NEW RELATIONS.
“Have they come yet?” asked a man’s voice, which sounded through the
house the moment the door had been opened by the latch-key in his hand.
A girl had darted out of a room upon the ground-floor at the sound of
the opening door, and she gave quick reply.
“No, but we are expecting them every minute. I’m glad you are back,
North. Father always likes to see you first thing.”
The young man was divesting himself of his overcoat in the hall. He
was a broad-shouldered muscular fellow, with very much the same stamp
of features as his father, only that as he was clean-shaven, all but
a moustache, the square outline of the jaw could be more distinctly
seen. It was not a handsome face, but it was a strong one, and there
was a gleam of humour in the brown eyes which redeemed it alike from
heaviness and sternness.
The sister was a merry-looking girl of about twenty, with the family
features, a little square in outline, but she had a tip-tilted nose,
“a snub,” as the brothers called it, which gave her an expression of
sauciness not at all contradicted by the dancing light in her eyes.
“Come in and warm yourself. The wind has been bitter all day. We must
wait tea for the travellers. Any news in town?”
North walked into the long drawing-room, which occupied all the space
through the house on one side of the hall. The house, though it now
stood in a street, was detached from its neighbours, and showed in many
of its arrangements that it had once been a gentleman’s country abode.
It was old-fashioned and a little dark, but it wore a homelike aspect;
and the room, which was panelled half-way up in sombre oak, was filled
with the dancing light from a blazing fire of logs.
There were three persons in the room when the brother and sister
entered. Mrs. Thomas Cossart (who was generally known in the place as
Mrs. Tom, on account of the other Mrs. Cossart up at the big house) was
knitting in her arm-chair with a book beside her. She was a matronly
lady, with a pleasant face, which had been beautiful in youth, and was
still quite comely. Her elder daughter Raby stood with a screen in her
hand shielding her face from the blaze, and another son lounged upon
the sofa, his hands clasped behind his head.
It was sometimes said of the Cossarts by their friends, that North
and Ray were the useful ones in the family, and Raby and Cyril the
ornamental. Raby was tall and slight, and took after her mother.
Without being a beauty she was a decidedly good-looking girl, and had
many admirers of both sexes. She dressed always a little better and
more carefully than her sister; but she was not really either useless
or idle. She had plenty of fun in her, and good nature too. But she had
a greater love of admiration and amusement than that possessed by Ray.
Cyril presented a contrast to all the others of the family by being
very fair where they were all inclined to be dark. As a child he had
been singularly beautiful, with big blue eyes and a cloud of golden
hair about his softly tinted face. His mother had been devoted to him
from his babyhood, and even his father had found it difficult not to
make something of an especial darling of him.
Now at three and twenty he was a very good-looking fellow, although
some declared that he was girlish and effeminate in his looks.
Certainly the golden hair and big blue eyes were rather suggestive of a
fair girl; and this likeness was perhaps a little intensified from the
fact that he was quite clean-shaven, and did not grow even a moustache,
as Ray had often begged him to do. But he had inherited sufficient
of the Cossart type of features to redeem the face from the charge
of weakness. It was a refined and etherialised face, but something
of the square outline of the jaw remained, although the lips did not
close over each other in the firm way that was noticeable in North
and Ray, but were a little inclined to fall apart, giving the face a
dreamy and abstracted expression, which was much admired by many of the
young ladies of Isingford, who were fond of making studies from Cyril
Cossart’s profile, and turning them into pictures called “Sir Galahad,”
or “The Knight without fear and without reproach.”
“Here they are!” cried Ray, who was still lingering about the half
open door, “I hear wheels stopping. They have come! Mother, I shall go
and open the door? It will look more friendly.”
She was across the hall before she had finished speaking, and had
thrown the front door wide open before the maid could arrive upon the
scene. North followed her and stood full in view. The next minute their
father led in a girl dressed in deep mourning, whom he pushed towards
his daughter saying—
“There Sheila, there is Ray. She will take care of you and make you
feel at home.”
“To be sure I will!” cried Ray, kissing Sheila’s cold face. “Come along
in and see mother and Raby. I’m so glad you have come all safe. It
feels just as though it would snow. But it won’t matter if it does, now
that you’re safe home.”
Sheila, a little shy and bewildered in her strange surroundings, was
led into the warm drawing-room, where she was kissed by Mrs. Tom and
Raby, and installed beside the fire in a comfortable chair, almost
before she had time to get out a word.
Mr. Tom had come in with North and Oscar, and there was a considerable
confusion of tongues, kissing and welcoming. For the moment Sheila was
left in her cosy corner; and it was then that she heard a gentle voice
at her elbow saying—
“You must let me add my welcome to the rest; though I am afraid it is
really a sorrowful time for you. We are inclined to forget that what is
our gain is your loss.”
She looked up quickly, and saw that a stranger was slipping into the
seat beside her. She did not guess for a moment that he, too, was a
cousin. He looked so different from all the Cossarts she had seen so
far. Perhaps the startled look in her big wistful eyes showed this, for
the voice continued speaking.
“I am your cousin Cyril. Probably you know our names from our father by
this time. I think I can feel for you better than the rest—coming into
this strange life, which is so different from anything you have known
before. They had been used to it all their lives—they know nothing
else. But I do, and I can understand how you must feel about it.”
