CHAPTER XIII.

MATERNAL DISPLEASURE.

“Where is Sheila, Effie?”

“Gone for a ride along the New Road with Lady Dumaresq and her brother,” answered Effie with a slight toss of the head.

Mrs. Cossart looked annoyed.

“She had no business to go without my permission.”

“Much Sheila cares for that!” snorted Effie; but then with perhaps a better impulse she added, “Well, you were out, you know. And Lady Dumaresq sent up to ask her, and they had ordered a horse for her. I suppose she couldn’t very well have refused. She seems to belong more to them than to us.”

Mrs. Cossart’s ordinarily placid face darkened; that was exactly her own feeling, and she did not like it. The Dumaresqs were undeniably the “best” people at the hotel. The mother had arranged to spend this winter in Madeira partly that Effie might have the opportunity of making friends on equal terms with persons of a higher social standing than were attainable at home. It had even passed through her mind that Ronald Dumaresq would be a good match for her daughter. Hitherto she had never thought of Effie’s leaving her, but something the last doctor had said had put the notion into her head.

“Take her away and throw her with a lot of strangers. Let her mix with other people and get fresh interests. She has been too much shut up and thrown upon herself. Her nerves want bracing, and there is nothing like change of scene and companionship for that. You say she has never had a ‘disappointment,’ so much the better. She may find the right man for a husband one of these days, and in some respects that would be the best thing possible.”

So Mrs. Cossart, for the first time in her life, was rather disposed to make schemes for her daughter’s matrimonial settlement.

“Didn’t they ask you too?” she asked. “It would only have been polite.”

Effie made her little defiant gesture with head and shoulders.

“I don’t think grand people who are thought so much of are very polite. I suppose they think themselves too grand. Besides, they know I don’t like the horses here. But don’t you trouble about me, mother. I am all right. I don’t want a lot of strangers to run after. I don’t care to make myself cheap, like Sheila. I am quite happy with my books and work up here, and the garden to walk in. I never was one for always gadding. I think it’s charming to sit here in the sunshine and watch the sea. I get tired of all the silly babble that amuses Sheila. It’s more interesting to think one’s own thoughts. I have lots of thoughts. Perhaps I shall write them down some day when I’m stronger. I shouldn’t like to be always hanging on to other people. I’m not made like that.”

“Yes, I am afraid Sheila is very forward; I shall have to put a stop to her goings on, I think. People are beginning to talk about her. She was brought to be a companion for you, and she is always off with other people.”

“Oh, don’t think I want her,” cried Effie, laughing. “I get quite enough of her as it is, I assure you! We are good enough friends, but Sheila has such a shallow mind. I get tired of her. I like to go deeper into things; but when I talk she always either laughs or goes rattling off about some tennis match or cricket, or picnic. I can’t make things like that the aim and object of my existence.”

“But we want you to get out and see people, dear.”

“Oh, yes, and so I do; and perhaps there will be some more people by-and-by whom I shall like better. But I was rather glad to be rid of Sheila this afternoon, as it happens; for the two Miss Murchisons are coming to tea. I always enjoy them most alone. We like the same things, and Sheila doesn’t. She spoils it by making nonsense of everything.”

Mrs. Cossart did not reply; she had never opposed her daughter in any of her plans, and did not like to begin now; but as a matter of fact the two Miss Murchisons were by no means the companions she would have selected for her. They were pleasant girls enough, but their father was a tradesman in Leeds in a good way of business; and though everybody in the hotel was kind and civil to them, they were not in the swim in any sense of the word. One of the pair was delicate, and perhaps that had formed a bond. She could not play tennis, or go down in the evening to play in the billiard-room, or scramble up the steep roads either on foot or on horseback. Anyhow, Effie had taken a fancy to these girls, and would have them to her rooms, or go to theirs and spend hours in talking. Mrs. Cossart got an impression that they mutually told each other every detail of their respective illnesses, and all they had gone through; and she was beginning to understand that that sort of talk was bad for Effie; yet having herself encouraged it for so many years, she found it very difficult either to break herself of the habit or to break it in Effie.

