more soft than for pastry, roll into two thick rounds, cut each into
six equal pieces, lay on a floured tin, brush over the top with milk
and bake in a good oven twenty minutes. Plain scones can be made by
leaving out the sultanas and the sugar. These scones are best made with
milk that is slightly sour.

[Illustration]


PLUM CAKE.

_Ingredients._--One pound of flour, six ounces of dripping, six
ounces of brown sugar, six ounces of sultanas (floured and picked),
four ounces of currants (washed and dried), one teaspoonful of baking
powder, two eggs, one gill and a half of milk.

_Method._--Put the dripping in a basin and work it to a cream with a
wooden spoon; mix the flour with the baking powder and stir it into the
dripping; stir in the currants, sultanas and sugar, and last of all the
eggs beaten up with the milk. Put in a well-greased cake tin, and stand
the tin on a thickly-sanded baking sheet. Bake in a hot oven for an
hour and then in a cooler oven for another half an hour.

[Illustration]


SEED CAKE.

_Method._--Make like plum cake, using an ounce of caraway seeds for the
sultanas and currants, and a little less milk.

[Illustration]


UNFERMENTED BREAD.

_Ingredients._--One pound of flour, one tablespoonful of baking powder,
milk and water to mix, one teaspoonful of salt.

_Method._--Mix together to a soft dough; make into six rolls, brush
with milk and bake in a sharp oven fifteen minutes.

[Illustration]


POTATO CAKE.

_Ingredients._--Three-quarters of a pound of mashed potatoes, half a
pound of flour, two ounces of butter, one teaspoonful of salt, one
small teaspoonful of baking-powder, one egg, half a gill of lukewarm
milk.

_Method._--Melt the butter, and mix it with the mashed potatoes, mix in
the flour and baking powder, add egg well beaten and the lukewarm milk.
Flour the board, roll into a thick round, lay on a floured and greased
tin, and bake in a good oven about three-quarters of an hour.

[Illustration]


ROCK CAKES.

_Ingredients._--Half a pound of flour, two ounces of currants (washed
and dried), two ounces of sultanas, two ounces of dripping, two ounces
of brown sugar, one ounce of candied peel, one teaspoonful of ground
ginger, one teaspoonful of baking powder, one egg, a little milk.

_Method._--Mix the flour and baking powder in a basin, rub in the
dripping, add the currants and the sultanas, sugar, peel and ginger,
mix very stiffly with egg and milk; pile in little rough heaps on a
greased tin with two forks and bake in a good oven ten minutes.

[Illustration]


CITRON BUNS.

_Ingredients._--Half a pound of flour, two ounces of margarine, two
ounces of brown sugar, one teaspoonful of baking powder, one egg, a
little milk, three ounces of citron.

_Method._--Mix the flour with the baking powder, rub in the margarine
with the tips of the fingers, add the sugar; cut eight good-sized
pieces of the citron peel and chop the rest small; mix the chopped
citron with the other ingredients, and then add the egg beaten with a
little milk. Mix rather wet; divide into eight, lay on a greased tin,
lay a piece of citron on each cake and bake for fifteen minutes in a
good oven.

[Illustration]


SHORTBREAD.

_Ingredients._--One pound of flour, three-quarters of a pound of
butter, half a pound of castor sugar.

_Method._--Rub six ounces of the butter into the flour and sugar, melt
the rest and mix it in; work a little with the hands to form a dough;
roll into two thick rounds and pinch them round the edge with the
fingers to ornament them. Prick over the top with a fork or a biscuit
pricker; put two or three large pieces of candied peel on each and bake
about half an hour in a moderate oven.

[Illustration]


RICE CAKES.

_Ingredients._--Three ounces of ground rice, two ounces of flour, three
ounces of butter, three ounces of castor sugar, two eggs, vanilla.

_Method._--Beat the butter to a cream with a wooden spoon, add the
sugar and cream to that; stir in the ground rice with the flour by
degrees; add the eggs well beaten and the flavouring; fill greased
patty pans and bake in a moderate oven fifteen minutes.

[Illustration]


ALMOND CAKES.

_Ingredients._--Eight ounces of flour, four ounces of butter, five
ounces of castor sugar, four eggs, three ounces of almonds, half a
pound of icing sugar, a little almond flavouring, a little water.

_Method._--Beat the butter to a cream with a wooden spoon, stir in the
sugar, beat in the eggs one by one, putting a little flour with each to
prevent its curdling, stir in the rest of the flour after the eggs are
beaten in, lastly the almonds blanched and chopped. Brush some little
cake moulds with clarified butter and dust them with mixed castor sugar
and flour; fill these three-parts full with the cake mixture and bake
in a good oven a pale brown, turn out on to a sieve, and when cold ice
as follows.

_Icing._--Sift half a pound of icing sugar and mix it very smoothly
with a little cold water and enough almond essence to flavour it until
it is just thick enough to coat the cakes, pour over and let it set.
Put a crystallised cherry on each, and arrange strips of blanched
almonds to ornament.

[Illustration]


CHOCOLATE CAKE.

_Ingredients._--Half a pound of flour, quarter of a pound of grated
chocolate, three ounces of butter, six ounces of castor sugar, four
eggs, one small teaspoonful of baking powder, vanilla flavouring, a
little browning.

_For the Icing._--Half a pound of icing sugar, three ounces of
chocolate, a little water and browning.

_Method._--Beat the butter to a cream, add the castor sugar and the
grated chocolate; beat the eggs in one at a time, putting a little
flour with each; add the flour, the vanilla flavouring and a little
browning. Have ready a cake tin brushed out with clarified butter and
lined with buttered paper; put in the mixture, which should three parts
fill it, and bake in a good oven about one hour and a half.

_For the Icing._--Melt three ounces of chocolate; mix the icing sugar
with about four tablespoonfuls of warm water and stir in the melted
chocolate; work well with a wooden spoon and pour over the cake when it
is cold.

[Illustration]


ROSCOMMON LOAF.

_Ingredients._--One pound of wholemeal flour, quarter of a pound of
household flour, one ounce and a half of butter or dripping, half a
teaspoonful of carbonate of soda, one teaspoonful of salt, sour milk to
mix.

_Method._--Mix the flour, salt and soda well in a basin, rub in the
dripping, mix to a rather soft dough with the sour milk; make into a
flat loaf, score across with a knife, and bake in a good oven one hour
and a half.

[Illustration: “FIVE O’CLOCK TEA.”

(_Picture by A. E. Artigue._)]




WANTED: A LITTLE MORE IMAGINATION.

BY JAMES AND NANETTE MASON.


Do you think we are going to advocate that all of us should retire
to dreamland to pass a drowsy existence there with the creations of
our fancy? Who thinks that is mistaken. It is not possible to put
everything in the title, otherwise we might have made this one run,
“Wanted: a little more imagination for those who, at the right times,
have not enough, and a little less for those who, on all possible
occasions, have too much.” But it is the “too little” which is of most
importance for the purposes of ordinary life, and that is why the title
stands above as it does. Our first business is to be practical and to
speak of imagination as an aid in the work and conduct and duty of
every day.

Of all powers possessed by our minds this is perhaps the most
wonderful--the power of making pictures inside our heads, seeing there
what eyes know nothing of and what outside ourselves has really no
existence. It gives an importance--a glory even--to the most obscure
and solitary lives. Possessed of a vivid and healthy imagination, a
girl may live very much alone and yet be full of company, entertaining
a ghostly good society that in some respects is even an improvement on
that frequented by her less isolated friends.

Everything is the better for being shone on by its magic light--even
love. Imagination, someone says, is to love what gas is to the
balloon--that which raises it from the earth! It is, as we all know,
the test of genius; but it is found, too, in ordinary people as a
useful servant. Indeed, take imagination altogether out of our inner
life and we would be very poor creatures.

However, as we have said, we have sometimes not enough. This happens,
for example, when we fail to look at things in a spirit of kindliness,
and give utterance to criticism on other folk, hard, harsh, and
unreasonable.

