THE STORM BREAKS.
“It is simply disgraceful. You have made yourself the talk of the
hotel. I am ashamed that you belong to my party; and you shall go home
on Monday in the mail. I will not have the responsibility any longer of
a girl who has no sense of obedience or of the fitness of things. Back
you shall go at once. Your uncle will telegraph, and somebody shall
meet you at the other end. But stay here any longer to behave in this
way you most certainly shall not!”
Sheila stood white-faced and almost terrified before her aunt. She was
still in her riding-habit. She had come in so happily from her scramble
with Ronald down by the shore; and with never a misgiving had run
upstairs and entered the sitting-room before going to dress for dinner.
There she found her aunt alone, waiting for her as it now seemed; and
without warning the tempest had broken over her head. She scarcely
knew even now of what she stood accused. It seemed as though every sin
of every sort had been laid at her door. She could at first scarcely
get at the gist of what her angry aunt could mean; but as Mrs. Cossart
proceeded it gradually dawned upon Sheila that she was being accused of
having carried on a bare-faced flirtation with Ronald Dumaresq, and of
having made herself the talk of the hotel in so doing.
It was like a stinging blow in the face to the sensitive girl. She was
almost stunned by the rush of feeling that came over her. A few weeks
ago she could have borne it better—she would have been more angry, but
less overwhelmed with pain and shame.
The wakening womanhood within her made the accusation almost
intolerable. The very looks and words which had passed between them
that day seemed to rise up before her in a bewildering mist. Could
it possibly be true what her aunt was saying? Had she been forward,
unwomanly, fast? Had she made people remark upon her—got herself talked
of as a flirt?—hateful title that Sheila recoiled from as from a
blow. She had liked to be with Ronald, she had thought he liked being
with her. But her aunt had said it was she who was always entrapping
him—those were the very words. Oh, how cruel, how cruel and unjust! But
it was not true, no, it was not! Only if such things were being said,
she could never, never, never see Ronald again all her life!
A wave of sudden desolation seemed to sweep over Sheila. A rush of hot
tears flooded her eyes. She burst into sobs and flung herself down on
the sofa, crying—
“Oh, how can you say such cruel things? How can you?”
“I say them for your good—because they are true,” answered Mrs.
Cossart, her anger in no way appeased by the sight of Sheila’s grief;
“and there is the less excuse for you, because you have always had
Effie’s example before you. You will never find her lowering herself by
running after young men as you have been doing; and I tell you, Sheila,
that nothing so disgusts those very young men as seeing girls do this.
They humour them at the time for their amusement, and because their
vanity is flattered; but in the end they despise them. Mr. Dumaresq has
been very kind to you, but he must know perfectly well that you are
trying to get him for a husband.”
Sheila suddenly started up, her face suddenly grown white.
“Aunt Cossart, you shall not say that again! I will not bear it from
you. Yes, I will go away. I would not stay after this. Where is my
uncle? Let me talk to him, but please do not say another word. I cannot
bear it!”
There was something in the girl’s sudden change of manner that half
frightened Mrs. Cossart. She did not particularly want Sheila and her
uncle to meet just now.
“Your uncle has gone downstairs,” she answered uneasily, “you can see
him after dinner.”
“I shall not go down to dinner,” said Sheila, putting up her hand to
her head in a dazed way. “My head aches. I shall go to bed. If I am
going away on Monday, I think I won’t come down to meals any more.”
“Well, I think you had better go to bed,” said Mrs. Cossart. “You
have had a tiring day, and you don’t look yourself. I don’t mean to
be unkind, Sheila, but you have no mother, and it is my duty to speak
plainly sometimes.”
“Then I am sure you have done your duty, Aunt Cossart,” said Sheila,
giving one direct look at her aunt, and then the wave of bitterness
surged over her once more. The tears rushed to her eyes; she felt as
though she were choking, and in a blind sort of way she darted from the
room, dashed into the one she shared with Effie, and flinging herself
upon her bed broke into wild weeping.
Effie had just finished her toilet, her face was rather flushed, and
she looked uncomfortable and displeased. The maid was putting the room
to rights, and cast a compassionate glance at the prone figure on the
bed. She had received orders to pack up Sheila’s things in readiness
for the mail on Monday, and as this was Saturday evening and no word
had been spoken previously of such a thing, she divined that there had
been a “row.” Probably she had a shrewd guess as to the cause, but of
course she made no remark, finished her task and went away.