The guests, in fact, appeared almost before there was time for more words, and Effie visibly brightened. Mrs. Cossart lingered awhile listening to the talk; but presently she betook herself to the garden to find her husband, who was greatly enjoying the easy life in the exquisite climate, where it was never cold and seldom too hot, and where he could sit out in sunshine or shade with his paper and pipe from morning to night, enjoying interludes of talk and friendly gossip with other elderly gentlemen of like tastes and habits.

They wandered about a little and finally betook themselves to the level garden outside the front door, and before long there was a clatter of horse-hoofs, and the riding party returned. Sheila, as usual, was bubbling over with fun, and her gay laugh rang out again and again as she dismounted and came along with Ronald in attendance.

“Thank you so much, Lady Dumaresq, it has been a delightful ride!” she cried, turning back towards their companion who was bringing up the rear more slowly. “What dear, little, plucky horses they are, though they do pull! They do like to get off the cobbles on to a proper road. And what a funny little village that is at the end of the road! Didn’t the people look wild and queer?”

“I believe they are rather a wild lot,” answered Lady Dumaresq, smiling; “but you must be thirsty, little girl. Come with us and have some tea. Guy and Aunt Mary are sure to have it all ready for us.” Then seeing Mrs. Cossart she added, with one of her gracious smiles, “You will let us give the baby her tea, will you not, since we have ridden her so hard?”

“Thank you, you are very kind,” answered Mrs. Cossart, rather stiffly, for she never could get used to what she called “grand people,” though she longed to be friendly with them, and was secretly pleased when Lady Dumaresq spoke to her in presence of other guests. But why was it Sheila whom these people had taken up, making a pet and baby of her, and encouraging her in all her little spoilt-child ways? If it had only been Effie now, the mother would have been brimming over with delight; but Sheila was quite spoiled enough as it was; it was a thousand pities she should be made so much of here.

Effie was able now to appear at luncheon and dinner, and her mother took care that she was always well dressed and looked her best. Sir Guy Dumaresq had the seat at the end of the table farthest from the door; his own party sat at his right hand, and the Cossarts opposite at his left. Thus they seemed in a fashion to make one party, and conversation was usually more or less general.

“Now, Miss Cossart,” said Ronald to Effie that day, “you’ve not done a single thing since you came. We must really rout you up. Let’s make up a party and take the funicular railway to the Mount Church to-morrow, and come down in running carros. It’s the most screaming fun, and perfectly safe. I know Miss Sheila is just aching to go in one; and you must come too!”

“There, Effie,” cried Mrs. Cossart, beaming, “isn’t that a charming plan?”

Effie pursed up her lips and gave her head a little toss.

“I don’t know till I’ve tried. I thought it always rained up at the Mount. I see the clouds come down every day about noon. But I’ll come if you want me; if I do get wet, I do. I don’t care so very much. If I do get a bad night afterwards it won’t kill me, I daresay!”

“Oh, we’ll take care of you!” cried Ronald, laughing. “Guy is going; and he isn’t to get wet either; so we’ll make love to the clerk of the weather. But the mornings are almost always fine even up there. It’s in the afternoon the clouds come down.”

Sheila was delighted to think of going on this excursion. So far, although they had now been several weeks in the island, she had seen very little. The Cossarts liked to take things quietly, and there was plenty of time, they kept saying, to see everything.

The few rides with Effie had not been particularly exhilarating, as she had been nervous and dissatisfied with the horses, and though Ronald had gone prospecting about, the Dumaresqs and Miss Adene had been content for the most part with the pleasures of the garden; and so Sheila’s opportunities for sight-seeing had been but few.

However, nothing could have been more favourable than the weather the next day. Fine as it almost always was down in Funchal, there were days when the hills and mountain peaks were wrapped in cloud, and those who ventured up their sides were speedily wet through. But to-day all was clear and bright and sunny; and as the little railway train climbed puffing up the steep track, the air seemed to grow more and more clear and buoyant, and Sheila laughed aloud from pure gladness of heart.