Matter-of-fact minds usually fail to realise that all are not alike
and that allowance--and a wide allowance too--should be made for
differences both in thought and action. For this reason we find them
often wanting in sympathy and sometimes even cruel.

This the imaginative seldom are. “Put yourself in her place” is their
golden rule--the best rule that was ever devised for enabling us to go
through the world adding daily to the happiness of it.

Only have a little more imagination and you will be tolerant and kindly
and ready to make excuses not only for those you love, which is easy,
but for those you dislike, which, as everyone knows, is a much harder
matter. The “little more” will make Kate shut her mouth again the next
time it flies open to let out a rude, abrupt, or unreasonable word. It
will make Eliza pay that little account she has been owing for the last
six months without a thought in all that time of the dressmaker needing
the money. It will make Maggie give up grumbling that Beatrice writes
to her so seldom, as if Beatrice has the leisure,--she the eldest of a
great bunch of sisters and her mother an invalid. It will make Eva cut
her visit short next time she calls on Alice, so leaving hard-worked
Alice to get through her school tasks for the morrow without sitting up
to all hours of the night. In fact, what will it not do in the way of
giving smoothness to the wheels of life?

Imagination is a first-rate faculty by which to obtain a look at
ourselves, and when we get a little more of it, it is like turning up
the gas to get a clearer view. We see ourselves then as others see us,
and a pretty exhibition it sometimes is. If a girl is vain, frivolous,
whimsical, selfish, vulgar, mean, she in this way gets to know it.
There is thus always hope for the imaginative--they can realise what
they are, and, without self-knowledge, what chance of reformation is
there for anybody?

Our friend Josephine, for example, came to us the other day, keen
on being an authoress; but Josephine, it is clear, has next to no
imagination. With only a few grains of it, she would have seen that
becoming an authoress is for her impossible, because what she wants is
publishers’ and editors’ cheques and what she does not want is trouble.

A well-trained imagination--not one inclined to run riot; no, certainly
not that sort of a one--is of great assistance in enabling us rightly
to sum up people and things. Our critical faculties are worth little
and only lead us into mischief and mistakes without it. Possessed of
only a “little more,” not a few of us would often be saved from being
misled by appearances and enabled to steer clear of the troubles that
come from drawing wrong inferences. The world is a difficult enough
world to live in, for things are but seldom what they seem, and some
art, like this one we are talking about, is needed by which we can
illuminate life and get at the real essence of all that interests us.

Another use of imagination is in the reading of books, and on this
subject no one has written better than the late Professor Blackie,
who held very decided opinions about the importance of having the
imaginative faculty properly trained.

“As there are many persons,” he says, “who seem to walk through life
with their eyes open seeing nothing, so there are others who read
through books, and perhaps even cram themselves with facts, without
carrying away any living pictures of significant story which might
arouse the fancy in an hour of leisure or gird them with endurance in a
moment of difficulty.

“Ask yourself, therefore, always when you read a chapter of any notable
book, not what you saw printed on a grey page, but what you see
pictured in the glowing gallery of your imagination. Have your fancy
always vivid and full of body and colour. Count yourself not to know a
fact when you know that it took place, but then only when you see it as
it did take place.”

These words form as valuable a note on the art of reading as we are
likely to meet with for many a day.

To train the imagination adequately, the Professor points out, it
is not enough that pictures be made to float pleasantly before the
fancy--that is merely the amusement of the lazy. We should call upon
our imagination to take a firm grasp of the shadows as they arise,
and not be content till we see them with our minds almost as clear,
distinct, and life-like as we might have done with our eyes.

For the culture of the imagination, works of fiction are no doubt of
great service, but the most useful exercise of this faculty is when it
buckles itself to realities.

“There is no need,” says the Professor, “of going to romances for
pictures of human character and fortune calculated to please the fancy
and to elevate the imagination. The life of Alexander the Great, of
Martin Luther, of Gustavus Adolphus, or any of those notable characters
on the great stage of the world who incarnate the history which they
create, is for this purpose of more educational value than the best
novel that ever was written or even the best poetry. Not all minds
delight in poetry; but all minds are impressed and elevated by an
imposing and a striking fact. To exercise the imagination on the
lives of great and good men brings with it a double gain; for by this
exercise we learn at a single stroke, and in the most effective way,
both what was done, and what ought to be done.”

What is true of the value of imagination to the student of books is
equally true of its importance to all who devote attention to music
and art. Without imagination, the pursuit of either is little better
than a waste of time, and the more of it we bring to their culture,
the more successful we shall be. Let girls, then, and their parents
and teachers, look to it and do what they can to encourage this most
spiritual of all our faculties, the very life of artistic effort, and a
magician to whom everything is possible.

A great and good use of imagination is to reproduce to us our past
lives. It is something more than memory. Memory says I was at such
a place on a certain day, but imagination brings up the place--the
Highland loch, it may be, in the glory of an autumn morning, the purple
heather on the hills, the steamer at the pier, the hotel overlooking
the steamer, the young man in the coffee-room smiling to the landlord’s
daughter, the taste of the fresh salmon, the very smell of the burned
oat-cake.

“All that is past,” says Bacon, “is as a dream,” and by imagination we
can dream it all over again. And the recollection is sometimes better
than the reality, just as in moonlight our village looks more lovely
than in sunshine. Sentiment whispers then in our ear, and a halo is
thrown over the unsightly and disagreeable.

An additional charm too is that many a problem which may have puzzled
us when things actually happened, is solved before we begin to look
back. The relationship of people, lovers and lasses, friends and foes,
sharpers and simpletons, has been made plain; the foolish have got
their deserts and the wise have got theirs; the envious have grown
lean and the good-natured and kindly have become fat; the wasters have
fallen to poverty and the industrious have risen to fortune.

Such changes as these give value and interest to our recollections when
we wake the ghosts of the past and make them parade before us. We are
able in a way which was impossible before to be actors, spectators, and
enlightened critics--all three rolled in one.

Girls who have now but little short lives, with comparatively few
incidents to recall, can hardly realise what a gratification this
wandering over the enchanted ground of imagination imparts to mature
years. If they did they would often be saying to themselves, How will
this look in recollection? And such a thought would keep them from
many a frivolity and many an error. But, short lives or long lives,
let us go over our past often if for no other reason than that we may
understand ourselves, not to speak of our gaining such knowledge as
will enable us to steer a safe course through the perils of the future.

Speaking of the future reminds us that that is a great territory of the
imaginative. By imagination girls are witches to foretell what is to
happen the day after to-morrow.

Now we spend our time ill if we build castles in the air and trust to
them as if they were substantial edifices. But, for all that, to let
the imagination dwell on what is yet to come has its uses and may be a
valuable help to conduct.

Castles in the air and dreams, too hopelessly extravagant ever to be
realised have brightened many dull and monotonous lives, and for that
reason alone, within bounds, are to be encouraged. Besides this there
is an important gain resulting from our projecting the imagination into
the future--we are thereby prepared for many events which now find us
quite unprepared.

The grasshoppers were wanting in imagination who danced and sang all
summer-time. They should have pictured to themselves the snow on the
ground, the pools frozen over, and the wind whistling through the bare
branches.

A well-to-do man once said to us, “I have all my life had a vision of
a workhouse door open to receive me if I did not plod on, rising early
and working hard. It is that which has made me saving and prosperous.”

A similar vision might work a change on some people we know. Bring your
own self forward, Louisa, in the glittering hall of that imagination of
yours, picturing yourself as old and disinclined for work, and see if
ever after you will not be industrious, wise, and prudent.

    “For age and want save while you may,
    No morning sun lasts a whole day.”

A little more imagination may often be recommended to the good
looking, not forgetting all who think themselves so. Perhaps we
should rather say a little more of the right sort, for they indulge
in flights of fancy enough when it is a matter of picturing those
brought into captivity by their charms. They should leave considering
their conquests and captives and make an effort to realise what they
themselves will be, say, at fifty or sixty, if they live so long. The
beauty and attractiveness of youth will then be over, and unless they
have something else to recommend them, their place will be on one of
the back seats of human life.

