PART II.--CLOUD.

[Illustration: CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL

OF

POPULAR

LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.

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NO. 696. SATURDAY, APRIL 28, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]

'MAKING PRETEND.'

Little girls play at 'Making Pretend,' often assuming some such form

as this: 'I'll be a lady, and you shall be my servant.' We all of

us unconsciously imitate these little folks in many of the daily

proceedings of life, not from a really dishonourable motive or wishing

to wrong others. 'The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the

truth' is a proper maxim for a witness in a court of justice, and a

wholesome precept to be taught to all; but it is curious to watch

among the highest and purest in the land, as among the lowest and most

debased, how many are the obstacles to the absolute observance of this

precept.

Court-life is full of anomalies in this direction. The 'Queen's

Speech,' as we all know, is not the Queen's Speech; it is not written

by Her Majesty, and for many years past has seldom been spoken by her.

The prime-minister writes it, after conferring with his colleagues; the

Lord Chancellor reads it, as one of three commissioners named for that

special purpose. In earlier periods of our history, when the sovereign

was his own prime-minister, and his officials were dismissed at his

will and pleasure, his speech was really a speech; but now that the

ministers are responsible for all the public proceedings of the Crown,

the speech is a message, really theirs, although couched in the first

person singular, and read from a written paper by other lips. Once now

and then the present Queen has had to be furnished with lighted candles

to enable her to read her own gracious speech on the afternoon of a

foggy day! The Queen is loyally supposed to be present in every court

of justice, near the colours of every regiment, and on the quarter-deck

of every vessel belonging to the royal navy. To salute the colours

during a march-past is to salute a symbol of sovereign power; and

even on the darkest night, or when no human being sees him, a naval

officer touches his cap when stepping up to the quarter-deck. It is not

telling a little fib, but acting one; 'making pretend,' for a purpose

sanctioned by all and injurious to none.

The 'honourable member for ----' may not be distinguished for

particularly honourable conduct as a member of society; but it is

felt that the House of Commons must wink at this, and treat him like

the rest. The 'most reverend prelate,' the 'reverend occupants of the

spiritual bench,' the 'illustrious duke on the cross benches,' the

'noble marquis,' the 'noble and learned lord,' the 'honourable and

gallant member for ----,' 'my right honourable friend'--all these are

intended, not as mere flatteries, but to preserve decorum and courtesy

in the proceedings of the two Houses. If members mentioned one another

by name, or used the second person 'you,' unseemly wrangles would

almost inevitably occur; a little 'making pretend,' even if involving a

somewhat cumbrous form of circumlocution, is found useful here; many a

foreign Chamber of Deputies or House of Representatives suffers sadly

from the absence of some such rules.

'Your obedient servant;' this is a small fib; for generally speaking,

you are neither his servant nor are you obedient to him. 'Truly yours'

and 'Yours faithfully' are equally departures from strict verity; in

all probability your correspondent has never done anything deserving of

a gush of warm sentiment on your part. 'Yours always sincerely'--well,

there may be a little earnestness here; but 'always' is more than you

can honestly pledge yourself to. A fair lady is sometimes a little

embarrassed in this matter. She may be under the necessity of writing

to decline a tender offer made to her by a gentleman. How is she to

address him? 'Yours respectfully,' or 'obediently,' or 'truly'--why,

this is what he wishes her to be, but what she announces in the letter

her refusal to be; and 'your obedient servant' is no better; for as she

refuses to be his wife, she most certainly will not be his servant.

Turn the matter about how we may, there is no apparent escape from

'making pretend,' unless the subscription to the letter be limited to

the mere signature. But the 'making pretend' of respect or obedience

is a small courtesy which lessens the probability of giving offence.

And as with the subscription, so with the superscription; the word

'dear' is a fond and affectionate one; but how often do we _really_

mean 'Dear sir' when we write those words? While we write the little

word we may feel ourselves hypocrites for so doing, for reasons good

and sufficient; but we must keep up 'dear' for form's sake. A young

spendthrift heir writes to 'My dear father' for more supplies, and may

yet be willing to see 'dear father' in the grave for the sake of the

inheritance. The old man may suspect this all the way along, but still

he addresses 'My dear Tom.'

'Mr So-and-so is not at home.' Certainly not true this, for you

happened to catch a glimpse of his features over the parlour

window-blind. Apart from any supposition that he owes you money which

he is not prepared to pay, he may really have a good and sufficient

reason for declining an interview with you. But this degree of 'making

pretend' is a little too bad; 'Mr So-and-so declines to see you' would

be true, but rather discourteous; and so perhaps a compromise is hit

upon, 'Mr So-and-so is engaged at present.'

'Come and take pot-luck with us to-morrow--all in the rough, just as

you find us;' not quite true, for preparations are purposely made for

the reception of the visitor. 'Pray don't think of going,' you politely

say; although as a fact it might be convenient to you and your family

that your guest should go at once. 'Always glad to see you'--most

assuredly 'making pretend,' for at best you only mean 'sometimes.' When

a young lady at a party declares that she positively 'can't sing,' we

take the assertion with several grains of allowance. When healths are

drunk and thanks returned, we may do as we like about believing 'the

proudest moment of my life;' and when, as sometimes happens at men's

parties, 'He's a jolly good fellow' is sung after proposing the toast,

it may happen to be that the person thus honoured is neither very jolly

nor very good. All the little incidents of social intercourse, if

examined critically, display somewhat similar indications of the widely

diffused 'making pretend.'

