[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.--NO. 987.] NOVEMBER 26, 1898. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
[Illustration: TOWN LADY AND COUNTRY WOMEN.]
_All rights reserved._]
FROM LONDON TO DAMASCUS.
JERUSALEM.
Elizabeth and I mounted a camel and took our last _schimmel hauer_, or
airing, in Jaffa the beautiful. As our ungainly steed swung up the road
with us on his back, and a peculiarly contemptuous expression on his
face, we became objects of much curiosity to the natives, who stopped
to gaze and point at us. We were amused to see the women in their
excitement stand with unveiled faces unmindful of the men, who equally
excited had joined them. Their remarks on our appearance were not
exactly complimentary. "Look at the Frangi ladies, how they sit! How
funny they look! The Frangis are all mad! See, they smile!" We did not
understand Arabic, and our missionary friend was too kind to translate
freely, otherwise we might not have smiled.
What a glorious morning it was! The remembrance of it now brings a
delicious dreaminess over my senses. It must have been on such a
day that Lothair and the radiant Mr. Phœbus journeyed from Jaffa
to Jerusalem, when the lovely Euphrosyne "rode through lanes of
date-bearing palm-trees, and sniffed with her almond-shaped nostrils
the all-pervading fragrance." Sharon, the great maritime plain, once
a huge forest, from which it takes its name, lay stretched before us.
In the midst of its magnificent orange groves, its flower bedecked
meadows, its peaceful cornfields, rose the stately palms, their plumed
heads nodding in the faint breeze. Beyond, like an _Arabian Nights_
Geni, the stagnant clouds rested on the peaks of the Judæan hills,
while in sharp contrast the restless Mediterranean flashed a thousand
brilliant lights. Even the dreaded black rocks at the entrance of the
harbour were robbed of their terror by the soft sunshine. We were
loath, indeed, to leave so lovely a scene, but we comforted ourselves
with the thought of returning again some day.
An hour after midday we had said good-bye to our kind hostesses, and
seated in a ramshackle old carriage which threatened to come to pieces
at any moment, were driving--save the mark!--in all haste to the
railway station. Our road lay through the market, whose odoriferous
Asiatic smells are particularly unpleasing to English noses. We thought
our driver divined this, for he wasted no time, but with terrific
shouts and pistol-like cracks of an enormous whip, scattered to the
right and left everything and everybody in the line of route, and
brought us up to the station in dashing style but exhausted condition.
We had barely got on to the platform with our luggage when the booking
office, as if by magic, was invaded by a howling screaming pack of
men trying to force their way through a hastily closed door into the
station. The voices of the officials demanding order were drowned by
the noise, but the speedy arrival of a couple of stalwart Turkish
soldiers armed with formidable-looking whips, which they applied
impartially to the heads and shoulders of the unruly mob, soon created
a dispersion, and peaceable passengers were allowed to take their
tickets. This sudden raid on the railway station was made by a number
of unauthorised porters, who had become a grave source of annoyance
to travellers. The officials were determined to rid themselves of the
nuisance, and the order of "No admittance" was being put into effect
that day. The Arab seems incapable of learning obedience through any
medium but that of corporal punishment. Whether he can be taught reason
by less drastic treatment under a more reasonable form of government
has yet to be proved. At present, the only law he condescends to
understand is represented in tangible form by a powerful soldier armed
with a weapon which he promptly uses, indifferent to life or limb of
the offender. This measure, if not pleasing, is at any rate effectual.
The railroads from Jaffa to Jerusalem, and from Beirût to Damascus, are
justly considered to be the most valuable innovation from the West.
The primary idea of the French Company who work them was, that the
thousands of pilgrims who visit the Holy Land every year would use the
line as a shorter and less expensive mode of travelling. The original
idea has developed, for the demands of commerce require goods trains,
and merchants are not slow to avail themselves of these advantages.
Besides this, the railways have proved a powerful means of breaking
down ancient prejudice and bringing the larger culture and refinement
of the West within reach of the more ignorant but intelligent East.
We found the train service moderately good, the officials civil, and
the route pleasant and full of interest. We travelled for the first
few stages in the men's compartment which was large and airy, built
like a modern tramcar, with an extra seat extending the whole length
of the centre; windows and door were wide open, the former protected
by blinds, so it was not to be wondered at that we should prefer this
carriage to the narrow stifling compartment reserved for the women. The
advent of three ladies excited no comment, for were we not "Frangis"?
