[Illustration:
THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
VOL. VIII.—NO. 362.] DECEMBER 4, 1886. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
MERLE’S CRUSADE.
BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY, Author of “Aunt Diana,” “For Lilias,” etc.
[Illustration: “‘OH, MERLE!’ SHE WHISPERED, IN A VOICE OF AGONY.”]
_All rights reserved._]
CHAPTER IX.
BERENGARIA.
The bright spring days found me a close prisoner to the house. The end
of April had been unusually chilly, and one cold rainy night Reggie was
taken with an attack of croup.
It was a very severe attack, and for an hour or two my alarm was
excessive. Mrs. Morton was at a fancy ball, and Mr. Morton was
attending a late debate, and, to add to my trouble, Mrs. Garnett, who
would at once have come to my assistance, was confined to her bed with
a slight illness.
Travers had no experience in these cases, and her presence was
perfectly useless. Hannah, frightened and half awake as she was, was
far more helpful. Happily Anderson was still up, and he undertook at
once to go for the doctor, adding, of his own accord, that he would
go round to the stables on his return, and send the carriage off for
his mistress. “She is not expected home until three, and it is only
half-past one, but she would never forgive us if she were not fetched
as quickly as possible.”
I thanked Anderson, and begged Hannah to replenish the bath with hot
water. Happily, I knew what remedies to use; my former experience in my
schoolfellow’s nursery proved useful to me now. I remembered how the
doctor had approved of what I had done, and I resolved to do exactly
the same for Reggie. Frightened as I was, I am thankful to know my
fears did not impede my usefulness; I did all I could to relieve my
darling, and Hannah seconded my efforts. I am sure Travers wished with
all her heart to help us, but she had no nerve, and her lamentable
voice made me a trifle impatient.
It was a great relief when Anderson appeared with Dr. Myrtle. He
waited for a few minutes to hear from the doctor that all dangers had
been averted by the prompt remedies, and then he went in search of
Stephenson. It was some time before we heard the sound of carriage
wheels.
Reggie was still wrapped in a blanket on my lap, and had just fallen
asleep, worn out by the violence of the remedies still more than by the
attack. Dr. Myrtle whispered to me not to move, as he would speak to
Mrs. Morton downstairs, and enforce on her the need of quiet. It would
have been grievous to wake the exhausted little creature, and I was
quite content to sit holding him in my lap until morning, if Dr. Myrtle
thought it well for me to do so.
I had forgotten all about the fancy ball, and my start when I saw Mrs.
Morton standing in the doorway almost woke Reggie. I really thought for
a moment that I was dreaming. I learnt afterwards that she had taken
the character of Berengaria, wife of the lion-hearted Richard, but for
the moment I was too confused to identify her. She was dressed in
dark blue velvet, and her gown and mantle were trimmed with ermine;
she wore a glittering belt that looked as though it were studded with
brilliants, and her brown hair hung in loose braids and plaits under
a gold coronet. As she swept noiselessly towards us, I could see the
tears were running down her cheeks, and her bosom was heaving under her
ermine.
“Oh, Merle!” she whispered, in a voice of agony, as she knelt down
beside us, “to think my boy was in danger, and his mother was decked
out in this fool’s garb; it makes me sick only to remember it; oh, my
baby, my baby!” and she leant her head against my arm and sobbed, not
loudly, but with the utmost bitterness.
“Dear Mrs. Morton,” I returned, gently, “it was not your fault; no one
could have foreseen this. Reggie had a little cold, but I thought it
was nothing. Oh, what are you doing!” for she had actually kissed me,
not once, but twice.
“Let me do it, Merle,” returned my sweet mistress; “I am so grateful
to you, and so will my husband be when he knows all. Dr. Myrtle says
he never saw a nurse who understood her duties so well; everything had
been done for the child before he came.”
“Oh, Aunt Agatha, if only you and Uncle Keith had heard that!”
We had talked in whispers, but nothing seemed to disturb Reggie. A
moment after Mr. Morton came hurriedly into the nursery; he was very
pale and discomposed, and a sort of shock seemed to pass over him as he
saw his wife.
“Violet,” he whispered, as she clung to him in a passion of weeping,
“this has unnerved you, but, indeed, Dr. Myrtle says our boy will do
well. My darling, will you not try to comfort yourself?”
“I was at Lady S.’s ball when Muriel, our precious baby—oh, you
remember, Alick”—for she seemed unable to go on. Poor woman, no wonder
her tears flowed at such a memory. Mrs. Garnett told me reluctantly,
when I questioned her the next day, that baby Muriel had been taken
with a fit when Mrs. Morton and her husband were at a ball, and the
mother had only arrived in time to see the infant breathe its last.
“Yes, yes,” he said, soothing her, “but nothing could have saved her,
you know. Dr. Myrtle told you so; and you were only spared the pain
of seeing her suffer. Try to be sensible about it, my dearest; our
baby has been ill, but everything has been done for him; and now he
is relieved, poor little fellow. We have to thank you for that, Miss
Fenton. How nicely you are holding him! he looks as comfortable as
possible,” touching the boy’s cheek with his forefinger. “Now, my love,
let me relieve you of this cumbrous thing,” taking off her coronet;
“this mantle will unfasten, too, I see. Now, suppose you put on your
dressing-gown, and ask Travers to make you and Miss Fenton some tea. I
will not be so cruel as to tell you to go to bed”—as she looked at him,
pleadingly. “If you were a wise woman you would go, but I suppose I
must humour you; but you must get rid of all this frippery.”