All the Dumaresqs were of the party, including little Guy, who clung close to Sheila, and who was her especial care. Miss Adene went with them, “to keep them in bounds,” as she said, and Ronald and Effie completed the party. Perhaps Ronald felt he had rather neglected the delicate girl, whose pleasures seemed few and far between; for he constituted himself her cavalier that day; gave her his hand over any rough ground; pointed out the various objects of interests, and promised to be her companion in the running carro for the descent.

The air felt fresh and almost cold when they left the train. Sheila drank in long breaths with keen delight.

“It is almost like being in England again! I do love the lazy heat down below; but it is delightful to get up here where one feels like running and jumping!” and forthwith she and little Guy began chasing each other in and out amongst the trees and zigzag paths, till Miss Adene called to them that they were going up to the church, and told them to follow.

After they had seen the big bare church with its curious images, they got some very curious thick strong coffee at the little hotel, and then Ronald went in search of carros sufficient for all the party.

“Miss Adene, you’ll go with me and little Guy, won’t you?” said Sheila. “I’ll hold him on my knee and take care of him. You’ll trust him to me, won’t you, Lady Dumaresq, and you can take care of Sir Guy!”

“Mayn’t I be allowed to take care of my own wife?” asked Sir Guy, laughing; and Sheila laughed and blushed and answered quaintly—

“I think you always do take care of one another, Sir Guy.”

From the Mount Church a cobble-paved road ran sheer down the steep hillside into the town lying beneath. The running carros were baskets on runners, holding two persons, and managed by two men, who held them back and steered them by ropes, running alongside or behind, and calling out to all other passengers to get out of the way. For the road was a public highway, and bullocks dragging up loads on sledges, or men, women, and children with their market produce or purchases on their heads, would be constantly met or passed coming up or going down.

The sensation of the running carro is very strange at first. It glides off with a gentle motion, gathering velocity as it gets its momentum, till at last it seems flying downwards in a perfectly irresponsible way; and only the clever steering and checking of the runners saves the traveller from the feeling that he must of necessity be flying to inevitable destruction.

Sheila’s nerves were strong, and she and little Guy laughed aloud as they flew downwards; whilst Miss Adene had had experience of these methods, and took the descent quite calmly.

“I wonder how Effie likes it!” cried Sheila in one of the pauses, where the runners have to be greased, or the basket-work might be in danger of charring, so tremendous is the heat generated by the friction.

Effie, however, seemed to have got on well as they joined company at the bottom of the slide, and found bullock carros waiting to take them home. She was more animated than usual, and declared that she had not been frightened at all after just the first; and Ronald said she had stood it like a brick.

When they got home Mrs. Cossart was eager to hear Effie’s story, and very pleased at her pleasure in the day’s outing.

“It is quite right and proper that you should go with Sheila when they ask her. You got on very well with them, did you not?”

“Oh, yes, very well indeed. Mr. Dumaresq never noticed Sheila at all when I was there. He is really very intelligent. I enjoyed talking to him. He has plenty of sense, though he has such good spirits. I like him very much.”

Mrs. Cossart was well pleased. The thought which had lately come into her head seemed now to take firmer root. Certainly a marriage into some really good family would be an excellent thing for Effie; and her handsome dowry ought to be an inducement which no young man would altogether overlook.

So the mother’s eyes were very jealously on the watch the next days and weeks; and often her heart swelled within her with anger and jealous displeasure. For it was impossible to ignore the fact that Sheila was the favourite. However well Effie was dressed, however she was put forward and “trotted out” by her mother, it was Sheila’s merry laugh, Sheila’s saucy or appealing speeches, Sheila’s big soft eyes that seemed to win her way everywhere.

“I wish I had never brought that girl!” cried Mrs. Cossart one evening in exasperation to her husband.

