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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Cathedral Courtship + +Author: Kate Douglas Wiggin + +Illustrator: Charles E. Brock + +Release Date: May 16, 2008 [EBook #25493] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP *** + + + + +Produced by David Wilson and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<hr class="pg" /> + +<div class="frontmatter"> + +<h2><a name="png.001" id="png.001"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">i</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP</h2> + +<p class="illus pgbrk"><img src="images/cover-small.jpg" width="200" height="359" + alt="Cover" title="Cover" /></p> + + + +<div class="bysame"> + +<h3><a name="png.002" id="png.002"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">ii</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>By the same Author.</i></h3> + +<p><b>Penelope’s Irish Experiences.</b> 6s.</p> + +<p><b>Penelope’s English Experiences.</b> Illustrated by +<span class="smc">Charles E. Brock</span>. 6s.</p> + +<p><b>Penelope’s Experiences in Scotland.</b> Illustrated +by <span class="smc">Charles E. Brock</span>. 6s.</p> + +<p><b>Timothy’s Quest.</b> Illustrated by <span class="smc">Oliver Herford</span>. +<span class="nw">2s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Marm Liza.</b> 6s.</p> + +<p><b>Village Watch-Tower.</b> <span class="nw">3s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Polly Oliver’s Problem.</b> Illustrated. <span class="nw">3s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Summer in a Cañon.</b> Illustrated. <span class="nw">3s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Birds’ Christmas Carol.</b> Illustrated. <span class="nw">1s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Story of Patsy.</b> Illustrated. <span class="nw">1s. 6d.</span></p> + +<h3><i>By Mrs. Wiggin & Miss Nora A. Smith.</i></h3> + +<p><b>The Story Hour.</b> Illustrated. <span class="nw">2s. 6d.</span></p> + +<p><b>Children’s Rights.</b> 5s.</p> + +<p><b>Republic of Childhood.</b> 3 vols. 5s. each.</p> + +<p class="publ"><i>LONDON: GAY AND BIRD.</i></p> + +</div> + +<p class="illus pgbrk"><a name="png.004" id="png.004"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">iv</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><img src="images/illus-004.png" width="440" height="700" + alt="‘Jack! Jack! save me!’" title="‘Jack! Jack! save me!’" /></p> + + +<h1><a name="png.005" id="png.005"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">v</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><small>A</small><br + />Cathedral Courtship</h1> + +<p class="author"><small class="tiny">BY</small><br + /><big>Kate Douglas Wiggin</big></p> + +<p class="illustrator"><small><i>ILLUSTRATED</i><br + /><span class="tiny">BY</span></small><br + />CHARLES E. BROCK</p> + +<p class="illus"><img src="images/illus-005.png" width="150" height="146" + alt="Publisher's device" title="Publisher's device" /></p> + +<p class="publisher">GAY AND BIRD<br + /><small>22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND</small><br + />LONDON<br + /><small>1901</small></p> + +<p class="tb pgbrk noindent"><small><i>All rights reserved</i></small></p> + + +<p class="pubhist"><a name="png.006" id="png.006"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">vi</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><small><i>Originally published in 1893 with +‘Penelope’s English Experiences,’ +and reprinted 1893 (twice), 1894, +1895, 1896, 1897.</i></small></p> + +</div> + +<div class="preface"> + +<h2><a name="png.007" id="png.007"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">vii</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>PREFACE</i></h2> + +<p><i>‘<span class="smc">A Cathedral Courtship</span>’ was first published +in 1893, appearing in a volume with ‘Penelope’s +English Experiences.’ In course of time, the +latter story, finding unexpected favour in the +public eyes, left its modest companion, and was +promoted to a separate existence, with pictures +and covers of its own. Then something rather +curious occurred, one of those trifles which serve +to make a publisher’s life an exciting, if not a +happy, one. When the ‘gentle reader’ (bless his +or her warm and irrational heart!) could no +longer buy ‘A Cathedral Courtship,’ a new desire +for it sprang into being, and when the demands +became sufficiently ardent and numerous, it was +decided to republish the story, with illustrations +by Mr. Charles E. Brock, an artist who can be +<a name="png.008" id="png.008"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">viii</span><span class="ns">] + </span>relied upon to put new energy into a live tale or +resuscitate a dead one.