We thank people or praise people in various ways, beyond our real

meaning, from a sense of the value of civilities. The Lord Chancellor

always assures the Recorder that Her Majesty very highly approves of

the selection which her faithful citizens of London have made, when

the Lord Mayor elect is presented; and the civic functionary, on that

occasion, invites Her Majesty's judges to the Guildhall banquet,

although the invitation card has been sent to each long before. 'I

bow to your ludship's superior judgment;' although it may be known

to both of them, and to the bench and the bar generally, that the

counsel really possesses greater knowledge and ability than the judge.

'Gentlemen of the jury' are much flattered by counsel; penetration

and sagacity are imputed to them in large measure; the advocate does

not mean what he says, but he hopes to wheedle a verdict out of them,

in duty to the client who employs and pays him. The judge, unspotted

in his impartiality (an inestimable advantage which we enjoy in this

country), has no temptation to indulge in such flatteries, and is free

from embarrassment in the matter. As to a counsel positively stating

his belief in the innocence of the prisoner he is defending, when he

knows that the man is guilty, this is a stretch of audacity on which

much has been written and said, and which leaves a painful impression

on conscientious minds; a skilful counsel generally manages to avoid

it, while using as much whitewash as he can for the accused, and

applying plentiful blackwash to the witnesses for the prosecution. The

'enlightened and independent electors' of a borough do not believe that

the candidate is altogether sincere in thus addressing them, while

he himself has probably the means of knowing that they are neither

enlightened nor independent; but the compliment is pleasing to their

vanity, and perchance they give him a few extra cheers (or votes) as

his reward.

'Making pretend,' in wholesale and retail trade, is now carried to

such an extent as to be a serious evil. Where woollen goods are sold

as 'all wool,' despite the shoddy and cotton which enter into their

composition; where calico is laden with chalk in order to augment its

weight; where professed flax and silk goods have a large percentage of

cotton, and alpaca goods are made of wool which was never on the back

of an alpaca--we are justified in doubting whether the fib comes within

the range of allowable 'making pretend;' the articles may possibly be

worth the price charged, but nevertheless they are put forth under

false names. The law-courts tell us that there are some millers,

'rogues in grain,' who do not scruple to mix up with their corn a cheap

substance known among them by the mysterious name of 'Jonathan.' Butter

is sold of which seventy per cent is _not_ butter. Tea, coffee, cocoa,

and chicory are rendered cheap by adulterants. London beer and London

gin (we will leave provincial towns to speak for themselves) are often

terribly sophisticated, to give apparent strength by the addition of

drugs little less than poisonous. The frauds of trade find their way

into a greater and greater number of departments and branches. 'Cream

of the valley gin,' the 'dew off Ben Nevis,' 'fine crusted port,' 'pure

dinner sherry'--we might excuse a bit of exaggeration in the names,

provided the liquids themselves were genuine. 'Solid gold chains,'

made of an alloy containing only six ounces of real gold to eighteen

of baser metal, are now displayed in glittering array in shop-windows;

and many 'real gold' articles have only a thin film of gold to cover a

substratum of cheap metal. Soon after the Abyssinian war, when some of

King Theodore's golden trinkets were exhibited in England, Birmingham

or London or both produced 'Abyssinian gold' chains, watches, and

jewellery in which real gold was conspicuous by its absence. Following

this precedent, the same or other makers introduced 'Ashanti' gold

jewellery after the little war in which Sir Garnet Wolseley was

engaged; and the auriferous quality of the one was about equal to that

of the other.

But apart from actual roguery, other modes of attracting customers are

noticeable for a kind of whimsical audacity. A hairdresser, who sells

bear's grease, buys or rents a small bear, which he placards profusely,

and writes up, 'Here, and at Archangel.' A furniture-dealer advertises,

for twelve or eighteen months together, that he is enlarging his

premises, and will sell off his stock at low prices, to prevent the

articles from being injured by dust and dirt--his stock being quietly

renewed from time to time, and the prices remaining pretty nearly

the same as before. A draper covers half the front of his house with

inscriptions relating to an alleged shipwreck or conflagration, to

denote how very cheaply he can sell the salvage. 'Dreadful depression

in trade,' 'bankrupt stock,' 'ruinous sacrifice,' are well-known

manœuvres. We hear of 'Hampshire rabbits' that never saw Hampshire,

and 'Newcastle salmon' that were certainly neither caught nor pickled

at Newcastle; 'Cheshire cheese' made in other shires; 'Melton-Mowbray

pies,' 'Bath buns,' and 'Banbury cakes' made in London--these we can

understand as extensions in the production of certain articles at one

time localised.

The artistic or fine-art world is much troubled with 'making pretend,'

often involving white-lies of considerable magnitude. 'Old Roman coins'

produced in an out-of-the-way workshop in London or Birmingham; 'Fine

old china' fabricated within a recent period; a 'Genuine Rubens' that

originated somewhere near Wardour Street; a 'Landscape after Claude'

(very much after)--are sorrowfully known to purchasers endowed with

more money than brains. At one of the Great Exhibitions, a French

firm displayed two pearl necklaces, of which one was valued (if we

remember rightly) at fifty-fold as much as the other, and yet none but

a practised observer could discriminate between them. The exhibitor

wished to shew, and did shew, how skilfully he could make mock-pearls

imitate real--but what a temptation to 'making pretend!'

THE LAST OF THE HADDONS.

CHAPTER XX.--MRS TIPPER AT HOME.

