Soon after Easter Mrs. Rakely paid a visit to London. She was a person
with a chronic grievance; and though she had done her utmost to bring
about Joan’s marriage, she considered it necessary to feel ill-used,
because her favourite companion was not at hand to amuse her.
She called on Embrance, and carried her off—almost without asking her
consent—to spend a long afternoon.
“I wish I had had you yesterday, my dear. Horace Meade came to dinner.
Joan begged me to ask him; and as I met him in Bond Street, I did;
otherwise, I think it would have escaped my memory. I took a fancy to
him at one time; but he was always eccentric, and he looks more so than
ever since he has been in Italy.”
“I did not know that he had been in Italy.”
“Yes. He has only just returned. It was a foolish thing to do, flinging
away his chance of getting his picture into the Royal Academy.
Joan told me about it. But that’s my objection to young men taking
to art—they are so eccentric. Now he is going abroad again—I have
forgotten where, my memory is not what it used to be; but he did tell
me.”
As long as Mrs. Rakely had someone to listen to her she was quite
satisfied. She took Embrance to a picture gallery; trotted her through
four or five milliners’ shops in search of an ideal bonnet; asked her
advice about umbrellas, and then bought the one she liked best herself;
and finally left her, thoroughly exhausted, at the corner of her own
street.
A foreign letter was awaiting Embrance’s arrival. Mrs. Clemon was not a
regular correspondent, but when she did write she sent a good budget of
news, pouring out a complete history of her experiences for the benefit
of the niece who had been to her as a daughter. She was happy; her son
was doing well. Now and then there came a hint that Embrance would be
heartily welcome, if she could make up her mind to come out. In the
next page, much blotted and smudged, came the tidings that William
was engaged to be married to a neighbour’s daughter, a pretty girl
and well brought up; but, ah! it might have been so different! Still,
she would not complain, only now would Embrance come? There was room,
and to spare. William and his wife would rejoice to see her. Let her
think over the proposal, and not decide in haste. Then the letter went
on to tell of preparations for the wedding. There were little bits of
information concerning the bride’s family, and there was a great deal
about an Irish help who had run away and left them at a moment’s notice
without rhyme or reason. At the very end of the page came another
suggestion, in William’s hand, “Come for a year, and try how you like
us”; after which his mother had taken up her pen again to say, “Bless
you in all your doings, my child, whatever course you decide upon.”
Embrance kissed the letter and put it away carefully. There was no time
to read it again to-night, or to think if she should follow her aunt’s
wishes. She was wofully behindhand with her work, and to-morrow morning
she had an extra lesson to give to a backward pupil who lived at South
Kensington. The long day with Mrs. Rakely had tried her newly-gained
strength to its utmost limits, and her ankle was very painful. She
limped towards the chiffonier in search of a book; in the glass over
the mantelpiece she saw the door open with the familiar jerk that
always preluded Annie’s knock.
“Come in,” said Embrance; but the words died away on her lips as she
recognised the figure in the doorway, whose shoulders towered above the
little handmaiden.
“Mr. Horace Meade.”
There was no sign of eccentricity in Horace’s appearance; even Mrs.
Rakely might have been satisfied. He wore a dark, grey coat, and in his
hand he carried a hat which was scrupulously glossy and well brushed.
When he spoke his manner and voice were very quiet, much of the fun
seemed to have died out of him during his sojourn in Italy, and his
first remark was commonplace to the last degree.
“I heard from Mrs. Rakely that you had met with an accident. I am
exceedingly sorry; I called to inquire how you were before I leave
town.”
“You are going away for some time, I suppose?” asked Embrance, when
she had invited her visitor to sit down. He took a chair by the window,
and seemed interested in the growth of some ferns that Joan had sent
from her garden.
“I hardly know. I have several portraits on hand that must be finished
as soon as possible. But my studio is not habitable yet; it is being
painted, and the workpeople are lamentably slow. When these commissions
are disposed of, I may go away for several months, perhaps I shall get
as far as Constantinople.”
“I have often thought that Constantinople must be a most interesting
city to visit.”
“Oh, very; it is so beautifully situated; there is no other place quite
like it.”
“No, I have never seen any place like it.” (“I suppose,” Embrance was
thinking while she uttered her brilliant remark, “that he was offended
at my writing to him.”)
“I was a fool to come at all,” said Horace to himself, “but I wanted to
see her once more; she looks horribly ill.”
“I am sorry to see that you are still lame,” he said, aloud, as
Embrance subsided into silence after her last attempt at light
conversation.
“I am much better,” she said, quickly; “I’m only a little tired this
afternoon. Are you looking at the ferns? Joan sent them; she is very
well and happy. I often hear from her.”