“Oh, Alick, how good you are!” she said, gratefully, and in a few
minutes more she returned in her warm, quilted dressing gown, with her
hair simply braided; she looked even more beautiful than she had done
as Berengaria.
Mr. Morton soon left us after placing his wife in my charge. The night
passed very quickly away after that. When Reggie stirred I put him in
his cot, and begged Mrs. Morton to lie down on the bed beside him. She
did not refuse; emotion had exhausted her, but her eyes never closed.
She told me long afterwards she dared not sleep, lest the old dream
should torment her of the dead baby’s hand, that she could never warm
with all her efforts.
“I can feel it quite icy cold in mine, and sometimes there is a little
cold face on my bosom, but nothing ever warms them, and when I wake up
I am shivering too.”
I could not tell what was passing through the poor mother’s mind, but I
did not like the feverish look in her wide, distended eyes. Mr. Morton
was right, and the shock of her boy’s illness had utterly unnerved her.
I thought, perhaps she was blaming herself needlessly, and yet never
was there a human being more utterly devoid of vanity and selfishness;
she was simply sacrificing her maternal duties to her husband’s
ambition; of her own accord she would never have entered a ball-room; I
am sure of that.
I longed to soothe her, and yet I hardly knew what to say. Presently
she shivered, and I covered her up carefully with all the wraps I could
find, and then knelt down and chafed her hands.
“You cannot sleep, Mrs. Morton; I am so sorry, and yet you are tired
out.”
“I do not want to sleep,” she answered. “I dream badly sometimes, and I
would rather lie awake and listen to my boy’s breathing; he is sleeping
nicely, Merle.”
“Yes, indeed; there is no need for anxiety now, and I am watching him
carefully.”
“Oh, I can trust you,” with a faint smile; “I trusted you from the
first moment. But, my poor girl, I am afraid you are very tired, and I
have taken your bed from you.”
“I would rather see you resting there, Mrs. Morton.”
“Do you think you could read to me a little? My husband often reads to
me when I am nervous and cannot sleep. Anything will do, the simplest
child’s story; it is just the sound of the voice that soothes me. What
is that book? Oh, the Bible! I am afraid I do not read that enough, I
have so little time to myself, and then I am often too tired.”
“It is just the book for tired people,” I returned; “if you want a
story. I think the history of Ruth is one of the most touching, she has
always seemed to me one of the sweetest characters in the Bible; it is
a perfect idyll of Oriental life.”
“It is so long since I have read it,” she returned, apologetically,
“you shall read it to me if you like.” And I read the whole book
throughout to her, only pausing now and then to look at Reggie.
She listened to it without interrupting me once, but I was rejoiced
to see that the strained expression had passed out of her eyes; they
looked more natural.
“You are right, Merle,” she observed, when I had finished, “it is very
beautiful and touching; that was something like love, ‘where thou
goest, I will go.’ Now you may read me a psalm, if you are not tired. I
like your voice, it is so clear and quiet.”
I read to her until she bade me stop; and then we talked a little.
I told her an incident or two in my school-days about our nutting
expeditions in the Luttrell woods, and how one of our party had strayed
and had encountered a gipsy caravan. I was just in the middle of Rose
Mervyn’s recital, when I heard measured breathing. She had fallen
asleep.
I saw a great deal of Mrs. Morton during the next few days. She
was very unwell, and Dr. Myrtle insisted on her giving up all her
engagements for a week. He spoke very decidedly, and Mr. Morton was
obliged to yield to his opinion; but he seemed a little put out.
“It is such a pity all those people should be disappointed,” he
observed, in a grumbling voice. “Mrs. Granville had quite set her heart
on having us both on Thursday. I knew how it would be when you fretted
yourself ill last night.”
“I could not help it,” she pleaded. “Anderson gave me such a fright; of
course, he thought his coming for me was the best, but when I saw his
face I thought I should have died with fear.”
“Nonsense, Violet, you ought to learn more self-control; you know I
dislike to see you give way so entirely. Well, we must abide by Dr.
Myrtle’s orders and treat you as an invalid.”
“But, Alick,” detaining him as he was turning away, not in the best of
humours, as I could see from the night nursery, “I can write for you
all the same; the library is quite warm.”
“How absurd!” was the reply. “Do you think I should let you tire
yourself for me? I hope I am not quite so selfish, my dear child,” for
she was still holding his arm beseechingly; “you must really let me go,
for I am dreadfully busy; rest yourself and get well, that is all I ask
of you,” and he kissed her and left the room. He was not often hasty
with her, but he was overworked and irritable.
We made the most of that week between us. Reggie soon recovered, and as
long as he was kept in a certain temperature, and carefully watched,
gave us no further anxiety.
His mother took entire charge of him during that week; she came up to
the nursery as soon as she was dressed, and stayed with us until Reggie
was in bed and Travers came to summon her. She even took her meals with
us. Dr. Myrtle thought she was suffering from a chill, and the warm
nursery was just the right temperature for her. It was a lovely sight
to watch her with her children. I think even Mr. Morton was struck by
the beauty of the scene when he came up one afternoon and found her
sitting in her easy chair with Reggie on her lap and Joyce standing
beside her.