The next morning I took care to find employment for Lilian which would

require the use of her mind as well as her hands. Indeed we were all as

busy as bees, there being a great deal still to be done in the way of

putting our little home in order. Fortunately, as it happened for us,

the builder had been obliged to make the rooms larger and less formal

in shape than are the generality of cottage parlours, in order to carry

out the architect's design for the exterior of the building, so we

had two good sitting-rooms. Our _drawing-room_ gave ample opportunity

for the display of taste; and Mrs Tipper had begged me to select the

furniture, choose the paper for the walls, and so forth. I did my best,

in the way of endeavouring to make an effective background for the by

no means few works of art which had arrived from Fairview, and were

now to be unpacked and arranged by Lilian and me. Mrs Tipper had been

a little disappointed at my selecting sober tints such as French gray

for the walls, &c.; confessing that for her part she liked plenty of

colour. Indeed the dear little woman too fondly remembered the best

parlour in the little cottage at Holloway, where she informed me gay

plumaged birds wandered up and down the walls amidst roses and tulips,

to take kindly to more sober tints. And it required some diplomacy

gracefully to decline two heavy lumps of china, supposed to represent

Windsor Castle, which had been carefully preserved as relics of old

times, and which were now brought forth from their beds of wool and

presented as Mrs Tipper's contribution in the way of fine art for the

drawing-room mantel-piece, with the information that they had been

purchased at Greenwich fair and brought home as a surprise by 'John.'

But I contrived to make it apparent that we already had as many

ornaments as we knew what to do with; and the happy thought occurred to

me to suggest that perhaps she would like to have the gifts which had

been presented by her husband on the mantel-piece in her own room. At

which she was fain to confess that such had been her desire. 'Only I

thought you wanted a little more colour in the drawing-room, you know,

dears; and I should be sorry to be selfish.'

But as our work progressed she acknowledged that the effect was

'elegant;' though I knew that term did not mean the highest eulogy in

her estimation. The dainty collection of Sèvres and Dresden, which had

belonged to Lilian's mother, the pictures, few valuable books, and

the roses and lilies of the chintz, imparted quite colour enough to

the room to satisfy us two. But it gave us enough to do to arrange it

all. To the portrait of Lilian's mother, a really valuable painting,

the costly work of a celebrated Academician (another extravagance of

Mr Farrar's, deplored by Marian), was of course assigned the place of

honour. She must have been a very lovely woman, of the delicate refined

type of beauty, which expresses so much to certain minds, and the

artist had evidently worked _con amore_. He had seen the soul beneath,

and depicted what he had seen. I could well understand the thought

which had suggested the simple white flowing dress and loosened hair,

with no ornament save a star above the broad white brow, and which had

caused him so to pose the figure as to impart the idea that it was

floating upwards.

I have heard that Mr Farrar was not a little disappointed in the

picture, considering the style too severe, and that he regretted not

having stipulated for velvet and diamonds. But the picture had brought

fresh fame to the artist; crowds of admirers gathering round the

'Morning Star,' as it was called, when it was on view at the Academy,

though it was generally believed to be an ideal rather than a portrait.

To Lilian it was a priceless treasure.

Mrs Tipper was in the outset a little afraid lest Lilian should do too

much for her strength; but she presently took my hint and objected no

more. I kept Lilian at work with me until we were both too fairly tired

out to be able to indulge in any sentimental regrets. Two or three days

passed thus, hammering and nailing in the mornings, chintz-cover making

in the afternoons; in a steady, methodical, business-like fashion,

until it was evident that very soon there would be nothing left for us

to do, if Mrs Tipper and Becky remained firm in their determination not

to allow us to give them any assistance in the everyday work of the

house.

When our work was at length completed, we flattered ourselves that a

prettier room than the cottage parlour was not to be found in all the

country round. The pictures and china, Lilian's easel and pet books and

birds, the pretty chintz furniture, and the rare flowers which found

their way to us, did indeed form a very charming whole--a room which

looked a great deal more like the home of a gentlewoman than did any

of the rooms at Fairview; the latter being too gorgeous in the way of

gilding and upholstery to be fitting receptacles for works of art.

I was not a little amused at Miss Farrar's very openly expressed

astonishment, when, about a fortnight after our departure from

Fairview, she found time for making the promised call upon us.

'Well!' she involuntarily exclaimed; 'you _have_ made it look pretty!'

presently adding--'for a cottage, you know. I am sure you need not mind

any one coming to see you here. I shouldn't mind living here myself, I

really shouldn't! I cannot think how you have contrived to make it look

so _comy fo_!'

Then she a little curiously asked to be shewn the rest of the house.

And although all our art treasures had been gathered together in this

one room, she found that the other part of the house was well and

prettily furnished; an air of comfort if not of luxury pervading every

nook and corner; nothing being wanting from garret to cellar. In fact

there had been no lack of means; Mrs Tipper had money enough and to

spare for the furnishing, without drawing upon Lilian's two hundred

and fifty pounds received for the piano. It had turned out there were

some hundreds lying in Mrs Tipper's name at the banker's. She had

not taken her brother's words so literally as he intended them to be

taken; drawing barely sixty or seventy pounds a year of the two hundred

which had been settled upon her; and consequently it had been left to

accumulate; and as she smilingly explained, Mr Markham informed her

there was quite a little fortune awaiting her. 'So I've been saving up

a fortune without knowing it, you see, dears: it isn't everybody that

does that.' Then, in a softer tone: 'Poor Jacob would be glad to know

that his generosity to me will help his child.' Then seeing Lilian's

colour rise as she looked up with tear-dimmed eyes at her mother's

portrait, and perhaps perceiving something of the thought which

occasioned the emotion, the dear little woman went on pleadingly and in

a low voice: 'Sometimes I think that _her_ love will plead for him. I

am sure that his love and kindness to his sister will.'

