Title: The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 979, October 1, 1898
Author: Various
Language: English
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[Illustration: THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER

VOL. XX.--NO. 979.]      OCTOBER 1, 1898.      [PRICE ONE PENNY.]



"OUR HERO."

A TALE OF THE FRANCO-ENGLISH WAR NINETY YEARS AGO.

BY AGNES GIBERNE, Author of "Sun, Moon and Stars," "The Girl at the
Dower House," etc.

[Illustration: "A FAIR, CURLY HEAD POPPED UP."]

_All rights reserved._]


CHAPTER I.

IF WAR SHOULD BREAK OUT.

"You don't mean to say it, my dear sir! You're absolutely jesting. I'm
compelled to believe that you are pleased to talk nonsense. To take the
boy! Impossible!"

"I never was more sober in my life, I do assure you, ma'am."

"The thing is incredible. No, sir, I cannot believe it. 'Tis bad enough
that you should be going abroad at all at this time, you and your wife.
But to place an innocent babe of eleven years in the power of that
wicked Corsican----Close upon thirteen, say you? Well, well, twelve
years old! 'tis much the same. My dear sir, war is a certainty. We
shall be embroiled with France before six weeks are ended."

"That is as may be. We intend to be at home again long before six weeks
are gone by. A fortnight in Paris; nothing more. The opportunity is not
to be lost; and as you know, all the world is going to France just now.
So pray be easy in your mind."

Colonel Baron adjusted his rigid stock, and held his square chin aloft,
looking over it with a benevolent though combative air towards the lady
opposite. Mrs. Bryce was a family friend of long standing, and she
might say what she chose; but nothing was farther from his intentions
than to alter his plans, merely because Mrs. Bryce or Mrs. Anybody-Else
chose to volunteer unasked advice. There was a spice of obstinacy in
the gallant Colonel's composition.

Despite civilian dress--swallow-tailed coat, brass buttons, long
flapped waistcoat, white frilled shirt-front, and velvet knee-breeches,
with silk stockings, the Colonel was a thorough soldier in appearance.
He had not yet left middle age behind, and he was still spare in
figure, and upright as a dart.

Mrs. Bryce, a lively woman, in age perhaps between thirty and
thirty-six, had bright twinkling eyes. She was dressed much _a la
mode_, in the then fashionable figured muslin, made long and clinging,
her white stockings and velvet shoes showing through it in front. The
bonnet was of bright blue; and a silk spencer, of the same colour, was
cut low, a large handkerchief covering her shoulders. A short veil
descended below her eyes. She used her hands a good deal, flirting them
about expressively as she talked.

Upon an old-fashioned sofa, with prim high back and arms and a long
"sofa-table" in front, sat the Colonel's wife, Mrs. Baron, a very
graceful figure, young still, and in manner slightly languishing.
Though it was early in the afternoon, she wore a low-necked frock, with
a scarf over it; and her hands toyed with a handsome fan. A white crape
turban was wound about her head. Beside her was Mr. Bryce, a short man,
clothed in blue swallow-tailed coat and brass buttons--frock-coats
being then unknown. His face was deeply scored and corrugated with
small-pox.

The wide low room, with its large centre-table and ponderous
furniture, had one other inmate; and this was a lovely young girl, in
a short-waisted and short-sleeved frock of white muslin. A pink scarf
was round her neck; dainty pink sandalled shoes were on her small
high-instepped feet; long kid gloves covered the slender round arms; a
fur-trimmed pink pelisse lay on a chair near; and from the huge pink
bonnet on her head tall white ostrich-feathers pointed skyward. Polly
Keene was on a visit to the Barons, and she had just come in from a
stroll with Mr. and Mrs. Bryce. Young ladies, ninety years ago, did
not commonly venture alone beyond the garden, but waited for proper
protection. Polly had the softest brown velvet eyes imaginable, a
delicate blush-rose complexion, and a pretty arch manner.

Upon a side table stood cake and wine, together with a piled-up pyramid
of fruit, for the benefit of callers. Afternoon tea was an unknown
institution; and the fashionable dinner-hour varied between four and
half-past five o'clock.

"A fortnight in Paris! And what of Nap meanwhile?" vivaciously demanded
Mrs. Bryce. "What of old Boney? That is the question, my dear sir. What
may not that wicked tyrant be after next?"

In those days even old friends and relatives used the terms "sir" and
"madam" very often one to another.

"Buonaparte has a good deal to answer for, ma'am, but really I do not
imagine that he will have the responsibility of hindering this little
scheme of ours," Colonel Baron replied.

Mrs. Bryce turned herself briskly towards the sofa.

"If I were you, Harriette, I'd refuse to go. Then, at least, you
wouldn't have it on your conscience if everything gets into a muddle."

Mrs. Baron's large languid grey eyes opened rather more widely than
their wont.

"My dear Harriette, wake up, I entreat of you. Pray listen to me.
Doubtless all the world is going to France. Nothing more likely, since
half the world consists of idiots, and another half of madmen. That is
small reason why you two need comport yourselves like either."

"Do you really suppose there will be war again so soon?" asked Mrs.
Baron incredulously.

"Do I suppose? Why, everybody knows it. Jim knows it. Your husband
knows it. There can't be any reasonable doubt about the matter. The
treaty of Amiens is practically at an end already. Nap has broken his
pledges again and again. And this last demand of his--why, nothing
could be more iniquitous."

"Dear me; has he made any fresh demand?" Mrs. Baron's eyes went in
appeal to her husband, for she had no very great faith in Mrs. Bryce's
judgment. The Colonel had no chance of responding.

"Even you can't surely have forgot that, my dear Harriette. He desires
that we should give over to his tender mercies the unfortunate Bourbon
Princes, who have fled to us for refuge: and no doubt in the end he
would demand all the refugees of the Revolution. He might as well
demand England herself. And he will demand that, in no long time. 'Tis
an open secret that he is already making preparations for the invasion
of our country."

"Boney doesn't believe that England, single-handed, will dare to oppose
him," remarked Mr. Bryce. "He thinks a nation of seventeen million
inhabitants is certain to go down before a nation of forty millions."

"Let him come, and he'll soon learn his mistake," declared Mr. Bryce's
valiant better half. "But you, Harriette--with public affairs in this
state--you positively intend to let your crazy husband drag you across
the Channel?"

"But I do not think my husband crazy, and I wish very much to go," she
said, slightly pouting. "I have never been out of England. The wars
have always hindered me."

"And you absolutely mean to take the young ones too!"

"We intend to take Roy," the Colonel said, as his wife's eyes once more
appealed to him. Children in those days seldom travelled, unless as a
matter of necessity; therefore the Colonel's voice was proportionately
determined.

"I never heard such a scheme in my life. To take the boy away from his
schooling----"

"No; his school has just broken up for some weeks. Several cases of
small-pox; so it is considered best. Roy has not been in the way of any
who have sickened; therefore he is all right. We mean to have him with
us."

"And Molly? Not Molly too?"

"No, not Molly. One will be enough."

Colonel Baron did not wish to betray that he had strenuously opposed
the plan, and had given in with reluctance to his wife's entreaties.

"I thought the two never had been parted?"

"That has been folly. It is time such fantasies should be broken
through. Roy must go to a boarding-school in the autumn; and this will
pave the way."

Mrs. Baron lifted a lace handkerchief to her eyes.

"My dear heart--a school five miles off. You will think nothing of
it when the time arrives," urged the Colonel, who till then had gone
against his own better judgment, keeping the boy at home and allowing
him to attend a day-school. He had won his wife's consent to the
boarding-school in the autumn only that morning, by yielding to her
wish that Roy should go to Paris. The Colonel's graceful wife was
something of a spoilt child in her ways; and resolute as he could show
himself in other directions, he seldom had the will to oppose her
seriously.

"Indeed, I should say so too," struck in Mrs. Bryce. "You don't desire
to turn him into a nincompoop; and between you and Molly, my dear
Harriette, he hasn't a chance. School will make a man of him. And
what's to become of Molly?"

[Illustration: THE MESSAGE OF THE MARGUERITES.

From the Painting by COMTE.

GIRL'S OWN PAPER.      ORFORD SMITH, L^{D.} S^{t.} Albans.      LONDON.]

Mrs. Baron was still gently dabbing her eyes with the square of lace,
and the Colonel answered--

"My wife's step-mother wishes to have Molly in Bath for a visit. She
will travel thither with Polly early next week."

"Too much gadding about. Not the sort of way I was brought up, nor you
either. But everything is turned upside-down in these days. And you've
persuaded Captain Ivor to go too?"

"He will go with us to Paris."

"And you're quite content to put yourselves into the clutches of that
miserable Boney!"

"My dear madam, the First Consul does not wage war on unoffending
travellers. Even supposing that hostilities should break out sooner
than may reasonably be expected, we have then but to hasten home."

"Boney doesn't care what he does, so long as he can get his own way."

"He will, at least, act in accordance with the laws of civilised
nations."

"Not he! Boney makes his own laws to suit himself."

"Well, well, my dear madam, we view these things differently. And
since I have fully made up my mind, all this discussion is a waste of
good breath. My wife has never been into France, and I desire that she
should go. We may not have another opportunity for many years to come."

"Likely enough--while the Corsican lives!" muttered Mrs. Bryce.

The end window opened upon a kind of verandah, and just outside this
window, which had been thrown wide open--for it was an unusually hot
spring day--a boy lay flat upon the ground, shaping a small wooden boat
with his penknife. At the first mention of his name, a fair curly head
popped up and popped down again. A recurrence of the word "Roy" brought
up the head a second time, and two wide grey eyes stared eagerly over
the low sill into the room. He might have been seen easily enough,
but that people were too busy to look that way. Then again the head
vanished, and its owner lay motionless, apparently listening for two
or three minutes, after which he rolled away to a short distance,
jumped up, and scampered off to the schoolroom at the back of the house.

It was a good-sized house, with a nice garden, in the then outskirts
of London--a much more limited London than the great metropolis of
the present day, though even then Englishmen were wont to describe it
as "vast." Where Colonel Baron's house stood, with fields and hedges
near at hand, miles of streets now extend in all directions. Trafalgar
Square and Regent Street were unbuilt; Pimlico and Moorfields alike
consisted mainly of bare rough ground; and the City was still a
fashionable place of residence. These facts serve to show how small a
London existed in those days.

Roy Baron was a handsome well-set-up lad of about twelve, and he
had on a blue cloth jacket, with trousers and waistcoat of the same
material. Knickerbockers were unknown. Children and bigger boys wore
loose trousers, while tights and uncovered stockings were reserved
for grown-up gentlemen. In a few weeks Roy would exchange his cloth
waistcoat and trousers for linen ditto, either white or striped. Boys'
hair was not cropped so closely in the year 1803 as in the Nineties,
and a mass of close little curls grew all over Roy's head.

The year 1803. Think what that means.