“You seem all very happy together,” he said, as he took up his position
on the rug. I had retreated with my work into the other room, but I
could hear her answer distinctly.
“Oh, Alick, it has been such a happy week—a real holiday; it was worth
being ill to see so much of the children; Reggie has such pretty ways;
I knew so little about him before. He can say ‘fada,’ quite plainly.”
“Indeed, my boy, then suppose you say your new words.”
“Do you know what I have been wishing all this week?” she continued,
when Reggie had finished his vocabulary, and had been taken into his
father’s arms.
“No, my dear,” sitting down beside her, “unless you wished for me to be
a Cabinet Minister.”
“Oh no, Alick,” and there was pain in her voice, “not unless you wish
it very much too; I had a very different desire from that.”
“Perhaps you were longing for a house in the country; well, that may
come by-and-by.”
“Wrong again, Alick. I was wishing that you were a poor man—not a very
poor man, I should not like that—and that we lived in a small house
with a pretty garden where there would be a lawn for the children to
play on, and plenty of flowers for them to pick.”
“Indeed! this is a strange wish of yours, you discontented woman.”
“No, not discontented, but very, very happy, dear, so you need not
frown over my poor little wish; everyone builds castles, only mine is
not a castle, but a cottage.”
“I should not care to live in your cottage, Violet; I am an ambitious
man. The Cabinet would be more to my taste.”
“Yes, dear,” with a sigh, “it was only make believe nonsense,” and
she did not say another word about that fancy of hers, but began
questioning him about last night’s debate. That was just her way to
forget herself and follow his bent. No wonder he could not do without
her, and was restless and ill at ease if she were unavoidably absent.
I wonder he understood in the least what she meant by wishing him to
be poor. No doubt her innocent fancy had constructed a home where no
uncongenial anxieties or ambition should sever her from her children,
where she should be all in all to them as well as to her husband.
I daresay she imagined herself no longer burthened with wearisome
receptions, but sitting working in the shade of the little porch while
her children made daisy chains on the lawn of that humble abode. The
mother would undress her children and hear them say their little
prayers. Hark! was not that a click of the gate? Father has come home.
How late you are, Alick; the children are asleep; you must kiss them
without waking them. Hush, what nonsense, she is dreaming. Alick would
be in the Cabinet; people were prophesying that already. She must take
up her burthen again and follow him up the steep hill of fame. What if
her woman’s heart fainted sometimes, women must do their work in life,
as she would do hers.
The next day the mother’s place was empty in the nursery. “Mrs. Morton
was with her husband in the library,” Travers told us. Later on we
heard she was driving. Just as I was putting Reggie, half asleep, in
his cot, she came up to wish the children good-night, but she did not
stay with us ten minutes. I remarked that she looked very ill and
exhausted.
“Oh, I am only a little tired,” she returned, hurriedly; “I have been
paying calls all the afternoon, trying to make up for my idle week, and
the talking has tired me. Never mind, it is all in the day’s work.” And
she nodded to me kindly and left the room.
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
CHRISTMAS GIFTS.
With the approach of Christmas and Christmas gifts, the cares of the
girl members of a large family may be said to arrive at a crisis. There
is no girl so friendless or so heartless that there is no one she loves
or wishes to remind of that love at this season, while there are many
surrounded by affectionate relations and true friends, whose love they
warmly return, and whom they wish to please with a gift, and yet have
but a small sum at command, and must think carefully over its division.
How many anxious calculations have to be made, what knitting of
smooth brows, what hasty arithmetic on stray scraps of paper, what
self-denial in personal matters to increase the little store, and
then, when the materials are bought, what secret work is carried on
behind father’s chair, should he happen to be awake, and in this and
that out-of-the-way nook of the house, so that the all-important,
and generally extremely apparent, secret is not divulged until the
Christmas or New Year’s morning!
All honour to this secrecy, this planning and patient work! It is the
true spirit of present-giving; and let not any of our readers despise
it as childish; rather let them remember that that which costs no
time, no thought, no self-sacrifice is but of little value in the eyes
of affection, and pleases only where the gift is valued for itself,
and not for the giver. The girl who can walk into a shop and select
the first handsome article in it for mamma, and pay for it from an
amply-supplied purse, neither awakens in herself or her mother the
same holy feelings that are excited when baby works an impossible
kettle-holder “all by herself,” and which she “bided” out of the
pennies given her for sweeties.
Admiring and sympathising as we do with girls who are generous-minded
and do not count labour and time when anxious to please, we have
brought together in this paper, with the idea of helping them, several
useful and pretty articles that can be made without any great expense.
For a small present, costing at the utmost one shilling, the
fashionable little “hold-all bags” are good. These bags are four in
number, and are connected together only at the top; they are filled
with odds and ends, such as buttons and silks, until they stand upright
and all of a row, and they find a conspicuous place among drawing-room
nick-nacks.
