THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

Vol. VIII.—No. 370.

Price One Penny.

JANUARY 29, 1887.

[Transcriber’s Note: This Table of Contents was not present in the original.]

THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE PRIZE COMPETITION. THE INHERITANCE OF A GOOD NAME. HISTORICAL SKETCHES OF MUSICAL FORMS. DRESS: IN SEASON AND IN REASON. THE BROOK AND ITS BANKS. MERLE’S CRUSADE. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

THE QUEEN’S JUBILEE PRIZE COMPETITION.

NOTABLE WOMEN OF THE REIGN OF QUEEN VICTORIA.

HER MAJESTY THE QUEEN.

All rights reserved.]

THE SUBJECT OF OUR NEXT COMPETITION IS TO BE The Notable Women of the reign of Queen Victoria.

Of these, each competitor will make out a list for herself, and regarding those whom she selects, she will be required to state, briefly and clearly, who they were, when and where they were born, and when and where they died—if they be dead—and to give such particulars about what they have done as will prove their right to the title of notable women.

Eleven prizes will be given, one to the most successful competitor of every age from thirteen to twenty-three, inclusive. Thus, a girl thirteen years old has a chance of obtaining the prize awarded to girls between thirteen and fourteen; a girl of fourteen may prove the winner of the prize given to those between fourteen and fifteen: and so on, up to the age of twenty-three.

Each prize will consist of

A Gold Medal-Brooch

To be especially struck by the Editor in honour of Her Majesty’s Jubilee. These medals will be cast in the form of brooches, with a pin at the back for more convenient use. They have been specially designed for The Girl’s Own Paper, and will bear on the reverse of the medal the name of the owner. The front side of the medal will bear the design, conventionally treated, of the heading to every weekly number of this magazine.

Certificates of merit will also be given—first, second, and third class—and these will be awarded to girls of any age who gain the necessary number of marks.

A special prize of a Gold Medal-Brooch will be given—for the first time in our series of competitions—to

Foreign and Colonial Competitors of All Ages.

We have long recognised the fact that those who live abroad labour, as a rule, under considerable{274} disadvantages in competing with the majority of girls who stay at home, and we are glad to show, by the offer of this special prize, our appreciation of the painstaking efforts of many readers in distant places.

Foreign and Colonial competitors will on this occasion have longer time allowed them for sending in their papers.

All readers, everywhere, are invited to enter for this competition, which,

in view of the approaching Jubilee of Her Majesty,

has a special interest. The testimony of many who have taken part in previous competitions is that they proved sources not only of considerable enjoyment, but of great intellectual profit. The present one has features as valuable as any competition that has ever been started. To engage in it can hardly fail to widen our sympathies and increase our interest in the world around us and in the age in which we live.

Even those who fail to obtain either a prize or a certificate will not have spent their time uselessly. Let them keep in mind that:

The Notable Women dealt with must all be British subjects: foreigners will not count. It is not necessary that they should have been born after Queen Victoria came to the throne. All may be included who have lived any part of their lives in the reign of Her Majesty.

They must be distinguished on account of some worthy quality. They may be famous for learning; noted as authors, musicians, or painters; remarkable as philanthropists and public benefactors—in fact, no one will come amiss who can be said to have in any considerable degree attracted attention by either her virtues or her abilities.

The number treated of may be what every competitor finds time and inclination for. The more comprehensive the paper, of course the better chance there will be of a prize or a certificate: in everything, as is well-known, “if little labour little are our gains.” The most important thing, however, is quality, not quantity.

The notice of each notable woman is in no case to exceed one hundred and twenty words, exclusive of the name and the place and date of birth and death.

The arrangement of their papers to be followed by competitors is the order of birth, not the order of death.

What we intend should be sent in will be readily understood, perhaps, by the following examples, in which we have given two characters who, as they are purely imaginary, need not be looked for in any Biographical Dictionary.

Arabella G. Cunningham,

Born at Edinburgh, 20th May, 1812.

Died at Tunbridge Wells, 7th December, 1856.