“I don’t think I feel anything yet,” said Sheila slowly, “I have not
had time. But Uncle Tom has been very kind. I think—I hope—I am sure
I ought to be very happy.”
Yet even as she spoke Sheila felt the tears suddenly spring to her
eyes. She did not know how it was; but just this arrival at a strange
house, this feeling of being suddenly cast into the midst of a number
of strange people seemed to bring before her her loneliness in a way
she had never felt it before. She looked round for Oscar, but Ray
had got him in her care, and was chattering gaily to him. Her uncle
was for the moment engrossed with his wife and elder son. The wave of
loneliness seemed to rise higher and higher about her. She felt the sob
in her throat, and turned her face towards the fire to get rid of the
welling tears before they should be seen.
“I know so well what you feel,” said Cyril’s sympathetic voice in her
ear. “Often when I have come home from college, or from other people’s
houses, the same feeling has come over me. If I had been a girl I
should have cried too. It seemed like stepping into a new world where
one had no interests, no heart, no sympathies.”
“Oh, but I don’t want to feel like that!” said Sheila quickly. “That
would be wrong and ungrateful. Uncle Tom has been so kind. You are all
kind. Only—only—I haven’t often been away from home; and it seems all
so strange; and there isn’t any more home left behind—that is what is
the strangest thing of all!”
Her voice broke for a moment, and Cyril put out his hand and laid it on
hers in token of comprehension and sympathy; but there was no time for
more words, for the group in the middle of the room broke up.
There was a stir at the door, and two maids appeared with the tea-table
and equipage; and Sheila found herself the centre of attraction as the
lamp shed its light over the darkening room, and everybody gathered
round the fire to discuss hot cakes and steaming cups of tea, whilst
they “took stock” of the new cousins and tried to make them feel at
home.
Cyril spoke the least now; but Sheila was conscious that he looked
after her wants with a gentle consideration, and she felt grateful to
him, and stole glances at him from time to time, wondering what made
him so different from all the rest. All were kind and cousinly, and
seemed interested in her, and liked to hear her talk; but there was a
difference—a quiet sympathy about Cyril’s manner which was totally
distinct from the friendliness of the rest. He reminded her of the
world in which she had been accustomed to move. Everything else was
different, the very atmosphere seemed changed, though she could not
have accounted for or defined the change.
Ray took her upstairs at last.
“I am glad you are to stay a day or two here. This is our spare room.
Oscar has the little one. We could not take you in for good, or it
would have left us no spare room at all. Besides, they want you up at
Cossart Place. I wonder how you and Effie will get on. This cold spell
has made her breathing bad; but she is beginning to look forward to
your coming.”
“Didn’t she like it at first?” asked Sheila, reading something between
the lines.
“Well, you know, Effie is a bit crossgrained. If she thinks of a thing
herself, she’s as keen after it as possible; but if somebody else
suggests it, she takes a dislike to it directly. It’s partly because
she’s out of health, and partly because she’s been so spoiled. I get
along with her very well, though she’s not always in the sweetest of
tempers. But then perhaps none of us are!” And Ray laughed, showing her
white even teeth.
Ray stayed and helped Sheila to unpack the one box which had come to
River Street. Her heavy baggage had been sent straight to Cossart Place.
“We don’t have a maid here; but Effie has one. I daresay she’ll share
with you. You’ve been used to one, I expect. You have been county
people, I know. We are only _bourgeoise_, of course. I expect our ways
will seem funny to you!”
It did seem rather strange to Sheila to come down and find the father
and elder son in morning dress. Cyril and the girls dressed for dinner;
but had never got the rest of their men-folk to do so. Indeed, it
was but within the last few years that they had been able to get the
father to consent to a seven o’clock dinner. It had been the fashion in
Isingford for business men to leave their works about five, and dine at
six or earlier, and have a supper later. The girls had had something of
a fight to get afternoon tea and seven o’clock dinner, and with that
they had to be content without further concessions to more fashionable
habits.
In the evening there was music, for the Cossarts were fond of singing
and had good voices, though they had only been trained by local
teachers, and lacked finish and culture. Cyril was the exception. He
had been a chorister in his boyhood, and had been carefully taught both
at school and afterwards. He generally declined to assist at the family
concert; but to-night he sang several times, and got Sheila to sing
duets with him, though she told him she had no voice, and was only good
at playing accompaniments.
It was true that her voice was not powerful, but it was very sweet in
tone, and had been carefully cultivated by a good master.
Cyril appreciated this, and Sheila enjoyed his approval and
friendliness; and went to bed feeling more cheered and less lonely than
she would have believed it possible.
The next day was a very interesting and rather exciting one, for they
were both taken to the works by their uncle and North, and Oscar was
shown something of what was expected of him in the future. There was
to be a good deal of desk-work at first, which was not much to his
taste; but he was to receive training in the electrical branch which
was being established in connection with the works, so that when the
new buildings were opened, he would be able to take a position there
as assistant manager. Meantime it was essential that he should learn
the routine of office work and book-keeping; and he assented to the
drudgery willingly, his common sense telling him that there was nothing
like beginning at the bottom of the ladder. He had seen too much of the
evil effects of not understanding business not to be ready and willing
to acquire the power himself of understanding it thoroughly.
