The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 987,
November 26, 1898, by Various

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Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 987, November 26, 1898

Author: Various

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Language: English

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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 987.]      NOVEMBER 26, 1898.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




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FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS.

JERUSALEM.


Elizabeth and I mounted a camel and took our last _schimmel hauer_, or
airing, in Jaffa the beautiful. As our ungainly steed swung up the road
with us on his back, and a peculiarly contemptuous expression on his
face, we became objects of much curiosity to the natives, who stopped
to gaze and point at us. We were amused to see the women in their
excitement stand with unveiled faces unmindful of the men, who equally
excited had joined them. Their remarks on our appearance were not
exactly complimentary. "Look at the Frangi ladies, how they sit! How
funny they look! The Frangis are all mad! See, they smile!" We did not
understand Arabic, and our missionary friend was too kind to translate
freely, otherwise we might not have smiled.

What a glorious morning it was! The remembrance of it now brings a
delicious dreaminess over my senses. It must have been on such a
day that Lothair and the radiant Mr. Phœbus journeyed from Jaffa
to Jerusalem, when the lovely Euphrosyne "rode through lanes of
date-bearing palm-trees, and sniffed with her almond-shaped nostrils
the all-pervading fragrance." Sharon, the great maritime plain, once
a huge forest, from which it takes its name, lay stretched before us.
In the midst of its magnificent orange groves, its flower bedecked
meadows, its peaceful cornfields, rose the stately palms, their plumed
heads nodding in the faint breeze. Beyond, like an _Arabian Nights_
Geni, the stagnant clouds rested on the peaks of the Judæan hills,
while in sharp contrast the restless Mediterranean flashed a thousand
brilliant lights. Even the dreaded black rocks at the entrance of the
harbour were robbed of their terror by the soft sunshine. We were
loath, indeed, to leave so lovely a scene, but we comforted ourselves
with the thought of returning again some day.

An hour after midday we had said good-bye to our kind hostesses, and
seated in a ramshackle old carriage which threatened to come to pieces
at any moment, were driving--save the mark!--in all haste to the
railway station. Our road lay through the market, whose odoriferous
Asiatic smells are particularly unpleasing to English noses. We thought
our driver divined this, for he wasted no time, but with terrific
shouts and pistol-like cracks of an enormous whip, scattered to the
right and left everything and everybody in the line of route, and
brought us up to the station in dashing style but exhausted condition.

We had barely got on to the platform with our luggage when the booking
office, as if by magic, was invaded by a howling screaming pack of
men trying to force their way through a hastily closed door into the
station. The voices of the officials demanding order were drowned by
the noise, but the speedy arrival of a couple of stalwart Turkish
soldiers armed with formidable-looking whips, which they applied
impartially to the heads and shoulders of the unruly mob, soon created
a dispersion, and peaceable passengers were allowed to take their
tickets. This sudden raid on the railway station was made by a number
of unauthorised porters, who had become a grave source of annoyance
to travellers. The officials were determined to rid themselves of the
nuisance, and the order of "No admittance" was being put into effect
that day. The Arab seems incapable of learning obedience through any
medium but that of corporal punishment. Whether he can be taught reason
by less drastic treatment under a more reasonable form of government
has yet to be proved. At present, the only law he condescends to
understand is represented in tangible form by a powerful soldier armed
with a weapon which he promptly uses, indifferent to life or limb of
the offender. This measure, if not pleasing, is at any rate effectual.

The railroads from Jaffa to Jerusalem, and from Beirût to Damascus, are
justly considered to be the most valuable innovation from the West.
The primary idea of the French Company who work them was, that the
thousands of pilgrims who visit the Holy Land every year would use the
line as a shorter and less expensive mode of travelling. The original
idea has developed, for the demands of commerce require goods trains,
and merchants are not slow to avail themselves of these advantages.
Besides this, the railways have proved a powerful means of breaking
down ancient prejudice and bringing the larger culture and refinement
of the West within reach of the more ignorant but intelligent East.
We found the train service moderately good, the officials civil, and
the route pleasant and full of interest. We travelled for the first
few stages in the men's compartment which was large and airy, built
like a modern tramcar, with an extra seat extending the whole length
of the centre; windows and door were wide open, the former protected
by blinds, so it was not to be wondered at that we should prefer this
carriage to the narrow stifling compartment reserved for the women. The
advent of three ladies excited no comment, for were we not "Frangis"?
And "Frangis" did extraordinary things! Our fellow-passengers were
nearly all Orientals. Magnificently turbaned and gorgeously dressed
Moslem gentlemen sat side by side with dirty, travel-stained pilgrims,
and dirtier pedlars from distant lands. Jewish and Armenian merchants
held lively discussions about the price of stuffs, while two German
colonists discoursed on the approaching visit of Kaiser William. A
wretched, miserably clad soldier-boy occupied a corner; he was going
to join his regiment, and looked sullen and downcast. I offered him an
orange, which he accepted, for the day was hot. I felt sorry for him,
poor fellow, for well he knew that a Turkish soldier's life "is not a
happy one."

Occasionally stray brown locusts flew in through the door, "flopped"
down on the floor and remained stationary, apparently dazed with the
unusual sight and sound of the "iron horse" and its long tail.

The arrival of more passengers of the masculine gender at a roadside
station demanded that we should vacate our seats and retire to the
women's quarter at the other end of the train. We accomplished our exit
with as good a grace as possible, reflecting that Eastern customs being
the exact reverse of those practised in England, we would show our good
breeding by yielding to them--when there was no other alternative. In
this instance the change was not for the better. The space was limited,
and the air stifling, but the friendly native ladies made room for us
and offered us a share of the nuts they were eating, the shells of
which plentifully bestrewed the floor. Miss B., our missionary friend,
and the ladies exchanged lengthy compliments, inquired minutely into
each other's business and commented upon it, as if they were members
of the same family. We discovered that these untidy, unshapely-looking
females were the wives of the above mentioned resplendent Moslem
gentlemen. Like good-tempered children, they seemed absolutely
contented with their nuts and dolls--for as such they treated their
brown-faced, dark-eyed babies--desiring nothing more in this world
than to please their husbands, and to purchase the latest pattern of
_maudeel_--or veil--imported from Beirût.

We had now passed through the Wady es Sura and were speeding rapidly
through the Valley of Rephaim, once the way in which the Philistines
used to come up in the days of the Judges and David. Great rocks lifted
their heads on either side, whose barren wildness suggested the home of
the eagle and vulture. The sun was setting, and soon a shrill scream
from the engine announced that we were nearing the end of our journey.
We had just time to collect our wraps when the train drew up at the
little station, and our ears were assailed with loud cries from the
porters of "Jerusalem!" Before we had time to think, friendly hands
grasped ours, and the kindly voices of Miss K. and Miss C. were bidding
us welcome.

How delightful it was to escape the noise and worry of an Oriental
railway station! To know that all our luggage would be sought for and
looked after by a well-trained servant! To feel that we had no care but
to answer the polite inquiries of our friends! A few yards and we were
crossing the Bethlehem road on our way to Miss K.'s house, which was
perched on the top of the Mount of Evil Counsel. The impressions that
short walk left on my mind will never be effaced. Before us, clothed in
the magical light of the setting sun, rose the mystical blue wall of
the distant Moab Hills, while at their feet the Dead Sea gleamed like a
thin line of quicksilver. On our left stood Mount Zion, while beyond,
Olivet, "the mount before Jerusalem," crowned with a white church,
looked down on the sun-gilt walls of the Temple Area. The hum of the
city below, the cry of the shepherd in the Kedron Gorge as he called
his flock home, and the sharp quick bark of the dog, sounded indistinct
and far away.

I began to realise that we were in Jerusalem, and felt already the
magic of its wondrous associations. It seemed almost incredible that
we should be calmly gazing upon the very place where the world's
Redeemer had "suffered and bled and died," and our thoughts were busy
as we passed into Miss K.'s charming home to receive a second welcome.
After supper Elizabeth and I slipped out into the garden and stood
spell-bound at the lovely scene which met our eyes. The sparkling
heavens high above us, the hills round us touched with beauty, while
below, the City of our God lay shrouded in silver moonlight, like a
babe asleep in the arms of its mother. Involuntarily the words rose to
our lips: "As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so is the Lord
round about His people."

The next morning we engaged donkeys, and with Miss B. for guide and
counsellor rode round the walls of Jerusalem. There was no magical
moonlight to soften and glorify the ruin and desolation which met
our eye at every stage. Where was the beautiful city and temple
which caused the stern Titus to weep because he could not save it?
Gone! Buried beneath the seventy feet of rubbish which one day will
be cleared away. And could that offensive pool, overshadowed by the
public shambles, infested with scavenger-dogs, be "cool Siloam's shady
rill"? Yes, and the poor little village above is all that remains of
the town of Siloam. Even the olive-trees added to the dreariness of
the landscape, for they were stunted and badly nourished. We were now
riding up the Mount of Olives, the very road trodden by the Man of
Sorrows. Loving thoughts and holy memories gathered round every step
of the way till we reached the top and "beheld the city." I cannot
do better here than quote from Dr. Macduff's _Memories of Olivet_.
"So far as the Mount itself is concerned, thousands of scenes in our
own and other lands are alike grander and more beautiful; there is
nothing conspicuous in height; nothing picturesque in form, nothing
remarkable in colour. An unconspicuous green swell, with triple top
sprinkled with trees, and crowned with a Russian church; this, with a
walled town fronting its western slope, studded with a few domes and
minarets, at once and for ever took its place in the most sacred shrine
of memory as the first view of Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives."
True, there is nothing really beautiful about Jerusalem, according to
our Western ideas. Its situation is fine, but the city itself is ugly
and surrounded by "mountains" of rubbish. The Mosque of Omar occupies
the Temple area, and Islam has taken up its abode in the place once
dedicated to the true worship of Jehovah. But in spite of its present
misfortunes, Jerusalem possesses a charm for Jew, Christian and Moslem
alike, which no other city in the world can claim. Coming down from the
Mount, we rode through Bethany, the home of Martha and Mary. It is a
small village, and like many places in Palestine, disappointing to the
traveller unless he looks away from the present to the past, and fills
in the picture with the vivid colours of sacred and profane history.

It is a mistake to suppose that the East never changes. The march of
progress has reached Jerusalem, Western influence is felt within its
walls, as the red roofs of the numerous Frangi houses and the glass
windows of European shops strongly testify. Residents told us that the
Jerusalem of to-day bears little or no resemblance to the Jerusalem of
a few years back, except in its natural features.