Marian peeped in everywhere, and even found a gracious word for Becky,

though I am sorry to say it was most ungraciously received. I do

not wish to lower Becky in the eyes of my readers, and therefore I

will only say that for a few moments she returned to the manners of

_court-life_, in replying to Miss Farrar's gracious little speech.

'What a deal it must have cost!' again and again ejaculated Marian.

'And how hard you must have worked to get it to look like this!'

'It has amused us,' I smilingly replied.

'And a piano too!'

'Yes; that made its appearance yesterday; a present from an unknown

friend;' adding a little mischievously, for in truth I more than

guessed that friend to be Robert Wentworth: 'Was it a kind thought of

yours, Miss Farrar?'

She was obliged to confess that it was not; though she did not omit to

imply that she considered she had already done enough, and more than

enough, in the way of 'kind thoughts.' Lilian's quiet self-contained

bearing seemed not a little to astonish her. She had, I fancy, expected

to find her in a lachrymose state. So at a loss was she to account for

it, that she presently asked me in a whisper whether we had had a visit

from Mr Trafford. I replied in the negative; and in her satisfaction

she was so far off her guard as to say: 'Caroline said he hadn't

been.' And she turned to Lilian again more gracious than ever.

She really meant to be kind, and looked disappointed as well as

surprised at Lilian's persistent refusal to go to stay at Fairview,

though she had had time to feel the difference between her former home

and the cottage.

'But you really must not bury yourself in this small place; and it

would be so nice for you, you know, having drives and all that. And

there's your horse--I won't sell it, if you would like to ride again.

I wish I wasn't so frightened of horses. Caroline says I should look

splendid in a habit.'

'I should not care to ride now, thank you.'

'But you must come and stay. We are going to have all sorts of gaieties

by-and-by; as soon as the new servants are in training. Caroline knows

lots of great people; and we will have dinners, and balls, and fêtes,

and all sorts of things. Of course you must come.'

'No; you are very kind--I am sure you mean to be kind--but I could not.

I do not care for such things. I prefer the cottage and cottage-life,'

gently but decidedly returned Lilian.

But that was quite beyond Marian's comprehension. She was convinced

that there was some other cause for the refusal. It was impossible

to really prefer living in a small cottage. After a few moments'

reflection, she said: 'You are not annoyed about Caroline being with

me, are you? You know you all left me alone, and'----

'Annoyed? No, indeed!' very decidedly replied Lilian. 'Why should I be?'

'Well, of course it's rather awkward your having broken it off

with Mr--Trafford; Caroline says you have now, quite?' with a keen

questioning glance. Lilian made no reply. She had indeed done nothing

towards the 'breaking off,' only tacitly submitted to it. After waiting

a few moments, and waiting in vain, Marian went on: 'But if you do not

care about having him now, I don't see why you should object to meeting

him occasionally. Indeed I do not know how I can forbid him to come to

Fairview. There can be no objection to his coming to see his sister

sometimes.'

'I do not see any,' quietly returned Lilian.

Whereat Marian looked very much relieved; and became so extremely

gracious and affectionate towards us, that Mrs Tipper, who had not been

much noticed of late, was taken into favour again.

'And I shall expect to see you too, aunt. I know you do not care for

company; but you might come on the quiet days, when we are _quite_

alone. I will let you know, the first leisure'----

'You must excuse me,' put in Mrs Tipper with gentle dignity; 'I have

given up visiting. I may make an occasional call; but, like Lilian, I

very much prefer my present humble home to Fairview--now.'

'It's very good of you to bear it so well, I'm sure; but you can't

_really_ prefer it, I think. Besides, you are my real aunt now, you

know; and if you don't come it will look as if'----

'You must excuse me if I sometimes forget our relationship, Miss

Marian' (never could Mrs Tipper be induced to give her the name of

Farrar). 'My Lilian is the only niece I have known until very recently,

and my love was all given to her long ago.'

But _one_ thing had put Marian into a good-humour with herself and

us, and she was not to be discountenanced. I think she good-naturedly

made allowance for us, as disappointed and soured people, from whom a

little ungraciousness might cheerfully be borne, by one so much more

fortunate. So she took leave of us in the pleasantest way, and with a

pretty wonder at our philosophy under difficulties; which proved that

she had already become an apt pupil of Mrs Chichester's.

Aided by a natural self-complacency and obtuseness, and disturbed by

no misgiving respecting her own powers, she would probably very soon

become as perfect a specimen of fine-ladyhood as she could desire to

be. The difference between a fine lady and a gentlewoman would never be

perceived by Miss Farrar.

One return visit we decided that it was necessary to force ourselves to

pay. We felt _that_ much was only right and proper, if only to evince

that we harboured no unkindliness towards the new mistress of Fairview.

But it was not pleasant to anticipate; and in our desire to get it

over, we were as prompt as Miss Farrar could desire in returning her

call, setting forth for Fairview the next day. Could she have heard us

comforting and sustaining each other by the way, she would probably

have been less flattered.