“North is a capital fellow,” he said to Sheila that night, following
her into her room for a talk in private; for in that busy, merry
household there was little time for confidential conversation,
and Sheila had been taken possession of all the afternoon by her
girl-cousins, and introduced right and left to a bewildering number of
their friends. “He isn’t one to make professions; but I know he’ll do
what he can to help me. It will be dull work, some of it, and I may be
rather stupid at it; but I mean to do my best, and get on if I can.”
“I hope you will. I think they all mean to be kind; but, Oscar, do
you call our cousins—well, what shall I say? If we had met them
at home, do you think we should have called them quite ladies and
gentlemen—except Cyril?”
Oscar laughed, and made a little expressive grimace.
“Since they are our cousins, perhaps we’d better not put the question
quite so straight, Sheila. But, indeed, it’s better not to think too
much about rank and station and the gloss on the top. It’s very nice
when one can get it too; but the great thing is whether people are
really good and honest and kindly, as our relations are. And our mother
was one of them; we must not forget that. It would be awfully snobbish
of us to look down on them—as though we were better than they—after
all they are doing for us too!”
“Oh, yes—indeed, I don’t mean to do that. Only things do seem funny
sometimes; and, you know, Cyril feels it too. I think he feels it more
than we do. He is so very different from all the rest.”
“Yes,” assented Oscar slowly; “but I’m not sure that I like him as well
as the others.”
“Oh, Oscar, I like him much the best!”
“Yes, I can see you do. Perhaps I shall when I know him better. I feel
rather as though he gave himself airs.”
“Oh, no! It’s only that he feels more as we do—he would like things
different. He has been to college, and stayed with people who live
differently. I am quite glad he is here. He has promised to come often
to see me when I go to The Grange. He likes to call it The Grange, too.
He thinks Cossart Place sounds vulgar. Cyril and I think alike in a lot
of ways.”
“And when are you going to The Grange? I thought Aunt Cossart was to
come and see you this afternoon?”
“Yes; but Effie had one of her attacks, and so she couldn’t. She will
write to-night and say if I am to go to-morrow, or wait for another
day. I hope I shall get on with Effie; but, from what Cyril says, I
think she is very _difficile_.”
“Don’t let Cyril set you against people and things!” said Oscar, rather
gravely.
“Oh, no, I won’t!” was Sheila’s eager answer.
(_To be continued._)
THE GIRL’S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.
THE EXAMINERS REPORT ON THE SECOND TWENTY-FOUR QUESTIONS.
Practice makes perfect, so though the first instalment of answers
in this competition was good, the second proved better, and we look
forward to the third and last being the best of all. It takes time to
discover to what fountains one ought to go for information; but once
that is done, the rest is comparatively easy—you fill your pitcher and
come away triumphant.
The number who engaged in this second trial was slightly under that of
those taking part in the first. Out of every hundred girls who started
with questions 1-24, about fifteen failed to put in an appearance. Many
causes, from whimsicality to illness, no doubt account for this. It was
often, we are sure, unavoidable, for some girls whom we missed had done
so well that they would have had a good place had they only continued.
We give here our notes on questions 25-48 inclusive, so that
competitors may check their own answers and see in some cases what they
might have replied had they been fortunate enough to find out. General
remarks on the competition, as we said last month, will follow when we
come to intimate who the painstaking girls are who have won prizes and
certificates.
* * * * *
=25. Who was the monarch who once attended the rehearsal of his own
funeral?=
The monarch we had in view in framing this question was Charles V.,
Emperor of Germany and King of Spain. After his abdication in 1555-56
he retired to the monastery of St. Juste in the north of Estremadura,
and here he resolved to celebrate his own obsequies. His domestics
marched to the chapel of the monastery in funeral procession with
black tapers in their hands, and he himself followed in his shroud.
He was laid in his coffin with much solemnity. “The service for the
dead was chanted, and Charles joined in the prayers which were offered
up for the repose of his soul, mingling his tears with those which
his attendants shed, as if they had been celebrating a real funeral.”
Judging by the numbers who failed to answer, this was one of our
difficult questions.
=26. What is the largest palace in the world used as a residence?=
Three palaces were prominent in the answers given—the Vatican at Rome,
the Winter Palace at St. Petersburg, and the Palace of Versailles in
the neighbourhood of Paris. The last-named, however, was mentioned
by error, as it is now not a residence, but little more than a
showplace. But it is huge enough, for in the heyday of its prosperity
it accommodated about ten thousand persons—courtiers, dependents,
etc. To the Vatican, the residence of the Pope, apparently belongs the
credit of being of all palaces that on the largest scale. It is said
to contain no fewer than seven thousand rooms. It became the fixed
residence of the Popes in 1377. The Winter Palace at St. Petersburg
is also an enormous structure, in which six thousand persons have
frequently had a habitation.