This should set them furnishing the inside of their heads as richly
as Nature has done the outside. Beauty vanishes, but mental culture
endures and is found attractive, and even charming, to the very end of
the chapter. There are few sadder sights than that of a beauty in ruins
with an untrained intellect and none more refreshing than that of a
bright old wrinkled face, with a mind behind it stored with information
and animated by shrewdness and good nature.

There is danger in all things, for all--yes, even the best--may be
misused. Imagination is a friendly help to elevate, direct, and
brighten our lives as we have seen, but that does not happen with
the foolish. Instead of occupying this wondrous faculty with what is
profitable and beautiful, they devote it to what is degrading and mean,
and thus become a great deal worse with imagination than they would be
without it.

And, even where its subjects are not positively objectionable,
imagination sometimes wastes its energy on whimsicalities and runs riot
in the broad fields of extravagance and nonsense. Of such a nature was
the fertile fancy of an old friend of ours who, to the end of her days,
showed great reverence for dogs and cats because she believed them
animated by the souls of her ancestors.

A very silly use of imagination is to picture to ourselves suspicions,
dangers and misfortunes. Some of us have a great deal of ability in
this line, and endure torments daily over evils that never arrive.

“Never trouble trouble till trouble troubles you” is a safe rule, and
only a stupid girl will set her imagination working so as to make
herself miserable. Caroline, we fear, is of the stupid class--no
doubt, Caroline, it is on this occasion only--or she would at once get
rid of the dreadful thought she imparted to us last Tuesday that the
letters sent to her by her sweetheart were detained at the post office
and read. As if the postmistress, even in her country place, had not
something better to do!

Another danger of the imagination is that we are apt to take refuge in
it against the duties of real life. In real life there is friction,
and there is nothing of that in dreamland. We can make that pleasant
country to suit ourselves, without irritation, without contradiction,
without mishaps, everything coming just right. Our business, however,
in the world is not to dream but to act, for which reason this great
gift of imagination must be kept in its proper place. It is a good
servant, but, by foolish indulgence, may become a very bad master.

But, after making all allowances for dangers--those we have named and
others that might be stated--the fact remains that to the greater
number of us a little more imagination would not come amiss. It would
make our lives richer, and happier, more useful, more kindly, more
sensible. It is only a “little more” that is wanted. That any of us
are entirely destitute of it is improbable. To be “dry sticks” is not
common for girls.

[Illustration]




AN EMBROIDERED BABY’S CARRIAGE COVERLID OF HOUSE FLANNEL.


I was recently asked by a lady friend to design her a simple piece of
embroidery for her child’s pram. The chief thing was, that the design
was not to be elaborate, as there was very little time to work it.

The illustration here given is the design I made, but it has a very
different appearance in black and white to what it had when worked in
two tones of blue worsted on house flannel. Still, those readers who do
embroidery will know what allowances to make.

I sketched the design right away in charcoal, and anyone at all
accustomed to using a pencil will have no difficulty in doing this.
Divide your material in half, and then draw a line in the middle
horizontally, and others above and below this. These lines will guide
you in getting both sides fairly alike, for, so long as the principal
lines are symmetrical, it is enough. I found you can easily sketch in
vine charcoal (that is the fine kind) on flannel and it easily dusts
off afterwards.

The whole of the forms were produced in outline, and to show the
sort of stitch, I have given a leaf full size. The ground is soon
covered in this way, and it hasn’t a cheap look either. The fault
many embroiderers make in carrying out a design is that they miss the
“swing” of the lines, get broken-backed curves and clumsy-looking
details. To obviate this you ought to keep looking at your work as a
whole. Dwelling too long on any part of the design is likely to upset
the balance of the whole.

[Illustration]

It is obvious that in the design given the stems are the first features
to be worked, as the leaves and flowers merely grow from them and are
of secondary importance. It will add to the grace of the design to
get the lower part of the stems gradually thicker, say two strands
wide towards the base, just as in nature we find a plant gradually
thickening as it nears the root.

It will be noticed that a separate border is designed for the piece at
the top which turns over. The coverlid should have a worked edging, and
to get this even a few niches should be spaced out and drawn on a piece
of tracing paper and then pricked over with a coarse needle.

All you have to do is to rub a little crushed charcoal, tied up in a
piece of coarse linen or muslin, on the reverse side, when the powdered
charcoal will pass through the holes leaving an impression which can be
worked over at once.

Where a border is distinctly geometrical, it should be done evenly, and
the eye is not quite correct enough if left to itself, and much of the
workmanlike look of the whole would be marred if this edging were badly
done. The right initial or name can be added or left out if desired. In
the latter case put in a flower and a leaf or two.

Those readers who have never worked on house flannel will find it a
pleasant material, and for portières and short curtains very excellent
both in effect and for wear.




A DREAM OF FAIR SERVICE.

BY C. A. MACIRONE.


CHAPTER I.

DOMESTIC SERVICE.

Sitting in a cool green shade of trees and flowers, in the still heat
of a summer afternoon, I read in your most interesting paper, dear Mr.
Editor, a record of noble women who, from the slippery places of wealth
and ease, had sprung a mine of happiness in lightening the burdens, and
in sympathies for the sorrows, of many who had no helper.

I read and enthusiastically admired, and while admiring tried to
appreciate the difficulty which women so placed would find in realising
sufferings of which they could know so little by experience--of some
troubles they could absolutely know nothing--the want of bread, the
deadly fatigue of overwork, the misery of children crying for food, the
bitterness of bare poverty, of homes which do not shelter, of empty
fireplaces in cold, and shadowless rooms in the heat--and in such heat
as we have been taught lately can be suffered even in this dear England
of ours.

In the intense heat of the day--while the roses drooped and seemed to
sigh for rain, and the birds were silent, and by the shaded pool, at
the dark water’s edge, the cows were enjoying some freshness, and the
white flocks of waterfowl cowered and waited for the evening breeze--in
the stillness my thoughts floated away to curious visions, partly
suggested by a lovely series of pictures in the _Arabian Nights_ of
magical help and daring exploits, and one, the last (not in any English
edition), of a range of mountain caverns, with glittering temptations,
through which the prince has to fight his way till he comes to the
last vast hall shrouded in darkness and ended by dim heavy curtains,
which opened, disclosing the radiant islands in the seven seas, where
his love reigns, and the water-nymphs receive him as he leaps into the
waves and, singing, bear him to his queen, to rescue and love her.

Visions are curious and arbitrary things, and while dreaming of this
often haunting story, I thought that, instead of the gigantic fiend
who in the story waves his scimitar over the lover, I saw two radiant
angels parting those magic curtains as I in my dream gazed, and they
said to me--

“You have loved and revered the courage and self-devotion of the noble
servants of the Most High, who have abandoned the luxuries and repose
of wealth to save their fellow mortals--the poor, the helpless, and the
suffering. Would you know what more can be done?

“There are records in the kingdom of our Master of fellow-servants of
ours--women, with no power but their faith, no means but those like the
feast for five thousand provided by their Lord by the Galilean lake
from a few loaves and small fishes, no strength but the divine energy
of love--these servants of God, poor, weak, alone, have done work which
has caused joy in Heaven and saved those who, but for them and others
like them, would have been lost. Will you dream on, and we will show
you visions of some of these?”

In breathless expectation I waited, and gradually the vision resolved
itself before me into a wild mountainous country. A castle up the hills
was besieged by a horde of savage and furious soldiery. Defence was
hopeless, but the few loyal retainers held their own till the three
little orphan children of the lord were hurried out of the back postern
by their nurse and one (the only) trooper who could be spared to drive
the mule on which the two little leddies were seated and to carry the
young lord.

Heaven helped them and they safely reached the hut where, concealed
and protected by Elspeth the nurse, they escaped the search of their
enemies. By day and night this devoted servant worked for them, tended
them. To feed them she starved, to clothe them she managed to get by
night and hidden mountain paths to the few nobles still left on whom
she could rely with the words “My young leddies need this,” “My little
lord needs that.”