To make them, purchase one yard of good satin ribbon, in colour either
ruby, navy blue, or chestnut brown, with the reverse side of a pale
blue or old gold shade. The ribbon should be from two and a half to
three inches wide. Divide the yard into four equal portions, sew over
the sides, and hem the tops of two bags without decorating them,
but work on one of the other bags a handsome and legible monogram
containing the initials of the person for whom the present is intended.
Work this with fine gold-coloured purse silk, and surround the chief
outlines with Japanese gold thread. On the other bag work a small
spray of flowers, either a branch of wild rose, a bit of heather,
forget-me-not, or jessamine. Sew up these two bags, and hem them
round like the others; then make sixteen eyelet-holes, four on each
bag; make these round and not very big, and place them opposite to
each other, and at the extreme corners of the opening. Sew the bags
together by overcasting the first bag with its monogram turned outwards
on the inner side of its opening to the outer side of the opening
of one of the undecorated bags. Attach the second plain bag to the
inner side of the first plain bag, and sew the fourth bag, with its
decorated side turned outwards, to the inner side of the third bag. By
this arrangement both the decorated bags are outside, and every bag
at its base is separate. Finally, take a silk dress lace, the colour
of the satin ribbon, and run that through the eyelet-holes to make a
draw-string. Fill the bags, plant them out on the table, and draw their
openings slightly together.
These “hold-all bags,” instead of being filled with odds and ends, are
sometimes turned into flower-vases. The smallest-sized penny tumblers
are inserted into each bag and filled with cut flowers, or the smallest
size flowerpot, filled with a tiny fern, is used. In the latter case,
a piece of American cloth is fastened round the pot to prevent any
moisture soiling the satin bag.
The present method for concealing flower-pots when required for drawing
room decoration makes another simple but acceptable present. This is
a bag of plush, into which the pot is put. To make this bag of plush,
cut a round of millboard or stiff cardboard the size of the bottom
of an ordinary flower-pot. Take a piece of plush, in width twice the
circumference of the centre part of the pot, and in height the height
of the pot; sew the two ends of the plush together, and make a hem an
inch and a half wide. As a finish to the upper part, just below this
hem, on the wrong side of the bag, run on a narrow piece of black tape
to hold a draw-string, which make by running in a piece of strong
elastic, that will draw in the fulness of the plush until it fits the
upper part of the flower-pot tightly. Gather the lower ends of the
plush, arrange evenly round the piece of millboard, and sew to the
latter with the edges concealed, using strong thread for the securing
stitches. When the plush cover is used, its millboard foundation keeps
the bottom of the pot (which may be damp) from doing any damage to
the furniture, and the wide hem beyond the draw-string stands out as
a frilling a little below the edge of the pot. Half a yard of plush,
which costs two shillings, will make a pair of flower-pot covers.
From America comes to us a novelty in bedroom decoration, and one
very suitable as a present to a young lady who uses her bedroom as
a sitting-room and likes it prettily decorated. This is known as a
“pillow sham,” and is a long strip of linen or cambric ornamented with
lace and ribbons, and laid over the top part of the bed in the daytime
only. It fits the width of the bed whatever size that is, and does
not fall down the sides. If the worker is an adept at drawn-thread
work, the pillow sham can be made very inexpensively and of material
that will last through much wear, but when drawn-thread work is not
used, Torchon and other strongly made lace is required. An easy way
for making a pillow sham is to buy four new hem-stitched-bordered
handkerchiefs, and upon the corner of one of the handkerchiefs to
embroider the first letter of the owner’s Christian name, making it
four inches high and slanting it from the corner to the middle of the
handkerchief. Join these handkerchiefs together, inserting between each
an inch and a half wide strip of Torchon lace insertion, and bordering
the handkerchiefs lengthways with a line of the same, so that each
square of cambric is surrounded by insertion lace. Finish with a frill
of Torchon lace edging, which carefully whip to the insertion lace. A
careless bow of ribbon or one of Liberty’s silk scarves tied in a bow
is sewn to the corner of the pillow sham, just above the embroidered
corner.
When using drawn-work instead of lace insertion, a piece of linen the
length and width of the sham is taken, and the threads from this are
drawn out as strips down the width, leaving five squares of plain
linen between them. After working the strips over with linen thread
into a pattern, narrow coloured ribbon is run down the centres of the
drawn-work, and the linen squares embroidered with washing cotton of
the same colour as the ribbon. An edging of lace finishes the border,
and into this lace a line of narrow ribbon is threaded.
Another variety of pillow sham is made by sewing together five or eight
pocket handkerchiefs with coloured borders, and ornamenting the same
with a large knot of narrow ribbons of various shades of colour. The
handkerchief borders in this case need not be alike, but should blend
together, and their colours should be used as some of the colours in
the knot of ribbons.
Palm-leaf fans still find favour as drawing-room fans, but are no
longer left undecorated. The two newest ways of decorating them are
as follows:—Take a well shaped and strong fan and paint it with
oil-colours, with which a very little varnish has been mixed, either a
very bright yellow or a brilliant scarlet. Give two coats of colour,
and let the fan dry. Buy some ribbon half an inch in width; in colours,
black, vivid green, sky-blue, and yellow-pink. Make a wide vandyke
running down one of the lengths of ribbon by taking the running thread
in diagonal lines across the ribbon from edge to edge. Draw the ribbon
up so that it forms a number of pointed vandykes, sew the strips down
the ribs of the fan at equal distances apart, and use black ribbon more
than the other colours. Sew on a line of red gold tinsel between each
strip of ribbon, and finish the handle with a knot of coloured ribbons.