Effie came and stood by Sheila.
“Don’t cry so,” she said. “It’s a pity it has happened, but nobody will
remember anything about it when you are gone. The Barretts are going
in the mail on Monday. They will take care of you, and be pleased to
have you. You always get on with people. And it’s better to go than to
have bothers all the time.”
Effie was half glad, half sorry to be rid of Sheila. In a way she was
fond of her cousin, but she had become rather jealous of her too. And
then her foolish mother had fostered in her the belief that Ronald
Dumaresq would certainly pay his addresses to her if only Sheila would
let him alone, and not be perpetually attracting him off to herself.
Effie had been taken by Ronald from the first, and was flattered at
being told of his preference. She had begun to fancy herself more or
less in love with him, as girls with nothing better to think about are
rather disposed to do. She liked to picture herself the mistress of an
establishment, with a handsome young husband to take her about. If it
were true that Ronald admired her, it was a thousand pities he should
not have a fair field. Effie did not pause to consider that he had an
excellent opportunity as it was for prosecuting his wooing, and that if
he let himself be turned from his purpose by Sheila’s “machinations”—as
her mother called it—his love could not be very deep or true. She was
accustomed to be led by her mother’s opinions; and she had become very
jealous of the way in which people “took up” Sheila, and left her out
in the cold.
As Sheila made no answer, Effie moved away, and joining her mother in
the next room remarked—
“You have upset her very much, but I suppose she will get over it.
I think she won’t come down to-night, her face will be all red and
swollen. What shall we say to people? Shall you tell them she is going
to be sent home?”
Mrs. Cossart looked a little taken aback. She had overlooked the fact
that some explanation would have to be given of this exceedingly sudden
arrangement. She looked at her daughter, and then said slowly—
“Well, we won’t say anything to-night, only that Sheila has a headache
and cannot come down. You will have a chance of talking to Mr. Dumaresq
at table now, Effie. I am quite tired of the sound of Sheila’s laugh,
and her way of getting his notice all for herself.”
But Effie found Ronald rather abstracted, and she did not make much way
with him. After he heard that Sheila was not coming down he seemed to
go off into a brown study; and it was only when Mr. Cossart suddenly
seemed to drop a bomb in their midst that he took note of what was
passing.
“Yes, she is to go home on Monday, my wife has decided,” Mr. Cossart
remarked to Miss Adene, all unconscious of his wife’s warning looks.
“We brought her out for a little holiday and amusement; and now she
will go back home to another uncle of hers. Oh, yes, we shall all miss
her. She is a merry little puss. But we think she has been here long
enough. Mrs. Barrett has kindly promised to take care of her on the
voyage home.”
Ronald’s eyes had fixed themselves upon Mr. Cossart’s face.
“Are you speaking of Miss Cholmondeley? Surely it has been arranged
rather suddenly?”
“Well, we have talked of it often,” said Mrs. Cossart interposing.
“Sheila only came out for a time, not for the whole season. It is the
chance of sending her back with such a good escort that has settled the
matter. She will be very happy with the Barretts. They have made such
friends, she and the girls.”
“It is strange she said nothing all day, when we were making all sorts
of plans for the future,” said Ronald; and both Mr. and Mrs. Cossart
looked so uncomfortable that Lady Dumaresq changed the subject.
There was no walking up and down the corridor or verandah with Ronald
that evening, for he followed his party direct into their private
sitting-room at the end of the ground-floor passage, and appeared no
more that night.
“What does it mean?” he asked, with a note of indignation in his voice.
Miss Adene and Lady Dumaresq exchanged glances. They had seen perfectly
through the clumsy manœuvre. Their eyes had been observing the turn
affairs were taking for some while. They were not altogether unprepared
for some such development.
“Now, Ronald,” said Lady Dumaresq quietly, “it is no use your putting
yourself into a fume and fret about this. It is very evident that Mrs.
Cossart is jealous of Sheila, because she so entirely eclipses Effie.
It is not a very surprising thing that it should be so. We must allow
for a mother’s weakness. Perhaps you have yourself helped to bring
about the crisis by a rather too visible admiration for the little
girl. You were not quite wise to-day, for instance; and she is too much
the child to be on her guard; and if people do talk——”
“Let them,” answered Ronald rather proudly. “I am not afraid of having
my name coupled with that of the girl I intend to make my wife!”