=27. What is the exercise most conducive to physical beauty?=
The answers to this query were as varied as could be. Dancing, fencing,
cycling, swimming, golfing, dumb-bell drill, and many other forms of
exercise all had their advocates. Some girls said, “Housekeeping for
ever!” and recommended constant devotion to sweeping and dusting; but
others remarked that that was too narrow a view, and that we ought to
move about in the open air as well. Most, however, held that the right
form of exercise was walking, the cheapest, safest, and best of all.
“And see,” says one competitor, “that you persevere in it and do it in
all weathers, but the very worst, and particularly in winter.”
=28. What was the first street ever lit by gas?=
This was Pall Mall in London, which was first lit by gas on the 28th of
January, 1807. The introduction of gas-lighting into London is due to
the zeal and unwearied patience of a German named Winsor. He managed
to gain some supporters, “and,” says a writer in Chambers’s _Book of
Days_, “the long line between St. James’s Palace and Cockspur Street
blazed out in a burst of gas-lamps on the night in question to the no
small admiration of the public.” Westminster Bridge was lit with gas
for the first time on the last night of 1812. Two years later in other
parts of the metropolis gas was introduced on the streets, and from
that time the new mode of lighting gradually made its way all over the
world.
=29. How fast can one read when reading silently?=
Most competitors gave an answer to this question; but why did not all?
It was easy enough, because the best answer a girl could make was to
record the result of experimenting on herself. It was pointed out by
many with much truth that the rate of reading varies greatly with
different individuals and also with the kind of book read. We cannot,
for instance, read philosophy as rapidly as history, or history as fast
as a work of fiction. Poetry also, says a sensible competitor, must be
read slowly in order to appreciate the style and rhythm. A moderately
rapid reader, says this same competitor, will read history at the rate
of about 600 words in five minutes, fiction at about 2,000 words in
the same time, and poetry at about 700 words. The 600 and 700 words
here given appear slow compared with the 2,000; but there is all the
difference in the world between reading to remember and criticise and
reading merely for a pastime.
=30. What famous philanthropist was known as the “Nightingale of the
House of Commons?”=
When a girl shoots a bow at a venture she may hit the mark, but
more often she does not. Here are some of the random shots at this
answer—the Earl of Shaftesbury, John Bright, Mr. Gladstone, Sir Henry
Fawcett, Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton, Lord Coleridge, the Earl of Chatham,
and William Pitt. No, it was none of these—it was William Wilberforce,
who will always be associated with the abolition of the slave trade.
His remarkably sweet voice, so often used on behalf of those unable
to plead for themselves, obtained for him the name to which we have
referred in our question.
=31. How many hours a day should we give to sleep?=
There was a good deal of common-sense shown here in the answers, it
being generally allowed that no hard and fast rule could be laid down.
“Sleep till you have slept enough,” says one girl; “and enough is not
the same with everybody.” The time will be found to vary, with grown-up
people, from six to eight hours in the twenty-four, it very much
depending on whether they are strong or weakly. One competitor quotes a
medical authority to the effect that “the weakly very rarely require
more than nine hours’ sleep at the utmost, and a longer indulgence will
scarcely ever fail to injure them.”
=32. What is the most famous signal ever made to the British Navy?=
Hardly any competitors omitted to answer this question; almost every
one right too. The ever-to-be-remembered signal was that made by Lord
Nelson, before the battle of Trafalgar—“England expects every man to
do his duty.” It was a signal, says Southey, in his _Life of Nelson_,
received throughout the fleet with a shout of answering acclamation,
“made sublime by the spirit which it breathed and the feeling which
it expressed.” As everyone knows, it was the last signal of our great
naval hero, for he received his mortal wound in the heat of the action.
It is worth mentioning that one girl, whom we guess to be a humorist,
would have it that the most famous naval signal was that made to the
British fleet at the conclusion of the greatest naval review ever
seen—that held in commemoration of the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, in
1897. The Commander-in-Chief signalled that, at the request of the
Prince of Wales, he “ordered the mainbrace to be spliced,” which, says
our competitor, refers to “an extra ration of grog!”
=33. What useful discovery was made by lighting a fire on the sand
and using pieces of natron (sub-carbonate of soda) to support the
cooking-pot?=
The story of the discovery of glass—whether an actual historical fact
or only a legend we shall not too particularly inquire—proved to be
well known to all our girls. To quote one of them: “The credit of
inventing glass was always given by the ancients to the Phœnicians. It
was a discovery made quite accidentally by some Phœnician merchants,
who were homeward bound in a ship laden with natron or soda. A storm
came on, which obliged them to land on a sandy tract under Mount
Carmel. There they rested their cooking pots on blocks of natron, and
when the cooking was over found glass produced, by the union under heat
of the alkali and the sand of the shore.”
=34. What are the “borrowed days,” and how do they come by their name?=
Those who did not answer this question, and those who answered it
wrongly, are now informed that the “Borrowed Days” referred to, are the
last three days of March. According to a popular tradition they were
borrowed by March from April, in order to accomplish the destruction of
a parcel of unoffending young sheep, a purpose, however, in which March
did not succeed. The story is told in a well-known Scottish rhyme:—
“March said to Aperill,
I see three sheep upon yon hill,
And if you lend me days three
I’ll find a way to make them dee.
The first o’ them was wind and weet.
The second o’ them was snaw and sleet.
The third o’ them was sic a freeze,
It froze the birds’ beaks to the trees.
