That this world is only a very small part of the universe, and that the
life of man upon this globe is but a very small part of that eternity
to which he is heir, is indicated by a thousand circumstances in the
life of every day, and by none more strikingly than by the failures,
the disappointments, the total eclipses which sweep from our sight into
the undiscovered country many a soul resplendent in promise, leaving
no record of them but in the faithful memories of the few who knew and
loved them.
“He whom God loveth, dieth early,” said the thoughtful heathen, and
it must be confessed that we are all disposed to hang garlands on our
tombstones and to make heroes of our dead. Flaws of temper and other
foibles which marred the perfection of those who were most familiar to
us while they were tossed to and fro on the billows of this troublesome
world, are forgotten for ever when the lines of care and thought are
smoothed from the brow on which Death has laid his finger.
No young soldier left the Crimea with greater distinction or greater
promise than Michael Fenner, the son of a house which traced back
its ancestors to the reign of Elizabeth, and to which honour and
piety had always been dearer than riches. He had entered the army
with the true chivalrous desire to fight for the right, to help the
weak, and confound the tyrant, and, a Christian in heart and soul,
he had maintained the simplicity and purity of his life alike in
the battlefield, in weary marches, and in seasons of sickness and
depression.
Self-denying, gracious, and cheery, he was welcome as the sun in
springtime, and many a groan was stifled and many a muttered curse
was turned into a blessing at the sight of his kindly blue eyes, at
the sound of his brotherly voice, so that no one grumbled when he was
gazetted captain in his eight and twentieth year.
Captain Michael Fenner in active service, and with the modest fortune
which he had inherited from his parents, thought it no indiscretion
to marry the lady of his love, Margaret Echlin, the daughter of the
Rector of Oldborough, a village in Warwickshire, which his family had
lived in for many years, and people called her a lucky woman; for what
distinction was impossible to a man who had already done so much and
done it so well? Nor was the promise of happiness altogether belied.
Eight years of happy wedded life followed the happy marriage; two
healthy children, Mark and Eveline, brightened their home; and as those
were years of peace, Michael was seldom long absent from his family.
The Fenners were not rich; but as they neither of them desired riches,
and both had the happy knack of enjoying what they had without pining
for what they had not, they took their lives as the gift of the Good
Father, and so all was good to them.
But there came a day of sore trial, of bitter sorrow to Margaret, of
trial and sorrow which Michael could not share. It was a day of a
great review, and Michael and his regiment were to take part in it.
His children will remember to their dying day the bright face that
kissed them, the gay plumes, the flash of gold and steel, and all the
brilliant show that rode forth from the barrack yard.
Half an hour, and the accident had happened which made them orphans
and their mother a widow. Captain Fenner was riding a young horse
unaccustomed to the London streets; he had ridden it in the country
for some months, and being a perfect horseman, mounted without
apprehension, but, unhappily, the nervous creature took fright, and,
after a wild rush of some two or three hundred yards, flung his rider
heavily on the pavement. To the amazement and horror of everyone he was
taken up lifeless. Without a word, without a look, he was gone for ever
from among men.
The event was too solemn to be mourned in the ordinary way. Men gazed
at each other with white, awestruck faces, and spoke beneath their
breath, as he was borne back to the home which he had just quitted in
full health and strength. How many weak-hearted, weak-willed men, who
lived for their own pleasure, with scarce a consciousness of the higher
life, might have been taken and the world not palpably the worse; but
this strong-hearted, strongwilled man, on the very threshold of a noble
career, lay slain by what seemed the merest accident in the heart of
his native country, almost within sound of his children’s voices.
“Truly the Lord’s ways are not our ways, and they are wonderful in our
eyes.”
Margaret sat stunned in her sorrow. Deep in her smitten heart lay the
consciousness that with him all was well; softly in the sleepless night
she whispered his name, softly her cold hands lingered on the heads
and hair of her children; but her eyes were dry, her voice dead within
her, until her friends, in a mistaken hope of helping her, consulted
together in her hearing about taking away the children. Then the strong
chill gave way, the blood rushed into her pale cheeks, she stood up,
and, holding each child by the shoulder, she looked into the faces of
her amazed friends.