Years go by, and the brave old Scotchwoman has fulfilled her trust. The
young lord has regained his inheritance, and now they all plead that
she to whom they owe everything should accompany them to the noble home
she has so helped them to regain. But I see her, in advancing years,
still spinning on in the Highland home. At all times of need, whether
of joy or woe, they call for Elspeth, and she is with them again; but
she died as she lived, in the poor home of her fathers, but up-borne
by the prayers and the reverence of her people. “Poor, yet making many
rich.”

It was in vain the young lord and her leddies claimed her for their
richer life of competence and power, but the old Hieland woman said,
“Na, na.” She would go to them when on great occasions they wanted her,
but her strong independent life was still to be lived among the hills
she loved and among her own people; and by the work of her own hands
she would still live, and in her hut she would die.

The dream curtains slowly descended, but my last look at the beautiful
Highland scene was on the cottage on which the sunshine of Heaven’s
blessing still lingered, and on the noble peasant woman who had saved
her chieftain’s children.

I might be allowed to mention that, remembering this touching story of
fidelity and loyalty as it was told me by the Earl himself years ago, I
have searched through many volumes of the history of this great family
for further details of the time and place, but in vain, so I must leave
the little history as I heard it from the chief’s own lips.

In writing of servants, an anecdote of Lord Shaftesbury, mentioned in a
recent work--_Collections and Recollections_--is worth remembering.

“Speaking of his early and troubled childhood, he said, one only
element of joy he recognised in looking back to those dark days, and
that was the devotion of an old maid-servant, who comforted him in his
childish sorrows and taught him the rudiments of the Christian faith.
In all the struggles and distresses of boyhood and manhood, he used the
words of prayer which he had learned from the good woman before he was
seven years old. And of a keepsake which she left him--the gold watch
which he wore to the last day of his life--he used to say, ‘That was
given to me by the best friend I ever had in the world.’”

(_To be continued._)




“IN MINE HOUSE.”

BY LINA ORMAN COOPER, Author of “The King’s Daughters,” etc.


PART II.

ITS INGLE-NOOKS AND HOW TO ECONOMISE THEM.

In olden days the ingle-nook was the centre of the home. Built in a
deep recess of the wall, with its copper or brazen cupola, it had
benches fitted into its chimney corner on each side. Here, after a
day’s work was done, assembled the mistress with her distaff, maidens
with their lovers, sons with their netting, and the father with his
book. Here chat and song and sacred lore flowed freely and fast. On its
wide breast lay large logs of hazel and oak, beechen boughs and green
ashwood. Bit by bit as they smouldered away fresh limbs were added,
keeping up a crimson glow on the wide hearth.

Nowadays, in mine house slow combustion grates and stoves reign
supreme. By their use much of the picturesqueness of our fires is done
away with, but a wonderful economy in the coal-bill effected. This
is not the case, however, if our particular Mary Jane be allowed to
make and mend at her own sweet will. The “Eagle Range” is quite as
omnivorous as its namesake if cook keeps every damper out and every
cross-door shut. Unless she cleans each flue scrupulously, the “Eagle”
and its ilk will only consume lumps of best Orrell--and consume them
much faster than an open fireplace would do.

In mine house the first lesson taught a new maid is how to lay and
light a fire. Scientifically done, it takes far less kindling wood
and far fewer matches than when built up at haphazard. There are two
methods of laying a fire. A range or stove must burn from the bottom
upwards; the open grate may be ignited on the top.

We will consider our drawing-room fire first. See that every bit of
ancient fire is raked away and every cinder riddled on the spot through
a 6d. wire-shovel. The meshes of this instrument are wide apart, so
only the large cinders are retained by its use; all small morsels
and dust fall through without raising a “pother,” and may be sifted
afterwards. Now fit a sheet of brown paper across the lower bars and
lay over it some lumps of clean round coal. On the top of these empty
your cinders, and over them again place wood and bits of crumpled paper
in the order named. One match applied to this topmost layer will ignite
the tissue, and very slowly it will burn downwards until the Orrell be
reached.

This glowing mass must on no account be poked. In fact, if this mode of
lighting our sitting-room fires be adopted, sets of fire-irons should
be conspicuous by their absence. A very distinct saving is effected
by this; first we are spared initial cost of purchase, and afterwards
constant extravagant use of the poker is avoided.

Some folk seem to think that flames alone give heat. Now, as a matter
of fact, it is the glowing mass which most quickly warms a room. Others
talk of “the cheerful blaze.” In mine house we esteem the red heart
far more beautiful. As a matter of fact, in mine house, which boasts
of ten grates, only two pokers are _en evidence_. Yet last winter our
next door neighbour--who burned double the quantity of coal--complained
she could not get her parlour to register 60°, whilst my sitting-room
pumped up to and maintained 70° without any difficulty.

There are two ways of minimising the consumption of coal in our
modern grates--either get a firebrick to fill up the back thereof and
burn only a frontage of bottled sunshine, or leave it as the builder
intended and after drawing every bit of round coal to the front bars
and seen them well alight, pack the cavity behind with a bucket of
well-damped “slack” or coal-dust. This mass will gradually heat and
ignite all through and throw out a heat never attained by the ordinary
lump fire.

The very best Orrell slack is like small coal, and costs only from 6d.
to 8d. a sack as against £1 1s. a ton for bright coal. A fire made up
after this economical plan will burn from morning till night without
attention. Then, breaking up the solid cake, a bright cheerful result
is gained for the hours of twilight and night. Such a fire, too, is
invaluable in a sick room--requiring no noisy repairing when sleep
ought to reign.

In mine house the kitchen range is scientifically treated also and
consumes every bit of refuse.

I allow neither ashpit, pigbucket, or dustbin at the back door. Such
extravagant conveniences should never be tolerated where economy in
fuel is an object. Even if we have no poultry or porcine animal to
devour potato peels, vegetable parings, or scraps of meat, our kitchen
range can have its omnivorous mouth filled daily with such. Of course
every house mother knows that when cooking is being done, a clear good
fire is necessary.

Mary Jane may during those halcyon hours pile on the best coal and be
allowed liberally to “rake” it with a heavy poker, otherwise she will
send up flabby pastry, raw potatoes, and half-cooked beef. But directly
the midday meal be over, every scrap of green stuff, cabbage stalks,
every bone--fish or flesh--is laid on the glowing embers of the range
in mine house. A layer of wet coal-dust is added, the iron rings are
put in place, the door is shut, and all dampers are pulled out. Thus,
_sans odeur_, those atoms of waste food are consumed which, left to lie
on an ashpit, would infallibly breed fever of all sorts.

When, at six o’clock, another meal is required, the range is opened,
lungs perforated through its crust, some knots of coal allowed, and a
liberal use of the “curate” recommended.

For toasting or ironing purposes we utilise a heap of clean cinders
which has gradually been accumulating in a corner of the yard. The dews
of heaven have kept these damp, and the raindrops have cleaned them
before we shovel them on to the fire. Ram them into the grate, and thus
provide the best (because most smokeless) fuel for laundry work. Our
flat irons, heated by these cinders, are not smoke begrimed or sooty,
but keep bright and smooth all the year round.

In the ingle-nook of mine house open fireplaces are, in two rooms,
replaced by American stoves. One of them stands about two and a half
feet high and cost only 15s. It juts well out in the study--close to
the writing-table--and keeps my toes and fingers warm and comfortable
at a minimum cost of fuel. An iron arm elbows its way up the closed
chimney, and a sheet of zinc nailed over the ordinary grate gives a
good draught. The fire-space in this stove is very tiny--a handful of
shavings and a spoonful of coal makes it light up cheerfully, and a
little damp slack keeps it at furnace heat for hours.

This wee warming-stove has saved its cost over and over again, and is
so easily lit up that I manage to have the comfort of a fire long
before my house-maidens have quitted the beautiful land of nod. All
undue dryness of the atmosphere is counteracted by keeping a pipkin
of water steaming on its face, and it is so clean that even the most
delicate curtains are not soiled by its use.

