CHAPTER XVIII.

THE RED FARM.

I perceived a great change in Mrs. Markham after my mistress’s visit. She took less notice of the children, sent fewer messages to the nursery, ceased to interfere in the nursery arrangements, and often ignored my presence if she chanced to meet me in the hall or garden. Her manner convinced me that she was deeply offended by her sister’s patronage of me. Very probably Mr. Morton had spoken a few forcible words in my defence. They made her understand that they trusted me implicitly, and that any interference in my department would be displeasing to them. It was easy to read this from her averted looks.

Now and then I heard a word or two about “Violet,” “ridiculous infatuation,” when I passed the open drawing-room door. Rolf once asked me curiously why his mother disliked me so. “You aren’t so very wicked, are you, Fenny? Is it very wicked to be stuck up? Mother is so fond of using that word, you know.”

I tried not to listen to Rolf. I could afford to be magnanimous, for I was very happy just then. Gay’s partiality for me was evident, and I soon conceived the warmest attachment for her. She seized every opportunity of running up to the nursery for a few minutes’ chat, and she often joined us on the beach. One afternoon she asked to accompany us in a country ramble. Hannah had gone to Wheeler’s Farm to have tea with Molly, and Luke was to walk home with her in the evening. I thought how they would enjoy that walk through the cornfields and down the dim, scented lanes. Life would look as sweet to them as to richer lovers; youth and health and love being the three-fold cord that cannot lightly be broken. Gay made the excuse that she would be useful in taking care of Joyce while I wheeled Reggie in his perambulator, I overheard her saying to Mrs. Markham, but her speech only elicited a scornful reply.

“If Miss Fenton encourages Hannah in gadding about, there is not the slightest need for you to take her place, Gay; but, of course, you will please yourself.”

“Oh, I always please myself, Addie,” returned Gay, cheerfully, “and I shall enjoy a gambol among the lanes.”

And, indeed, we had a delightful afternoon gathering wild flowers, and resting ourselves in any shady corner where a fallen tree or stile invited us.

We were gathering some poppies that grew among the corn when Gay called me. She looked a little anxious.

“Merle, I am really afraid there is a storm coming up. You were noticing just now how close and sultry it felt; those clouds look ominous, and we are a mile and a half from Marshlands.”

I felt conscience-stricken at her words. We had been talking and laughing, and had not perceived how the sunshine had faded. Certainly, the clouds had a lurid, thunderous look, and the birds were flying low, and seemed fussy and uncertain in their movements. True, the storm might not break on us for another half-hour; but we should never get the children home in that time. I thought of Reggie with dismay.

“What shall we do, Miss Gay?” I returned, hurriedly. “It would be nearer to Wheeler’s Farm. We might take refuge there.”

“Wait a moment,” was her answer; “we shall be drenched before we get there. The Red Farm is not half a mile off. I think we had better take the children there, and then Mr. Hawtry will send us home in his waggonette. Come—come! Why do you hesitate, Merle? He is father’s old friend; and even Adelaide would find no fault with us if we took refuge at the Red Farm.”

I held my peace, for of course Miss Cheriton must know what her father and sister would approve; but I did not like the notion at all, and I followed her somewhat reluctantly down the field. I would much rather have gone to Wheeler’s Farm and put ourselves under Molly’s protection. Most likely they would have placed a covered cart or waggon at our disposal, and we should all have enjoyed the fun. Gay was so simple and unconventional, that she saw no harm at all in going to the Red Farm; but I knew what Aunt Agatha would say, and I took all my notions of propriety from her.

But the fates were against us, for just as we reached the stile there was Squire Hawtry himself, mounted as usual on Brown Peter, trotting quietly home. He checked Peter at once, and spoke in rather a concerned voice.

“Miss Cheriton, this is very imprudent. There will be a storm directly. Those children will never get home.”

He spoke to her, but I fancied he meant that reproachful look for me. No doubt I was the one to blame.

“It was very wrong,” I stammered; “but we were talking, and did not notice. I want Miss Cheriton to hurry to Wheeler’s Farm.”

“Oh, nonsense!” he said, abruptly; but it was such a pleasant abruptness; “the Red Farm is a mile nearer. Give the little girl to me, Miss Fenton, and then you can walk on quickly. I will soon have her under shelter.”