“Bear with me,” she said; and her voice was dry and hard, but it became
more natural as she proceeded. “Bear with me for awhile; I am weak, but
I shall be strong in time. These are Michael’s children; you must not
take them from me.” Then bending down to her children she kissed them,
praying them also to be patient with her, and said they would help each
other, and, from that day forward she was first in their thoughts, they
in hers. With patient care she devoted herself to all the duties of
that sad time, and when Michael Fenner was laid to rest in the country
churchyard, where many of his forefathers slept, she set herself to
master all the circumstances of her position, and to ascertain the
means at her disposal for her own maintenance and the maintenance and
education of her children. Friends shook their heads and pitied “those
poor Fenners,” but there was not one with whom Margaret would have
changed lots; for had she not the memory of her love and the care of
those little children who were his as well as hers?
A careful consideration of her circumstances convinced Mrs. Fenner that
it would not be desirable for her to inhabit the house at Oldborough,
for though it was a modest house enough for a family to live in, she
felt herself unequal to manage the farm which belonged to it, and she
knew that her pension would not enable her to keep it up comfortably,
besides, before long it would be necessary for Mark at least to go
to school, and the nearest town was ten miles from Oldborough. So
Oldborough Lodge was let to an Indian family who were in search of just
such a home, and the farm was retained by the farmer, who had held it
ever since Michael’s father had died, some fifteen years before; while
Mrs. Fenner and her children moved to a pretty little cottage, which
was fortunately to let, near the ancient city of Sunbridge, in the
parish adjacent to which her brother was rector, because she was deeply
attached to her brother, and because both he and his wife were of
opinion that it would be a great advantage to Mark to study with their
son Gilbert, until the boys should be old enough to go to school.
The Rev. James Echlin, Rector of Rosenhurst, near Sunbridge, was one of
those amiable and accomplished men, to whom, in their curate period,
everything seems possible, everything probable; and when it was
announced that Lady Elgitha Manners, aunt to the young Earl of Seven
Beeches, had determined to bestow her inestimable self and all the
weight of her aristocratic connections upon him, it was accepted as an
event quite within the range of the proprieties, and the favoured few
among his congregation to whom the great news was first communicated,
assured each other that it was no wonder, and that they should see
him a bishop before many years were over their heads. The Reverend
James, who, like his sister, was disposed to think rather too humbly
of himself, was amazed at his own good fortune, and meekly submitted
himself to it; but his wise father shook his head, and his mother,
though rather dazzled by the brilliancy of the connection, felt that it
would have been more comfortable if James had married a woman more in
their own rank. Indeed, the man who marries a wife, who condescends to
his alliance, is seldom to be envied, and, though James Echlin’s sweet
nature prevented his chafing under it, it was by no means good for him
or for his children that the Lady Elgitha, in right of her superior
knowledge of the world, and of her family connections, exercised the
_summum imperium_ in all household arrangements.
Of their eight children only two, Gilbert Manners, the eldest, and
Elgitha Manners, the youngest, lived past infancy. Gilbert was a
handsome boy, well grown and vigorous enough, but Elgitha was long a
frail, little maid, who seemed likely to be added to the row of tiny
mounds under the chancel window, which were all that remained to tell
of the six infant Manners Echlins who had spread their wings and joined
the innumerable throng of infant angels.
Like most ruling ladies, the Lady Elgitha had her favourite, and this
favourite was—as was but natural—her son: for had he not paid her the
initiatory compliment of inheriting her aquiline features? and as he
grew up were not his tastes and feelings in charming harmony with her
own? While a child in the nursery he eschewed fairy tales “as rubbish,”
and when he became a boy, and went to school, learning as learning was
a bore; and he early adopted it as a maxim to give his attention to
nothing that “didn’t pay”—an expression which charmed his mother by its
shrewdness, but strangely chilled his father, who, in all his life, had
never taken such a consideration into account.
With a sense of the vital importance of modern languages which is
impressed on the brain of our female aristocracy, Lady Elgitha had
imported to Sunbridge first a Parisian _bonne_, then a German; and
Gilbert, Mark, and Eveline had the opportunity of acquiring a _patois_
which familiarised them with the names of ordinary things, and, it may
be, facilitated their subsequent studies in both languages; but little
Elgitha was too delicate in the early years of her life to be trusted
either to _bonne_ or _fräulein_, and she was permitted to repose on
the ample bosom of a comfortable Englishwoman, who was as sweet as
a clover-field and about as intelligent; and while she nursed and
tended the frail little body, had not the remotest notion of in any
way disturbing the little brain, but was more than satisfied to see
repeated in his little daughter the features and the sweetness of her
father.
When Gilbert had attained his seventh year, Lady Elgitha decreed
that an erudite curate should be sought out, who, in addition to his
clerical duties, should instruct both boys in the mysteries of the
Latin grammar, and should prepare Gilbert for Eton, and Mark for the
local grammar school, which had a very good reputation; and so, for
three years, the boys worked together under the guidance of the Rev.