“What girl, my dear?” asked Mr. Cossart mildly. “I thought it was doing Effie so much good. She is another creature.”

“Yes, Effie, if it were only her; but there is Sheila! I am out of all patience with her! I declare if there is a good opportunity I will ship her back to England. It is too bad the way she is going on!”

(_To be continued._)

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

MEDICAL.

FLORENCE.—The glands under your arm have inflamed and broken down, and you ask us to tell you what has caused this. There are many possible causes, but we will confine our remarks to the commonest, and therefore most likely causes. The use of these glands is to filter off from the lymph any impurities it may contain. Let us briefly glance at physiological considerations to enable us to understand why these glands are so extremely commonly inflamed. Your right arm is affected. Very well. The blood reaches your right arm and hand by the arteries. Part of the blood returns to the heart by the veins, part of it exudes through the walls of the smallest arteries. This part is not red but colourless, and is called lymph. This lymph bathes and nourishes the tissues, giving them food, and taking away with it their impurities. This lymph flows back through colourless vessels called lymph-channels, which end in the veins of the neck; but we said that the lymph takes up impurities in its passage. These impurities are partly physiological and partly unhealthy; the latter consist of germs. If these germs were sent into the blood-stream there would be disastrous consequences, and to prevent this the lymph-glands are placed in the course of the lymph-channels just before these enter the blood-stream. All the lymph is forced through these glands as through a filter, and any germs it may contain remain in the glands, and are quickly destroyed by the elements of the glands, which are there for this purpose. But suppose you have an abscess on your hand; that abscess is swarming with germs, and the lymph in its passage will carry away a vast number of these injurious microbes, and will take them to the glands of the armpit. The germs remain in the glands and give the glands extra work to do. The glands will enlarge and become inflamed. If the infection of the glands is very virulent, the glands may, as it were, die at their post and become abscesses. Now we can proceed. The commonest cause of inflamed glands in the axilla is inflammation and suppuration about the hand or arm. An abscess, a small dirty wound, or anything of a septic character on the arm or hand will produce inflammation of the glands under the arm. In these cases, as soon as the primary condition is remedied the glands regain their normal condition. But suppose that the primary wound was a stab in the hand from a hat-pin, which in some way had become infected with the germs of tubercle; then the glands will also become infected with tubercle, and this brings us to the second commonest form of inflammation of lymphatic glands, the so-called strumous or scrofulous glands. This is an exceedingly common affection, especially in children. Good diet and cod-liver oil will help to enable the body to withstand this disease. Sea air, and especially the air of Margate, Folkestone, or Cromer will do more than anything else to cure this affection in its early stages. Sometimes, in the later stages, or in cases where the malady has been neglected, operation is necessary to prevent excessive scarring or exhaustion from continued discharge. It is imperative when glands have broken down, and are discharging, that they should be kept extremely clean and free from external infections by the use of local antiseptic washes and applications. The arm must also be kept at rest.

A GIRTON GIRL.—Should persons with organic disease of the heart marry? is a question which is very much easier to ask than it is to answer. In this case we have not to consider the dangers of heredity, for though heart-disease, and still more so, the commonest cause of heart-disease, rheumatism, is undoubtedly sometimes hereditary, it is not sufficiently so to forbid marriage on this score. Our personal experience is that heart-disease is not hereditary. Nor is heart-disease an infectious disease like consumption, which you could communicate to your children or husband. Valvular disease is so varied in its nature and degree that it is impossible to lay down laws which are applicable to every case.

GLASBURY.—Influenza is a terrible disease, and it often leaves much suffering in its train. Indeed, we know of no disease which leaves so much ill-health behind it. You, it has left with dyspepsia and nervous weakness—perhaps its commonest legacy. You must be exceedingly careful of your diet. The wind in your stomach you can relieve by bicarbonate of soda or by two or three drops of essence of ginger in a wineglassful of water. At the present time you should feed as well as your dyspepsia will admit; and, really, to treat indigestion properly does not entail many privations. Meat and malt wine, or cod-liver oil and maltine would do you good if you can digest it; or you might derive great benefit from a course of iron with quinine or other bitter tonic. But you cannot take the last until your indigestion is relieved.