There was no disputing this sensible advice, and as soon as Peter was trotting on with his double burden I followed as quickly as possible with Reggie. We were only just in time, after all. As I wheeled Reggie under the porch of the Red Farm the first heavy drops pattered down.

I was in such haste, that I only stole a quick glance at the low red house, with its curious mullioned windows and stone porch. I had noticed, as we came up the gravel walk, a thick privet hedge, and a yew walk, and a grand old walnut tree in the centre of the small lawn with a circular seat. There were seats, too, in the porch, and a sweet smell of jasmine and clematis. Then the door opened, and there stood Mr. Hawtry, with a beaming face, and Joyce beside him, evidently pleased to welcome us all to the Red Farm.

I lifted Reggie out of the perambulator and carried him into the hall. It had some handsome oak furniture in it: heavy carved cabinets and chairs, and a tall clock. There was a tiger skin lying before the fireplace. An open glass door led into a charming old-fashioned garden, with a bowling-green and a rustic arbour, and a long, straight walk, bordered with standard rosetrees.

A tall, thin woman, with a placid face and grey hair, shook hands with Gay. Mr. Hawtry introduced her to me as “Mrs. Cornish, my worthy housekeeper,” and then bade her, with good-humoured peremptoriness, “to get tea ready as soon as possible in the oak room.”

“I am afraid the drawing-room has rather a chilly aspect,” he continued, throwing open a door. “Should you not prefer sitting in my den, Miss Gay, until Mrs. Cornish tells us tea is ready?”

I was sorry when Miss Cheriton pronounced in favour of the den. I liked the look of that drawing-room, with its three long, narrow windows opening on to the bowling-green. It had faint, yellowish panelled walls and an old-fashioned blue couch, and there was some beautiful china on an Indian cabinet. No doubt that was where his mother and Miss Agnes used to sit. Perhaps the room held sad memories for him, and he was glad to close the door upon them.

Mr. Hawtry’s den was a small front room, with a view of the privet hedge and the walnut tree, and was plainly furnished with a round table and well-worn leather chairs, the walls lined with mahogany bookshelves, his gun and a pair of handsomely-mounted pistols occupying the place of honour over the mantelpiece. Joyce called it an ugly room, but I thought it looked comfortable and home-like, with its pleasant litter of magazines and papers, and Gay said at once—

“I do like this old den of yours, Mr. Hawtry; it is such a snug room, especially in winter, when father and I have come in after a long, cold ride.”

“You do not come as often now, Miss Gay,” he said, looking at her a little keenly.

She coloured, as though the remark embarrassed her, and seemed bent on excusing herself.

“I am such a busy person, you see, and now I spend all my leisure time with the children. Am I not a devoted aunt, Merle?”

“You are very good to give us so much of your company,” I returned, for I saw she wanted me to speak; but just then a flash of lightning frightened Joyce away from the window, and she came to me for protection. Reggie, too, began to cry, and I had some trouble in pacifying him.

Gay good-naturedly came to my assistance.

“Supposing we take the children into the other room and show them the shells; it would distract their attention from the storm. We will leave you to read your paper in peace, Mr. Hawtry.” But he insisted on going with us. The cabinet had a curious lock, he assured us, and no one could open it but himself.

The children were delighted with the shells, and a little green Indian idol perfectly fascinated Reggie. He kissed the grinning countenance with intense affection, and murmured, “Pretty, pretty.” My attention was attracted to a miniature in a velvet frame. It was a portrait of a round-faced, happy-looking girl, with brown eyes, rather like Mr. Hawtry’s.

“That was my sister Agnes,” he said, with a sigh, and for a moment his face clouded over. “She died two years ago, after years of intense suffering. That miniature was painted when she was eighteen. She was a bright, healthy creature then. Look, that was her couch, where she spent her days. There is a mystery in some lives, Miss Fenton. I never understood why she was permitted to suffer all these years.”

“No, indeed,” observed Gay, who had heard this. “Violet and I were so fond of her; she could be so merry in spite of her pain. I think some of my pleasantest hours have been spent in this room. How pleased she used to be when I had anything new to tell her or show her. I do not wonder you miss her, Mr. Hawtry; I have always been so sorry for you.”

I thought he seemed sorry for himself, for I had never seen him look so sad. I wished then that Gay had not brought us back to this room; it was evidently full of relics of the past, when womanly hands had busied themselves for the comfort of the dearly-loved son and brother.