They all smiled at him. They were all in sympathy with his bold
declaration. Lady Dumaresq held out her hand, and Sir Guy laid an
affectionate arm over his shoulder.
“So it has come to that, has it, Ronald? Well, I am glad to hear it.
But a little patience will not hurt either of you; and you will know
better after a separation whether she cares for you in the way you
wish.”
“After a separation!” repeated Ronald rather blankly. “But I mean to
come to an understanding before they send her away. I may even be able
to stop it if she is my——”
But Lady Dumaresq laid a gentle hand upon his lips.
“Ronald,” she said, “that would not be wise. Indeed it would scarcely
be fair and right to her.”
“What do you mean?” he questioned quickly.
“I mean that the question you have to ask Sheila is too solemn and
serious a one to be put when she is in a mist of bewilderment, sorrow,
and indignation, which is sure to be the case. You would come to her
then as a sort of champion and deliverer, and she would very likely
accept you in that impulse of gratitude, whether or no her heart be
deeply stirred. Do not win her in that impetuous way, Ronald. It will
not hurt either of you to bear the yoke for awhile—to learn what
patience has to teach. Her character will develop in the school of
life’s discipline, as it has not done when all has been sunshine. Let
her go now, Ronald. Prove your own heart first, then if you find it
unchanged, seek her out later, and win her if you can. Believe me, it
will be best so. I do not know what has passed between Sheila and her
aunt, but whatever it is, I would not have you seek an interview now.”
And indeed, had Ronald desired it, it is doubtful if he could have
obtained sight of Sheila. She remained in bed most of Sunday with a
violent headache. Miss Adene and Lady Dumaresq stole up to see her, to
whisper a few kind words and then retire. And when Monday came she was
nothing but a little white-faced, woe-begone creature, so unlike the
Sheila of the past weeks that her friends would scarcely have known her.
She would not say good-bye to anybody. She shrank from the thought of
what they might have been told as to her sudden departure. Every nerve
was tingling with pain, and shame, and misery.
The boat was in early, and whilst the rest of the people were at
lunch, Sheila got her uncle to take her down to the quay and see her on
board, for she felt she would sink into the ground if Ronald were to
come out and see her, and say good-bye before the rest of the people.
“Well, I am thankful she went off so quietly,” said Mrs. Cossart, as
they discussed the matter together before descending to dinner. “I was
afraid there might be a scene, but there is no accounting for Sheila.
She did not even want to say good-bye to the Dumaresq party, and if
some of them hadn’t come up here, she would have gone off without even
that. Girls are the queerest, most capricious creatures! Well, it’s all
happily over; and, Effie, you will have Sheila’s place now at table,
and nobody to interfere with you. Mr. Dumaresq——”
But Effie tossed her head rather defiantly. She had not got much change
out of Mr. Dumaresq these last few _table d’hôte_ meals.
“I don’t care for Mr. Dumaresq so mighty much. I’m not going to put
myself out of the way for him. I don’t think I care so particularly
for fashionable young men. I don’t mind him, but I’m not going to
put myself out of the way just to amuse him. I think he’s very dull
sometimes. I don’t know what you all see in him to make such a fuss!”
Mrs. Cossart rather felt as though she had taken an infinity of trouble
for a chimera of her own brain, and when she reached the dining-room
her jaw almost dropped. She had pictured the amalgamation which would
take place between Effie and the Dumaresqs now that Sheila had gone;
but what did she see?
The whole Dumaresq party had moved bodily to the side table, hitherto
occupied by the Barretts, who had left to-day. Some new arrivals from
the Cape had been given the seats next to the Cossarts—loud-voiced
colonials with rather bad manners, who talked amongst themselves and
seemed not to desire the acquaintance of their neighbours.
Mrs. Cossart sat in dismayed silence through the meal, and when she
went into the drawing-room afterwards, she fancied that all the people
looked coldly at her. Nobody spoke either to her or to Effie, and they
soon retired to their own rooms.
Was this a sample of what would result from her laborious attempt to
promote her daughter’s popularity?
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN.
BY LA MÉNAGERE.
September, the hunter’s moon, brings us such an abundance in our
markets that it is difficult to say just what is peculiar to the month.
Undoubtedly the most prominent feature is moor game, and now is the
time when even moderate purses may safely indulge in this. Hares,
rabbits, grouse, partridges, and wild duck give an excellent choice,
and poultry also is prime and not dear.