And "Frangis" did extraordinary things! Our fellow-passengers were
nearly all Orientals. Magnificently turbaned and gorgeously dressed
Moslem gentlemen sat side by side with dirty, travel-stained pilgrims,
and dirtier pedlars from distant lands. Jewish and Armenian merchants
held lively discussions about the price of stuffs, while two German
colonists discoursed on the approaching visit of Kaiser William. A
wretched, miserably clad soldier-boy occupied a corner; he was going
to join his regiment, and looked sullen and downcast. I offered him an
orange, which he accepted, for the day was hot. I felt sorry for him,
poor fellow, for well he knew that a Turkish soldier's life "is not a
happy one."
Occasionally stray brown locusts flew in through the door, "flopped"
down on the floor and remained stationary, apparently dazed with the
unusual sight and sound of the "iron horse" and its long tail.
The arrival of more passengers of the masculine gender at a roadside
station demanded that we should vacate our seats and retire to the
women's quarter at the other end of the train. We accomplished our exit
with as good a grace as possible, reflecting that Eastern customs being
the exact reverse of those practised in England, we would show our good
breeding by yielding to them--when there was no other alternative. In
this instance the change was not for the better. The space was limited,
and the air stifling, but the friendly native ladies made room for us
and offered us a share of the nuts they were eating, the shells of
which plentifully bestrewed the floor. Miss B., our missionary friend,
and the ladies exchanged lengthy compliments, inquired minutely into
each other's business and commented upon it, as if they were members
of the same family. We discovered that these untidy, unshapely-looking
females were the wives of the above mentioned resplendent Moslem
gentlemen. Like good-tempered children, they seemed absolutely
contented with their nuts and dolls--for as such they treated their
brown-faced, dark-eyed babies--desiring nothing more in this world
than to please their husbands, and to purchase the latest pattern of
_maudeel_--or veil--imported from Beirût.
We had now passed through the Wady es Sura and were speeding rapidly
through the Valley of Rephaim, once the way in which the Philistines
used to come up in the days of the Judges and David. Great rocks lifted
their heads on either side, whose barren wildness suggested the home of
the eagle and vulture. The sun was setting, and soon a shrill scream
from the engine announced that we were nearing the end of our journey.
We had just time to collect our wraps when the train drew up at the
little station, and our ears were assailed with loud cries from the
porters of "Jerusalem!" Before we had time to think, friendly hands
grasped ours, and the kindly voices of Miss K. and Miss C. were bidding
us welcome.
How delightful it was to escape the noise and worry of an Oriental
railway station! To know that all our luggage would be sought for and
looked after by a well-trained servant! To feel that we had no care but
to answer the polite inquiries of our friends! A few yards and we were
crossing the Bethlehem road on our way to Miss K.'s house, which was
perched on the top of the Mount of Evil Counsel. The impressions that
short walk left on my mind will never be effaced. Before us, clothed in
the magical light of the setting sun, rose the mystical blue wall of
the distant Moab Hills, while at their feet the Dead Sea gleamed like a
thin line of quicksilver. On our left stood Mount Zion, while beyond,
Olivet, "the mount before Jerusalem," crowned with a white church,
looked down on the sun-gilt walls of the Temple Area. The hum of the
city below, the cry of the shepherd in the Kedron Gorge as he called
his flock home, and the sharp quick bark of the dog, sounded indistinct
and far away.
I began to realise that we were in Jerusalem, and felt already the
magic of its wondrous associations. It seemed almost incredible that
we should be calmly gazing upon the very place where the world's
Redeemer had "suffered and bled and died," and our thoughts were busy
as we passed into Miss K.'s charming home to receive a second welcome.
After supper Elizabeth and I slipped out into the garden and stood
spell-bound at the lovely scene which met our eyes. The sparkling
heavens high above us, the hills round us touched with beauty, while
below, the City of our God lay shrouded in silver moonlight, like a
babe asleep in the arms of its mother. Involuntarily the words rose to
our lips: "As the mountains are round about Jerusalem, so is the Lord
round about His people."
The next morning we engaged donkeys, and with Miss B. for guide and
counsellor rode round the walls of Jerusalem. There was no magical
moonlight to soften and glorify the ruin and desolation which met
our eye at every stage. Where was the beautiful city and temple
which caused the stern Titus to weep because he could not save it?
