THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER

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Vol. XX.—No. 1017.]

[Price One Penny.

JUNE 24, 1899.

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

EARLY MORNING NATURE-STUDY. LETTERS FROM A LAWYER. THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH. HOUSEHOLD HINTS. SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE. FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW. VARIETIES. COURTESY. THINGS IN SEASON, IN MARKET AND KITCHEN. OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES. “MY FAVOURITE CONTRIBUTORS” COMPETITION. OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: AN ACCIDENTAL CYCLE III. ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. OUR NEW PUZZLE POEM.

EARLY MORNING NATURE-STUDY.

MRS. BRIGHTWEN IN HER GARDEN.

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To a true lover of nature hardly anything can be more thoroughly enjoyable than a quiet hour spent in some shady spot early on a summer’s morning, whilst the dew is still upon the flowers, and before any sounds can be heard except those made by happy birds and insects.

In my garden there is a little dell embowered by trees, where I often spend an hour or two before breakfast for the special purpose of enjoying the company of my pet wild creatures.

On one side are five arches, formed possibly some hundreds of years ago, since the great stones are grey with age and picturesquely moss-grown and ivy-clad. Young trees, too, are growing here and there out of the crevices into which the wind has wafted their seeds.

In an open space before me are groups of stately foxgloves of every tint, ranging from purple through rose-colour to pure white. Some of them have stems fully seven feet in height, each bearing not fewer than a hundred and forty or fifty flowers.

Not only amongst these foxgloves, but in the lime branches overhead innumerable bees keep up a continuous murmuring sound as{610} they busily gather their morning store of honey.

Various tall grasses are sending up their feathery plumes, and in a special bed where only wild flowers are allowed to grow, teasel, hypericum, valerian, and bog-myrtle are delighting my eyes by the free, graceful way in which they make themselves at home as if in their native habitat.

Under one of the arches the birds always find an abundance of food, which I strew for them several times in the day.

There I see young blackbirds, chaffinches, hedge-sparrows, wrens, and titmice feasting and flitting about, quite regardless of my presence. One advantage of this retreat is that no house-sparrows come here to annoy the more timid birds.

The quietness and peace of this secluded spot is in marked contrast to the scenes I witness near the house. There sparrows reign supreme. They come down in flocks to gorge themselves and their offspring upon the sopped bread, rudely driving away many other kinds of birds that I would fain encourage.

It may be observed that I have not spoken of robins feeding under the archway, because only one haunts this spot, and he is my special pet, and elects to sit on a bough close to me warbling his sweet low song, and occasionally accepting some choice morsel from my hand.

When he was a brown-coated youngster I began to feed and attract him, and in one week he gained so much confidence as to alight on my hand.

He is now my devoted adherent, flying to meet me in different parts of the garden as soon as he hears my voice.

I am much interested, and I think he is also, in the development of the little scarlet waistcoat which marks his arrival at maturity. I saw the first red feather appear, just a mere tinge of colour amongst the rest, and now daily I see the hue is deepening. If bathing and pluming will tend to make him a handsome robin, he bids fair to outshine his compeers, for he is always busy about his toilet, first fluttering in a large clam-shell, which contains water, and then becoming absorbed in his preening operations, which nothing will interrupt but the appearance of another robin, who, of course, must be flown at and driven away.

Birds, however, are not my only visitors. Some tame voles or field-mice creep stealthily in and out of the rockwork and find their way to the birds’ feeding-ground, where they also enjoy the seeds and coarse oatmeal, and amuse me much with their graceful play and occasional scrimmages. Field-mice are easily tamed and made happy in captivity.

Last year I coaxed a pair of these voles into a large glass globe, and kept them long enough to observe sundry family events, such as nest-building, the arrival of some baby-voles, and their development from small pink infants into full-grown mice, and then I set the whole family at liberty under the archway, where they now disport themselves with all the confidence of privileged rodents.

By remaining absolutely still for an hour or two, quietly reading or thinking, one has delightful opportunities of seeing rare birds quite at their ease.