Fresh-water fish come in this month, and are often most useful to
country hostesses, as well as affording sport to her guests. The
orchards are laden now with fast-ripening fruit, and if this harvest
is a fairly plentiful one we may indeed be glad. Nuts will find an
excuse for many delightful nutting parties among the children, and
the storing of fruits and vegetables from the garden will keep the
housekeeper busy. Damsons should be plentiful towards the end of this
month, and will want making into jam and cheese, and we expect also to
gather blackberries—another excuse for picnicking—nor must we leave
mushrooms out of the list. Indeed, September is the harvest-month in
many senses, for we have the wild crops ready for garnering, as well as
the cultivated ones of garden and field.
The poorest country-dweller may make a profit now who has the wit and
the energy to seek for nature’s bounty, as these wild things invariably
meet with a ready sale in towns.
Besides these we have other things provided by a bountiful providence
which we ought to appreciate better than we do. See the glorious
colouring that the leaves of the hedgerow trees take on; note the
rushes swaying in the brook, the berries of the mountain-ash, as well
as of the dog-rose; all these are profitable to town florists, who will
generally pay a fair price for such things. To the home decorator all
these are very valuable—or will be in the days that will come all too
soon, when no flowers are to be had for the table. If slightly dried
and brushed over with a very weak solution of gum arabic, then dried
again, these will keep for a long time without losing their colour.
Some of the very prettiest table decorations ever seen have been made
with coloured leaves and berries. For tall jars in the corners of
rooms, purple thistles, white honesty, brown bulrushes, copper beech
boughs, and scarlet ash-berries combined, make a truly lovely show.
In the garden we have dahlias and sunflowers defying the wane that
seems to make everything else look dreary, and by and by we shall
have chrysanthemums in all their brave glory to brighten house and
greenhouse. What a glory do these give to the last days of the dying
year.
But the year is far from ending in September; we have many things yet
to enjoy, and possibly many guests to entertain, and always much to see
to, as prudent housewives.
A plentiful crop of wild mushrooms proves a great help to us now, and
we are glad to remind ourselves of different ways of using them. For
instance, with bacon or eggs at breakfast, _au gratin_ at dinner, on
toast at all times, they are acceptable. With field mushrooms we have
need to be very careful lest we inadvertently give ourselves some that
are poisonous and unfit for food. Dr. Badham, author of the _Esculent
Funguses of England_, enumerates no less than forty-eight species
of edible fungi, all of which are good to eat. According to him the
majority of fungi are harmless, but his account of the effects of the
poisonous minority is enough to alarm the most trustful.
The easiest way to detect whether fungi are wholesome or not is to
insert a silver spoon into the stew in which they are present, and if
poisonous it will quickly turn black; a peeled onion will also turn
blue or bluish-black, and is an even easier test. If either of these on
being withdrawn shows their own natural colour, the mushrooms may be
regarded as harmless.
Mushroom ketchup is regarded by all housewives as one of the treasures
of the store-cupboard, and that which is home-made is generally better
than any that can be bought.
It is best when made of the large flap mushrooms, fresh, but fully
ripe. They must be gathered during very dry weather, if the ketchup
is to keep properly. Do not wash or peel them but wipe them clean,
and remove all decayed pieces and part of the stalks. Put them into a
gallon stone jar, and strew salt liberally over them. Let them remain
a night, and the next day stir them up, and repeat this for two or
three days. At the end of the third day put the jar into the oven and
let them stew a short time, then gently pour off the liquid, but do
not squeeze them at all. To every quart put an ounce of Jamaica and
black peppercorns, two or three pieces of rase ginger, and a blade of
mace. Boil again for perhaps half an hour, let it stand aside until
cold, then put into dry bottles, and cork it up tightly. It is well to
use small bottles, so that when one has been opened it may be used up
before it has time to lose its virtues.
MENU FOR SEPTEMBER.
Rabbit Pie.
Cold Roast Goose.
Salmi of Partridges (hot).
Fillets of Beef with Mushrooms (also hot).
Cold Pressed Beef.
Potato, Beetroot, Tomato and Endive Salads.
Hot Potatoes.
Quince Jelly. Damson Cheese.
Apple and Blackberry Tart. Cream.
Cheddar and Gorgonzola Cheese.
Oatcake and Butter.