Theophilus Wilkins, who, having rather overtaxed his brain by taking a
“double first” at Oxford, was not sorry to rest a little by going back
to first principles with the cousins, the elder of whom was interesting
as the grandson of an earl, while the orphanage of the younger could
hardly fail to awaken his sympathy.
As was natural, Gilbert took the lead, and was always the person most
considered, but Mark had an innate love of learning, which made him
accept with eagerness whatever was offered to him. From the day when
a six years’ child he spelt out the mysteries of “haec musa” to that
when he gave proof of accomplished scholarship by carrying off the
first honours of his school, it never occurred to Mark to clip his
studies by a careful selection of what would carry him through an
examination, too much engrossed by learning to count personal profit
or want of profit in the matter; while Gilbert from his tenderest
years showed a precocious esteem for “what would pay” and a profound
unwillingness to learn anything for its own sake; so that when he was
ten years old, it being found that Mark was in all respects in advance
of his cousin, Lady Elgitha decreed that it was waste of time for Mark
to study at home any longer, and that Gilbert had better be sent to
one of those feeders of Eton where the subjects of study are strictly
narrowed to suit the demands of that seat of learning; and in due
course Gilbert Manners Echlin, having passed through the congenial mill
of the Rev. Edward Thornborough, at Staines, took a good place on his
entrance, and was fairly launched into the sea of public school life.
His grandfather and his uncle being earls, and his father a parson, he
was not particularly badgered on his first coming; he was sufficiently
aristocratic in countenance and bearing to pass muster with the boys,
and sufficiently ready with his lessons to escape the censure of
masters.
Mark Fenner, meanwhile, diligently attended the Grammar School at
Sunbridge, walking to and fro summer and winter, wet and dry, and,
with his bright, cheery face and steady ways, won the love of masters
and of boys, and worked his way with quiet perseverance to the top of
the school. It never occurred to him to envy Gilbert his fine clothes
or the guineas he jingled in his pockets when he came to the cottage
to say good-bye; and he submitted with an easy grace to the airs
of patronage which his cousin assumed. It was natural, he thought,
that his Aunt Elgitha’s son should go to Eton, and it was equally
natural and right that he himself should work out his lessons without
other aid than that of dictionary and grammar by the light of his
mother’s lamp in the cottage parlour, occasionally refreshing himself
by a half-unconscious glance at the enlarged photograph over the
mantelpiece, which was the only portrait they had of their father, and
which, dull and poor as it was in comparison with the bright presence
which had passed away, was yet an outward visible sign of it very dear
to the three who called the cottage home.
In countenance Mark was not at all like his father, resembling his
mother in feature and complexion; but many a time and oft the widow’s
heart beat and tears rose in her eyes as she recognised in her boy
traits which assured her of that higher affinity of heart and mind
which is infinitely deeper than any trick of feature or complexion. It
is a mistake to suppose that because boys are often rough in speech and
careless in manner there is any reason for it in their boyhood, and
though the braggart and the bully naturally attract most attention, and
do what they can to spoil the beauty of the little republics in which
they live, we confidently believe that there are hundreds of boys who
have no taste for bullying and coarse talking any more than for lying
and thieving, and who pass through their school career pure in speech
and gentle in nature. Certainly Mark Fenner never need have blushed
if his mother had heard all he said any more than if she had read the
thoughts of his heart; yet Mark was almost as good in the cricket-field
as in the school-room, he was an adroit swimmer, a stout wrestler, and,
better than all, an excellent walker.
Eveline, who was just two years younger than her brother, was a bright,
healthy damsel, not specially clever, but one of those girls who have
a truly feminine and harmonising influence in families, modest and
happy in temper, always more occupied by care for others than for
herself. She had acquired most of her knowledge from her mother, and
would have been pronounced by many a young lady of the nineteenth
century “frightfully ignorant.” I am afraid it would have cost her some
thought to define what is meant by physical, political, and commercial
geography; physiology as a science was unknown to her, but she had been
an apt pupil in those graces which no board of examiners can gauge, but
without which English homes would never have been the desire and the
admiration of foreigners, the safety and the comfort of her sons.
Eveline was sufficiently well-read to take an interest in wholesome
books and understand political questions, when they were discussed; and
for this she was much indebted to her uncle, with whom she was a great
favourite, and whom she often accompanied on his parish rambles, when
he beguiled the way and relieved his own heart by gently philosophising
after a fashion too ideal to find favour with Lady Elgitha, but which
sounded very sweetly in the ears of the young Eveline.