We were admitted and ushered into the drawing-room by a strange servant

in very gorgeous livery. It was to be a greater trial for poor Lilian

than I had expected. I do not think that either of us had calculated

upon the possibility of finding Arthur Trafford upon familiar terms

at Fairview at so early a date as this after Lilian's departure. But

there he was; and as Marian was singing at the top of her voice when we

were ushered into the room, we had a momentary picture of them as they

certainly would not have chosen us to see them; her eyes being raised

to his, and his bent upon hers, with all the _empressement_ of lovers,

before they became conscious of our presence. Mrs Chichester was seated

at a sufficient distance, near one of the open windows, apparently

deeply immersed in the subject treated in a book she was reading.

'Good gracious!' ejaculated Marian, rising hastily from the music-stool

as she caught sight of us.

Lilian shrank back a moment, and for that moment I contrived to screen

her from observation. Fortunately the others were too much confused at

being so discovered, to notice how we bore ourselves; and Lilian very

quickly recovered herself again and advanced towards Marian. Presently

we were all shaking hands and saying the right thing for the occasion.

Marian was extremely effusive about our goodness in coming 'so very

_soon_;' partly, I fancied, to conceal a little embarrassment which she

had the grace to feel. 'We did not expect you to be _quite_ so good as

_this_, you know, dear!' she ejaculated, kissing Lilian.

Arthur Trafford was the least at ease. When the rest of us had

contrived to assume an everyday tone and manner, he seemed to be

growing still more confused and conscious. It was certainly rather

embarrassing, for a man so desirous as he of others' good opinion,

to be found thus--assuming the attitude of a lover towards Marian

Farrar, by the girl whom he had deserted; and so soon after that

desertion. The motive was too palpable to be glossed over by any amount

of sophistry. To add to his misery, he still loved the girl he had

deserted.

The sight of Lilian's white face and grave eyes--the traces of the

storm which had swept over her--was too much for him. He stood gazing

at her with miserable yearning eyes; and when she presently addressed

a few words to him with reference to a book of his to which Marian had

drawn her attention, thanking him for the loan of it, and asking him to

excuse her having in the hurry of leaving Fairview forgotten to return

it, he could endure the torture no longer.

Hurriedly thrusting aside his sister, who had perceived something

of what was going on in his mind, and was coming to the rescue, he

went out of one of the windows opening to the ground, and we saw him

striding down one of the garden paths, as though his only object was to

get out of sight as quickly as possible.

Marian looked uneasy as well as annoyed; and watched Lilian more

closely, not a little astonished, I think, at her self-possession.

There was an awkward silence for a few moments; until Mrs Chichester

came to the rescue, and steered us into the shallows again, making talk

about nothing, in easy society fashion, until we had all recovered our

equilibrium.

Dear little Mrs Tipper came out grandly again; no longer attempting

anything in the way of company manners, they saw her as she was, a

single-minded, true-hearted woman, with a great deal of natural dignity

and self-respect. Utterly disregarding Marian's shocked looks and Mrs

Chichester's half-suppressed smiles, she talked about her cottage home

and new life with very unmistakable thankfulness for the change which

had come about, so far as she was concerned. They had led to it by

their compassionate tone, and they could not doubt the sincerity of her

replies.

'You mean to be kind, no doubt, ma'am;' in reply to one of Mrs

Chichester's polite little speeches. 'But I assure you that as for

myself I am more happy and comfortable at the cottage than I have

been for many a long day. I was not brought up like gentlefolks, and

their ways never came easy to me. My father was a green-grocer, and a

very good father he was--I am proud of my father, Mrs Chichester--and

though he could not make his children like rich people's children, he

taught us not to be ashamed of being what we were. If you don't like

your station in life, get out of it as soon as you like; but don't

be ashamed of it while you _are_ in it. That is what father used to

say; and there was not a tradesman in Camberwell more respected than

father was. Jacob worked his way up in the world; but by the time he

had got rich it was too late to make _me_ any different.' Smiling at

Mrs Chichester's graceful little protest, she cheerfully went on: 'We

have none of us been brought up like gentlefolks; and we can't help

its shewing. Why any one might see that Lilian is a lady, like her

mother before her, and different from such as us, you know;' with a

confidential nod towards Marian. 'I once thought that learning French

and the piano would do it; but I know better now.'

Marian drew herself up with a few murmured words to the effect that the

mistress of Fairview was quite equal to the position she found herself

in. But it was of no avail. She was not a gentlewoman in Mrs Tipper's

eyes; and Mrs Chichester herself was but a poor imitation of one.

'It is not, I think, usual to find--Camberwell so ready to recognise

the claims of birth, Mrs Tipper,' said Mrs Chichester, with the extreme

softness which generally accompanied such little speeches from her

lips. 'Blue blood is not supposed to reign there.'

'I was not talking about blue blood, ma'am,' returned Mrs Tipper,

complacently regarding her. 'Lilian's mother was a gentlewoman;' at

which Marian, who had taken offence at Mrs Chichester's remark on her

own account, gave it as her opinion that 'blue' blood was all nonsense,

and she had never believed in it.

I sat silent, admiring the way in which Mrs Tipper and Lilian shewed

their ability to hold their own. Mrs Chichester was inclined to be

loftily condescending towards me; but as I met her with smiling

cheerfulness, shewing no sign of being aware of my inferiority, the

conversation soon languished between us.

Marian did her very best to be kind and conciliating towards Lilian.

'Now you have broken the ice, you will come very often, I hope, dear.

It is rather a fatiguing walk up the hill; but there's the carriage

always at your service. Of course you will let me send you back now;'

going towards the bell as we rose to take leave. 'What _I_ should do

without a carriage I really don't know,' she added languidly.