</i></p> + +<p><i>At this point the author, having presumably +grown in knowledge of grammar, spelling, and +punctuation, was asked to revise the text, and +being confronted with the printed page, was overcome +by the temptation to add now and then a +sentence, line, or paragraph, while the charming +shade of Miss Kitty Schuyler perched on every +exclamation point, begging permission to say a +trifle, just a trifle, more.</i></p> + +<p><i>‘You might allow me to explain myself just +there,’ she coaxed; ‘and if you have told them +all I was supposed to be thinking in Winchester +or Salisbury or Oxford, why not tell them what +I thought in Bath or Peterborough or Ely? It +was awfully interesting!’</i></p> + +<p><i>Jack Copley, too, clamoured to be heard still +further on the subject of his true-love’s charms, +so the author yielded to this twofold pressure, and +added a few corroborative details.</i></p> + +<p><i>The little courtship, running its placid course +through sleepy cathedral towns, has not been altered +in the least by these new pages. It is only as if +<a name="png.009" id="png.009"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">ix</span><span class="ns">] + </span>the story-teller, meeting a new pair of interested +eyes, had almost unconsciously drifted into fresh +confidences.</i></p> + +<p class="rt"><i>KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.</i></p> + + +<p class="dummyh3"><i>This is all quite true, and anyway we have said +nothing that we are a bit ashamed of.</i></p> + +<div class="ctr"> +<p><i>KITTY SCHUYLER.</i></p> + +<p class="sans"><big>X</big></p> + +<p><i>JACK COPLEY.</i></p> +</div> + +<p class="rt"><i>Their mark.</i></p> + +<p class="pgbrk"><span class="smc">London</span>, <i>July</i>, 1901.</p> + + + +<h2 class="ws1 top4"><a name="png.011" id="png.011"></a><span class="ns">[p </span><span + class="pgmark">xi</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<table summary="List of Figures"> + +<tr><td></td><td></td><td class="pg"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr class="first"><td>‘JACK! JACK! SAVE ME!’</td><td class="rt" colspan="2"><a href="#png.004"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">‘IT WOULD ’ARDLY BE A SUBSTITUTE FOR +GOOSEBERRY-TART, MISS’</td><td class="pg"><a href="#png.023">11</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">I OFFERED IT TO HER WITH DISTINGUISHED +GRACE</td><td class="pg"><a href="#png.039">27</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">I WAS DISCONCERTED AT BEING FOUND IN A +DRAMSHOP ALONE</td><td class="pg"><a href="#png.047">35</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">SHE IGNORES THE BABBLE OF CONTEMPORANEOUS +LOVERS</td><td class="pg"><a href="#png.075">63</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td colspan="2">‘LOR’, MISS!’ SAID FARMER HENDRY, ‘HE +HAVEN’T BEEN PASTURED THERE FOR THREE +WEEKS’</td><td class="pg"><a href="#png.105">93</a></td></tr> + +</table> + +</div> + +<div class="main"> + +<h1><a name="png.013" id="png.013"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">1</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><small>A</small><br + /><big>CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP</big></h1> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Winchester</span>, + <span class="date"><i>May</i> 28, ——,</span><br + />The Royal Garden Inn.</small></p> + + +<p><span class="smc">We</span> are doing the English cathedral towns, +Aunt Celia and I. Aunt Celia has an +intense desire to improve my mind. Papa +told her, when we were leaving Cedarhurst, +that he wouldn’t for the world have +it too much improved, and Aunt Celia remarked +that, so far as she could judge, +there was no immediate danger; with +which exchange of hostilities they parted.</p> + +<p>We are travelling under the yoke of an +<a name="png.014" id="png.014"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">2</span><span class="ns">] + </span>iron itinerary, warranted neither to bend +nor break. It was made out by a young +High Church curate in New York, and if +it were a creed, or a document that had +been blessed by all the bishops and popes, +it could not be more sacred to Aunt Celia. +She is awfully High Church, and I believe +she thinks this tour of the cathedrals will +give me a taste for ritual and bring me +into the true fold. Mamma was a Unitarian, +and so when she was alive I +generally attended service at that church. +Aunt Celia says it is not a Church; that +the most you can say for it is that it is a +‘belief’ rather loosely and carelessly formulated. +She also says that dear old Dr. +Kyle is the most dangerous Unitarian she +knows, because he has leanings towards +Christianity.