Of an old Scotch family. First attracted attention in 1835 by the publication of her “Turns of Fortune,” a tale of which seventy thousand copies were sold within three days. Encouraged by this success she gave herself up to the pursuit of literature. Her most popular works, besides that just named, are “At the Sign of the Spread Eagle,” “The Court of Lions,” “Hammer and Tongs,” “Lady Bettina,” and “The Hero of the White Shield.” Inherited a large fortune from her father, and being herself the best paid authoress of her time, and of an exceedingly saving turn, she died worth an immense sum.

Gertrude Williams.

Born at Harlech (North Wales), 12th July, 1855.

Still living.

Began the study of the violin at the age of six. Appeared as a musical prodigy at Chester in 1864. Studied from 1865-1868 at the Conservatorium at Leipzig. Made her début in London in April, 1870, when the beauty of her playing at once ensured her a brilliant success. Has now for many years been recognised as the greatest of British violinists, and is much respected for her devotion to the higher forms of musical art. Exhibits a marked tendency towards a wandering life, and has visited professionally not only all the European capitals, but the chief towns of the American Continent. Is a small lively person with dark brown hair and extraordinarily bright eyes.

Competitors must write on one side of the paper only, and, before sending in their papers, they must number the leaves and stitch them together at the left-hand top corner.

On the back of the last leaf each paper must bear the full name, age, and address of the competitor, and underneath the following must be written by father, mother, minister, or teacher:—

“I hereby certify that this paper is the sole work and in the handwriting of (competitor’s full name is again to be written), and that her age and address are correctly stated.” (Signature and address of the parent, minister, or teacher.)

The last day for receiving papers connected with this competition will be Monday, April 25.

Except in the case of Colonial competitors, who will be allowed till Saturday, June 25.

Each paper must be sent by book post—and without a letter—addressed to the Editor, The Girl’s Own Paper, 56, Paternoster-row, London, E.C., and the words “Queen’s Jubilee Competition” must be clearly written in the left-hand corner.

The result of the Competition, so far as home readers are concerned, will be published in the Summer Number of The Girl’s Own Paper.

{275}

THE INHERITANCE OF A GOOD NAME.

By LOUISA MENZIES.

CHAPTER IV.

TOWN OR COUNTRY.

letter with the London post mark, mamma,” said Eveline, “and not from Mark.”

“I hope Mark is well,” said Mrs. Fenner, taking the letter with some trepidation. “It is Mr. Echlin’s writing. What a long letter!”

As Mrs. Fenner’s eyes ran along the lines traced by the firm hand of her cousin, her colour rose, a smile broke on her lips, and as she laid down the letter the tears stood in her eyes.

“Nothing is wrong with Mark, mamma?” said Eveline, inquiringly.

“Nothing, dear; quite the contrary. But you had better read the letter; it concerns you quite as much as me.” And Mrs. Fenner held the letter to her daughter.

“Oh, mamma, how nice of him!” exclaimed Eveline, with sparkling eyes. “I knew he must love Mark. How could he help it? But to think of his wanting us to go and live in London with him and Mark—to make his house like home, he says! What will you do, mother? What will you do?”

“What do you say, Eveline? What do you wish?”

“I? Of course I like to do what you like.”

“It is very kind of Miles.”

“I should think it was. And he puts it so prettily; as if all the favour were on our side.”

“But, dear, I don’t know how you would like to live in a great city, you who have always been used to open air and country life; Manchester-square has no Sunbridge Woods within reach.”

“But it has Mark, mother; and Mark is better than Sunbridge Woods—better than Blyfield Park. Why, mother, you know that we’d both of us rather be with him where he is, than in the Gardens of the Hesperides! I suppose we couldn’t keep the cottage, and just run down to it now and then, could we?”

“I don’t think we ought to propose such an arrangement; it would be a half-hearted acceptance of my cousin’s offer; we must either go or stay. But I will take the letter up to the rectory; I must know what your aunt and uncle think of it. Don’t say anything to Elga, just for a little.”

