The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 990,
December 17, 1898, by Various

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Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 990, December 17, 1898

Author: Various

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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 990.]      DECEMBER 17, 1898.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]




"OUR HERO."

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the
Dower House," etc.


[Illustration: "THE HORSES IN QUESTION WERE SOMEWHAT SORRY BEASTS."]

_All rights reserved._]


CHAPTER XII.

ORDERED TO VERDUN.

"Mamma! Mother!" cried Roy, bursting into the sitting-room at
Fontainebleau one wintry day. "Ma'am, what do you think?"

Roy had by this time quite recovered from his illness, though his face
still bore evidence of the same in the shape of several small red pits,
which had not yet had time to lose their prominence. His eyes sparkled
with excitement. Mrs. Baron was on the sofa, resting after a walk
with her husband, and Colonel Baron sat near, book in hand. Ivor, who
happened to be in rear of them both, made a silencing gesture, but Roy
was much too eager to attend, or to read his meaning.

"Only think, ma'am. Do but hear! All of us are ordered off from
Fontainebleau to Verdun. Verdun! Why, that is where Mademoiselle de St.
Roques lives. We shall see her again. And I shall like that, though I
don't like going farther away from England. That is horrid. Everybody
is saying what a shame it is! Must we go, do you think, Den? Verdun is
a fortified town, they say, and we are to be in stricter keeping, all
of us prisoners."

Roy liked to speak of himself as a prisoner, even while he chafed
furiously against the restraints of imprisonment. He could not make up
his mind to the indignity of being looked upon as too young to be worth
detention. Thirteen years old!--with a Commission in His Majesty's Army
already secured! Roy was very conscious of his prospective position.
"I am quite as old already as lots of middies," he would declare,
"and only two years younger than General Moore when he began to be a
soldier."

"You should not startle your mother, Roy," the Colonel said gravely,
as Mrs. Baron sat up, her eyes wide and terrified. "It is necessary
sometimes to think of other people before yourself. You understand?"

"I'm sorry, sir; but is it true?" asked Roy, too much excited to be
penitent for more than three seconds. "Are we really and truly going to
Verdun?"

"It is true, unfortunately. Den and I were told this morning of the
order at _appel_. But you should have waited until I spoke."

Roy began to see the nature of his blunder, too late for reticence.

"Then we really are going! I shall like to see Mademoiselle de St.
Roques again, only I would rather, ever so much, be going home. Shall
we do it by diligence, papa, or _poste_, or will you have a carriage?
Only four of us, and they say we may do it any way we like."

Colonel Baron made up his mind to take the bull by the horns there
and then. He would have preferred to tell his wife quietly, with no
spectators, but since Roy had hurried matters on, he felt that it was
best to speak out at once.

"I shall probably have a carriage for your mother and Denham and
myself, Roy," he said slowly.

"And me!"

Colonel Baron was silent, with a silence which spoke more plainly to
his wife than to Roy. Mrs. Baron knew what it meant, while Roy merely
supposed his own name to have been inadvertently left out.

"What does all this mean, Roy?" his mother was asking, in a low voice.
"Tell me."

"Why, mamma, I suppose old Nap wants to have us all more out of the
way. Perhaps he thinks Nelson will come and set us free some day." Roy
laughed. "Lots of détenus and prisoners are ordered off to Verdun, from
here and other places too. And everybody says it is such a tremendous
shame, this cold weather? Why couldn't they settle things sooner? It's
horrid of him."

Mrs. Baron stood up, and with her slow graceful step she moved across
to Roy. Colonel Baron waited silently. He knew that in her mind, as in
his, was the promise she had given months before, that if they should
have to go farther away from England, she would then consent to Roy's
immediate return home. The dread of this had been on her all through
the autumn, and now abruptly the blow had fallen.

Mrs. Baron would not draw back from her word--Colonel Baron knew
this--but neither would she try to hide what the keeping of it would
cost her. The détenus had pretty well ceased to hope for any speedy
release from their captivity, and she could not but be aware that a
parting from her boy at this juncture might mean long separation.
If Mrs. Baron idolised her husband, she idolised her son only one
degree less. It was hard to be away from Molly, but in that respect
Colonel Baron was the greater sufferer of the two, since he had always
especially doted on his little girl. To send Roy away would be to Mrs.
Baron simply heart-breaking. Yet she felt that it would have to be. She
had promised, and Colonel Baron would not let her off her promise.

She laid one slender hand on either of the boy's shoulders, looking
into his face with a fixed wistful gaze, while tears gathered heavily
in her eyes. Roy was puzzled.

"Why, ma'am, you don't mind it so much as all that! I would not cry for
old Napoleon!"--forgetting a certain little past scene in an upstairs
Paris bedroom. "And I'm tired of Fontainebleau. Aren't you? I think I
sha'n't mind a new place. I wonder what Verdun is like. Please don't
cry, mamma," entreated Roy, holding himself very upright.

"My dear Harriette!" remonstrated the Colonel.

He came close, and she turned from Roy to lean against him, breaking
into bitter sobs.

"My dear heart, you must think of the boy--not of ourselves. Think how
much better for him to be at school in England. But for Den, this life
would be ruination for him." For Ivor, after acting as Roy's nurse,
had made himself tutor and guardian and companion to the lad; and Roy
by this time was ready to maintain against a world in arms that his
equal for either lessons or play did not exist on earth. It had been,
indeed, Ivor's chief consolation in captivity to look after Roy, and
the two were warmly attached.

"How soon?" Mrs. Baron tried to ask, her voice half strangled with
tears.

"In a few days. Not directly. There is time for arrangements. We must
find an escort for him, if possible."

"Am I to go home?" Roy inquired, as the meaning of his father's words
and his mother's distress dawned upon him. "Will Napoleon let me?"

An exchange of glances took place between the gentlemen.

"I hope so," Colonel Baron replied cheerfully. "You are not a détenu,
Roy, and there is no reason why any difficulty should be made. I must
apply at once for a passport." Colonel Baron's mind misgave him as he
spoke, for he had heard lately of more than one instance in which such
an application for a passport had proved a failure. Although English
ladies and boys under eighteen were not avowedly prisoners, yet every
possible hindrance was beginning to be placed in the way of the return
of anyone to England. This made him only the more desirous not to put
off any longer getting Roy across the Channel.

Roy stood thinking.

"And I shall see Molly again," he observed. "I shall like that. It
does seem an awful long while since I left her. Shall I go to school
at once, sir, and shall I spend my holidays in Bath till you and mamma
come back?"

Mrs. Baron hid her face.

"Yes, of course. I see--I ought to go," pursued Roy. "It wouldn't do
for me to stop on here. In two years I've got to be a soldier, and then
Napoleon would think he had a right to keep me altogether. That would
stop me from fighting, and I should have to give my parole, I suppose,
and to be a regular prisoner. Yes; I'd much better be off. How soon,
I wonder? And I'll take letters home. It will be jolly to see Molly
again."

Roy was making matters worse, and Ivor stood up, throwing aside his
book.

"Come!" he said shortly, with an imperative sign, and Roy followed, not
knowing why. Outside the house Ivor said, "You must be more careful.
You have to think of your mother's feelings."

Roy looked up in surprise.

"Did I say something wrong? Why, what was it?"

"Could you not see? She is breaking her heart at the thought of losing
you. Just imagine what it will be to her, not to have her boy any
longer. Don't let her think you are pleased to go."

"But I'm not glad to leave her--of course not. I'm only glad to go to
England, and to see Molly, and to be able to fight. I should think she
understood."

A curious expression crossed the other's face. "You can hardly expect
her to want you to fight. That's not the way with mothers, you know.
The last thing she would wish would be for you to hold back, but still,
she will be unhappy. And, Roy, don't you see yet that a brave man has
to be kind as well as brave, especially where women are concerned? You
can't possibly know what the parting will be to her, but still, you
can manage to be kind."

Roy showed signs of being impressed. He knew Denham to be so gallant a
soldier that words of this sort coming from him had especial weight.
Neither spoke again directly. Roy walked fast, doing his best as usual
to match Ivor's long stride, though compelled now and then to make a
droll little extra step, if he would not be left behind. His face had
taken a look of supreme seriousness.

"Yes, of course," he said, at length. "I see. I suppose that's what we
men have to do. I mean--we have to try not to make women unhappy. I
used to set Molly off crying sometimes. I didn't mean to, but I did,
you know. She thought I meant things I didn't mean, and I used to call
that stupid. But I daresay it's only that she's a girl, and so she
can't help it. When I get back, I mean to do my very best never to say
one single word that can make her cry. Because I'm ever so much the
strongest, and I'm very nearly a man now. But Den, it won't be going
home. I suppose my home will be in Bath, won't it--like Molly?"

"Until your father can return--yes. The London house is let for the
present."

Roy's face fell somewhat.

"It won't be the same thing at all, will it? And I shall miss you all
too; but I suppose I ought to go."

The application for Roy's passport was duly made, and a formal reply
promised attention to the application. There the matter stood still.
Days passed, and the time for their start drew near. Colonel Baron
deferred their journey as long as possible, hoping that Roy's passport
might arrive in time. He took further steps meanwhile, urging upon the
officials a speedy compliance; but his efforts were fruitless. He had
found an English lady, who also was anxious to return to England, and
she had promised to take charge of Roy. But her passport, as well as
that of Roy, was not forthcoming. It became evident that obstructions
were deliberately placed in the way of their leaving France.

Some discussion took place as to the possibility of leaving Roy behind
in Fontainebleau, for the chance of a passport being sent soon, but
this was felt to be too great a risk. Such friends as the Barons had
made were among the English détenus, and these, like themselves, were
ordered to Verdun. A good deal of kindness had been shown to English
prisoners by French residents at Fontainebleau, but there was no one
with whom the Barons could contentedly leave Roy. They slowly made up
their minds that he must go with them to Verdun. Not Colonel Baron
only, but his wife also, by this time regretted greatly not having sent
Roy home at the first, when passports had been more readily granted.

Roy rebelled angrily. He had liked to talk of himself grandly as a
"prisoner of war," all the time feeling that he was free. It was
another matter to find himself in truth not free, but almost as much of
a prisoner in France as those who were compelled to give their parole.

"It's too beastly disgusting," he declared to his chief confidant,
having managed in his mother's presence to restrain his regrets. "That
old beast of a Boney! I wish I could shoot him!"

"Roy, you must be more careful; walls have ears in France. If you abuse
the First Consul, you will some day get yourself into serious trouble.
This is not a land of free speech, like England. Your father and I
could do little for you if you fell into the hands of the gendarmes. We
are prisoners ourselves."

"But isn't it hateful? Only think--if I'm kept on here for two years I
sha'n't be able to go into the Army directly I'm sixteen."

"We may have peace long before three years are over. No use to look
forward so long."

"He hasn't any right to keep me. I've a right to go home."

"I'm afraid the First Consul cares little for any man's rights, except
his own. But you must be brave and not give way. Think of your mother,
not of yourself. We are all sufferers together. And, after all, the
passport may arrive later. You could return home from Verdun, though
it would be a longer journey. It will not do for us to delay starting
any more. We have barely allowed ourselves time to reach Verdun by the
latest day specified."

"Den, don't you want to go home?"

Did he not want it? The handsome bronzed face, which had of late grown
thinner than its wont, looked quietly at Roy. "Sometimes I would give
my right hand to get away," he confessed. "Yes, I want it--more than
you can know, perhaps. But these things do not come of themselves. They
are allowed, for some good purpose."

"You don't mean that God wants Napoleon to behave in such a way?"

"No; certainly not. But it may be His will that you and I should have
this opportunity to be patient and brave. It's a great trouble for both
of us--no use to deny that. And to be brave in captivity is much harder
than to be brave in fighting. But it will come to an end in time.
Napoleon will not be allowed to go on always unchecked."

"I suppose he is angry because he can't make England do whatever he
chooses, as he makes Germany and Prussia and Austria and all the other
countries. And so he punishes _us_."

"That may be it. My own belief is that Britain is called upon to save
all Europe from a hopeless thraldom, and that in time we shall see her
successful. But we may have to wait a while first. Only, while we wait,
we mustn't forget that God really is over all. He sometimes lets bad
men have their way for a time, but in the end truth and justice and
freedom will conquer."

"I don't think mamma is sorry that I'm going to Verdun," Roy said.

"She is sorry for your sake, not for her own. That is much what I feel
about it."