The little round table beside the couch, with its inlaid workbox and stand of favourite books, must have been Miss Agnes’s, but the netting case and faded silk bag on the other side of the fireplace, with the spectacles lying on the closed Bible, must have belonged to the mother. How sorely must he have missed them! Few men would have cared to have preserved these little homely treasures; they would have swept them away with the dead past. But now and then a strong manly character has this element of feminine tenderness.

I think my look must have expressed sympathy, for Mr. Hawtry came up to me as I stood alone by the window (for Gay was still showing the shells to the children) and said, a little abruptly—

“It is good of you to be sorry for me, but time heals all wounds, and, in spite of pain and loneliness, one would not call them back to suffer.” And then his voice changed to a lower key. “I wish Agnes could have known you, Miss Fenton; how she would have sympathised with your work. All good women are fond of little children, but she doated on them. There were crowds of children in the churchyard on the day she was buried.”

I was too much touched to answer, but he went on as though he did not notice my silence.

“You seem very happy in your work?”

“Very happy.”

“One can see that; you have a most contented expression; it almost makes one envy you. I wonder how you came to think such work was possible.”

I do not know how it was, but I found myself telling Mr. Hawtry all about Aunt Agatha and the cottage at Putney. I had even let fall a word or two about my miserable deficiency. I am not sure what I said, but I certainly saw him smile as though something amused him.

I was almost sorry when Mrs. Cornish called us into the oak room, and yet a most pleasant hour followed. Mrs. Cornish poured out the tea, and the children were very good; even Reggie behaved quite nicely. The room was very dark and low, and furnished entirely with oak, but a cheery little fire burnt on the hearth; and though the thunder rain beat heavily against the window, it seemed only to add to our merriment. Mr. Hawtry had promised to drive us home in the waggonette, but we dared not venture until the storm was over.

When the children had finished their bread and honey they played about the room, while we gathered round the window.

Mr. Hawtry spoke most to Gay, and I sat by and listened. He spoke about Mr. Rossiter presently.

“I think him a capital fellow,” he said, in his hearty manner; “and it quite puzzles me why Mrs. Markham dislikes him so; she is always finding fault with him.”

“Oh, there is no accounting for Adelaide’s likes and dislikes,” replied Gay, a little impatiently. “Sometimes I think she would have found fault with St. Paul himself if she had known him.”

Mr. Hawtry laughed. “Rossiter is not a St. Paul, certainly, but he is a downright honest fellow, and that is what I like. Perhaps he is not a shining light in the pulpit, but he is so earnest and painstaking, that we cannot blame his want of eloquence. He is just the companion that suits me; always cheerful and always good-tempered, and ready to talk on any subject. I must say I am rather partial to Walter Rossiter.”

Now I wonder what made Gay look so pleased, and why her eyes beamed so softly on Mr. Hawtry. But she said nothing, and Mr. Rossiter’s name soon dropped out of the conversation.

Very shortly after that the rain cleared and the waggonette was ordered. While we were waiting for it, Gay asked me to come with her into the dairy to see Lydia Sowerby. I was anxious to see Hannah’s sister, but I own I was not prepossessed with her appearance. She had red hair, like Molly—indeed, most of the Sowerbys had red hair—but she was far plainer than Molly, and it struck me her face looked hard.

I was to own by-and-by, however, that first impressions may be wrong, for a few moments afterwards, when Mrs. Cornish carried Reggie into the dairy, Lydia’s hard-featured face softened in a wonderful manner, and such a pleasant smile redeemed her plainness.

“Oh, do let me hold him a moment,” she said, eagerly; “he reminds me of little Davie, our poor little brother who died. Hannah has talked so much about him.” And when Mrs. Cornish relinquished him reluctantly, she carried him about the dairy with such pride and joy, that Mrs. Cornish nodded her head at her benignantly.

“You are a rare one for children, Lyddy; I never saw a woman to beat you. She is always begging me to ask Dan,” she went on, turning to us. “She spoils Dan hugely, and so does Molly; they are both of them soft-hearted, though you would not believe it to look at them, but many a soft fruit has a rough rind,” finished Mrs. Cornish.