We hurriedly declined the carriage, each very decidedly affirming a

predilection for walking exercise; and finding that we were really in

earnest, she reluctantly allowed us to depart as we came.

'There; it is over; and we need not go again for ever so long, I am

thankful to say!' ejaculated Mrs Tipper with a sigh of relief as we

turned homewards.

SEA-SHORE RAMBLES.

'Where are you going this year?' is a question that meets every one

just now, and is suggestive of coming holidays, when the daily work,

be it what it may, is put by for a season, and the tired brain is to

be rested and refreshed by more or less change of scene and fresh air.

'Where are you going?' suggests to some perhaps the aspirations of

an Alpine climber; to the angler, the joys of uninterrupted days of

patient watching by the side or in the middle of a limpid stream in one

of our home counties, or in the rougher and more exciting rivers of

Scotland and Wales. The schoolboy thinks of long rambles in the fields

and woods, or a cruise on the river; whilst Pater and Mater familias

consider how best to give rosy cheeks and a month's delight to the

little faces clustering round their table. It is chiefly this class of

holiday-makers that we have in our minds whilst we cogitate the hints

in these pages.

Not that the enjoyment of a sea-side ramble is by any means confined

to the young of the household. Nothing is more refreshing to the

breadwinner of a family than the perfect absence of restraint and

sense of freedom which every well-chosen exodus to the sea-side should

produce. Instead of the daily hurried breakfast and rush to catch the

train or omnibus which takes him to his office or place of business,

there is the leisurely and comfortable meal by the side of the open

window, through which the sea-breezes waft, bringing health and vigour

with them. The voices of children from the beach, full of life and

joy, as they build their castles of sand and dig moats for the water

to undermine them, are music to the ears usually half-deafened by the

sound of cabs and wagons and the noise of crowded thoroughfares; and we

do not wonder that there are many who, though they might go farther if

they chose, prefer rather the perfect repose and pure sea-breezes of

one of our British sea-coast villages. Perhaps after a few days of this

delicious sensation of rest and no hurry, the very want of occupation

may pall on the spirit of an active man; and he may find that to sweep

over the horizon with a telescope, to sail in a boat, to lounge or

loll on a shingly beach, varied by trials of skill in throwing stones

into the sea, cannot bear constant repetition without a suspicion of

dullness, and that after all he wants something more to do.

The task we propose to ourselves is to suggest what can be done at

the sea-side likely to interest and please those who, though not

naturalists, are intelligent observers, and who believe in the old

proverb, that 'Change of work is as good as play.' The young ones of

the household soon become interested in fresh pursuits, and are eager

to collect materials for an aquarium, or to commence a botanical

collection; or perhaps to search for pebbles, shells, or fossils, if

their quarters lie in some favourable position. We will suppose an

intelligent mother and father who are not naturalists, who do not

boast of any scientific letters after their name, and who belong to

none of the learned societies of our land, who yet when at home read

the current journals and literature of the day, occasionally attend

lectures, and believe that the pursuit of science is interesting as

well as useful. Perhaps they may have a medical friend or neighbour

who is almost sure to possess a microscope, with which he not only is

wont to make pathological investigations, but to interest and amuse his

friends. He will often exhibit the circulation of sap in a fresh-water

plant leaf, perhaps even the circulation of blood in a frog's foot;

and many are the pretty objects afforded by the hairs of a leaf,

the sections of a stem, or the wings of a beetle. But if by chance

this same microscope be transported to the sea-side, with its proper

arrangements for the examination of living organisms, the variety and

charm to be derived from its use are endless. Almost every drop of

sea-water teems with animal life; and an inch of sea-weed will produce

tiny shells, animalcules, and curious forms under the microscope

invisible to the naked eye. Then the very water brought from the sea

and supplied fresh for the morning bath, or carried home by the little

ones in their tiny pails with such delight, half-filled with sea-weed,

will often afford such marvels in the shape of zoophytes, or tiny

jelly-fishes, as only those can imagine who can recollect their first

sight of such wonders under the microscope.

It is very possible that the young ones of such a household as we

imagine, are the first to excite inquiry as to the objects around them.

They are sure to make friends in their sea-side rambles. The boys

will be attracted by some gray-headed old gentleman who goes 'sugaring

for moths;' or some crusty old geologist who pulls down the cliffs to

get at some coveted fossil, or sits on the beach cracking flints to

examine their formation, and delights to give a history of their growth

to a youthful audience. The little girls of a family party will to a

certainty bring home sea-weeds and sea-shore plants in their baskets,

and delightedly take in anything they can learn about them. Father

and mother begin to think that after all there is a great deal at the

sea-side they do not understand, and ignorant as they are, it is not

pleasant to confess it all to the youngsters; so a visit is paid to the

bookseller for certain books of reputation, such as Gosse's _Year at

the Shore_; and study begins in earnest.