Roy looked up quickly.

"Would you have been sorry? Would you have missed me?"

"Much more than you can imagine. I have been wondering what I should do
with myself without my friend Roy."

The boy flushed up.

"Den, am I your friend truly? Do you like to have me?" He clutched the
young Guardsman's arm, with a quick gesture. "Would you be sorry if I
went?" He read a plain answer in the other's face. "Oh, then I don't
mind, then I'll be glad I haven't got a passport. I don't care, if you
like to have me. I thought I was just a bother."

"I'm not so selfish as to wish to keep you here, and if a passport
comes I shall be glad. But you have been no bother. It is bad enough
anyhow, going to Verdun. It would be ten times worse if we were leaving
you behind. You are the one bit of cheer left to us."

Another furtive clutch on his arm.

"I'm glad. I'd rather be your friend than anybody's. And I promise to
work hard and to do whatever you like." Then, in the same breath, "How
soon shall we see Mademoiselle de St. Roques?"

"I have had a letter from her. That is one little piece of good news.
I wrote to ask if she could recommend us where to go for rooms, and
she tells me that the old people with whom she lives would be glad to
let the upstairs floors. She promises that they would do their best to
make us comfortable, and suggests that we should go there on our first
arrival, to try how we like the accommodation."

"And shall we?"

"Your father seems willing. Even if it does not do for a permanency,
we shall have time to look out. But probably it will do very well.
Prisoners must not be over particular."

"And are the people she lives with _noblesse_ too?" asked Roy, who had
heard a good deal about the old French _noblesse_ and their sufferings
in the Revolution, during the last few months. "Will they wait upon us?
It would be funny to have an old nobleman handing the plates at table."

"No; I think M. and Mme. Courant are _bourgeois_. But evidently they
have been very good to Mademoiselle de St. Roques, whose parents really
did belong to the old _noblesse_. Probably they may keep a servant to
wait upon us, and we must not mind if things are rather rough."

"I shall like to see her again. But I would rather go home to
Molly--much rather!" murmured Roy, his face falling. "Except for
staying with you and the others."

One day later, passports being still withheld, Roy started, in company
with his parents and Denham, on the cold and dismal journey to Verdun.
The Colonel secured a large roomy old coach or chariot, which had
once belonged to some well-to-do person,--probably a nobleman, since
decapitated. With relays of horses, even though the horses in question
were somewhat sorry beasts, they made fairly quick advance.

(_To be continued._)




OUR LILY GARDEN.

PRACTICAL AIDS TO THE CULTURE OF LILIES.

BY CHARLES PETERS.


The life history of the lily is one of perpetual growth. The lily never
lies dormant.[1] In the severest frost, or in periods of great drought,
this plant is ever developing. As soon as the flower-stem has died
down, the bulb begins to form fresh roots and continues to do so until
the time comes round again for it to send up its flower spikes. _Lilium
Candidum_ throws up a winter crop of leaves during the autumn, but the
other lilies perform all their winter labours below ground.

[Illustration: _Lilium Monadelphum._]

Let us follow the life of the lily through the year and see how each
particular season has its special work and dangers.

We have planted our bulbs in November. They will do nothing but form
roots till about March. During this period most bulbs will stand any
frost that we are likely to have, but those of _L. Wallichianum_, _L.
Catesbaei_, and one or two others, occasionally die during severe
frost. Though cold does not appreciably injure lily-bulbs, it is far
otherwise with wet. As we have said before, lilies love rain when the
stems are growing, but when the bulbs are making root in winter they do
not like much moisture. If the soil is perfectly well drained, we much
doubt whether any quantity of rain would cause the bulbs to rot. But in
soils where stagnant water can lie about the bulbs, the result of a wet
winter is often disastrous.

"Our soil is a stiff clayey loam, but we wish to have lilies. What can
we do to render our ground a fit place wherein to grow them?" You can
do one of two things. Either you can provide that the lilies are well
drained by digging deeply and filling in with crocks, stones, etc.,
and mixing plenty of sharp sand with the soil; or else you can follow
the Japanese plan of placing the lily bulbs on their sides. Bulbs with
large, open scales, such as those of _L. Brownii_, suffer much more
from wet than such compact bulbs as those of _L. Umbellatum_, etc.

The second stage in the growth of lilies dates from the appearance
of the shoot till the opening of the flower-buds. We have already
described the treatment necessary at this stage. It is at this time
that you must guard against drought and slugs, and look out for
diseases.

The opening of the flower-buds is the most anxious but also the most
exciting period in the life of the lily. When the buds have begun to
change colour a good drenching of the roots with very weak liquid
manure will materially help to develop the flowers. Do not give liquid
manure before this time, and never give more than two doses to any
plant.

The green fly or aphis is a very exasperating foe. It does not eat
holes in the leaves, but lives upon the upper leaves and buds, usually
upon their under surface. Its presence causes the buds to develop
irregularly. The bud grows less quickly on that side where the aphides
are domiciled, and the whole bud becomes curved or twisted. When this
bud opens, it shows but an ugly, deformed flower.

The best way to deal with aphides is to brush them off with a soft
brush. This is the only method of dealing with them that can do no
harm to the buds. Fumigation or syringing with soft-soap and water are
frequently used to destroy these pests.

Another cause which ruins the lily flowers is canker of the buds or
blossoms. We described the cause and treatment of this calamity last
month.

Very often a lily will produce more buds than it has strength to
develop. Some of these superfluous buds will soon show signs of
withering and should be at once removed.

It is well to remove every deformed or injured bud as soon as possible,
for it gives the plant a better chance of developing the remainder.

When once the flowers have opened, the plant may be left alone till
they wither. If possible, lilies should be placed in the shade whilst
they are in blossom, as the flowers will then last for a longer time.

Usually one bud will open and then die before another is fully
developed. In this case the dead blossom--or rather the seed-vessel,
for the perianth falls of its own accord--should be cut off.

After the lily has flowered, it will require but little attention until
the flower spike has completely died down. At this period but little
water need be given.

The flower spike must never be cut down till it has completely withered
to the base. When this has occurred the entire stem can be easily
removed by a slight jerk.

The life of the lily for the year is now over. What are we to do with
the bulbs? Shall we leave them as they are, or shall we transplant them?

Lilies in the ground do best when left undisturbed for years. Some
lilies, such as Martagons and _Lilium Candidum_, never do well until
they have been established for a year or two. Other lilies, such as _L.
Longiflorum_, often dwindle in a very few years.

If the lilies have done well, have not been diseased and have blossomed
freely, leave them as they are. If, on the other hand, the plants have
borne poor or deformed blossoms, or have become diseased, or, above
all, if they have been getting poorer year by year, take up the bulbs,
as soon as the flower stems have died down, and plant them elsewhere.

Plant these bulbs in the same way and with the same precautions as you
do new bulbs; detach any small bulblets and plant these separately.
Never let the bulbs remain out of the ground longer than can possibly
be helped.

Lilies in pots must be repotted every year. As soon as the stem has
died down, empty the pot, shake out the bulb, separate any offshoots
that it may have made, and replant at once.

Very little water need be given during the winter, but the bulbs must
not be allowed to become dry. It is a great mistake to winter hardy
lilies indoors or in a greenhouse, as it renders the plants tender and
liable to disease.

Although all lilies are perennial, that is, they come up every year,
there are some kinds, notably _Lilium Canadense_, which show great
reluctance to becoming established, and after coming up well for two
or three years, suddenly disappear altogether. This is especially the
case when the plants have been allowed to ripen their seed. Indeed, all
lilies tend to dwindle when they are allowed to go to seed. One reason
why _L. Candidum_ is so much better when grown in neglected situations
than any other lily is because it never produces seed in this country.

There are four methods by which lilies may be propagated; by seed; by
bulblets, which are formed in the axils of the leaves of some species;
by offshoots from the parent bulb, and by detached scales. Again the
bulbs often split into two or more parts. If a single bulb has sent up
two flower spikes, the bulb will probably be found to have split into
two, the scales re-arranging themselves accordingly. If these two bulbs
are separated, each will send up flower spikes either next year or the
year after.

Growing lilies from seed is a tedious affair and is not worth its salt
except when trying to raise hybrids or new species of great rarity.

The seeds should be grown in seed-pans in a mixture of peat, leaf
mould, sand and moss. They take from six weeks to two years to
germinate. Under glass they germinate more quickly. They never produce
flowering bulbs till at least two years after they have been sown.
_Lilium Tenuifolium_ grows the most rapidly, and often flowers in
the third year. Other kinds take from three to ten years to form a
flowering bulb--time enough to exhaust the patience of any amateur.
The vast majority of seeds either never germinate, or, if they develop
so far, die before they have formed a bulb of sufficient size to send
up a flower spike. Not all lilies produce seeds in this country. _L.
Candidum_, _Testaceum_, _Chalcedonicum_, and others never do. Most
kinds only ripen their seeds in very propitious seasons. So much for
seeds.

The second method of increasing lilies is by growing the small bulblets
which form in the axils of the leaves. Only _L. Bulbiferum_, _L.
Tigrinum_, and occasionally one or two others, produce these axial
bulblets. Sow the bulblets as you do the seeds. They usually germinate
very quickly, and produce flowering bulbs within two years.

The commonest, quickest and best way to increase lilies is through
the small bulbs which grow round the base of the parent. These may be
removed when the bulbs are lifted and planted at once. They will flower
in one or two years.

Before we leave the question of the cultivation of lilies, we will
refer to two or three constituents of the soil, the presence of which
is by some authors described as imperative, by others as injurious.

[Illustration:

    _L. Neilghervense._
    _L. Philippense._
    _L. Nepalense._
    _L. Parryi._
    _L. Washingtonianum._
    _L. Alexandræ._
    _L. Longiflorum._

LILIES OF THE EULIRION GROUP.]

Peat is absolutely necessary to _L. Superbum_, _L. Canadense_, _L.
Roezlii_, _L. Philadelphicum_, _L. Pardalinum_, _L. Parryi_, and some
others. Even those lilies to which peat is not a necessity, are yet
benefited by its presence in the soil. This is notably the case with
_L. Auratum_, _L. Speciosum_ and _L. Longiflorum_. _L. Candidum_, _L.
Testaceum_ and most of the Martagons dislike peat. To _L. Szovitzianum_
and the other varieties of _L. Monadelphum_ peat seems to be positively
injurious.

It has long been a moot point whether lilies should or should not have
manure administered to them. Here, as elsewhere, we will give our own
experience of the matter. Most lilies appreciate manure if it is not
too strong or moist. Manure which is likely to turn the earth sour is
fatal to lilies. The remains of a hot-bed is the best possible kind of
manure to give to lilies. Place a little of the manure below the bulb
and a little above it, but do not let it come within two inches of the
bulb. The bulbs will rot if manure is placed near them.

Some lilies like a chalky soil, others show distinct aversion to it.
The swamp lilies and others which like peat object to lime in the soil.
_L. Candidum_ and _Monadelphum_ apparently require a considerable
quantity of lime.

All lilies require sand. Sand should be placed round and below each
bulb and should also be mixed with the earth in which the lilies are
planted. Clean, sharp river sand is the best to use, but sea sand or
clean silver sand may be used. Sand is used for the triple purpose of
attracting moisture, preventing stagnation, and rendering the soil
permeable.

The leaf mould most suitable for lilies is that formed from decayed oak
or beech leaves.

Clay is prejudicial to most lilies, but in very dry, sandy soil lumps
of clay may be placed about the lily bed. _L. Auratum_ likes a small
quantity of clay in the soil.

We have finished our remarks on the cultivation of the lily, and will
now glance into the æsthetic side of these noble flowers.

Though every lily is beautiful in itself, it does not follow that
it will look well in the flower bed. A garden should be a sheet of
beauty, not a herbarium in which curious and beautiful flowers grow
singly, each named and numbered, and requiring a guide to point out the
various objects of interest. No! A garden must be one harmonious blaze
of beauty, and though, of course, individually beautiful objects are
necessary to produce this result, a great deal depends upon the proper
grouping of the various constituents.

A bed of mixed lilies, in which all kinds were grown together, would
look simply ridiculous. To have _L. Giganteum_, ten feet high, next
door to _L. Rubellum_, of scarcely half as many inches, would be
absurd. You must think of the general look of your garden. You must
have pleasing contrasts of colour, and the plants arranged according to
their height or method of growth.