And when the three days were past and gane,
The three poor sheep came hirpling (_limping_) hame.”
Some girls got the “borrowed days” mixed up with the extra day that
comes in Leap year. One told us that they were “the mild days of
winter borrowed from Spring.” Another gave them as “Sunday, Monday
and Saturday.” Three or four furnished an interesting piece of local
information to the effect that in Cheshire the name “Borrowed Days,” is
given to the first eleven days of May.
=35. What is the simplest and least troublesome of all cookery
processes?=
Some girls surprised us by apparently knowing little about this
woman’s subject; a few surprised us still more by not answering at
all. There was room for difference of opinion. Boiling, steaming,
grilling, toasting, roasting, and baking all met with support, but on
the whole we side with the girls who said stewing. It is a method that
certainly requires very little attention, barring the care that must
of course be taken to keep the stew from sticking to the bottom of the
pot and burning, if the stewing be done in a saucepan or in a jar.
Some competitors fell into error by giving such answers as “boiling an
egg,” “making a milk pudding,” “boiling a potato in its jacket,” and
“preparing a Devonshire junket.” They should have taken note that the
query spoke of _processes_ not of _performances_.
=36. Are there any extinct volcanoes in Great Britain?=
“Not one,” says a confident competitor. In opposition to this, however,
we have the answers of a great many who knew better, and were well
aware that “the volcanoes of Britain are still around and beneath us,
on the sea-coast and in the heart of the country, under our great
cities and in our most favourite holiday haunts.” Some gave examples
from central England, and one girl quoting from an article that
appeared not long ago in the _Leisure Hour_, pointed out that “what is
now the heart of England, was once dotted with volcanic vents.” Others
took their illustrations from Devonshire, from North Wales, from the
neighbourhood of Edinburgh and from the Western Isles of Scotland.
=37. What famous musical composition came to a violinist in a dream?=
The competitors who did not answer this question were a numerous
company. Some made such guesses at it as Haydn’s “Creation,” and the
“Moonlight Sonata.” But—without going into the dream question—Haydn
was not a violinist, and neither was Beethoven. The musician of
our query was the famous violin player, Giuseppe Tartini, and the
composition was his singularly fine piece, “Il Trillo del Diavolo.”
One night the Evil One appeared to Tartini in a dream. “The idea
struck me,” says the composer, “to hand him my fiddle, and to see what
he could do with it. But how great was my astonishment when I heard
him play with consummate skill a sonata of such exquisite beauty as
surpassed the boldest flight of my imagination.” When Tartini awoke
he seized his violin and tried to reproduce the sounds he had heard.
“But,” he sorrowfully says, “it was in vain. The piece I then composed,
the Devil’s Sonata, although the best I ever wrote, was far below the
one I had heard in my dream!”
=38. When did witchcraft cease to be recognised as a crime by the law
of England?=
This query was generally well answered, and there was really no
difficulty about it. The last trial for witchcraft in England was that
of Jane Wenham, who was convicted at Hertford in 1712. Feeling towards
witchcraft had, by that time, begun to change, however, and she was
not executed. Twenty-four years later—that is to say, in 1736—came
the repeal of the famous statute against witchcraft passed at the
accession of James I. At the same time was repealed the Act of the
Scottish Parliament passed in 1563 making it a capital offence to use
witchcraft, sorcery, or necromancy, or to pretend to such knowledge, or
to seek help from witches.
=39. What famous book was mislaid when in manuscript and partly
written, and was only discovered by the author nine years afterwards in
the drawer of an old writing-desk?=
Puzzled? Yes, many were puzzled and answered nothing. A few bold
spirits ventured on such guesses as _The Vicar of Wakefield_, _Evelyn’s
Diary_, _Peter Simple_, and _Jessica’s First Prayer_! The book in
question was the Waverley of Sir Walter Scott. About a third of
the first volume of this work was written about the year 1805, and
then thrown aside in the drawer of an old writing-desk and entirely
forgotten. Nine years afterwards, the author himself says, “I happened
to want some fishing tackle for the use of a guest, when it occurred to
me to search the old writing-desk already mentioned, in which I used to
keep articles of that nature. I got access to it with some difficulty,
and in looking for lines and flies, the long-lost manuscript presented
itself. I immediately set to work to complete it.”
=40. What English cathedral was set on fire and severely damaged by a
man who was afterwards found to be insane?=
The fire was that caused in York Minster on the 2nd of February,
1829, by Jonathan Martin, who, as the question says, was subsequently
discovered to be out of his mind. Having taken it into his head that
it was his duty to destroy the cathedral, he concealed himself after
evening service on the 1st of February behind a monument in the north
transept, and in the night collected inflammable material which he set
fire to. The whole of the beautiful tabernacle work of carved oak, the
stalls, the pulpit, the organ, the roof, and much of the stonework
of the choir, were all destroyed, the east window which was in great
danger, being saved with difficulty. The building was restored at a
cost of about £65,000, which was raised by a national subscription.
This question was well answered. A few girls gave instances of fires
at the cathedrals of Carlisle and Salisbury, but the insane incendiary
was left out of account. Four or five gave the burning of St. Paul’s in
the Great Fire of 1666, as that well-known event is described in Mr. W.