And so the years sped on. Gilbert had left Eton with fair credit, but
without having attained any distinction, and was making up his mind
what he should do next—a process that occupied him some months, and
which, but for the pressure of circumstances, which his mother regarded
as cruel, he might never have achieved; but she was well aware that
his father could not live for ever, that her fortune would be too
small to support him, when divided, as by her father’s will it must
be, between her children. The church, the army, the bar, which was it
to be? The church was perhaps the easiest; it would not cost Gilbert
much trouble to take a respectable degree, and there was a good living
in the family; but the living was in Northamptonshire, in a part of
the country which Gilbert knew and did not admire; besides, a country
life, even with all the amenities of Sunbridge within easy reach, did
not suit him. He would have preferred the army if he could have been
guaranteed against heavy campaigning, and if the examinations for the
higher branches of the service had not been so stiff. As to law, it
was horrid all round, absolutely nothing to be got without burning the
midnight oil, a process to which, in its classic sense, Gilbert had a
special objection, though he testified no aversion to midnight gas. So
the months passed, until the time came for Mark to leave school, which
he did after having been captain for a couple of years, with a long row
of charmingly-bound prize books and a very good scholarship to Trinity
College, Cambridge.
Then Lady Elgitha, finding her son no nearer to a conclusion, decreed
that he also should go to Cambridge; all her family who were not in
the army had gone to Cambridge; but as Gilbert had not the gift of
plodding, a smaller college, his father’s, Corpus, was chosen for him.
Boys of his age seldom cared for the church; he would probably come
round in a year or two, and then he would be in the right road for it.
Mark was sure to do well. He had had nothing to do at Sunbridge but
work, whereas poor Gilbert had been so distracted at Eton by games,
society, etc., etc. Mark would distinguish himself. He could hardly
help doing so, and no doubt would be glad of the opportunity to do his
cousin a service in return for the many benefits he and his mother and
sister had received from his uncle.
The seven years which the boys had spent apart, except during holidays,
had widened the natural gulf between them; and when Mark, in obedience
to his aunt’s wish, offered to read with Gilbert, he found the task
no easy one. Gilbert professed an abomination for mathematics, and by
his ignorance of the first principles, seemed to justify the opinion
generally entertained of the perfection in which the study is ignored
in the old schools.
“It’s just horrid, old man!” he exclaimed one morning, after
half-an-hour’s study, thrusting his long fingers through his fair hair.
“I’m awfully sorry for you having to grind away at it.”
“But I like it!” said Mark, mind and eyes deep in his geometry. “Just
listen, Gilbert. I do think I see another solution.”
“Another solution!” cried Gilbert, in despair. “Just as if one was not
enough.”
“But it’s so interesting,” persisted Mark. “If you’d only give your
mind to it, I’m sure you’d like it; it is so pretty.”
“Where’s the good? I’m not going in for a don. I shall scrape
through when the time comes, never fear. Hullo! There’s St. Maur and
Tullietudlem in a tandem. Splendid, isn’t it? How will Tullie ever get
that wild filly of his round the corner? There! I knew it. Down goes
the old woman—wagon, Tullie, and St. Maur on the top of her. There’ll
be a row!”
“They’ll have something to pay, at all events,” said Mark, looking up,
but still deep in his problem.
“Never a bit. A sovereign to the old woman. She’s used to it. Nothing
will ever teach Tullie to handle the ribbons. Never could at Eton; and
his sister’s such a splendid whip. I wonder where they were going to!
Newmarket, perhaps. St. Maur’s uncle is running a two-year-old. O,
bother, Mark! I can’t be worried now. The very look of those figures
makes me sick! I shall get up enough to scrape through, never fear. I’m
strong in classics.”
“All right, old fellow,” said Mark, shutting up his book. “Then you
won’t want me. Tell me if you do, you know. I’ll come in any day.”
“Thanks, a thousand times. It is no good working against the grain, is
it? My head is all in a whirl with that stupid geometry.”
Internally wondering at the stupefying effect of the geometry he had
not done on his cousin’s brain, but too happy to escape to his own
quiet room, Mark Fenner ran with the speed of a lover across the
familiar flags, and buried himself until lunch time in his favourite
study.