One of the most beautiful sights that we have ever seen was a garden
in Middlesex in which the path leading from the gate to the house was
lined on either side with a border of very fine _L. Candidum_. The
effect of the long lines of pure white blossoms was exceedingly fine,
but unfortunately this lily is only in flower for about one month of
the year. Still no one would grumble at having to wait eleven months
if such a splendid effect could be obtained, even if it lasts but a
twelfth of the year.

Have you ever seen a bed of _L. Monadelphum_ at the back of the
tropical palm-house at Kew? Last year it was a sight never to be
forgotten. The lilies were grown in a bed of small azaleas, the green
of whose foliage was a beautiful set-off to the gorgeous heads of
blossoms which towered three or four feet above the carpet of foliage.
There are other beds like this one planted with different sorts of
lilies, but only one species is present in each bed. In one bed _L.
Brownii_, in another _L. Croceum_, and in others again the various
varieties of _L. Auratum_ arrested the attention. All were perfect in
their way, but none of them gave us such keen delight as this bed of
_L. Monadelphum_.

A large clump of lilies of one variety is always a pleasing sight,
and so is a solitary lily rearing up its head high above the other
occupants of the flower bed. A small hillock covered with _L.
Longiflorum_, or the side of a stream with the lofty _L. Pardalinum_ is
also very beautiful.

When you wish to grow various kinds of lilies in the same bed, a good
deal of taste and experience is needed to produce a perfect effect. A
gradation in height from the centre to the borders is necessary. Tall
lilies planted at the edges of the bed are out of place, whilst the
dwarfer lilies are insignificant in the centre. Lilies in the ground
flower from April till November, and so a succession of these plants
can be obtained throughout the late spring, the summer and the autumn.
For artistic effects you must be careful not to place lilies of nearly
the same colour together. Never, for instance, place _L. Pomponium_
near to the red varieties of _L. Elegans_, else the effect is harsh and
displeasing. A mixed border of _L. Candidum_ and _L. Chalcedonicum_
produces a fine effect, especially if both plants flower at the same
time.[2]

Another fine picture can be caused by a mixed border of _L.
Longiflorum_ with the late red varieties of _Lilium Elegans_.

A considerable amount of taste can be shown in the proper grouping of
lilies, and the flower-grower who likes constant variety can satisfy
his desire by altering the arrangement from year to year.

(_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[1] That is, in the natural condition when left in the ground. If the
bulbs are taken out of the ground in August they will remain dormant
for a month or two.

[2] _Lilium Chalcedonicum_ usually flowered about a fortnight or more
later than _L. Candidum_, but occasionally both species flower at the
same time.




ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.

BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of "Sisters
Three," etc.


CHAPTER XI.

Esther was preparing for the Cambridge Local Examination at Christmas,
and making a special study of "The Merchant of Venice," as the play
chosen for the year. Fräulein explained the notes, and expatiated on
the Venice of the past and the manners and customs of its inhabitants,
but it was Mr. Asplin who had the brilliant idea of holding a
Shakespeare reading which should make the play live in the imagination
of the young people, as no amount of study could do. The suggestion was
made one day at dinner and was received with acclamation by everyone
present.

"Oh, how lovely, father! It will help me ever so much!" said Esther.
"And Peggy must be Portia."

"I'd like to be that funny little man Launcelot--what do you call
it?--only I know I couldn't do it," said Mellicent humbly. "I'll be
the servants and people who come in and give messages. But, of course,
Peggy must be Portia."

"Peggy shall be Portia, and I'll be the Jew, and snarl at her
across the court," said Rob, with an assurance which was not at all
appreciated by his companions.

"I've rather a fancy to try Shylock myself," Max declared. "Oswald
would make a capital Bassanio, and you could manage Antonio all right
if you tried, for he has not so much to do. Let me see: Peggy--Portia;
Esther--Nerissa; Mellicent--Jessica (she's so like a Jewess, you see!);
you and Oswald--Bassanio and Antonio; Shylock--my noble self. Father
and mother to help out with the smaller characters. There you are! A
capital cast, and everyone satisfied. I'm game to be Shylock, but I
can't do the sentimental business. You two fellows will have to take
them, and we'll divide the smaller fry among us."

"Indeed, we will do nothing of the kind. I'm not going to take
Bassanio; I couldn't do it, and I won't try. I'll have a shot at
Shylock if you like, but I can't do anything else. The cast is all
wrong, except so far as Peggy is concerned. Of course she is Portia."

"Proposed, seconded, and carried unanimously that Peggy is Portia!"
said Mr. Asplin, smiling across the table at that young lady, who
tried to look modest and unconcerned, but was plainly aglow with
satisfaction. "For Shylock, as the character seems so much in demand,
we had better draw lots. I will write the names on slips of paper, and
you must all agree to take what comes and make the best of it. I will
fill in the gaps, and I am sure mother will help all she can----"

"Lemonade in the intervals, and coffee for those who prefer it, with
some of my very best company cake," said Mrs. Asplin briskly. "It will
be quite an excitement. I should rather like to be Shylock myself, and
defy Peggy and her decree; but I'll give it up to the boys, and make
myself generally useful. Why couldn't we begin to-night?"

"Oh, Mrs. Asplin, no! It will take me days to get up my part! And
the costumes--consider the costumes!" cried Peggy anxiously. And her
hostess raised her hands in surprise.

"The costumes! Are you going to dress up? I never thought of that!"

"Surely that is unnecessary, Peggy! You can read the play without
changing your clothes!" echoed the Vicar; but, from the chorus of
disclaimer which greeted his words, it appeared that the young people
could do nothing of the sort.

Max wanted to know how a fellow could possibly "talk Shylock" in a
white tie and an evening jacket. Oswald thought it equally ridiculous
to pose as an Italian lover in English clothing; and Peggy turned up
her eyes and said she could not really abandon herself to her part if
her costume were inappropriate. Even Esther, the sober-minded, sided
with the rest, so the Vicar laughed and gave way, only too pleased to
sanction anything which helped the object which he had at heart.

"Dress up by all means, if it pleases you. It will be interesting to
see the result. But, of course, I must be absolved from any experiments
of the kind."

"Oh, of course! And mother, too, if she likes, though I should love to
see her made-up as Shylock! You must not see or ask about our dresses
until the night arrives. They must be a secret. You will lend us all
your fineries, mother--won't you?"

"Bless your heart, yes! But I haven't got any!" said Mrs. Asplin, in
her funny Irish way. "They were all worn out long, long ago." She gave
a little sigh for the memory of the days when she had a wardrobe full
of pretty things and a dozen shimmery silk dresses hanging on the
pegs, and then flashed a loving smile at her husband, in case he might
think that she regretted their loss. "If there is anything about the
rooms that would do, you are welcome to use them," she added, glancing
vaguely at the sideboard and dumb waiter, while the boys laughed loudly
at the idea of finding any "properties" in the shabby old dining-room.

Peggy, however, returned thanks in the most gracious manner, and sat
wrapped in thought for the rest of the evening, gazing darkly around
from time to time, and scribbling notes on sheets of note-paper.

Short of playing Shylock, which in the end fell to Maxwell's share,
it seemed as if all the responsibility of the performance fell on
Peggy's shoulders. She was stage manager, selecting appropriate pieces
of furniture from the different rooms and piling them together behind
the screen in the study, whence they could be produced at a moment's
notice, to give some idea of the different scenes. She coached Esther
and Mellicent in their parts, designed and superintended the making of
the costumes, and gave the finishing touches to each actor in turn when
the night of the "Dramatic Reading" arrived.

"Taking one consideration with another," as Max remarked, "the costumes
were really masterpieces of art."

To attire two young gentlemen as Italian cavaliers, and a third as a
bearded Jew, with no materials at hand beyond the ordinary furnishings
of a house, is a task which calls for no small amount of ingenuity, yet
this is exactly what Peggy had done.

Antonio and Bassanio looked really uncommonly fine specimens, with
cycling knickerbockers, opera cloaks slung over their shoulders,
and flannel shirts pouched loosely over silk sashes, and ornamented
with frills of lace at wrists and neck. Darkened eyebrows gave them
a handsome appearance and distinguished air, and old straw hats and
feathers sat jauntily on their tow wigs.

The Vicar sat in the arm-chair by the fire, Shakespeare in hand,
waiting to fill in the odd parts with his wife's help, and simultaneous
cries of astonishment and admiration greeted the appearance of the two
actors at the beginning of the first scene.

"It's wonderful! Did I ever see such children! What in the world have
they got on their heads? Milly's old leghorn, I declare, and my pink
feathers. My old pink feathers! Deary me! I'd forgotten all about them.
I've never worn them since the year that----"

"'In sooth, I know not why I am so sad,'" quoth the wearer of the
feathers, scowling darkly at the frivolous prattler who straightway hid
her head behind her book, and read Salanio's first speech in a tone of
meek apology.

There was a good deal of confusion about the first scene, for four
people had to read the parts of six, and one of the number was so much
occupied with gazing at the costumes of the actors that she invariably
lost her place, and had to be called to order by significant coughs and
glances. By this time it generally happened that the Vicar had made up
his mind to come to the rescue, and both husband and wife would begin
to read at the same moment, to their own amusement, and to the disgust
of the two lads, who felt uncomfortable in their borrowed plumes,
and keenly sensitive about their precious dignity. Antonio mumbled
his last speech in undignified haste, and followed Bassanio out of
the room prepared to echo his statement that this sort of thing was
"tom-foolery," and that he wasn't going to make an idiot of himself
any longer to please Peggy Saville, or any other girl in the world.
But the words died on his lips, for outside, in the hall, stood Peggy
herself, or rather Portia, and such a Portia as made him fairly blink
with amazement! Amidst the bustle of the last few days Portia's own
costume had been kept a secret, so that the details came as a surprise
to the other members of the party. Nerissa stood by her side, clad in a
flowing costume, the component parts of which included a dressing-gown,
an antimacassar, and a flowered chintz curtain; but despite the nature
of the materials, the colouring was charming, and frizzled hair,
flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes, transformed the sober Esther into
a very personable attendant on the lady of Belmont. There was nothing
of the dressing-gown character about Portia's own attire, however. Its
magnificence took away the breath of the beholders. The little witch
had combed her hair to the top of her head, and arranged it in a high
coil, which gave height and dignity to her figure. A string of pearls
was twisted in and out among the dark tresses; her white silk frock
was mysteriously lengthened and ornamented by two large diamond-shaped
pieces of satin encrusted with gold, one placed at the bottom of the
skirt, and the other hanging loosely from the square-cut neck of the
bodice. Long yellow silk sleeves fell over the bare arms and reached
the ground; and from the shoulders hung a train of golden-hued plush,
lined with a paler shade of yellow. Bassanio and Gratiano stood aghast,
and Portia simpered at them sweetly in the intervals between dispensing
stage directions to the boot boy, who was clad in his best suit for the
occasion, and sent to and fro to change the arrangement of the scenery.
He wheeled the sofa into the centre of the room, piled it up with blue
cushions, and retired to make way for the two ladies, who were already
edging in at the door.

A gasp of astonishment greeted their appearance, but when Peggy dragged
her heavy train across the room, threw herself against the cushions in
an attitude calculated to show off all the splendour of her attire,
when she leant her pearl-decked head upon her hand, turned her eyes
to the ceiling, and said, with a sigh as natural and easy as if they
were her own words which she was using, and not those of the immortal
Shakespeare himself, "'By my troth, Nerissa, my little body is a-weary
of this great world!'"--then the Vicar broke into a loud "Hear! Hear!"
of delight, and Mrs. Asplin seized the poker and banged uproarious
applause upon the fender. For the first few minutes amazement and
admiration held her dumb, but as the girls moved to and fro, and the
details of their costumes became more apparent, she began to utter
spasmodic cries of recognition, somewhat trying to the composure of the
actors.

Portia's description of her lovers was interrupted by a cry of "My
table centres! The Turkish squares I bought at the Exhibition, and have
never used! Wherever did they find them?" while a little later came
another cry, as the identity of the plush train made itself known, "My
_portière_ from the drawing-room door! My beautiful _portière_--with
the nice new lining! Oh, dear, dear! it's dragging about all over the
dirty carpet! Don't sit on it, dear! For pity's sake, don't sit on it!"