Gone! Buried beneath the seventy feet of rubbish which one day will
be cleared away. And could that offensive pool, overshadowed by the
public shambles, infested with scavenger-dogs, be "cool Siloam's shady
rill"? Yes, and the poor little village above is all that remains of
the town of Siloam. Even the olive-trees added to the dreariness of
the landscape, for they were stunted and badly nourished. We were now
riding up the Mount of Olives, the very road trodden by the Man of
Sorrows. Loving thoughts and holy memories gathered round every step
of the way till we reached the top and "beheld the city." I cannot
do better here than quote from Dr. Macduff's _Memories of Olivet_.
"So far as the Mount itself is concerned, thousands of scenes in our
own and other lands are alike grander and more beautiful; there is
nothing conspicuous in height; nothing picturesque in form, nothing
remarkable in colour. An unconspicuous green swell, with triple top
sprinkled with trees, and crowned with a Russian church; this, with a
walled town fronting its western slope, studded with a few domes and
minarets, at once and for ever took its place in the most sacred shrine
of memory as the first view of Jerusalem from the Mount of Olives."
True, there is nothing really beautiful about Jerusalem, according to
our Western ideas. Its situation is fine, but the city itself is ugly
and surrounded by "mountains" of rubbish. The Mosque of Omar occupies
the Temple area, and Islam has taken up its abode in the place once
dedicated to the true worship of Jehovah. But in spite of its present
misfortunes, Jerusalem possesses a charm for Jew, Christian and Moslem
alike, which no other city in the world can claim. Coming down from the
Mount, we rode through Bethany, the home of Martha and Mary. It is a
small village, and like many places in Palestine, disappointing to the
traveller unless he looks away from the present to the past, and fills
in the picture with the vivid colours of sacred and profane history.
It is a mistake to suppose that the East never changes. The march of
progress has reached Jerusalem, Western influence is felt within its
walls, as the red roofs of the numerous Frangi houses and the glass
windows of European shops strongly testify. Residents told us that the
Jerusalem of to-day bears little or no resemblance to the Jerusalem of
a few years back, except in its natural features.
The Church of the Holy Sepulchre is the chief place of interest in
Jerusalem. A visit to its great porch carried us back to the days of
chivalry, when the iron shoes of the Crusaders clanged on its stone
pavement. Christian knights no longer are required to fight the Turk
for the possession of the Holy Sepulchre; instead a strong guard of
Turkish soldiers is always on duty to protect the Christians from the
violence of each other. Fierce fights, and even bloodshed, are not
uncommon among the various sects, Latins, Greeks, Maronites, Copts,
Armenians, etc., who have set up their worship in different parts of
the sacred edifice. The Holy Sepulchre itself is claimed and held by
the Greeks, and every Easter thousands of pilgrims from all parts of
the world worship at its shrine. We made our way one day with much
difficulty into the narrow cave-like apartment, lighted with huge wax
candles, and filled with adoring men and women rapturously kissing the
stone slab which covers the supposed tomb, while a Greek priest stood
by to receive the offerings of the faithful. We were glad to force our
way out, but found some difficulty in doing so, the pressure of the
crowd was so great.
This Easter there were five thousand Russians in the city;
impassioned-looking men and women, tall, blue-eyed and well favoured,
they poured in day after day. We constantly met large parties covered
with the dust of travel, each carrying his beloved tea-kettle which he
filled at a running brook or neighbouring convent and boiled for his
favourite beverage on the _semavar_, or copper charcoal brazier, which
a friendly native would lend. Hundreds of weary miles had they tramped
over the hot sand, under the burning sun, deterred by no difficulty,
but ever keeping their faces stedfastly set towards Jerusalem. These
Russian peasants have one great object in life, for which they save and
work with an enthusiasm which never fails: to go on pilgrimage to the
Holy Land, to touch the Holy Sepulchre, to visit the holy shrines, to
be baptised in the Jordan, and to return to their fatherland empty in
purse but rich in candles, vials of oil, unleavened cakes blessed by
the Patriarch, and garments dipped in the Jordan, to be worn only once
again--as shrouds.
[Illustration: JERUSALEM AND THE MOUNT OF OLIVES FROM SCOPUS.]