The value of having a smutless, smokeless, dustless fire can never be
over-estimated in this uncertain climate. Even many evenings in July
or August call for a small fire, and the easiness of lighting this
stove in the ingle-nook of mine house prevents such a necessity (as I
consider it) being considered a luxury.

I do not think I need speak of the virtues of gas as a heating agent.
We all recognise the desirability of its use; but, alas! where economy
has to be considered in our ingle-nooks, we cannot recommend it. In
place of coal gas is desirable; but in addition to coal it is fearfully
expensive. In mine house--when dog-days protest against any artificial
heat--we use paraffin.

Rippingill has invented and patented so many excellent elaborate
cooking-stoves that it is easy to do without our kitchen range. At
the cost of about four farthings a dinner consisting of half a leg of
mutton, boiled potatoes, peas, cauliflower, and a rice pudding can be
cooked to perfection. Even after these are done the ovens will be still
hot enough to bake a cake for afternoon tea or some pastry for supper.

The equable temperature maintained by an adjustable flame enables me
to “rise” all kinds of fancy bread in my “A.B.C.” stove splendidly,
and for making jam it is invaluable. No longer do I dread the annual
eruption of stones of ripe raspberries or the arrival of hairy, sweet
gooseberries by the gallon. The winter supply of jam in mine house is
made without burnt brows or scalded fingers over the little Rippingill
that stands in the store-room.

“But don’t the stoves smell fearfully?” is a question often asked. I
answer truthfully that they are absolutely odourless when properly
attended to. Loose particles of charred wick cause a loss of proper
ventilation; drops of oil spilt outside the reservoir, clogged burners,
all prevent proper combustion and produce a bad effluvia.

I find that constant supervision is necessary when we use oil in mine
house. Then only are the wicks well rubbed, then only are scissors
tabooed, then only fags and edges flame not, then only doth economy
wait on comfort in my ingle-nook. It requires skilled fingers to keep
chimneys clear enough to read by. A drop of ammonia added to the water
in which they are washed helps towards this crystalline condition. Then
no longer

    “Our wasted oil unprofitably burns
    Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns,”

but sheds round a clear shining light.

Perhaps a word or two about kindling may not be out of place
in considering this subject of economy in our ingle-nooks. Our
grandmother’s axiom was--

    “A fire well mended
    Is a fire well tended.”

But I think the making of a fire is even more important than its
mending or tending. To give our maids inadequate lighting material is
very false economy. Well dried, well chopped, well seasoned <DW19>s are
a necessity in mine house.

“Ash green” may be “fire-wood fit for a queen,” but it makes bad
kindling. Bundles of small sticks may be bought so cheaply nowadays
that we should never be without them. Unlike Hamlet, we need not “for
the day be confined to fast in fires” if we provide these and a few
medicated wheels for hasty work.

On the other hand Mary Jane must be impressed with the fact that
twelve bundles represent twenty-four fires at the least. Half a dozen
sticks laid lightly in a basket-fashion will do the same work as a
whole handful lumped on together. “Waste not, want not,” is a motto
much to be observed in this matter.

It is a good thing to have a regular weekly supply sent in, regulated
by the number of fires in general use. For extra ones, half a dozen
medicated wheels should be kept in the store press, and only given out
when one is unexpectedly called for.

I cannot quit this subject of the ingle-nook in mine house without
speaking a little about the summer ornamentation thereof. As I hinted
before, I personally consider the best ornament of our fire-stoves
to be a fire, even in August--or, at least, the makings of a fire if
required.

In my best room we lift out the leaded bars and replace them with
bright brass ones, filling in the space with <DW19>s and coal and
fircones. The glistening rods do not prevent our having an occasional
blaze, for a rub with “Globe” polish soon polishes them after use. We
do not lift away the pierced brass curb or dogs, but amongst and behind
them a few pots of ferns are stood about. They do not mind the draught
up the chimney (N.B.--No register is ever drawn down in mine house),
and can be judiciously damped as they stand on the tiled hearth. A
second suffices to shift these when a fire is called for.

I think easy removal is the primary rule in decoration of our
ingle-nook. Thus, heavy, dust-collecting curtains should never be
attached to the mantelpiece; much less may art muslin draperies
be tolerated. I have seen them in some houses with all their
suggestiveness of downright tragedy veiled by flimsy unreality. One
spark, one splutter, one fizz, and flames would lick them up like
paper. A hammered brass and iron screen--a sheet of looking-glass--if
you must hide the settee. On the other hand, a fir or larch bough, with
its red-brown stem and crimson tassels, may be laid across the set
fire, and one has decoration enough.

Nothing can be beautiful in our ingle-nook which conveys a false notion
of the purpose to which it will be applied. Decorative art requires
that the nature of construction should as far as possible be revealed
or indicated by the ornament which it bears.

“The beauty of fitness” must be borne in mind when we are tempted to
fill the fire-baskets in our ingle-nooks with tinsel and shavings,
paper designs or artificial flowers. In the huge chimney space of an
ancient fireplace logs of wood carelessly piled on dogs was a fit and
appropriate decoration. So a well laid fire is, after all, to end
with as well as to begin with the best ornament we can stand in the
ingle-nook.

Perhaps no object in mine house speaks of higher things in a louder
voice than does the fire in its ingle-nook. Scenes of terror and
beauty in the Bible often surround a hearth and a flame. The burning
bush which hid Jehovah; the flashing fire enfolding itself (Ezek. i.)
displayed Him; a furnace lit up the first covenant (Gen. xv. 17), and
so on through the whole book.

In one of the Significant Rooms of the Interpreter’s House a fire
burned all the year round upon which rival forces poured oil and
water--a picture this of God’s grace overcoming the evil one.

And so we weave round the most sacred spot in our homes a fabric of
thought and poetry and prayer--

    “Where glowing embers through the room
    Teach light to counterfeit a gloom.”

A little cricket still chirps of love and help and warmth and all that
makes life lovely.

(_To be continued._)




CHINA MARKS.

ENGLISH PORCELAIN.


PART IV.


SALOPIAN WORKS, CAUGHLEY.

The Salopian Porcelain Works were founded by Thomas Turner, of Caughley
Place, who had been employed in the Worcester factory, and becoming
manager of the pottery works at Caughley, near Broseley, in 1772. To
him are attributed the famous “willow pattern,” the “Nankin” and the
“blue dragon,” and the production of the beautiful and distinguishing
dark blue colour; Thomas Minton, of Stoke, assisted in the completion
of the “Nankin,” being an articled engraver at Caughley. Of Turner
the Messrs. John Rose bought the factory in 1799, and in 1814-15 it
was broken up. This was a grievous loss, as the porcelain produced
there was remarkable for the brilliancy of its glaze, the fineness of
its substance, and the beauty of its blue colour. The name “Salopian”
indicates its origin, but several other marks of very elaborate
designs were employed, being a series of Arabic numerals, as here
given, although some slight varieties are noticeable in the different
illustrations published.

[Illustration]


COALPORT AND COLEBROOK DALE.

John Rose, an apprentice of Thomas Turner, of Caughley, Salop, was
also the founder of the Coalport and Colebrook Dale, Shropshire,
manufactories, and after a time, having purchased the Caughley plant,
he united the latter with Coalport, Swansea and Nantgarw factories;
the paste of Coalport was a combination, and “felspar porcelain” was
produced. Turner’s “willow” and “blue dragon” designs were again
resuscitated to a great extent, and various sprig patterns, copied from
Chelsea, Dresden and Sèvres porcelain, as well as bearing their marks.
Besides these latter, the names and initial letters of the original
factories are found on the early examples, and the more recent bear the
marks next here following.

[Illustration]

The letters “C. B. D.” in monogram, “C. D.” and “C. Dale” stand for
Colebrook Dale, and the Coalport mark is simply its name in writing
hand. There are other marks that cannot be omitted in the series, such
as the name “Salopian” in capitals, in small _roms._; the name “Turner”
in capitals; the letter “S” in blue stands for “Salopian” (an early
mark); the letters “So S” and “Sx.” Also, the crescent surmounting the
name “Salopian,” the former in blue and the latter impressed only. One
other mark may be named, a dot, and an “S” surmounting the crossed
swords.