"Mother!" cried Esther, in a deep tone of remonstrance; but Portia
was unconscious of interruption. The other actors held their books in
their hands, and, for the most part, read their speeches; but Peggy
trusted entirely to memory, and sighed and yawned over the denunciation
of her lovers, with evident satisfaction to herself as well as to the
beholders. Nerissa read her part "conscientiously," as the newspapers
would say, punctuating her sentences in exemplary fashion, and laying
the emphasis upon the right words as directed by the stage manageress,
but such is the contrariness of things that, with all her efforts,
the effect was stiff and stifled, while Peggy drawled through her
sentences, or gabbled them over at break-neck speed, used no emphasis
at all or half-a-dozen running, at her own sweet will, and was so truly
Portia that the Vicar wondered dreamily if he should have to interview
the Duke of Morocco in his study, and Mrs. Asplin sighed unconsciously,
and told herself that the child was too young to be troubled with
lovers. She must not dream of accepting any one of them for several
years to come!

At the end of the scene, however, anxiety about her beloved _portière_
overpowered everything else in the mind of the Vicar's wife, and she
rushed after the actors to call out eager instructions. "Hang it up
at once, there's good children. If you put it down on a chair, Peggy
will sit on it as sure as fate! And oh! My table centres! Put them back
in the drawer if you love me! Wrap them up in the tissue paper as you
found them!"

"Mother, you are a terrible person! Go back there's a dear, and do keep
quiet!" cried a muffled voice from behind the dining-room door, as
Shylock dodged back to escape observation, and Mrs. Asplin retreated
hastily, aghast at the sight of a hairy monster in whom she failed
to recognise a trace of her beloved son and heir. Shylock's make-up
was, in truth, the triumph of the evening. The handsome lad had been
transformed into a bent, misshapen old man, and anything more ugly,
frowsy, and generally unattractive than he now appeared it would be
impossible to imagine. A cushion gave a hump to his shoulders, and over
this he wore an aged purple dressing-gown, which had once belonged
to the Vicar. The dressing-gown was an obvious refuge, but who but
Peggy Saville would have thought of the trimming which was the making
of the shaggy, unkempt look so much desired? Peggy had sat with her
hands clasped on her lap, and her head on one side, staring at the
gown when it was held out for her approval two days before, then had
suddenly risen, and rushed two steps at a time upstairs to the topmost
landing, a wide, scantily-furnished space which served for a playground
on wet afternoons. An oilcloth covered the floor, a table stood in a
corner, and before each of the six doors was an aged wool rug, maroon
as to colouring, with piebald patches here and there where the skin
of the lining showed through the scanty tufts. Peggy gave a whoop of
triumph, tucked one after the other beneath her arm, and went flying
down again, dropping a mat here and there, tripping over it, and nearly
falling from top to bottom of the stairs. Hair-breadth escapes were,
however, so much a part of her daily existence that she went on her
way unperturbed, and carried her bundle into the study where the girls
sniffed derisively, and the boys begged to know what she intended to do
with all that rubbish.

"'They that have no invention should be hanged,'" quoted Peggy,
unperturbed. "Give me a packet of pins, and I'll soon show you what
I am going to do. Dear, dear, dear, I don't know what you would do
without me! You are singularly bereft of imagination."

She tossed her pig-tail over her shoulder, armed herself with the
largest pins she could find, and set to work to fasten the mats down
the front of the gown, and round the hem at the bottom, so that the
wool hung in shaggy ends over the feet. The skins were thick, the heads
of the pins pressed painfully into her fingers, but she groaned and
worked away until the border was arranged for stitching, and could be
tried on to show the effect.

"Perfectly splendid!" was the verdict of the beholders. And so the
matter of Shylock's gown was settled; but his beard still remained to
be provided, and was by no means an easy problem to solve.

"Tow!" suggested Mellicent; but the idea was hooted by all the others.
The idea of Shylock as a blonde was too ridiculous to be tolerated.
False hair was not to be bought in a small village, and Maxwell's
youthful face boasted as yet only the faintest shadow of a moustache.

The question was left over for consideration, and an inspiration came
the same afternoon, when Robert hurled one of the roller-like cushions
of the sofa at Oswald's head, and Oswald, in catching it, tore loose a
portion of the covering.

"Now you've done it!" he cried. "The room will be covered with
feathers, and then you will say it was my fault! We shall have to
fasten the stupid thing up somehow or other!" He peered through the
opening as he spoke and his face changed. "It's not feathers--it's
horsehair! Here's a find! What about that wig for Shylock?"

Esther was dubious.

"It would take a great deal of horsehair to make a wig. It would spoil
the cushion if the horsehair were taken away; it would spoil the sofa
if the cushion were small; it would spoil the room if the sofa----"

Peggy interrupted with a shriek of laughter.

"Oh, oh, oh! It's like the 'House that Jack built'! How long do you
intend to go on like that? Nonsense, my dear! It would be perfectly
easy to take out what we want and put it back afterwards. I'll
promise to do it myself and sew it up tightly, though, if you desire my
opinion, I think the cushion would be improved by letting in a little
air. You might as well lean your head on a Bath brick. Max, you are a
made man! You shall have a beautiful, crinkly black wig, and a beard
to match. We will sew them to your turban, and fasten them with black
elastic. It will never show, and I'll finish off the joins after you
are dressed. You'll see!"

"You can do as you like! I'm in your hands!" said Max easily. And when
the night of the reading arrived, and he was attired in wig and gown,
Peggy seated him in a chair and tucked a towel under his chin with an
air of business. She had a number of small accessories on a table near
at hand, and Max was first instructed to stick pieces of black plaster
over alternate teeth so that he might appear to possess only a few
isolated fangs, and then made to lie back in his chair, while she stood
over him with a glue-brush in one hand and a bunch of loose horsehair
in the other.

"Shut your eyes!" she cried loudly. And before he could say "Jack
Robinson" a tuft of the wiry stuff covered his eyebrows. "Keep your
face still!" And, to his horror, the gum was daubed from the borders of
the beard half-way up to his eyes, and little prickly ends of hair were
held in Peggy's palm and pressed against his cheeks until they were
firmly attached.

This, indeed, was more than he had bargained for! He jerked back his
head and began a loud-voiced protest, only to be interrupted by shrieks
of excitement.

"Oh, oh, oh! It's beautiful--beautiful! What a fright! What a delicious
fright! No one would know you! You look an old hairy monster who would
gobble up half a dozen Christians. Do look at yourself!"

Peggy felt the pride of an artist in the result of her efforts, and Max
was hardly less delighted than herself as he stood before the glass,
gazing at his hairy cheeks and leering horribly to admire his toothless
gums. If the result were so hideous as to astonish even those who had
watched the process of his make-up, what wonder that the effect upon
Shylock's fond parents was of a stupefying nature!

Horror kept Mrs. Asplin silent until the middle of the scene between
Shylock and Antonio when the bond is signed, and then her agitation
could no longer be controlled, and Shylock's little speeches were
interrupted by entreaties to take that horrid stuff off his teeth, to
use plenty of hot water in washing his face, and to be sure to anoint
it plentifully with cold cream after doing so.

An ordinary lad would have lost his temper at these interruptions; but
Max adored his mother, and could never take anything she did in a wrong
spirit. Anger being therefore impossible, the only other resource was
to laugh, which, in Peggy's opinion, was even worse than the former.
A Shylock who chuckled between his speeches, and gave a good-humoured
"Ha! ha!" just before uttering his bitterest invective, was a
ridiculous parody of the character, with whom it would be impossible to
act. It would be hard, indeed, if all her carefully-rehearsed speeches
lost their effect, and the famous trial scene were made into a farce
through these untimely interruptions!

The second part of the play went more smoothly, however, as the
audience settled down to a more attentive hearing and the actors became
less self-conscious and embarrassed. If four out of the six were
sticks, who never for a moment approached the verge of the natural,
Portia and Shylock did nobly, and when the reading was over and the
young people gathered round the fire in the drawing-room, it was
unanimously agreed that they had acquired a more intimate knowledge of
the play by this one evening's representation than by weeks of ordinary
study.

"I feel so much more intimate with it!" said Esther. "It seems to have
made it alive, instead of just something I have read in a book. It was
a delightful thought, father, and I am grateful to you for proposing
it. I wish I could do all my lessons in the same way."

"I've not enjoyed myself so much for ages. You just did beautifully,
all of you, and the dresses were a sight to behold. As for Peggy, she's
a witch, and could make up costumes on a desert island if she were put
to it! But I don't know what is going to happen to my poor, dear boy's
face. Oswald, what is he doing? Isn't he coming to have some lemonade
and cake?" asked Mrs. Asplin anxiously. And Oswald chuckled in a
heartless fashion.

"Pride must abide. He would be Shylock whether we liked it or not, so
let him take the consequences. He is fighting it out with cold cream in
the bath-room, and some of the horsehair sticks like fun. I'll go up
and tell him we have eaten all the cake. He was getting savage when I
came down, and it will sweeten his temper!"

(_To be continued._)




The Old Year's Grief.


[Illustration]

  When the young year walked the woodlands or climbed the mountain side
  He wooed a gentle maiden and won her for his bride.
  She brought him golden sunshine & wheresoe'er he trod
  She reared a starry blossom to decorate the sod.
  From vale to vale they wandered; from hill to hill they went,
  Still leaving in their footsteps a harvest of content.
  But woe is me! when Autumn had climbed the green hill-side,
  Mid wailing of the woodlands the Year's sweet consort died.
  No more the soft winds dallied where bracken crowned the hill,
  To waft the brown bee's murmur across some golden rill.
  The throstle's song was silent. The year's sad step was slow,
  And whereso'er he wandered, he wandered through the snow.
  His constant song of sorrow was borne by northern gales
  Across the leafless forests & through the misty vales.
  He rambled by the river where often he had seen
  The mirrored face of beauty--his dear departed queen.
  But round the frozen sedges deep snow had drifted wide
  And ice, with Death's indifference, had bound the pleasant tide.
  In vain, in vain. The glory that once his vision knew
  Had left, in his dominion, no trace of where it flew.
  His days grow short & shorter. 'Twill soon be time to go
  And the white year's badge of sorrow is the pure and frosty snow.

[Illustration]

        _JOHN LEA_




[Illustration]




"SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE.

BY H. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward,"
"Miss Elsie," etc.


CHAPTER II.

    "I had a noble purpose and the strength
    To compass it; but I have stopped half-way,
    And wrongly given the first-fruits of my toil
    To objects little worthy of the gift."

        _Browning._

"Sister!"

The urgent word pierced the thick cloak of sleep and scattered fair
dreams of the home of her childhood.

"Sister!"

She started into a sitting posture, and in another moment was out of
bed, for Margaret Carden was saying--

"Mr. H---- has just brought us a croup case, Sister, and a very bad
one, I am afraid."

As the nurse hurried away the great hospital clock boomed out the
hour--two--and almost immediately the Sister had joined a sad little
group in front of the fire that, even during the summer, often was
lighted in the huge open grate at night.

Nurse Carden had taken, into her arms a poor little child of three, who
was fighting and beating the air for the struggling breaths that the
tortured throat was strangling.

It was a pitiful sight. The poor young father and mother--scarcely more
than boy and girl--stood by, the former uttering sharp clicks with his
tongue against his teeth as he watched and was tortured too in the
sufferings of "the little chap," the latter literally wringing her
hands and moaning with the agony of her mother's heart.

They were trying every remedy without avail. There was only tracheotomy
left for them to do. But the father refused his consent.

Cut the fair skin of his boy? No, that they shouldn't!

He was obdurate in his ignorance.

Mr. H---- urged the otherwise hopelessness of the case. His words were
impatient, almost angry. But still the man said, "No!"

Sister Warwick drew him aside, and, taking a candle, led him along
the ward to the side of a little cot where a smiling, rosy child lay
sleeping sweetly. She pulled away the sheet and showed him the little
silver tube in her neck.

"She would not have been alive without it," she said. "She was at
death's door, like your little one. It saved her life. She is going
to be bonny and strong. Let Mr. H---- do what he wants. You must; you
cannot say no now!"

They hurried back.

Was the poor little face changing?

"There, do it, doctor, do it! Have your way!"

The reluctant words were scarcely uttered before the clever strong
hands were at work.

There was immediate relief, and for a moment they believed that the
little life, hanging trembling on such a tiny thread, was to be given
back. But suddenly the baby hands dropped, and the little head fell
back.