Our menu this month might be one suited for a luncheon party, where the
chief dishes would be required cold, with two or three hot ones as a
set-off, and all others placed on the table at the same time. Luncheon
parties are generally very common during this month in the country, and
the guests who come to partake of them are not noted for their small
appetites.
_Salmi of Partridges._—Put the birds into the oven as for roasting, and
partially cook them. When about half done cut them into neat pieces,
and remove the skin and sinews, and place them in a clean saucepan. In
another pan put a quarter of a pound of uncooked ham minced finely,
with a good piece of butter; add a dozen small mushrooms, three or four
minced shallots, a grated carrot, a spoonful of chopped parsley, a few
sprigs of savoury herbs and some pepper and salt. Cover closely and let
them cook on the top of the stove, shaking the pan to prevent burning;
when cooked dredge a little flour over them, let it brown a little,
and pour in about a pint of good brown stock. Add also a glassful of
sherry. Stir until the gravy has thickened nicely, then put in the
pieces of the birds, and let them slowly simmer, but not boil, for at
least half an hour. Dish the game in a pile on a hot dish, strain the
sauce, and see that it is well seasoned and of a nice brown colour,
then pour over all. Garnish with fried sippets of bread.
_Fillets of Beef with Mushrooms._—These should be cut from the undercut
or fillet of beef, and be neatly shaped. Fry them quickly on both
sides, but only enough to slightly brown them, then place in a stewpan
and cover with peeled mushrooms, one or two shallots, some pepper and
a glassful of red wine with also a small lump of butter. Stew these
for quite an hour in a rather slow oven, then lift out the meat and
the mushrooms, and thicken the gravy with fécule, also add salt and a
tablespoonful of sharp sauce, then pour boiling hot over the dish.
_Quince Jelly_ and _Damson Cheese_ are both preserves that should be
found in readiness in the store cupboard. For the first, take a quart
of quince juice obtained by boiling the fruit with a very little water
and then straining it through a bag; add a pound of lump sugar to every
quart, and then an ounce of gum arabic previously soaked in water. Boil
well for quite half an hour, then put into moulds.
_Damson Cheese._—Put several pounds of freshly-gathered damsons into
a stone jar with a very little water. Stand this on the top of the
stove to stew gently for some hours, or until the fruit is perfectly
soft. While still warm turn out the damsons into a wide-meshed sieve
or colander, rub until nothing but skins and stones are left. Put half
a pound of loaf sugar to every pound of pulp, and boil together into a
stiff paste. Some of the stones should be cracked and the kernels taken
out, as these give a very pleasant flavour to the cheese. Put into
shallow dishes or moulds, and cover with brandied papers. This cheese
is usually cut into fancy shapes and put into glass dishes to serve at
dessert.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
STUDY AND STUDIO.
IRENE FOY, 32, Osborne Terrace, Clapham Road, wishes to sell “ONYX” a
Greek grammar, written by IRENE’S father in English and Greek. Will
“ONYX” please write?
LEM.—You will find the poem from which you quote an extract in _Ezekiel
and Other Poems_, by B. M. (Nelson and Sons). It is there entitled “The
Sea of Sorrow.”
CONSTANCE.—1. “Auf Wiedersehn,” means “till we meet again,” like the
French “Au revoir.”—2. We always recommend Dr. Lemmi’s Italian Grammar,
published at 5s. by Messrs. Oliver & Boyd, Edinburgh; and Messrs.
Simpkin, Marshall & Co., London. It is quite simple enough to be
studied alone.
SOROR.—We are sorry you have had to wait so long for a reply, but
owing to the time at which we go to press, we cannot promise an answer
speedily.
NURSE PETRA.—_The Jugend-Gartenlaube_, 5s. a year, might suit you;
but we advise you to write for a full list of German periodicals to
Hachette & Co., 18, King William Street, Charing Cross, London.
F. E. BARTRAM.—Books on entomology appear rather costly; but you might
begin with _British Butterflies, Moths and Beetles_, by W. F. Kirby,
published at 1s.; or Sir John Lubbock’s _Origin and Metamorphoses of
Insects_, 3s. 6d. Order at any bookseller’s.
NYDIA.—It is not wonderful that a “first attempt,” especially as you
have “never learnt how to set down music,” and are only sixteen, should
be full of mistakes, too many to specify. It is absolutely impossible
for you to hope to succeed without seriously studying the rules of
harmony. At the same time we should judge from your pleasant and modest
letter that such study would be by no means thrown away.