EVELYN.—If you go to a dental hospital, they will tell you where you can get artificial teeth cheaply. It is against our rules to give the name or address of any person.

MOLLY.—Before attempting to cure any ailment, it is necessary to discuss two questions. The first is—What is the nature of the trouble? The second is—What has caused it? It is only in certain cases that one can answer both these questions definitely; but the more clearly he answers these, the more rational and efficacious will be the treatment of the malady. And in the treatment itself, the first thing to do is to remove the cause, if possible. Now what causes your hands to get “hot and clammy?” There is a possibility that it may be a purely natural condition, for the palms of the hands perspire more freely than any other part of the body, and persons vary extremely in the quantity of fluid which exudes through their skin. Or your trouble may be due to some unhealthy cause. Persons who are suffering from many forms of illness perspire profusely. One of the commonest causes is indigestion, which acts in this way. The stomach lies just below the heart, and when the stomach is in difficulty it worries the heart, and so interferes with the circulation. This is the cause of the flutterings, palpitations, flushes and excessive perspirations, so common in indigestion. You must therefore see to your digestion; also wash your hands frequently in warm water with a good soap, and occasionally rinse your hands in diluted toilet vinegar. Do not wear kid gloves, but if you require any gloves at all wear thin silk ones. Healthy exercise is necessary in this as in every other condition.

ELSA.—This correspondent asks us the following question. “My father and mother died of consumption, and one of my sisters is in the last stages of the same disease; am I going to get consumption?” We are going to answer this question at length because it gives us an opportunity for demonstrating what is meant by hereditary influence in disease; and also because here is a poor girl worrying herself over a calamity which may never occur. We say that consumption is an hereditary disease, but this is not accurate. The disease is not hereditary, but the tendency to it is. Consumption is a chronic infectious disease caused by the presence of the tubercle organism in the body. It may and does strike down anybody; but those who are sprung from a family with a tubercular history are more liable to be attacked than others. We have a great deal of evidence to show that nearly one-tenth of the human race becomes infected with tuberculosis, but only a very small proportion of those infected succumb, or indeed ever show symptoms of the disease. Now it is presumable that those who do show symptoms have some extra factor which prevents their throwing off the disease. For instance, persons who suffer from chronic bronchitis, or who are barrel-chested, or who are run down in health, etc., are less likely to successfully combat the disease than are others. It is therefore one of these extra factors which is hereditary; it may be a peculiarly-shaped chest, for instance. Nobody is born with the tubercle germ inside her. So if every relative of yours died of consumption, you can prevent yourself from contracting the disease by running away from the tubercle germ and living in a spot where this worst of all human pests does not exist. Unfortunately this germ is almost ubiquitous. It swarms in every city and town, and lurks by rivers and in sandy wastes. It does not inhabit the ocean or the high latitudes or the tops of mountains. The sea-coast is much less impregnated with this germ than are the inland parts. The germ apparently dislikes the north wind, and is therefore comparatively uncommon on our East coasts. Therefore, if you have a special dread of consumption, live in a land where the tubercle bacillus does not thrive.

ATHENA.—Occasionally it is possible to restore the original form to a nose which has been broken. Where there is great lateral deformity, the question of correcting the displacement is well worth considering. In the minor grades of distortion of the nose, due to old injuries, it is scarcely worth while to have an operation done. In recent injury the nose should always be “set” at once, for in this case deformity can be almost always prevented. But remember that, if you have had your nose “set” after a recent injury, and still deformity does occur, you must not lay the blame on the surgeon. All operations on the nose or any other part of the face should be done by a specialist, if possible.