At half-past one his friend, John Mildmay, came in for lunch and for a
chat; and the lads ate their bread-and-butter and pressed beef, flanked
with a jug of college ale, with a keen appetite and much pleasant
talk about men and things. The meal ended, they started for their
afternoon walk along the banks of the Cam, interchanging many a cheery
greeting with friends on land and river, invigorating mind and body by
sufficient and temperate exercise, and taking care to be back in time
for “chapel,” which they attended in the loveliest of chapels—aëry and
exquisite King’s.
So to Mark Fenner Cambridge was what it should be—a home of
intellectual effort, of happy and reposeful thought, sweetened by the
companionship of chosen friends, mostly men of very moderate means like
himself, to whom the Alma Mater was holding out her protecting arms.
Some men of his cousin’s set made overtures to him—men whose fathers
remembered his father; but Mark had the courage to decline their
invitations, and to keep to the work he had set himself to do; and when
the term was ended, and the lads went home, Mark’s cheeks were round
and rosy, while Gilbert looked so thin and pale that his mother was
alarmed lest he had been doing too much.
“Very possibly, my dear,” said the rector, to whom she imparted her
fears, with his sweet sad smile, “but not too much work; Gilbert is
innocent of that, I am sure.”
“I do not think you ever have understood the poor boy, James. He is
not a book-worm, like Mark, of course, no Manners ever was; it is
unfortunate for him that he does take so much after my family.”
“You are the best judge of that, Elgitha; he certainly does not appear
to me much to resemble any of my people. Perhaps, as far as this world
is concerned, it is all the better for him.”
“I don’t know why you should say that, James,” said Lady Elgitha,
rather reproachfully; “surely your lot has fallen in pleasant places.”
“I did not mean to complain, my dear; my fortune is much above my
deserts. If I should like to see Gilbert more studious, it is perhaps
from a selfish wish to have him more in sympathy with myself—not that I
am much of a student, I am but an idle fellow, God help me, enjoying my
pleasant, easy life here with you, Margaret, and the girls.”
“Everybody must be happy in his own way,” said Lady Elgitha. “Gilbert
would never be happy as a parson; it is my belief that he wants an
active life. I must write to the Earl about him—something in the
Treasury now.”
“My dear, your nephew cannot nominate as your father and grandfather
did. Gilbert must stand the test of an examination; if he cannot
satisfy the examiners, no amount of blue blood will avail him.”
“According to that, Mark will have the best chance in the world.”
“And everywhere else,” said the rector. “I only wish our Gilbert had
half the chances of Margaret’s fatherless boy. Michael Fenner, though
dead, has done more for his son than I for mine. Gilbert is selfish,
idle, almost illiterate, and I look with shame on the virtues of my
nephew who has had so much less done for him.”
“Why, Rector, what has given you such a fit of the blues this
afternoon?” exclaimed Lady Elgitha, regarding him with amazed alarm.
The rector attempted some jest, and calling his little daughter, set
out on his usual afternoon peregrination, while Lady Elgitha, seriously
disturbed, reflected whether it would be advisable to calm his troubled
mind by a course of globules, or to divert his thoughts by a dinner
party or a tennis tournament.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
VARIETIES.
OTHER PEOPLE’S VANITY.—What renders the vanity of others insupportable
is that it wounds our own.—_La Rochefoucauld._
BUSY WITH TRIFLES.—Those who bestow too much application on trifling
things become generally incapable of great ones.—_La Rochefoucauld._
HEADS AND HEARTS.—A man with a bad heart has been sometimes saved by a
strong head, but a corrupt woman is lost for ever.—_Coleridge._
LOVE-LETTERS.—To write a good love-letter, you ought to begin without
knowing what you mean to say and to finish without knowing what you
have written.—_Rousseau._
LOVERS’ TALK.—The reason why lovers are never weary of being together
is because they are always talking of themselves.
A TALE OF A YORKSHIRE WIFE.
The Yorkshire people of the West Riding, according to Mrs. Gaskell, are
“sleuth hounds” after money, and in illustration of this characteristic
we may take the following anecdote:—
Not far from Bradford an old couple lived on their farm. The good
man had been ill for some time, when the practitioner who attended
him advised that a physician should be summoned from Bradford for a
consultation.
The doctor came, looked into the case, gave his opinion, and,
descending from the sick-room to the kitchen, was there accosted by the
old woman with “Well, doctor, what is your charge?”
“My fee is a guinea.”
“A guinea, doctor! a guinea! And if you come again will it be another
guinea?”
“Yes.”
“A guinea, doctor! Hech!”
The old woman rose and went upstairs to her husband’s bedroom, and the
doctor, who waited below, heard her say—
“He charges a guinea, and if he comes again it’ll be another guinea.