A green woodpecker, all unconscious of my presence, is clinging to an old tree stem near by, and I can not only hear his tapping noise, but I am able to observe how he is supported by the stiff feathers in his tail, which press against the tree, and how his long tongue darts into crevices in the bark and draws out the insects upon which he feeds.

I follow his upward progress around the stem until he flies away with the loud laughing cry which has earned for him the local name of Yaffle.

Hawfinches are by no means common in this neighbourhood, but one morning I was much interested to be able to watch three or four of these birds, which had alighted on the top of a spruce fir in this dell. Their golden-red plumage glistened brightly as they busily flitted from branch to branch, snapping off small fir-sprays with their powerful beaks, and chattering to each other all the while like diminutive parrots.

Now the early morning sun is sending shafts of brilliant light through the thick foliage, and bringing out special objects in high relief.

Just beside me is a large mass of grey stone, moss-grown and fern-shaded. The sun has lighted up one side of this; the rest is in shadow, so that it forms a picture in itself, and my robin has alighted on it as though on purpose to give the touch of colour that was needed.

All my readers may not have so sweet a spot in which to study nature, but I do strongly commend to them the delight of a quiet time spent alone out-of-doors in the early morning.

The air is then so pure and fresh that it seems to invigorate one’s mind no less than one’s body, and in the country the sights and sounds are such as tend to helpful thoughts of the love and goodness of the Creator Who has blessed us with so much to make us happy, if only we will open our eyes and hearts to see and understand the works of His hands.

Eliza Brightwen.

PART VIII.

The Temple.

My dear Dorothy,—Nothing seems to puzzle the ordinary public so much as the law of omnibus travelling, and in one of two cases which I saw reported the other day, the worthy County Court judge seems, if he were correctly reported, to have made a slip and nonsuited a plaintiff with a good cause of action. I am inclined to think, however, that it was the reporter who made the slip and not the judge, by omitting an important point in the case which had escaped his notice, and I think I can pretty well guess what that point was.

As both the actions arose out of incidents of everyday occurrence, which might happen to anyone, I will here relate them for your benefit.

The first case was one in which a lady claimed damages from an omnibus company—I think it was the London General, but that is a detail—on account of injuries received through the misconduct of the conductor. It appears that there had been a previous altercation between the parties, and that when the lady rose to go out, he pushed her off the step and started the bus, so that the lady fell down and injured her leg.

The judge very properly nonsuited the plaintiff, because it is not part of an omnibus conductor’s duties to violently push people off his omnibus; such behaviour on his part was something outside of his ordinary duties as a servant of the Company. The lady therefore had no cause of action against the Company; her remedy was against the conductor for the assault.

This may seem to you, my dear Dorothy, to be a very unsatisfactory state of affairs, but so it is, and it seems to me to be good sense and good law, although I admit that an action against a wealthy omnibus company and one against a poor conductor are not quite the same thing.

In the other case a lady brought an action against an omnibus company to recover the value of a dress, which she stated had been damaged owing to her falling into the mud through the negligence or carelessness of the conductor in starting the omnibus before she had taken her seat.

According to the report, as I read it, she was going upstairs, but before she got to the top, the conductor, without giving her any warning, rang his bell, and the omnibus started with a jerk, which threw her off into the mud and spoilt her dress.

Now if these had been the only facts in the case, I should have said that this lady was entitled to recover the value of her damaged costume from the omnibus company, because it is undoubtedly part of the conductor’s duties to ring his bell and stop to take up and set down passengers, and if a passenger is going outside he ought not to start the omnibus until the passenger has secured his seat, or without giving him warning or taking other reasonable means to see that he gets his seat in safety.

But in this also the plaintiff was nonsuited, and, although it did not appear so in the report, the learned judge must have thought that there was some negligence on the part of the lady. Possibly she had got on to the omnibus whilst it was in motion, as so many ladies do nowadays. This would at once put her out of court. If there had not been contributory negligence of some kind, this lady would have won her case.

If you meet with an accident through getting on or off an omnibus whilst it is in motion, you contribute to the accident in not ordering the conductor to stop, and you have only yourself to blame; if, however, you had ordered the conductor to stop and he had neglected or refused to do so, you would probably succeed in an action against the company.