Napoleon Buonaparte was alive--not only alive, but in full vigour;
and he had entered on his career of conquest, and the world was in
terror of his name. Nelson was alive, and five years earlier he had
won the great battle of the Nile; two years earlier the great battle
of Copenhagen; though his crowning victory of Trafalgar had not yet
finally established British supremacy over the ocean. Wellington was
alive, but his then name of Sir Arthur Wellesley had not yet become
widely famous, and no one could guess that one day he would be the
Iron Duke of world-wide celebrity. Sir John Moore, the future Hero of
Coruña, was alive, and, though not yet knighted, was already "the most
renowned military character of his age."[A]

Napoleon was not yet Emperor of the French. He was only climbing
towards that goal, and thus far he had not advanced beyond being First
Consul in the Republic. By English people generally he was viewed with
a mingling of detestation and disgust, dread and disdain, varied in
some quarters by a certain amount of admiration.

The peace between England and France, lasting somewhat over twelve
months, had been hardly more than an armed and uncertain truce, a mere
slight break in long years of intermittent warfare. As the old king,
George III., remarked at the time, it was "an experimental peace," and
few had hopes of its long continuance. For the Firebrand was still in
Europe, and barrels of gunpowder lay on all sides. Both before the
peace began, and also while it continued, Napoleon indulged in many
speculative threats of a future invasion of England, and preparations
were at this date said to be actually begun.

England alone of all the nations stood upright, and fearlessly looked
the tyrant in the face. And Great Britain, with all her pluck, had then
but a small army, no volunteers, and few fortifications, while her
chief defence, the fleet, though splendidly manned, was weak indeed,
compared with the mighty armament which she now possesses.

Whether the peace should last, or whether it should speedily end,
depended mainly on the will of one man, an ambitious and reckless
despot, who cared not a jot what rivers of French and English blood
he might cause to flow, nor how many thousands of French and English
widows might break their hearts, so long only as he could indulge to
the full his lust of conquest, and could obtain plenty of what he
called "glory." Another and truer name might easily have been found for
the commodity in question.

Yet it is impossible not to accord admiration to this man's
transcendent genius, and even Napoleon was not altogether bad. Perhaps,
in the bitterness of incessant war, even he sometimes was more harshly
judged than he fully deserved. But if so, he brought the evil upon
himself.

(_To be continued._)

FOOTNOTES:

[A] Sir W. Napier.



[Illustration]

THE MESSAGE OF THE MARGUERITES.

(_See Coloured Frontispiece._)


This "ladie fayre" ascending the stairway of the old Castle of Blois
in France gives us a glimpse of the prevailing fashion of towering
head-dress worn in the fifteenth century. Addison satirically remarks
that, "Women in all ages have taken more pains than men to adorn the
outside of their heads." This adornment surely reached its culmination
when ladies adopted these wonderful erections called _fontanges_,
which, we are told by an ancient writer, were "like pointed steeples,
with loose kerchiefs atop hanging down sometimes as low as the ground."

As we look at the cooing doves in the castle window, we see an
indication of a weighty matter which rests upon the lady's mind. She
is gazing out over the distant woods to catch a glimpse of her lover
returning from the chase. She would fain believe that her true knight
cares for no one but herself, but how can she be sure?

In the castle garden she has culled a bunch of marguerites, and now she
is on her way to her own secret bower there to try her fortune. As she
pulls to pieces the fateful flowers she will murmur softly, "He loves
me a little, he loves me much, he loves me passionately, he loves me
not."

Let us hope the message will be propitious, and that when she descends
the stairs it will be to receive her lover with a smiling trustful
face, and that he will prove worthy of one so fair and sweet.



ABOUT SOME NORMANDY DAIRIES.

BY LADY GEORGINA VERNON.


Soft grey days, with rolling misty clouds, southerly winds crooning
pathetic farewells to the departing summer; such is October in
Normandy, alternated with brilliant days, flashing golden glory over
the myriad tinted orchards, such a strange mixture of grey and gold, of
fading pasture and scarlet leaves, early mornings calm and still with
every blade of grass heavy with dew, while the burning mid-day glows
with summer splendour, and days like these in autumn have a brilliancy
and a power of touching one's heart that no summer day possesses; and
in Normandy Nature seems to paint her beauties with more lavish hand
than in our northern climes. Scarlet and amber, crimson and madder deck
each tree and hedge, and even if there are grey days they only seem to
bring out more vividly the autumnal glories. October is a busy month
for farmer and dairy-man here, because one of the chief industries,
that of soft cheese-making, can only be sparingly carried on during
the hot summer months; and in October the manufacture of Camemberts
especially is at its height.

[Illustration: MANOIR-FERME OF S. HYPOLITE, NEAR LISIEUX.]

I should strongly advise any one who is interested in dairy-work to
make a trip to Normandy during this month, for they could pass a
delightful time studying the various methods of soft cheese-making.

This is an industry I have long wished to see carried to greater
perfection in England. It is work so eminently suited for women, and
could be undertaken by any one with a dairy, of even eight or ten cows,
with very little expense. I have lately been making a very careful
study of this work, and visiting many of the largest dairies round
Lisieux, which is the centre of the Camembert and Pont Evêque cheese
factories, and I have been much struck by the simplicity of the process
and the slight expense that the plant would cost for the production of
these and kindred cheeses.

There are great difficulties in the way of thoroughly mastering the
subject, because as a rule the whole process is carried on by "rule
of thumb." There are no thermometers, and they boast that they never
use one. The very important subject of the heat of the milk at various
stages of manufacture, the temperature of the rooms for ripening
the cheeses, are carried out by guess-work and feeling, and I think
that this is one cause that these cheeses vary so much in different
localities. I should strongly urge that any one desirous of becoming
an adept at this work should endeavour to get herself taken as a pupil
at one of the smaller farms. They will not take pupils at the large
manufactories, as it is not worth their while, but at some of the
smaller places, I think, if a pupil was willing to pay a premium, she
might get taken on. I spoke to one farmer who makes about four hundred
to six hundred Camemberts daily in his small dairy, and he thought it
was quite a possible plan. An intending pupil should provide herself
with two thermometers, one to hang up in the dairy and one to test the
heat of the milk. My own feeling inclines me to advise the taking up
of the Pont Evêque cheeses more than the Camembert; they are not so
difficult to ripen, and I think are more suitable to English taste, and
should command a ready sale.

Now if any one feels fired by a spirit of enterprise to take up this
interesting work, I could promise her that much pleasure could be
derived from such a trip, and if such a one is a cyclist, it could be
carried out at a very small cost. The roads in Normandy are splendid,
with a surface that even after heavy rains dries quickly, and one
can always find little country inns or _auberges_, where good food
and cleanliness can be insured, if not luxury. And I think the
most agreeable way of making a cycling tour is not to make any very
hard-and-fast rule as to stopping-places, but let it depend on the
weather and one's own feelings, as some days a run of forty miles is
easily accomplished, and yet on another, with a hot sun and many long
_côtes_ to climb, one is sufficiently tired after twenty-five miles
to greet with pleasure the little brick-floored cool parlour of the
wayside inn, and relish the excellent coffee, even without milk, and
the rolls and lovely butter that are always provided.

[Illustration: FALAISE.]

To reach Lisieux, which I warmly advise as headquarters, a very
delightful route for a cyclist is the following:--

Go over to Dieppe by the day boat, reaching about 4 P.M. At the Hotel
de Paris prices are very reasonable (which is more than can be said for
some of the hotels). Next morning start early, before the heat of the
day, and take the road which leads by the station up a long hill and
then through a very pleasant country of green fields and high hedges
and running streams, past the villages of Longueville, Auffay and
Clères, which is twenty-five miles from Dieppe, and where there is a
nice little inn. This is the Rouen Road, and if a forty-mile journey
is not too long, then Rouen can be reached without difficulty, as
the roads are good and there are no long hills, but if a very small
village inn is not objected to, I should advise my cyclist to stop at
Malaunay (twenty-three miles) at the Hotel de la Poste, where, though
one has to pass through the kitchen to one's brick-floored little
bedroom, I think the sight of the charming methods carried on in even
such a modest French kitchen is quite enough to give one an appetite
for dinner, and a desire to possess just such a stove and such shining
pots and pans and delightful brown earthenware "marmites." We will then
suppose our cyclist elects to rest at Malaunay. Next day again start
early, as there is little to see there except a sight which filled me
with horror, namely, a "margarine fabrique," specially for export
to England; that wide mouth which seems ready to take all that other
countries will send, bad or good.

From Malaunay, take the road for Maremme, turn to the right up a long
steep hill, and then a pleasant road through woods and valleys brings
one to the Seine at Duclair (sixteen miles). Along this district,
one first makes acquaintance with the charming black and white
cottages thatched with straw, with the top of the roof bound firm
by iris planted all along the ridge. When I was there in May, these
purple-roofed cottages were most picturesque. I should advise any one
who has the time to turn off the main road two miles to Jumièges and
visit those grand old ruins which stand in one of the promontories made
by the winding Seine. From Duclair a flat road leads to pretty Caudebec
(nine miles); here the Hotel de la Marine offers inexpensive comfort.

Make an evening visit to the great cathedral, which seems so out of
proportion to the size of the small riverside town, and you will be
fortunate if you come in for such a sweet, solemn service as I did this
year. There were only a few scattered lamps here and there hung in the
great arches, the light barely illuminating the central aisle, but a
brilliant light just outside the altar rails brought into full relief a
group of maidens, who were pouring forth the sweetest cantique of love
and devotion to "Marie, notre Mère;" while far away in the half gloom
shone out the never dying lamp opposite the tabernacle, and then, as
the hymn died away, the priests' voices rose and fell, and the bell
rang at the sanctus, and on the whole congregation came the wonderful
peace and quiet of the hour of benediction. And later, as I passed out
into the dim silence of the spring evening, I noted how there were
rough men from the boats on the river, and gipsy women from a little
encampment close by, and white-capped mothers with their children and
the wooden sabots clattered down the dark streets, and all was quiet.

[Illustration: MARKET-PLACE.]

If the next day should be the market day, the picturesque confusion
of the great square under the shadow of the cathedral, makes a scene
not easily forgotten--white tents and big blue umbrellas sheltering
piles of red carrots and cartloads of green cabbages, while the stalls
are decorated with huge bunches of pale-blue forget-me-nots and sweet
white pinks. Here you will make your first acquaintance with a Normandy
cheese stall, and I must confess the cheeses one meets at the country
markets are not inviting, but to the intending cheese-maker they are
most interesting.

There are two routes to choose from by which to reach Lisieux from
Caudebec. The shortest is to cross the river by the ferry, and it is
only nineteen miles to Pont Audemer, but the prettiest road is by
Lillebonne and Quillebœuf, where one takes the ferry, and through a
rich pasture country one reaches Pont Audemer, about twenty-two miles.
Here the tourist had better rest for refreshment. The remainder of the
road to Lisieux, another twenty-two miles, is through rather a hilly
country, but there are no very steep hills, and one finishes by a
two-mile run down into Lisieux, which lies in a deep valley.