“I am glad of that; I only heard of her marriage by chance, about a
fortnight after it took place. Well, I hope it is a happy ending to her
many troubles.”
“Yes,” said Embrance, quietly, “I hope so.”
“You were in her confidence all along, of course, Miss Clemon?”
“No, I did not know of her engagement.”
“That was really heartless of Joan! I hope you were angry with her?”
“No,” said Embrance again, “but I miss her very much.”
“I hope that you mean to go and stay with her shortly; the change would
do you good.”
“I don’t know. I must say good-bye to her, of course, if I go to New
Zealand.”
It had not seemed so clear to her a quarter of an hour ago that she
would accept her aunt’s invitation as it did now.
“You would go to your relations—to Mrs. Clemon?”
“She wishes it very much,” explained Embrance, remembering how he had
once before made a similar question; “if I don’t like it, I am to come
back again.”
“I think,” said Horace, with a desperate effort to speak naturally,
“that the voyage would be an admirable thing for your health. I hope
that you will be very happy there. If I can be of any assistance to you
in arranging about your passage—in fact, in any way, pray make use of
my services.”
Painfully conscious that he had delivered this speech very much after
the manner of a stage father in a heavy melodrama, he rose to take his
leave. Embrance sank back into her chair as he left the room. Five
minutes by the clock, his visit had lasted, he had been most kind and
considerate, but—she wished that she had never written that letter.
Horace met a friend at his club, with whom he dined. It was late when
he got back to his own rooms. He opened the door of the studio to
see what progress the workmen had made. The room presented a forlorn
appearance. The carpets were up, and the furniture was covered with
sheets; all about the floor were paint-pots, shavings, and workmen’s
tools. A writing-table stood apart in the window; Horace bethought
himself of a sketch-book which he had left somewhere about, perhaps in
one of the drawers. The top drawer was unlocked, and as he pulled it
open he saw a heap of letters and advertisements which had accumulated
during his absence. He had opened a great many of them, leaving the
rest to a more favourable opportunity. It occurred to him now that the
opportunity had arrived. He lighted a cigarette, dragged a chair from
a corner of the room, and began tearing up circulars and invitations
to parties that had taken place weeks ago; they would have to be
answered some day, not now. At last he came upon some bills, and
underneath these a grey envelope. He opened it leisurely. The letter
was dated, “February 2nd”—the day before he had gone abroad. “Dear Mr.
Meade,—Please come and see me. I have made a mistake.—Yours truly,
EMBRANCE CLEMON.”
He read it over and over again, turned it backwards and forwards, then
he put it down with a sigh. It must have been written shortly after
that conversation in the park that he had been trying to forget. It
was an apology—a direct appeal to him—and he had taken no notice of
it! Nay, worse than that! With a groan, he pushed away the candle and
rested his head on his hands, exclaiming, “And _I_ have been advising
her to go to New Zealand!”
Never had the backward pupil seemed so backward as she did that day.
She had made twelve mistakes in a simple dictation; she had written
an essay on Catherine of Arragon, whom she persistently confused with
Catherine of Medici; and she had worked her sums on a method of her
own, involving one direct certainty—that the answers could not by any
possibility be correct. Embrance succeeded in concealing her vexation,
and the two hours’ lesson ended more happily than might have been
expected. The girl (who was good as gold, though not gifted with a
taste for study) helped her dear Miss Clemon into her ulster, and let
her out of the hall-door, with many injunctions that she was to take a
cab if she got tired, or if it rained too fast.
Embrance pined for a little air, and was determined to walk, in spite
of the wet. It was a long way; her umbrella was dripping and her
ankle was aching sadly before she reached the corner of the street.
In the distance a policeman was slowly pacing along, the pavement was
slippery, and the road was shining with puddles. There was not a break
in the leaden-coloured sky or a breath of wind to interfere with the
steady downpour. Embrance’s umbrella had seen hard work; the rain
pattered through the little holes in the silk; she had the greatest
difficulty in keeping the book she carried out of the wet.
Well, it was not far now, though the street was long. Number 11, number
12, number 13; that was the house with the door-knocker that Joan had
made a sketch of (she said it was like her grandfather). Number 14.
There was a quick step behind her, and another umbrella was walking
side by side with her.
[Illustration: “MR. HORACE MEADE.”]
“Good morning. I have been waiting to speak to you. I am so glad that
you are come at last.”
The owner of the umbrella looked excited; his artistic eccentricity was
to the fore; he held a scrap of grey paper in his left hand; his gaze
was fixed on Embrance.
She said no word of greeting, but dropped the dictionary that she had
been guarding with such care.
He picked it up for her. “Let me carry it.”
“Thank you. I do not like to trouble you”—and the rain trickled down on
to her gloves and cuffs as she held out her hand towards him.