OLGA BERTHA.—The probable cause of your trouble is anæmia and nervous exhaustion. We cannot enter at length into the treatment of this condition as we have done so many times already. You had better give up bicycling for a time till you feel stronger again. Drinking large quantities of water does dilute the blood, but only for a second or two, for if more water than is necessary is drunk, though it is absorbed into the blood it is thrown out again immediately by the skin, the kidneys and the lungs. Drinking large quantities of fluid with meals is a potent cause of dyspepsia, for the gastric juice cannot digest anything when it is too much diluted. Perhaps you would derive benefit from meat and malt wine, or maltine.

NATATOR.—There have been many explanations of the cause of cramp while bathing, and it is not yet definitely settled which, if any, of these is correct. The most probable theory is that cramp is due to over-distention and paralysis of the heart. According to this hypothesis, the contact of the skin with the cold water causes all the blood-vessels of the skin to contract and so force the blood which was contained in them into the internal vessels. As more blood than usual will be thus thrown into those vessels which are deeply situated, the blood pressure will rise greatly. The heart has to overcome this pressure before it can drive the blood through the body. But if the pressure is exceedingly high, the heart may be unable to overcome it—a condition which means instantaneous death. But there are two conditions in which cramp occurs whilst bathing. In the first way, the instant the bather enters the water she is struck down by cramp, and if help is not instantly forthcoming she dies in a few seconds. In the second case, the bather is all right till she has been in the water perhaps half an hour; she is then gradually seized with cramp. Let us see if we can reconcile both these conditions to our heart theory? The first is obvious from the above. In the second case we must presume that although the blood pressure is raised, still the heart, being healthy and strong, can overcome it. But after half an hour’s violent exercise the heart begins to tire, and is now no longer capable of working against the great resistance. This form of cramp is therefore more gradual than the first; but both forms are necessarily fatal unless timely help is at hand. Most of the other theories of cramp refer the condition to temporary derangements of the nervous system, but Broadbent, the greatest authority on the heart, is much in favour of the theory we have just enunciated.

TERROR.—A bunion is an inflammation of the joint of the great toe. It is almost always due to the pressure of an ill-fitting boot. In the normal foot the great toe stands away from the other toes, and so, if boots were made to resemble the foot, the inner border would be either perfectly straight or slightly curved towards the middle line of the body. But cobblers have improved on Nature, and they make boots in which the inner border meets the outer border in a point. In consequence of this absurdity, the great toe is forced towards the other toes; its chief joint is partially dislocated and the ball of the toe forms a projection on the inner side. This ball is part of the joint, and so the side of the boot actually presses upon the joint itself. This the joint is unable to stand. A “bursa”—that is, a sort of water-cushion—is developed above the ball of the toe, and so protects the joint from pressure. This is Nature’s method of preserving the human foot from the ignorance and stupidity of its owner. But although Nature is very cute in her way, she is unable to cope with the owner of the foot, whose stupidity gets the better of the struggle, though her foot comes off very badly indeed. Nature has provided the above-mentioned water-cushion, but the boots are still tight and misshapen. The “water-cushion” now becomes inflamed, its edges get thickened, the joint underneath the water-cushion shares in the inflammation and becomes destroyed. This is a bunion. So, after all, Nature does get the better of it. She says she will not have joints distorted and pressed upon, and she has got her way, only she has had to destroy the joint altogether. The treatment of a bunion depends upon the stage of the disease. In the early stages merely wearing properly-shaped boots will undo the mischief. At a later date, a special boot with a special compartment for the great toe must be worn. In the last stages, nothing but a surgical operation—no less than cutting away the joint—will give relief. We cannot too strongly impress upon you the necessity of wearing rightly-shaped boots which do not distort the great toe. For a bunion is really a serious disease, and, moreover, if its cause is not removed, it is a progressive disease, and will leave you in the end either a cripple for life or with the necessity of having to submit to a surgical operation of moderate severity.

CURIOUS.—Pepsin is obtained by scraping the stomach of a pig or calf. It is the chief digestive agent secreted by the gastric juice. Papain is a vegetable production, having much the same action as pepsin, but is not so likely to do harm when taken for indigestion. Peptone is the name given to the product of albumin (proteid) when completely digested. You will find an account of the digestion in any book on physiology.