Reggie was asleep all the way home, but Joyce prattled incessantly. I took them into the house as quietly as I could, after bidding Mr. Hawtry good-night. I thought it best to leave Gay to explain things to Mrs. Markham.

But all that evening, until I slept, a sentence of Mr. Hawtry’s haunted me. “I wish my sister Agnes could have known you, Miss Fenton.” Why did he wish that? And yet, and yet I should have been glad to have known Agnes Hawtry, too.

(_To be continued._)

VARIETIES.

A GOOD OFFER.

“I will save you a thousand pounds,” said an Irishman to an old gentleman, “if you don’t stand in your own light.”

“How?”

“You have a daughter, and you intend to give her ten thousand as a marriage portion.”

“I do.”

“Sir, I will take her with nine thousand.”

IN SOLITUDE.—Those beings only are fit for solitude who like nobody, are like nobody, and are liked by nobody.—_Zimmerman._

IN LASTING REMEMBRANCE.—Write your name with kindness, love, and mercy on the hearts of the people you come in contact with year by year, and you will never be forgotten.

A CURIOSITY IN WORDS.—The five vowels appear in alphabetical order in “abstemious,” also in the word “facetious,” and “abstemiously” and “facetiously” give us the _y_.

LOOKING AHEAD.—When we meet with the little vexatious incidents of life, by which our quiet is too often disturbed, it will prevent many painful sensations if we only consider—How insignificant this will appear a twelvemonth hence.

HOW TO BE LEARNED.—A Persian philosopher being asked by what method he had acquired so much knowledge, answered, “By not being prevented by shame from asking questions when I was ignorant.”

LIBERTY.

’Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume.

_Cowper._

WIDESPREAD SORROW.

Man’s inhumanity to man Makes countless thousands mourn.

—_Burns._

JEALOUSY.

Trifles light as air Are to the jealous confirmation strong As proofs of holy writ.—_Shakespeare._

A BARGAIN HUNTER.—It is told of a gentleman that he had a passion for the purchase of second-hand furniture at auctions, and that in making “good bargains” he had filled his house with antiquated and almost useless articles. Upon one occasion, his wife took the responsibility, without consulting or apprising her husband, to have a portion of the least useful removed to an auction-room. Great was her dismay when, on the evening of the day of sale, the majority of the articles came back to the house. The husband had stumbled into the auction-room, and, not knowing his own furniture, had purchased it at better bargains than at first.

CONSTANT COMPANIONS.—Hypocrisy and cunning travel together, and they cannot get very far separately.

ADVICE TO A WIFE.—Try to make home necessary to a man’s happiness, and you will almost always succeed.

ECHOES.

How sweet the answer Echo makes To Music at night, When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes, And far away o’er lawns and lakes Goes answering light!

Yet Love hath echoes truer far, And far more sweet, Than e’er, beneath the moonlight’s star, Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar, The songs repeat.

’Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere, And only then— The sigh that’s breathed for one to hear— Is by that one, that only Dear, Breathed back again.

—_Thomas Moore._

THE EDUCATION OF WOMAN.—Education is not that which smothers a woman with accomplishments, but that which tends to consolidate a firm and regular character—to form a friend, a companion, and a wife.—_Hannah More._

ON A SUMMER HOLIDAY.—After shutting up her house for some time, a woman used a weak tincture of iodine to stain herself and her children brown, and then succeeded in convincing all the neighbours that she had been to the sea-side.

TRUTH.—Truth comes home to the mind so naturally, that when we learn it for the first time it seems as though we did no more than recall it to our memory.—_Fontenelle._

AN INFIRM TRIBUNAL.[2]

The fact has been mentioned above of Camille Desmoulins’ stutter, which indomitable perseverance and enthusiasm in his chosen cause so far threw into the shade as that it proved no drawback to his attainment of a pre-eminent position in those troublous times.

It must be acknowledged as a somewhat singular circumstance that another of the revolutionary chiefs suffered from an affliction that would appear a still more certain impediment to success in public life. Couthon, while yet an obscure provincial advocate in Auvergne, was stricken with paralysis, which deprived him of the use of his limbs. Yet Couthon, thus laid past, as it might seem, once and for all, on life’s most obscure and dismal shelf—Couthon was no longer in Auvergne, but in Paris, in the forefront of the fiercest turmoil! Couthon, the paralytic, formed the third of the famous Triumvirate which exercised for above a year—an age in revolutionary times—the Dictatorship of France.