We once witnessed a touching sight in the Church of the Sepulchre. Four
hundred of these peasants, all middle-aged and very old men and women,
were toiling up the steps to the tomb, and with looks of rapt devotion
kissing the sacred spots. One aged woman was carried on the back of her
son, who tenderly kept her from being hurt. We joined them at their
Greek service, and longed to be able to tell them the Gospel story
in all its sweet simplicity. Their belief seemed to be a series of
superstitions with very little foundation of truth. We were told that
each pilgrim left with the Patriarch a gold napoleon (or French pound)
as a gift. We often came across these poor peasants, sometimes in the
convents where they were resting, at others in their churches, or again
in the markets, and at all times found them courteous and gentle.
Space would fail, if I chronicled all our doings, but we were never
tired of going into the town and watching the people. Outside the Jaffa
gate, huddled together in one undistinguishable mass, were always
to be found camels, donkeys, horses, dogs and lepers. The last were
terrible objects, thrusting their fingerless hands into the faces of
the passers-by, begging for _backsheesh_, and drawing attention to
their frightful infirmity. Poor things, outcasts because of their awful
and mysterious disease! Inside the Jaffa gate, the bazaars attracted
us. The Armenian and Jewish merchants eagerly drove their bargains
with their equally keen customers, who unblushingly offered a third or
fourth of the sum first demanded, and seemed to spend a vast amount of
time and talk but very little money on their purchases.
Mingling with the leisurely crowd of pedestrians, we noticed several
dignified Abyssinians clad in spotless white robes, their commanding
stature and intelligent ebony faces giving them a distinguished air
which was very remarkable. Before General Gordon freed them they were
slaves, now they are the "learned men" among the Moslems, and live
within the precincts of the Mosque of Omar.
The markets were thronged by numbers of countrywomen, whose dress
excited our admiration, for it was always picturesque and often
beautiful, differing entirely from that of the townswomen. It consisted
of one straight garment, cut with much simplicity of style and reaching
from the neck to the ankles, with wide hanging sleeves, which could
be tied back when the wearer was engaged in household work; the
material of which these dresses were made was sometimes cotton, but
oftener thick native silk, dark blue in colour, striped with red and
yellow (the front or vest being exquisitely embroidered by the owner's
clever fingers), and secured round the waist by a handsome silk scarf;
over this a smart scarlet cloth jacket, with half sleeves and of no
particular cut, came to the waist; this also was elaborately worked.
The long embroidered veil of stout cotton, capable of holding somewhat
heavy purchases, was thrown over the head leaving the face free, while
heavy silver and gold coins adorned the neck, arms and forehead.
Stockings were disdained, but the feet were sometimes thrust into red
Turkish slippers, though more often than not, these impedimenta were
dispensed with. A camel's-hair _abbaye_ or cloak was sometimes worn for
protection against both extreme heat and cold. The perfect carriage
and fine figures of these women, who are guiltless of corsets, might
well excite the envy of the fashionable Western lady, as with free
and graceful step they walk barefooted for miles, carrying on their
well-poised heads heavy water-pots, or baskets filled with market
produce and livestock in the shape of cocks and hens. To the casual
observer the dresses seem all alike, but a practised eye can discern at
once whether this woman comes from Nazareth, or that from Bethlehem, or
another from the mountains, by the set of the veil or the colour of the
gown.
The townswomen affect hideous modern French fashions from Beirût, and
cover their tightly-laced figures with cheap jewellery, never omitting
to pin the tiny watch (which seldom keeps time) on their bodices.
Coloured stockings of a fearful pattern are worn, with a charming
indifference to neatness, and gay little satin slippers with high
heels, and rather the worse for wear, are added. For the street the
pink or blue silk dress must be covered with the universal outdoor
mantle, made on one pattern, but often of rich white or coloured silk,
embroidered in silver or gold. In shape it is like a very full double
petticoat divided into two equal parts at the waist by a girdle--one
half forms a skirt and the other is thrown over the head, making the
wearer appear at the back like a huge animated cottage loaf. The
maudeel covers the face. Hats are reserved for the heads of foreigners.
S. E. B.
(_To be continued._)
ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.
BY JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of "Sisters
Three," etc.
CHAPTER VIII.