The second make of fan requires a piece of plush, some narrow coloured
silk cords, and various shades of tinsel. The cords are obtained by
buying a yard of a twisted silk cord made up of various shades, and
using the strands of this separately. Cut the piece of the plush the
size of half the fan, so that it covers the fan on one side from the
tip of leaf to the handle. Fasten this round the edge to the back of
the fan, and ornament its straight edge on the fan with a line of
tinsel on the uncovered side of the fan. Sew down each rib alternate
lines of coloured silk cord and double lines of tinsel, using as many
varieties of tinsel as possible, and arranging the cords with due
regard to effect. Take three long peacocks’ feathers, and fasten these
across the piece of plush and sew their ends together close to the
handle of the fan. Cover the handle with a piece of plush, and arrange
a bow and ends of ribbon round the handle and to conceal the peacock
feather ends. Line the back of the fan with thin silk or dark twill.
Blotting-book covers of velveteen are always acceptable presents.
The foundation for these is a sixpenny blotter, size ten inches by
eight inches, while three quarters of a yard of velveteen (price
three shillings the yard) will make two covers, with a piece of brown
holland or blue twill for the inside lining. The decoration for these
covers is embroidery, but this is only worked on the upper side of
the blotter, the underside being left plain, so as not to interfere
with its usefulness. The embroidery can be of any description of silk
embroidery, either oriental embroidery with its quaintly-formed but
impossible flowers and foliage, or sprays of naturally-tinted flowers
worked in crewel silks, and both worked directly on to the velveteen
foundation; or silk embroidery finished with a gold thread outline
and worked upon a coloured rep silk foundation, and sewn on as an
ornamental corner to the blotter; in fact there are many ways of
ornamenting the cover, and the embroidery the worker is most proficient
in should be selected. If church embroidery is within her capabilities,
we advise the initials or coat of arms of the owner being worked in a
frame on linen, cut out and couched down to the velveteen foundation
with gold thread or gold cord; but such elaborate embroidery is not
often obtainable. The way to make up the blotter is to cut the holland
lining exactly the size of the sixpenny blotter, and the velveteen a
little larger. Turn in the edges of both, and overcast them together,
enclosing the stiff cover of the blotter between them, and sewing the
blotting paper sheets in when the cover is made. Bradshaw covers are
made like blotters, but naturally take less material, and are only
embroidered in one corner.
Large photograph-holders can be easily made at home. These are used for
the display of a number of cabinet photos, and are fitted with bands,
into which the photograph is slipped and easily taken out. The size
of such a stand is usually seventeen inches long by thirteen inches
high, but they can be made of any size desired. The foundation is of
millboard, to which a millboard support is fastened by its being glued
to stout tape and the tape glued to the millboard, with sufficient
width of tape left between the two pieces of millboard to allow the
support to work. The upper side of the millboard is covered with
quilted satin. The satin is selected of some bright colour, and the
quilting lines are run as diagonal lines, not as making diamonds. Three
tight bands of satin are sewn across the quilting; these are two inches
in width, and require a lining of stiff net when made up. They are
embroidered with coloured silks, either forming a running design, such
as a spray of jessamine or celandine, or with some geometrical pattern
constantly repeated. When finished and lined, the bands are placed as
diagonal lines across the satin, not as horizontal lines.
For a photograph-holder the size given, the first band will be eleven
inches in length, and will cross from the top of the holder to the
left-hand side; the second band will be nineteen inches in length, and
will cross from the extreme top corner of the frame on the right side
to the bottom of the frame on the left; the third band will be twelve
inches in length, and will be arranged beneath the last-mentioned,
crossing from the right side to the bottom of the frame. Into these
bands the photographs are stuck; therefore, they must be sewn firmly
down at the sides where they end and commence, and stretch tightly
across the quilted frame. On the right-hand bottom corner of the
foundation, which is never covered with photographs, the owner’s
initials are sometimes worked in black silk over the quilting lines.
This makes a good finish, but is not essential.
Bachelors’ wall pincushions are useful presents for gentlemen. They are
made of plush, and are ornamented with the perforated brass ornament
used about the harness of cart-horses. These brass rounds are sold by
all harness and saddle makers, and cost from sixpence to a shilling,
and for the latter price the small brass handle by which they hang will
be removed by the shopman, as it is not required for the pincushion. A
quarter of a yard of plush, a quarter of a yard of house-flannel, and
one yard of narrow satin ribbon are required for these cushions. To
make them, tear up the house-flannel into an inch and a quarter wide
widths. Roll these strips very tightly one over the other as a wide
narrow wheel, and keep the strips firm by sticking pins through the
wheel. When a round as large as the perforated brass is made, cut the
plush into two rounds of the same size and a long strip an inch and a
half wide. Cover one plush round with the perforated brass, and sew
them both on the face of the wheel and well through to the back; turn
the edges of the round of plush over the side, and sew on the round for
the back of the cushion; conceal the edges of both pieces of plush with
the narrow band, which turn in at its edges and secure tightly round
the sides of the cushion. Make a loop of the ribbon to hang up the
pincushion by, and sew the ends to the sides of the cushion, and with
the remaining ribbon make a pretty bow, which fasten to the top of the
loop.
