The Temple.
MY DEAR DOROTHY,—I am sorry that you should have had so much trouble
about your luggage; it must be very annoying to be deprived of one’s
things, quite apart from all consideration of their value, and I can
quite appreciate the amount of trouble and inconvenience, to say
nothing of expense, which you have been put to by the loss of your
portmanteau.
I am happy to say, however, that I can give you a certain amount of
comfort. The Company are clearly liable and will have to compensate you
for its loss.
If you leave your luggage at a railway station, on the platform or
in a waiting-room, telling a porter to keep an eye on it, and your
luggage is lost or stolen, the Company will not be liable for its loss,
because it is not part of a porter’s duties to act as a quasi-policeman
or detective, and moreover the Company provide a place where such
luggage can be left with safety, viz., the cloak-room. But your case is
quite different, you gave your portmanteau into the Company’s charge
at Brighton, to deliver to you in London, and the Company became
responsible for its safe delivery to you the moment it was given into
their possession.
I will give a categorical reply to your queries.
1. If the box is lost, you can claim compensation for the value of the
box and its contents.
2. If the box is not lost and is restored to you, you can still claim
compensation for the expense you have incurred in buying new clothes,
etc.
3. In either case you can claim damages for the trouble and annoyance
caused by the Company’s detaining your portmanteau for nearly three
months.
4. As the matter arose between Brighton and London, you could enter the
action at either place; you will, of course, enter it in London.
5. If Gerald can give any information, he will have to appear as
witness, in which case he will get his expenses as a witness, but he
cannot claim compensation because he happens to be away at work in the
country, and it may be inconvenient for him to come up to town.
6. Yes, you will have to appear as plaintiff, to give evidence of the
value of the portmanteau and its contents, and also of the date and
other particulars of its being given into the charge of the Company.
Lastly, I do not suppose the Company will pay much attention to any
letters which you or Gerald may write on the subject, but a letter
from a lawyer will probably bring them to the point, and so you had
better “screw up your courage to the sticking point,” and consult a
respectable lawyer.
I may tell you that if your box was stolen and the railway company
get hold of the thief, you will not be obliged to prosecute him—the
Company will do that for you—but you will have to appear as a witness.
I think the cabman was quite within his rights in claiming twopence
for the bag which was placed upon the footboard of the hansom. The
Act says “outside,” and the footboard of the hansom is just as much
the “outside” as the roof of the cab. I am aware that a metropolitan
magistrate decided quite the contrary way the other day, and dismissed
the claim of a cabman, who sought to charge a lady twopence for a bag
which was carried on the footboard, but I confess I read the report of
the magistrate’s decision with considerable surprise and it does not
make me alter my opinion; the magistrate was wrong, and the cabman was
entitled to his twopence.
It is not necessary for Gerald to take out a gun licence because he has
come into the possession of a gun left him by his uncle; the mere fact
of having a gun does not make it imperative for its owner to have a
gun licence. It differs in this respect from the licence for armorial
bearings; but if he wishes to use the gun, he must take out a licence
to carry one, and if he intends to shoot game with it, then he must
take out a licence to kill game.
It really comes to this, unless a man has opportunities for a good deal
of shooting, it is not worth his while to take out these licences which
are fairly expensive.
I have a gun, but I have never yet taken out a licence to carry it,
because I don’t carry it, I keep it at home in its case. One of these
days when I have a “shoot” of my own, I shall take out the necessary
licences and advise Gerald to do the same.
Your affectionate cousin,
BOB BRIEFLESS.
VARIETIES.
THE MASTER OF ALL.
There is a pithy epigram in the Greek Anthology on a statue of Cupid;
its translation is to this effect—
“Whoe’er thou art, thy master see—
He was, or is, or is to be.”
LIFE IS A MYSTERY.—Life is indeed a mystery, but it was God who gave
it, in a world wrapped round with sweet air, and bathed in sunshine,
and abounding with interest, and a ray of eternal light falls upon it
even here, and that light shall wholly transfigure it beyond the grave.
THE WAYS OF PROVIDENCE.
“Providence for us, high, infinite,
Makes our necessities its watchful task,
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants,
And e’en, if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies because ’twould have us ask,
Or seems but to deny, and in denying grants.”—_Leigh Hunt._
QUALIFIED PRAISE.—The meanest kind of praise is that which first
speaks well of a girl and then qualifies it with a “but.”
MOTTOES FOR CLOCKS.
Time trieth truth.
Time and tide wait for no man.
Time conquers all and we must time obey.
Sleeping or waking time passes with all.
We take no note of time but from its loss.
A WISE GIRL.—To communicate her knowledge is a duty with a wise girl;
to learn from others is her highest gratification.
SOBRIETY.—Modesty and humility are the sobriety of the mind:
temperance and chastity are the sobriety of the body.