The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the chief place of interest in
Jerusalem. A visit to its great porch carried us back to the days of
chivalry, when the iron shoes of the Crusaders clanged on its stone
pavement. Christian knights no longer are required to fight the Turk
for the possession of the Holy Sepulchre; instead a strong guard of
Turkish soldiers is always on duty to protect the Christians from the
violence of each other. Fierce fights, and even bloodshed, are not
uncommon among the various sects, Latins, Greeks, Maronites, Copts,
Armenians, etc., who have set up their worship in different parts of
the sacred edifice. The Holy Sepulchre itself is claimed and held by
the Greeks, and every Easter thousands of pilgrims from all parts of
the world worship at its shrine. We made our way one day with much
difficulty into the narrow cave-like apartment, lighted with huge wax
candles, and filled with adoring men and women rapturously kissing the
stone slab which covers the supposed tomb, while a Greek priest stood
by to receive the offerings of the faithful. We were glad to force our
way out, but found some difficulty in doing so, the pressure of the
crowd was so great.

This Easter there were five thousand Russians in the city;
impassioned-looking men and women, tall, blue-eyed and well favoured,
they poured in day after day. We constantly met large parties covered
with the dust of travel, each carrying his beloved tea-kettle which he
filled at a running brook or neighbouring convent and boiled for his
favourite beverage on the _semavar_, or copper charcoal brazier, which
a friendly native would lend. Hundreds of weary miles had they tramped
over the hot sand, under the burning sun, deterred by no difficulty,
but ever keeping their faces stedfastly set towards Jerusalem. These
Russian peasants have one great object in life, for which they save and
work with an enthusiasm which never fails: to go on pilgrimage to the
Holy Land, to touch the Holy Sepulchre, to visit the holy shrines, to
be baptised in the Jordan, and to return to their fatherland empty in
purse but rich in candles, vials of oil, unleavened cakes blessed by
the Patriarch, and garments dipped in the Jordan, to be worn only once
again--as shrouds.

[Illustration: JERUSALEM AND THE MOUNT OF OLIVES FROM SCOPUS.]

We once witnessed a touching sight in the Church of the Sepulchre. Four
hundred of these peasants, all middle-aged and very old men and women,
were toiling up the steps to the tomb, and with looks of rapt devotion
kissing the sacred spots. One aged woman was carried on the back of her
son, who tenderly kept her from being hurt. We joined them at their
Greek service, and longed to be able to tell them the Gospel story
in all its sweet simplicity. Their belief seemed to be a series of
superstitions with very little foundation of truth. We were told that
each pilgrim left with the Patriarch a gold napoleon (or French pound)
as a gift. We often came across these poor peasants, sometimes in the
convents where they were resting, at others in their churches, or again
in the markets, and at all times found them courteous and gentle.

Space would fail, if I chronicled all our doings, but we were never
tired of going into the town and watching the people. Outside the Jaffa
gate, huddled together in one undistinguishable mass, were always
to be found camels, donkeys, horses, dogs and lepers. The last were
terrible objects, thrusting their fingerless hands into the faces of
the passers-by, begging for _backsheesh_, and drawing attention to
their frightful infirmity. Poor things, outcasts because of their awful
and mysterious disease! Inside the Jaffa gate, the bazaars attracted
us. The Armenian and Jewish merchants eagerly drove their bargains
with their equally keen customers, who unblushingly offered a third or
fourth of the sum first demanded, and seemed to spend a vast amount of
time and talk but very little money on their purchases.

Mingling with the leisurely crowd of pedestrians, we noticed several
dignified Abyssinians clad in spotless white robes, their commanding
stature and intelligent ebony faces giving them a distinguished air
which was very remarkable. Before General Gordon freed them they were
slaves, now they are the "learned men" among the Moslems, and live
within the precincts of the Mosque of Omar.

The markets were thronged by numbers of countrywomen, whose dress
excited our admiration, for it was always picturesque and often
beautiful, differing entirely from that of the townswomen. It consisted
of one straight garment, cut with much simplicity of style and reaching
from the neck to the ankles, with wide hanging sleeves, which could
be tied back when the wearer was engaged in household work; the
material of which these dresses were made was sometimes cotton, but
oftener thick native silk, dark blue in colour, striped with red and
yellow (the front or vest being exquisitely embroidered by the owner's
clever fingers), and secured round the waist by a handsome silk scarf;
over this a smart scarlet cloth jacket, with half sleeves and of no
particular cut, came to the waist; this also was elaborately worked.
The long embroidered veil of stout cotton, capable of holding somewhat
heavy purchases, was thrown over the head leaving the face free, while
heavy silver and gold coins adorned the neck, arms and forehead.
Stockings were disdained, but the feet were sometimes thrust into red
Turkish slippers, though more often than not, these impedimenta were
dispensed with. A camel's-hair _abbaye_ or cloak was sometimes worn for
protection against both extreme heat and cold. The perfect carriage
and fine figures of these women, who are guiltless of corsets, might
well excite the envy of the fashionable Western lady, as with free
and graceful step they walk barefooted for miles, carrying on their
well-poised heads heavy water-pots, or baskets filled with market
produce and livestock in the shape of cocks and hens. To the casual
observer the dresses seem all alike, but a practised eye can discern at
once whether this woman comes from Nazareth, or that from Bethlehem, or
another from the mountains, by the set of the veil or the colour of the
gown.

The townswomen affect hideous modern French fashions from Beirût, and
cover their tightly-laced figures with cheap jewellery, never omitting
to pin the tiny watch (which seldom keeps time) on their bodices.
Coloured stockings of a fearful pattern are worn, with a charming
indifference to neatness, and gay little satin slippers with high
heels, and rather the worse for wear, are added. For the street the
pink or blue silk dress must be covered with the universal outdoor
mantle, made on one pattern, but often of rich white or coloured silk,
embroidered in silver or gold. In shape it is like a very full double
petticoat divided into two equal parts at the waist by a girdle--one
half forms a skirt and the other is thrown over the head, making the
wearer appear at the back like a huge animated cottage loaf. The
maudeel covers the face. Hats are reserved for the heads of foreigners.

    S. E. B.

(_To be continued._)




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

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


CHAPTER VIII.

The photographic fever burnt fiercely for the next few weeks. Every
spare hour was devoted to the camera, and there was not a person in the
house from the Vicar himself to the boy who came in to clean boots and
knives who had not been pressed to repeated sittings. There were no
more blank plates, but there were some double ones which had been twice
exposed, and showed such a kaleidoscope jumble of heads and legs as was
as good as any professional puzzle; but, besides these, there were a
number of groups where the likenesses were quite recognisable, though
scarcely flattering enough to be pleasant to the originals. There was
quite a scene in the dining-room on the evening when Oswald came down
in triumph and handed round the proofs of the first presentable group,
over which he had been busy all the afternoon.

"Oh, oh, oh! I'm an old woman, and I never knew it!" cried Mrs. Asplin,
staring in dismay at the haggard-looking female who sat in the middle
of the group, with heavy, black shadows on cheeks and temple. The Vicar
cast a surreptitious glance in the glass above the sideboard, and tried
to straighten his bent shoulders, while Mellicent's cheeks grew scarlet
with agitation, and the tears were in her voice, as she cried--

"I look like a p--p--pig! It's not a bit like! A nasty, horrid, fat,
puffy pig!"

"I don't care about appearances; but mine is not in the least like,"
Esther said severely. "I am sure no one could recognise it; I look
seventy-eight at the very least."

Robert flicked the paper across the table with a contemptuous "Bah!"
and Max laughed in his easy, jolly manner, and said--

"Now I know how I shall look when my brain softens! I'm glad I've seen
it; it will be a lesson to me to take things easily, and not overstudy."

"But look at the leaves of the ivy," protested Oswald, in aggrieved
self-vindication, "each one quite clear and distinct from the others;
it's really an uncommonly good plate. The detail is perfect. Look at
that little bunch of flowers at the corner of the bed!" All in vain,
however, did he point out the excellences of his work. The victims
refused to look at the little bunch of flowers. Each one was occupied
with staring at his own portrait; the Asplin family sighing and
protesting, and Peggy placidly poking a pin through the eyes of the
various sitters, and holding the paper to the light to view the effect.
It was a little trying to the feelings of one who had taken immense
pains over his work, and had given up a bicycle ride to sit for a whole
afternoon in a chilly pantry, dabbling in cold water, and watching over
the various processes. Oswald was ruffled, and showed it more plainly
than was altogether courteous.

"I'm sorry you're not pleased," he said coldly. "I aim at truthfulness,
you see, and that is what you don't get in a professional photograph.
It's no good wasting time, simply to get oneself disliked. I'll go in
for nature, and leave the portrait business to somebody else. The girls
can try! They think they can do everything!"

Peggy looked at Esther, and Esther looked at Peggy. They did not say a
word, but a flash of understanding passed from the brown eyes to the
grey, which meant that they were on their mettle. They were not going
to defend themselves, but henceforth it was a case of die, or produce
a good photograph, and so oblige Oswald to alter his tone of scornful
incredulity.

For the next week the camera was the one engrossing thought. Every
minute that could be spared was devoted to experiments, so that
Fräulein complained that lessons were suffering in consequence. The
hearts of her pupils were not in their work, she declared; it would
be a good thing if a rule could be made that no more photographs were
to be taken until the Christmas holidays. She looked very fierce and
formidable as she spoke, but soft-hearted Mrs. Asplin put in a plea for
forgiveness.

"Ah, well, then, have patience for a few days longer," she begged.
"They are just children with a new toy; let them have as much of it as
they will at first, and they will tire of their own accord, and settle
down to work as well as ever. We can control their actions, but not
their thoughts; and I'm afraid if I forbade photography at present,
you would find them no more interested in lessons. I fancy there is
something especially engrossing on hand this week, and we might as well
let them have it out."

Even Mrs. Asplin, however, hardly realised the thoroughness with
which the girls were setting to work to achieve their end. They held
a committee meeting on Esther's bed, sitting perched together in
attitudes of inelegant comfort, with arms encircling their knees,
and chins resting on the clasped hands, wherein it was proposed and
seconded that Peggy, the artistic, should pose and take the sitters,
while Esther, the accurate, should undertake the after processes.

"And what am I to do?" cried Mellicent plaintively, and her elders
smiled upon her with patronising encouragement.

"You shall wash up all the trays and glasses, and put them neatly away."

"You shall carry the heavy things, dear, and stand to me for your
back hair. I think I could make a really good effect with your back
hair." Peggy put her head on one side and stared at the flaxen mane
in speculative fashion. "A long muslin gown--a wreath of flowers--a
bunch of lilies in your hands! If you weren't so fat, you would do
splendiforously for Ophelia. I might manage it perhaps if I took you
from the back, with your head turned over your shoulder, so as to
show only the profile. Like that! Don't move now, but let me see how
you look." She took Mellicent's head between her hands as she spoke,
wagged it to and fro, as if it belonged to a marionette, and then gave
a frog-like leap to a further corner of the bed to study the effect. "A
little more to the right. Chin higher! Look at the ceiling. Yes--es--I
can do it. I see how it can be done."