There are several good hotels here, but I can name Hotel d'Espagne as
comfortable and reasonable in prices, while the landlord is always
ready to give advice as to the best farms to visit and the nearest
roads.

When arrived at Lisieux, I advise that all the larger farms and dairies
should be visited. I met with the greatest courtesy, and I found none
of the extreme reluctance to tell one the secrets which I had been
led to expect. On the contrary, I was able to see each step of the
various processes of the making of Camembert, Pont Evêque and Livarot.
The simplicity of the work of making these soft cheeses is such, that
I can only attribute the great difficulty experienced in England to
produce Camemberts in perfection to the herbage and the difference of
atmosphere. One of the largest makers and exporters of all the various
kinds of these cheeses is Monsieur Brière, at Mesnil Guillaume, some
four miles from Lisieux. Here, if he will be good enough to show his
manufactory, as he did to me, the work can be seen to its greatest
perfection--from the first turning of the milk, through the various
stages of the drying of the cheeses, to the final business of packing
for export. Monsieur Brière in the month of May, which is accounted as
_la saison morte_ for Camembert, was sending away one thousand five
hundred daily.

He makes also Pont Evêque and every variety of these French cheeses.
I should, however, recommend that a visit be paid to one of the farms
nearer Pont Evêque, where this is made a speciality.

Pont Evêque lies about thirteen miles from Lisieux. A large quantity
of these cheeses are made on small farms and sent _en blanc_, that is
after three or four days, to some of the larger factories, where they
are finally salted and dried and packed for export.

A very excellent variety of Camembert is made by Monsieur Chiffeman,
but his dairies are not near Lisieux, although he is one of the largest
buyers and exporters, and a most kind and courteous adviser I found him
as to the best dairies to visit.

[Illustration: A SUNNY DAY.]

The whole neighbourhood of Lisieux is full of interest not only to the
would-be cheese-maker but to the lover of architecture. Its quaint,
narrow streets and houses, enriched with carving up every beam, and
its fine churches, make it one of the gems of Normandy towns, while
within easy distance on almost every side may be found delightful
specimens of old chateaux and of Manoir-Fermes surrounded by a whole
array of picturesque half timbered farm buildings, all so arranged
that the master's eye can be upon everything, the whole nestling in
rich orchards which are one of the greatest sources of wealth to these
proprietors, while herds of the handsome Cotentin cows graze knee-deep
in the rich grass--these cows are a breed of which the farmers are
justly proud, somewhat resembling large Ayrshires but stronger in make
and bone--they consider them better than the Channel Islands breeds
for their purposes. I must not omit to mention among other cheeses the
Livarot, which really haunts one in market, hotel, and factory, the
strong pungent smell being very disagreeable to our English ideas.
Livarot is made from skimmed milk, mostly in the smaller dairies, and
is eaten by the poorer people. It is not a cheese which could ever
find a sale in England. The little town of Livarot lies about twelve
miles from Lisieux, and is worth a visit for the sake of its curious
old houses.

Charming excursions can also be made from Lisieux to Falaise (27
miles), with its grand castle, the birthplace of William the Conqueror,
Caen (28 miles) with its magnificent abbeys, Bayeux (18 miles further)
with its fine cathedral and interesting tapestry.

If a longer excursion than I have named can be taken, I should strongly
recommend my cyclist to take a run into Brittany, and visit the farms
round Rennes, where the Port du Salut cheeses are made. I could not
visit these manufactories myself, and I can give little advice on the
subject, but I know the roads round Rennes and they are good and it is
not very hilly, while the Port du Salut is a cheese which is always
sought after in England. It is one of the cheeses known as "Fromages
cuits," and for all these the plant required is costly. Another cheese,
almost similar, is known as La Providence, or Bricquebec, because it is
made at a convent of that name near Cherbourg. I do not know whether
the sisters at the convent could be induced to show their "fabrique."

I must not lengthen this article further, except to conduct my
intending cyclist home! And I think any one would find the road from
Lisieux by Bernay, 20 miles, and on to Evreux, 36 miles, visiting
there the celebrated cathedral, and then up straight north to the
Seine, one of the prettiest roads. Vernon, 25 miles, is easily reached
from Evreux, and few or many days can be happily spent along the ever
changing and delightful scenery of the silvery Seine, while here and
there one comes upon high chalk cliffs, honey-combed with caves, which
are fitted with doors and windows, and which form the dwellings of many
families.

From Vernon by le Petit Andelys and Pont de l'Arche to Rouen is about
40 miles, but I would suggest breaking the journey at Pont de l'Arche,
where there is a comfortable little inn close to the bridge and an
interesting church.

I think no tour in Normandy can be more appropriately finished than by
a sojourn at Rouen, that home of all that is most fascinating, in rich,
if somewhat over ornate architecture.

I have not, in this article, touched upon the question of Normandy
butter, which has become such a formidable competitor with English
markets, but to diversify the road to Dieppe, let our cyclist take the
road by Gournay through Neuchâtel-en-Bray, and visit on a Tuesday the
butter-market. I think when one sees the uniformity of the splendid
quality of butter in that market, and the severe scrutiny to which it
is subjected by the merchants, one realises partly why Normandy butter
has such a high character. Some thousands of pounds of butter change
hands there in a day.

Gournay is not only the centre of the butter market, but here also are
made the well-known Pommel and Gervais cheeses, of which the process is
well taught in some of our own English Dairy Schools--so at the British
Dairy School at Reading.

No stranger is allowed to enter any of the factories at Gournay, and
the greatest secrecy is observed, but I think that possibly, armed with
introductions, one might obtain an entrance, and then I am sure many
valuable hints could be got.

I hope anyone who undertakes the little trip I have described will
enjoy both the country and the dairies as thoroughly as I did, and come
home feeling that they have gained a considerable amount of knowledge
and of interest in all dairy matters, besides having their memories
stored with happy recollections of many sunny days spent amongst
courteous Normandy folk.



SOME PRACTICAL HINTS ON COSMETIC MEDICINE.

BY "THE NEW DOCTOR."


PART I.

THE COMPLEXION.

It has been stated in the papers lately that the Amsterdam physician
to the poor, late Empress of Austria did much by his prescriptions to
maintain the beauty of that most beautiful and accomplished lady. And
yet the Empress was by no means a vain woman, and this is proved by the
fact that, now she is gone, there has been no photograph of her taken
these twenty years.

I thought that I might state as an axiom that beauty is impossible
without a fair amount of health. That for instance, a beautiful
complexion was incompatible with a very serious disease. But I find
that here I am mistaken. "I want a complexion like a girl in a
decline," a woman said to me the other day. I wonder if she had ever
seen a girl in "a decline." To me the dull purple cheeks and lips of
advanced consumption are most ghastly. Other women strive after a dead
white face, and poison themselves with arsenic to try to obtain it.

The beautiful shades of red and white which are admired by most persons
are, however, impossible without good health. Late hours, indigestion,
lack of exercise and the use of cosmetics will destroy a good
complexion, and when once it has gone it is by no means easy to regain.

Of course I do not know, but I strongly suspect that every girl who
has a good complexion is too careful of her appearance to need any of
the crude hints that I can give to her less favoured sisters about
improving their complexions.

The best complexions to be found are not in the drawing-rooms of
Mayfair but in the slums of Whitechapel. Many dirty little ragamuffins
have far finer complexions than any of the leaders of fashion. This
is sufficient proof that soap and water are not the causes of a fine
cheek. Rather is it the outdoor life, the not too liberal diet, the
absence of stimulants, the early hours and the loose clothing of the
urchin that give her her good complexion.

All soap used for washing the face should be of fine quality. You
should never wash your face in very hot water. You should not go out
in a wind without a veil, and you should never lace tightly if you
wish to have a good complexion. When the face gets rough, as it is apt
to do after a walk in the wind, a very little glycerine and rosewater
or glycerine and cucumber will help to keep the face clear and soft.
Cosmetics are undoubtedly a fertile cause of the bad complexions so
common among the upper middle classes, and though by no means all
cosmetics are harmful, you should be very careful what you put on your
face.

Freckles are very annoying to some girls. They are caused, as you
doubtless know, by the sun. It is not the heat, but the light of the
sun that causes freckles, and it is the violet of the light that causes
them. The colour red absorbs the violet rays of the sun, and therefore
a red veil or a red parasol should be used by women who are very prone
to become freckled. I am not going to say that a red parasol will
entirely prevent freckling, but it does very materially lessen it.

Many persons, who would otherwise have a good complexion, are marred by
what are called "birth-marks." These are of three kinds--moles, port
wine stains and "spider nævi."

A mole that is small and not very disfiguring should be left severely
alone. You can do great harm by meddling with it, and not uncommonly it
is made very much worse by caustic or poisonous applications. If you
have a large and really disfiguring mole on your face have it removed
by a surgeon. The younger you are the better will be the result of
the operation. A minute scar will be left where the cut was made, but
if the mole was removed early in life the scar will be a small linear
mark often quite unnoticeable. These big moles are, in themselves,
somewhat dangerous, for in elderly people they occasionally develop
into cancers.

Moles not removed are to be left alone. But to this there is one
exception. If hairs grow upon the moles, they must be removed if
possible. The only safe way (excluding electrolysis which is rarely
called for) to treat the hairs on moles is to cut them short. You
should never irritate a mole by pulling hairs out. The soft, downy hair
so common on small moles may be bleached with peroxide of hydrogen if
very noticeable.

Can anything reasonable be done for port wine stains? Yes, if they
are small. Tattooing with the electro-cautery is a fairly efficacious
method of treating these disfiguring marks. Electrolysis is quite
useless for this purpose. No other treatment is satisfactory except
removal, where this is practicable.

The "spider" nævus is a small dilated vein, usually situated on a very
conspicuous part of the nose. It looks just like a little red spider,
and can be readily removed by plunging a tiny electro-needle into the
body of the "spider."

Wounds on the face, as elsewhere on the body, do not leave a scar
unless they go right through the skin. Serious wounds of the face
always leave scars, and the scars will be prominent in inverse ratio
to the skill with which the original cut was treated. All considerable
wounds of the face should be stitched up with horsehair and treated on
rigid antiseptic principles so as to obtain rapid healing. The more
rapidly a wound heals the less disfiguring will be the resulting scar.

Many women complain very bitterly of a dark ring round their necks. It
is natural for the skin round the neck to be darker in colour than that
on the face or chest. If the ring is really very dark and conspicuous,
carefully applying a little peroxide of hydrogen will often make it
less noticeable.

I will not say much about face powders save that those containing
any colouring matter, lead or arsenic, should never be used by any
one. Where there is a tendency to acne, powder must only be used with
extreme caution. Unquestionably powder of any kind is a mistake.