It is another rather curious fact about this man that, in spite of his grievous infirmity, he is represented as a person of engaging aspect and noble presence. When any measures of peculiar severity were to be proposed, he was always chosen by the committee to bring them forward, and he was remarkable for uttering the most atrocious and pitiless sentiments in a tone and with a manner the most affectionate and tender. The details of those wholesale murders, the Fournées, or Batches, as they were grimly termed, which marked the last and most sanguinary month of the Reign of Terror, were left to the unflinching hands of this pitiless, soft-seeming Couthon, and the suspicious, ferocious St. Just.

PROUD AND UNGRATEFUL.—Never was any person remarkably ungrateful who was not also insufferably proud, nor anyone proud who was not equally ungrateful.

THE WAY OF THE WORLD.—When two people disagree, each person tells her own story as much to the disadvantage of the other as she possibly can. The rule of the world on these occasions is to believe much of the evil which each says of the other, and very little of the good which each says of herself. Both, therefore, suffer.

MOTHERS-IN-LAW.—“Yes,” said a mother-in-law, “you can deceive your guileless little wife, young man, but her father’s wife—never!”

THE OBEDIENT HUSBAND.

A clergyman, travelling through the village of Kettle, in Fifeshire, was called into an inn to officiate at a marriage, instead of the parish minister, who, from some accident, was unable to attend, and had caused the company to wait for a considerable time.

While the reverend gentleman was pronouncing the admonition, and just as he had told the bridegroom to love and honour his wife, the said bridegroom interjected the words, “and obey,” which he thought had been omitted from oversight, though that is part of the rule laid down solely to the wife. The minister, surprised to find a husband willing to be henpecked by anticipation, did not take advantage of the proposed amendment; on which the bridegroom again reminded him of the omission. “Ay, and obey, sir—love, honour, and obey, ye ken!” and he seemed seriously discomposed at finding that his hint was not taken.

Some years after the same clergyman was riding through the village, when the same man came out and stopped him, addressing him in the following remarkable words: “D’ye mind, sir, yon day, when ye married me, and when I wad insist upon vowing to obey my wife? Weel, ye may now see that I was in the richt. Whether ye wad or no, I hae obeyed my wife; and behold, I am now the only man that has a twa-storey house in the hale toun!”

A NATURAL EXPLANATION.—The greater longevity of women as compared with men appears to be well borne out by the statistics of every country that has yet been examined. This shows that, after all, it is not bright dresses, heavy skirts, and thin shoes that kill. It is the paying for them that does it.

MUSICAL PERFORMERS.—“Three things,” said Mozart, “are necessary for a good performer”; and he pointed significantly to his head, to his heart, and to the tips of his fingers, as symbolical of understanding, sympathy, and technical readiness.

ENCOURAGEMENT.

The maid whose manners are retired, Who, patient, waits to be admired, Though overlooked, perhaps, awhile Her modest worth, her modest smile, Oh, she will find, or soon or late, A noble, fond, and faithful mate.

A COMFORTING THOUGHT.—When any calamity has been suffered, the first thing to be remembered is how much has been escaped.—_Dr. Johnson._

A GIPSY TRICK.

The feat known by the gipsies as “the great secret,” is performed by inducing some woman of largely magnified faith—say some decent farmer’s wife—to believe that there is hidden in the house a magic treasure, which can only be made to come to hand by depositing in the cellar another treasure, to which it will come by natural affinity or attraction.

“For gold, as you sees, my dearie, draws gold, and so if you ties up all your money in a pockethandkerchief and leaves it, you’ll find it doubled. And wasn’t there the squire’s lady, and didn’t she draw two hundred gold guineas out of the ground when they’d laid in an old grave—and only one guinea she gave me for all my trouble; and I hope you’ll do better by the poor old gipsy, my dearie.”

The gold and all the spoons are tied up—for as the enchantress observes, there may be silver, too—and she solemnly repeats over it certain magical rhymes. The next day the gipsy comes to see how the charm is working. Could anyone look under her cloak she might find another bundle precisely resembling the one containing the treasure. She looks at the precious deposit, repeats her rhyme again and departs, after carefully charging the housewife that the bundle must not be touched or spoken about for three weeks. “Every word you tell about it, my dearie, will be a guinea gone away.” Sometimes she exacts an oath on the Bible that nothing shall be said.