A correspondent directs our attention to the fact that “foolscap,”
concerning which a question was lately answered in “Study and Studio,”
is a corruption of the Italian _foglio-capo_, a folio-sized sheet. The
error is an ancient one, for from the thirteenth to the seventeenth
century the water mark of this size paper was a fool’s head with cap
and bells.
B. E. M.—1. We are constantly mentioning Reading Societies in this
column. Try the National Home Reading Union, Surrey House, Victoria
Embankment, London, or write to Mrs. Walker, Litlington Rectory,
Berwick, Sussex.—2. Do not try or wish to “become pale.” Sufficient
exercise, and strict attention to clothing and diet, are the best cure
for a faulty circulation.
A LINCOLNSHIRE GIRL.—1. The lines you quote,
“Howe’er it be, it seems to me
’Tis only noble to be good,”
are certainly by Tennyson, from the poem “Lady Clara Vere de Vere.”—2.
The allusion,
“Her who clasped in her last trance
Her murdered father’s head,”
is to Margaret Roper, the daughter of Sir Thomas More. This devoted
daughter obtained possession of her father’s head after his execution,
kept it in a leaden casket, and left directions that it should be
buried with her. For the whole story, see THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER for
February, 1898, where we answered the question at length.
BLUEBOTTLE.—The reference you quote is probably Professor E. Curtius, a
distinguished German authority on etymology.
A. N. D.—1. The lines (which you misquote) are as follows—
“Oh, wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursel’s as others see us!
It wad frae monie a blunder free us
And foolish notion.”
They are by Robert Burns, and you will find them in any edition of his
poems.—2. Write to the office of THE BOY’S OWN PAPER, in which magazine
“The Bishop and the Caterpiller” first appeared.
INTERNATIONAL CORRESPONDENCE.
FLORENCE is very sorry, but circumstances have occurred which
unfortunately prevent her from opening a correspondence with a little
girl reader of the “G. O. P.” as she wished. Among the many readers of
our paper, perhaps someone else will kindly volunteer.
“MADGE,” who lives in the country, and works with her hands, would
very much like to correspond with “NELLIE,” so would ROBINA J. GIBSON,
Ferneycleuch, Lochmaben, Dumfriesshire (a farmer’s daughter), and
B. E. M., The Rectory, Barnow, Co. Wexford.
M. D. LEWIS, Sabia, near Smyrna, Asia Minor, would be very glad to
write to any of our readers who would like to hear a little about
the remote and uncivilised region where she lives, and the curious
superstitions and customs that prevail. She adds, “If any of your
readers wish to correspond with me in Greek, I shall be very much
pleased.”
MISS FRANCES WHITE, Yaverland Manor, Brading, Isle of Wight, would
be pleased to exchange stamps with girls living abroad; she would
send twenty British stamps in exchange for the same number of the
nationality of her correspondent.
MAUD M. BAUGHAN, Vernon Villa, James Street, Oxford, would like to
correspond in English with MISS RUBY TIZAREL and MISS NELLY POLLAK. As
MISS BAUGHAN is a teacher, she would also like to correspond with any
teachers across the sea.
MISS R. M. COOKE, Oxford Villa, Gordon Road, Southend-on-Sea, wishes to
correspond with some girls of her own age (20) living abroad. She is an
enthusiastic collector of view post-cards, and would like to exchange
English cards for those of other countries.
Will O MIMOSA SAN exchange illustrated post-cards with MADAME GASTON
CANTIN, Rue de Saujon, La Tremblade, Charente Inférieure, France,
whom we thank for her pleasant words, describing the delight of her
correspondence with an English reader of the “G. O. P.”
“BERTRAM,” a girl fond of out-door exercise, would like to correspond
with a French girl about sixteen years of age.
MISS SOFIE ABELSBERG, Budapesth, Hungary (11, Nagy János Street),
wishes for a well-educated English or American girl correspondent of
her own age (18) who would write in German or English, Miss Abelsberg
in English.
FLORIDA would like to correspond with a Spanish, Dutch, Norwegian,
Swedish or Russian girl of good family about 20 years of age. She would
help them in English if they would help her in their languages. Will
any girls of these nationalities send addresses here?
GIRLS’ EMPLOYMENTS.