Nowadays, when nearly all the omnibus companies issue tickets, you are not bound to show your tickets whenever they are demanded by a conductor or inspector, but it is wiser to do so because the absence of a ticket will generally be regarded by the magistrate as evidence of your not having paid your fare, and unless you have any friends travelling with you who are ready to come forward and swear that they saw you purchase a ticket, you will very likely be fined and have to pay costs as well. If you are travelling in a train or a tram, you are bound to produce and deliver up your ticket whenever it is demanded by a servant of the company, the railway and the tramway companies having special powers to make bye-laws to this effect.

The muzzling orders still remain in force for the Metropolis, although in the country the dogs are freed of their muzzles.

A man who was summoned the other day for allowing his dog to run about unmuzzled, tried to make a point by pleading that he did not permit the dog to run about unmuzzled. Whenever he took the dog out he always put his muzzle on, but on this occasion the dog had gone out without his permission. However, the magistrate fined him all the same, just as he did

Your affectionate cousin, Bob Briefless.

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THE HOUSE WITH THE VERANDAH.

By ISABELLA FYVIE MAYO, Author of “Other People’s Stairs,” “Her Object in Life,” etc.

CHAPTER XIII.

STARTLED!

hen once Lucy’s work began at the Institute her days were very full. She rose early, gave her simple household orders, and prepared Hugh for the Kindergarten, where she left him while she held her classes. Hugh took his lunch with him, for he stayed at the Kindergarten rather longer than the other children, so as to wait till his mother fetched him. Lucy had explained her peculiar position to the Kindergarten governess, a Miss Foster, and that lady had readily entered into this arrangement.

It was a great relief to Lucy to find that Hugh was soon quite happy among his new surroundings, returning home with plenty of wonders to tell, and being always eager for next day’s start. Miss Foster often came to the door to see Lucy and to deliver over her pupil. She was loud in praise of the little boy, confiding to Lucy that his state of mental development was so different from that of too many of her pupils. They had generally been left so much in the care of servants and nurses.

“A little one who is generally in the company of its mother, or of somebody who really cares for it, may be said to enjoy all the advantages of kindergarten from its very cradle,” she remarked. “Its education has been going on happily and unconsciously all the while. Its little brain and hands have found occupation in imitating the work or doings it sees. It is not left to gape and stare at the things around—all wonders to it—but it is encouraged to ask questions, and it gets its questions cheerfully and patiently answered.”

“I suppose that is a very important item,” said Lucy.

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Foster. “A careless nurse may often answer a question, but she does this snappily, perhaps with a hasty shake or a cross remark that the child is ‘a silly, little worrit.’ That encourages no further inquiry, and the baby-mind often closes over ridiculously wrong impressions, which can only confuse and blur its mind and all its processes.”

Lucy smiled.

“Yes,” she answered, “I can understand that, for children generally want a second answer to explain the first. I remember Hugh once asked me as we walked past some burial ground what it was used for. I told him ‘to put people’s bodies in when they die.’ He said ‘Oh!’ and walked along quietly, but looking puzzled. I felt sure he had some afterthought, so I said, ‘You have learned what a burial ground is now, Hughie, haven’t you? To put people’s bodies in when they die.’ Hughie snuggled up to me and whispered the confidential question, ‘If they only put their bodies there, what do they do with their heads?’ What an idea he would have carried away if his second question had not been drawn out!”

Miss Foster laughed.

“Such things occur constantly,” she said. “I daresay we have all heard the story of the little girl who said she liked to go to church when they sang the hymn about the bear. No? Well, it runs that she made this remark to her mother, who was more interested in her child’s preferences than it is likely any servant would have been. So she asked, ‘Which hymn is that, my dear?’ ‘Oh, the one about the bear that squints.’ ‘The bear that squints!’ said the mother, surprised, and knowing at once that something was wrong. ‘What does this mean?’ She could not ask the child to show the hymn, for she could not yet read. But instead of saying ‘Don’t be silly!’ she pursued the inquiry. ‘What makes you think there is anything about a bear that squints?’ ‘Oh, I’ve heard you sing it often,’ replied the child. ‘You sing “the consecrated cross-eye bear!”’”