Even then the skilful hands would not yield the battle. They persevered
with artificial respiration. They tried every means, until the truth
had to be faced. There was nothing more they could do. They must lay
down the poor little buffeted body and let it sleep.

This is always a terrible moment for doctors and nurses, and it was
with a face quivering with emotion that Sister Warwick left Margaret
Carden to the sacred work of tending the little lifeless form, and,
leading the poor young mother to her room, took up the harder task of
trying to help her in the first bitterness of her grief.

Half-stunned with what had happened, the man sat in the shadows beyond
the range of the light from the fire and lamp, and followed with his
eyes the movements of the nurse as she went to and fro.

Let us hope that he was not realising the fact that his tardy consent
had perhaps cost the child its life.

Mr. H---- laid a kind hand on his shoulder once, with a hearty--

"I am awfully sorry for you;" and he murmured something by way of
answer. Then he rose--still half-dazed--to meet his wife who was coming
out of Sister's room.

They stood side by side, holding each other's hands--like the children
they almost were--and looked long at the sleeping baby.

Nurse Carden had taken the buttercups and grasses from one of the vases
on the ward table, and the little fingers were folded round the stalks.

The inexplicable peace of the presence of death stole into the hearts
of the poor young parents, and they went quietly away with bowed
heads, sharing and bearing together their first real grief.

"Good night, Sister!"

The house physician was going back to his quarters and to the rest that
was so often broken.

"Good night," she added, and then, with a half smile, she added: "Don't
bring me a case like that again for a long time, please! And yesterday
was his birthday too, they tell me--poor mite!"

The doctor's reply to this was a happy one. He said--

"Then we must wish him many happy returns of to-day instead!"

       *       *       *       *       *

Sister Warwick could sleep no more that night--or early morning rather.
She tried, with a conscientious remembrance of the day's work to come.
But such episodes tore her tenderest sympathies in a way that the
nurses, who thought her hard and cold, would never have credited.

She lay on her couch, not thinking so much in detail of the scene of
conflict she had just been through, as of the ever-recurring wonder
that such things had to be. These sudden, dashing, jangling chords
in life seemed so inexplicable; and for children to suffer so, and
for peaceful lives to have such dark passages! And then some lines of
Browning flashed into her mind, and she repeated them to herself over
and over again, till the meaning sank in and soothed her.

    "Why rush the discords in, but that harmony should be prized?
    Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear!
    Each sufferer says his say, his end of the weal and woe;
    But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear;
    The rest may reason and welcome, 'tis we musicians know."

The quiet of the night was broken by a sudden trampling of feet in the
hospital square. Sister Warwick guessed what it meant--an operation
in the theatre. She could hear the even tread of the porters as they
carried the stretcher and the clank as it rested on the stone floor.
Now a messenger was running round to the college and stopping beneath
the students' windows. His voice reached her ears--

"Operation! Operation!"

Coming in the darkness and shrouded by night, it would all have seemed
weird and uncanny if custom had not reconciled her to the strangeness
of the sounds. As it was, the discordant noises only served--by some
connection of ideas--to turn her thoughts to another anxiety--the
special "crook in her lot" just now. She lay and tried to put the
matter clearly before her mind.

There was no doubt that in spite of the fact that Nurse Hudson had
passed her exams and won the nurse's buckle, she was not trustworthy.
Something was probably exerting a wrong influence over her. It was
sadly evident that, as a nurse, she was deteriorating, and Sister
Warwick acknowledged bitterly that she herself had failed to arrest
that course.

What could she do now? There were too many lives at stake to allow
to remain unnoticed these recurring acts of carelessness, and, worse
still, these signs of hardness and want of tenderness in her dealings
with the patients.

Yet how her kind heart shrank from the strong measure of a complaint
to the matron! She had spoken a few decided, and she hoped calm and
"Sisterly" words of warning to her that very evening as she was leaving
the ward. Should she now wait and see if they took effect? Surely it
would be only fair to give her one more trial? Meanwhile she herself
could use greater diligence in overlooking the work done in the ward.

After much thought she settled it so, and then tried to put the anxious
matter aside. Did she err in her judgment? If so, it was on the side of
mercy--the way we women would all prefer to lean.

(_To be continued._)




THREE GIRL-CHUMS, AND THEIR LIFE IN LONDON ROOMS.

BY FLORENCE SOPHIE DAVSON.


CHAPTER III.

TWO LETTERS.

I am afraid that as this account of the doings of our three friends
unfolds itself, some of my readers may be tempted to complain that it
seems to be always meal-time at "The Rowans." Indeed, I must admit that
from their point of view the complaint is a just one, but I would beg
them to remember that my object is to give an account of the culinary
doings of the household; their meals, and how they were contrived, and
the cost thereof; and as, like the old woman in the nursery song,

    "Victuals and drink were the chief of their diet,"

the food question must perforce be continually before us.

As a girl of fourteen I had to take the reins of government and direct
the house during my mother's long illness. It would certainly have
helped me greatly to have been able to follow the chronicles of some
young housekeeper and to have learnt how she arranged matters. But at
that time Marion and the Orlingburys were all in short frocks and had
no experiences to unfold for my benefit.

The trials of the members of our household during the time of my rule
were doubtless very severe. The chief thing that I remember is that
my favourite sultana pudding was served about four times a week, with
sauce; on the last point I was most particular.

I had always a great longing to go down in the kitchen and cook myself,
but my father forbade this, saying that if I worried the cook she
would probably give warning; and that, if in addition to my mother's
illness and other present ills (of which I fear my housekeeping was
one) we were left without a cook, he should not know what to do. This
was a sore disappointment, for as yet I had never been able to make
any attempt at cooking, except on one occasion, when at the age of
six I had been discovered surreptitiously frying chocolate creams
on the shovel in the dining-room, for which I was sent to bed. At a
yet earlier period, having heard somewhere that toffee was made with
butter and sugar, I put a small pat of butter and a tablespoonful of
sugar into an empty sweet-box, and, hiding it amongst my toys, waited
with anxiety for it to turn into toffee, looking in the box with keen
interest every morning and hoping for the joyful day when the sticky
mess should become a neat brown slab of finest toffee; a day, alas,
which came not, as was not strange, and the end of it was that the
nurse found the hidden treasure and promptly threw it away.

To come back to "The Rowans," where Marion, having finished her
morning's cooking, is reading a letter in the sitting-room. The letter
is from an old playmate, now grown up and lately married, who is living
on the other side of London.

    "Tulse Hill,
        "Jan. 10th.

"MY DEAR MARION,--Do not look for any interesting news in this letter,
and make up your mind to exercise all your good nature.

"I am writing to you for advice and consolation, for I am at my wits'
end. How I wish I were a clever housekeeper, like you, and how I envy
the Orlingburys for having secured you to live with them. I should so
like to run over for a chat, but you are such a busy woman, I do not
know when I should find you at home without disturbing you in your
work, and it would be too bad to make you talk business on your only
holiday--Saturday. Do tell me, Marion--in the strictest confidence--are
you afraid of your servant? I am of mine--horribly! Oh, dear me! When I
first married I thought I was going to do wonders; to do such a lot of
cooking, and to manage and contrive so cleverly. Let me explain a few
of my troubles.

"To begin with, I have a cook who was recommended to me as 'a perfect
treasure,' but I do not find her any sort of a treasure, and I am happy
to say she is now leaving. She has a terribly superior manner, and
resents it very much if I go into the kitchen at all. On days when I
have attempted to do any cooking she is frigid beyond words. She is
not a good cook herself--I could put up with a great deal if she were
that--and the only things we have that are nice at all are curries and
fricassees made in the stewing jar after your fashion. I heard about
the jar about a month ago from a mutual friend--your Aunt Anne.

"Cook makes the most abominable pastry and cannot roast at all; our
poor little joints of meat are shrivelled up and hard, so she has
really no need to give herself such airs. With regard to the roasting
I really am most perplexed, and hope you will be able to advise me. I
have by me a standard cookery book, which assures me most positively
that a joint should be put in a hot oven to make a casing to keep in
the juices, and then it is to be cooked more slowly. This, I know, has
been done, but the result is far from satisfactory, and I wonder if the
oven is too hot.

"Only last night a beautiful little piece of loin of mutton was served
nearly black and as hard as a brick. I was so distressed for poor
Arthur's sake. It does so worry me to think of his coming home hungry
from his office to such a dinner. He was most amiable over it and only
smiled, telling me not to worry, I would soon learn. But the question
is, how long will he keep on smiling if he often has bad dinners? One
must look these matters in the face, must one not?

"I do not want to vex him too often; in fact, I do not want to vex
him at all, but what can I do? And then his mother is coming to stay
in a week or two, and although she is kindness herself, and very fond
of me, I feel quite sure that she will feel a profound pity for her
unfortunate son if she sees a black joint on the table.

"Her pastry--I mean cook's, of course--is so bad, that a week ago I
plucked up my courage. Venturing into the kitchen, I tried my hand at
making some. I rubbed seven ounces of dripping into a pound of flour
that had first been mixed with a teaspoonful of baking powder--that was
right, was it not? Then I mixed it with water to a dough and rolled
it out. It kept sticking to the board, and I got very nervous, for
I felt the cold, unsympathetic glance of the cook was upon me. But
I persevered and made it up into a pie and baked it; but every time
I went to the oven to take a peep--about every three minutes--the
dripping was running out as fast as it could. Surely pastry is very
wasteful. What is the use of putting it in if it only runs out again?
And to eat, it was hard beyond words! And to see cook's scornful smile
when, on the following day, she asked politely if I wished the remains
sent up to table.

"Now, as I tell you, she is leaving shortly. I have heard of a girl who
might do. She makes good soups, cooks vegetables well, roasts and boils
fairly well, and she is very clean. I know she is a nice girl, and not
at all inclined to be refractory, if I could only make up my mind as to
the best way of starting. As I tell you, my mother-in-law is coming to
stay soon. Marion, do advise me.

    "Your perplexed friend,
        "MADGE HOLDEN."

Marion read all this very carefully and thought it over. Then she
answered Mrs. Holden's letter.

"MY DEAR MADGE,--I shall be only too pleased if I can help you, but
you must not overrate my powers, as I think you are inclined to do.
To begin with, I have had opportunities of learning housekeeping such
as few have. You see, we all have to help at home, and mother is such
a good manager; it would be odd if I had not picked up some of her
household knowledge. You ask if I am afraid of my servant. If you
could see her, I think your own question would amuse you. She is only
fourteen, and she knew absolutely nothing when she came to us; by dint
of great exertions, I am gradually teaching her to dish up our dinners
and to wait at table. She can also turn out a room (with assistance)
and wash up, but as she has learnt this under me, it would be odd if
I felt afraid of her. If I had a real cook and housemaid like you, I
might perhaps tremble in my shoes, but really I think there is no need.
I am glad you find the stewing jar useful. If your cook cannot even
roast a small joint of meat without spoiling it, she has nothing to be
very conceited about.

"The rule you quote from your cookery book is quite correct for large
joints, but it does not do for small ones. If you put a big joint into
a hot oven, it crisps the outside nicely, but a small joint put into
the same temperature will soon become hard right through. Put small
joints in a gentle oven and cook them slowly, basting often. Shortly
before you serve it, let the oven get hot or else finish it before the
fire, so that it may brown. Of course, the oven must not be too slow or
the meat will not cook at all. This point you will gradually learn, and
so will your new cook if she is intelligent. I am glad you allude to
her as a 'girl.' A young person is, as a rule, more teachable, although
an older person will probably know more. As Dr. Johnson remarked of
Scotchmen, 'Much may be done with them if you catch them young.' When
you engage your new cook, just say that you are in the habit of cooking
occasionally--mention it as a matter of course. Do not start by being
afraid of her. It is really most absurd.

"With regard to the pastry. You do not seem to have made it quite
rightly, as it should not stick to the board. You made it too wet, and
your oven cannot have been hot enough if the dripping ran out. Pastry
should go into a hot oven, then the starch grains in the flour burst
and enclose the particles of dripping; but if the oven is not hot
enough, the reverse happens; that is to say, the dripping melts and
encloses the starch grains so that they cannot burst. Try again.