“As you think best, mother,” said Eveline, and went out, as one in a dream, to perform her morning household duties. No sooner did she appear in the yard with her apron full of grain, than the fowls came running, flying, flustering to her feet; the pigeons, who were on the watch on the low roof of the tool-house, spread their blue wings and dropped down among them; while Eveline’s body-guardsman, the snow-white fox-terrier, Boz, stood gravely on the watch to preserve order, himself the very personification of cleanliness and decorum—his bushy tail curling over his back, every hair of his coat erect and in its proper place, glancing with his brown eyes from his mistress to her noisy pensioners, and keeping his little black nose well raised, with a slight suggestion of superiority.

“Ah, Boz,” said Eveline, when the edge was a little taken off the appetite of her feathered guests, “you little think what is hanging over you! I wonder how you’ll like it! Who will keep old Bulbo in order, if you go away, old dog?”

Old Bulbo was a rather aggressive Poland cock, who had been handsome, but whose digestion had become impaired, his top-knot floppy, and his tail-feathers ragged, while he was easily exasperated at the frivolous impertinence of the younger generations, who stole choice morsels under his very bill, and generally managed to escape his vengeance, when he, like an old bully as he was, would turn to vent his spite on the faithful partner of his roost; on which occasions Boz started into activity, and compelled the old tyrant to keep the peace.

Boz wagged his tail in answer to his mistress’s tone rather than to her words, and waited attentively while she gathered the pretty brown or white eggs, swept the hen-house, making it sweet and fresh with sprinkled lime, and ended by filling the large brown pan with clear water which the fowls immediately muddied.

The poultry-yard settled, Boz conducted his mistress to the vegetable garden, where Eveline gathered a basket of peas for dinner, some currants and raspberries for dessert, quietly wondering who would gather the fruit from those bushes next year. As she stood among the raspberry bushes her mother came out and went down the garden to the rectory gate. A sharp pain shot through Eveline’s heart.

“What will Uncle James say and Aunt Elgitha? Will they persuade mother not to go? I’m sure Uncle James will miss us, and poor Githa!” and the ready tears welled into Eveline’s eyes. “But Mark—to live with Mark, to see him every day—to live in London, to hear beautiful music, to see beautiful pictures, to go to Westminster Abbey, to the Temple, to St. Paul’s!”

Eveline sat down among the roses, fairly dazed with the thick-coming thoughts, while the bees hummed, the grasshoppers chirped, and the roses slowly swayed in the west wind that came to them charged with the fragrance of the mignonette.

The earth was so fair, the sky so blue, the wind so sweet, what need was there to think of anything but the beauty and the colour and the perfume?

Just then a chill wind blew from the north, the leaves shivered, the murmur of the grasshoppers died away under the grass as over the church a huge black cloud came sweeping, while another, jagged and angry, met it from the south, and there came a sound of rolling thunder. Eveline looked in wonder from her bower, the storm had burst so suddenly. Was it an answer to her thought, a warning not to trust in the perishable, not to make pleasure the law of life, but to aim at the imperishable, the eternal? It shot through Eveline’s mind that she might at least take such teaching from it, that if she could grasp the blessings of family love and sisterhood it would be worse than folly to magnify the blessings she must give up for them; but she was glad that the burden of the choice did not lie with her, and making her way into the house, she occupied herself in her usual studies.

Mrs. Fenner meanwhile had laid Miles Echlin’s letter before the rector and his wife, not without certain misgivings as to how the contents would strike them. Lady Elgitha at once saw the importance of the question, and quickly set herself to consider how it might affect her own household. She was personally attached to Margaret, as far at least as she could be attached to anyone unconnected with the great house of Manners, and she had always felt that it was respectable to have her husband’s widowed sister living, as it were, under the shelter of the rectory, especially as she was the widow of a man who must have been a general and a K.C.B. at the very least, if he had lived. Mark, too, had by a certain natural joyousness of temper unconsciously maintained himself in her good graces, but Eveline was already rather a difficulty to Lady Elgitha. She was decidedly so much prettier than Elgitha that it had sometimes struck the rector’s wife of late that it was unfortunate to have to introduce as her niece a girl who must be more attractive than

her own daughter; it would be well at least that Eveline should be withdrawn before Elgitha came out. These thoughts shot through Lady Elgitha’s brain while the rector was taking in the idea that a great piece of good fortune had befallen his sister, which must entail nothing but loss and bereavement on him.