The photographic fever burnt fiercely for the next few weeks. Every
spare hour was devoted to the camera, and there was not a person in the
house from the Vicar himself to the boy who came in to clean boots and
knives who had not been pressed to repeated sittings. There were no
more blank plates, but there were some double ones which had been twice
exposed, and showed such a kaleidoscope jumble of heads and legs as was
as good as any professional puzzle; but, besides these, there were a
number of groups where the likenesses were quite recognisable, though
scarcely flattering enough to be pleasant to the originals. There was
quite a scene in the dining-room on the evening when Oswald came down
in triumph and handed round the proofs of the first presentable group,
over which he had been busy all the afternoon.
"Oh, oh, oh! I'm an old woman, and I never knew it!" cried Mrs. Asplin,
staring in dismay at the haggard-looking female who sat in the middle
of the group, with heavy, black shadows on cheeks and temple. The Vicar
cast a surreptitious glance in the glass above the sideboard, and tried
to straighten his bent shoulders, while Mellicent's cheeks grew scarlet
with agitation, and the tears were in her voice, as she cried--
"I look like a p--p--pig! It's not a bit like! A nasty, horrid, fat,
puffy pig!"
"I don't care about appearances; but mine is not in the least like,"
Esther said severely. "I am sure no one could recognise it; I look
seventy-eight at the very least."
Robert flicked the paper across the table with a contemptuous "Bah!"
and Max laughed in his easy, jolly manner, and said--
"Now I know how I shall look when my brain softens! I'm glad I've seen
it; it will be a lesson to me to take things easily, and not overstudy."
"But look at the leaves of the ivy," protested Oswald, in aggrieved
self-vindication, "each one quite clear and distinct from the others;
it's really an uncommonly good plate. The detail is perfect. Look at
that little bunch of flowers at the corner of the bed!" All in vain,
however, did he point out the excellences of his work. The victims
refused to look at the little bunch of flowers. Each one was occupied
with staring at his own portrait; the Asplin family sighing and
protesting, and Peggy placidly poking a pin through the eyes of the
various sitters, and holding the paper to the light to view the effect.
It was a little trying to the feelings of one who had taken immense
pains over his work, and had given up a bicycle ride to sit for a whole
afternoon in a chilly pantry, dabbling in cold water, and watching over
the various processes. Oswald was ruffled, and showed it more plainly
than was altogether courteous.
"I'm sorry you're not pleased," he said coldly. "I aim at truthfulness,
you see, and that is what you don't get in a professional photograph.
It's no good wasting time, simply to get oneself disliked. I'll go in
for nature, and leave the portrait business to somebody else. The girls
can try! They think they can do everything!"
Peggy looked at Esther, and Esther looked at Peggy. They did not say a
word, but a flash of understanding passed from the brown eyes to the
grey, which meant that they were on their mettle. They were not going
to defend themselves, but henceforth it was a case of die, or produce
a good photograph, and so oblige Oswald to alter his tone of scornful
incredulity.
For the next week the camera was the one engrossing thought. Every
minute that could be spared was devoted to experiments, so that
Fräulein complained that lessons were suffering in consequence. The
hearts of her pupils were not in their work, she declared; it would
be a good thing if a rule could be made that no more photographs were
to be taken until the Christmas holidays. She looked very fierce and
formidable as she spoke, but soft-hearted Mrs. Asplin put in a plea for
forgiveness.
"Ah, well, then, have patience for a few days longer," she begged.
"They are just children with a new toy; let them have as much of it as
they will at first, and they will tire of their own accord, and settle
down to work as well as ever. We can control their actions, but not
their thoughts; and I'm afraid if I forbade photography at present,
you would find them no more interested in lessons. I fancy there is
something especially engrossing on hand this week, and we might as well
let them have it out."
Even Mrs. Asplin, however, hardly realised the thoroughness with
which the girls were setting to work to achieve their end. They held
a committee meeting on Esther's bed, sitting perched together in
attitudes of inelegant comfort, with arms encircling their knees,
and chins resting on the clasped hands, wherein it was proposed and
seconded that Peggy, the artistic, should pose and take the sitters,
while Esther, the accurate, should undertake the after processes.
"And what am I to do?" cried Mellicent plaintively, and her elders
smiled upon her with patronising encouragement.
"You shall wash up all the trays and glasses, and put them neatly away."