It turned out, indeed, that Peggy had a genius for designing and
posing pretty, graceful pictures. With a few yards of muslin and a
basket or such odds and ends of rubbish as horrified Esther's tidy
soul to behold, she achieved marvels in the way of fancy costumes, and
transformed the placid Mellicent into a dozen different characters:
Ophelia, crowned with flowers; Marguerite, pulling the petals of a
daisy; Hebe, bearing a basket of fruit on her head, and many other
fanciful impersonations were improvised and taken before the week
was over. She went about the work in her usual eager, engrossed,
happy-go-lucky fashion, sticking pins by the dozen into Mellicent's
flesh in the ardour of arrangement, and often making a really charming
picture, only to spoil it at the last moment by a careless movement,
which altered the position of the camera, and so omitted such important
details as the head of the sitter, or left her squeezed into one corner
of the picture, like a sparrow on the house-top.

Out of a dozen photographs, three, however, were really remarkable
successes; as pretty pictures as one could wish to see, and moreover
exceedingly good likenesses of the bonnie little subject. Esther's part
of the work was performed with her usual conscientious care; and when
the last prints were mounted, the partners gazed at them with rapture
and pride. They were exhibited at the dinner-table the same evening
amid a scene of riotous excitement. The Vicar glowed with pleasure;
Mrs. Asplin called out, "Oh, my baby! Bless her heart!" and whisked
away two tears of motherly pride. Oswald was silent and subdued; and
even Robert said, "Humph--it's not so bad," a concession which turned
the girls' heads by its wonderful magnanimity.

Their triumph was almost sweeter than they had expected; but, truth to
tell, they had had too much of photography during the last week, and
Mrs. Asplin's prophecy came true, inasmuch as it now ceased to become
an occupation of absorbing interest, and assumed its rightful place as
an amusement to be enjoyed now and then, as opportunity afforded.

By the beginning of October Peggy had quite settled down in her new
home, and had established her right to be Arthur Saville's sister
by convulsing the quiet household with her tricks and capers. She
was affectionate, obedient, and strictly truthful; her prim little
face, grandiose expressions, and merry ways, made her a favourite
with everyone in the house, from the Vicar, who loved to converse
with her in language even more high-flown than her own, to the old,
north-country cook, who confided in the housemaid that she "fair-ly
did love that little thing," and manœuvred to have apple charlotte for
dinner as often as possible, because the "little thing" had praised
her prowess in that direction, and commended the charlotte as a
"delicious confection." Mrs. Asplin was specially tender over the girl
who had been left in her charge, and in return, Peggy was all that was
sweet and affectionate; vowed that she could never do enough to repay
such kindness, and immediately fell into a fresh pickle, and half
frightened the life out of her companions by her hairbreadth escapes.
Her careless, happy-go-lucky ways seemed all the more curious because
of the almost Quaker-like neatness of her appearance. Mellicent was
often untidy, and even Esther had moments of dishevelment, but Peggy
was a dainty little person, whose hair was always smooth, whose dress
well brushed and natty. Her artistic sense was too keen to allow of any
shortcoming in this respect, but she seemed blessed with a capacity
of acting before she thought, which had many disastrous consequences.
She was by no means a robust girl, and Mrs. Asplin fussed over her
little ailments like an old mother hen with a delicate nursling. One
prescription after another was unearthed for her benefit, until the
washstand in her room looked like a small chemist's shop. An array of
doctor's tinctures, gargles and tonics stood on one side, while on the
other were a number of home-made concoctions in disused wine bottles,
such as a paregoric cough-mixture, a hair wash, and a cooling draught
to be taken the first thing in the morning, which last pretended to be
lemonade, but in reality contained a number of medicinal powders. "Take
it up tenderly, treat it with care!" was Peggy's motto with respect to
this last medicine, for she had discovered that by judicious handling,
it was possible to enjoy a really tasty beverage, and to leave the
sediment untouched at the bottom of the bottle!

Esther and Mellicent were almost equally well supplied by their anxious
mother, but their bottles behaved in a sober, well-regulated fashion,
and never took upon themselves to play tricks, while those in Peggy's
room seemed infected by the spirit of the owner, and amused themselves
with seeing how much mischief they could accomplish. A bottle of
ammonia had been provided as a cure for bites of gnats and flies;
Peggy flicked a towel more hastily than usual, and down it went, the
contents streaming over the wood, and splashing on to the wardrobe
near at hand, with the consequence that every sign of polish was
removed, and replaced by white unsightly stains. The glass stopper of
a smelling-salts bottle became fixed in its socket, and being anointed
with oil and placed before the fire to melt, popped out suddenly with
a noise as of a cannon shot, aimed accurately for the centre of the
mirror, and smashed it into a dozen pieces. The "safety ink-pot," out
of which she indited her letters to her mother, came unfastened of its
own accord and rolled up and down the clean white toilet cover. This,
at least, was the impression left by Peggy's innocent protestations,
while the gas and soap seemed equally obstinate, the one refusing to be
lowered when she left the room, and the other insisting upon melting
itself to pieces in her morning bath.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration]




THE RESULT OF OUR HOLIDAYS NEEDLEWORK COMPETITION.


In some respects the result of this competition has been satisfactory.
The competitors carefully observed the rules, the sewing was in many
cases most excellent, the neatness and finish conspicuous. Many of the
articles were made so well that we felt quite proud to think our girls
could turn out such good work.

The care as to details pleased us very much, for that was given in
all but a few exceptions. It was so nice to see how firmly buttons
were sewn on, button-holes made so well, and seams carefully overcast
or pinked, raw edges protected by tidy button-hole stitches. Then,
too, we were glad to note, that although intended for the very poor,
the workers had not fallen into the common error of selecting ugly
materials for their articles. Very few of the stuffs used were anything
but suitable, serviceable, and pretty rather than not, the way in which
the blouses especially were made being quite satisfactory.

There were a few carelessly made articles where bad sewing, most
inappropriate trimming--eminently one overall with extremely common
imitation fur, the cotton back of which was visible and very
untidy--disqualified for prizes or even honourable mention.

We were much disappointed to find that there were only two flannel
petticoats sent in, and no serge underskirts at all! Certainly the
younger members of our readers have not shown much interest in the
competition. The two petticoats sent were so good that the first prize
was divided between them.

There were not nearly as many competitors altogether as we hoped for,
and that was the unsatisfactory part, for really our belief in our
girls' desire to help the poor was very deeply rooted. We also hoped
that more would have been spurred on by the chance of a prize to send
in some article.


FOR GIRLS UNDER FOURTEEN.

_Flannel Petticoat._

First prize, one guinea, divided between--

 Marion Wilson Rankin, Shirgarton, North Mount Vernon, Glasgow, and
 Eleanor Dorothy Pimm, Linholme, 40, George Road, Edgbaston.


FOR GIRLS OVER FOURTEEN.

_Child's Overall._

First prize of one guinea--

 Anna Mörner, Tonstorp, Sweden.

The second prize of half-a-guinea is divided between--

 Mabel Weller, North Shields, and
 Leila Mary Bowen, Ludlow.


FOR GIRLS OVER EIGHTEEN.

_Girl's Blouse._

First prize of one guinea--

 Miss Clara L. Wiles, Cambridge.

Second prize of half-a-guinea--

 Miss Urqhuhart, Glasgow.

So many of the blouses merited special commendation that we give a list
of--


HONOURABLE MENTION.

Rose Baiden, Daisy Clarke, E. Morris, Eleanor Groves, Winifred Hopton,
Eva Davenport, Janet Lamb, A. M. Deacon, Ida A. Browne, Nellie Cannon,
Emily White, Mabel Barr, Carrie M. Anthony, Margaret Beckett, Alice M.
Hewitt, E. M. Corke, Alethea Bate.

[Illustration]




LESSONS FROM NATURE.

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


CHAPTER II.

THE INDUSTRIOUS BEAVER.

The part played by some of the different species in the animal world
(_sic_), in the development of our earth and its resources, cannot be
over-estimated. In some parts of America, for instance, the persistent
industry of beavers in the construction of dams has rendered fertile
whole tracts of prairie land that were once arid and barren.

In the _Castoridae_, together with the squirrels, the beaver family
constitute the group termed _Sciuromorpha_, a group distinguished by
its members having a special type of lower jaw structure, and also the
same type of skull structure. The powerful incisor teeth of the beaver
are admirably suited to the cutting through of small tree stems, of
branches and twigs, whilst its flat and scaly tail serves as a rudder
to a creature that always makes its home beside or in the midst of
water.

The beaver is as much noted for its sagacity, and for what nowadays we
call "faculty," as it is prized for its fur. One of the largest of the
rodents, its body measures nearly three and a half feet in length, not
taking the tail into consideration, which is eleven to twelve inches in
length.

An attempt has been made to acclimatise the beaver in England again.
That it once bred in our country is proved by the fact that some fossil
remains of the animal have been obtained from the crag deposits in
Norfolk and Suffolk. These were, however, declared by Professor Owen to
have belonged to a much larger species of beaver than is now known. Sir
Edmund Loder has a number of the common species established in a little
valley stream in his estate, Leonard's Lea, near Horsham, carefully
protected, which are said to be thriving, and Lord Bute had a still
larger number established in Scotland; but it is not likely that they
will ever be at home in our country again. Whilst badgers and others
have had so much difficulty in holding their own, it is not likely
that the beaver could breed and thrive unmolested. Whilst writing the
present article, I have heard from Lord Bute that the last of his
beavers died some time ago.

In other parts of Europe it is found now only in small numbers, on
the banks of the Danube, the Rhone, and the Weser. In the northern
districts of Canada it is very numerous. Its range in America is from
the confluence of the Ohio and the Mississippi to the banks of the
Mackenzie River. At one time the demand for the fur--greatly in vogue
in those days for men's hats--was so large that it was feared this
clever little creature might become extinct, and the noted furriers of
the Hudson Bay Company took measures, in concert with certain Indian
tribes, for its protection, whilst still procuring large quantities of
its fur.

The most interesting feature in the natural history of the beaver is
their amazing skill in the construction of their dams and the dwellings
they make for themselves--"lodges," these are called. They are often
constructed in small rivers and creeks where the water is apt to be
drained off, when the supplies are dried up by winter frost. I spent
some time in Colorado near to a part of the Rockies where beavers
abounded, and where they were a never-failing source of interest to the
young folks in my friend's family. In Montana also they abound in vast
numbers. One of its counties is named Beaver Head.