Harrison Ainsworth’s _Old St. Paul’s_, but they should have remembered
that a novelist’s facts should be verified before quoting them as
history.
=41. What is the best diet for brain-workers?=
There is no doubt that brain-workers—whether literary, professional
or business people—need the best of food served in the most agreeable
manner, and in variety and abundance. If it were possible to live by
brain alone, without any exercise of the muscles, then the diet might
be exclusively confined to those articles which contain the fat, salt
and phosphorus of which the brain is composed. But this being out of
the question, a wide variety of food is necessary for the brain-working
classes, its quantity and quality being adapted to nourish the whole
body with special reference to the nervous system. An important point
is that the food be light and easily digested. Most girls answered this
question, and many sensible replies were received.
=42. What saint was so able a musician that, according to tradition, an
angel descended to earth enraptured with her melodious strains?=
Few queries were better or more fully answered than this one, the
essence of most of the replies being that the saint was St. Cecilia,
a young Roman lady of noble birth, who suffered martyrdom about
329—perhaps earlier. She “has long been regarded as the tutelary
saint of music and musicians, but the period at which she was first so
looked upon is involved in obscurity.” When the tradition mentioned
in the question originated is equally unknown. It is an odd fact that
early writers make no mention of her skill in music.
=43. What is the origin of the three ostrich feathers as a badge of the
Prince of Wales?=
This has long been a matter of perplexity to antiquaries. The cherished
and popular belief, however—quoted by almost all our competitors—is
that the feathers were derived from the blind King of Bohemia, who lost
his life at the battle of Crecy in 1346. The feathers do not appear
in connection with our Princes of Wales till after that battle. The
ostrich feather, it appears, was a distinction of Luxemburg, and John,
Count of Luxemburg, was the original style and title of the King of
Bohemia, who fell so bravely at Crecy. The first Prince of Wales to
assume the feathers was of course Edward the Black Prince, the victor
of Crecy.
=44. When did ignorant people in this country imagine that they had
been defrauded out of eleven days by those in authority?=
It was in 1752 when the Act for the change of Style came into operation
in this country. After the 2nd of September of that year, the following
day was held to be not the 3rd, but the 14th, thus dropping out eleven
days. The common people of England, we are told, “were violently
inflamed against the statesmen who had carried through the bill for the
change of style, and generally believed that they had been defrauded
out of eleven days (as if eleven days of their destined lives) by
the transaction. Accordingly for some time afterwards a favourite
opprobrious cry to unpopular statesmen in the streets and on the
hustings was, ‘Who stole the eleven days? Give us back the eleven
days!’” A few girls failed to answer this question, but not so many as
we expected.
=45. Who was the hermit who lived for over thirty years on the top of a
pillar?=
This was the famous St. Simeon Stylites, so called from the Greek word
_stylos_, a pillar. He lived early in the fifth century and adopted
his original mode of life by way of penance, beginning with residence
on the top of a pillar nine feet high. This was raised by degrees to
the somewhat incredible height of sixty feet. He lived on his pillar
situated on a mountain-side thirty or forty miles from Antioch for over
thirty years, and died on the top in the year 459. He was the founder
of the singular race of pillar-saints who, though never very numerous,
existed in Eastern lands down to the twelfth century.
=46. What famous stone in this country is said to have been Jacob’s
pillow?=
Competitors were right in saying that this is the Coronation Stone
now in Westminster Abbey, brought from Scotland by Edward I. on his
return from invading that country in 1296. According to some, it was
originally the stone on which Jacob rested his head when he slept at
Bethel and had a vision of angels ascending and descending the ladder
between heaven and earth. Old chroniclers give a pretty circumstantial
account of its wanderings till it arrived at Scone, the coronation
city of the ancient kings of Scotland, from which King Edward carried
it away. We notice that two or three girls describe the stone as of
marble—“black marble,” says one. They are wrong. It is a block of
sandstone—to be particular, “a dull reddish or purplish sandstone,
with a few small embedded pebbles.”
=47. Why is the wedding-ring worn on the fourth finger of the left
hand?=
Nearly everybody gave an answer and a good answer. We shall quote one
competitor in full, and she will reply for all the rest: The selection
of the fourth finger of the left hand as the wedding-ring finger both
in Pagan and Christian times is accounted for by several reasons. In an
ancient ritual of marriage, the husband placed the ring on the top of
the thumb of the left hand whilst he said, “In the name of the Father”;
he then removed it to the forefinger, saying, “And of the Son,” and
then to the middle finger with the words, “And of the Holy Ghost,” and
with the final word “Amen” he placed the ring on the fourth finger,
where it remained.
The ancient supposition that a vein led direct from the fourth finger
to the heart, and the fact that this finger is used less than any
other, the ring being thereby less liable to receive injury, were
doubtless also at the root of this old custom.
=48. How did the forget-me-not get its name?=
Several popular traditions, all no doubt equally authentic, were quoted
in reply, hardly any competitor omitting to answer. According to some,
the name perpetuates the last words of a lover to his mistress as he
threw her the flower she craved of him at the cost of his own life in
the Danube.
Another tradition told, with variations, by a good many was that “Adam,
as he named the plants in Paradise, bade them all remember their names.