“Not at all,” said Horace, politely, as he pocketed the book,
regardless of the mud. “The fact is, if you don’t mind listening, I’ve
come to make an apology.”
Embrance glanced at the piece of paper that he was beginning to
unfold, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.
“You see,” explained Horace, speaking very fast, “I don’t want to be
a worry to you, only I should like you to know that this got put away
with a heap of papers, and I only opened it last night. I hadn’t a
notion yesterday that you had written to me. I wish I had. You are
getting so wet. Will you let me hold my umbrella over you? It will be
better so. Thank you,” as she murmured something that was not a refusal.
She had nothing now to carry; she clasped her hands, and looked
straight in front of her down the rainy street.
“Why didn’t you tell me that you had written to me?”
“I thought you had had the letter, and would rather not answer it.”
“Why did you write at all?”
“To explain my mistake,” said Embrance, confusedly.
“Then you did make a mistake, and I was the sufferer?”
With a flash, her dark eyes turned to his. The look of joy on his face
brought peace and comfort to her.
“I am sorry,” she began.
“Are you?” he asked, tenderly. “Don’t be sorry on my account. If I had
come to see you at once, would you have sent me away a second time,
Embrance?”
They had passed number 25, and were walking towards the City, unmindful
of the rain. In their hearts was the brightest sunshine.
“Would you, Embrance?”
She unclasped her hands; for a second she rested her fingers on his
arm, as she answered, “No!”
[THE END.]
OUR TRACTARIAN MOVEMENT.
BY ANNE BEALE.
As the Religious Tract Society never wearies of publishing wholesome
literature, so tract distributors should never flag in spreading it
abroad. Since our first sketch of work accomplished, we have had some
experience, and are thankful to be able to say that religious books
are now gladly accepted, where some years ago they would have been
scornfully rejected. They are particularly welcomed on Sunday, when
policemen, cabmen, firemen, and other public servants who cannot attend
a place of worship, say they like to have something to read when they
are off duty. Of course, the magazine or book is more acceptable than
the mere tract, and when regularly supplied is often eagerly accepted
and expected.
“I have had this before,” said a policeman, looking at a picture of
_The Cottager and Artisan_. “I haven’t seen you for some weeks, and
I thought you’d forgotten me.” The oversight was soon remedied. “You
would be surprised if you knew how many of the Force will read this,”
said another. “Perhaps a dozen of us. We pass it on, and it does us all
good.”
“That’s just what I do,” said a cabman, who chanced to be near.
“Perhaps, ma’am, you will read this which was given to me.” He took
a well-thumbed book from his pocket, which we subsequently read and
“passed on” also.
The railway officials welcome us gladly as they stand or sit at their
enforced Sunday work.
“It is better than the papers,” said a young porter, whom we heard with
some companions singing hymns below ground.
Even the newsboys, with the Sunday papers under their arms, like to
have something profitable for Sunday reading. One ragged, pale little
fellow was in the habit of telling us one Sunday what were the contents
of the small book he received the previous Sabbath; and another youth
of larger growth emphatically demanded “A big’un. I likes a big book,
please.” These and sundry others are the hawkers of newspapers. Oh! why
cannot people wait till Monday morning for such secular reading, and
why are our ears to be deafened with cries of the ‘paipers’? Cannot we
give one day in seven to the service of Him who said, “Remember the
Sabbath-day to keep it holy,” and who added, “I am not come to destroy
the law, but to fulfil”?
I wish all those who will not remember it had heard an undeserved
rebuke administered to us on a weekday by a railway official;
undeserved, because we do not travel on Sunday, either to hear popular
preachers or otherwise amuse ourselves.
“I shall be happy to take your book to-day, ma’am; but I never accept
one on Sundays,” he said. “Why?” we inquired. “Because you know we have
to work all day Sunday for the public, and I don’t think people who
travel on Sundays, and break the law themselves, have any right to give
us books to teach us how to keep it.” Let Sabbath-breakers take this to
heart.
It is very rarely that we meet with a rebuff. On one occasion, however,
when distributing illustrated leaflets to a party of scavengers, we
were arrested by the words, “No, thankee. I don’t want one.”
“Why?”
“Because I hate cant, and it’s all cant.”
“I am sorry. Do I look like a cant?”
“No; I can’t say as you do.”
“He’s a bad’un, and al’ays rude to the ladies,” whispered a neighbour
confidentially.
We often encounter gangs of navvies, who have their own ideas on most
subjects, and like to air them.
“I don’t want tracts; I have heaps of books at home, and read all
Sunday and every evening,” said one. “I’ll warrant me I have some you
haven’t. Have you got ‘Heaven is my Home’? and ‘Paradise Lost’?” He
enumerated many others, after which he poured forth his feelings on
political matters, inveighing against the Poor Law, the School Board,
the distraint system, and saying what he would do if he were in power.