The newest decoration for white wooden articles is the poker or
burnt-wood work. This consists of burning down the background of any
design so that the design itself is in relief. The fumes of the burning
wood slightly colour the parts left untouched, and give an extremely
soft and ivory-like appearance to the work, which, if carried out with
the new apparatus introduced by Mr. Barnard, is quickly and easily
accomplished.
The articles decorated with burnt wood work are all kinds of white
wood photo frames, small wooden table screens, all kinds of boxes,
bookslides, book cutters, drawing-room bellows, salt boxes, milking
stools, tubs, paste rollers, etc. The best designs are those of large,
single-petalled flowers, with their leaves, such as daffodils, daisies,
and dog-roses. The design is drawn upon the wood, outlined with a
burnt-in line, and its chief lines, such as divisions of flower petals,
centres of flowers, veins of leaves indicated, and then the background
burnt until it is depressed, and is of a warm brown deepening to
black in colour. Mr. Barnard’s apparatus consists of a platinum point
connected by an indiarubber tube to a bottle of benzine, which is
connected with another indiarubber tube to a small air pump. The
latter held in the left hand is pressed, forcing air over the benzine
to the platinum point and keeping that always red hot. The right hand
holds the point and uses it like a broad pencil, keeping it steadily
pressed on the wood until that is deeply burnt in. This apparatus costs
twenty-five shillings, but if several girls join together to purchase
it, there is no further outlay. Small pokers are used if the apparatus
is not procurable. These are about eight inches long and an inch in
circumference; they are sunk in wooden handles, and kept hot in a fire;
four to six are required at once, as they soon become cold. The parts
of the wood not burnt, such as the back of a screen, the legs of a
stool, require to be stained, sized, and varnished, and the burnt wood
is also varnished (not stained) as a finish. The paste rollers are used
for holding whips, keys, etc. They are hung to the wall with coloured
ribbons, and have a row of hooks screwed into them to hang keys, etc.,
to.
B. C. SAWARD.
THE AMATEUR CHOIR TEACHER.
BY THE HON. VICTORIA GROSVENOR.
In a former article we made some suggestions as to the possibility of
improving a moderate gift for music with the view of learning to play
the organ and qualifying for the noblest of service, that of leading
God’s praise in His church.
We propose now to take up the subject of training choirs for the same
excellent service, on the understanding that the future teacher has
taken the advice already given as to her own musical improvement.
Personal fitness for this branch of instruction is most necessary; as
if once the taught discover they know anything of which the teacher
has not more perfect knowledge, that teacher’s task will be a hard
one. Therefore, there should be familiar acquaintance with every
description of musical notation. Alto and tenor clefs should be well
understood to be clearly explained when met with. On this subject we
should like to recommend the careful study of “A Short Treatise on
the Stave,” by the late Dr. John Hullah, published by Parker, where
the whole matter is admirably set forth and illustrated on its own
technical grounds. The often-heard, but somewhat slipshod explanation,
“Oh! you must read a note higher or a note lower,” which leaves the
puzzled learner very much where he was before, will thus be avoided.
Even supposing the alto and tenor clefs are never met with, the study
will repay the intending teacher by opening her mind and giving
clearness to her musical ideas.
It will be seen, by what has been said, that we consider our amateur
teacher’s first qualification should be thorough knowledge of her
subject. The second should decidedly be untiring patience, which will
bear with stupidity, carelessness, want of zeal, deficient ear, bad
pronunciation, and all the thousand and one difficulties which beset
choirs. These consist generally of volunteers who join with but little
idea of giving of their best to God, and an impatient teacher would
soon find herself in the lonely position of the last player in Haydn’s
“Good-bye” symphony.
We would next place hopefulness in the teacher’s catalogue of moral
furniture. The learners will soon find out if they are being taught
without hope of their improvement; listless work will be the result,
and the shy, anxious members will give it up in despair. The power of
encouraging effort, of detecting and commending the slightest sign of
improvement, of persuading the members mentioned above that the work is
within their grasp, if persevered in, is most necessary, and a kindly
sunny disposition ever ready to look at the brightest side is simply
invaluable.
Next we should place regularity and perseverance. Without these the
teacher can do nothing. If she works in the best spirit she will feel
that, like David, she cannot offer to God of that which doth cost her
nothing, and she will be ready to forego little pleasures in order that
the practice may not be interfered with, or the evening of the week
changed. This last is a most important point; as the lives of working
people, from whose ranks most members of choirs are recruited, do not
adapt themselves to change, they seldom receive in its integrity a
hasty message sent round to put off, and of all things, a walk for
nothing after a day’s work is to be avoided. Of course rules must be
elastic and not unbending as iron, but experience shows that the above
advice is really needful. Regularity in the teacher is sure to be
imitated by the learners, and steady work must tell in the end.
The next point should be firmness tempered with wisdom. The teacher
must be supreme, or no choir will prosper. Infallible she cannot be
while here below; but even so, one will must rule or anarchy will be
the result. Twenty (or whatever number may compose the choir) views
of doing the same thing cannot conduce to harmony, moral or musical,
and this fact must be impressed. At the same time there are local
prejudices and fancies in most places, which a clever tactful teacher
will soon discover and understand, so as to know when she had better
give way.