“ONE OF THE OLD GIRLS.”—We fear that we cannot answer your questions, for we never have given and never will give the address of any chemist, physician or herbalist, or of any professional or tradesmen whatsoever, in this column. As we know of no depilatory which is useful without being injurious, we could not answer your question under any circumstances. As a well-known physician once tersely put it, “There is no depilator which is not a delapidator.”

STUDY AND STUDIO.

GRACE DARLING.—1. If the friend whose verses you enclose is “only sixteen and has had a poor education,” her attempt does her credit. There are many defects in composition; for instance, in verse 5 the second person singular (thy) is interchanged with the plural (you). The emphasis on the second syllable of “cannot” (verse 1, line 2), is quite inadmissible, and we think a word must be omitted after “usual,” as that is not a substantive.—2. Your writing strikes us as very good; clear and legible, and likely, as you are only fifteen, to become more “formed” with practice.

GREEN-BELLE.—We cannot say that you should encourage your “little friend.” The verses you enclose are sentimental, and do not show poetic ability in any way. If she is, as your letter suggests, quite young, she should choose a different sort of theme when she wishes to attempt metrical composition.

S. M.—Life is long, and we cannot decree that you would never write well enough for publication; yet it would be unkind on our part to encourage you in any hope that we should be likely to publish your efforts. The little story in rhyme you enclose is pathetic, but many of the lines are halting. “And who” (line 23) is an ungrammatical expression where it stands. The composition of poetry that will find acceptance is no easy task, so you must not feel hurt by our criticism.

FAITH (Western Australia).—1. Dr. Brewer informs us that the “Siamese Twins” were two youths, Eng and Chang, born of Chinese parents at Bang Mecklong. Their bodies were united by a band of flesh stretching from breast-bone to breast-bone.—2. Your quotation—

“The undiscovered country, from whose bourne No traveller returns.”

is from Shakespeare’s _Hamlet_, act i., scene 3. We appreciate your letter and request.

PHYLLIS.—1. An easy Latin grammar for beginners is Arnold’s _Henry’s First Latin Book_, price 2s. 3d. net. Smith’s _Principïa Latina_, part i., is a little more difficult, but excellent. We do not see why, if you are of a persevering turn, you should not teach yourself Latin, and it is an undoubted help towards acquiring any other language.—2. On the other hand we fear you cannot hope to learn the violin entirely unaided. You would certainly contract some bad habit, even if you could contrive to produce the notes.

MARGUERITE.—We believe that New Zealand would be a good place for a working-class family or a young man or woman to emigrate to, provided they were capable and thrifty. There are a great many emigration societies from which you can obtain information. Apply to the Self-Help Emigration Society, address Secretary, Memorial Hall Buildings, Farringdon Street, E.C.; and to the Agent-General for New Zealand, 13, Victoria Street, London, S.W. Thanks for your information.

DAINTY SCENT SACHET IN SATIN.

The pretty article here illustrated is no sooner seen than coveted by most of the fair sex, either for their own use or as a tiny present for a friend. White satin of good quality is used for the front of the bag, which is further adorned with a delicate spray of ribbon embroidery arranged in the form of a slightly oblong wreath lightly outlined, around which diminutive flowers and leaves are placed. Pale blue, yellow, or green pongee silk is suitable for the back of bag, which is added when the embroidery has been completed, previous to being filled with wadding containing scent powder, and being closed with strings of the delicate ribbon used for the embroidery.

_Materials required._—White satin, pongee silk, each four inches wide and six inches long, three layers of wadding same size, pot pourri or other scent powder, half a yard each of cornflour blue, yellow and leaf-green ribbon, such as is used for ribbon embroidery. A thread of green filoselle is used for the tiny stems and to outline the wreath, which should be worked first.