(_To be continued._)



PREPARATION FOR MARRIAGE.

By the Author of "How to be Happy Though Married," etc.


A minister of one of the many denominations once began an extempore
marriage service with these words, "My friends, marriage is a blessing
to a few, a curse to many, and a great uncertainty to all. Do ye
venture?" When no reply was forthcoming he said, "Let's proceed." Now
I think that it is only those who are wickedly careless, or so stupid
that they are without anxiety, who make this venture without due
preparation, and this preparation should begin, as it seems to me, with
our earliest years. Not, of course, that little boys and girls should
be always thinking of and planning for marriage, but that their parents
and guardians should remember that this is a fate in store for them,
and that one day these children will have homes of their own which they
will either curse or bless.

That some preparation is required for marriage was authoritatively
recognised by the ancient state of Belgium, as I gather from a picture
which I once saw in the Historical Society's collection of paintings
in New York. The scene is the inside of a peasant's house in Belgium.
On an easy chair sits a fatherly old priest who is catechising a shy,
awkward-looking country bumpkin. Near him is his lady-love. She would
gladly prompt him only the priest is keeping a sharp eye upon her.
In the background is the girl's mother preparing a wedding repast in
case the young people pass their qualifying examination. Underneath
is the name of the picture--"Catechism before marriage according to
the ancient State of Belgium as necessary for state and matrimonial
security." Now we think that this was a very good rule, which provided
that before young people should take upon themselves the great
responsibilities of marriage, they should have learned at least this
much of the catechism, how to do their duty to their neighbour. Of
course husband and wife are more to each other than mere neighbours,
but they are that at least, and if they do not do their duty towards
each other, homes will be wretched, and where homes are miserable the
state cannot but be weak, so we see that it was a matter for state
control.

Suppose a man spends his youth not in settling his habits, which is
what we ought to do when young, but in sowing wild oats, do you not
think that he will reap a crop of wild oats in his domestic life?

  "Who is the happy husband? He who scanning his unwedded life
  Thanks Heaven with a conscience free 'twas faithful to his future wife."

Who, on the other hand, is a miserable husband? He who cannot bring to
his marriage a clean bill of moral health, who cannot make upon his
wife the best of all marriage settlements, the settlement of habits in
the right direction. And even young ladies require some preparation
for marriage. If they are frivolous and flirty and have no higher
notion of worship than to burn incense to vanity, they will not be
happy themselves in married life and assuredly they will not make their
husbands happy.

Then there is physical or bodily health to be considered. Mr. Herbert
Spencer says that the foundation of all success in life is to be a good
animal. If a young man is always ailing (sometimes the consequence of
ale-ing) he will not be capable of supporting his wife and children,
and if a woman have a chronic sofa complaint, she may be a very good
woman, but she has mistaken her vocation when she became a wife. The
doctor's bills too have to be considered, and the effect upon children
of hereditary complaints. On one occasion as Dr. Johnson and a young
man were waiting in Mr. Thrale's drawing-room before dinner, the young
man asked the doctor if he would advise him to marry. Nettled at the
interruption the doctor replied, "Sir, I would advise no man to marry
who is not likely to propagate understanding." This was a wise answer,
for people should not marry if they are likely to have children who
will be diseased in soul, mind or body. It is said that money is a
root of evil, but it is not a bad thing to have a little bit of this
root with us when we go shopping, and some of it is also required when
we go marrying, unless we are to think that mortality is one of the
effects of matrimony as a certain servant girl seems to have thought.
The mistress with whom she last lived meeting her one day asked, "Well,
Mary, where are you living now?" "Please, m'am, I'm not living anywhere
now I'm married." Some of us who are married find that we have survived
the operation and also that we require a certain amount of money to
live upon, and therefore we can sympathise with the sensible girl
who, having tried a rigorous love-in-a-cottage dietary gave it as her
experience that a kiss and a cup of cold water make a poor breakfast.

At the same time it is quite possible to exaggerate the amount of money
necessary for marriage. Show me a couple who are miserable on account
of straitened circumstances, and I will show you a dozen couples who
are unhappy on account of other circumstances. I suppose we all know
old bachelors who have plenty of money for marriage but they have not
enough courage, and they make, "I can't afford it" a mere excuse. This
was the case with Pitt. When he was Prime Minister of England and had
from all sources an income of about £30,000 a year he used to say that
he could not afford to marry, and then some one calculated that in
his household about sixty pounds of meat was allowed for each man and
woman. For the more economical arrangement of his domestic affairs,
if for no other reason, he ought to have married. I sometimes say to
young officers who are inclined to be extravagant, "I wonder how you
can afford not to be married, I could not." Certainly if a young man
will smoke the best cigars and will give expensive drinks to every one
who claps him upon the back and calls him "Old Man" he cannot afford
to marry--why? Because he will not deny himself small and not very
elevating luxuries for the sake of obtaining the great luxury of a good
wife. Then if a man has a small income he must choose for a wife a
girl with a slender waste, not one, that is to say, who has made her
waist small by health-destroying corsets, but one who can manage her
husband's income with the least amount of waste.

"Why don't the men propose?" is a question which is often asked. One
reason why some of them do not do so is because they are afraid of the
possible extravagance of wives. I gather this from a question which
was lately overheard in a ball-room. A lady of a not very retiring
disposition asked a middle-aged gentleman with whom she was dancing,
"Why don't you marry, can't you afford to support a wife?" "My innocent
young thing," was the reply, "I can afford to keep ten wives, but I
can't afford to pay the milliner's bills of one." This matter is more
in the hands of the ladies than they seem to think, and things would
be greatly helped if mothers, instead of seeking only to marry their
daughters to rich men, would educate these young ladies in such a way
that men who are not wealthy could afford the luxury of marrying them.
I know a mother who got a large family of daughters off her hands by
telling prudent young men in confidence that the puddings they tasted
at her house were all concocted by her daughters, and that the dear
girls made their own dresses and hats.

At what age should men marry? I have heard of them doing so as young
as twenty, but it is useless to argue with people like this who may be
said not to have come to years of discretion. A man who lived to a very
advanced age accounted for his doing so by saying that he had never
stood when he might have sat, that he married late, and was soon left a
widower.

When two very young people marry, it is as if one sweet pea should
be put as a prop to another. Of course much depends upon the young
man. Some men are better fitted to take upon themselves the duties
of marriage at twenty-five than are others at thirty-five. Between
these two ages is the usual time, and if men put off much after the
last-mentioned age they are likely to get into the habit of celibacy
which, like all other bad habits, is difficult to break away from. In
this habit they will continue till they are about sixty years of age,
when a terrible desire to know for themselves what matrimony is like
will seize them and they will propose right and left to every eligible
lady, until at last they are picked up, not for themselves but for
their money or their position, or because some one is tired of being
a Miss and wants the novel sensation of putting "Mrs." before her
name. It is not natural for a young woman to wish to marry an old man.
"When it is time for you to marry," said a father to his daughter, "I
shall not allow you to throw yourself away upon one of the frivolous
young fellows I see about. I shall select for you a staid, sensible,
middle-aged person; what do you say of one about fifty years of age?"
"Well, father," was the reply, "if it is just the same to you, I would
prefer two of twenty-five."

As to the age women should marry--I don't like to burn my fingers with
that question. All I shall say is that if there are some of them--as
it is said there are--not worth looking at after thirty years of age,
there are quite as many not worth speaking to before that. Please
yourself then, young man, only do not choose one who is either a child
or an old woman.



AUTUMN.


    Radiant sunsets garnered
      Through the bygone year
    From the earth's deep bosom,
      Slowly now appear.
    Rainbow glories flooding
      Forest, hill, and vale,
    With a ruby lustre
      And an amber pale.

    Now the forest minster
      Trembles as each chord
    Swells the rocking pine trees
      On the wind's keyboard.
    Till the music endeth
      In an accent drear
    Wailing out a requiem
      To the dying year.

    Earth her treasures gathered
      From the seasons past.
    Heapeth them an off'ring
      On an altar vast!
    Till the fires of Heaven
      Catch the ascending glow.
    And the heart of Heaven
      Into earth doth flow.

    Where is now the glory?
      Where is Autumn's glow?
    Passed into a furnace
      Working deep below.
    Forging through the darkness
      Gems surpassing fair,
    That the coming springtime
      In her crown shall wear!


_Envoi._

    Garner--heart--the sunsets
      Of thy passing years.
    Bygone strains of music,
      Remembered but in tears.
    Till thy sorrow's--silent,
      Alchemy transmute.
    And each broken reed of song
      Grows into a flute.

        V. R.

[Illustration]



LILIAN'S FELLOW-TRAVELLER.

BY ROSA NOUCHETTE CAREY.

    "Wherever in this world I am,
      In whatsoe'er estate;
    I have a fellowship with hearts,
      To keep and cultivate;
    And a work of lowly love to do
      For the Lord on whom I wait."

        _A. L. Waring._


"Now then, jump in, Lil! Hurry up, young woman! What is the matter with
the girl! Has not the guard just told us that the train is crowded,
and that there is not another seat?" and Ralph Moore took hold of his
sister's arm rather impatiently. Lilian had her foot on the step; but
she still hesitated, and there was a decided frown on her pretty face.

"It is quite full too," she said, rather crossly, "and it is so hot
and stuffy;" and indeed, a crowded third-class compartment on a sultry
August day is not a desirable locality; and Lilian's distaste and
reluctance were only natural under the circumstances.

"There's no help for it--in you go!" muttered Ralph, in a gruff voice,
and a pair of muscular arms lifted the girl in; and the next moment
the guard gave the signal, and the train moved slowly away. Ralph
grinned triumphantly, as he lifted his straw hat a little derisively
to his sister. Sheer muscular force of argument had prevailed over a
girl's contumacy.

"Little stupid!" he said to himself, as he whistled to his dogs. "I do
believe she would rather have lost the train than put up with a little
discomfort on the way."

Lilian stood helplessly for a moment with her small Yorkshire terrier
under her arm. No one moved or made room for her, until a cheery voice
from the end of the compartment broke the silence.

"There is lots of room, miss, between those two ladies. Let me hold
your basket, ma'am, until the young lady is settled," and then, with
a discontented expression, Lilian wedged herself into the fraction of
space assigned for her use.

"It is too bad of Ralph," she thought. "I shall get out at the next
station; it is like the Black Hole in Calcutta; it is worse than a
cattle-pen." On one side of her was the inevitable fat woman with a
basket; on the other a shabby, red-faced widow, with a fretful baby;
then came a couple of loutish-looking lads. On the seat opposite her
there was a surly-looking man, and an old labourer in corduroy; two
young market-women, with bundles of vegetables, and then the owner of
the voice. Lilian regarded him with youthful arrogance and distrust.
He looked like a shopman; he was a small, undersized young man, with
a round boyish face. He had a thick crop of red hair, and looked as
spruce as though he was out for a holiday; his red silk tie and the
scarlet geranium in his buttonhole seemed to make a flaming spot of
colour in the carriage.