When we ventured to suggest that he would not mend matters if he went
the lengths he proposed, he began an argument that we were obliged to
cut short both for his employer’s sake and our own; but he was a fair
example of “The British Workman.” The navvy is a shrewd discriminator.
“Is that in favour of Bradlaugh?” asked one; “because, if it is, I must
decline it.
“Oh, if it isn’t I’ll read it with pleasure.”
Another stood considering his small offering, and volunteered, “This
don’t tell us to throw away one’s pipe and backy; somebody gave me a
tract as did. They’ve kept many a man from doing a rash act. If I was
without my backy I should sometimes be inclined to destroy myself. It
calms one down, somehow, and makes one more contented. ’Tis all very
well to preach against drinking, but as to backy, that’s different.”
A fine, stalwart-looking young man lamented that he had had scarcely
any schooling, and feared that the reading we offered him might be too
abstruse for him. He had taught himself to write a little by copying
letters, and could spell out easy sentences; but his education had
ceased when he was six years old. His home was in Devonshire, but his
navvy work had taken him far afield. We recommended him to go to a
night-school, and he was well inclined to do so. We fell in with him
several times afterwards, and found that he had followed our advice,
and went three times a week. He said the teacher would not let him rest
after he had spoken to him, but made him go at once.
All young men are not so amenable, and sometimes make a jest of what is
meant to help them.
“Have you anything to suit me? I am an atheist,” asked one, glancing at
our wares.
“They are sure to suit you; take which you like,” we replied.
He chose one haphazard, and the title was “Cross-bearing.”
“What’s an atheist?” asked a burly looking bystander of his mate.
“Oh, one of them Bradlaughites,” was the answer, as they both came
forward for a book.
On another occasion a flippant young mason inquired if “it was about
love.”
“Yes, the best kind of love; about Jesus,” we replied.
“Oh! I don’t know Him. I only love those I know,” he said, but he took
the book.
It is melancholy to see how many youths seem to know little of Him who
died to save them. One Easter Sunday we ventured to attack a knot of
them who were holiday-making. The pictures always attract, so they
were soon engaged in contemplating them.
“Is it about Jesus?” asked one.
“Yes.”
“Ah! He was a good man,” he continued.
“He was your Saviour, and mine,” we added.
“Do you believe it?” he inquired, with real earnestness.
“Yes; the little book will tell you so.”
What was the result? Who shall say?
We are sometimes astonished at the eagerness of the men and boys,
working in scores or even fifties, to secure the tract, leaflet, or
magazine. The supply rarely answers the demand, for even from the tops
of high houses in process of being built, we hear a shout of “Don’t
forget us, please,” while the workmen on _terra firma_ volunteer to
distribute as many as we can spare. All seize with avidity on _The
Child’s Companion_, for all, or most, have families at home, and
“something for the little ones” is a boon.
“I read them out while my wife sees to the house,” said one. “I can’t
afford to buy them, but I carry home all I can get.”
“I read it to father, and father reads it to mother, and mother reads
it to me,” was the satisfactory acknowledgment of a little girl who
came in for one.
“Here are two young gentlemen who would like to study them, I am sure,”
said a master mason, indicating his juvenile aids, he having accepted
one himself.
The other day we were arrested by an old man, a scavenger, who said
we couldn’t give him too many good books, for he loved them. “I was
fifty-two years without entering a place of worship,” he added. “I was
guard to a travelling wagon, and worked Sundays and weekdays. Four
years ago I had a bad illness, and a lady converted me. I promised God,
if He was pleased to restore me, that I would serve Him for the rest
of my days. I thought I was dying, but I got better, thanks be to Him;
and I have kept my word ever since. I have been to church three times a
Sunday, and to mission-hall twice a week. I have been on my knees night
and morning for twenty minutes, and I thank and praise the Lord.”
It is this Sunday working which is the cause of so much irreligion.
Turn where you will, those employed have the same tale to tell. They
all say that if only they could be ensured every other Sunday they
would be satisfied, but to have no Day of Rest was bad both for body
and soul. Indeed, one of them argued that the soul perished with the
body, and that he could prove it from Scripture. Here and there we find
men brave enough to refuse all Sunday work, and they say they have not
lost by it.
“I never turn a wheel on Sunday,” said a cabman. “Many of us stand out
against it, and all who do say they are better off than those who work.”
He was certainly a good specimen. His cab was his own; he was well
dressed, and his horse as brisk as himself. It was evident that
“the one day in seven” agreed with them. It is well known that the
life both of man and beast is shortened by the breach of the fourth
commandment, and it is clear that the Great Legislator blesses its
observance.