What we--in our ignorance of the inner life of those creatures who have
always shared the rich heritage of this world with ourselves--term
instinct, has taught the beavers to provide against drought, and to
keep up a certain necessary depth of water, by making a dam right
across these smaller rivers just at what they know to be a convenient
distance from their houses. The manner in which they construct this
depends on the locality where they live. If the current is not
strong--if there is only a slight motion of the water--the dam is
made almost straight; but in proportion as the stream is a rapid one,
the dam must be more curved, presenting its convex side towards the
current. Where beavers have been allowed to build for a long period
undisturbed, their dams become in time, through the persistent industry
with which they repair them, a bank so solid that it resists quite
a strong on-rush of water or even of ice. Vegetation plants itself
on this--willows, birches, and poplar-trees take root. Sometimes so
large a thicket is formed that birds build there, and the whole makes
a charming colony of happy and busy life. The dams are built in some
rivers of trees which are often five or six inches in diameter. These
the beaver cuts down with his wonderful sharp incisor teeth.

In lakes and ponds also the beavers have their habitat. They like much
the narrow creeks which so often connect the lakes of North America.
The currents help them to convey the wood and other materials to their
dwellings. A certain depth of water is, of course, necessary for their
purpose. Driftwood is utilised by them in building, as well as the
green boughs of willows, birches, and poplars. But mud and stones are
used also, welded all firmly together, and the different parts of the
dam must, of course, be of equal strength. In the same manner, that is,
of the same materials, they construct their dwellings, but they are
not built with equal care; their construction is rougher than that of
the dams. The only thing essential in the work is that they should be
made watertight, so that they may have dry sleeping-quarters. Sometimes
a house is just big enough for one family, but larger dwellings are
also made, such as will house a great number of animals. When this
is the case, each family has its own apartment, with a separate door
communicating only with the water, never with the home of any other
family. The wood is laid crosswise, nearly horizontal, leaving a cavity
in the centre. The smaller branches, that project uselessly, are cut
off with the teeth, and they are thrown in with the rest to form a good
safeguard against any falling in of the mud through the roof.

Once it was believed that the woodwork was first finished, and that
then it was plastered, the tail being used as a trowel for this
purpose. But this was a popular error. The tail is used as a rudder,
and like that of a dog, is a vehicle for emotion. It is flapped even
when a beaver has been tamed and domesticated, especially when the
creature is startled. They have a very pretty way of carrying mud and
stones in their little fore-paws, holding them close up under the
throat. The wood naturally is dragged along, held in the teeth. All
their work is done in the night-time, a charming sight for a lover of
animals, if he can quietly remain concealed near enough for observation
on a clear calm night.

A wonderful instinct, so-called, again prompts the beavers to cover
their houses each autumn with fresh mud--as late in the season as they
can manage it--so that it may freeze hard and keep them secure against
their foe, the wolverine, a creature about the size of our common
badger, which is much about during the winter. Wolverines are said to
do more damage to the fur trade in smaller animals than all the other
creatures of prey put together.

Their lodges are kept clean, their inhabitants always plunging into the
water instead of polluting their sleeping quarters.

Sir John Richardson states that their main food consists of a large
root, something like a cabbage stalk, which grows at the bottom of
lakes and rivers, a yellow water-lily in fact--_Nuphar luteum_. But
they eat also the bark of trees--that of the poplar, birch and willow.
The latter, however, they cannot procure in winter, when the ice
prevents their getting to land, so that roots are then their staple
food. In summer the diet is varied by the different kinds of herbage
and the berries growing near their haunts. In the part of Colorado I
have already referred to, above what is called Hardscrabble Creek,
in Fremont County, wild fruits, gooseberries, currants, raspberries,
and other berries are in profusion. When the ice breaks up in the
spring, the beavers always leave their homes to roam about until the
approaching fall of the leaf makes them return; and after laying in
their winter stock of wood, they then set to work to repair their homes.

The Indians consider beaver flesh a delicacy, and they prefer to bake
it with the skin on, as our gipsies roast the hedgehog. It is a heavy
meat, much like pork, hard to digest.

The author already mentioned tamed several of them, and he got them to
answer to their names and to follow him about like dogs. They were, he
said, very fond of being petted and fondled, creeping into the laps of
the Indian women and standing on their hind legs to be caressed. They
lived indoors with the women and children during the winter, and if
these were absent for any length of time, the beavers quite fretted
after them. So domesticated did they become that they particularly
enjoyed rice and plum pudding, and, indeed, shared generally the food
of the women. The cry of a beaver cub is very like that of an infant.

The American poet, Whittier, says--

    "The musk-rat plied its mason's trade,
    And tier by tier its mud walls laid."

The musk-rat is a small kind of beaver, and great numbers of the skins
are imported into England. It constructs huts like its larger relative
but of a simpler style, the openings to them being under the water.
There is also an animal nearly as large as a common beaver which was
included in the same family, and called a coypu, inhabiting the rivers
and streams of South America. Furs of coypu are sold as otter skins.

"Ask now the beasts and they shall teach thee," and from the beaver and
its works we can indeed learn what persistent, cheerful industry can
accomplish. Our poet, Coleridge, said, "If the idle are described as
_killing_ time, the methodical man may be justly said to call it into
life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only
of the consciousness, but of the conscience." Perhaps the latter part
of this sentence may seem obscure to some of you, my readers. To kill
time means evidently to lose all count of it, to be "unmindful of the
fleeting hours." But if the conscience is roused, and we are imbued
with a sense of our responsibility with regard to every day, every
hour we live, each hour becomes instinct with possibilities, with the
opportunity and power of developing the gifts that we have, the talents
entrusted to us, not only with a view to self-improvement and personal
enrichment, but with an eye on the Master and His work. "Fellow-workers
with Christ" in the redemption of this world,--how great a calling!

The beaver's little paws seem so small; yet by pawful after pawful
of earth brought by these small animals, who are working in friendly
co-operation with their fellows, great dams that can stem an advancing
flood are constructed.

I once heard a story of a poor and not over-wise--as the world counts
wisdom--Highlander. I think he was a shepherd, he lived where there
were only a few huts widely scattered over the bleak hillsides, and no
church was within the reach of the inhabitants of these. God's Spirit
moved strongly in the lonely heart, and he determined that a place of
worship should be built. Every time he came home to his cot, he brought
as many stones as he could collect whilst out, and he placed them in a
heap not far from his own door. Those who knew him and who passed that
way jeered and laughed at what the simple, loving fellow called his
church building.

The heap grew, though very slowly; for many years the shepherd's work
went on, that work which was called by the neighbours his "folly."
But one day a rich stranger travelling by that lonely and unused way
noticed the heap and asked what it meant. On hearing its history, his
heart was warmed by the flame of love in that of the poor cotter,
and he caused a good building--where divine service was soon held
weekly--to be placed on the spot, using up in it, let us hope, those
stones which were truly its foundation.

I know, myself, a lovely church, not far from Ehrenbreitstein on the
Rhine, which was built only from stones brought by loving hands to
ground chosen by the village pastor. The building took very many years,
but it stands there now complete, a monument of the free-will offerings
and labour of poor working folks.

We do not all need to think of building churches, but the stories are
typical. We are all either building, or--awful thought--pulling down
the good work of others. As the Book says, "Every wise woman buildeth
her house, but the foolish plucketh it down with her hands."

Our power to work increases by use. Many of the world's greatest books
have been written by busy men. How often, too, one hears it said that
if you want anything special done you must ask a busy man or woman to
do it. That barren fig-tree to which our Lord directed the attention
of His followers is a by-word and a proverb for all ages. Persistent
industry it is that meets with the reward. An abiding sense of duty we
need.

Yet all of us have our times of depression, of weakness, and days
when aspiration and hope seem dead within us. Then let us try to cast
ourselves on Him whose joy, "the joy of the Lord," may become our
strength. One of our poets says--

    "We cannot kindle when we will
      The fire that in the heart resides;
    The spirit moveth, and is still,
      In mystery the soul abides;
    Yet tasks in hours of insight willed
    May be in hours of gloom fulfilled."

It is these two last lines I would beg you to take to heart.

Huber, the distinguished naturalist of Geneva, who wrote so much and
so finely on bees, was blind from the age of seventeen; yet he had a
passion for the study of animal and especially of insect life, a study
one would suppose quite out of the reach of the blind. He had a good
and devoted wife, who never wearied in promoting his well-being and
their joint happiness. Through her eyes he studied and succeeded in
mastering a department in natural history which needs the clearest
and keenest eyesight. And not only did he write a great work, which
is still referred to as a masterpiece of its kind, and is still
constantly quoted, but what the wife's eyes saw and transferred to his
brain became his very own, to dwell upon, to draw deductions from, to
gather to himself a fund of personal happiness, to give forth again to
the world enriched by his thoughts--his life made a happiness and a
blessing to himself and others--all through the unwearying industry and
persevering efforts of a loving woman who effaced herself, apparently,
for the sake of her husband and his life's work. "Who would lose his
life shall find it."

A last word. The sovereign remedy for doubt and perplexity is, "Doe the
next thynge."

(_To be continued._)




THE GIRL'S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.


_We give here the fifth instalment of questions in this Competition,
full particulars of which appeared on p. 14._


Questions 49-60.

49. What epidemic in Italy in the sixteenth century was cured by means
of music?

       *       *       *       *       *

50. What is the mother-tongue of Queen Victoria?

       *       *       *       *       *

51. What is the best time at which to water indoor and outdoor plants?

       *       *       *       *       *

52. Is abundant hair an indication of bodily and mental strength?

       *       *       *       *       *

53. How many ways can be named of profitably using broken bread?

       *       *       *       *       *

54. Was public money ever raised in England by encouraging the spirit
of gambling?

       *       *       *       *       *

55. Who was the religious poet so beloved by the parish of which he was
rector that many of his parishioners would stop their ploughs when his
bell rang for prayers that they might offer their devotions to God with
him?

       *       *       *       *       *

56. How did the leek come to be the emblem of Wales?

       *       *       *       *       *

57. What famous outlaw has a conspicuous place in ballad literature?

       *       *       *       *       *

58. Where can a married couple, after a twelvemonth of matrimony, lay
claim to a flitch of bacon after proving that, during the whole time,
they have never had a quarrel and never regretted the marriage?

       *       *       *       *       *

59. Has anyone ever tried to count the stars?

       *       *       *       *       *

60. What English earl once got a box on the ear from a great queen?

The answers to the above questions, Nos. 49-60, together with the
answers to questions 61-72, which are yet to appear, must be sent in on
or before February 24, 1899.

Address to THE EDITOR, THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER OFFICE, 56, Paternoster
Row, London, E.C., and at the left-hand top corner of the envelope or
wrapper write the words "QUESTIONS COMPETITION."




FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.

BY "THE LADY DRESSMAKER."


[Illustration: PRINCESS DRESS OF BROWN CLOTH.]