Back to the farmer’s wife never again. After three weeks another extraordinary instance of gross incredulity appears in the country papers, and is perhaps repeated in a colossal London daily, with a reference to the absence of the schoolmaster. There is wailing and shame in the house—perhaps great suffering, for it may be that the savings of years have been swept away. The charm has worked.—_Leland._

THE PLEASURE OF GIVING.—She who gives for the sake of thanks knows not the pleasure of giving.

A PARADOX.

Bread is the staff of life, they say; And be it also spoken, It won’t support a man a day Unless it first be broken.

SLAVES TO PLEASURE.

The world’s a bubble; all the pleasures in it, Like morning vapours, vanish in a minute, The vapours vanish, and the bubble’s broke; A slave to pleasure is a slave to smoke.

_Francis Quarles._

FOOTNOTES:

[2] From Lord Brougham’s “Statesmen of the Time of George III.” Third Series, page 91.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

MUSIC.

ALLEGRO.—The madrigal (a pastoral song) and the glee are not the same. The musical phrases in the former, complete in themselves, seldom went together in the different voice parts. One phrase began before the ending of the other, as it were over-lapping one another. It was usually sung in chorus, whereas glees were sung in single voices. A catch is of old English origin, as remote as the early days of the Tudors. Several voices are engaged, one catching up the words of the other in a whimsical and burlesque fashion.

CLAIRE ELLIOT.—We think we must refer you to our numberless valuable articles on music, which run all through the seven volumes, “Evenings with Our Great Living Composers,” in vol. iv., especially. The dress you mention would not be too handsome and full dress to wear in London, but we do not know for what kind of a concert you require it. There are concerts and concerts, you know.

AN OLD MAID OF 24.—The verse you quote is from a song called “Rock me to Sleep, Mother.” Of course, if young ladies call on other young ladies and do not make acquaintance with the lady of the house, be she mother or sister-in-law, there is no need of inviting them (the visitors) to the house as guests. But a girl of any tact will avoid this trouble by being very particular that her young friends be introduced to the elders of her family. In England, few mothers like their daughters to go out without them; if in society at all, they must have a chaperon.

BROWNIE M. C. B.—The names of all the best of the new songs are given in the reviews in the G.O.P., to which you must refer for information. There is a valuable article by Miss Mary Davies in vol i. on “How to Improve the Voice.” She thinks an egg beaten up with a little milk and sugar and taken an hour before singing is good.

ART.

AN ART STUDENT.—Copies from old masters have a very limited sale, and picture dealers are generally shy of buying them. The best exhibitions for their display are the agricultural shows held during the summer months in various country towns. These shows have a special exhibit of art work, and a class to which copies are admitted. Should your own promise as an artist be very decided, and your means permit, you would do well to go to Rome, Dresden, or to Belgium, where copies of the old masters can be made, which find a sale amongst English and American visitors to the galleries, and a fair price is obtained. Standing for long periods of time at an ordinary easel is very injurious to girls. Easels are constructed so as to be raised or lowered at will, and enable the artist to sit while at work.

A READER.—The materials mentioned in the articles upon photographine are stated correctly, and can all be obtained in Regent-street.

MISCELLANEOUS.

A CONSTANT READER.—1. The whole account of the royal mummies recently discovered in Egypt appeared, and with illustrations, in one of the numbers for August of the _Illustrated London News_. Neither of these was the Pharaoh who was drowned in the Red Sea. But even had it been so, what insuperable obstacles would have necessarily existed to the recovery of the king’s body, and its being embalmed and buried! 2. We do not believe England to be the worst country in the world for drunkenness.

SILVER THREAD should recommend her friends to read a recent article of ours on the care of the hair; and should read that by Medicus on “Lissom Hands and Pretty Feet,” besides continual answers to similar questions in our correspondence.

NIL DESPERANDUM.—1. It would be cheaper and more satisfactory to buy a sixpenny bottle of lemon kali, than attempt to make it yourself. 2. An account of all the old castles in England could be obtained by your bookseller.

HIGHLAND LASS.—1. To cover a bedroom mantelpiece, you can employ the ordinary furniture brocade sold for that purpose. A yard and a half will suffice. They have a woven flower design in the centre, and are finished with a fringe of the same material. The colours are rich in hue, and gold threads are usually run through the pattern. 2. Dec. 3rd, 1873, was a Wednesday.