"You shall carry the heavy things, dear, and stand to me for your
back hair. I think I could make a really good effect with your back
hair." Peggy put her head on one side and stared at the flaxen mane
in speculative fashion. "A long muslin gown--a wreath of flowers--a
bunch of lilies in your hands! If you weren't so fat, you would do
splendiforously for Ophelia. I might manage it perhaps if I took you
from the back, with your head turned over your shoulder, so as to
show only the profile. Like that! Don't move now, but let me see how
you look." She took Mellicent's head between her hands as she spoke,
wagged it to and fro, as if it belonged to a marionette, and then gave
a frog-like leap to a further corner of the bed to study the effect. "A
little more to the right. Chin higher! Look at the ceiling. Yes--es--I
can do it. I see how it can be done."
It turned out, indeed, that Peggy had a genius for designing and
posing pretty, graceful pictures. With a few yards of muslin and a
basket or such odds and ends of rubbish as horrified Esther's tidy
soul to behold, she achieved marvels in the way of fancy costumes, and
transformed the placid Mellicent into a dozen different characters:
Ophelia, crowned with flowers; Marguerite, pulling the petals of a
daisy; Hebe, bearing a basket of fruit on her head, and many other
fanciful impersonations were improvised and taken before the week
was over. She went about the work in her usual eager, engrossed,
happy-go-lucky fashion, sticking pins by the dozen into Mellicent's
flesh in the ardour of arrangement, and often making a really charming
picture, only to spoil it at the last moment by a careless movement,
which altered the position of the camera, and so omitted such important
details as the head of the sitter, or left her squeezed into one corner
of the picture, like a sparrow on the house-top.
Out of a dozen photographs, three, however, were really remarkable
successes; as pretty pictures as one could wish to see, and moreover
exceedingly good likenesses of the bonnie little subject. Esther's part
of the work was performed with her usual conscientious care; and when
the last prints were mounted, the partners gazed at them with rapture
and pride. They were exhibited at the dinner-table the same evening
amid a scene of riotous excitement. The Vicar glowed with pleasure;
Mrs. Asplin called out, "Oh, my baby! Bless her heart!" and whisked
away two tears of motherly pride. Oswald was silent and subdued; and
even Robert said, "Humph--it's not so bad," a concession which turned
the girls' heads by its wonderful magnanimity.
Their triumph was almost sweeter than they had expected; but, truth to
tell, they had had too much of photography during the last week, and
Mrs. Asplin's prophecy came true, inasmuch as it now ceased to become
an occupation of absorbing interest, and assumed its rightful place as
an amusement to be enjoyed now and then, as opportunity afforded.
By the beginning of October Peggy had quite settled down in her new
home, and had established her right to be Arthur Saville's sister
by convulsing the quiet household with her tricks and capers. She
was affectionate, obedient, and strictly truthful; her prim little
face, grandiose expressions, and merry ways, made her a favourite
with everyone in the house, from the Vicar, who loved to converse
with her in language even more high-flown than her own, to the old,
north-country cook, who confided in the housemaid that she "fair-ly
did love that little thing," and manœuvred to have apple charlotte for
dinner as often as possible, because the "little thing" had praised
her prowess in that direction, and commended the charlotte as a
"delicious confection." Mrs. Asplin was specially tender over the girl
who had been left in her charge, and in return, Peggy was all that was
sweet and affectionate; vowed that she could never do enough to repay
such kindness, and immediately fell into a fresh pickle, and half
frightened the life out of her companions by her hairbreadth escapes.
Her careless, happy-go-lucky ways seemed all the more curious because
of the almost Quaker-like neatness of her appearance. Mellicent was
often untidy, and even Esther had moments of dishevelment, but Peggy
was a dainty little person, whose hair was always smooth, whose dress
well brushed and natty. Her artistic sense was too keen to allow of any
shortcoming in this respect, but she seemed blessed with a capacity
of acting before she thought, which had many disastrous consequences.
She was by no means a robust girl, and Mrs. Asplin fussed over her
little ailments like an old mother hen with a delicate nursling. One
prescription after another was unearthed for her benefit, until the
washstand in her room looked like a small chemist's shop. An array of
doctor's tinctures, gargles and tonics stood on one side, while on the
other were a number of home-made concoctions in disused wine bottles,
such as a paregoric cough-mixture, a hair wash, and a cooling draught
to be taken the first thing in the morning, which last pretended to be
lemonade, but in reality contained a number of medicinal powders. "Take
it up tenderly, treat it with care!" was Peggy's motto with respect to
this last medicine, for she had discovered that by judicious handling,
it was possible to enjoy a really tasty beverage, and to leave the
sediment untouched at the bottom of the bottle!