One little flower, that had allowed its thoughts to wander, had to ask
the father of men to repeat what he had said. ‘By what name dost thou
call me?’ ‘Forget-me-not,’ was the reply; which has caused that humble
flower ever since to droop its head in shame and ignominy.”
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
MEDICAL.
NELLIE.—The two questions you ask us are in themselves of little
importance, but the condition of your mind which lies behind them
compels a little advice. Your first question, “What is a good way of
getting out of being afraid that there is some illness or disease the
matter with oneself?” is easily answered. There is no disease without
definite symptoms. You will never get a disease which will leave you
very long in doubt about your health. If you want to make perfectly
certain, get yourself examined by a physician and have done with your
ideas. Your second question is due to the same thing as the first—a
morbid self-consciousness. Anybody can think herself into any trouble.
You start by fearing that you may get—let us say phthisis. In a
few months you begin to think that you may have phthisis. A little
time afterwards you come to the conclusion that you are going to get
phthisis, the next stage is a conviction that you have phthisis, and
the last stage is a feeling of certainty that you have the disease,
a certainty which is unshaken by the assurance that your chest is
normal, and that the supposed phthisis does not interfere with your
health. The first two stages of this history are states of morbid
self-consciousness, the next two are on the verge of sanity, the last
is a definite disease—not phthisis, but melancholia! You must get
yourself to think about other things than your own imaginary evils; a
little mental struggle, and it will all come easily. Read the article
we published on blushing and nervousness.
VANITY.—Weak ankles are very commonly due to wearing high-heeled
shoes. Boots which button up the legs are not so liable as shoes
to weaken the ankles, because they protect the latter, but with
high-heeled shoes the ankle is left bare, and consequently every time
that you twist your foot, you wrench the ankle-joint. We have seen
serious disease of the ankle following repeated wrenching or spraining
from wearing high-heeled shoes. The higher and narrower the heels are,
the more liable are they to do harm.
HEREWARD THE WAKE.—Yes! tobacco-chewing is exceedingly injurious.
Tobacco contains a large quantity of nicotine, a highly poisonous
substance. When tobacco is chewed, this nicotine is taken into the
stomach and absorbed.
BLACKWATER.—We have never heard of a disease or symptom called
“blackwater.” We expect that what you mean is “waterbrash”; at all
events your description will fit this symptom. Waterbrash is a fairly
common symptom of indigestion, especially of those varieties due to
excesses of starchy food, and those connected with nervous complaints.
Read the answer to “Muriel” (Jan. 21, 1899).
PEGGY.—The combination of obesity with thin brittle nails is very
common. It seems that the condition of the nails may be directly due
to corpulency. The only treatment we can suggest is to relieve the
obesity. Conceivably massage of the fingers might be of service.
DOROTHY DIMPLES.—We have answered this question before. We do not
think that anæmia is on the increase. Anæmia of girls, that is,
chlorosis or green sickness, is from the beginning a chronic disease.
The question whether chlorosis is likely to lead to consumption is very
important. It certainly is not _likely_ to do so, and our experience
leads us to think that anæmic subjects are not appreciably more liable
to phthisis than are healthy persons. Theoretically, we should have
expected otherwise. Of course some form of anæmia is invariable in the
later stages of consumption, as it is in every other wasting disease.
ERDA.—Pneumonia is not an hereditary disease, and the children of a
woman who has had pneumonia, are no more liable to get that disease
than are ordinary persons. Pneumonia is an infectious disease, and is
very liable to recur.
STUDY AND STUDIO.
VICTORIA.—The first number of the GIRL’S OWN PAPER was issued on
January 3rd, 1880; of the _Boy’s Own Paper_ a year earlier.
IN APRIL.—Without hearing your violin we cannot say whether its tone
is good enough for you to play upon it at the examination. If it is “a
very nice old” violin, we doubt your being able to procure a better
one for £8, but your teacher must really be the judge. The quality of
the violin, so long as you have a decent instrument, should not affect
your chances of passing. Of more importance is your inability to play
from memory. You should practise this art. Doubtless your teacher has a
clear synopsis of what you will be expected to do at the examination.
A. V. D. G.—1. Hand gymnastics would not improve your case. All
you need is diligent practice, and again practice, guided by strict
attention. Do not allow yourself to alight on wrong notes in the manner
you describe; always practise slowly at first, increasing the pace
until perfect. Do not attempt music that is too difficult for you. We
suppose you are taking lessons, as you are only fifteen, and you should
be guided by your teacher. 2. “Op.” is the abbreviation for “opus,” the
Latin word for “work.” The works of musicians are numbered in a certain
order, and the piece you mention must belong to Schumann’s 21st work.
EGLAIA.—1. The sign - placed over a note means that the note is
to be emphasised.—2. Your writing is disfigured by enormous loops
and flourishes, which help to make it illegible. For instance, we
fear we have not deciphered your pseudonym correctly. Without these
excrescences, your writing would be good. Two answers are our limit:
_vide_ rules.