We have occasionally fallen in with the regular _colporteurs_, and been
convinced of the good done by the sale of their religious literature.
Once at a coffee-stall we were greeted by an emphatic “God bless
you and your work,” and the gratuitous contribution did not seem to
interfere with the monetary. The holders of these stalls are always
glad of something to read, and are willing to distribute wholesome
reading to their customers. Strange incidents sometimes occur when you
take a poor, wearied, out-of-work yet respectable fellow-creature,
for a cup of coffee and a plate of cake or bread and butter, to one
of these wayside restaurants. One evening at dusk we encountered a
glazier, who, having received the tract, said he had not tasted food
since daybreak. He was a foreigner, a Pole, who had been in England
ever since the Polish insurrection of some thirty years ago. His father
was a gentleman. He had a wife and children, and had been looking for
work all the day. A trifle for them and refreshment for him opened his
heart, and he gave his address. Subsequently a district visitor found
it, and discovered that he was a Polish Jew. He was not in, but his
wife said that it was contrary to their faith to receive relief from
one not of their own religion; but in his hunger food was heaven-sent
through “a sister,” and he could not refuse it. Neither did she reject
a shilling. The family were subsequently placed under the protection
of a charitable Jewish lady, who said, with truth, “That her people
took such care of their own poor, that they had no need to apply to the
Christian.” Still, it is well that Jew and Gentile should meet, as they
now do, happily, in works of general benevolence. The reign of Christ
will begin when universal love takes the place of sectarian hate, and
religious persecution ceases.
Time and space would fail us to tell how the men of the Fire Brigade
love reading, and how they showed us with pride a number of _The
British Workman_, sent to them monthly by Miss Weston—for are not
the brave fellows mostly sailors? Or how other public servants speak
gratefully of monthly gifts of religious books sent by friends
interested in them, and circulated amongst them. Let no one imagine
that either tract, magazine, or book is thrown away, though a kindly
discretion, and, perhaps, a cheerful manner are needed for their
distribution. We have made an inroad into one of the great laundries,
and find that both men and women employed rejoice at “something to
read” during their brief leisure. Text cards are always welcomed.
“I shall have this framed. It just suits me,” said one.
“I wonder that ladies do not visit our large laundries,” remarked the
superintendent.
This visitation has been begun by members of the Y.W.C.A. May it
prosper! These workers in the steam laundries have a hard life of it,
and stand for long, long hours over their laborious toil. Here are
elderly women and young girls, ready to welcome anyone who will say a
kind word to them, and, perhaps, benefit them thereby.
“I like a whole story that I can read all through,” said one of the
latter, and the cheap reprints of good stories published by the
Religious Tract Society are invaluable. Moreover, they can be lent from
one to another.
It is strange that one still meets with people comparatively young who
cannot read. Much of their religious knowledge is often due to hymns. A
man said he liked the old hymns best, and had known “Glory to Thee” by
heart ever since he was a boy. Others are proud of the fact that their
children will read to them whatever we are pleased to give them, and
sometimes even beg for a book apiece for all the olive branches—“For
fear one should be jealous of the other,” said a cabman. To which we
replied that “jealousy was expensive.”
The other day we fell in with a gipsy encampment: vans and tents
settled on a bit of waste land, having been turned out of a
neighbouring holding for building purposes. In one of the tents we
found a young man and woman, a lovely three-year-old child, and
an infant not yet a fortnight old. The father of the family, aged
twenty-two, had been to night-school once upon a time, but his learning
was nil; the mother, seated on the ground, baby in arms, could not
read; but a ragged urchin who had crept in was going to school the
following Monday. The young couple were strangely handsome, and
rejoiced in the gipsy name of Loveridge. The woman said she had prayed
to the Lord when she was ill. “What else was there to do? I have never
been a great sinner; you know what I mean, ma’am. A gentleman comes
here to preach on Sunday.”
She did not seem fully to apprehend her need of a Saviour, but
acknowledged that we were all sinners. It was a strange, sad scene.
She, seated on her bed of rags at one end of the small, dark, smoky,
stifling tent; her husband also on the ground making skewers at the
other, and apologising for untidiness; the infant apparently dying,
the little girl affectionately stroking our garments. The mother said
she had had no food that day, for the times were bad; and the trifle
we offered was instantly despatched to a shop at some distance for “a
little oatmeal and arrowroot,” the husband being the joyful messenger.
Still, she said she liked tent-life better than she should life within
stone walls. “I have been used to it, and I suppose it is what we are
brought up in that we like best,” she added, simply, and in perfect
English.
Thanks to Mr. George Smith, tent and barge are becoming alive to the
teaching of the Gospel; and soon, we hope, the Testament or tract
will be legible by all their long-neglected inmates. At present,
comparatively few, of the seniors especially, can read them.