Now, what do you say? If I were ye I’d say no, like a Britoner; and I’d
die first.”
PLEASANT SURPRISES.—Human nature is pliable, and perhaps the
pleasantest surprises of life are found in discovering the things we
can do when forced.
AN OBSTACLE TO HAPPINESS.—There is in all of us an impediment to
perfect happiness—namely, weariness of the things which we possess and
a desire for the things which we have not.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
EDUCATIONAL.
MISS BEALE, ADA CROSSLEY, DELECTUS, ADMIRER OF THE G. O. P., CONSTANCE
SUTHERLAND, GERTRUDE and RONVAD, MARDI, TADMAN and CROSSLEY.—We thank
Miss Beale for sending us the prospectus of the Guild of the Cheltenham
Ladies’ College, the object of which is to give information to its
old pupils and others, of essay, reading, and other societies, so as
to help in their own self-improvement and in work for others; general
secretary, Mrs. Ashley Smith, Ivy House, Bilston, Staffordshire. Miss
Tadman is thanked for her prospectus of the Kingston Reading Club, of
which she is hon. secretary; her address is 100, Coltman-street, Hull,
Yorkshire. Mardi is also thanked for that of the Glamorgan Reading
Society, of which Miss C. Lewis is the hon. secretary; address, 49,
Richmond-road, Cardiff, Wales. She wishes it to be understood that it
is not confined to Glamorganshire. Our other correspondents above-named
we may refer to the shilling “Directory of Girls’ Clubs” (Griffith and
Farran, St. Paul’s-churchyard, E.C.), where they will find what they
require. Machiavelli’s works are translated into French by Periés,
1823-6, in twelve volumes, and Macaulay wrote an essay upon them. March
24th, 1869, was a Wednesday. Eleven early-rising societies are named in
the directory, including Miss Kempe’s.
ART.
DIE JUNGE MAUS.—Although you have attained to the patriarchal age
of twenty-one, and your bones have only just become hard, we see no
objection to your learning to paint. There are works on the subject you
name in French as well as English. Write to the publisher, Mr. Tarn.
Ours is the editorial department.
EMILY KAIGHIN.—A milking-stool is round in the seat, about ten inches
in diameter, and has three wooden legs sloping outwards. People use
it more as a means for the practice of their artistic ideas than as a
restful appliance.
MAY.—To remove a photo from a dirty mount, cut away all the margin of
the latter and put it to float in a plate of clean tepid water. Should
it fail to become detached, hold it with the back near the fire, and
you will then peel it off. Sometimes a solution of indiarubber is used
in mounting (improperly so, we think), and this is the best plan to
adopt in such a case.
PHOTO.—The medium mentioned in “Photographine” is sold with the
apparatus for the art.
A. M. B.—To acquire the art of painting on glass or china, you might be
taken as an apprentice at various firms, such as that of Mr. Cameron,
69, Wigmore-street, Cavendish-square. W.; or the Messrs. Powell, of
the Whitefriars Glass Company, Whitefriars-street, E.C. This company
receives ladies, who work in a separate room for six hours daily, and
four on Saturdays. The Messrs. Simpson and Messrs. Mortlock likewise
employ ladies. The average earnings are from £60 to £70 per annum for
the lower branches of art, and as much as £100 for the higher.
BULL FINCH.—We must refer you to the answer above given to “A. M. B.”
You will find plenty of designs for tile and china painting in the
volumes of the G. O. P. You need not look further.
WOULD-BE PROFESSIONAL.—Certainly, a livelihood could be made out of
wood engraving, but then you should have more than one qualification
for it. Practical skill, persevering industry, good sight, a firm,
steady, yet delicate touch, and natural artistic taste. The work has
the advantage of being home work, and needs little outlay—a good set of
tools, and the boxwood blocks purchased as required. A skilled engraver
can earn from £3 upwards a week. If you study at the South London
Technical Art School, 122 and 124, Kennington Park-road, you will have
£3 to pay per annum for fees, half-yearly and in advance. When you
have acquired the art, illustrate some popular work or picture initial
letters for articles, and little end sketches for the same, and take
them to publishers as specimens. You might obtain advice at the central
office of the City and Guilds of London Institute, Gresham College,
London, E.C. The director and secretary is Philip Magnus, Esq.
MISCELLANEOUS.
YOUNG INQUIRER.—1. Yes, there is such a thing as a “singing flame,”
and it is not like a singing kettle nor a windy gaspipe, and is as
great a wonder as the fabulous “singing tree,” had that been real.