Enough has been said to show that we do not consider the task of
teaching a choir an easy one, nor will it always repay with success
those who have given it much trouble. The teacher must sometimes find
herself grappling with the effort of making the proverbial “sow’s ear
into a silk purse.” She has impossible materials to weld, such as,
_e.g._, excellent, but roaring basses, trebles possessing no high
notes, tenors out of tune, and leaning to amalgamation with treble,
altos none! What is she to do? Courage! Go on, do your best, teach,
exhort, scold, coax, never lose hope, and if you get no credit, try
not to mind. Man does not know, but God does, what work you do for His
sake, only be sure that you are so doing it. If the music be really
the unattainable “silk purse,” how much may be done in teaching the
inharmonious little choir to phrase well, to throw out by judicious
accent the sense of canticle and hymn, and so lead the congregation to
think of the lesson it contains! How much zeal may be kindled by the
teacher’s energy! How speedily the broad dialect peculiar to the place
will disappear before a little good-natured chaff and imitation from
one in whose lips it is seen, even by its votaries, to be ridiculous!
How the ill-used letter “H” may be helped and restored with the advice
of breathing over it.
The reader will not, perhaps, think us very encouraging; but it is
obvious that where excellent voices are to be had, forming them into
a choir only needs intelligence and a firm hand from one who is equal
in knowledge to the task undertaken. We have, therefore, tried to suit
our advice to the needs of the many, who must perforce work under
difficulty, being obliged to take, not the materials they desire to
have, but only the heterogeneous ones at hand.
A few practical suggestions and we have done! Do not attempt too much
in public. Congregations are very critical. One piece of music badly
done will be more noticed than several faultless ones. On the other
hand, keep on learning some music above the power of the choir for
improvement and interest. In cold weather, when possible, choose music
which does not try the voices too much by giving them sustained high
notes to sing.
Lastly, work according to the views of the vicar of the parish, who
is responsible for everything in it; try to carry out in the best
possible manner whatever form of musical worship he desires to have in
his parish church. You may not be of the same opinion; but you will
gain nothing but good by putting your own views in the background and
thus learning to obey as well as to teach. And may we not hope that
the loving Father will acknowledge such work, even if imperfect in its
results, as done by His child to His Glory?
“SHE COULDN’T BOIL A POTATO;”
OR,
THE IGNORANT HOUSEKEEPER, AND HOW SHE ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE.
BY DORA HOPE.
Mrs. Wilson’s recovery was slow and tedious, even more trying to
herself, perhaps, than to her nurses. She had always been particularly
brisk and active, and had scorned to consider, or, as she said,
“coddle,” herself in any way, and it was a great trial to her
energetic, self-reliant nature to be waited on hand and foot, and
watched over “like a baby.”
Ella, entirely unaccustomed as she was to illness of any sort, save
her mother’s occasional attacks of asthma, thought the nurse was
unnecessarily checking her aunt’s attempts to help herself, till Mrs.
Mobberly explained to her what different treatment is necessary for
different people, and how impossible it would be, with Mrs. Wilson’s
active temperament, to prevent her from getting excited and over-tired
if she once began to take any part in what was going on around her,
although a little exertion might have been actually beneficial to one
of a calmer and more indolent nature.
It seemed a long time before Mrs. Wilson was allowed any food more
substantial than beef-tea, of which she wearied greatly in spite of the
nurse’s many devices for varying it. She showed Ella how to alter the
nature of it altogether by making it with half the quantity of mutton,
or veal, instead of entirely beef; or with all three together. This
not only made a pleasant change, but the doctor told them it was often
found more easily digestible than when made of beef alone. Then again,
both flavour and consistency were varied by adding cream, or an egg
well beaten up, or thickening with corn flour, tapioca, wheaten flour,
or rice, while at other times it was served clear, without either
flavouring or thickening, or in the form of a jelly turned out of a
tiny mould not larger than a teacup.
Gradually, however, Mrs. Wilson began to take more solid food, and
then Ella’s great difficulties began. By the end of her first week’s
experience of providing real meals for her aunt, she wrote to her
mother that she had come to the conclusion that it was quite impossible
to arrange dishes suitable in every respect for a sick room.
“Do pity the sorrows of a poor young housekeeper,” she wrote, “with
three people to please, the doctor, the nurse, and the patient, and
they all want something different. First comes the doctor, and tells
me I must now devote my attention to making the dishes as nourishing
as possible, as it is time aunt was picking up her strength again; so
I crowd in all the strengthening things I can think of, and flatter
myself I have made a mixture strong enough to restore the weakest
invalid; and the consequence is that next day nurse tells me she has
been up all night with her patient, whose supper was too concentrated
to digest. Next time, inspired by nurse’s tale of sufferings, I make
the simplest dish imaginable, which could not disagree with a baby,
and it comes down almost untouched, with a sarcastic remark from Aunt
Mary that when she is well she does not mind how plain her food is, but
that in her present state of health she needs something to tempt the
appetite a little. And yet——but I will draw a veil over the doctor’s
reproaches when I ventured to make her a spicy little dish.”