The first thing on my list with which I must deal is the recent meeting
of the Amateur Swimming Association, at which the vexed question of a
regulation dress for the women members was discussed; and there is a
good chance that it will be wisely and properly decided, so that there
will be a regular uniform dress in future, and all misunderstanding
will be avoided. The material to which the lady delegates appear to
have given in their adhesion, is stockingette; which they consider
superior in every way to serge, flannel, silk, or merino. A model
costume made of it, shown by the Birmingham Ladies Club, was so much
approved of by the large assembly of ladies present, that it was
adopted as a guide, the fullest liberty as to trimmings being given,
while only three colours were allowed, viz., navy blue, red, and black.
The Birmingham costume had flat facings of Turkey-red twill, but of
course it is open to any club to select their own colours. It buttoned
on the shoulders, and by means of gussets under the arms a short sleeve
was formed. The great recommendation, however, was its cheapness, as it
was announced that it could be produced in quantities of not less than
one dozen at a fraction over two shillings each, in the various sizes
required by the wearers. Of course, where there are so many working
women's clubs, this question of cost is a grave consideration. The
costume finally recommended was much on this Birmingham model. With
the additional advice that "it should reach, at least, to within three
inches from the knee," should be cut square at the neck, and button on
the shoulder, where it must be not less than three inches in width,
and where it must be shaped to the arm beneath, so as to form a short
sleeve.

Now that swimming as a pastime has become so popular amongst women and
girls, and when it is taught in so many schools, it is only wise to
decide on a suitable dress, which can be modified to meet all views,
and trimmed to please all wearers, and be attainable to limited purses,
and, above all, should be seemly to wear in a mixed assemblage of all
ages.

Although we have worn the Eton jacket with more or less decoration
for many years, it seems still to hold its own, and is very becoming
indeed to many people. The same may be said of the Bolero fronts;
both of these are braided and buttoned this autumn, and the braiding
is generally in panels, while the buttons most used are of the fancy
order. Basqued bodices, with and without belts, three-quarter-length
coats, quite tight to the figure, and a coat of the _Directoire_
style, short at the waist in front, with a rounded basque, and long
coat-tails; all of these are in fashion, and, so far as I see, though
all have basques, they may be long or short, according to individual
fancy. The great desire of all women this winter is to present an
appearance of height and thinness, and all draperies must be sweeping,
and the outlines flowing, to meet with our approval. Flounces and
frills are used with much discretion, so that they may not contradict
the clinging effect. Skirts are, if possible, tighter than ever, and
only show fulness at the feet, while as regards our sleeves, the last
vestige of puffiness has deserted them, and not even a tiny pleat is
permitted at the shoulder, and the whole appearance is that of the old
coat-sleeve, which was originally introduced by the Princess of Wales.

Of course, with this clinging effect, we may naturally go on to say
that the Princess dress that was worn by a few people last season will
be adopted by many this winter; and the newest ones, if in cloth, have
very generally strapped seams; the French Princess gowns having very
generally a _plastron_, which is buttoned up on each side with handsome
buttons.

In hats, we find the _tre-corne_ much used in Paris; but this is a
style only suitable to the very young, or very pretty, so that the
wider-brimmed felts are more generally popular. Many of the felt hats
are made in two colours, the underpart being of a different colour
to the upper, and very little trimming is used for them. Low-crowned
hats of almost a sailor shape have been predicted, and the boat shape
is one of the favourite winter models. Quills and wings have taken
the place of the long and graceful ostrich feathers, the former being
more suitable for winter weather; a large bow and ends, and jewelled
buckles, form part of the trimming, and the hat-pins are sumptuously
jewelled, and as every lady tries to select those that are most
decorative to her hat or bonnet, they have become quite a feature in
the head-dress of the day.

I spoke in my last chat on clothes, and dress in general, of the change
that has taken place in the dressing of the hair, and that it is worn
much lower; in fact, in a coil that lies on the nape of the neck, the
rest of the hair is waved in large waves, which lie regularly over
the top of the head, and across it from ear to ear, while the front
locks are curled over the forehead. The chief difficulty presented
by this new departure is in finding a hat or bonnet to go with it;
for all the French bonnets are made to go with the high rolled
_coiffure_ universally worn on the Continent, but never very becoming
to Englishwomen, who have good heads of hair and find a difficulty in
producing the tiny knot of hair, which is the essential part of the
high hair-dressing. The low knot is shown in our picture of the two
figures representing the new winter gowns, and called "A Princess dress
of brown cloth." These two gowns show exactly the prevailing styles of
the winter.

I daresay you will have already seen, though perhaps not quite
realised, the change, that dresses are now worn with bodices of the
same material, and the sketch in question displays this alteration in
style. The seated figure wears a Princess dress of brown cloth, with
revers of cream-coloured satin, one of which overlaps the other so far
as to close the gown on the side of the front, and the band of cream
satin is continued across the front and terminates in a scroll. The
satin has a scroll pattern braided on it with brown silk braid, and the
cuffs are decorated in the same manner. To those who contemplate having
a Princess gown, I would say, be careful to choose a good tailor or
dressmaker, and a firm material of which to make your dress, in order
to avoid dissatisfaction with your gown.

The second gown is of green face-cloth. The bodice and sleeves are
tucked with small horizontal tucks all over them. The skirt is one of
the new ones, and is in three tiers, cut away from the front, and each
is edged with a small band of chinchilla fur.

[Illustration: LONG BASQUED COAT AND EMBROIDERED JACKET.]

The second sketch shows a sac jacket of smooth blue serge, with a skirt
to match. The jacket is beautifully braided and embroidered in black,
both in front and on the shoulders. The hat is of blue felt, trimmed
with blue velvet and feathers. The second figure wears a long basqued
coat with a fur collar, and wide revers in front which taper down to
the waist, and end in two tails. The cuffs are turned back in the new
shape, and the collar is high and closes in front. The skirt worn is
plain, and is cut in the umbrella style. The hat is a small velvet one,
with fur trimmings and white or cream lace. The mixture of lace and
fur indeed with all our winter trimmings this year is very remarkable,
and contributes to the very light effect of all the millinery worn.

[Illustration: CAPE AND MUFF OF CHINCHILLA AND GREEN SILK.]

The pretty sketch next in order represents a gown made of one of the
new fancy materials trimmed with chinchilla; cape of chinchilla trimmed
with green silk and cream lace, and muff to match. The hat is a very
charming model, which is called by some milliners a Trelawnley. It
droops in front, and is made of black velvet, round the crown a very
handsome ostrich plume is laid, and under the brim of the hat is a
_cache peigne_ of pink roses. The new capes of this season are, many
of them, pointed in front and back; and are often caught in at the
waist behind. Violet cloth has been very much used for capes, and this
is a colour that goes so well with fur of all kinds that it is likely
to be popular. Where jackets are concerned, whether long or short in
the basques, the latter must fit very snugly round the hips without
fulness, or they will not give the effect of the newest style. Many of
the basques are added with a seam just below the waist, and are marvels
of careful fitting.

There is rather a strong tendency to use a great quantity of orange
in the French millinery; the hue of the moment being of the reddest
and most vivid flame colour. The other colours in vogue for the same
purpose are green, some shades of red, golden brown, wallflower, and
much blue in all shades. For capes and coats putty-colour and fawn are
much used, and there is a large amount of white used for trimming.

I must not finish my chat without mentioning the ribbon trimmings which
have so largely replaced lace, tulle, and chiffon ruches, especially
upon bodices and blouses. Skirts as well as bodices are ornamented with
gathered ribbons. The prettiest effect is given by using two ribbons
together, a narrow and a wider one. These may be of two different
colours, or of black and white, the latter being placed on the top.
Plain bands of ribbon edged with black velvet, or with baby ribbon
gathered, are also much used; in fact there seems no style of design
which cannot be turned to account in this decoration.




VARIETIES.


WRITING HISTORY.

Some people have very funny ideas about things. "You know I am supposed
to be an historian," said Kinglake the historian of the Crimean war
when talking to a friend. "The other day I got a letter which really
touched me: it was signed by two people, husband and wife, and came
from one of our colonies.

"They described their grief. Their only child had been killed in the
Crimea. For some incomprehensible reason, they were most anxious to
have their beloved son mentioned in my history of the Crimean War.

"Surprised, but flattered, I replied by return of post--a thing I had
not done for many, many years--that I should be happy to do my best for
their comfort provided they sent me the necessary particulars.

"Again, a letter signed by both father and mother arrived, but with the
following cruel addition--

"'We have no particulars whatever. He was killed on the spot like so
many others, and anything you may kindly invent will be welcome. We
leave it entirely to your judgment.'"


HOW TO WRITE WELL.--The style of a writer is a faithful representation
of her mind: therefore, if any girl wishes to write a clear style, let
her first be clear in her thoughts; and if anyone would write in a
noble style, let her first possess a noble soul.


KNOWLEDGE AND LOVE.--Without knowledge love is vain, without love
knowledge is vain.


ATTEND TO SMALL COURTESIES.--No matter how wise, how clever, how
skilled you may be, if you fail in the small courtesies of life, people
instinctively feel that there is dust on the balance, and that you do
not weigh as pure gold.


LITTLE HOPE FOR MISERS.--History tells of illustrious villains; but
there never was an illustrious miser in nature.


BRUSH IT OFF, IF YOU CAN.--Stretch your hand out flat, and place in the
middle of the palm an ordinary coin, a halfpenny, a penny, a sixpence,
a shilling, or anything else. Then tell someone she can have it,
provided she can brush it off. She must use a common clothes-brush for
the experiment. Your hand must not be struck, it must be brushed, just
as one would brush a garment. But the coin will stick to your hand as
if it were glued there. It is a very curious experiment.




ECONOMY.

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

    "We live in deeds, not years; in thoughts, not breaths;
    In feelings, not in figures on a dial.
    We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives
    Who thinks most, feels the noblest, acts the best.
    Life's but a means unto an end--that end--
    Beginning, mean and end to all things--God."--_P. J. Bailey._


The subject "Economy" may strike my readers as being somewhat dry
and uninteresting; but I trust that when I have explained to you its
meaning and shown to what various things economy can be applied and the
good results attendant on its application, you will henceforth regard
the word with more liking and comprehension than before.

"Economy" (or "œconomy" as it should be spelt) comes from the Greek
word οἰκονομἱα, which signifies literally the "administration
of a house or home," and, secondarily, "right management" or
"administration" of anything.

When viewed with regard to our life as a complete unity, economy, or
right administration, should be zealously practised in three special
ways, namely, economy of money, economy of time, and economy of forces
or strength, and these last two are touched upon indirectly in the
lines chosen for the heading of this address.

Let us begin with economy of money. Many persons, both young and old,
learn the sad necessity for this by hard experience, and by such my
advice is not required. It is to you, the happy daughters of prosperous
parents, that I should like more particularly to say a few words on
this subject.