"The sun is in your eyes, miss," he observed the next moment; "the
curtain has got wrong somehow; but if one of you ladies could oblige me
with a pin, I will soon fix it," and he regarded Lilian with an affable
smile.

[Illustration: "RAINBOW GLORIES FLOODING FOREST, HILL AND VALE."

[_From photo: Photographic Union, Munich._]

"It is of no consequence," she returned stiffly, drawing herself
up. "Please do not trouble." In her present temper she would have
rather endured any amount of discomfort than be indebted to that very
officious, vulgar young man.

"Oh, it is no trouble"--with beaming good nature. "Thank you,
ma'am"--as the widow gloomily produced a pin--"I will soon have things
ship-shape. There, miss, you are more comfortable now."

But though Lilian thanked him with some outward show of civility, she
was inwardly chafing under what she chose to consider his impertinent
freedom of address. She had done her duty and thanked him, and now she
meant to ignore his existence; but she had reckoned without her host.

"Beg your pardon, miss," the brisk voice began again, "is your little
dog a Yorkshire terrier? I never saw such a small one before."

"Yes." Just this monosyllable and nothing more. She would keep him in
his place; she was determined on that.

"He's a real beauty, if I may make so bold. May I ask his name? I am a
dog-lover, miss, and always was."

"Her name is Musüme."

"Eh, what?" A pair of bright blue eyes regarded her and the dog with
some perplexity.

"Musüme," dropped from Lilian's lips, but she frowned again.

"Is that Latin, miss? It ain't a word I know."

Then Lilian turned almost fiercely on her tormentor.

"No; it is Japanese." But her manner was so repressive; it said so
plainly, "How dare you address me in this familiar way?" that the
young man flushed and looked a little disconcerted. This pretty young
creature in the white dress had a decided temper.

"Beg pardon," she heard him mutter. "No offence, I hope." But the next
moment he was on his feet again. The dust was dreadful; he must close
the window. They were coming to Layton tunnel; he hoped the ladies
would not be nervous, for he had discovered there was no light. Here
Lilian glanced furtively at the gas-lamp overhead. Even when they had
entered the tunnel the voice was still audible at intervals. "Beg
pardon, ma'am." He had evidently trodden on the fat woman's toes.
"Great Scott!" as a shrill whistle nearly deafened them, and one of the
young market-women called out: "Bless your heart, ma'am, they are only
a-clearing the way. There is no call to be frightened. Makes you feel
a bit jumpy in the dark, so it does. Here we are in the light again,
and we are slackening for the station. Shall I put down the window for
a moment, miss, just to give us an airing?" But Lilian took no notice,
and the next moment the train stopped.

The carriage seemed emptying. First the loutish lads and the surly man
got out, then the labourer and the red-faced widow, the fat woman and
the two young market-women followed, and yes--oh, the joy of it!--her
red-headed tormentor was getting out too.

Lilian put down Musüme that she might stretch her little legs, then she
established herself in the fat woman's corner, and pulled the curtain
across the dusty window--the heat would be more bearable now. Then
Musüme uttered a shrill little bark and fled growling to her mistress
as some one entered with a flying leap. It was the red-headed young
man. Lilian nearly gasped, but there was no time to leave the carriage,
for the whistle had already sounded.

"Just saved myself by the skin of my teeth," observed the young fellow,
in his chirpy voice. He had a _Graphic_ and a bag of greengages, and
seemed more cheerful than ever.

"Like to see the _Graphic_, miss?" holding out the paper with an
ingratiating smile that seemed to say, "Let's be sociable."

"Thanks very much, but I've seen it"--distinctly a white lie.

"Dear, what a bad job"--in a disappointed tone. "I could easily have
got _Black and White_ or the _Sketch_."

"Thank you"--in a freezing tone. "I do not care to read."

"Ah, you prefer to look at the scenery; know every yard of it myself
between Layton and Brocklebank. My old mother lives at Brocklebank."
(Lilian had a mother, too, at Brocklebank, but she kept this fact to
herself.) "Beg pardon, may I offer you some greengages? They are very
sweet and juicy."

"No, thank you," and then Lilian attempted a yawn and closed her eyes.
Sleep was never farther from her, but she saw no other way of reducing
him to silence, absurd and officious as he was; she had no wish to
quarrel with him; it was evident the poor creature knew no better, she
said to herself, with a superb tolerance.

Once when the silence had lasted a long time, she peeped through her
fingers at him.

He was in a high state of enjoyment; he had the _Graphic_ on his knee,
and the open bag stood at his elbow; his hat was off, and his red crop
gleamed in the sunshine, his round face and wide open blue eyes made
him look like a radiant infant.

"I don't believe there's any harm in him; he can't help being vulgar,"
thought Lilian. "It was really very good-natured of him to offer
to share his fruit with me; there goes another stone. Mr. Redhead
evidently has a fancy for greengages."

Lilian's sense of humour, always her strong point, was overcoming her
moodiness. She was just then thinking how she would dramatise the
situation for Ralph's benefit, when a sudden shock hurled her to the
other end of the carriage.

"Beg pardon--hold on, miss--I believe we are in for a scrimmage, as
sure as my name's Tom Hunter," but before the words were out of his
mouth, there was a second shock; then darkness, a crash, terrified
screams, and then Lilian heard no more.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Beg pardon, miss, but if you are alive----" These were the first
words that greeted Lilian on her return to consciousness. Where was
she? Where had she heard that voice? Why was it dark? had she fainted?
What was that heaving substance under her?

"Beg pardon, but if you could move a little, miss. I am a bit crushed
and numb-like."

Then recollection returned to the girl. There had been a railway
accident. They were in it. That poor fellow was under her. If she could
only raise herself; if she could reach the window. What was it over
her head? Then as the light of a friendly lantern flashed across the
carriage she screamed loudly,

"Help--help, for mercy's sake!"

"Shift that lantern, Jones, there is some poor body here," exclaimed
a voice near them. Then the door was wrenched open and strong hands
grasped the girl and lifted her out. "There's another down there. I am
afraid he is badly hurt. You had better hail the chap who says he is a
doctor."

"Come along with me, miss," said a second voice; "we are just at the
mouth of the tunnel, but you will have to clamber a bit over the
wreckage. Can you walk--all right, we'll be out in a minute."

But it looked longer than that before Lilian saw the blessed sunshine
again.

"Then you can sit on the grass," continued the friendly porter, "while
we bring the young man round. You are not much hurt, miss; that's a
blessing." And then he hurried off, and Lilian, shaken and miserable,
and bruised all over, sank down on a patch of long grass.

She remembered afterwards how gay the poppies looked, then she hid her
eyes and sobbed, as a broken inert form was carried past her.

"In the midst of life we are in death." The words came to her, and she
said them over and over again. "In the midst of life we are in death."
Slow, stumbling footsteps approaching, but she dare not look up. How
could she know what ghastly burden they were carrying.

"Steady, you fellows. Lay him down and put something under his head.
No, there is nothing to be done; but, poor chap, he will not suffer. I
must see to that broken leg now."

"Perhaps this young lady will stop a bit," observed the friendly
porter. "Help me a moment, mate, while I shift this 'ere jacket under
his head. If we had only a drop of something--not that it would be any
good."

Surely they were not leaving her alone with a dying man. Lilian started
up in sudden terror; then a feeble voice arrested her.

"Don't go, miss--please don't leave me; you heard what that chap
said"--and here a pair of boyish blue eyes looked pitifully at her;
then a great wave of womanly sympathy made Lilian forget her bruises
and nervous fears.

Could that rigid-looking figure--that colourless face with the grey
shade of death already stealing over the features--be her light-hearted
and officious fellow-traveller? A sob broke from Lilian's lips.

"Oh, I am so sorry--so sorry!"

"Don't take on, miss--I ain't in pain--only numb and curious-like; but
it seems hard, don't it"--his dry lips twitching as he spoke--"that a
fellow's holiday should end like this."

"Yes, yes, terribly hard! Is there anything I can do for you?" And
Lilian knelt beside him, and the tears were running down her face--some
of the warm drops fell on the motionless hand.

"Beg pardon, miss, but there's my old mother and Susie--Susie is my
girl, you know--she is stopping along of mother just now"--here the
panting voice grew fainter.

"Tell me your mother's name. I will go and see her."

"Will you now"--rousing up--"I call that real kind. Mrs. Hunter; she
keeps the sweet-shop in Market Street, Brocklebank. I am her only son,
miss," and then almost inaudibly, "she is a widow."

"Yes--yes--I will find her. I live at Brocklebank. Give me your message
please?"

"Tom's love. And do you think, miss, you could put your hand in
my pocket, there's the Testament mother gave me when I went up to
London"--and then with some difficulty Lilian extracted a little red
book. "Tom's love, and tell mother, please, that I minded her words and
read a few verses every day, and that it helped me to keep straight."

"I will tell her, Tom--every word."

"And there's Susie, miss--I bought a bit of a brooch for her; it is in
my waistcoat pocket--tell her not to fret; for I loved her true--aye, I
loved her true! How dark it is getting, miss! Perhaps you could say a
prayer for me?"

"My poor fellow--yes--shall we say the Lord's Prayer together." But
after the first petition Lilian said it alone, the blue eyes were
growing filmy, the hand she held felt cold to her touch. The porters
had come back and were standing near, cap in hand; one of them had
tears in his eyes. "Poor chap, he is going fast, mate," he whispered.
Lilian heard them, and her voice shook with intense emotion. "Oh,
Saviour of the world," she prayed, "who by Thy cross and precious blood
has redeemed us, save him and help him, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord."

       *       *       *       *       *

"That is all; every word, Mrs. Hunter. Does it not make you happy to
know that he read his Bible and kept straight?" And Lilian looked
anxiously into the mother's wrinkled face. Tom had got his blue eyes
from his mother.

"Aye, the Lord be praised for that; but I never feared for Tom. He was
always straight. It seems to me that he was better than other boys.
Never was there a sweeter-tempered lad," murmured Mrs. Hunter. "Susie
there will tell you the same. He was never happy unless he was doing
kind things. Even as a baby he would give me his crust if I asked for
it. It did not seem as though he could keep anything to himself." And
here the widow sobbed and put her apron to her eyes. "And to think
that my boy, my Tom, was to have his dear life crushed out of him in a
railway accident! That is what Susie and I have been saying. If he had
only died in his bed."

"It seems hard, Mrs. Hunter, almost cruel, does it not?"--and here
there was a lump in Lilian's throat. "It was his holiday, and he was
going home to his mother and sweetheart, but God called him and he went
straight to his Father's house instead. Perhaps there was work for him
to do up there. Oh, we cannot tell, but God knows best, and he will be
waiting there for you and Susie. You believe that, do you not, dear
Mrs. Hunter?" And then she added solemnly, "Weeping may endure for a
night, but joy cometh in the morning."