HERB-PATIENCE.
BY NORA HOPPER.
“Herb-patience grows not in all men’s gardens.”—_Danish
Proverb._
Alas, that sweet herb-patience grows
No more in every garden-close!
We set the rose and gather rue,
And for each weed we sow grows two.
But though we seek with eager pain,
We find not under sun or rain
Herb-patience!
We do not know what tint or weed
Herb-patience weareth, nor indeed
If green her leaves, or gold, or grey,
Can any cunning gardener say.
She grew in Eden garden: Eve
That sowed her, stole, we half believe,
Herb-patience.
Herb-patience, does your blossom grow
From grass that Adam lies below?
Or do you open flower and leaf
In the walled garden of grey grief?
Or seeking, will you not be found
In any earthly garden-ground,
And only in the fields of heaven
To seeking hands there shall be given
Herb-patience?
OUR MUTUAL FRIEND THE “BIKE.”
BY “MEDICUS” (DR. GORDON STABLES, R.N.).
If the hints on cycling which follow are worth anything, it is because
they are written by a man who has been a devotee to the wheel for
more years than he cares to think about, and who has studied anatomy,
physiology, and medicine. That is all I lay claim to, for of course a
mere man is nobody nowadays. The ladies are cropping up and coming to
the front every day, and doing something fresh and startling, so that
we poor little chaps of men-people have to take a back seat, or about
three inches each of the outside of a front one—by permission only.
Well, in this paper I believe that some useful hints may be found. Not
on the bicycle itself—O, no, I wouldn’t dare to lecture a lady on that
subject, for although I have ridden for twenty years and over on all
sorts of machines, my youngest lassie Ida thinks she knows a good deal
more than her daddy. Heigho! perhaps she does. But I’ll tell you what I
have done, girls, which I am sure you haven’t. I have studied cycling
from a health point of view, and I am going to impart a little of the
knowledge I have gained to you, in the hope that it may be of use in
the coming cycling season.
Well, now winter is passed, at all events, and although the roads may
not have dried up everywhere, they soon will, so it is time for you to
see to your cycle. I don’t suppose, however, that in the end of autumn
you rolled it up in cotton wool and stowed it away in a drawer or in
the wardrobe. It is so hard to give up cycling even for a few months
and be reduced to walking again. If one is going anywhere, even if only
a distance of two miles, it seems such a long way to walk; the trees
won’t meet you fast enough, and the silly sticky road seems bent upon
stopping your progress, and you are certain you shall feel terribly
tired and absurdly stupid, when you do reach your destination. But
mount your dear little wheel, and, hey, presto! you are there.
Yes, indeed, the cycle is a glorious institution, and we may thank,
not only the man who invented it, but the men who are constantly
improving it. I daresay that, in one form or another, it is as old as
the Highland hills, though I never read anywhere that Adam went out for
an airing on one. But I’ll warrant that if _he_ rode one _she_ wasn’t
going to be a long way behind him. If _he_ was going to be the peacock,
_she_ would be the peahen. For Eve was a woman, you know.
Somewhere in the haystack of my library I have an old book in which two
exquisites, dandies or “mashers” (horrid word!) are depicted riding a
bicycle of a bygone age. How gay they look in their long-tailed coats,
knee-breeches, and faces beaming with smiles beneath their broad silken
hats! And they wear their beards and moustachios in precisely the same
style as that which seems now becoming fashionable, that is, nowhere at
all. But their bicycle? Why, a boneshaker much the same shape as ours,
that is, it went with one wheel in front and had another coming up
behind, the saddle in the centre, and no gear or machinery of any kind
bar a rudder. Their lordships’ legs are on the ground. They just give
a kick first to one side and then to the other and off they go. Cycles
have improved since then.
But regarding your own particular bike, unless it is especially good,
send it to be overhauled. Ask the man what it will cost, else—well, he
won’t cheat himself, anyhow. But it is better to start your season with
a neat turnout, and when you get it home do please take care of it. A
new bicycle is as handsome and pretty as a new binnacle, but both need
attention, which the binnacle always gets, the poor bike all too seldom.
Last summer two “G. O. P.” girls visited my caravan, and one asked if I
could tell her fortune.
“With pleasure,” I said.
I examined the lines on her lily hand, and gave her a fortune that I
thought was sure to please her, even throwing in the tall dark woman
that was to cause some little trouble, all in true gipsy fashion.
“Now,” she said, “can you tell Letty’s character and mine?”
“I have invented a new science,” I replied, “and I call it ‘Bikeology.’
Show me your bike and I’ll read you your character.”
But it was a dusty day and neither she nor Letty would.
WHO SHOULD RIDE THE BICYCLE?