There are so many reasons why we should all practise economy of money,
or, in other words, try to administer our money aright. Firstly, it
trains us in habits of order and reflection if we try to lay out our
money to the best use instead of squandering it on worthless trifles
which serve only for the pleasure or amusement of the moment.

Secondly, it sets a good example to those around us and helps to remind
them of the fact that money like other talents is given to us to use
and not to waste. Thirdly and chiefly, it is to be commended because if
anyone, no matter who, nor whether his income be small or large, really
administers his money aright, that person will find himself able to put
by something each year against the rainy days that may come.

Again, it is not only for one's own use, but for that of others that
we should endeavour to keep a reserve-fund. And this applies directly
to girls with ample pocket-money. Do begin now at once; buy a little
money-box and every week or month drop a certain sum into it and
resolve never to open that box except to relieve some urgent and
piteous case of distress. For years it might remain unopened, and if
you continued to feed it regularly, it would give you infinite pleasure
some day to be able to open it and with the contents earn the undying
gratitude of a fellow-creature.

If you girls who have now, or will shortly have, an ample allowance per
year to dress on, were to pause to consider seriously how many women
there are, say in London alone, who have only £40 or £50 a year, and
not a penny beyond, to live on, that is, to provide them with a home,
food, clothing, firing, and all the other necessaries of life, there
is hardly one among you probably who would not resolve to immediately
commence administering her money with some care.

Economy of time again is essential towards using one's life to the best
advantage. It does not mean a continual bustle and hurry, but doing
things at the right time and working and living with some definite end
in view--the final end of all ends being, as the motto says, the glory
and honour of God in our lives. Again, true economy of time does not
imply that each hour in which we have not actually achieved some work
with brain or hand is consequently wasted, for it may often be truer
economy to spend an hour in quiet talk with a friend or in taking
suitable recreation, but it does demand some method in our distribution
of time, and protests against the best hours of the day being devoted
solely to amusement or to mutually profitless gossip. Milton prettily
says--

"Hours have wings, fly up to the author of time and carry news of our
usage. All our prayers cannot entreat one of them either to return
or slacken his pace. The misspents of every minute are a new record
against us in heaven. Sure if we thought thus, we should dismiss them
with better reports and not suffer them to fly away empty or laden with
dangerous intelligence. How happy is it when they carry up not only the
message, but the fruits of good, and stay with the Ancient of Days to
speak for us before His glorious throne."

Sir James Y. Simpson, the celebrated surgeon, was very fond of speaking
to the students on the duty of saving the moments and letting the
minutes look after themselves. But in his estimate, as it should ever
be in ours, the quality of the work was the all-important element in
life. And of a hard-working thoughtful doctor who died young, he said,
"He was older than some of us who are twice his age!"

Kingsley had the same thought in his mind when he wrote those
well-known lines--

    "Be good, sweet maid, and let who can be clever;
      Do lovely things, not dream them, all day long,
    And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever
      One grand sweet song."

He did not intend to deprecate cleverness and learning, but to point
out that our first endeavour should be to be good and live a noble
life, and if we could accomplish that, not to fret or be grieved if
outstripped in intellectual attainments by others; because whilst "to
do lovely things" lies in everybody's power, the higher intellectual
acquirements are not within the reach of all. With due arrangement
of time it is marvellous how much can be accomplished. You will be
surprised to find how many books you can read in a year if you devote
one hour a day to them. It is often said that it is the busiest people
who can always find time to undertake yet some more work or do a
service for others, while idle people never have time for anything,
and the truth of this paradox is proved by the vast amount of reading
accomplished and the intense interest taken in extraneous matters by
our very busiest statesmen, surgeons and clergymen. Try then, all
of you, to acquire such habits of regularity and punctuality whilst
at school, that they may remain with you afterwards and make it an
easy and pleasant task for you to apportion your time to the best
advantage, when freed from the rules necessary in scholastic life.

It remains for me to say a few words on the economy of our powers or
strength, which must be subdivided into physical and moral. Here the
idea of law involved in the word economy plays a most important part,
for nature has certain laws which, in our employment of our forces, she
will not allow to be transgressed with impunity; if we overtax either
our bodily or mental strength, we shall find that this disregard of
nature's laws will, sooner or later, bring its inevitable punishment.
A word of warning against the folly of taking physical exercise in
excess will hardly be out of season just now, when bicycling is so very
popular, that one unfortunately hears of many men, women and girls who
have made themselves ill by riding too fast or too long distances at a
stretch, or who, in other words, have not listened to the warning of
Nature, which says, "Do enough, but not too much." It is such a pity
ever to convert what is intended to be a beneficent pleasure into an
evil through our inability to practise a little self-restraint, and
this may arise not only from doing too much, but also from doing it
in a reckless and senseless manner. I heard it said recently that,
according to computations, there had been more deaths from bicycling
accidents in the last year in England than there had been English
soldiers killed throughout the present Egyptian campaign, from its
very beginning to after the Battle of Omdurman; and when one reads the
accounts of these accidents, one finds that nearly every one was caused
directly by the rider's recklessness and want of prudence. Too much
physical exercise also weakens our mental powers, so intimately are
mind and body connected, that that is an additional reason for taking
bicycling and all other bodily exercises in moderation, lest we should
be too tired to fulfil our other duties. The same warning applies to
mental overwork. How many a girl while at school, and more especially
at College, ruins her eyesight, if not her constitution, by poring
over her books at all hours, even when she ought to be taking the
much-needed rest of sleep, or of open-air exercise; and they cannot, or
will not, believe that time spent on necessary recreation and change
of occupation is time saved, not lost, and will enable them to resume
their work or exercise with far more vigour.

Therefore, dear girls, listen to your common sense, and stop
immediately when you feel that, either in work or play, you are getting
overtired.

Finally, let us consider what these three economies united will effect.
Each is good in itself, but happy is he who practises all three with
the ever-present thought that God is to be the end of all, for he will
be gaining wisdom, which "is better than rubies," and "whoso findeth
wisdom findeth life, and shall obtain favour of the Lord." "Wisdom! how
inexhaustible a theme! It is the ripest fruit of a well-spent life.
Wisdom never grows old, for she is the expression of order itself--that
is, of the eternal. Only the wise man draws from life, and from every
stage of it, its true savour, because only he feels the beauty, the
dignity, and the value of life.... To see all things in God, to make of
one's own life a journey towards the ideal, to live with gratitude and
devoutness, with gentleness and courage, to add to these the humility
which kneels and the charity which gives, is the true wisdom of the
children of God."




OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES;

OR,

VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES.


PART II.

The village architecture of England, though more ancient than that
to be found elsewhere in Europe, does not date so far back as the
ecclesiastical. There are many reasons why this is the case. The
churches and monasteries were erected with great solidity, because,
being for religious uses, it was presumed that they would be required
for all times, but the more humble domestic dwellings were rather
constructed with a view to the wants of those who had to live in them.
Then also, the church was subscribed for not only by those who lived
in the immediate neighbourhood, but often by the powerful and wealthy,
who, though not being connected directly with the locality, were moved
by charity and generosity to assist in works of piety.

The cottages in early times were probably of a very humble character,
built of "wattle," or osier twigs intertwined like an ordinary basket,
and plastered over with mud or clay. In eastern countries, Egypt for
instance, the heat of the sun was sufficient to convert this clay or
mud into what is called "crude brick," which was very durable, but in
England it required constant renewal, and in the course of time the
wattle rotted away from damp. In marshy districts the cottages were
built of turf or peat, as is still the case in parts of Ireland and
Scotland. Upon the borders of Staffordshire and Worcestershire, curious
caves are to be found which are in some cases still inhabited, and are
probably among the earliest human habitations in this country. Some of
the Derbyshire caves also were converted into habitations, and many of
the holes burrowed in the cliffs all round our coast were similarly
utilised. In after times they became very convenient hiding-places for
smugglers and their illicit wares.

It is a singular fact that English school-boys, and we much fear even
girls, take a delight in digging caves and crawling into them, and as
it requires a good deal of "wholesome correction" to put a stop to this
dangerous practice, it may be a question whether there is not some
natural or hereditary instinct which prompts children to work so hard
at this kind of mischief. Of course, the delightful notion of being a
"bold robber," or a "ferocious bandit," adds some zest to these very
risky operations.

A friend of ours once discovered his children hard at work at the
construction of a cave in his back garden. They proposed to be a
terror to the neighbourhood, and he told them all about the shocking
things that were done by robbers who lived in caves, how "they rushed
from their concealed hiding-places and robbed the unwary traveller,"
etc. He was met by the remark, "That is exactly what we propose to do,
pa." "How they stocked the cave with provisions which they had raided
from law-abiding folks." The chorus came as before, "That, papa, is
what we intend to do." "At last, my children, they were all captured,
the smaller ones well beaten, and the older ones hanged." The chorus
was far less jubilant. "Oh, pa, we don't expect that." "Well, my
children," said he, "you must receive the rewards for your prowess." He
found a few days afterwards that the cave was completely abandoned.

The earliest cottages or village residences in England, if we except
such buildings as Winwall and Armenhall in Norfolk, or Combe Pyne in
Devonshire, which are simply portions of larger buildings converted
into cottages, do not date earlier than the fifteenth century.

[Illustration: AT EWHURST, SURREY.]

It is somewhat remarkable that the "home counties" should be richer in
village architecture than any other part of the country, and it is not
a little singular that many of the best examples are to be found within
a radius of some thirty miles of the metropolis.

[Illustration: AT EWHURST, SURREY.]

The beautiful little village of Ewhurst, in Surrey, contains charming
examples, some dating as early as the sixteenth century. Ewhurst is
now fairly well known to Londoners who take an interest in beautiful
scenery and picturesque architecture, but thirty years back was as much
a _terra incognita_ as Dettelbach in Bavaria, where the inn-keeper told
the writer that he had never seen an Englishman before, and was very
much astonished to find that he did not after all "differ so very much
in appearance from a German."

The two cottages which we have sketched at Ewhurst are very
characteristic examples constructed in what is called "post and pan
work." That is to say, the walls consist of a framework of timber
called "post," which is subdivided into panels called "pan." These
"pans," or panels, are filled in with brick-work. In the first example
the brick is laid in herring-bone pattern, but in the second example
the whole of the upper storey is covered with scalloped tiles, a
treatment almost peculiar to Surrey and Sussex. On the ground floor
storey the brick-work between the timbers is plastered over.

The first cottage, which is of sixteenth century architecture, has a
very prettily arranged external staircase, protected by the sloping
eaves of the roof.

The second cottage, which is seventeenth century work, has an unbroken
and uninterrupted roof from end to end, which is the usual treatment,
for it must be pointed out that the genuine old English cottage does
not "break out all over" in ornamental gables, dormers, spirelets,
finials, and spikes; even when most picturesque, it is remarkably sober
and simple in outline and is as far as possible removed from the modern
"Bijou cottage," or "Cottage Ornée," a class of building which is to
architecture what "that pride which apes humility" is to virtue. The
genuine cottage is the residence of the humble hard-working peasant,
and its picturesque charm springs from its appropriateness, simplicity,
and absence of fussiness or ostentation.