A FARMER’S DAUGHTER (_Choice of Employment_).—Are there not rather
many kinds of work which you dislike? You “would not think of entering
into domestic service at all.” You “would not care for shop business
either.” You think, however, that you might like to act as a clerk, or
a lady’s companion. Now, we are obliged to tell you that companions are
very little wanted, and that clerks, if they are to receive moderately
good salaries, must be well educated. You tell us, however, that
your parents would not be disposed to spend anything further on your
education or training. This makes the position somewhat difficult. It
compels you to regard home as your school. But there are many useful
things that a girl can learn on a farm. You might learn dairy-work
thoroughly and earn something by the sale of butter. Later, if you
could master the newest methods, from studying the appliances used
by your most successful farming friends, you could seek a position
as superintendent of some gentleman’s private dairy. People who can
make butter and cheese well never go a-begging. Then you should also
study the best and most remunerative methods of rearing poultry and of
marketing eggs. Something, even, might be earned from your garden, if
you have one, and the soil is favourable for bulbs—as in many parts of
Ireland it is. The secret of comfort in farmers’ households is for the
family to remain together, and for each member—father and mother, sons
and daughters, to contribute their share of work. But where families
break up, the trouble comes, for each person then wants a separate
house, and consequently larger earnings.
TWENTIETH VOLUME (_Art Teachership_).—Your friends have unfortunately
been only too well acquainted with the facts, when they told you that
it would be extremely difficult to obtain a situation as teacher of art
in a school. Drawing is taught in a good many girls’ schools, but by
no means in all. The head-mistresses of many High Schools are disposed
to give most of the time allowed to general English subjects and
languages, which count in examinations, and to leave girls of artistic
tastes to study drawing later at a regular school of art. Evidently you
draw well, or you could not have obtained so much success in the South
Kensington examinations. But the question arises, can you not earn
something by your own drawings? Could you not draw illustrations for
stories, or make designs for some commercial or advertising purpose?
In all directions of this kind there is much work to be done and money
to be earned. Or have you thought of trying some handicraft such as
lace-making, silk-weaving, or cane basket-making? Perhaps, as you live
in the Midlands, you could some day visit the Birmingham Municipal
School of Arts and Crafts and observe the many kinds of beautiful work
done by girls there. Such a visit might give you useful ideas. In
chromo-lithography, too, there is constantly a demand for good designs.
There are some large chromo-lithographic firms in Birmingham. The other
matter you speak of is not one in which we can help directly, but you
might make the cottage known to the railway authorities so that they
could include it in the lists of country lodgings which they publish.
F. W. G. (_Hospital Nurse_).—You would not be required to know much
arithmetic in order to be admitted to a hospital; but at the same time
you ought to know something of the subject, otherwise your notions of
the portions of drugs to administer, and other such matters in which
an accurate mind is essential, will be very hazy. During the period
which must yet elapse before your admission you had better be trying to
improve your arithmetic. Your writing, about which you ask our opinion,
is sufficiently legible and clear, but it would be improved with
practice. There is a slight disposition to make the letters slope too
much.
INDEPENDENCE (_Nurse-Companion, etc._).—A nurse-companion is usually
expected to have been trained at a hospital. The training need not have
been sufficient to qualify a woman for regular hospital employment,
but it ought to have covered a period of six months at all events. You
do not mention that you have been in any hospital, and we therefore
think you had better give up the idea of becoming a nurse-companion.
Perhaps, as music appears to be your best accomplishment, you would
do most wisely to seek employment as nursery governess. Your general
education we judge by your letter to be fairly good. But try to improve
yourself by every means within your power, as you cannot long remain a
nursery governess; and you must either advance so as to become a fully
qualified governess, when you are older, or devote your attention to
the practical duties of looking after young children. In the latter
case you would, of course, term yourself a children’s nurse. It is
possible that you might be well advised to advertise yourself as
a children’s nurse from the first, seeking a subordinate position
to begin with, in order to gain experience. Your handwriting is
satisfactory.
A CLYDESDALE LASSIE (_Hospital Nursing_).—Paying probationers are
received commonly for a period of three months at a time, for which
thirteen guineas is paid in advance. You could not enter a general
hospital on these terms just at present. Twenty-two is customarily the
lowest age for admission.
WEE WIFIE (_Fancy Work_).—It is almost impossible to obtain a sale for
fancy articles which are only made at home and in small quantities.