Nevertheless, we will scatter the seed far and wide, convinced that it
will bring forth fruit if sown to enlarge and to sustain the kingdom of
our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
EDUCATIONAL.
MAUD BELIN.—You do not say whether you have been trained as a nurse.
Write to the secretary, Nightingale Fund, H. B. Carter, Esq., 5,
Hyde Park-square, W., or to the secretary of St. Mary’s Hospital,
Paddington, giving full information.
B. K. I. O.—We never heard of lady clerks being employed at the Law
Courts, but in America we hear that women are in full practice as
lawyers.
MOTHERLESS JEAN’S writing shows her to be very young, and so do
her questions. 2. Where does she live? How could we give her the
information she requires about the Kindergarten, not knowing that, when
she says, “she cannot leave home”?
PSYCHE.—If you be going in for “hard reading,” as you say, you had
better look out for a Lemprière’s Classical Dictionary to teach you
something about mythology. Your questions are too many and long.
QUI POSSE VIDETUR POTEST.—Copying is only to be obtained by the
personal inquiry and exertions of those who require it. Your writing
does not appear good enough.
COMPLEX.—We recommend you to apply direct to the secretary or matron
of the Holloway College for the prospectus, and ask for any further
information you require as to Government clerkships. Look through our
answers under the heading “Educational,” and you will soon find the
particulars you require.
ANNIE B.—We have read your thoughtful and well-expressed letter with
much interest, and we think as long as you are of use at home you are
where God needs you, for in our service we do His will the best. But,
as your education has been a little neglected, a certificate will be
valuable to you, and you will be happier in the feeling that you are
doing something to improve yourself for future work. We should advise
you to go in for the examination of the College of Preceptors, fee
10s.; secretary, 42, Bloomsbury-square, W.C.
COPY CAT.—We mention with pleasure the correspondence class conducted
by Miss Pearce, Ledwell House, Steeple Aston, Oxon, for English
history and literature. We regret that it is little known, or would
have been named in the manual of girls’ clubs of an educational
character and otherwise, just published (Messrs. Griffith and Farran,
St. Paul’s-churchyard, E.C.), compiled by one of our writers for the
benefit of a large number of our girls who are inquiring about them.
MISCELLANEOUS.
NAN and NANCY.—The letters are nicely made, and a little box full of
them, with plenty of duplicates, might sell at a bazaar for the purpose
of guessing the words to be produced by a given number of letters.
But you would not get very much for a box. We thank you for your kind
letter. Your wise friends deserve to be complimented on their powers of
discrimination, really above their tender years. We hope the parents of
these phenomenal geniuses are prudent and do not press them in their
studies.
ONE IN TROUBLE.—Your good or plain looks were given you by your Maker,
and you are only responsible for the expression you wear. Nothing
could be more unjust and unkind than to let a plain girl see that she
is neglected or set aside on that account. But some plain girls are
touchy, and see slights where none are intended, and show discontent
and resentment, which are met with ill-feeling in return. Beware of
falling into this error, and bear the cross laid upon you as you
should, who owe so great a debt of gratitude to Him who made you what
you are. You are not fit for heaven in your present state of mind!
SAPERE AUDE tells us that her friends have written to us on about every
subject “under the globe.” Pray explain what the subjects are that are
connected with that locality? Have they to do with Atlas, the giant, or
the big turtle on which our globe is said, in fable, to be supported?
2. If the German parents you name were naturalised in France, their
children are French. The latter, we suppose, have been registered as
such at their birth, in any case.
CLARICE E. A. inquires, “What is the meaning of Mount Moriah and Mount
Ararat?” The former was a hill to the north-east of Jerusalem, and
formed a part of the cultivated ground of Araunah, the Jebusite, from
whom David bought it, and on this spot Solomon built the temple (2
Chron. iii. 1). The latter is situated in Armenia, consisting of two
peaks about seven miles apart, the point of the highest being 17,000
feet above the level of the sea. It has been generally believed that
upon one of these mountains the ark rested after the Flood, but this
fact is scarcely sufficiently proved. 2. Berlin black, or artist’s
black, is preferable to brunswick black for application to grates.
ONE OF EIGHT.—Your verses show good religious feeling, and, as you are
so young, you may write better by-and-by.
UNICA.—“God save the mark” is a phrase found in Shakespeare’s _Henry
IV._ i. 3. Hotspur, speaking of the messenger, calls him a “popinjay”
who talked of guns, drums, and wounds in an unmanly way, and it would
be sad if “his mark,” who has been in battle, were displaced by this
court butterfly. In archery, when a good arrow was sent, it was usual
to cry out “God save the mark,” meaning, “prevent anyone following to
displace my arrow” in the “gold.”