Well, there is a lady up north ninety years old who rides nimbly
enough, and plenty of girls of nine ride. But only yesterday I saw
a little tot of not over five mounted on a miniature machine. It is
all downhill with the old lady, but to let a mere infant ride is the
greatest of cruelty. It may bandy her legs and deform her in ways worse
than that. Really, no child should be allowed to mount till eight or
ten.
All else who are in fairly good form may ride—nay, but ought to ride.
I’d like the whole of Great Britain on wheels, and a beautiful cinder
path to stretch all the way ’twixt London and Edinburgh. Ten miles
might be laid down first on trial, and no doubt it would pay. No racing
should be allowed on this splendid road of mine; the pace should be
regulated; a fee charged, and cosy little inns erected here and there
along the course where one could dismount for light refreshment;
but—I fear the world is hardly old enough yet for such a dream. “The
Anglo-Caledonian Cinder Course Company.” It sounds well, doesn’t it?
REMEDIABLE AILMENTS.
The ailments which judicious cycling can either banish entirely or
assist in curing are many and varied. I wish to head the list with
chronic rheumatism, because but for the cycle I should not be writing
in my wigwam at this moment, nor able to get up at five on a dark snowy
winter’s morning and plunge into the coldest of baths. In the preface
to one of my books on the wheel, I mention that, “after nine years
of hard sea-service in the Royal Navy, including months in an Indian
hospital suffering from acute rheumatism, I was a second time struck
down with the disease in a chronic form, and left Haslar (invalided on
half-pay) tottering painfully on a stick.” This is only a portion of
the truth, for I was weak all over. Soon, however, I took to gentle
exercise on the cycle. In six months I was as strong as ever, and have
never had a return of my old enemy.
Here is an anecdote which may seem astonishing. A man of fifty
suffering from stiff joints took to our friend the bike. It was uphill
work. His highest record a day during the second year was only seven
miles. He grew rapidly well now, and in one year covered 4,000 miles,
and in a single day did 80 miles. So there is hope for two classes of
sufferers.
Nor would age seem to be a drawback, for we read of a man of seventy
riding nearly ninety miles in a day.
People with delicate chests, if not consumptive, are often cured by
cycling. My advice is first to consult a doctor, or, if not, to begin
with very, _very_ easy records and increase only as the strength
increases. At the end of six months you may be astonished at your
strength, the ease and freedom with which you can ride, walk, and
breathe, and at your ability to sleep soundly. Yes, as a cure for
_sleeplessness_, cycling beats all the medicine in the world, because,
see, even the safest of sleeping draughts only removes a symptom, while
riding strikes at the very root of the trouble.
_Nervousness_ soon flies when one begins to cycle. In fact, you forget
all about it. You ride right away from it, and it isn’t fast enough to
follow you.
_Anæmia._ This is another ailment which biking banishes. Of course
a pale bloodless lassie must take care how she does ride at first.
She must not attempt to go fast nor to go out with any companion who
recklessly tries to break records. But the fresh air purifies and
thickens the blood; the riding puts every organ of the body into gentle
play, and in a few months she will be able, in all probability, to keep
the pace with her neighbours.
In a word, there is no chronic ailment which I can remember at present,
which cycling (always gentle at first) cannot remedy.
I have said already that the delicate ought first to consult the family
doctor. If he is a cyclist himself he will let you mount. If not, he
may advise walking or carriage exercise. But who that can ride would
care to loll lazily in the best carriage ever drawn by horses?
OPINIONS OF OTHERS.
Says Abbott Bassett, “Believe me, ladies, if your health and strength
leave something to be desired, if you feel the need of exercise in the
fresh air; if you suffer from that terrible scourge which overcomes
your sex, sick headache; if you wish to strengthen yourselves morally,
and accumulate a store of agreeable reminiscences, ride a cycle.
Believe me, you will never forget it; from henceforth you will always
be happy. You will laugh, eat, and sleep.” (_Vide_ _Cycling and
Health_, by Dr. Jenner of Paris. Translation published by Iliffe and
Sons.)
“When one is in the saddle,” says a Boston lady, “and flying over a
good road, one experiences what a bird may feel; in fact, the weight of
the body is so well disposed on the machine that it is not felt.”
Says another lady, “Four or five years ago I was in very delicate
health and unable to bear the slightest fatigue. Now I do seventy miles
a day without fatigue.”
One more quotation. It is from the pen of a lady-doctor. “Cycling is of
the highest value to women from a health point of view, and is suitable
for middle-aged persons bordering on stoutness and not able to walk
far. Delicate girls also derive great benefit from the exercise.”
These ladies speak from experience and quite bear out my own views.
_Torpidity of the liver_ is all too common, even among girls, nowadays.