[Illustration]


(THE STAFFORDSHIRE WORKS--SHELTON NEW HALL.)

The porcelain manufacture was introduced into the Staffordshire
potteries in 1777 on the purchase of Champion’s patent, obtained by
him from Cookworthy, of Plymouth. The New Hall Works, Shelton, built
by Whitehead, produced hard porcelain, much like that of Bristol. The
blue tea-ware was in hard paste, with the “willow pattern,” and having
Champion’s mark under the glaze, was made in this factory by Turner.
Some seventeen or twenty celebrated manufacturers were connected
with the Shelton China Works at the “New Hall.” One of these was the
celebrated Josiah Spode, who in 1784 took the factory from Banks and
Turner, and was in his turn succeeded by his son, J. Spode, junior.
This latter introduced soft felspar and bones into the Staffordshire
porcelain. Turner junior was followed by Copeland, and Garrett, Thomas
Minton and his son, Herbert. Hard paste was introduced into the
Staffordshire china by the latter. The second Josiah Spode was the
most successful porcelain manufacturer of his time, and the new parish
church at Stoke was mainly built and decorated by him. He contributed
to it the best porcelain, jasper ware, patent stone pottery, and
blue-painted ditto to beautify it.

Mr. William Copeland was his partner, and the exquisite Parian biscuit
china or Parian Carrara was carried to the utmost perfection by him.
The firm of Josiah Spode and William Copeland, and then Copeland and
Garrett, is now known as “Copeland and Sons.”

The Spode china bore the maker’s name, painted or impressed, and
surmounted by a crown and inscribed between the branches. Later on it
bore “Copeland and Garrett,” or two C’s interlaced; also “Saxon Blue”
and “New Blanche.”

The _pâte sur pâte_, or “slip painting,” was brought to great
perfection by M. Solon, the principal artist employed by Messrs.
Minton, as well as Mr. Toft.

Josiah Wedgwood’s nephew, Thomas Brierly, introduced the soft paste
porcelain at Etruria in 1808; but it was not of long existence. The
examples to be seen are decorated with landscapes, birds, and flowers,
and are, for the most part, distinguished with the name “Wedgwood”
 red.

The early marks on Minton’s porcelain are the following (the special
mark of Solon Miles being the most ornate)--

[Illustration]

Specimens of the earths, clay, stone, sand, etc., were placed in Josiah
Wedgwood’s hands by a Mr. Bradley Blake, a resident at Canton, such as
employed at Nankin for porcelain. And Wedgwood produced very excellent
examples, but he never manufactured this china ware for commerce,
although his nephew, Thomas Brierly, did, in 1808, at Etruria. For
himself he was a potter, and it was for beautiful varieties of this
ware that the famous Flaxman worked designs for him.

The names of Ridgway and Sons, and Heath, Warburton, Clowes, Hollins,
and Daniel, are well known in connection with the New Hall China Works
at Shelton. But during a course of many years and many successions of
proprietorship, there is little space for lists of names in a brief
article.

I may here observe that when the Derby works began to decline,
after 1825, many highly efficient workmen joined the factory at
Stoke-upon-Trent, founded by Turner and rendered illustrious by Spode.
Thus the artistic work of the Staffordshire factory at Stoke was
greatly improved.

Up to the year 1798 the Stoke manufactures were chiefly restricted to
white ware decorated with blue, like ordinary Nankin. The factory was
first established in 1790 by Thomas Minton, who had been an apprentice
of Thomas Turner (of Caughley) as an engraver, and had then worked for
Spode; and in 1788 he settled at Stoke.

The next year he took Joseph Poulson into partnership--the late manager
for Spode--and from the year 1793 to 1800 he continued to be a joint
manager and proprietor. He died in 1809, when Thomas Minton carried on
the business alone. Mr. Minton’s second son, Herbert, succeeded him.
John Boyle was his partner for some years, and was succeeded by Daintry
Hollins and Mr. Colin Minton Campbell, his nephews. After his death
they owned the business.

Steele, Bancroft and Handcock were Minton’s most distinguished
painters, and John Simpson was his chief enamel painter of figures and
of all the work of the highest class.

M. Solon-Milès, from Sèvres, began work for him in 1870; and to the
latter we owe the application of _engobe_ (white slip) on celadon
grounds, toned chocolate, grey, and green, which is known as _pâte sur
pâte_--originally a Chinese invention of some centuries old. Solon’s
monogram, or “Solon” or “Miles” are sometimes found on his work. The
other three given were Minton’s early marks. The ermine surmounting his
name has been employed since the year 1851--painted in colours or in
gold or else indented.

[Illustration]

Some services were produced in Felspar china, decorated with oriental
flowers and birds. They were distinguished by a scroll in violet,
enclosing a number in red, and below this the mark, “M. & B. Felspar
Porcelain.”

[Illustration]


NANTGARW CHINA.

The factory of Nantgarw was a small one, founded in 1813, by
Billingsley & Walker, at some ten or a dozen miles from Cardiff. The
former had been an apprentice to Duesbury, of Derby, and had had
great experience, having been in partnership with Coke at Pinxton,
then acting as manager at Mansfield, working afterwards at Torksey,
Lincolnshire, then at Bristol, and serving under Flight & Barr at
Worcester, prior to his founding the manufactory at Nantgarw. In 1820,
eight years before the death of Billingsley, John Rose, of Coalport,
purchased the plant, Billingsley and Walker going into his service.
The marks on the Nantgarw porcelain were either in red or impressed,
as illustrated. The paste employed was exceedingly soft and fine
in texture; the vases, with beautiful handles and covers, the table
services and plaques were painted with landscapes, birds, insects,
and flowers. At one time Mortlock (of London) purchased Billingsley’s
porcelain in white and decorated and fired it himself. The extreme
softness and vitreous fracture of the paste identifies it as of
Nantgarw when the mark is lacking. Two other marks of this factory may
be given. The name is in capital letters, either painted in red, or
more usually impressed, and the second is in red. Sometimes the letters
“C.W.” are found impressed underneath the name of the factory, which
is supposed to mean “China Works.” Billingsley is supposed to have
produced an excellent dessert service painted in flowers which is now
the property of Mr. Firbank, M.P.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


THE ROCKINGHAM PORCELAIN--SWINTON, YORKS.

[Illustration]

The Rockingham factory was originally established for earthenware; but
Thomas Brameld introduced the manufacture of the finest description
of porcelain in the year 1820 or 1823, collecting his materials from
Cornwall, Dorset, Sussex, and Kent. His dessert, dinner, and breakfast
sets, and his ornamental pieces and figures, all highly decorated,
were of first-class excellence. The mark usually employed--adopted in
1828--was the Rockingham crest--a Griffin--the Swinton Works being
on the estate of Charles, Marquis of Rockingham, together with an
inscription giving the name of the factory, and of Brameld--himself
a painter on porcelain. The mark was in red. In 1826 they became
embarrassed, no expense having been spared on the manufacture of
the finest work; but they were kept open through the assistance of
Earl Fitzwilliam until 1842. In some examples of the Rockingham china
(preserved in the Scheiber collection) the mark varies to “Royal Rock
Works, Brameld,” and the words “Manufacturers to the King” below the
crest; also the name “Brameld” is sometimes enclosed in an oval design.
Some genuine Rockingham ware is unmarked; some have incised marks such
as “No. 22,” and “No. 31,” also “Brameld,” giving the batons and dots
in addition.

[Illustration: BRAMELD.]

There is a splendid specimen of this china to be seen in the South
Kensington Museum--a highly decorated vase standing four feet high, and
fired in a single piece, also having three handles, representing gold
oak-branches, and the whole standing on three lions’ paws, a rhinoceros
surmounting the lid or cover. The painter, Isaac Baguley, took over
some part of this factory, Speight, Cordon, and Lucas being amongst the
chief painters employed.


BELLECK WHITE PORCELAIN.