But on the whole, in spite of her poor opinion of her own performances,
Ella managed to supply the needs of the sick-room very satisfactorily;
and she was much comforted on hearing from her mother that even
the most experienced housekeepers find it a hard task to tempt the
capricious appetite of an invalid, especially when it is necessary also
that the food should be very nourishing, and at the same time so light
as not to overtax the most feeble digestion, Mrs. Hastings sent her
daughter a list of suggestions for little dishes for the sick-room,
and added, at the close of her letter—
“At any rate, my child, if your task is difficult, as I know it must
be, it is also satisfactory, for you can watch your patient each day
able to take a little more nourishment, or a little more substantial
food than the day before. You are saved the terribly sad duty of vainly
trying to tempt an appetite which daily gets a little poorer, or of
watching a dear one getting each day a little weaker, proving only too
clearly that all your efforts are in vain.”
Happily Mrs. Wilson liked oysters, and, though she soon tired of them,
as of everything else, they formed the basis of a number of tempting
little dishes. The favourite of these, a suggestion of the doctor’s,
was called “Angels on Horseback.” Ella was very anxious to know what
the ridiculous name meant, but could get no information from the
doctor, who said he had often wondered himself, but all he knew was
that it was a favourite dish with invalids, and that was the name it
had always gone by. Each oyster was taken from the shell, and the beard
cut off, and was then rolled up in a very thin slice of bacon, tied
round with cotton, and fried. Usually three of these little rolls were
enough for a dish.
At first Ella’s generous nature led her into the mistake of sending
up too large quantities of everything for the patient, but she
soon learnt that a dish which would tempt an invalid if offered in
small quantities, would be pushed aside in disgust if large and
substantial-looking.
Next to “Angels on Horseback,” the favourite dishes were scalloped
or stewed oysters; while for a little additional nourishment between
meals, the nurse would often suggest a “Prairie Oyster.” This
exceedingly simple dish is not an oyster at all, but merely the raw
yolk of an egg, served like an oyster on a small shell, with the
smallest possible sprinkling of salt and pepper over it. The white must
be very carefully strained off, so as to preserve the yolk unbroken,
and it can then be slipped into the mouth and swallowed without any
trouble to the patient.
Two other favourite dishes which the cook was particularly clever in
making were jellied veal and faggots. For the former a small knuckle of
veal was boiled till the meat slipped easily off the bones, which were
then taken out. The meat was cut into very small pieces, and pepper,
salt, mace, and thyme added to taste, with a small shalot chopped very
fine. This was all put back into the liquor, and boiled again till it
was thick, and then turned into a mould. When cold it formed a stiff
jelly. Ella always found the flavouring a difficulty, for Mrs. Wilson’s
taste as an invalid was of course very different from what it was
when in health, and her digestion was very easily upset; but the cook
obstinately declared that she knew her mistress’s tastes better than
Ella, and in spite of all orders persisted in putting in flavouring
according to her own fancy; so that many dishes which might have been
simple and nourishing enough to be frequently asked for, had to be
altogether prohibited, as being too spicy for the invalid’s delicate
digestion.
For the faggots, a rump steak was cut into thin strips of about three
inches by two, and on these was spread a little butter, with pepper,
salt, and the smallest atom of minced shalot, or sometimes a few herbs.
The strips were then rolled up, tied with string, and fried in butter
or clarified dripping, and served up in gravy.
Then there were the different kinds of panada, made of slices of
chicken or game cut off the bones, and scraped and pounded, and gently
simmered in milk; not to mention the numberless ways of cooking eggs,
buttered, scrambled, poached, and boiled, besides omelettes, custards,
and milk puddings of all descriptions.
At last, Mrs. Wilson began to show signs of real improvement, and as
her strength returned she was allowed to spend part of every day on her
comfortable, old-fashioned sofa, while a few visitors were admitted
to see her. The nurse kept a very watchful eye over these visitors,
and after their departure sometimes expressed herself in very strong
language to Ella, saying that, “They ought to know better than to tire
out an invalid with stopping such a long time, and as for some of them,
why, they don’t never seem to care how high they send Mrs. Wilson’s
temperature up, with their worriting talk, and exciting the poor
creature so.”
The nurse would have soon taken the matter into her own hands, and
requested the visitors to retire when her patient began to look tired,
but that Mrs. Wilson preferred Ella’s attendance in the room to that of
the nurse when visitors came, and she was not sufficiently experienced
to know when her aunt was beginning to get tired. The nurse hit upon
a plan, at last, which afforded Ella a good deal of secret amusement.
Mrs. Wilson’s spectacle-case was always placed on a little table by
the side of her sofa, and the nurse arranged that, whenever she began
to feel a little tired, and wished to be relieved of her visitors, she
should take up this spectacle-case and lay it beside her on the sofa,
which should be the signal for Ella, or the nurse, to suggest to the
caller that Mrs. Wilson had talked as much as was good for her.
Every morning Ella had to bring an account of all the pets to her aunt,
and under her searching questions revealed an amount of ignorance that
quite appalled the old lady.
“You should not feed the ducks and hens together,” she said, one day,
in answer to a remark of Ella’s. “Of course, the ducks eat more than
their share, with their great flat bills. Where are your brains, child?”