The first cottage which we illustrate is a superior building to the
second, but it has a marked sobriety and simplicity about it which
assimilates so well with its humble surroundings.

    H. W. BREWER.




"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 IX.

SOME ACCOUNT OF ENGLAND'S HERO.

An excuse need hardly be offered for giving here a few details as to
the past history of General Moore, if only in explanation of Denham
Ivor's supreme devotion to the man, and of Jack Keene's more outspoken
admiration. Though Moore's name is inscribed in letters of blood upon
the deathless roll of our national heroes, not so much is known about
him by people in general as ought to be known. Ninety years ago a
common mode of referring to him in the country, and still more in the
Army, seems to have been simply as "Our Hero." And of this tale John
Moore is the real centre.

In those times of perpetual warfare, officers often reached high rank
early. In the year 1803 he was still in the prime of manhood, having
been born in 1761.

His father, a Scotch physician of eminence, and also a very successful
author,[1] must have occupied a different position from that of the
average medical man of those days. He was appointed to be the guardian
and the travelling companion of the young Duke of Hamilton, and he
showed himself well fitted for the trust; while his son from the first
shone as a star in whatever circle he might be placed. The doctor's
wife was a daughter of Professor Simpson, of Glasgow University. When
the doctor started on a lengthy Continental tour with his charge,
he took also his eldest son John, then about ten years old, and the
absence lasted nearly five years. No small trial this to members of a
most affectionate family, but heavy money losses made it impossible for
Dr. Moore to give up his charge, even had he wished to do so.

From boyhood John showed a conscientious devotion to duty, and a
marked dislike to aught in the shape of fashionable foppery. Although
he early learnt self-control, he was as a child very impulsive and
hasty-tempered, and addicted to fighting. At the age of eleven he
narrowly escaped killing a servant girl through meddling with loaded
pistols; and soon after he received his accidental injury from the
sword of the Duke, in careless play. Before this wound was healed,
he managed to get into a smart quarrel with some French boys in the
gardens of the Tuileries. They, being formally powdered, frizzled,
and attired like grown men, were disposed to jeer at Jack Moore's
boyish simplicity of dress, and Jack proceeded promptly to knock them
all down, one upon the top of another. Since he could box, and they
had not learnt that noble art, they had no chance against him, and a
great outcry was raised. Dr. Moore, hurrying to the spot, picked up
the fallen, did his best to comfort them, and severely blamed his son
for lack of politeness, which little incident gives one a clue to the
perfection of Moore's manners in later life.

By the age of fourteen he was a singularly fascinating young fellow,
with a face of manly beauty, a daring temper, and a growing passion for
the Army. Already he had become a good linguist, and was an adept at
both riding and fencing. About this time when, in the course of their
travels, the three went to Vienna, the Emperor of Austria definitely
offered to take the brilliant boy into his service, promising rapid
promotion. But Moore was even then far too ardent a patriot to serve in
any other Army than that of his own country. The idea was never for a
moment entertained.

It is curious to find him at this date, a mere lad of fourteen, writing
home to his next brother, Graham, in the style of a grown man to one
far his junior.

"I am pleased, my dear boy, that you wish to be a sailor, for I am sure
you will be a brave one. I hope that in some years after this you and
I will thresh the Monsieurs, both by sea and land; but I hope that we
won't make war with the Spaniards, for the Spanish ambassador is the
best and kindest man I ever saw."

In 1774 Dr. Moore wrote home to his wife:--

"I was happy to find that you do not disapprove of Jack's going into
the army. I hope this may turn out well, because he chooses it, has
a turn for it, and I believe is of a character to make a good figure
as a soldier. He is attentive, active, and brave; he has great good
sense, will have many accomplishments, and is the most beautiful and
graceful boy imaginable. It is a very disputable case whether the Duke
of Hamilton or Jack is the handsomest. Jack does not stoop as the Duke,
but will have a good carriage, and though he is so very pretty, he has
not the least tendency to be a coxcomb."

And in another letter, two years later, occurs a characteristic
description of the boy.

"Jack was as fond as the Duke of returning to Geneva, and he is much
too strong for me when the Duke is his second. We were received by our
friends with infinite kindness, and have been wonderfully feasted.
Jack quitted Geneva a boy, and has returned a man. Though he has been
caressed by all the high and mighty of the Republic, and is always
invited with the Duke and me, yet if, at the same time, he has an
invitation from any of his old acquaintances of a much humbler class,
he always prefers the latter. I pressed him one day to go with us,
because the people had insisted particularly on his coming. It was
to a fine villa, and a most brilliant party. I could not prevail; he
silenced me with this sentence: 'They who have invited me are poor;
they were kind to me when the others did not think me worth their
notice.' Never was a creature less spoiled than your son by all the
great people who have caressed him, nor by all the uncommon fine
situations[2] he has been in. Though his manner is manly and noble, yet
it is simple, and he assumes no airs. He is a charming youth. I wish
you had him in your arms."

At the age of fifteen he was made Ensign in the 51st Regiment, though
he did not actually join till some months later. Among the many dangers
in his career was one in those few months, when paying a visit to
Mount Vesuvius. "Jack" ventured perilously near to the crater, and in
hurrying away he fell and damaged his knee. A shower of lava and hot
stones poured directly afterwards upon the spot he had just quitted.
Had Jack Moore's retreat that day been less prompt, another most famous
and masterly retreat, followed by a never-to-be-forgotten battle, would
not have been inscribed upon the pages of English history.

His great friend, Douglas, Duke of Hamilton, was seized by a passing
fit of military enthusiasm, a few months after John Moore had joined
the 51st, which in a letter at that date he described as "one of the
best regiments in the service; as to officers, I never knew such a
number of fine gentlemanly lads. General Murray told me he did not
believe there was such a corps of officers in the army; there is no
such thing as either drinking or gambling going on." However, in 1777
a fresh regiment was raised for the express purpose that the Duke of
Hamilton might have the pleasure of commanding it; and though he soon
grew tired of his new vocation, and resigned his commission, he sent
first for his friend and made him lieutenant and paymaster. Moore went
with the "Hamilton Regiment" to Nova Scotia, and had some hard fighting
out there, gaining great credit for personal prowess.

Peace was proclaimed before the close of 1783 between Great Britain
and her then four enemies: France and Spain, Holland and the United
States. Though Britain in those days had much less than half her
present population, she was wont most cheerfully to engage in war with
three or four nations at one and the same time, apparently without any
serious misgivings as to results.

The "Hamilton Regiment" being disbanded, Captain Moore, then aged only
twenty-three, went home to live with his parents in London. He studied
hard, and was much in society, being a universal favourite. Through the
influence of the Duke of Hamilton, with whom when possible he always
spent two autumn months, he was chosen to represent in Parliament four
Scottish boroughs, but it was with the express stipulation on his part
that he should be in all cases free to follow his own judgment. He
never had been, and he never became in the true sense a party-man, but
had friends on all sides, friends who held every variety of political
opinion. Moore fought for country, not for party.

In 1787 he was appointed Major of a new battalion at Chatham, and he
gladly forsook civil for military duties. During the following year
he rejoined his first regiment, the 51st, at Cork, and soon became
Lieutenant-General. While he was there young Anderson, an Ensign in his
regiment, became one of his most devotedly-attached friends, and was
ever after his inseparable companion.

By this time he was known as a disciplinarian of unusual power,
indulgent when he might safely be so, but inflexible in enforcing
strict obedience. In an age when hard drinking was the fashion, he set
his face like a flint against habits of intemperance, alike in the
ranks and among officers, from most of whom he had steady support.
One young lieutenant, who ventured to appear on parade in a state of
intoxication, was forced by him to resign the service, and from that
time Moore had no further trouble. His regiment became widely known for
its exceptional sobriety and dependableness.

In 1792 he was ordered to Malta, and two years later he was fighting
with the French in Corsica, the peace having already come to an end.
On the 10th of July ended successfully the siege of Calvi, that being
the last spot in the island which the French had managed so far to
keep. As Moore was gallantly storming the breach he had a severe wound,
a fragment of shell striking him on the head. For an instant he was
stunned; but regaining sense, he once more sprang up the breach. Sir
Charles Stuart, chief-in-command, looking anxiously on, was alarmed
at the bursting of shells among the assailants. He rushed forward
and dashed over intervening obstacles, to find Moore in the midst of
shouting grenadiers, his face streaming with blood. Apparently the
great dread of Sir Charles had been that he was killed, for in the
excitement of the moment he caught him in his arms, hardly able to
utter his thankfulness, not only that the breach was won, but that John
Moore still lived.

Two years later a collision between the English viceroy of Corsica,
Sir Gilbert Elliot, and Sir Charles Stuart, made the latter resign his
command and return to England; and later Moore was sharply ordered home
by Elliot, who seems to have been annoyed with the friendship between
him and the leading Corsican patriots. Moore, on reaching England,
protested with much heat against the way in which he had been treated.
He had, however, no need to disquiet himself. The King and the Duke of
York took the matter up, promoted him to the rank of Brigadier-General,
and sent him out to the West Indies, there to serve under Abercrombie.
Both the Duke of York and Pitt had been, from the time of his seat in
Parliament, his personal friends. Wherever he went he made friends for
life.

While he was in the West Indies, Denham Ivor, then a young subaltern of
eighteen, was first thrown under the fascinating influence of Moore,
having been for years one of his warmest admirers. As usual, numberless
opportunities occurred for the display of personal bravery, in which
Moore always shone. On one occasion he had a most narrow escape. At the
storming of the all but impregnable fortification of Morne Fortuné in
St. Lucia, as he led a desperate charge against the French, shouting
till nearly voiceless, "Forward, forward! We have almost gained the
heights!" a musket was aimed point-blank at him. One half second more,
and Moore's career would have been ended; but a private grenadier,
seeing his peril, flung himself between, received the bullet meant for
him, and was caught in Moore's arms as he fell dead.

Ivor too had won laurels and promotion in those days of hard fighting.
Moore's influence over the younger officers was unrivalled; and many a
one besides Ivor could look back, long years after, with the knowledge
that John Moore had been the making of him, not only as a soldier, but
as a man. Moore shaped the characters of those with whom he had to do.

Somewhat later, when St. Lucia had been wrested from the French, he was
appointed Commandant and Governor of the island; no easy post, for the
negroes had revolted, in imitation of the recent French Revolution, and
they were fearfully cruel and barbarous in their methods of warfare.
Abercrombie kept Moore there, long after the latter had, on account of
illness, begged to be released from the charge, because he knew of no
other man capable of taking his place.