The factory at Belleck, County Fermanagh, Ireland, was established
by Messrs. Armstrong and McBirney in 1856-7, and the porcelain was
produced from the Felspar clays on the estate of J. C. Bloomfield,
Esq. The use of salts of bismuth, resin, and oil of lavender produced
the lustrous glaze for which this ware is remarkable, and the colours
obtained from metallic oxides. So unique is this porcelain that no mark
is required to identify it; but there is one stencilled or painted upon
it in brown, green, or red, and the design is a round tower, a harp,
shamrock, and greyhound--the former three being characteristic emblems
of the country--but I do not know the origin of the latter. Perhaps
it is the crest of the Bloomfields of Fermanagh, on whose estate the
felspar was found.

[Illustration]




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

TROUBLED ONE.--Yours is a complaint which often causes great uneasiness
to girls of your age. It is usually of very little import, and its
greatest harm results, not from the condition itself, but from the
patient’s fixed idea that she is suffering from some serious ailment.
Almost anything can cause it. Indigestion and anæmia are among the most
common causes. You will probably find that carefully treating your
indigestion will cure your trouble. A short course of iron, if your
digestion will stand it, will do you good.

KANOWNA.--Try washing your face with warm water and sulphur soap. A
very little sulphur ointment applied to your face at night-time will
help you.

S. D.--1. Yes; vaseline is not a bad preparation for the hair. It is
rather messy, and does not suit some persons’ hair. As regards the
question, “How often should you wash your hair?” it depends a good deal
upon yourself and the condition of your hair. If the hair is quite
healthy, it need not be washed more often than once a month.--2. Simply
a curiosity. It means nothing.

MAVIS.--Read our advice to “Troubled One.” Of course, in a case like
that of your friend, the question of a local cause for her symptoms
must be considered. A course of iron, or of iron with some astringent,
such as aromatic sulphuric acid is often of extreme value when the
annoyance is due to constitutional causes. When taking iron in any
form, constipation must be carefully guarded against.

ANXIOUS TOPSY.--Drinking excessively does cause profuse perspiration.
But profuse perspiration produces excessive thirst; so that it is
difficult to say which is the cause and which the effect. People who
perspire freely should avoid tea and coffee, as these stimulate the
sweat glands. They should wash in warm (not hot) water, and sponge
over those parts which perspire most profusely with toilet vinegar
and water. When the hands and feet are the members chiefly at fault,
a powder consisting of one part of salicylic acid to ninety-nine
parts of powdered silica may be dusted inside the gloves and socks.
When the face perspires more freely than the other parts of the body,
sulphur soap should be used to wash with, or the face may be bathed
occasionally in toilet vinegar and water.

MURIEL.--We see alas! that constant repetition is forced upon us in
this column. One would have thought that every one of our readers had
by this time grasped the chief points in the treatment of chronic
indigestion. But we see that we are mistaken! And that we must repeat
time after time. Well, here is the treatment of indigestion in a
nutshell! We can divide indigestion into three grades of severity.
First, those forms which need merely a few hints about diet; secondly,
those forms in which a considerable amount of care must be taken,
but which do not completely incapacitate the sufferers; and thirdly,
the most serious cases which require great skill on the part of the
physician and the patient to keep the latter from starvation. It is
to those suffering from the second of these grades that the following
remarks are addressed. As regards diet and eating. Take three, four,
or five meals a day; but let them be _small_ meals, and the intervals
between them of nearly equal time. Eat very slowly; masticate properly.
Give twenty bites to each mouthful of solid food. Never eat in a
hurry or bolt your food. Sit down and do nothing for at least half
an hour after each meal. Avoid pastry, cheese, potatoes, the coarser
vegetables, pork, veal, made dishes (except such as are very simple),
liver, kidneys, goose, duck, and sweet puddings. Take white bread in
preference to brown or patent breads, for it is more digestible and
more nutritious. It is preferable to have it toasted. Bread, biscuits,
and any foods containing sugar must be partaken of in moderation. As
regards liquids. Drink little, never more than half-a-pint of fluid at
each meal, and drink it when you have finished eating. Avoid alcohol
in all forms, tea, coffee, and _cocoa_--all of these are indigestible.
Never take soup, beef-tea, or meat essences. Let your chief drinks be
warm milk and aerated waters. Never drink anything very hot or very
cold. Ices are especially to be avoided. In addition look to your
teeth; have any bad teeth which may be present removed. Where you have
lost teeth have false ones put in. Beware of tight lacing. Corsets are
a fertile cause of indigestion, and are one reason why dyspepsia is
so much more common in women than in men. Take a good walk every day.
Guard against constipation from all causes. A little stewed fruit and
plenty of green vegetables will help to relieve this complication.
When intractable, a teaspoonful of liquorice powder or a pill of aloes
and nux vomica may be taken at night. A glassful of hot water taken
the last thing at night is also of value. As regards drugs, the first
necessity is to point out that these are very commonly the cause of
indigestion, and the less that dyspeptics have to do with them the
better they will be. Never have a “bottle of medicine” as a “cure”
for dyspepsia. Indigestion cannot be cured by drugs. Above all, avoid
pepsin, and acids and bitters. The former drug relieves indigestion for
a time, but makes it worse afterwards. It is only when normal digestion
is impossible that pepsin should be used. In nine cases out of ten
acids make indigestion worse; in the tenth case they are unnecessary.
But unfortunately we must occasionally resort to drugs to relieve
indigestion. A tablespoonful of bicarbonate of soda, or a “tabloid”
of sodamint, taken when fulness, or flatulency, or oppression, or
nausea is severe will often give instant relief. The severer grades of
dyspepsia require further treatment, but we are not considering them
now.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

MISS BAILEY.--We have already informed you that we send no answers
through the post. See our Rules.

EDITH.--Write to the Registrar, University of London, Burlington
Gardens, W. After matriculation, you can take the intermediate and B.A.
degree examinations. The B.A. degree would help you in the profession
of teaching. You do not tell us of your attainments; so we can hardly
judge what is within your reach.

MARGUERITE.--Write to Messrs. S. A. Partridge & Co., 8 and 9,
Paternoster Row, London, enclosing a stamp, and asking them if they
publish the hymn you quote. It is constantly to be seen on cards or
sheets, printed in large type for hanging in bedrooms.

IVY.--The lines on the loss of your cat are more neatly written than
the others. “Elfin” is not a noun but an adjective, and “prancing” is
not a suitable expression for fairies. You should not use the form
“sigheth” only for the sake of making the line long enough, as you use
the form “flickers” immediately afterwards.

EMILY C. COX (Tasmania).--1. We are inserting your request.--2. Your
writing is a little stiff and childish. It needs more freedom; but it
is quite plain and legible.

MARIA GRILLO (Italy).--1. Your request we insert below.--2. You would
have to write formally to the Editor of THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER about any
particular story you wished to translate.

CATRIONA.--The verses you enclose are not at all bad for a child of
eleven. At the same time, it is not unusual for intelligent children
thus to string their fancies into rhyme, and it is no proof at all of
latent poetic genius. Your little friend may become a poetess--or she
may not.

VERONICA.--Your story shows lack of experience. In order to make
us really interested in the love affairs of “Agatha,” there should
have been opportunity for the reader to study her character and
circumstances. There is no special point in the mere fact of her
receiving an offer of marriage from someone who is little more than a
name. A short story should as far as possible have its action in the
present, and not expect the reader to draw overmuch on his imagination.

AN INTERESTED READER.--1. You are certainly not too old to be coached
for the London Matriculation Examination. We hold in our hand a
prospectus of the “Queen Margaret Correspondence Classes,” which
prepare for that amongst other examinations. If you write to Miss
Birrell, 31, Lansdowne Crescent, Glasgow, she will send you full
particulars of subjects and fees. Tell her that you are a governess,
and wish to prepare for the London Matriculation.--2. “The Legend
of Bregenz” is by Adelaide Anne Proctor, and may be found in any
collection of her poems.