"I am wondering if it would help you to see a list of our dinners for
the week; I send one in case it may be of use and also my food bill.
The quantities will seem very small to you, but you must remember
we have no 'downstairs' to consider. Our girl only comes for a few
hours each day. This makes a great difference in our expenses. In
fact, if we did not make this arrangement, I do not think we could
continue our present mode of living. Now, do not worry. If you are so
anxious to have everything nice you will succeed in time, and if your
mother-in-law is so kind and so fond of you, I am sure she will not
pity her son too much, even if your cook does make one or two failures.
Could you not get her to postpone her visit until you are a little more
settled.

"Here is the dinner list--

_Sunday._

    Stewed Steak. Mashed Potatoes.
    Mince Pies.
    (_Supper._) Poached Eggs on Toast; Cocoa.

_Monday._

    Tripe à la Normandie.
    Sago Pudding.

_Tuesday._

    Sheep's Head.
    Vegetables and Dumplings.
    Baked Treacle Tart.

_Wednesday._

    (_High Tea._) Fish Mould.
    Gingerbread.

_Thursday._

    Brown Soup.
    Fish in Milk.
    Cottage Pudding.

_Friday._

    Mutton Cutlets.
    Boiled Potatoes. Brussels Sprouts.
    Macaroni Cheese.

_Saturday._

    Celery Soup.
    Minced Callops and Mashed Potatoes.
    Cup Puddings.

"You see, we live very simply.

"The stewed steak was cooked the day before and warmed up; the mince
pies also.

"The 'tripe à la Normandie' is made with a thick brown gravy; the
tripe made in rolls with pieces of ham in each and a few mushrooms to
flavour. We have half a ham in the house just at present, so it was a
good time to have the dish. The brown soup on Thursday was made of the
broth in which the sheep's head was cooked; the fish mould is made by
pounding half a pound of breadcrumbs, one ounce of butter, a beaten
egg and a gill of thick white sauce; season this well and steam in a
buttered mould. The callops are minced beef, which I buy at threepence
each callop.

"Here is the food account--

                                                    £  s.  d.
  One pound and a half of chuck steak               0   1   3
  Two pounds of best end of neck of mutton          0   1   8
  One pound and a quarter of tripe                  0   0   9½
  One sheep's head                                  0   0   7
  Half a pound of suet                              0   0   3
  Four callops                                      0   1   0
  Quarter of a pound of mushrooms                   0   0   3
  Flavouring vegetables                             0   0   4
  One pound of sprouts                              0   0   2
  Eight pounds of potatoes                          0   0   6
  Plaice                                            0   0   6
  Fresh haddock                                     0   0   6
  Half a pound of macaroni                          0   0   2
  One tin of cocoa                                  0   0   6
  Best eggs, one dozen                              0   1   6
  Six cooking eggs                                  0   0   6
  One pound and a half of fresh butter at 1s. 4d.   0   2   0
  Milk                                              0   1   7
  Two pounds of demerara                            0   0   3½
  One pound loaf                                    0   0   2
  Half a ham (three pounds and a half)              0   2   4
  Half a pound of tea                               0   0  10
  Eight loaves                                      0   2   6
                                                   ----------
                                                   £1   0   2
                                                   ----------

"Let me know if I can be of any further use,

    "Yours affectionately,
        "MARION THOMAS."

Three weeks later Marion received a hurriedly-written note.

"Many, many thanks, my dear Marion, for your letter. I have been
waiting to profit by your instructions before writing to you, and now
I am so busy I can only write a few lines. The new cook is an amiable
girl, and I am getting on famously--thanks to you. Mrs. Holden is here,
and I am enjoying her visit very much. She is so kind and helpful. You
are quite right; it is ridiculous to be afraid of one's own cook, and I
now enter the kitchen with an easy mind. Also, my cooking has improved
so much, that I quite enjoy eating my own pastry, which I thought would
for ever be an impossibility.

    "Your grateful friend,
        "MADGE HOLDEN."

(_To be continued._)




ART IN THE HOUSE.


PART II.

HOW TO DECORATE FURNITURE WITH STENCILLING.

The idea of decorating your own furniture seems to be an extraordinary
thing to many readers, and yet I hope to show you that this much to be
desired consummation is quite within your reach. In the former article
I gave as an illustration a portion of a chiffonier I decorated with
stencilling, as can be seen by referring to it, which, by the way, is
reproduced from a full-size design which was actually stencilled with
the same stencils as I used on the chiffonier. Stencilling is a very
simple business indeed if you will take ordinary care. Indeed the mere
getting of an impression is a mechanical matter, as can be seen by the
way packers mark boxes with stencils of letters. The art is seen in the
way you colour the patterns and the use you make of your stencils, for
with some four or five stencil plates, as I shall hope to show later,
many combinations are possible; you can evolve new patterns as it were
by taking a portion of one and combining it with a portion of another.

[Illustration: _Fig. 1. Stencilled border of butterflies and sprigs
with background, suggested by a spider's web. For details see Figs. 1B
and 1C._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 1A. The right-hand half is white on black ground,
the reverse of the left-hand half. For details see Figs. 1B and 1C._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 1B._]

[Illustration: _Fig. 1C._]

Some years ago, I forget how many, I described in these pages how to
cut a stencil, but I had better for the sake of the newer readers very
briefly explain the method. Good drawing paper I generally use from
which to cut my stencils. Draw out your design upon the paper, and with
a sharp penknife cut on a sheet of glass, so that the knife travels
over the smooth surface and enables you to cut a quite intricate
design with ease. Have a small oil-stone at hand to keep the knife in
condition, for you ought to be able to cut clean without pressure.

If you refer to the designs accompanying these articles you will notice
that each form where it comes against another seems outlined in white.
This effect is caused by the "ties" as they are termed. If we consider
a moment we can realise that as our design is formed by the pieces we
cut away an intricate design must be tied together, or the whole thing
would fall to pieces. Take a simple case, the letter B. We must not
cut out the letter without adopting some plan to keep the two pieces
forming the loops in their place, so we tie them in so

[Illustration: B]

We put a second tie in the lower loop to strengthen it as I have done
in several cases among those designs given. Take another case, the
flower in Fig. 1C. By cutting each petal separate and the centre as a
circle we get a very effective stencil, for the "ties" give form to
the design. Take them away, and instead of a daisy we should only have
a circular open space of no interest. One of the arts of successful
stencil cutting is to make the "ties" form part of the design, and by
a little management this can be done. I don't wish to point to my own
work more than to say you can learn the method of stencil cutting by
referring to the designs I have given to illustrate the subject.

[Illustration: 2B]

"Ties" which are left to merely strengthen a design, and which
therefore do not help the effect, can be put in with a brush while the
colour is wet if it be thought desirable.

[Illustration: _Peacock-feather border. The complete impression is
given at 2, and requires the plates 2A and 2B to produce it._]

If by chance you cut through a "tie" while cutting your stencil or
break one when using it mend it with gummed paper or stamp edging. By
keeping your stencils in repair they will last you years and do any
amount of work. When the stencils are cut give them a good coat of
varnish back and front, and allow it to dry hard. This makes the paper
waterproof and greatly toughens it. "Knotting," which you can procure
at a good oil shop, does very well for this purpose, as it dries
quickly.

[Illustration: 4

_Repeating stencil of fish and arrow-head, with insects and water
lines. For cutting this stencil, see Figs. 4A and 4B._]

[Illustration: 4A

_Detail of Fig. 4._]

Those readers who prefer it can enlarge some of my designs and cut
them, but others may like to try and originate them for themselves,
so a word or two to them. Make your designs simple, and you mustn't
attempt foreshortening (that is, drawing in perspective), as you cannot
render such an effect in a stencil. A flat treatment is necessary,
as though the plant you take to found your design upon were pressed
between blotting-paper, like a dried specimen. You must not attempt to
be too natural. An ornamental treatment is more effective, and you want
to develop the decorative features in the plant you take, for you must
not think of drawing a flower or plant so much as making a design based
upon the particular plant.

[Illustration: 4B

_Detail of Fig. 4._]

Birds, insects, fish, can all be cut as stencils if you attend to
this ornamentalising which is necessary. The two flying birds, Figs.
5 and 6, are modelled on Japanese designs, and by a little management
very excellent effects can be produced. Butterflies too can be made
into very effective stencils, and in one case I have introduced a
background suggested by a spider's web, Fig. 1. By only using the
butterfly out of one plate and the web background out of the other we
obtain a third combination as in Fig. 1A.

In the case of the large butterfly, Fig. 1A, it will be noticed that
a pattern is stencilled on the wings, and to do this it is necessary
to have a second stencil, Fig. 1B. I give impressions of these two
stencils, Figs. 1A and 1B, so that you may see what is cut out in each
plate and how the two fit together. You cut some one or two details out
of both plates as a guide in placing them when in use, see Figs. 2,
which requires the two Plates A and B to produce it.

[Illustration: 5

_Flying bird in stencil, after the Japanese._]

[Illustration: 6

_Flying bird in stencil, after the Japanese._]

In cases of stencils which repeat so that spaces of any length may be
covered, it is necessary to cut a small portion of the next impression
out of the stencil and put this in, so that when you shift the
stencil on to take the next impression, the left side of your stencil
is placed over the right-hand side of the impression first taken. In
the butterfly referred to in Fig. 1, the tip of the left wing is cut
on the right-hand side of stencil, which is a guide for placing the
stencil when we shift it for our next impression. In Fig. 4 it will be
noticed that the nose of the fish is stencilled on the right-hand side
to show you, when you shift the stencil along, exactly where to place
it. In stencils requiring two plates to produce them, you draw out the
design and then arrange in your mind the portions you will cut out of
the first plate. When you have cut them stencil them on to the piece
of paper to form the second plate, and having drawn or transferred
the rest of the design to this second piece of paper you cut out the
rest of the pattern. By stencilling the first plate on to the second
plate you see how far to cut, for it is obvious that the two plates
should fit together like a puzzle and form one design. The object of
having two plates is that you can obtain an impression in two or more
colours. Thus in the butterfly design having stencilled the insects in
the first colour you can put on the markings and web-background in much
lighter colours. If the sprig is to be put in and you want it against
the web-background, you stencil this latter in first, and when dry the
sprigs upon it.

By cutting a design out of two plates you can get a much more elaborate
design and scheme of colour. The water in the arrow-head and fish
frieze, Fig. 4, is a case in point, for the water lines and flowers can
be in light tones of colour, while the fish and foliage are in darker
ones, and by this means relief is obtained.

Were the water lines cut out of the same plate as the foliage, it would
be impossible to keep them in a distinct colour and the design would
look confused. The stencil too would be very weak, as the "ties" would
have to be so numerous. This is a practical disadvantage, for if a
stencil is very weak it is apt to break all up while you are using it.
By the use of the two plates, Figs. 4A and 4B, we get two fairly strong
stencils.

(_To be continued._)




[Illustration]




THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.

JANUARY.

BY LE MÉNAGÈRE.


This is one of the coldest, if not the coldest, months of the year;
the time when we most need to put on our thinking-cap in order to
provide such things as will best supply that extra consumption of fuel
that goes on in the human engine. Some starchy foods we must have and
a goodly proportion of fats and oils--more than at any other time of
the year. Now we find both these elements in grains and "pulse," peas,
beans, lentils, etc., and we can supply the necessary amount of fats
by good wholesome puddings that contain a little suet, and home-made
cakes, also in eating a fair amount of nuts.

For breakfast every morning we might begin with a plateful of Quaker
oats, "H. O.," or any other kind; these are splendid food, and however
small the portion, everybody would be the better for having some. Some
people like sugar with their porridge, but it is a fact that sugar does
not help the digestion of oaten food--rather retards it in fact.

Coffee is better for breakfast on winter mornings than tea, for all
who can take it: not because it is more nourishing, but because it
possesses staying qualities, and so is more satisfying.

Eggs, bacon, fish, or a well-cooked sausage should be ready to tempt
the appetite of the older members of the family, but a little stewed
fruit and brown bread and butter would be better than these for
children. Say stewed Peras, figs, or prunes, and a cupful of milk or
coffee.

Cheese is a good and nourishing food for cold weather, perhaps because
it contains so much of that essential oil that we need. Toasted cheese
should never be given to anyone of weak digestion, however, for it is
one of the most difficult of all things to deal with. As an experiment
in the line of "savouries," I would recommend the trial of grated
cheese with a plate of oats; it is by no means to be despised.

A typical menu for January would be the following--

                  Chestnut Soup.
                Fried Lemon Soles.
                 Ragout of Mutton.
    Creamed Potatoes and Jerusalem Artichokes.
               Roast Snipe on Toast.
                 Chelsea Pudding.
         Cheese. Butter. Biscuits. Coffee.