INVALID COOKERY.


BEEF TEA.

_Ingredients._--One pound of shin of beef, one pint of water, a little
salt, a few drops of lemon juice.

_Method._--Take away all skin and fat from the beef, and shred it
finely, putting it as you do so into a jar with the water, lemon
juice, and salt; put on the lid and let it stand half an hour; stand
the jar on a dripping tin with cold water, and put it in the oven for
two hours. Stir up, pour off against the lid and remove any fat with
kitchen paper.


QUICK BEEF TEA.

_Ingredients._--Same as preceding.

_Method._--Cut the meat up small and let it stand in the water twenty
minutes; put in a saucepan and let it just heat through, pressing the
pieces against the side with a wooden spoon.


RAW BEEF TEA.

_Ingredients._--Same as preceding.

_Method._--Prepare as in the first recipe for beef tea; cover closely
and let it stand for two hours; stir up and pour off. This must be made
fresh often as it soon turns sour.


STRENGTHENING BROTH.

_Method._--Take equal quantities of beef, mutton, and veal, and prepare
in the same way as ordinary beef tea.


MUTTON BROTH.

_Ingredients._--One pound of scrag of mutton, one pint of water, two
ounces of pearl barley, salt, a blade of mace, a little chopped parsley.

_Method._--Cut as much fat as possible from the meat; cut the meat up
small and chop the bones; put the meat and bones in a saucepan with
the water, mace, salt and barley, which should be blanched (see "Odds
and Ends"). Put on the lid and simmer very gently for two hours. Stir
up and pour off against the lid into a basin; stand in cold water in a
larger basin for the fat to rise, skim well, re-heat and add a little
chopped and blanched parsley.


ESSENCE OF BEEF.

_Ingredients._--One pound of shin of beef, two tablespoonfuls of water,
a little salt, a few drops of lemon juice.

_Method._--Scrape the meat, put it in a jar with the water, salt, and
lemon juice; put on the lid and stand the jar in a saucepan of boiling
water; let the water boil round it four hours. Stir up and pour off.


RAW MEAT SANDWICHES.

_Method._--Scrape a little raw beef finely and put a little piece in
the middle of some tiny squares of thin bread, cover with other squares
and press the edges tightly together with a knife so that the meat may
not show.


MEAT CUSTARD.

_Ingredients._--One large egg, half a gill of beef tea.

_Method._--Beat the egg and beef tea together and steam in a buttered
teacup for twenty minutes.


A CUP OF ARROWROOT.

_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, one ounce of arrowroot, one ounce
of castor-sugar.

_Method._--Mix the arrowroot smoothly with a little cold milk; boil the
rest of the milk and stir in the arrowroot; stir and boil well, taking
care it does not burn.


CORNFLOUR SOUFFLÉE.

_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, one egg, one ounce of cornflour,
one ounce and a half of castor sugar, one bay leaf.

_Method._--Mix the cornflour smoothly with a little cold milk; boil
the rest with the bay leaf and sugar; stir in the cornflour and let it
thicken in the milk; separate the white and yolk of the egg and beat in
the yolk when the cornflour has cooled a little; beat the white very
stiffly and stir it in very lightly. Pour into a buttered pie-dish, and
bake in a good oven until well thrown up and a good light brown colour.


CUSTARD SHAPE.

_Ingredients._--Half a pint of milk, two eggs, quarter of an ounce of
gelatine, two ounces of castor sugar, vanilla.

_Method._--Beat up the eggs with the sugar and milk; pour into a jug,
stand in a saucepan of boiling water and stir with the handle of a
wooden spoon until it thickens; dissolve the gelatine in it, flavoured
with vanilla, pour into a wetted mould and turn out when set.


SPONGE CAKE PUDDING.

_Ingredients._--Two stale sponge cakes, three eggs, half a pint of
milk, two ounces of castor sugar, a piece of thin lemon rind.

_Method._--Boil the milk with the rind and the sugar; let it cool a
little and add the eggs well beaten; cut the sponge cakes in pieces and
lay them in a buttered tin, pour the custard over and bake gently until
set. Turn out and set cold.


LEMONADE.

_Ingredients._--Two large lemons, one quart of water, a quarter of a
pound of castor sugar.

_Method._--Pare the lemons very thinly, so that the rind is yellow both
sides, put the rind with the sugar and the lemon-juice in a jug, pour
boiling water on it, and let it stand till cold, strain and use.


BARLEY WATER.

_Ingredients._--Two ounces of pearl barley, one quart of water, a small
piece of lemon rind, one ounce and a half of castor sugar.

_Method._--Blanch the barley; put it in a saucepan with the lemon-rind
and sugar, and simmer gently one hour. Strain and use.


TOAST AND WATER.

_Method._--Toast a piece of bread until nearly black. Put it in a jug
and pour cold water on it.



ART IN THE HOUSE.

HOW TO DECORATE AND FURNISH A GIRL'S BED SITTING-ROOM.


PART I.

DOING UP OLD FURNITURE.

I want to make these articles entirely practical and within the scope
of the readers of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER, so I take a girl's room--a bed
sitting-room, because I feel sure that I shall appeal to a wider circle
than if I merely dealt with the decoration of a sitting-room only, and
I shall hope to show her how much the girl owner may do herself in
the beautifying of her "den." I want to avoid launching into expense,
so I shall first of all deal with the doing up of old furniture, for
in every house one finds what may be called derelicts, articles of
furniture which have outwardly at least had their day, and yet like
many an old weather-beaten craft there is a lot of good work still in
them if one takes a little trouble and spends a little time in putting
on a coat or two of paint and a little varnish.

I had myself three such derelicts, one a chiffonier which had
originally been grained in imitation of mahogany, but which had got
chipped and worn until it looked worth nothing more than firing. Yet
as a piece of woodwork it was in good condition, for I daresay it was
fifty years old, when furniture was much better made than it is now.
The first thing was to clean it thoroughly, and to this end I got some
soft soap and an old painter's brush (a good scrubbing brush will do),
and with some boiling hot water gave it a thorough cleansing. It took
some time to do this, for the dirt had collected in the corners, and
the grease from two generations of dirty fingers had to be removed. It
is most important where you are going to paint to have every vestige
of grease removed; otherwise your paint will not dry. While you are
washing it have a piece of pumice-stone (procurable at a good oil shop
or decorator's colourman), and thoroughly rub down all the old paint so
as to remove any roughnesses, blisters or other blemishes, and obtain a
nice smooth surface. Don't hurry this part of the work, as much of the
after success depends upon your preliminary efforts. Give the furniture
a rinse in clean hot water and then wipe it dry with an old towel. The
next day or within an hour or two it is ready for the first coat of
paint.

[Illustration: FIG. 1.--_Chiffonier painted white and decorated with
stencilling._]


PLAIN PAINTING.

I like white painted furniture, so I shall assume here that you will
also paint your furniture white or cream, and I shall reserve my
remarks on painting in darker tones of colour for another occasion.
White goes with anything and is easily decorated, as I shall hope to
show. For a girl's room it looks cool, clean and dainty. White paint
can be bought ready mixed, either in tins or by the pound, and if you
know a reliable decorator you might purchase some off him ready for
use, but of course you have to pay him for his trouble, and what you
buy in tins is not only much more expensive than if you mix it up
yourself, but is often adulterated. It is very little trouble to mix it
yourself, and about half the price, so I will tell you how to set about
this. Buy at some good oil shop or decorators say a couple of pounds
of white lead ground in oil, a pint of best linseed oil, a pennyworth
of patent driers and a pint of turpentine. The whole lot will cost you
about 1s. 1d. A patent tobacco tin with a lid is a useful thing to keep
your paint in, as when not in use the lid will keep it air-tight, and
your paint will keep for a long time if not exposed to the air. Cover
the lead with oil and if it is in a pound tin the oil should be an
inch or more above the lead. Stir up with a palette knife to allow the
oil to mix with the white, and add a tablespoonful or so of turps, and
in a few hours the white will become the consistency of cream. If you
find it too thick add more oil and a little turps and the driers, and
proceed to strain through a piece of muslin. If you have another empty
tin strain your paint into it by putting the muslin loosely over the
empty tin, pouring some colour into the muslin and working it through
by brushing it every now and again with a hog hair brush. The paint
will gradually pass through the muslin, leaving any sediment or bits
behind, and you then pour out a little more colour and work through,
and so on until all is strained. You can finally squeeze the muslin
with your palette knife against the side of the tin, but be careful
not to allow any of the bits to pass through into your strained paint.
The proportion of turps to oil should be one of former to three of
latter, and of driers a piece the size of a walnut to the pound, but
the tradesman of whom you buy your colour will tell you this. The paint
for use should be the consistency of cream (not clotted or thickened)
and should be put on evenly with a good brush, so you put enough oil
and turps to make it this consistency. The brush is a very important
item, and this is why amateur painters so often fail; they haven't a
decent brush to work with. A good house painter's brush which has been
in use some time is the ideal tool, and if you can borrow or hire such
a one do. A wide, flat hog, say three inches wide will do, but it will
not hold the colour that a house painter's brush will, and the constant
filling of it adds to the labour of painting. Your brush should carry
its colour so that you only have to use force enough to work the colour
out on to your surface. You don't try to load the furniture with
colour, but get on so much as easily passes from the brush to the wood.
In filling your brush only dip the end into the paint, and then knock
it against the side of pot or tin so as to distribute it through the
hair and then it will not drop about when you use it. So many amateurs
try to get a lot of colour on at once, and so get it on too thickly in
places. Remember that you can only get a good surface by applying some
three or four coats. Your first coat, as the under colour is dark, will
look very dirty and thin, but this first coat is only a grounding one.
The second coat, which must be applied when the first is quite dry,
say in two days, will look much better, while the fourth coat ought to
look nice and white. A painter to get a good surface keeps his paint
the way of the grain of the wood. Thus the panel of the door would be
vertical in grain, the drawer front horizontal. Take the panel for
instance. You will get your colour on using your brush up and down.
When it is covered "stroke" the paint evenly from left to right, and
then "stroke" it again up and down. This will distribute the colour
evenly, and if you do this carefully you will obtain a good surface.

Allow plenty of time between each coat, as to paint over a surface not
quite hard will cause your paint to crack. If you find after your first
coat that there are any cracks or holes in the old paint take a little
of the stiff white lead, and with a little driers added to it use it as
putty and stop up any places, levelling it over smoothly with a knife.
By the time your last coat is on such defects ought not to show. If you
decide not to decorate your furniture, as I have shown in illustration,
then instead of using paint for the last coat buy a tin of white, ivory
or cream enamel and use to finish. The enamel is not so easy to get
on as paint owing to its sticky nature. You must apply it freely, but
don't load it on, for the more evenly you apply it the better will
it look. One coat will suffice if you have three good coats of paint
underneath. When your brushes are not in use put them into a gallipot
or other vessel half filled with water.