A very delicate jet of flame, introduced through a small pipe into
a narrow glass tube of a foot long, will respond to the singing of
any one note, if set in tune to it. Professor Tyndall says, “With a
little practice, one is able to command a flame to sing and to stop
singing, while it strictly obeys the injunction. When the proper pitch
has been ascertained the experiment is sure to succeed; and, from a
distance of twenty or thirty feet, the flame when sung to is caused
to sing responsively. If it do not respond, it is because it has not
been spoken to in the proper tone; but a note of somewhat higher pitch
causes it to stretch its tongue and sing vigorously.” 2. The 1st of
April, 1869, was a Thursday.
FAITH, HOPE, AND CHARITY.—See “Practical Hints About the Growth of the
Hair,” in our part for July, 1885. The name Thames is derived from the
Attic word _Tamh_, signifying “quiet,” the Saxon _Temese_, the Latin
_Tamesis_. Possibly the latter may contain the origin of the name Isis,
as given to the river at Oxford.
EILEEN.—Yes, Ireland was anciently called Insula Sacra, so Festus
Airenus affirmed; but it must be noted that this author wrote in
the fourth century, and this was before St. Patrick established
Christianity there. Also, the name given to Ireland was not exclusively
a distinctive one, for the Isle of Samothrace was also entitled the
Sacred Isle. Another name for Ireland was Muic Innis, or Isle of Muc,
Muc being the name applied to the divinity as worshipped by them, and
signified “sacred.” Beautiful as much of the country is, any visitor
would be struck with the appropriate selection of the latter name
(according to its English sound and meaning) after seeing the filthy
surroundings and habits of the natives, the pigs, poultry, and human
kind wallowing together within the same mud walls, and by preference!
ZEARN.—A butler has the care of the wine cellar, decants the wine,
and serves it at table. He places the chief dish on the table, or
carves it at the side table, and his place is behind his master’s
chair, while the footman (if one) stands behind his mistress. The
butler also stands behind the footman when the latter opens the
hall door to visitors. The servant, improperly called a butler, who
holds a single-handed place combines the duties of both butler and
footman, with the exception of the care of the wine cellar, unless in
exceptional cases of special trust.
A READER.—The initials R.S.V.P. are those of the French phrase
_Répondez, s’il vous plaît_, “Answer, if you please.” Painting in oils
is much easier than in water-colours, as mistakes can be rectified and
improvements made.
HONOLULU.—The quotation you give—
“Alas! how easily things go wrong;
A sigh too deep, or a kiss too long,
And then comes a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again,”
is taken from “Planlastes,” a fairy story, by George McDonald.
MARANDANA.—Introduce the inferior to the superior, the young to the
older, and, in due courtesy, the man to the woman. Read our series of
articles on good breeding, especially that entitled “The Habits of
Polite Society.”
G. N. OETZMANN.—You might arrange your meals thus:—A cup of tea,
coffee, or cocoa, and a slice of bread and butter before starting, and
put a captain’s biscuit or two in your pocket for 11 a.m.; dine at
1 p.m.; take a cup of chocolate or tea at 4 p.m., and a substantial tea
at 7 p.m. No supper is needed after that.
BATTENBERG.—Your handwriting is clear, but not pretty, and you must
beware of flourishes.
A SCOTCH SUNBEAM.—We are sorry to hear that you suffer so much. Accept
our thanks for so kind and grateful a letter, and sincere wishes for
your speedy restoration. Your handwriting shows a good foundation for a
nice running hand by-and-by.
ENGLISH CHURCHMAN.—The Orders as now existing in the Established
Church are derived from St. Augustine of Canterbury. Although St.
Joseph of Arimathea brought the Christian faith to Britain in the
first century, the reception of it was very partial, and the mission
of St. Eleutherius in the second century established a line of sixteen
archbishops, the last of whom, Theanus, was driven from his see
into Wales about 587. Here a Primitive church of Eastern origin was
already in existence, and when the second Roman mission was sent over
by Gregory, through Augustine, and established Christianity in the
south-eastern part of Britain, the little mission church in North Wales
was still existing, and protested against any usurpation of authority
by the newly-planted Church of Canterbury. At the same time we cannot
trace any Orders in the Established Church derived from them, although
we have historic evidence of a primacy in the reign of King Arthur
being removed from Caerleon to Llandaff, and thence to St. David’s.