_Chestnut Soup._--Boil a pound of chestnuts until they seem tender,
peel off the shell and brown skin; return the white part to the stewpan
and cover with water, add a finely-minced onion, an ounce of butter,
pepper and salt. Let this simmer for an hour or more, then rub all
carefully through a sieve, add a pint or rather more of boiling milk
and a dessertspoonful of cornflour previously mixed smooth with cold
water, and stir this again over the fire until it boils. Serve fried
croutons with this soup.

_Lemon Soles_ should be filleted before frying them, and they should
be dipped in beaten egg and fresh crumbs of bread and sprinkled with
seasoning. Fry them to a golden brown in boiling lard or beef dripping,
squeeze a little lemon juice over them and serve garnished with fried
parsley.

_Ragout of Mutton._--A piece of the middle neck, or the shank half
of the shoulder, the meat taken from the bones and trimmed into neat
pieces, is the best for this. Flour each piece lightly, lay in a
stewpan with thinly-sliced onions, sliced turnip, a few sprigs of
savoury herbs and seasoning. Pour over all a teacupful of water and
cover tightly. Let this simmer in a corner of the oven for about two
hours, and then arrange the meat on a dish, add a spoonful of mushroom
ketchup to the gravy, with more water if it seems too thick, and pour
over the meat.

Mash the potatoes and beat them up with milk till like thick cream;
pile this up in a buttered pie-dish, and put the dish into a quick
oven to brown the surface.

Mash the artichokes also and press them into a shallow dish, sprinkling
breadcrumbs over the top and a bit of butter, and brown these also.

_Snipe_ require a very quick hot oven for their roasting, and about
fifteen minutes is long enough to allow. Place them on a strip of crisp
toast, and some tiny frizzles of bacon with them, and sprinkle fried
crumbs over. No sauce will be needed.

_Chelsea Pudding._--Shred and chop very finely two ounces of suet, add
to four ounces of flour into which a teaspoonful of baking powder has
been rubbed, also a pinch of salt and two ounces of castor sugar, the
grated rind of a fresh lemon or a pinch of spice, mix well, and make
into a soft dough with a beaten egg and a teacupful of milk. Grease a
shaped pudding-basin and sprinkle the inside with brown sugar, pour in
the pudding-mixture and bake until it has risen well and is of a rich
brown colour.

The sauce for this pudding is made by placing half-a-pound pot of plum
or currant jam in a saucepan, with a few lumps of sugar and an equal
amount of water. Let this boil for a little while, then strain it
through a tamis and pour over and around the pudding when that has been
turned out.

Suitable dishes for the dinner-table in cold weather are the following:
Beefsteak pudding, Irish stew, stewed steak, sea pie, camp pie, haricot
mutton, liver and bacon, etc.--very homely dishes, it is true, but good
and nourishing for all that.

Avoid having large joints that would leave much cold meat on hand in
cold weather. Not many families care much about cold meat when the
thermometer is near freezing point, and twice-cooked meat is not nearly
so nourishing as fresh, however savoury it may be made.




OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: A PUZZLE-SOLVER.


SOLUTION.

A PUZZLE-SOLVER.

    1. There once was a maiden who tried
       To find a new fall for her pride,
         By attempting to solve,
         Without earnest resolve,
       The puzzle we monthly provide.

    2. Ignoring the fanciful guile
       With which we these efforts compile,
         Her attempt was slap-dash,
         And was fated to clash
       With all proper notions of style.

    3. So, finding her failure complete,
       She fell at the Editor's feet--
         Metaphorically--
         And acknowledged that she
       Was cured of her latest conceit.


PRIZE WINNERS.

_Seven Shillings and Sixpence Each._

    Josephine Burne, 5, Howbeck Road, Oxton, Birkenhead.
    Constance Daphne, Alresford, Hants.
    Dorothy Fulford, 49, Bateman Street, Cambridge.
    Sophie C. Funnell, 25, Clarendon Place, Leeds.
    Winifred A. Lockyear, Willow Grove, Beverley.
    Miss A. A. L. Shave, 6, Craufurd Rise, Maidenhead.
    Violet Shoberl, Hookwood, Edge Hill, Wimbledon.
    Helen Simpson, 32, Brighton Place, Aberdeen.


_Five Shillings Each._

    Miss A. Kilburn, Penkridge, Staffs.
    Agnes McConnell, Ballycarry, Belfast.
    Lucy Richardson, 2, Bootham Terrace, York.
    S. Southall, South Bank, Worcester.
    Mrs. C. E. Warren, Ashantee Villa, Norwich Road, Ipswich.
    W. Fitzjames White, 9, Kinfauns Terrace, Low Fell, Gateshead.
    Miss Wilkins, Westcroft, Trowbridge, Wilts.
    Rev. H. Addams Williams, Llangibby Rectory, Newport, Mon.


_Equal with First-Prize Winners._

Mrs. J. Cumming, Edith E. Grundy, E. St. G. Hodson, E. Lord, M.
Theodora Moxon, A. C. Sharp, Ellen C. Tarrant.


_Equal with Second-Prize Winners._

Eliza Acworth, Lily Belling, F. M. Morgan, E. R. Oliver, Isabel Snell,
G. S. Wilkins.


_Most Highly Commended._

Ethel B. Angear, Florence M. Angear, Elsie I. Bale, Elsie Bayley,
Mabel Brownlow, M. J. Champneys, Helen M. Coulthard, Rose D. Davis,
E. H. Duncan, E. Ross Duffield, Dorothy V. Foley, A. Goakes, Mrs. W.
H. Gotch, Alice L. Hewlett, M. Hodgkinson, G. D. Honeyburne, F. W.
Hunt, Alice E. Johnson, Elizabeth A. Lord, Rev. C. T. McCready, Ethel
O. McMaster, Benjamin Marcroft, Isabella M. Maxwell, Mrs. Nichols,
Margaret G. Oliver, Gertrude Pegler, A. Pentelow, A. T. Porter,
Constance M. Reade, Annie Roberson, Winifred H. Roberts, Kate Robinson,
J. C. Scott, Lucy Shattock, James J. Slade, Gertrude Smith, Ethel
Tomlinson, Etheldreda, M. Viner, Emily Wilkinson, Henry Wilkinson.


_Very Highly Commended._

Edith K. Baxter, Elsie Benians, Rev. F. Townshend Chamberlain, Maud
Chinn, Leonard Clark, Leila Claxton, Nina E. Coote, H. Cope, Vera
F. Cremer, Mrs. Crossman, E. G. Dalton, Eva M. Edwards, William H.
Edwards, Beatrice Fitzhugh, Marjorie A. Forbes, Edith A. Freeman,
Will L. Freeman, Mabel Frewen, Ada J. Graves, Florence Graves, F. S.
A. Graves, C. B. C. Hancock, Eleanor Hearsey, Julia A. Hennen, Percy
E. Herrick, A. Hughes, W. R. Hughes, Minnie Ives, Annette E. Jackson,
Gertrude J. Jones, D. Langley, Clara E. Law, B. M. Linington, Fred
Lindley, M. Dorothy Long, Florence Lush, Winifred M. Macallister, C.
Y. MacGibbon, Nellie Meikle, Nellie Minchener, Blanche A. Moody, Mrs.
C. F. Morton, Charles Martin Morris, May Morris, Charles Nunneley,
jun., G. de Courcy Peach, L. Pentelow, Ada Mavee Pleasance, Jessie C.
Poole, Alexandrina A. Robertson, Dora O. Robinson, Elizabeth Russell,
Mary Sheriff, A. J. Selwood, Kate C. Sinclair, Clara Souter, William
Stradling, Margaret B. Strathorn, Mollie B. Taylor, Muriel Thompson,
Lilian S. Toller, Aileen M. Tyler, Katie Whitmore, Helena M. Wilson,
Alice Woodhead, Emily C. Woodward.


EXAMINERS' REPORT.

Once again we have been unable to satisfy every claimant for a prize,
and in order to reduce the list to manageable limits we have been
obliged to exclude all solvers who have been enriched during the last
year.

As for mentions, space forbids us to indulge in anything less
honourable than "very highly commended," and even that has been much
more deserved than usual.

Concerning the special difficulties we need only refer to the
mysterious M in line 1 and to the adjective in line 6. It was rare
indeed for any solver who surmounted both those to fail elsewhere. The
first stands for "maiden" in cricket parlance, being the manner in
which a "maiden" over is recorded on the score sheet. It is not the
first time in which the device has been employed in these puzzles, and
yet it was interpreted in no less than twenty-six different ways.

The second difficulty is not so easily disposed of, as several
adjectives equally well describe the fanciful G. But few of them are
really appropriate as qualifying "guile," and to select the right one
severely tested the solver's ability.

For instance, "flowery" describes the G exactly but is not at all a
happy qualification of guile. We think that "fanciful" is, on the
whole, the best word for the double duty, but we have also accepted
"beautiful," "wonderful" and "exquisite." "Picturesque" would have been
good but for the necessary transference of the accent from the last to
the first syllable.

We observe with great pleasure the much larger number of solutions
giving the form of the verse correctly. Failure in this respect in this
puzzle marks the difference between the solutions most highly and very
highly commended.

As to punctuation, actual mistakes had to be counted, and we found two
of a glaring character in several papers, namely a comma after tried
and after clash! Let no one say in regard to such errors that they are
matters of opinion.

Many solvers still persist in ignoring the title, and others will write
their names at the foot instead of at the head of their solutions. But
on the whole the difference in carefulness between the solutions we
now receive and those of three years ago is amazing. So much for the
educational value of Our Puzzle Poems.




QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.


GIRLS' EMPLOYMENTS.


EMIGRATION.--"_In which part of South Africa should I have the best
prospect of obtaining employment as a useful help? Owing to a delicacy
of the chest, I have been advised to seek a dry climate._"--CHRISTINE.

Domestic servants, _pace_ the latest report from the Emigrants'
Information Office, are in less demand in South Africa than in Canada
and Australasia. At the same time active girls, who are willing to
rough it and to work hard, can usually obtain respectable situations
with good wages. South Africa, however, is a large tract of country,
and it may be of value to "Christine" if we quote some passages from
an interesting letter which we have recently received from Miss
Plunkett, who has lived for some time at Johannesburg. Miss Plunkett
writes:--"Personally I cannot advise young women to go to Johannesburg;
salaries are much lower; situations are scarce, and there are many
other reasons why they should avoid the Transvaal altogether. British
possessions are certainly to be preferred. Young women intending
to go out to South Africa ought to procure reliable facts from the
Agent-General of Cape Colony or Natal, or the United British Women's
Emigration Association, Imperial Institute, South Kensington, who can
extend information and advice on Rhodesia also." Miss Plunkett (to whom
we tender our thanks for this helpful letter) adds the information that
the Women's Residential Home, to which we referred some months ago, is
now at 91, Bree Street, Johannesburg, and has passed under the care of
Mrs. Matthews.


NURSING.--_I am anxious to become a trained nurse, but I could not pay
a premium. I have been engaged for four years as a children's nurse. I
am twenty-three, and have no home._--S. E. C.

Under the circumstances "S. E. C." mentions, we think she might find it
difficult to be taken as a probationer into one of those hospitals to
which a recognised training-school is attached, while if she entered
certain others which might be eager to have her, the drawback would
be that in middle life she would be thrown out of this kind of work
because no hospital would appoint to a paid post a nurse who was not,
in the technical sense, "fully trained."

On the other hand, there is a great demand at the present time for what
are known as "Cottage Nurses," and few women come forward to fill these
posts. A cottage nurse is one who nurses the poor of a rural district
in their own homes, sleeping and living under the cottager's roof
during the period of illness, and helping to keep the house in order
in those cases where the patient is the cottager's wife. The salary,
usually £25 to £30, is paid to the nurse by an association or a local
committee. If "S. E. C." cared to consider this suggestion further, she
must write to the Hon. Secretary of the Holt-Ockley Association, Mrs.
Hervey Lee Steere, the Cottage, Ockley, asking whether the association
would be willing to have her trained for this work. There are other
similar associations--one, for instance, is the Mid-Oxon Association,
in which the Countess of Jersey is much interested, and another has
lately been established under the best auspices in Norfolk.




ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.


MEDICAL.