While striving to put down the rebels, or "brigands," as they were
called, Moore had a dangerous attack of fever. On his recovery from it
and from a severe relapse, he was again hard at work, rising at six in
the morning and often undertaking a thirty-miles march in the day, till
again laid low with a desperate attack of yellow fever, which all but
carried him off. But for the devotion of Anderson and of his own French
servant François,[3] he could not possibly have struggled through.
Then, with broken health, he was ordered home; and he reached London a
mere wreck of his old self.

(_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] His novel, _Zeluco_, was an inspiration to Byron.

[2] He had been received freely at the Courts of Vienna, Berlin,
Hanover, Brunswick, etc.

[3] François was with him to the close of his life.




OUR PUZZLE POEMS.

A NEW DEPARTURE.


We propose to publish Three Puzzle Poems in succession dealing with
accidents and the way to meet them. The lines should be carefully
committed to memory for the sake of the valuable instruction they
contain.

In addition to the ordinary monthly prizes THREE SPECIAL PRIZES are
offered for the best solutions of the whole series.

The first Special Prize will be THREE GUINEAS; the second Special
Prize, TWO GUINEAS, and the third Special Prize, ONE GUINEA.

A careful record of mistakes will be kept, and these prizes will be
awarded to those competitors who perpetrate the fewest in all three
puzzles.

If a winner of one of these prizes has already received an ordinary
prize in the series, the amount of the smaller prize will be deducted.
This will then be sent to the most deserving non-prize-winner in the
list relating to the puzzle for which the prize in question was awarded.

[Illustration: OUR NEW PUZZLE POEM.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

M. S. C.--It was a printer's error; read _lithos_ a stone.

F. L. B. B.--We cannot give you any address, but have seen
advertisements in _The Bazaar_, _Exchange and Mart_ of the class you
describe. To write sermons for remuneration for others to preach, is
not a very satisfactory sort of occupation; for clergymen are not
supposed to buy their sermons ready made, and if they do it, it is
"under the rose."


OUR OPEN LETTER BOX.

Can any of our readers kindly inform "Stanmore" who is the author of
the following lines:--

    "When to the flow'rs so beautiful
      Our Father gave a name,
    Back came a little blue-eyed one,
      All tremblingly it came.
    'Dear God, the name thou gavest me,
      Alas, I have forgot!'
    Kindly the Father looked Him down,
      And said, 'Forget-Me-not!'"


INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.

"UGLY DUCKLING," Hungary, has two offers of correspondence--from
Mildred E. Davis, just nineteen, passionately fond of music and
painting, address, 70, Broad Street, Blaenarvon, Monmouthshire, and
"FAITH," Glasgow, who gives no address, but sends us a letter, which we
regret we cannot forward. We must repeat that we undertake no postal
communication, direct or indirect, in connection with this column.

MADEMOISELLE LUCILE FELTZ, aged twenty, 92, Grande Rue, Chantilly
(Oise), France, wishes for an English correspondent of about the same
age, of good education, who desires to learn French. Mademoiselle Feltz
reads English well, but cannot write it fluently. Each would write in
the other's language. Perhaps this offer would suit "Harebell," of
about the same age, of good family. She reads French with ease and
would like to improve herself by correspondence. Address, Oak Villa,
Whiskham, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

NELLIE ANDERSON, aged nineteen, of 2, Royston, Bangor, co. Down,
Ireland, would like to correspond with Miss F. A. Jeffery, 848,
Columbus Avenue, New York City, U.S.A.

MISS ZEILA BAWEN, aged seventeen, The Lodge, Stoke St. Milburgha,
Ludlow, wishes to correspond with a French girl, of about her own age.

MRS. HASTINGS OGILVIE, Bolareen, Deccan, India, sends her address with
great pleasure for "Friend Studio." She is a "married girl," and hopes
"Friend Studio" will not suppose she is too old.

MISS ANICE CRESS, Mysore, South India, would be delighted to correspond
with "Erica," "Budapesth," "Hungary," or any of our girl readers, in
English or French. She is sorry she does not understand German. We
quote a sentence from her letter, apropos of another correspondent she
has found through THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER--

    "If people in Europe could only see the pleasure it gives us out
    here to receive European letters, I think they would not consider
    the trouble they have taken in writing to be in vain. Mail day is
    such a 'red letter day' to us."

MISS ELSPETH DUCKETT, Orange Fountain, Malmesbury, Cape Colony, South
Africa, would also be pleased to correspond with Erica.

MARGUERITE RAHIER (sister of a recent prize-winner) just sixteen, would
like a well-educated English correspondent. Address, Rue de la Rampe 5,
Brest.

       *       *       *       *       *

⁂ The photograph from which our illustration on page 81 of this volume
was taken was the work of Mr. C. READ WINESHAW.




OUR SUPPLEMENT STORY COMPETITION.

A PENNILESS PAIR.

A STORY IN MINIATURE.


FIRST PRIZE (£2 2s.).

Ethel Mary Wake Cleveland, Bedford.


SECOND PRIZE (£1 1s.).

Mary Adèle Venn, W. Kensington Park, W. London.


THIRD PRIZE (10s. 6d.).

Annie Birks, W. Hartlepool.


HONOURABLE MENTION.

Edith Coates, Kington; Kate Kelsey, Bristol; Rebecca Judge, Banbury;
H. Cope, Liverpool; E. H. G. Bowden, Worthing; Letitia E. May, Alton,
Hants; Margaret Christina Haynes, Clifton; Letitia Cullen, Dulwich,
S.E.; J. E. Jones, Bannister Park, Southampton; N. Wade, Wandsworth;
Edith Alice White, Balham, S.W.; Mabel Wilson, Bedford Park, W.; Ida
M. Green, Forest Gate, E.; M. Y. Hethrington, Walthamstow, E.; May
Maile, Provost Road, N.W.; "Espérance," Thornton Heath, Surrey; Hettie
Higginson, Edgbaston, Birmingham; Louie Pearson, Dublin; Theodora
Willoughby, Montagu Square, W.; Edith Francis Sellers, Ramsgate; Agnes
Lichfield, Lewisham Park, S.E.; Winifred Page, York.; Cécile Rahier,
France; Mary Curatós, Roumania.


TO THE COMPETITORS.

I have much pleasure in stating that I have found the mass of the
"Miniature Tales" good. They show an intimate and intelligent
acquaintance with the incidents of "A Penniless Pair," and have, for
the most part, a distinct perception of its salient points. Indeed,
the general merit of the papers has rendered it difficult to award the
prizes and to note the instances where the writer deserves special
commendation. I should like to praise everybody and to thank each and
all for proving themselves (with hardly an exception) free from erratic
spelling and bad grammar. May I call their attention to the fact that
the rule of the competition is to summarise the story within a certain
compass, and that any infringement of the rule ought to disqualify the
competitors. Now it is not abiding by the rule to unfold the sheet of
paper so as to represent one sheet which in reality makes two; neither
is it in strict accordance with the spirit of the rule to write in
such very small characters as to squeeze into one page the material for
two.

I cannot finish these brief remarks without drawing attention to
the three papers from foreign sources--two from France and one from
Roumania. One of these papers exceeds the space allowed, but in other
respects, as the work of non-English students, the whole three deserve
cordial praise.

    SARAH TYTLER.




OUR NEXT STORY COMPETITION.

STORIES IN MINIATURE.

_Subject:_--"THE G. O. P. SUPPLEMENT FOR DECEMBER."


A LITTLE EXILE; THE STORY OF AN ENGLISH GIRL IN A GERMAN HOME.

BY LESLIE KEITH.

We offer three prizes of TWO GUINEAS, ONE GUINEA, and HALF-A-GUINEA
for the three best papers on our "Story Supplement" for this month.
The essays are to give a brief account of the plot and action of the
story in the Competitor's own words; in fact, each paper should be a
carefully-constructed _Story in Miniature_, telling the reader in a few
bright words what THE GIRL'S OWN STORY SUPPLEMENT for the month is all
about.

One page of foolscap only is to be written upon, and is to be signed
by the writer, followed by her full address, and posted to The Editor,
GIRL'S OWN PAPER, in an unsealed envelope, with the words "Stories in
Miniature" written on the left-hand top corner.

The last day for receiving the papers is December 20th; and no papers
can in any case be returned.

_Examiners:_--The Author of the Story (Leslie Keith), and the Editor of
THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER.


       *       *       *       *       *


  _Now Ready._          _Price Sixpence._

              WINTER SWEET[4]

                 BEING THE

           Extra Christmas Part

                  OF THE

          GIRL'S OWN PAPER, 1898.

[4] Winter Sweet is a lovely shrub with a delightful perfume, and is
most useful for room decoration as it lasts a long time without fading.
Its botanical name is _Chimenanthus fragans_.


CONTENTS.

_Frontispiece: "The Carpenter's Shop at Nazareth."_

From the Painting by P. A. J. DAGNAN-BOUVERET.


=The Old Maids' Christmas.= A Story. By DARLEY DALE.

=A Christmas Carol.= By NORA HOPPER.

=A Christmas Letter to my Lassies.= By "MEDICUS."

=My Grand-Dame's Old Sedan.= A Poem. By HELEN MARION BURNSIDE.

=Miss Prissie.= A Story in Twelve Chapters. By AMY IRVINE.

=The Great Java Eruption.= By Lady MARY WOOD.

=Can she make a Pie?= A Poem. By the Rev. FREDERICK LANGBRIDGE, M.A.

="The Frog who would a-wooing go."= By G. D. LYNCH.

=Christmas Wishes.=

=Some Christmas Lore.= By NORA HOPPER.

=Jemima's Trousseau.= A Story. By IDA LEMON.

=Two Christmas Days in a Girl's Life.= A Story. By EGLANTON THORNE.

=Christmas Fare.= By "THE NEW DOCTOR."

=Adelé.= A Poem. By the Rev. W. T. SAWARD, B.A.

="Honesty's the Best Policy."= A Child's Story. By the late MARY COWDEN
CLARKE, hitherto unpublished.

=Eight Christmas Presents from a Yard of Canvas.= By LEIRION CLIFFORD.

=Santa Claus.=

=The Gladness of Winter.= Cantata for Girls' Voices. Words by HELEN
MARION BURNSIDE. Music by MARY AUGUSTA SALMOND.

=Winter Tea-Cakes.=

="Helping Along."= A Short Story. By GRACE STEBBING.

=Astray.= A Poem. By E. NESBIT. Illustrated by PERCY TARRANT.

=Only a Joke; or, How Madge kept her Promise.= A Short Story. By Mrs.
J. F. B. FIRTH.

=A Triple Acrostic.=

=From Our Note Book.=

=New Puzzle for our Extra Christmas Part.=


_Copies should be ordered at once, as the Part will not be Reprinted._





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No.
987, November 26, 1898, by Various

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