After a while, the superior intelligence of the elders enables them

to master many minor subjects of interest, and to put them in the

position of instructors to the children, who are sure to follow them

up with avidity. In a little time a sort of extempore aquarium is

likely to be formed in the sitting-room or on the outside balcony, if

there be one. We can see the row of soup-plates and pie-dishes which

serve as domestic rock-pools for their inhabitants. Paterfamilias gets

much interested in these, and is found to wait more patiently than

usual for the brewing of his morning cup of tea whilst he examines

the curious creatures thus imported into his presence. Poking up a

sluggish sea-anemone, clearing off dead bits of sea-weed, or removing

some unpleasant defunct mollusc, occupies these normally irritating

intervals of time. After breakfast, whilst placidly enjoying the

fragrant weed, so delicious to the smoker at the sea-side, the boys,

who have often seen the fun, inaugurate a battle-royal between two

hermit crabs, who, being the very cuckoos of the sea, spend their lives

in the shells of other creatures, and have no rightful dwelling-place

of their own. The scientific name of the hermit crab is _Pagurus_,

but unlike other members of his class, he has only a portion of his

body incased in armour. His hind-parts are soft, covered only by a

delicate membrane; but his nature is warlike; and could he not by his

own ingenuity supply the wrong done him by Nature, he would fare ill

in this combative world; accordingly, he selects an empty shell of

convenient size, into which he pops his tender tail, fastening on by

hooks on each side, and having thus secured his rear, he scuttles over

the sea-bed, a grotesque but philosophic marauder. The impossibility

of Pagurus living long without a covering to his extremity is taken

advantage of by young and fun-loving naturalists. Selecting two nearly

of a size, and removing them from their appropriated shells, they are

dropped into a vase of sea-water, and one of the shells, usually a

whelk-shell, is placed between them, first breaking off the point of

the shell. At once the skirmish begins. One makes direct for the shell,

and having first poked in an inquiring claw and found all safe, slips

in his tail, and fastening on by his hooks, scuttles away rejoicing.

In the case we recall, he was not left long in undisturbed possession.

His rival approached with strictly dishonourable intentions, and they

both walked round and round the vase, eyeing each other with malignity.

No exhibition ever produced more laughter than this amusing and after

all, harmless combat, which lasted a full half-hour. The skirmish only

terminated when another shell more perfect than the original one was

thrown into the water, and the tender tail of the inhabitant poked, so

as to make him vacate and enter the new abode, leaving the dilapidated

shell to shelter his enemy, who made the best of it, curled up his

tail, and reposed in peace after his fatiguing campaign.

In a very short time aquariums multiply, books are read, and excursions

are organised to various rock-pools and silent sea-caves, where it

is said curious creatures from the deep may be found and secured.

We have already in former papers said much about the inhabitants of

sea-water aquaria; but the variety that can be found and retained and

studied in a temporary arrangement at the sea-coast is much greater

than any collection which will bear transportation and town-life. At

the sea-side, if one lovely anemone should sicken and fade, it can be

removed at once, thrown back into its native element to have a chance

of recovery, and its place easily supplied. Queer little fishes which

lurk under stones will often live for a long time in a pan of water;

and one we once kept in this way had individual habits and ways which

were most amusing. After swimming about for some time in an inverted

propagating glass resting in a flower-pot, he would sink to the bottom,

and then curling his tail round him as a cat would do when making

herself comfortable, he would look up with his unabashed eyes and

pant away, as if fatigued with his gambols. It was in the evening we

caught him, and he was then in full black--evening costume; but next

morning we found him arrayed in an entire suit of light brown--cool

morning-dress. In the afternoon he again assumed his black appearance.

An excellent plan in the country or the sea-side is to persuade and

encourage the children of the household to keep a diary. Everything,

however humble in the scale of creation, is worth observing and

watching, and is worth recording for after-reference. The motions of

a beetle or a butterfly; the flight or song of a bird; the burrowing

habits of the mole; the evolutions of a shoal of porpoises; or the

commotion betrayed by sea-birds when the herring appear, are each and

all worthy a place in the observer's diary. For by such recordings

have great works on natural history been given to the world. There

are several hours in the heat of the day when to be on the beach or

indeed out of shelter is impossible, and we have often found, it

difficult to suggest employment for these hours at all consistent with

the holiday spirit which pervades everything at the sea-side. Lessons

are voted a nuisance and a bore; drying sea-weed and pressing plants

found in the evening walks soon becomes tiring; but keeping a diary and

chronicling the events of each day is something which seems to carry

the interest of the holiday-time with it, and is pleasant to refer to

afterwards. The capture of special sea-creatures, their habits and

progress, perhaps their death, may be recorded, besides the names of

other animals or plants seen or brought home. This, to be accurate,

necessitates a little search in such books as may be handy; and the

bodily rest so induced is often a great boon to the little folks,

who fancy they never feel tired, but get hot and feverish sometimes

through overdoing it. We have such a diary before us now, and the

first entry is suggestive: '_August 10._--Last night the sea was all

on fire; we were just going to bed when papa called out that we might

go on to the beach with him; and there were lines of bright light all

along the waves. We threw handfuls of pebbles in, and the light shot

out brighter, almost like fire-works. Papa called it _phosphorescence_;

and to-day we saw all about it under the microscope, and read about it

in Mr Gosse's book. It turns out not to be fire at all, but a curious

little jelly-fish, which makes this light. I ran with my pail and got

some of the water where the light was; and this morning papa put it

under the microscope, and we saw one of the tiny little jelly-fishes

which made the brightness.'

Of course this appearance is not uncommon on a smooth sea in hot

weather, and many have been the conjectures as to its cause. Our little

naturalist is right in the main; but phosphorescence is not caused

solely by the presence of one species of jelly-fish, but of various

kinds of decaying organisms.