Little novelties which can be produced cheaply and in large numbers
may often be sold direct to wholesale and retail dealers in bazaar and
fancy articles. We should recommend a lady who must live at home either
to do work on these lines and treat her home as a small manufactory,
or else devote her time to the making of fine underclothing, which she
could sell to the drapers and outfitters. Shops where embroidery is
sold usually keep their own workers on the premises, for the simple
reason that orders have to be executed promptly and in exact obedience
to the demand of the moment. It is not possible for work of this kind
to be sent to workers who can only be reached by correspondence.
MISCELLANEOUS.
FRUIT FARMER.—No, strawberries are not indigenous to England, according
to Haydn, in his _Dictionary of Dates_, where he says that they were
brought to this country from Flanders in 1530. Against this date, we
refer to Shakespeare’s _Richard III._, in which we find them spoken of
as growing in the Bishop of Ely’s garden in Holborn, which shows it
was cultivated as early as the latter part of the fifteenth century. A
hundred years subsequently four kinds of this fruit were cultivated in
the garden of a barber-surgeon, Gerard by name, also in Holborn.
DEAF.—Had you not better consult some missionary, or the friend whom
you have out in China, so as to find out what the children in China
may be likely to want? Have you seen the small scrap-books made of old
post-cards, or of cards the same size, and tied together at the side,
so as to form a small long book? Pictures are pasted on the back and
front of each card. Perhaps you could make these; but we think you will
do well to inquire about it.
W. M. B. D., HEATHER, LAURIA, etc.—We have seen several copies of
this snow-ball letter from New South Wales. The addresses in each
are rather different, and we, like you, cannot imagine what the
philanthropist wants with so many stamps, nor do we understand why the
Government should give an endorsement. We should let it alone, and
return the letters. The address seems insufficient, and we have failed
to find any one of the places mentioned in the most recent Gazetteer.
These philanthropic people who require a million of stamps are often
difficult to find; and they might as well give the money at once.
C. BROWN.—To fix prints upon wood, and remove the paper, care must be
taken that the surface of the latter be perfectly smooth. Then moisten
a piece of thick drawing-paper, and apply a layer of thin glue on its
surface; leave it to dry; give it two or three more coats, leaving each
to dry separately. Coat the paper then with several layers of spirit
varnish, and prepare the wood in the same way; and then apply the
print. We should have said that the wood must be previously prepared
by a slight coat of glue, and when dry, rubbed with glass-paper, and
a white alcoholic varnish applied. When dry, about five or six more
coats of the same will be required. Cut the edge of the print closely
round, lay it on a table face downwards, and moisten the back with a
wet sponge, and then place between two leaves of blotting-paper. Apply
another coat of varnish to the wood, and, before it is dry, lay the
face of the print down upon it, wiping the back in such a way as to
drive out the air so as to form no blisters. Lay a sheet of dry paper
upon it, and pass a soft linen cloth over it to press it firmly down.
Then leave it to dry, and when thoroughly so, moisten it with a sponge,
and roll off the paper with your fingers. Great care must be taken
in this process not to remove any part of the paper upon which the
impression is taken. After this rubbing it must be left to dry. When
dry, one more coat of varnish must be given over the delicate film of
paper left, and it will be left perfectly transparent. When quite dry,
polish with Dutch rushes, steeped for three or four days in olive oil,
which latter must be removed with a fine linen cloth, and then sprinkle
with starch or hair-powder. Rub this off with the hand, and apply three
or four more coats of varnish, leaving each to dry as before, and in
three or four days polish with a fine woollen cloth with whiting of the
finest kind.
MERCY B.—The names of the hospitals for which you ask are as
follows:—Newcastle Hospital, Hull Royal Infirmary, Leeds General
Infirmary, Leeds Fever Hospital, and Lincoln County Hospital. For the
last-named, over four hundred applications are refused yearly, and
about fourteen are accepted. Address the matron in all cases. We could
not give any idea of the time you would have to wait, of course.
UNHAPPY MAUDE.—We think you will be really unhappy if you do not take
your father’s and brother’s advice, and give up a foolish attachment.
Do you think that any man who drinks could love you dearly and
devotedly? Would he not love drink far better? Gather all your strength
together and go away for a change, and try to turn your thoughts to
some other subject. If you managed to break off with your lover once,
you can do so again, and at twenty-one you will soon forget.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE LAUNDRY, BATTERSEA POLYTECHNIC.]
[Illustration: THE COOKERY SCHOOL, POLYTECHNIC. STUDENTS AT WORK.]
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text.
Page 750: flower to flour—“dredge a little flour”.]