“We shall miss you, Margaret,” he said, while the tears rose to his eyes.

“We shall miss each other, James,” replied his sister, softly. “But what do you and Elgitha think? It is very kind of Miles, and the prettiest compliment he could have paid dear Mark; but we need not accept it, you know, if you think——”

“Of course you must accept it, Margaret,” said Lady Elgitha, and there was a touch of east wind in her voice which made the brother and sister shrink and feel ashamed; “it would be flying in the face of Providence not to accept such an offer. What is to become of Eveline if you die? You can’t depend even on a pretty girl’s marrying nowadays, if she has no fortune.”

“Yes, I think it would certainly be good for Eveline, and it would be so nice for Mark. I am sure Miles deserves all we can do for him.”

“Of course; and when you’re tired of London, you can always run down here, and I daresay Eveline will be glad to have Elgitha up for a week or two in the season. It would be a good opportunity for her to have some lessons. I’m sure, Margaret, you have much to be thankful for—Mark so well provided for, and such an opening for you and Eveline.”

And Lady Elgitha sighed, for she caught sight of her son coming up the path with his hat at the back of his head and his hands in the pocket of his loose shooting-coat, looking the picture of idleness.

The poor rector had much ado to congratulate his sister. Fortunately, he had a way of looking at events as they affected other people rather than himself; so that the pleasure he felt in the honour done to his sister’s son, and in the advantages which would accrue to her and her daughter, occupied him more than the loss and desolation to himself.

When Elgitha heard the news, she was in blank despair. Rosenhurst would be unendurable without Aunt Margaret and Eveline. No one else should live in the cottage. She would go to school; she would be trained for a nurse, and go to a hospital; she must do something, or she should die of dulness, with{276} only father and mother, and Gilbert always loafing about.

But the end of it was that Margaret wrote to Mr. Echlin, thanking him, and promising to spend the winter in Manchester-square, that they might see how they liked each other, and to come at the beginning of October. Mr. Echlin replied that he was perfectly satisfied with the arrangement, but begged as a favour that they would say nothing about the matter to Mark.

This was a hard condition to keep when Mark came down for his summer holiday, and led to some amusing complications. Mark was full of the goodness and generosity of his cousin. He did not believe he had a single fault; and though he had had great sorrows, he was so cheerful that you forgot he was old. “I suppose cheerfulness runs in the family,” said the lad, with a loving look at his mother. “What paragons grandmamma and grandpapa must have been!”

“There is much to be thankful for in the inheritance of a cheerful temper, no doubt,” said his mother; “and I think all the Echlins I have known have been disposed to look on the bright side of things.”

“You yourself, mother,” said Eveline, admiringly, “who have had trouble enough to break a woman’s heart, Aunt Elgitha says.”

“But it seemed God’s own hand, Eva,” replied Mrs. Fenner, softly; “and who was I that I should murmur? Did He not know best?”

“And very narrow means, mother.”

“And two good children, who never fretted for what they could not have. Your cousin Miles has had more grievous sorrow than I; he has lost his wife and lost his son, who, everyone says, was all a father could wish, and he has no child left him.”

“Do you know, mother,” said Mark, very confidentially, “I have a notion that he has found someone whom he thinks of bringing home? You have no notion how the house is being brisked up. He has said nothing to me. Of course, I could not expect to be always in such comfortable quarters.”

“Of course not, my dear. And you would be sorry to have to leave Manchester-square?”

“Naturally. Why, I am lodged like a prince. I suppose Mr. Echlin must be nearly sixty; but many men of fifty look older. There is no reason why he shouldn’t—is there, mother?”

“Shouldn’t what, Mark?”

“Marry again, mother. Of course second marriages are not like first marriages; but when a man has a big house, and is all alone. He hasn’t said a word to me; but the best bedroom is to be done up—for he asked me to help him choose the paper—and one of the drawing-rooms, Mrs. Cotton said, is to be refurnished as a morning room.”

“That looks suspicious, doesn’t it, mother?” said Eveline, with saucy gravity.

“I hope,” said Mark, following out the train of his own thoughts, “it will not be too young a lady. It doesn’t look nice to see a man with a bald head with a girl who might be his daughter for a wife.”