(_To be continued._)

[Illustration: FIG. 2.--_Top of chiffonier decorated with stencilling.
The two plants used are the dandelion and cyclamen._]



          A NEW PRIZE COMPETITION

   THE GIRL'S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

                   BEING

OUR OWN SCHOOL OF INTERESTING INFORMATION.

[Illustration]


_Let every girl who wishes for the next three months to have something
pleasant to think about, and something sensible with which to occupy
her leisure, read the following_--

       *       *       *       *       *

WE NOW START A NEW COMPETITION of remarkable interest, and likely, we
believe, to be of great profit to all who take part in it.

THE SUBJECT OF IT is to be

    A SERIES OF QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS,

the questions being proposed by the Editor of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER and
the answers being furnished by our Readers themselves.

THE COMPETITION WILL EXTEND over three months, during which time twelve
questions will appear in THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER every other week. This
will give one question to be answered for every working day, which
should not, we think, prove much of an exertion for anybody.

       *       *       *       *       *

PRIZES AND CERTIFICATES OF MERIT will be awarded to successful
competitors.

THE PRIZES will be worth struggling for. There will be fifteen of them
in all. Every girl will have a fair chance, and we have tried to plan
so that no one will have to compete against others who in age--and for
that reason possibly in information--are greatly superior to herself.

THE VALUE AND DISTRIBUTION OF THE PRIZES are here shown--

_For Girls of the  _1st Prize_  _2nd Prize_  _3rd Prize_
     Age of_         £  s. d.      s. d.          s.

 13-14 inclusive     1  1  0       10  6          5
 15-16     "         1  1  0       10  6          5
 17-18     "         1  1  0       10  6          5
 19-20     "         1  1  0       10  6          5
 21-23     "         1  1  0       10  6          5

THE CERTIFICATES OF MERIT will be given to girls of any age who gain
the necessary number of marks. They will be first, second and third
class. The total number of marks being reckoned at fifty, all who gain
over forty will be first class; between thirty and forty, second class;
and between twenty-five and thirty, third class.

THESE CERTIFICATES are an important feature. A girl who gains one of
them--even though she may fail to win a prize--will have many reasons
for feeling pleased. It will be something she can take a pride both in
showing and preserving. And when she goes out into the world, it may
be useful as a proof that she is painstaking and persevering--essential
qualities for all who would succeed in life.

       *       *       *       *       *

AIM THEN, GIRLS, first at taking a prize, and, failing that, a
Certificate of Merit.

BUT EVEN IF YOU OBTAIN neither, your work will not be lost. Prizes
and Certificates are of secondary importance compared with the mental
benefit which will fall to the share of every competitor, no matter who
she may be or what abilities she may possess.

YOU WILL IN ANY CASE add to your stock of information; your life
will be richer because of the something you have stored away in your
"knowledge-box;" you will be brighter because your mind has been
active; and you will get some laughing into the bargain, because we
must go cheerfully and happily about everything.

ARE NOT THESE REASONS ENOUGH why girls should enter upon this
competition with energy and enthusiasm?

       *       *       *       *       *

ALL OUR READERS ARE CORDIALLY INVITED to take part. It makes no matter
whether they are regular subscribers or only occasional readers--all
are welcome.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE QUERIES will be of the most varied kind, and no one need hold aloof
on the ground that the competition will contain nothing of special
interest to herself. She may count on its containing something, no
matter whether her tastes run on housekeeping, history, biography,
literature, music, art, or anything else.

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR INFORMATION ON WHICH TO BASE THEIR ANSWERS competitors may go to
any sources they please. All we are particular about is that they put
the answers in their own words and in their own way.

WHEN IT IS POSSIBLE competitors will, at the foot of each answer, give
the source from which their information is derived.

NO; GIRLS ARE NOT FORBIDDEN to ask their friends. In fact, the
Competition may supply subjects for much useful and entertaining talk,
and in this way be a real boon in many a friendly circle.

       *       *       *       *       *

A GIRL MAY NOT BE ABLE satisfactorily to answer all the questions--we
shall be surprised if any one is able to do that. But if a Competitor
cannot answer all let her answer as many as she can, remembering
that to do a little well is much better than to do a great deal in a
slipshod manner.

       *       *       *       *       *

IN JUDGING OF THE ANSWERS we shall take note, first of all, of the
sense. First, then, girls, see that the sense is all right. Next, we
shall observe whether the sense is well expressed. Be sure you look to
that too. Lastly, the neatness with which the papers are written will
count. It is a matter of some importance, so don't forget that either.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE LENGTH OF THE ANSWERS. The answers are not in length to exceed one
hundred and sixty words, but, if they only observe this restriction,
competitors may, in the matter of length, please themselves. We do not,
however, want too brief replies, say a mere name or date, a yes or a
no. Economy of speech is good sometimes, but not always.

       *       *       *       *       *

FOR EXAMPLE, supposing the question to be--"Are waves ever really
'Mountains high?'" It would be truthful enough, by way of answer, to
write an emphatic "No," but it would hardly be a satisfying reply or
one of much value to anybody.

We should all think it much better if the answer ran, say--

"_ARE WAVES EVER REALLY 'MOUNTAINS HIGH?'_"

"Waves never roll 'mountains high,' except by poetic license. As a
matter of fact, it is very rare for waves at sea, even in furious
weather, to exceed thirty feet in height.

"At Wick, in the far north of Scotland, where the sea sometimes
displays wonderful energy, waves of about forty feet in height have
been seen to strike the breakwater.

"The highest waves, however, which have been accurately measured, had
their dimensions taken by Dr. William Scoresby, the well known Arctic
explorer and physicist, who made some valuable observations on the
subject in the Atlantic. He found that they reached the height of
forty-three feet above the hollow.

"A foreign writer quotes the observations of others to the effect that
waves have been seen from sixty to a hundred and eight feet high, but
the evidence may not be trustworthy, at any rate he does not say how
the heights were ascertained."

       *       *       *       *       *

A NUMBER WILL BE PREFIXED to each question--the numbers will run from
1 onwards--and each answer must be preceded by a corresponding number.
After giving the number competitors must also quote the subject of the
query.

       *       *       *       *       *

EVERY QUERY must be answered on a separate sheet or sheets of
paper--the writing being on one side of the paper only--and the sheets
when sent in must be fastened together at the left hand top corner.

       *       *       *       *       *

ABOUT SENDING IN THE ANSWERS. During the course of the competition
answers are to be sent in three times; the first time the answers from
Nos. 1 to 24; the second time those from Nos. 25 to 48; and the last
time those from No. 49 to the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

WHEN A COMPETITOR sends in her second instalment of answers she will
kindly place at the head of the first page--"Answers 1 to 24 sent"
(_giving the date_), and on sending the third instalment she will write
"Answers 25 to 48 sent" (_giving the date_).

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TIME WHEN PAPERS ARE TO BE SENT IN. Answers to queries are to be
forwarded on or before the last day of each month during the currency
of the competition. The date however will be found given at the foot of
each set of queries so that competitors need have no uncertainty on
this point.

As a general rule, subscribers to the monthly parts will find they have
one clear month for answering each set of 24 queries, and those who
take in our weekly numbers will find they have longer.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE FULL NAME, AGE, AND ADDRESS of the competitor must be put on the
back of the last page of each instalment. Should the competitor not
wish her name, age, and address to be printed, she should add the name
of her favourite flower instead, and this alone would be published in
the pass lists.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PAPERS MUST BE SENT BY POST, addressed to THE EDITOR, THE GIRL'S
OWN PAPER, 56, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C.

       *       *       *       *       *

AT THE LEFT HAND TOP CORNER of the envelope or wrapper must be clearly
written the words "Questions Competition."

       *       *       *       *       *

NO PAPERS can in any case be returned.

       *       *       *       *       *

HERE ARE THE FIRST TWELVE QUESTIONS:--


THE GIRL'S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS.

Questions 1-12.

1. Did a queen ever voluntarily lay down the sceptre and retire into
private life?

       *       *       *       *       *

2. What stone is said to endow whoever kisses it with wonderful powers
of speech?

       *       *       *       *       *

3. How is it that, though the moon turns round on its axis, we never
see its other side?

       *       *       *       *       *

4. Why is hard water very unsuitable for cooking and washing?

       *       *       *       *       *

5. What celebrated work was written in a week to defray the cost of the
funeral of the author's mother?

       *       *       *       *       *

6. How did the thistle come to be the emblem of Scotland?

       *       *       *       *       *

7. What sea has water so thick that you can move in it with difficulty?

       *       *       *       *       *

8. What are the characteristics of the music of Chopin?

       *       *       *       *       *

9. Who is the greatest poetess the world has ever seen?

       *       *       *       *       *

10. How is a rainbow a sign of bad weather in the morning and a sign of
good weather in the evening?

       *       *       *       *       *

11. Has a besieged town ever been saved by a pig?

       *       *       *       *       *

12. How fast can an expert penman write?

THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS, Nos. 1-12, together with the Answers to
Questions, Nos. 13-24, which have yet to appear, must be sent in on or
before the 30th of December.



VARIETIES.


A GREAT CHARACTERISTIC OF THE BIBLE.

Writing of the poetry and allusions of the Bible, Dr. Cunningham Geikie
points out one of the great characteristics of the sacred volume.

"It is not," he says, "the production of cloistered ascetics, but
breathes in every page a joyous or meditative intercourse with nature
or mankind. The fields, the hills, the highway, the valleys, the
varying details of country scenes and occupations are interspersed
among pictures of life from the crowded haunts of men.

"The sower and the seed; the birds of the air; the foxes; the hen and
its brood; the lilies and the roses; the voice of the turtle; the
fragrance of the orchard; the blossom of the almond or the vine; the
swift deer; the strong eagle ... the hiring of labourers; the toil of
the fisherman; the playing of children; the sound of the mill; the lord
and his servants; the courtier in silken robes, and a thousand other
notices of life and nature, utilised to teach the highest lessons, give
the sacred writings a perennial freshness and universal interest."


DELIGHT IN PRAISING.

    "There is delight in singing, though none hear
    Beside the singer; and there is delight
    In praising, though the praiser sit alone
    And see the praised far off him, far above."

        _Walter S. Landor._


A GREEK OPINION ON WOMEN.

The Greek philosopher, Aristippus, was once asked by a friend what sort
of a woman he ought to choose for a wife.

His answer was, "I cannot recommend any sort, for if she is fair she
will deceive you; if plain, you will dislike her. If she is poor she
will ruin you; if rich, you will be her slave. If she is clever,
she will despise you; if ignorant, she will bore you; and if she is
spiteful, she will torment you."

Perhaps this opinion of the Greek sage should be taken with a grain of
salt, as the great thinkers of Greece entertained such perverse notions
of woman's character that the question was actually raised among them
whether women had souls!


TALL MEN.

"Exceedingly tall men have ever very empty heads," writes Lord Bacon.