KATHIE, JANET, TULIP, G. P., ELLA BURNS AND FOUR OTHER
CORRESPONDENTS.--Here are nine correspondents asking the oft-asked
question--how to cure blushing and nervousness. We gave a very long
answer on this same subject a few weeks ago, but to fully discuss this
most complicated subject is quite beyond the scope of the "Answers to
Correspondents." We will soon publish an article dealing fully with the
matter. We will therefore defer answering your questions until you have
read that article. Before that paper appears read the advice that we
gave before.

JOSEPHINE.--Yes, your nose is the seat of your trouble. You have a
chronic catarrh of the nose. The slightest aggravation of this brings
on acute catarrh or "cold in the head." Wash out your nose with the
following wash three times a day:--bicarbonate of soda, twenty grains;
glycerine of carbolic acid, five drops, water to the ounce. Use the
solution warm and wash out your nose very thoroughly. After you have
washed out your nose, spray the nose well out with a solution of
menthol in paraleine (1 in 8) with an atomiser.

DORA RUSSELL.--In most cases of the kind bicycling does good rather
than harm. It is, however, quite impossible for us to give a definite
opinion with nothing but the scanty information contained in your
letter to go upon. We think, however, that bicycling would do your
daughter good.

R. M.--What do you mean by "X-shaped legs"? Do you mean "knock-knees"?
Or do you mean that your legs cross each other? We cannot answer this
question without further details. If your "X-legs" are "knock-knees," a
half an hour's very gentle gymnastic exercise every day would improve
your legs and strengthen your back. Any exercise in which you indulge
must be gentle. Violent exercises only do harm.

AN UNLUCKY GIRL.--You are indeed an unlucky girl and we deeply
sympathise with you in your misfortune. If you can go to a good skin
specialist we think that it would be worth your while to do so. The
best thing for you to do is to tell your physician that you wish to see
a specialist about any possible treatment different from what you have
already tried. We suppose that it is hardly necessary to tell you to be
sure to go to a respectable qualified specialist. There are some men
in England who call themselves "skin specialists" who are unqualified.
To fall into the hands of one of these might be your ruin. Of course
you know as well as we do that lupus is a very serious disease, and
that though in itself it is not very dangerous to life, it is very
disfiguring and most refractory to treatment. Personally we are of the
same opinion as your family doctor regarding the treatment of lupus by
Kock's tuberculin. That you derived no benefit from the X-ray exposure
is in no way surprising to us. Of course you are not getting too old to
be one of our girls. "Our girls" are of all ages from four to fourscore.

FRECKLES.--1. Your headaches are almost certainly due to the condition
of your eyes. Probably you have got a small error of refraction.
The error would not be noticed until the eyes were tired with work.
Headache is very often due to untreated errors of the eyes. We advise
you to have your eyes seen to at once.--2. We hope to publish an
article on blushing shortly. We have already frequently discussed the
various causes of blushing and nervousness in this column. It is,
however, too complex a subject for us to deal with effectually in the
form of an "Answer."

L. AND E.--The curious symptom which you two suffer from may be due to
anæmia or indigestion. But in all probability it is nervous in origin.
It is obviously the reverse of blushing, and blushing is usually due to
"nerves." So we suppose that your symptom is likewise due to the same
cause.

ERONICA.--When you had anæmia, did you suffer from indigestion? The
symptoms which you describe are very likely to be due to indigestion.
They may, however, be due simply to muscular weakness. You should read
the articles on indigestion which we published in last year's volume of
THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER. Gently rubbing your side with camphor liniment
will ease the pain.

ZERIBOS RAPRAUD.--It is a ridiculous myth that "little moustaches and
bad writing" are signs of intelligence. Where did you discover this
remark? There are people who say that they can read the character of a
person from her handwriting. We do not pretend to possess such a power,
nor do we advise you to consult anyone who says that he does possess it.

LANCASHIRE LASS.--It is a very widespread superstition that the seventh
son of a seventh son possesses healing powers from his birth. In
Lancashire the belief in this superstition is very general. There was
a case in the paper the other day about a "doctor" of this kind. We
cannot do better than echo the words of the physician who was employed
in the case, to examine the "doctor's" mind, that "the superstition is
not held by members of our profession."


STUDY AND STUDIO.

ELSPETH.--You will see your question answered in our September part.
The quotation--

    "Ships that pass in the night, etc.,"

is from _Tales of a Wayside Inn_, by Longfellow, Third Evening,
Theologian's Second Tale, _Elizabeth_, Part IV. Many thanks for your
pleasant letter.

MONEY SPINNER.--When you "meet a bishop in society, but do not know
him very well," you should perhaps once in the course of the interview
address him as "my lord."

JENNIE.--1. We do not know of any French paper that would find you a
girl correspondent. You had better send us your name and address, as
our other readers have done, and no doubt some French correspondent
will observe it.--2. We can only suggest that you should ask all your
friends and acquaintances to save you any crests they may come across
in the way of correspondence.

AMY.--Your verses, while they show devout feeling, cannot receive much
commendation from a poetical point of view.

    "As at the close of day the trials and care"

is a halting line, "trials" being a dissyllable. We prefer your prose
sketch, which is pathetic, yet we think "Granny" was a little selfish
in preventing her son from being a sailor. With practice and study you
might possibly write stories that would be "fit to publish." One defect
in "Granny's Hero" is the mode of beginning the story--a sort of double
introduction. "We were talking of heroes (not heros) to-night," and
again, "We were sitting in the gloaming one dull winter's evening." The
first two paragraphs should be omitted.

HAHA.--Your story is immature. You show a certain amount of intensity
and passion, but it is ill-regulated; you "strike twelve all at once,"
as the saying is, by rushing immediately into violent emotions into
which you cannot carry your readers with you, because you have not
shown any cause, or prepared them for such a climax. You evidently have
a keen eye for natural beauty, but you need to curb the exuberance of
your descriptions. "Old Sol" is not a satisfactory expression. Read all
the good prose and poetry you can, and try to "form" a style.

M. S. W.--Your verses are superior to the average of those we receive
for criticism, yet we can hardly say they are sufficiently good for you
to expect payment for them. You could offer "Donald's Away" to another
magazine, if you have not sold the copyright; but you would be obliged
to tell the editor it had already appeared elsewhere, and this would
prove a drawback. "Long ago," and the two verses you enclose, are very
creditable work, and it is possible, of course, that you might receive
remuneration for them; but it is very difficult thus to dispose of
"magazine verse," the supply being large and the competition keen.

PURPLE HEATHER.--We are afraid we must reiterate to you the unpalatable
advice of our last answer. The verses are not bad, but it is very
unlikely that you would ever receive any payment for them. Poetry of
real merit is slow in finding acceptance in the present day. We must
advise you to turn your attention to some more practical way of making
money. There are many occupations besides teaching by which you could
earn something.

ISOBEL.--1. Your poem, "I Long to be There," is not sufficiently
original to be worthy of publication. The chief criticism we should
offer upon it is that we have frequently read hymns expressing the
same sentiment in very similar words. This is not wonderful when the
same idea possesses many Christian hearts, but it would diminish the
value of your composition from any editor's point of view.--2. Do you
wish your poems "published" or "printed"? If you only wanted one copy,
the cost would not exceed a few shillings; but much depends on the
quality of paper, type and binding. Consult the nearest printer of good
business reputation.

EMMA PORTLOCK.--Your verses, considering your circumstances, do you
credit. You should entitle a poem "In Memoriam," or else "Memoria," not
"Memoriam" alone, as it is not grammatically correct. Do not use "thee"
and "you" alternately in addressing the same person.

A. B.--We can never reply "in the next number" of THE GIRL'S OWN
PAPER, as we go to press long before you receive your magazine. We are
sorry to seem generally discouraging, but "Evening" contains nothing
original, nor would it be likely to find a publisher. Poetic genius is
the dower of a very few; but there must be something "fresh" about work
that commands success.

NANNEE.--Your poem "Speculations" is very interesting, though here and
there is a halting line, such as

    "Or not till my soul's new birth,"

where the emphasis would have to fall on "till" to make the line scan.
We can tell you, however, that the thought expressed is not commonplace.


MISCELLANEOUS.

LASSIE.--We suppose you mean the "Rose of Jericho," which is a very
curious cruciferous plant which grows in the sandy deserts of Syria,
Arabia, and North Africa, and is remarkable for the hygrometric
properties of its old withered annual stems. When in flower the
branches spread rigidly, but as the seed ripens the leaves begin to
wither and drop off, the branches curl inward, and the plant becomes
coiled up so as to resemble a small ball. In this state it is loosened
from the soil and is drifted about with the sand over the arid plains.
Should rain fall, or should it be blown into the water, the branches
expand, the pods open, the seeds fall out, and it is a remarkable and
newly-discovered fact that in the short space of twenty hours the seeds
germinate and root. The plant will retain its susceptibility for years.

VIOLET HEATHER.--We have read your very interesting letter with
pleasure. We have already given a description of _crétonne_ articles
illustrated, which will be useful to you, and we think you would find
Weldon's needlework series, published monthly at twopence each, most
suggestive and helpful.

A. W.--To preserve your summer eggs for a scarcer time, the following
is a good recipe:--Pour 3 gallons of boiling water on 3 lbs. of
quicklime; when cold, add 1½ oz. of cream of tartar, and 1 lb. and 2
oz. of salt. When quite cold put in the eggs, and be particular not to
move the jar when the eggs have been placed in it.

SUSSEX TRUG.--What you have heard of Lewes having once been a seaport
is true. There was a marshy island called Hamsey in the estuary of the
river Ouse, which entered the sea at Seaford. The great storm of 1570
changed its course permanently, and Newhaven became a port at the new
mouth of the river. At that time, Pevensey and Selsey were islands till
the silting up of beach and sand annexed them to the mainland. Selsey,
by which one island was called, meant seal island; which animals were
once natives of that coast.

DODO.--Your steel buttons could be freed from rust by immersing them
in a strong solution of cyanide of potassium, half an ounce in a
wineglassful of water. Then clean them with a paste composed of the
same stuff mixed with castile soap, whitening and water, till of the
consistency of thick cream. Then rub well with a chamois leather. If
this prove unsuccessful, you will have to send them to a jeweller.

YOUNG MOTHER.--We can give a few general hints so as to distinguish
between the cries of a sick infant and indicate the locality of the
pain. A child often cries because a pin has been left in the clothes.
Always employ "safety-pins," and examine the newly-made clothing for
fear of concealed needles. If suffering from pain in the stomach, the
cries will be continuous and loud, with showers of tears, and it will
draw up the legs. If the pain be in the head, it utters frequent sharp
shrieks, moaning between whiles. If it suffers from inflammation of
the chest, a short, hacking cough will help to indicate the locality
of the pain; it will shed no tears, but will give a short sharp cry
occasionally. If lacking in experience as to the care of infants,
you should have a medical opinion, if the child should appear to be
feverish as well as suffering. Teething pains must also be expected,
and the state of the gums examined. Boys cut the teeth with more
difficulty and danger than girls, as a general rule.

NORA.--Of course it is pleasanter to the feelings of any refined person
to see as little resemblance in the animal food placed on our tables
to the living creatures we see around us. And this feeling is carried
out in the nomenclature we have adopted for meat. The generic term
"meat" is an improvement on "flesh." We owe this refinement to our
Norman ancestors, who employed the terms beef, veal, pork, mutton, and
venison, which are never employed to denote the living animals.

J. THOMPSON.--Your question is one which often arises, and the charge
made by the Railway Company is an illegal one, although it frequently
meets with success, especially where ladies are concerned. I will
repeat your query--"A train runs from A to C; a passenger gets in at
B; can the Company charge the traveller the full fare from A to C?" If
the train is a parliamentary one stopping at B in the ordinary way, the
Company are not entitled to charge the passenger the full fare from A,
because the contract between the passenger and the Company began at B
and ended at C. The Company could, if they pleased, have prevented the
passenger from entering the train at B without a ticket, but having
tacitly waived their right by allowing him on the platform, they cannot
subsequently impose a fine on him by making him pay for the whole
journey. If, however, the train was a special express, or an excursion
train running on special terms with the passengers, they would be in
their rights by making the passenger pay for the full journey, because
the Company only contracted to take the passenger subject to certain
conditions.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's note--the following changes have been made to this text:

Page 187: á changed to à.

Page 190: neccessary changed to necessary.





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No.
990, December 17, 1898, by Various

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