A little hand-net made of muslin slung over the side of a boat will

often secure numbers of these lovely transparent creatures. 'A tiny

beautiful glass-drop!' cries one of the baby naturalists as she looks

at a perfect little _Beroe_ floating in the sea-water drawn up in her

little wooden pail. 'See!' says mamma, 'how the sunshine changes its

colours, and how curiously it is fringed with tiny hairs, which keep

moving to and fro.' Nothing can be more graceful than the movements of

this beautiful little creature. A little crystal sphere, delicately

striped, and marked with two long tentacles or filaments attached to

it, which are in truth its fishing apparatus, and are fringed with

slender fibres, which contract and expand apparently at will, seeking

for the delicate morsels of food which support the life of this

ethereal-like creature.

Then on our southern coasts, in the Isle of Wight and elsewhere, we

have found other forms of Medusæ, even more charming. The pretty little

_Turris neglecta_ was constantly caught in the muslin-net one year.

It is like a tiny crystal bell, with an elegant white fringe around

it and a bright red coral bead in its centre. The _Sarsia prolifera_,

so funnily described by that humorous and genial naturalist, the late

Professor Edward Forbes, is a remarkable instance of the way in which

the young ones bud or sprout off from the parent Medusa at certain

seasons of the year.

When Professor Forbes wrote his book on the Medusæ, much remained to be

worked out and discovered of their nature and organism. He threw out

hints of their probable nature, which have been followed up by later

naturalists; and no one would have rejoiced more than himself had he

lived to see that his own conclusions were not final, but merely the

beginning of discoveries which had to be carried on. The whole history

of their development would form an interesting subject of thought and

investigation for many a long day at the sea-side.

But in seeking for materials for the diaries of our young folks, much

that is new and interesting is sure to turn up. One child devotes

herself to sea-weeds. She brings them home in her little basket, floats

them out in a saucer of fresh-water, and gently introduces half a

sheet of note-paper underneath the spray of weed. Carefully lifting it

up out of the water, the sea-weed displays itself gracefully on the

white paper. If any of the little fronds are out of place, they are

gently arranged by means of a camel-hair pencil brush. A bit of linen

is laid over the sea-weed, and it is placed between sheets of botanical

drying-paper under a press or heavy weight; next day the drying-paper

is changed; and in a few days the sea-weed will have dried on its

sheet of note-paper and become quite fast. The piece of linen must

be carefully removed and the particular specimen named, if it can be

identified.

In the diary of our little sea-weed collector we find written: 'In

looking for sea-weeds to-day, I found a great many things which I

thought were sea-weeds at first, and I tried to dry them in the same

way. They were much thicker, however, and would not dry so easily; and

I was told they were zoophytes or animals, and not plants or sea-weeds

at all. One of them is quite fleshy, and is like a sponge, only very

small. I find in Patterson's book that very likely it is really a

sponge.' Well done! little naturalist; many an older and wiser head

than yours has puzzled over the plant-like appearance of a zoophyte;

and surely the history of a sponge from its first stage as a little

gemmule to its death and decay in the interior of a flinty sepulchre

formed by its own substance, would not be a wearisome lesson. Every

department of science is so dependent on another, that no one can now

claim to be a good geologist, or botanist, or anatomist who does not

know at least something of the other branches of natural history. The

rough sketch we have given of some of the occupations and pursuits

which may add to the charm of a sea-side visit, is but suggestive of

much that cannot be entered upon.

The botany of the sea-coast is special and peculiar, and will repay

careful attention. Nowhere else do we see the lovely tamarisk trees

forming bright green hedges with their pretty white flowers. The

horn-poppy too (_Glaucum luteum_), with its sea-green leaves and

brilliant yellow flower; the sea-holly (_Eryngium maritimum_) bristling

and prickling even through a sea-shore boot; and on the slopes and

sandy downs near the sea the beautiful _Convolvulus soldenella_, with

its trailing stem and pretty pink flowers; the tiny sea-shore rose

(_Rosa spinosissima_), the origin of all the garden varieties of Scotch

roses, its stems often not rising more than a few inches from the sand

in which it grows. Then there is the jointed and fleshy _Salicornia_,

so characteristic of the sea-shore; and the aromatic samphire, only

seen growing dangerously on almost inaccessible cliffs. Nowhere have

we ever studied the names and habits of plants with the pleasure and

enthusiasm we have at the sea-side; partly perhaps, owing to the

holiday sensation that must always be associated with the noise of the

rushing waves over their shingly bed, in the minds of those who never

hear it but when they have thrown work aside for a while. Memories

never to be forgotten crowd into the heart at the sight of some

well-remembered little plant, growing just where it did thirty years

ago, when we were young and enthusiastic, and ready to learn all that

we could of the beautiful world, which then seemed made for our delight.

If it ever were the case that the experience of one could be expected

to guide others, we would say: Let your young folks read but little

during their sea-side holiday; but observe much; write down what they

see, and confirm and correct their observations by reference to any

good recognised text-book, many of which are now published. The brain

will thus get rest, or at least change of work, and will return to its

ordinary duties with redoubled vigour and refreshment. The education

of our children is now more than ever a puzzling question, and how

best to teach them to use their hours of relaxation is involved in it.

The naturalist spirit engendered, perhaps, by early rambles on the

sea-shore is one to be preciously guarded and cultivated in future

life; and those who have most carefully and wisely studied human

nature and its tendencies agree as to its beneficial influence on the

character.

The suggestions we have thrown together, imperfect as they are, may

serve to shew that a sea-side ramble may be made just what the seeker

for pleasure chooses it shall be. For the schoolboy and philosopher

alike, there is something to be studied and much to be wondered at and

admired in every rock-pool, on every mountain-side.

SUNSHINE AND CLOUD.

IN TWO PARTS.

PART II.--CLOUD.