PHŒBE.—1. The sect of the Epicureans (according to St. Gregory of Nyssa) believed that all things moved on accidentally, without any Providence. A very remarkable regularity, we must admit, of times and seasons, causes and results, are for mere accidents! Such accidents are as full of apparent method as there was in Hamlet’s madness. Alas! there are many silly epicureans in the present day, only known by a different name. 2. The name Shiloh means the peacemaker, and Messiah the anointed. The word catechism is derived from the Greek, signifying to instruct by oral teaching.

A SUBSCRIBER’S BROTHER.—You will spoil your gaselier if you attempt to lacquer it yourself. Send it to a lamp shop.

NYMPHÆ ALBA.—You might procure botanists’ portable collecting presses at Swiss wood-carving shops. For drying and preserving flowers refer to vol. iii., page 80.

R. E. W.—You say that, when you pray, you seem to speak to the air, and feel quite discouraged. You probably think of your Heavenly Father as far away above the heavens, instead of close at your side and in your chamber, knowing all your thoughts and desires before you utter them. Try to realise this. See Psalm cxxxix., and all our Lord’s words as to being in the midst of two or three praying in His name, etc. Then, again, you pray amiss even when asking for such spiritual grace and such temporal mercies as are agreeable to His will, because you do not fulfil all the conditions He has imposed on you. “When ye pray, believe that ye have the things, and ye shall have them.” “If ye shall ask anything in My name, I will do it.” If you ask in His name, therefore, and do not accept and believe in His promise, you cannot expect to receive what you need with any degree of confidence. “All things are possible to him that believeth.” “Ask and ye shall receive, that your joy may be full.” “Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out.”

MARY.—1. We regret that we cannot promise any special competitions. The time they exact from an editor is far greater than our competitors can realise. 2. It is very ungrammatical to divide the verb from the preposition “to.” You should not say “to accordingly act,” but “to act accordingly.” There is no such verb as “to accordingly.” The adverb should end the sentence.

NEW ZEALAND, AN ENGLISH GIRL.—We think your friends should get on anywhere. You do not give address; but you can write to the London office of the United Englishwoman’s Emigration Association, Mrs. Reeves, 13, Dorset-square, Baker-street, W., for information and advice on all subjects connected with the emigration of women.

NATALIE and BEREA.—1. A kind of pancake feast preceding Lent was observed in the Greek Church, from whom we may probably have borrowed it, together with the Pasch-eggs, and other suchlike things, so we are informed in Brand’s “Popular Antiquities.” 2. Anyone who exchanges any kind of goods to receive old used postage stamps in exchange does so to defraud the Government. Such stamps are submitted to a process which makes them appear like new, and are privately issued. Thus, we warn you of aiding and abetting swindlers. We are already provided with a very full staff of writers, and regret we cannot invite you to write for us.

LITTLE BUTTERCUP.—Hot mineral springs boil up from volcanic action under ground, and which become impregnated with mineral substances. The hot springs at Bath were known to the Romans in the first century, who had a station there called _Aquæ Solis_, or _Aquæ Calidæ_, and to the English conquerors as Bathan. But the discovery of the healing properties of the Bath waters dates back to the time of Bladud, the father of King Lear, who consequently built the city, one of the wells of which was called Bladud’s Well. Any little handbook of Bath will give you the whole history of his discovery of them, and the cure of the diseased swine from drinking and bathing in the waters.

J. NOEL.—The origin of the word “ostracism” is Greek, and the founder of this arbitrary law was Clisthenes, the leader of an advanced Democratic party in Athens. It provided for the banishment of any individual, however innocent of crime, who was obnoxious to the citizens, because too influential in their estimation, or disposed to restrict their own liberty of action. Their votes for his exile were recorded by the inscription of his name on the shells. The “biter bitten” was demonstrated in the case of this demagogue, as Clisthenes was himself the first on whom his own law was put in force.

PLURAL NOUN sent us the following riddle some time since, which is said to have been written by the Hon. George Canning. Some of our readers may like to try their skill on divining it:—

“A noun there is of plural number, Foe to peace and tranquil slumber; Now any noun that you may take By adding _s_ you plural make; But if you add an _s_ to this Strange is the metamorphosis! Plural is plural now no more, And sweet what bitter was before.”