TOOTSIE.—There are homes for invalids and convalescents at 7s., and
from 8s. to 12s. 6d. a week. You might get into the Female Convalescent
Home, Crescent House, Marine Parade, Brighton. For this home no letter
or nomination is required, but the charge is 8s. a week, paid in
advance, and you may remain there for a month. Address Mrs. Marshman,
4, Ladbroke-square, W. If you take 5s. previously to going there, to
Mrs. Marshman, she will give you a voucher, which must be shown to the
ticket clerk at the station, and he will give you a third-class free
ticket to and from Brighton. Mrs. Marshman is at home every day till
noon to see candidates for admission.
M. SCHWARTZENBERG.—Write to our publisher, Mr. Tarn, for the index,
frontispiece, and title-page, enclosing thirteenpence for the same and
for postage.
OLD-FASHIONED.—If your mother approve of your engagement at so early an
age, and to a lad yet in his teens and younger than yourself, we have
nothing to say against it. Still, you should remember that it would not
be to his discredit if he were to change his mind when he became a man
and knew his own mind and character. But in this special case it may
be otherwise. You have our best wishes, and we thank you for your kind
letter.
PRINCESS LOUISE.—No, the lines are not poetry, but rhymed prose, and
not very good as that.
AGATE.—The case you name is indeed a very sad one; but within our own
experience we have known two or three exactly such. They were persons
of undoubted piety. Yet God’s ways are often inscrutable and “past
finding out,” and why He permits His people to be visited with such
a terrible affliction, terminating thus their usefulness to others,
we cannot explain. Possibly it may be for the trial of the faith and
submission of others. “When one member suffers, all the other members
suffer with it.” Those that have been deprived of reason are no longer
responsible for their words or acts; those that retain their reason are
fully responsible for rebellion against the calamity laid upon them,
and for any consequent shipwreck of faith. Your afflicted relative is
now, without doubt, at peace, and enjoying the presence of the Saviour
whom she loved and served so long as He preserved her senses.
HOPE.—Pronounce Mendelssohn as “Mendle-soan”; Gluck, as spelt; “Bach,”
guttural “ch”; Gounod, as “Goo-no”; Schubert, as “Shoo-bert”; Franz
Liszt as “Frantz List”; and Maupréty as “Mo-pray-te.”
GRACIE.—The schoolroom-maid cleans the schoolroom and the grate,
attends to the fire, lays the table, brings up the meals, and waits and
attends to the bell, making herself generally useful to the governess.
SARA.—You might obtain information about a home of rest near the
sea during vacation, at about 10s. weekly, if you applied to the
Governesses’ Benevolent Institution; secretary, Charles W. Klugh,
Esq., 32, Sackville-street, London, W. Inquire about a home of rest at
Ramsgate. We have heard of one there which might suit you. There is
also a home of rest at Sunninghill, Staines, about which inquire also.
[Illustration: WE TOOK SWEET COUNSEL TOGETHER & WALKED INTO THE HOUSE
OF GOD IN COMPANY. Ps. LV. 14.]
INQUISITIVE GIRL.—Your quotation is not correct. It is, “One touch
of nature makes the whole world kin,” which places the spectator
in sympathy with the actor, since we all have the same feelings,
weaknesses, and emotions, one as the other, in greater or less degrees.
If you saw a mother parting in great grief with a child, you, as a
mother, would experience a kindred feeling. 1. The great composer, Karl
Maria Baron von Weber, did not die in prison; he was found dead in his
bed when on a visit to Sir George Smart, who had entertained him during
his stay in England, June 3rd, 1826.
SYDNEY.—The Early English style in architecture dates from 1190 to
1245; the Perpendicular from 1360 to 1550. There are three varieties
under the name Romanesque, and four known as Gothic. The former
comprises the Saxon, Norman, and Transition; the latter comprises the
Early English, Geometrical, Decorated, and Perpendicular. All churches
subsequently built are true or debased imitations of these, excepting
in cases where Byzantine or Greek models have been adopted.
WINNIE.—An apology should be received graciously, and there should be
no reference thereafter made to the quarrel; but everything must depend
on the cause which produced it, so far as your future relations with
each other are concerned. The character of the offender might have
been exhibited in a new and unsatisfactory light, rendering confidence
misplaced and dangerous. Thus, your relations one with the other
might be very materially and wisely changed, notwithstanding the full
forgiveness accorded and the apology rendered.