Thomas Fuller writes more warily. "Often the cockloft is empty in
those whom Nature hath built many storeys high," a metaphor seemingly
borrowed from Bacon's "Nature did never put her precious jewels into a
garret four storeys high."

Compare Fuller's moderate "often" with Bacon's sweeping "ever" and
"never" which surely smack of some personal ill-will. Can it be that
the "wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind" was dealing a side-thrust
at Elizabeth's tall favourite, my Lord of Leicester?


THE BEST SAUCE

A prince, overtaken in his walk by a shower, sought refuge in a wayside
cottage. The children happened to be sitting at table with a great dish
full of oatmeal-porridge placed before them. They were all eating with
a right good appetite, and looked, moreover, as fresh and ruddy as
roses.

"How is it possible," asked the prince of the mother, "that they can
eat such coarse food with such evident pleasure, and look so healthy
and blooming withal?"

The mother answered, "It is on account of three kinds of sauces which
I put into the food. First, I let the children earn their dinner by
work; secondly, I give them nothing to eat out of meal-time that they
may bring an appetite with them to table, and thirdly, I bring them up
in the habit of contentment, as I keep dainties and sweetmeats out of
their way. 'Seek far and wide, no better sauce you'll find than hunger,
work and a contented mind.'"


A PLAIN-LOOKING POETESS.--"Mrs. Browning," says a friend who knew her
in Florence, "was the tiniest of women. There was something elfish in
her bird-like face and masses of black hair. But she had probably in
her childhood bidden good-bye to the hope of beauty and had forgotten
all about it. Hence, when her soul looked directly through the pinched
features into yours, what did you care how plain they were?"



[Illustration: ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.]


RULES.

    I. No charge is made for answering questions.

    II. All correspondents to give initials or pseudonym.

    III. The Editor reserves the right of declining to reply to any
    of the questions.

    IV. No direct answers can be sent by the Editor through the
    post.

    V. No more than two questions may be asked in one letter, which
    must be addressed to the Editor of "The Girl's Own Paper," 56,
    Paternoster Row, London, E.C.

    VI. No addresses of firms, tradesmen, or any other matter of
    the nature of an advertisement will be inserted.


MEDICAL.

LILY W.--What you describe is a typical case of severe anæmia, and
though it is possible that your heart may be diseased, we strongly
believe that all your symptoms are due to anæmia alone. You say that
you have been treated for anæmia, and it is necessary for you to
continue that treatment. It is very common, in the more severe grades
of anæmia, for the sight to get dim after a few minutes' work--it is
only a temporary inconvenience and gets well again when the health
improves. Green spectacles would be of no help to you.

M. A.--It is only a theory--and an exceedingly improbable one--that
the benefits of sea air are due to ozone. Usually there is more ozone
at the seaside than elsewhere, but the quantity present is very
minute. Ozone is a poisonous, irrespirable gas of great interest
scientifically, but it is not of any medicinal value.

A. E. M.--The seriousness of the complaint that you mention varies
with its cause. It is very seldom indeed that it is dangerous. It may
be caused by anæmia. The second matter that you describe is not very
uncommon. A large number of people when they go to the seaside are
affected as you are. The freckles are undoubtedly caused by the sun,
but it is uncertain what caused the "peeling." Possibly this is only
partly due to the sun and partly due to wind. The best thing you could
do for the condition is to apply a little glycerine and rose-water,
or a little cold cream to the face and hands. Always wear a veil and
gloves when you go out. We should very much doubt if erysipelas,
which you say you had some years ago, has anything to do with your
present troubles. It is not our experience that erysipelas leaves
anything behind it, or affects the subsequent health in any way. The
prescription that you mention is well known to us, but is only really
useful in some cases.

VIRGO.--The question "is cancer hereditary?" has exercised the minds
of many great physicians and surgeons for a long period, and it is
not yet fully answered. At the present time the general opinion seems
to be that cancer is occasionally hereditary. When all sources of
error are removed, as far as possible, it appears that it is very
rarely hereditary, but that it is a disease that runs in one or two
families--chiefly Jewish, which is strange, for cancer is uncommon
among Jews as a race. Cancer rarely develops before the fortieth year.
Unfortunately it is only too true that the disease is on the increase
in England.

EDITH HOPPNER.--The preparation that you mention contains either
carbonate or subnitrate of bismuth, sodium carbonate, mucilage of
tragacanth, and either compound infusion of gentian or some simple
diluent. It is not a pharmocopœial preparation, but it is exceedingly
useful and frequently prescribed for indigestion or diarrhœa.

TROUBLED.--Wash your head with warm water and borax, dry it well and
then apply a little sulphur ointment to the roots of the hair. The
complaint is rather difficult to remedy and often lasts many years.

ELLIE.--Acne spots do get worse from exposure to the sun. We have
frequently noticed this, but cannot say for certain why it should be
so. Wearing a veil will keep the effects of the sun from injuring the
face.

TEETH.--Have your teeth scaled if they are very thickly covered with
tartar. Scaling improves and does not injure the teeth. Use the
following tooth-powder:--Precipitated chalk, 50 parts; carbonate of
magnesia, 50 parts; powdered cuttlefish, 5 parts; powdered orris-root,
5 parts; powdered hard soap, 5 parts; oil of cloves, 1 part.

LADY JOAN.--No, we cannot approve of girls' smoking. You are quite
right, it is a dirty and disgusting sight.


STUDY AND STUDIO.

MARY.--1. For the London B.A. degree, three successive examinations are
necessary; matriculation, the intermediate B.A., and the final B.A.
It would take you three years, under favourable conditions, to pass
them.--2. As to whether a girl, just eighteen, could prepare for these
examinations at home, working four hours a day, much depends on the
ability and the previous education of the student; but she would have
to be an unusually clever girl to accomplish it. Coaching, if only by
correspondence, is most desirable. Two questions are all we can answer
at one time.

ROSEVILLE.--

    "The harp that once through Tara's halls
          The soul of music shed,
    Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
          As if that soul were dead,"

is the first verse of a song by Thomas Moore. You will find it in any
collection of his poems.

DOVU (Fiji).--The author of _Chronicles of the Schönberg-Cotta Family_
and _The Diary of Mrs. Kitty Trevylyan_, is Mrs. Rundle Charles.

MISS ADAMSON, formerly of Tunbridge Wells, desires to inform the
readers of THE GIRL'S OWN PAPER that her Amateur Literary Guild has
ceased to exist. She recommends an excellent pseudonym club with a
printed magazine: address, Miss Cornwall, 10, Princeton Mansions, Red
Lion Square, London. We accept no responsibility whatever with regard
to this, or any amateur society.

A. H. RICHARDS.--In Christina Rossetti's poem "Uphill" the "inn" may
be taken as meaning "death" or "the grave." The poem is a sombre
allegorical description of life's journey and its inevitable close.

    "Of labour you shall find the sum,"

we understand as signifying, "You shall have labour enough and to
spare," a stern reply to the inquiry, "Shall I find comfort?" This fine
poem is written in Miss Rossetti's austerest strain.

ZARA KEITH.--Your poems are above the average of those we receive for
criticism. They are so good, that it would be worth your while to try
to make them better. "Soar the skies" is an incorrect expression, and
"boons" is an inadmissible verb. The close of "aspiration" is too
abrupt. We like the poem "Communion" best. We see no reason why you
should not, with careful study and practice, write what will find
acceptance some day.


MISCELLANEOUS.

GERTIE.--Our sentiments are absolutely at variance with those of the
sect to which you refer. At the root of the whole procedure of these
people we find the design to shake confidence in the divine teachings
of the Holy Scriptures. There are many who, while praising them, and
the God-man, whose doctrines are therein made known, nevertheless
preach a so-called "gospel, which is not the gospel," and "entering not
in by the door of the sheep-fold," "climb up another way." The teachers
they follow are not those which they, themselves, imagine them to be.
These are our sentiments.

MODEST VIOLET.--It is a matter of common honesty to restore to the
owner what you have lost or broken. At the same time it is only fair
to give due warning to a servant, and a thorough understanding should
be arrived at on the question when a servant is engaged. This is not
usually done, but it is a very desirable precaution. A careless servant
may destroy things which, though not costly to buy, no money could
replace to the owner. It seems that you have broken several things,
and your mistress cannot afford to pay for so much carelessness and
destruction of her property. Put yourself in her place. This breakage
by rough handling has become a wide-spread trial and grievance amongst
those who keep domestic servants.

INDUSTRY.--You can obtain all information respecting the Mission to
the "Deep Sea Fishermen" from the Secretary, Francis H. Hood, Esq.,
Office of the R. National Mission to Deep-Sea Fishermen, 181, Queen
Victoria Street, E.C. A monthly magazine is published by the society,
called _The Toilers of The Deep_, which is well illustrated and very
interesting, price 3d. We recommend you to order it. The No. for May is
out. Her Majesty the Queen is the Patron. Messrs. Jevons and Mellor,
Corporation Street, Birmingham, supply the materials used in working
for the Mission, taking off a special discount on all materials in aid
of the Mission. Patterns and prices would be forwarded to workers on
application.

EMILY.--The 20th of June, 1874, was a Saturday, and the 5th of
February, 1870, a Saturday also.

OLIVE.--We think you could obtain the "crinkled paper" for
flower-making at any fancy-work shop, or by order through the
proprietors. Perhaps you might obtain some advice from Miss
Younghusband, 70, Lower Belgrave Street, S.W. Apologise for so doing,
and send a certificate of respectability from your clergyman, giving
your real name and address. This lady occupies herself specially on the
subject of "women's work in all branches."

CAPE COAST (no name given).--As no revelation has been made to us in
Holy Scripture as to the language of the blessed, when "in the Kingdom
of their Father," how can you expect us to know anything about it? see
St. Luke, ix., 30, 31, and 35 and 36. The Apostles heard and understood
what was said; but we do not know in what language the words were
spoken. There will be no stagnation, nor idleness in Heaven, and that
there will be work of some kind unaccompanied by fatigue, or wear and
tear; but certainly, no "doctors" will be needed, and no "engineers,"
nor teachers of "languages." If you study your Bible a little more
carefully you will not send us such questions.

BIBLIO.--You do not say whether your old Bible be an illustrated one,
nor do you give any particulars respecting it--even of its dimensions.
A volume of the _Authorised Version_, London, by R. Barker, of 1611,
folio, the value would be from £10 to £15. The _Royal Version_ (by same
publisher), of 1616, is valued only at a few shillings. The _Genevan_
and _Tomson_ (same publisher), London, of 1615, is valued at about 17s.
There is another by Barker, of this date, worth only 12s.

       *       *       *       *       *

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE.

The following changes have been made to the original text:

Page 5: congregration to congregation.

Page 10: carrriage to carriage.

Page 13: of to off.





*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "The Girl's Own Paper, Vol. XX, No. 979, October 1, 1898" ***

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