HAWTHORN.—We thank you for your recipe for a plain cake, and thank you for your kind wishes. Poem mislaid. May yet find it.

INQUISITIVE.—The name Sevenoaks does not refer to trees, but to the founder of the grammar school there, which was founded A.D. 1418 by Sir William de Sevenoke, or Sennocke. In 1675 Lady Margaret Boswell founded a school for poor children. It was at Sevenoaks that Sir Humphrey Stafford was unhappily defeated by the rebel army under Jack Cade, and fell in the action, June 27th, 1450, _temp._ Henry VI.

A. M. W.—1. You might perhaps repair your waterproof by making the following solution:—Dissolve an ounce of isinglass in a pound of soft water, and a quarter of an ounce of soap in one pound of water, all separately. Strain the solutions, mix them, and let them simmer for some time. Brush the preparation while hot over the worn spot, and when dry brush it well and lay on a little more. In a day or two you may wear the garment. 2. Yes, seals can hear very well, and, what is more, they enjoy music, and they have been known to follow a ship for miles to listen to the playing of a violin on board.

EMMA.—A list of nine prayer unions and Scripture-reading societies is given in the little shilling manual of girls’ clubs just published by Messrs Griffith and Farran, corner of St. Paul’s-churchyard, E.C. The most considerable is that of the Rev. T. Richardson. We recommend the manual.

PATSY.—1. In calling on a newly-married couple for the first time, both husband and wife should call in person. After that the wife may leave her own card, should the lady be out, and two of her husband’s. As “Patsy” is the diminutive of “Patrick,” we presume our correspondent to be a man. 2. The harp is not a difficult instrument to play, provided you have a good ear, as it has to be tuned continually. You should go to a shop for musical instruments, and, if economy be essential, you might procure a secondhand one.

A LOVER OF THE G. O. P.—1. At one time there was no intercourse between the people of Coventry and the soldiers garrisoned there, and hence arose the phrase being “sent to Coventry,” where the soldiers were doomed to know nobody, and a woman seen speaking to one of them was immediately tabooed. 2. Canaries are kept in wire cages. See that yours be a large one, and keep the wooden perches well scraped.

YTTRIA LAVER.—Have you ever read the “Boston Monday Lectures,” by the Rev. Joseph Cook (Ward and Lock, Warwick House, Salisbury-sq., E.C.)? The vols. “Life and the Soul” and “God and the Conscience” are admirable, and well suited for the sceptical. A supreme divinity could not be created, as then he would not be supreme. He must be self-existent. The arguments you name are very feeble. Being omnipresent, of course He is in every corner of His dominion. See the 139th Psalm, 8th verse.

A. J. B.—September 18, 1864, was a Sunday. Unless intimate, bow only.

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The Editor offers his best thanks to the undermentioned correspondents for their kindly sending him Christmas and New Year’s Cards.—“Old School Girl,” “A Dumpling,” Snowdrop, A Delicate Country Lassie, “Waitakerei” (Auckland, N.Z.), R. C. R., for Dora Hope; Viola Heath (a cheque on the Bank of Providence for 365 days of health and prosperity), Florence and Gertrude Farrier (Melbourne, Aus.), Violet, A Brighton Seagull, Pecksy and Flopsy, A Reader, Bessie, A Lover of the G.O.P.; Auntie Jessie, for “M.E.E.,” “Medicus,” and the Editor; L. A. L., Hilda Mesnard, Anonymous, from Stockport; Emily Agnes C., for Medicus and the Editor; Alice E. Howes, R. Stephens, “A Midsummer Daisy,” “Bee” and “Angels,” “Faust,” “Iris,” H. A. W. (Jamaica), “Idalia,” One of the Editor’s Colonial Girls; “Topsy” (Jamaica), “Four Jamaica Girls,” Gladys Maurice-Pendarves, C. E. Biggs, “Clericus,” Dayfie, Rita, “Calcutta Lizzie,” Susan H. Hunter, Elodie, “Michaelmas Goose,” M. T. W., Children of the Scholars’ News Club (Fairfield Endowed Schools), Constance, for Editor and Medicus; Mary and Ada Levestan (two Russian Girls), Emmie Buchanan, Julia Mary Pollock.