They both laughed.

“That may be apocryphal,” commented Miss Foster, “but if so it is a fable which covers a great deal of fact.”

“It need not be apocryphal,” returned Lucy. “A distinguished preacher once told me that as a child he learned the lines—

Surely a beautiful image, and one which to the adult mind it seems impossible to misunderstand. But from the standpoint of the child, accustomed himself constantly to sit on people’s knees, the idea presented itself differently. He fancied that it was the saint’s sitting on Satan’s knees which caused Satan’s agitation! It never occurred to him that there could be any other meaning, and his puzzle was not over any doubt on that head, but only concerning what, in such a circumstance, was the cause of Satan’s dismay, for he knew that if he himself sat on anybody’s knees, he was rather in that person’s power, and could be easily got rid of. He went on saying and singing that hymn for years, the wonderment always recurring. He told me that the truth did not dawn on him till he was a grown youth attending theological classes. Then he said it came with such a lightning-flash that it nearly made him cry out in chapel!”

“There is even a more serious aspect of this kind of misunderstanding,” said Miss Foster, “which may really lead to a wrong stratum of character if children are not encouraged to speak out and show how they take things. Grown-up people sometimes say hasty or playful words which no other ‘grown-up’ would take literally, but children do. It often seems to me as if, though the little folk are themselves ready to ‘make believe’ to any extent, yet they cannot credit any ‘make believe’ in others. Let me tell you a story in illustration.

“A friend has lately bought a house, on whose staircase is a beautiful stained glass window; but its value is rather spoiled for her by the fact that in its centre are the initials of the late owners of the house, not interesting people in any way, but very commonplace folk who made money by speculations. One day a little boy-visitor was admiring the window, and asked about the initials. My friend explained them to him, and then, turning to another visitor, laughingly said, ‘We must get somebody to throw a stone through that pane.’ Presently she noticed that the little boy kept very closely to her side, and by-and-by he whispered, ‘Mrs. Gray, I can hit very well. I’ll throw a stone at that window. I’ll do it to-day if you like.’ ‘Oh, my dear,’ she said, ‘that would never do at all. We must get it done properly some other time.’ He was disappointed, but said no more then. When he was taking leave, however, he whispered, ‘Mrs. Gray, when do you want that stone thrown? You’ll ask me, won’t you? You won’t let anybody else do it?’ Now if he

had not been a child accustomed to free speech, he might have taken that lady’s jest in earnest and have thrown the stone, which would likely have missed its aim and done incalculable mischief. Mrs. Gray would have quite forgotten her remark. Overwhelmed by his failure and by censures unaccountable to him which would have fallen upon him, he would, according to all the precedents of childish criminals, have ‘reserved his defence,’ and he would have been set down as a mischievous monkey, if not a malignant little wretch, for making such return for pleasant hospitality.”

“I suppose too,” said Lucy, “that every time we let a child talk a matter out and help it to follow the explanations we give, we are really unconsciously training its mind to think out things for itself, and not to rest content at any point where it is not really satisfied.”

“Exactly so,” answered Miss Foster. “The facts which a child learns are always of little importance compared with the exercise of its mind in grasping them. That is why learning anything by rote is useless save as an exercise of memory, and that explains, too, why some people who are said to have ‘no book-learning’ are far keener observers and arrive at more judicious conclusions{612} than do pedants. The plainer folk have probably learned to use their minds upon the work of their hands. It is with minds as it is with bodies: unless the digestion is in order, food does not nourish, is not assimilated, and only results in disease. So though there is more ‘knowledge’ in the world to-day than ever before, and though it is more widely distributed, yet at every turn the public mind—with its violent prejudices, its unreasonable fluctuations, and its inability to look below any surface conclusions that are offered to it—proves that the Hebrew prophet’s complaint ‘that the people do not consider’ is as true as ever it was. Probably in face of