It is characterised by headaches, low spirits, and a dull, sleepy
feeling, with many more symptoms I need not mention, all of which soon
disappear if a regular course of not too hard cycling be adopted. But
one must be careful not to give in too much to the appetite the bike
will create, else matters may become worse instead of better.
When the cycle is used as a curative agent, it is well to aid the
remedy by the judicious use of medicines suitable for the complaint.
_Anæmic or bloodless girls_, for instance, may take tincture of iron,
five drops in a wineglassful of water three times a day just after
food. This is an almost homœopathic dose; but it can be continued for a
month or two, whereas larger doses are apt to heat the blood. Remember,
however, that a drop from a tiny bottle is not a full one. About eight
or ten small drops would not hurt.
Aperients (Friedrichshall water or Pullna) will be needed in cases of
threatened obesity.
In liver trouble these may also be used, and a tonic of quassia
solution, with ten drops of dilute nitro-murietic acid to each dose.
This is a very excellent tonic, and should be taken about ten minutes
before meals.
If a girl has a cough she must not ride too hard. Some chlorodyne
lozenges are good things to take on the road.
HINTS ABOUT RIDING.
You will soon manage to adjust the saddle to a comfortable height. I
myself would rather have this an inch too high than an inch too low.
From the very commencement cultivate a graceful pose. If you have a
good bike, there is seldom any need to bend over the bar as men do.
When you come to a hill that is difficult to negotiate, jump off and
walk.
Spurting or going at a great pace is not for the fair sex. By doing so
even once you may hurt yourself so that you will repent of it all your
life.
If you do not feel over strong, never ride with those who are. You
cannot keep up at their pace without danger, though the excitement may
cause you to try.
Invalids should not talk much while riding with a friend; talking
congests the head and undoes all the good the cycling may be doing them.
Girls do not care to enter inns on the road even for the questionable
refreshment of ginger-beer or lemonade, but a glass of water from what
the poets call a “murmuring rill” often does much good, and a portable
paper folding-tumbler should be carried if the journey is to be of some
length.
A few tiny biscuit-sandwiches, with bovril instead of meat, is a
splendid pick-me-up.
Weakly girls perspire a good deal when riding, and this may prove
a source of great danger if they dismount anywhere and stand in a
draught. On returning, if the underclothing be damp, it ought to be
changed, and it is just then that a cup of good tea or coffee proves so
refreshing.
I have nothing to say regarding dress except this, that tight lacing is
dangerous. Only the lightest and easiest of clothing should be worn and
nothing heavy.
Wool should always be preferred to cotton.
On the whole, and from all I have seen, I think the rational cycling
dress has yet to be invented. It might be most graceful and becoming,
as well as healthy, and I’m sure it would save many a life.
In conclusion, remember that our mutual friend the bike may be either a
friend or a foe. It can kill as well as cure. The evil effects of hard
riding are seldom felt at the time, but they may produce the bicycle
heart, to say nothing of the bicycle face and a ruined complexion.
DOUBLE ACROSTIC I.
How much the first the second doth excel.
The student of the Bible knows full well.
1. Seek me through desert sands, ’mid treeless waste,
And let the traveller cooling water taste.
2. For miles when tracked the river’s rippling light,
Through willowy meads, past many a wooded height,
Opens this lake’s calm beauty to the sight.
3. What is this light illuminating night?
So clear, so perfect, so intense, so white.
4. Here sit the conquering lords, and here receive
Their subjects’ homage or their woes relieve;
And here assemble, for affairs of State,
The dusky, jewelled chiefs in high debate.
5. A secret Brotherhood in virtue’s cause,
Ruled by morality and reason’s laws;
Yet governments are often most unjust,
And ours looked on our meetings with distrust.
The air was full of revolution’s fire,
Men’s hearts were trembling with forebodings dire,
And, from a terror deep but unconfessed,
Our Brotherhood by edict was suppressed.
6. A stormy reign was mine; my father’s hand
Gathered the strife-rent kingdoms of the land
And held the reins; these cares devolved on me,
While, in addition, from beyond the sea
Adventurers came in swarms to claim my right,
And many a furious battle did we fight.
Little am I remembered now! My fame
(If any) centres in my son’s high name,
Who, student, warrior, legislator, rose
Supreme o’er native chiefs and foreign foes.
Peace shed her blessings where his footsteps came,
And still his country cherishes his name.
7. An old French town, once fortified, whose name
Looks very English, and it sounds the same;
Before its walls in war, so histories tell,
The wealthiest reigning prince in Europe fell.
8. A soft material, made for woman’s use,
Named from the town whose looms the web produce.
9. One of three sisters, shedding kindly words
With all the aid that sympathy affords;
In youthful loveliness, their looks benign,
With purest charity and kindness shine.
XIMENA.
ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.
BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of “Sisters
Three,” etc.