EARNEST STUDENT.—The cheapest musical _conservatoires_ are on the
Continent, and it is easy to obtain a first-class musical education
for a low fee at such places at Leipsic, Dresden, Bonn, or Berlin, but
then the cost of board and lodging has to be added. At Leipsic you
would have to pay from about £67 to £90 for board, lodging, and musical
instruction, and you can obtain all particulars by addressing a letter
to “An das Directorium des Conservatoriums” in one of the towns we
have mentioned. In London we think the Guildhall School of Music is
the least expensive, as the number of subjects may be limited. In the
Royal College the fee is £40 a year for tuition; in the Royal Academy,
£11 11s. per term, with an entrance fee of £5 5s. In the “Guildhall,”
lessons on separate subjects may be obtained from £1 11s. 6d. per term.
We advise you (if you can come to London) to write to these three
institutions for lists of fees, scholarships, etc., also to Trinity
College, Mandeville Place, Manchester Square, W. We might help you more
if we knew where you live.
A KENTISH MAID.—Why not enter one of the Training Colleges? You have
first of all to pass the “Queen’s Scholarship” examination; apply for
particulars, Education Department, London, or A. Bourne Esq., British
and Foreign School Society, Temple Chambers, London, E.C. After passing
this examination, you receive two years’ excellent training at a
nominal fee for board and education, the amount of which fee depends on
the college. At Stockwell (a splendid college), it is £25 for two (in
special cases three) years’ board and education; at others we believe
it is less, but these particulars can be obtained from the individual
college. You might also with advantage consult Mrs. Watson’s articles
on “What are the County Councils doing for Girls?” in the GIRL’S OWN
PAPER for 1897.
AMATEUR SOCIETY.—Miss M. Hedge requests us to again bring before
our readers her society for studying foreign languages by means of
correspondence. A copy of the rules, price twopence, may be obtained on
application to her at 19, East Hill, Colchester.
MISCELLANEOUS.
GERTRUDE P. (Tewkesbury).—We should advise you to get a book on
heraldry through some reliable second-hand bookseller. They are not
very cheap when large, and that would be the best way of getting a good
one. Boutell’s _English Heraldry_, or his _Heraldry Historical and
Popular_, would suit you, and they are not expensive even when new.
They are the smallest books on the subject. Reeves and Turner, 196,
Strand, W., publish the first of them. There are several translations
of Dante: Cary, and Longfellow’s of the “Divina Commedia.” The
“Inferno” was translated separately by Ellaby in 1871. You would get
these easily second-hand, we think.
A REGULAR READER, GEISHA, and Others.—We are always very sorry for
people who get stains of any kind on coloured gowns, for they are so
difficult to deal with, and the cures for stains are so disappointing
in their effects. In the first place, the utmost delicacy is required
in manipulating, or the stain will spread and be made worse; and we are
always inclined to think that the people who manage to make them are
not those who are likely to take them out well. They would probably be
careless and “slap-dash.” Copying and marking inks are removed with a
strong solution of bleaching powder (borax or soda), after which apply
a cold solution of oxalic acid; then rinse in cold water; or instead of
the bleaching powder, you might use lemon juice. But we fear “R. R.’s”
red dress would not stand it, and you do not mention of what material
it is. Geisha’s wine or jelly stain may perhaps be removed by holding
the stained part over a basin, and rubbing some common salt into it;
and then by pouring through it from the spout of a kettle some boiling
water till the stain disappears. Fruit stains, if old, have become
almost dyes, and if washed when quite fresh with pure water, would
generally come out. In the days of sulphur matches, the vapour from two
or three was enough to remove any fruit stain. Salts of lemon would, we
fear, take the colour out entirely. Failing the matches, however, you
may burn a little sulphur on a small tin cover, and then making a small
paper funnel, hold the _large_ end over the sulphur and the small one
under the spot. This treatment should take out fruit stains from any
fabric.
E. M. P.—Soap-jelly is made as follows:—Take 10 quarts of rain water,
3½ lb. of good yellow soap, 1 lb. of washing soda. Slice up the soap
and put on to boil with the water, keep on stirring, and when the soap
is dissolved add the soda. Stir carefully, as it easily boils over,
and when all is dissolved, pour into a barrel to keep. It will form a
jelly when cold, and keeps a long time. Of course, if you find these
proportions too excessive, you can make half the quantity.
E. M.—Although perhaps incorrect, it is usual in conversation to
drop the “h” in names ending in “ham,” but with certain exceptions,
such, for example, as “Etchingham” in Sussex. It is not a “cockneyism”
to do so. A certain amount of abbreviation and clipping of words is
permissible in colloquial and rapid speaking. We say “won’t,” but write
at full length “will not,” and we say “don’t,” but write “do not.” Such
clipping of words in writing is bad style. People also write “its”
for “it is,” which is likewise objectionable; and if they wish to
abbreviate, they should, in this case, write thus, “it’s.” We should
simply say “both dogs”; the other words are superfluous.
A READER.—If the brothers and sisters of your friend are much older
than yourself, there is nothing remarkable in their calling you by your
Christian name; but it would depend on the degree of intimacy whether
you should call them by theirs; and as by your writing you seem to
be quite a child, we should say no, unless you were asked to do so.
Many young men are rather tenacious on the subject, and resent it from
little girls.
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text:
Page 480: their to there—“there is nothing”.]