Esther and Mellicent were almost equally well supplied by their anxious
mother, but their bottles behaved in a sober, well-regulated fashion,
and never took upon themselves to play tricks, while those in Peggy's
room seemed infected by the spirit of the owner, and amused themselves
with seeing how much mischief they could accomplish. A bottle of
ammonia had been provided as a cure for bites of gnats and flies;
Peggy flicked a towel more hastily than usual, and down it went, the
contents streaming over the wood, and splashing on to the wardrobe
near at hand, with the consequence that every sign of polish was
removed, and replaced by white unsightly stains. The glass stopper of
a smelling-salts bottle became fixed in its socket, and being anointed
with oil and placed before the fire to melt, popped out suddenly with
a noise as of a cannon shot, aimed accurately for the centre of the
mirror, and smashed it into a dozen pieces. The "safety ink-pot," out
of which she indited her letters to her mother, came unfastened of its
own accord and rolled up and down the clean white toilet cover. This,
at least, was the impression left by Peggy's innocent protestations,
while the gas and soap seemed equally obstinate, the one refusing to be
lowered when she left the room, and the other insisting upon melting
itself to pieces in her morning bath.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
THE RESULT OF OUR HOLIDAYS NEEDLEWORK COMPETITION.
In some respects the result of this competition has been satisfactory.
The competitors carefully observed the rules, the sewing was in many
cases most excellent, the neatness and finish conspicuous. Many of the
articles were made so well that we felt quite proud to think our girls
could turn out such good work.
The care as to details pleased us very much, for that was given in
all but a few exceptions. It was so nice to see how firmly buttons
were sewn on, button-holes made so well, and seams carefully overcast
or pinked, raw edges protected by tidy button-hole stitches. Then,
too, we were glad to note, that although intended for the very poor,
the workers had not fallen into the common error of selecting ugly
materials for their articles. Very few of the stuffs used were anything
but suitable, serviceable, and pretty rather than not, the way in which
the blouses especially were made being quite satisfactory.
There were a few carelessly made articles where bad sewing, most
inappropriate trimming--eminently one overall with extremely common
imitation fur, the cotton back of which was visible and very
untidy--disqualified for prizes or even honourable mention.
We were much disappointed to find that there were only two flannel
petticoats sent in, and no serge underskirts at all! Certainly the
younger members of our readers have not shown much interest in the
competition. The two petticoats sent were so good that the first prize
was divided between them.
There were not nearly as many competitors altogether as we hoped for,
and that was the unsatisfactory part, for really our belief in our
girls' desire to help the poor was very deeply rooted. We also hoped
that more would have been spurred on by the chance of a prize to send
in some article.
FOR GIRLS UNDER FOURTEEN.
_Flannel Petticoat._
First prize, one guinea, divided between--
Marion Wilson Rankin, Shirgarton, North Mount Vernon, Glasgow, and
Eleanor Dorothy Pimm, Linholme, 40, George Road, Edgbaston.
FOR GIRLS OVER FOURTEEN.
_Child's Overall._
First prize of one guinea--
Anna Mörner, Tonstorp, Sweden.
The second prize of half-a-guinea is divided between--
Mabel Weller, North Shields, and
Leila Mary Bowen, Ludlow.
FOR GIRLS OVER EIGHTEEN.
_Girl's Blouse._
First prize of one guinea--
Miss Clara L. Wiles, Cambridge.
Second prize of half-a-guinea--
Miss Urqhuhart, Glasgow.
So many of the blouses merited special commendation that we give a list
of--
HONOURABLE MENTION.
Rose Baiden, Daisy Clarke, E. Morris, Eleanor Groves, Winifred Hopton,
Eva Davenport, Janet Lamb, A. M. Deacon, Ida A. Browne, Nellie Cannon,
Emily White, Mabel Barr, Carrie M. Anthony, Margaret Beckett, Alice M.
Hewitt, E. M. Corke, Alethea Bate.
[Illustration]
LESSONS FROM NATURE.
BY JEAN A. OWEN, Author of "Forest, Field and Fell," etc.