DAISY.—We think if you belong to the Young Women’s Christian Association
you should apply to Miss A. Gough, 17, Old Cavendish-street, W., for
information. Most of the homes of rest are open on payment of 10s. a
week. There is one at about that price at Cobham, Surrey; Church-stile
House. Apply to Miss Blunt, 3, Portman-square, W. You might also apply
to the sister in charge of St. Gabriel’s Home of Rest, Lennard-road,
Folkestone, where the terms are moderate; or St. Mary’s Home, near
Uckfield, Fletching. Apply to the lady superintendent. Designed for
ladies requiring rest or change, 10s. a week.
MISS GOUDGE.—The phrase you give appears to be made up of certain
passages of Holy Writ. See 1st Tim. vi. 4, 5, 20, and 2nd Tim. ii. 23.
E. A. L.—We think you had better look out the word “supernatural” in
the dictionary.
BISHOP.—Canons are residentiary members of a cathedral chapter, of
which the dean is the chief. The office was instituted in the eighth
century, and their duty is to act as the advisers of the bishop. They
do receive salaries, varying in amount. Archdeacons take precedence of
them. They act as the representatives and delegates of the bishops,
especially in the duty of parochial visitation. Their office dates from
the fifth century. Their salary is very trifling, supposed only to
cover the cost of their journeys. A prebendary has a right to a stall
in the choir of a cathedral church and vote in the chapter, and to the
receipt of certain revenues for the performance of certain duties in
that or a collegiate church. The office was instituted in the eleventh
century, and may be held by a layman, although such cases are rare, if
actually existing. A rural dean is a beneficed clergyman charged with
the inspection of a deanery, or sub-division of an archdeaconry, under
the supervision of his bishop. The original duties of the office are
for the most part practically transferred to the archdeacon.
W. L.—The first voyage made all round the world was by a Portuguese
commander, who sailed from San Lucas on September 20th, 1519, in the
ship _Vittoria_. The name of this pioneer navigator was Ferdinand
Magellan, giving the straits through which he passed their name. He was
killed on the Philippine Islands the following year, and Sebastian del
Cano brought the ship round the Cape of Good Hope, and arrived at San
Lucas six days within the three years’ expedition, September 6th, 1522.
Five ships formed the fleet; three lived to go through the straits with
Magellan and his crew; the _Vittoria_ was the only one that reached
home.
AN ITALIAN GIRL.—The 30th April, 1866, was a Monday. The letters _i.e._
represent the Latin words _id est_, or, in English, “that is,” or, more
freely translated, “that means, in other words,” when an explanation of
the words employed is required. The Jesuits were banished from Portugal
in 1759, suppressed in France 1764, in Spain 1767, and subsequently in
Naples, Parma, and Modena, and in 1773 Pope Clement XIV. issued a bull,
concluding with the words, “We do extirpate and abolish the Society of
Jesus.” In 1814 Pope Pius VII. re-established it. A large number of
Jesuit priests were executed at the time you name on account of real or
supposed political intrigues. You write a beautiful hand, and you have
our best wishes.
SEEKER OF LIGHT.—Our blessed Lord’s atonement on the Cross was of
infinite efficacy, and our sins—even the most heinous—are those of
mere finite creatures. Thus, “He is able to save to the uttermost.”
The term “scarlet,” as applied to sin, is a figure of speech. It is
not only glaring and conspicuous, but, as produced in ancient times,
it was exceedingly durable. The Phœnicians were famous for it, and the
Tyrian purple and scarlet were produced from two little shellfish,
the _Buccinum_ and _Murex_, only found in perfection on the rocky
coast of their country. The dye when exposed to a bright light became
successively green, blue, red, and deep purple; and, by washing it
in soap and water, of a bright and permanent crimson. Costly fabrics
were twice dyed, and made so beautiful and so very durable that they
brought fabulous prices. Thus, the allusion made to a scarlet dye is
explained. However deeply dyed and stained with sin, the precious blood
of Christ can wash the sinner as white as snow. There is no limit to
its cleansing power.
S. A. GRAY.—You would do well to advertise your autographs and take
what you can get for them from the trade, or else dispose of them by
arrangement with private friends. The _Exchange and Mart_ would be a
good advertising medium.
THREE IGNORANT SCHOOLGIRLS.—You cannot say you play by _hear_, but by
ear.
[Illustration: RVLES I. No charge is made for answering questions
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III. The Editor reserves the right of declining to reply to any of
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V. No more than two questions may be asked in one letter which
must be addressed to the Editor of The Girl’s Own Paper 56
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[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text.
Page 234: Gian-Galleazzo to Gian-Galeazzo—“those of Gian-Galeazzo”.]