EVELYN wants to know how to make the whites of her eyes white. They
become yellow in cases of jaundice, or bilious disturbance, and they
become red from a cold or blast in them, or from crying, over-work,
or intemperance in drink. She must be the best judge as to which of
these causes her yellow or red eyes owe their colour, and deal with the
trouble accordingly. If from a cold in the eye, hold it in an eggcup of
as hot water as can be borne without scalding, and this will force back
the red particles in the blood vessels, which should not be present in
the eyeballs. If Evelyn be a girl of colour, of course, the balls of
the eyes, that should be of a blue-white in white people, are naturally
yellow, and nothing will change it.
BUTTERCUP.—You should have mentioned the book you were reading, as we
think the word is a manufactured one, _alma_ being “soul,” and _cinere_
“ashes,” in Italian. Perhaps it has something to do with Ash Wednesday
and Lent. There seems no other clue.
E. B. B. should read Sir John Lubbock’s recent account of teaching his
dog to read cards, with certain words on them indicating “out,” “food,”
etc. 2. Lilith is fabled by the Talmudist as having been the first wife
of Adam, but, refusing to obey him, she left Paradise for the regions
of the air.
ISOLDE.—The meaning of the word _nehustan_ (2 Kings xviii. 4) is given
by Bishop Hall as “a piece of brass,” and by Dr. Hales as “a brazen
bauble,” designed to be a term of contempt. The brazen serpent was
made an idol, and was worshipped, and Hezekiah spoke of it in its real
character as a mere piece of metal. We acknowledge your kind letter
with many thanks.
MISS MALAPROP, FIVE TOES, X. Y. Z.—At sixteen you should be attending
to your lessons. If wise, you would not be in such a hurry to begin the
troubles and anxieties of life.
MAY.—Even if the brigade of artillery had been moved from Bellary, all
letters and papers would be forwarded to the troops, wherever they
were. We can find no mention of anything recent.
M. L. W. A.—The great diamond called the Koh-i-noor, or “mountain of
light,” was found in the Mines of Golconda in 1550, and is said to
have belonged in turn to Shah Jehan Aurungzebe, the Afghan rulers, and
afterwards to the Sikh Chief Runjeet Singh. Upon the abdication of
Dhuleep Singh, the last ruler of the Punjab, and the annexation of his
dominions in 1849, the Koh-i-noor was surrendered to the Queen, and was
brought over and presented to her, July 3rd, 1850. Its original weight
was nearly 800 carats, but it was reduced, by the unskilfulness of the
artist, to 279 carats. Its shape and size was like the pointed end of
a small hen’s egg. The value is hardly to be computed, but appraising
it at two millions has been considered reasonable, if calculated on a
trade scale. It was re-cut in 1852, and was reduced to 102½ carats. It
is worn by Her Majesty as a brooch on all State occasions.
LAURA.—Of course, your pale semi-opaque amber will turn darker and lose
its beauty if exposed to light and heat. Whenever taken off, wipe your
necklace and earrings carefully with a soft handkerchief to remove any
greasiness, and put them by in a cool, dark place.
R. E. F.—A woman married after the 1st of January, 1883, is qualified
to dispose by will of all property belonging to her at the time of her
marriage, and of all property acquired thereafter, in all respects
as if she were an unmarried woman. If married previously to the date
above named, she must obtain her husband’s consent to any will she may
desire to make, and all property accruing to her after marriage, unless
by settlement, becomes his to surrender to her or to retain, as his
perceptions of honour or feeling of generosity may dictate.
AWKWARD SIXTEEN would make a very awkward mistake if she burned her
face with aquafortis on account of a few moles! Methylated spirits
should not be packed into a trunk. Better to place it in a basket; and
still wiser to buy what is required on arrival.
HELEN ADA.—The game of tennis, as all others with a ball, is of very
remote origin. The Greeks played such. Tennis seems to have originated
in or before 1300 in France, and in Charles II.’s reign it was very
fashionable. The game of lawn tennis has been evolved out of the old
game. A statue was erected to Aristonicus, in commemoration of his
superior skill in playing with a ball.
ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, and WALES.—St. Mary Magdalene was not the sinner you
name, but one afflicted with devil possession, seven of which were cast
out of her by our Lord.
FATHER’S PRIDE AND MOTHER’S JOY.—You cannot show your dislike to anyone
in a more innocent and godly manner, especially if they be proved
enemies to you, than by kindness and love. If you can do any kindness
towards them, you must look for and seize the occasion to do it. This
is Christ’s way, and would be your way and all our ways if we were only
like Him.
GERTRUDE’S question is too wide for our space. There are dozens of
pretty watering-places in England. But where does she live, and what
does she require in a watering-place—quiet or noise? It would be
impossible even to suggest a residence unless we had more data to guide
us.
* * * * *
[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text:
Page 195: ununwonted to unwonted—“unwonted sight”.
suceeeds to succeeds—“succeeds in being”.
Page 206: be to he—“he began”.]