The design consists of this wreath and two groups of flowers interspersed with green leaves and coloured buds. A pleasing variety may be produced by using green chenille instead of ribbon for some of the leaves. If any reader should find difficulty in copying this particular design, she may substitute any small spray and work it in any kind of embroidery which she finds easier and thinks suitable. The effect of the whole chiefly depends upon delicacy of colour, design and workmanship of whatever kind introduced, and the idea affords scope for endless individual taste and variety.

The ornamentation should not extend more than two inches from the lower edge of the satin, so as to escape the gatherings by which the bag is closed at the top. The simplest way to carry out our design is to copy the wreath’s outline upon the satin with a lead pencil and to work in the flowers and leaves afterwards from the illustration. It is really quite easy to do so in the case of such a tiny spray, and first attempts may be made by drawing it on paper until satisfied that the arrangement has been satisfactorily copied. After that the attempt should be made upon the satin with or without pencil tracing, according the worker’s ability.

_To work rosette flower._—Take four inches of yellow ribbon, a single thread of fine sewing silk or cotton, a common fine sewing needle, and a large-eyed ribbon or crewel needle. Draw or imagine a circle the size of a small glove button. With the large-eyed needle draw one end of ribbon through the edge of circle. Take second needle and thread, sew the end in place with one tiny stitch and gather along one edge of ribbon, which should be on right side of satin. Then draw second end of ribbon through to wrong side and draw in the gathering thread very tightly to form a rosette as small as possible. Stitch the centre in place, taking the stitches through the extreme edge of gathers only. Fasten off on wrong side.

To work star, flowers and leaves but few directions are required. Work with large-eyed needle and a short length of ribbon. Draw ribbon through to right side of satin, leaving a short end at wrong side. Lay a bodkin or other flat instrument in front of ribbon; work one stitch over the bodkin and draw it away. Work three more stitches in the same way and finish centre with a large French knot worked with silk or filoselle. The foliage leaves are formed like the star flower petals. The bodkin is used to keep the ribbon flat and untwisted and from being drawn too tightly. It is advisable to fasten off the ends of ribbon on wrong side with needle and thread after each length of ribbon is worked up.

The reeds, which are most effective, consist of a nicely-worked French knot, made of coloured ribbon, on the top of a tiny green stem. These knots may be worked in the usual way, but some workers prefer to make a tied single knot with an inch of ribbon by hand, and then to draw each end through the work with the large-eyed needle.

When the embroidery is completed, lay the satin and silk together to make up the bag, having right side of embroidery inside. Turn down two inches of silk and satin together at the top of bag. Keeping them in this position, run the edges together along sides and bottom. Raise the upper layer of turned-down top and turn it over on opposite side, and you will be pleased to find a neatly-finished hem ready made, as it were, without any further trouble. Next turn the work right side out, lay some scent powder between the layers of wadding, fold them in half crosswise and slip all together into the bag. Next take twelve inches of green, blue, and yellow ribbon, and tie them round the bag about one inch from the top, having first arranged the back and front into artistic folds, if possible, without the assistance of gathering threads, which somewhat detract from the desired effect of immaculate freshness indispensable to work of the highest order.

Last of all, in the centre of embroidered front form a smart, crisply-made bow, using the three ribbons together so as to produce a soft bunch of loops and ends bristling out at each side.

Nothing then remains to be done save to admire the pleasing result of your labour, which, unless I am much mistaken, will greatly exceed your expectations.

There is one more hint I cannot resist giving you. It is this, three-sixteenths of a yard of satin is a small amount and only costs a little money, but it will make ten such scent-bags. What a happy idea for those of you who work for charity, and make their own little birthday gifts! Won’t you try it?

L. E. C. L.

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[Transcriber’s Note: the following changes have been made to this text.

Page 626: Challonet to Challoner—“Lucy Challoner”.

Page 627: lettter to letter—“over that letter”.

Page 637: Muchisons to Murchisons—“two Miss Murchisons”.

Page 638: Crossart to Cossart—“Mrs. Cossart beaming”.

Missing word “on” inserted—“going on this”.]