A NEW READER.--The metre of your lines is defective, and they would not
be accepted for publication. You give a vigorous description of the
well-known picture; but every poem should have some metre or “form” in
which it is written, and your “third lines” are wrong in every respect.
Study the laws of versification.

AN ARDENT ADMIRER OF THE “G. O. P.”--We like the spirit of your verses,
and the substance of them, but are obliged to tell you that the form
is very imperfect. The metre halts continually. Your ear can perhaps
discern that these first lines are not of the same cadence.

    “O knowledge, replied the thinker.”

    “All these and more the secrets are.”

The number of syllables may be the same, but the accent varies. You
should read good poetry, and if you wish to write verse, study the laws
of versification.

BLACK AND WHITE.--Your sketches are full of promise, but are not up
to the standard for publication. As you are so young, and have had no
Art-education, it seems to us that your father should strive to send
you to Art schools, as it undoubtedly would pay in the long run. You
have decided though unformed talent for black and white figure work.


INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.

MISS L. MYLES, 13, Upper Mallow St., Limerick, Ireland, would like
a German correspondent to whom she could write in English, the lady
replying in German.

C. RAHIER’S note has arrived too late for its purpose. “HIGHLAND
LASSIE,” c/o Post Office, St. Cyrus, Scotland, would be pleased to
correspond with some nice French girl of good family. She would like
her correspondent to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age, and
“Highland Lassie” begs to say that she speaks French, and that she is
very fond of literature, music, and drawing.

MADEMOISELLE LOUISE FRANÇOIS, of Anzin, Nord, France, will be pleased
to correspond and exchange stamps with girls living in South and North
America, New Zealand, or any part of Australia.

EMILY and AGNES COX, Buckland, Tasmania, Oceania, aged 18 and 16, wish
to correspond with a French and also with a German girl with a view to
improving their knowledge of the languages. They will write in English,
French, or German.

MARGARET SPEEDIE, Surrey Road, South Yarra, Melbourne, Victoria, would
like to correspond with P. and H. Pierson (Dutch correspondents) and
Adelina Grillo (Italian) if they have not found anyone else. Perhaps
they will write to her once in any case.

MARIA GRILLO, an Italian girl aged 22, would be glad to correspond with
a German girl of about her own age, in order to improve her knowledge
of German. She would be ready to give any help in her power towards
the study of Italian. Address, Miss M. Grillo, Admiral Grillo, Via del
Carmine 6, Spezia, Italy.

EDITH COATES (who does not say whether we may give her address) wishes
to correspond with a French and a German girl aged from 18 to 25.

C. A. D. (formerly engaged in teaching) wishes for a French
correspondent.

A CARDIFF GIRL would like to correspond with a fairly educated American
girl about 16 years of age.

MARGARET E. BAKER, Villa Hoffnung, Godesberg, bei Bonn, Germany,
would like to correspond with Miss Jeffrey, whose request appeared in
September. Miss Baker is leading a life full of interest as a student
in Germany, and hopes soon to go to France or French Switzerland.

MISS E. C. HEPPER, Clareville, Headingley, Leeds, would be glad to
correspond with a well-educated French lady not under 30 years of age.
Each should write in the other’s language, and the letters would be
corrected and returned.

A RUSSIAN GIRL whose name and address we find some difficulty in
deciphering from her pleasant letter, wishes to correspond with “Miss
Inquisitive.” Here is our rendering of the address--Miss Ovana Thyne,
Riga, VI., Weidendam Hause 1.


MISCELLANEOUS.

JOAN.--When friends or strangers say that it has given them pleasure to
meet you, you must respond graciously, and say that you are likewise
glad that you have had the opportunity of meeting, or of making their
acquaintance, if a first introduction. Try to look pleasant when you
say so. It is not a time for looking stiff and solemn.

NIGHTINGALE.--If you have read all the books which we have recommended
on the subject of nursing, we can help you no further in that line.
But some useful manual might be obtained with reference to ambulance
work, and “First Aid.” Apply to the St. John Ambulance Association, St.
John’s Gate, Clerkenwell, E.C., inaugurated by the Order of St. John of
Jerusalem.

CLARICE.--If you hear “a ticking in the wall like that of a watch,” it
may be occasioned by a particular kind of little beetle which is known
to make just such a sound. If you have no ear for music, spare those
within hearing the nuisance of listening to inharmonious sounds and
incorrect time. Your hand is legible and of moderate size, and is not
very much to be condemned. On the contrary. But people differ in taste.

WHITE ROSE.--There is a “Factory Helpers Union” which is worked under
the auspices of the “Y.W.C.A.” The Hon. Secretary is Miss Skirrow, and
the office at 26, George Street, Hanover Square, W. There are branches
of this society at most of our large provincial cities. Amongst these
we may name Birmingham, Bristol, Eastbourne, Manchester, Ipswich,
Derby, and Leicester.

MARGARET H.--Put an advertisement in some of the leading papers, and
put up notices in the windows of the shops. Many of the owners would so
far oblige you, especially the grocer’s, butcher’s, and baker’s where
you deal, or propose to do so.

MARY AND KATHERINE.--We are very sorry for you; but your first duty is
to obey your parents. Take each some permanent address and in course of
time a correspondence may meet with no opposition. You are both minors
only.

NELL.--We give a notice of your “Invalid Home” at 10, Terrace Road,
Buxton, Derbyshire. The terms for board and lodging, with nursing,
etc., from two to five guineas a week. When visitors need only rest and
change of air, the terms are two and a half guineas, or three and a
half when two persons share the same room.

LILLY H. Y. Y.--Your letter impressed us very painfully. For a young
woman, or anyone, to “despise everybody” is a bad sign. There must
be grievous mental or moral disease (we do not mean in the sense of
insanity). Some of these light-hearted and apparently frivolous young
people may have fine, generous, unselfish natures, tender, loving
hearts; people who, whatever their tastes may be, or capabilities, or
deficiencies for intellectual culture, might willingly sacrifice any
selfish gratification to serve, or afford a little kindly attention to
another. Our divine Father made us all, with diversities both of gifts
and of opportunities. He does not “gather where He does not straw,” nor
does He permit anyone to judge his brother, nor to despise him. To his
own Master he will stand or fall. When your mother has a visitor, is it
not your duty as a daughter of the house to remain with and help her?
“Little children, love one another,” so said “the beloved disciple.”
Are you trying to profit by his teaching? We ask it in all kindliness
of feeling.

CLAUDIA.--Spilling salt was held to be an unlucky omen by the Romans,
and it is from them the idea has descended to us. You have perhaps seen
Leonardo da Vinci’s great picture of the “Last Supper,” and in that
Judas Iscariot is known by the salt cellar knocked over accidentally
by his arm. Salt was used by the Jews in sacrifice, and spilling it
after it was placed on the head of the victim was held to be a bad
omen; and this is according to Brewer, the origin of the superstition.
Salt was an emblem of purity, and the sanctifying influence of a holy
life upon others, hence our Lord tells His disciples that they are “the
salt of the earth.” There are also two references to “a covenant of
salt” in the Old Testament, see Numbers xviii. 19 and 2 Chron. xiii.
5. By this we understand that salt was a symbol of incorruption, and
thus of perpetuity, as the “covenant of salt” meant one which could
not be broken. There is of course no mention of the spilling of the
salt by Judas in the Bible. It was put in by the Italian painter
as a suggestion of what might have happened, a kind of significant
accessory to the great scene, and a suggestion of the great trouble to
come--according to the national superstition.

ST. MARIE.--We do not think that the hole in the top of a meat pie had
originally any reason, save that gravy is usually put in after the
pie is cooked, so as to ensure plenty of it, and also to allow the
escape of the steam, which, if allowed to remain in, would make the
pastry heavy and soft. There is nothing in the vapour of beef that
could injure the meat, and the same may be said of mutton and veal; nor
should there be any need for special ventilation, save in the case of
“high” game or venison. You will find this subject fully dealt with in
the sixth chapter of Mathieu Williams’s _Chemistry of Cookery_.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No.
995, January 21, 1899, by Various

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