</p> + +<p>Long ago, in her youth, Aunt Celia was +engaged to a young architect. He, with +his triangles and T-squares and things, +<a name="png.015" id="png.015"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">3</span><span class="ns">] + </span>succeeded in making an imaginary scale-drawing +of her heart (up to that time a +virgin forest, an unmapped territory), which +enabled him to enter in and set up a +pedestal there, on which he has remained +ever since. He has been only a memory +for many years, to be sure, for he died at +the age of twenty-six, before he had had +time to build anything but a livery stable +and a country hotel. This is fortunate, +on the whole, because Aunt Celia thinks +he was destined to establish American +architecture on a higher plane, rid it of its +base, time-serving, imitative instincts, and +waft it to a height where, in the course +of centuries, it would have been revered +and followed by all the nations of the +earth.</p> + +<p>I went to see the stable, after one of +these Miriam-like flights of prophecy on the +might-have-been. It isn’t fair to judge a +man’s promise by one modest performance, +<a name="png.016" id="png.016"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">4</span><span class="ns">] + </span>and so I shall say nothing, save that I am +sure it was the charm of the man that +won my aunt’s affection, not the genius of +the builder.</p> + +<p>This sentiment about architecture and +this fondness for the very toppingest High +Church ritual cause Aunt Celia to look on +the English cathedrals with solemnity and +reverential awe. She has given me a +fat <ins class="TNsilent" title="Transcriber's note: + original lacks hyphen">note-book</ins>, with ‘Katharine Schuyler’ +stamped in gold letters on the Russia-leather +cover, and a lock and key to +conceal its youthful inanities from the +general public. I am not at all the sort +of girl who makes notes, and I have told +her so; but she says that I must at least +record my passing impressions, if they are +ever so trivial and commonplace. She +also says that one’s language gains unconsciously +in dignity and sobriety by +being set down in black and white, and +that a liberal use of pen and ink will +<a name="png.017" id="png.017"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">5</span><span class="ns">] + </span>be sure to chasten my extravagances of +style.</p> + +<p>I wanted to go directly from Southampton +to London with the Abbotts, our +ship friends, who left us yesterday. Roderick +Abbott and I had had a charming +time on board ship (more charming than +Aunt Celia knows, because she was very +ill, and her natural powers of chaperoning +were severely impaired), and the prospect +of seeing London sights together was not +unpleasing; but Roderick Abbott is not in +Aunt Celia’s itinerary, which reads: ‘Winchester, +Salisbury, Bath, Wells, Gloucester, +Oxford, London, Ely, Peterborough, Lincoln, +York, Durham.’ These are the +cathedrals Aunt Celia’s curate chose to +visit, and this is the order in which he +chose to visit them. Canterbury was too +far east for him, and Exeter was too far +west, but he suggests Ripon and Hereford +if strength and time permit.</p> + +<p><a name="png.018" id="png.018"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">6</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>Aunt Celia is one of those persons who +are born to command, and when they are +thrown in contact with those who are born +to be commanded all goes as merry as a +marriage bell; otherwise not.</p> + +<p>So here we are at Winchester; and I +don’t mind all the Roderick Abbotts in the +universe, now that I have seen the Royal +Garden Inn, its pretty coffee-room opening +into the old-fashioned garden, with its +borders of clove-pinks, its aviaries, and +its blossoming horse-chestnuts, great towering +masses of pink bloom.</p> + +<p>Aunt Celia has driven to St. Cross +Hospital with Mrs. Benedict, an estimable +lady tourist whom she ‘picked up’ <i>en +route</i> from Southampton. I am tired, and +stayed at home. I cannot write letters, +because Aunt Celia has the guide-books, +so I sit by the window in indolent content, +watching the dear little school laddies, +with their short jackets and wide white +<a name="png.019" id="png.019"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">7</span><span class="ns">] + </span>collars; they all look so jolly, and rosy, +and clean, and kissable. I should like to +kiss the chambermaid, too. She has a +pink print dress, no fringe, thank goodness +(it’s curious our servants can’t leave that +deformity to the upper classes), but shining +brown hair, plump figure, soft voice, and +a most engaging way of saying ‘Yes, +miss? Anythink more, miss?’ I long to +ask her to sit down comfortably and be +English while I study her as a type, but +of course I mustn’t. Sometimes I wish +I could retire from the world for a season +and do what I like, ‘surrounded by the +general comfort of being thought mad.’</p> + +<p>An elegant, irreproachable, high-minded +model of dignity and reserve has just +knocked and inquired what we will have +for dinner. It is very embarrassing to +give orders to a person who looks like a +Justice of the Supreme Court, but I said +languidly:</p> + +<p><a name="png.020" id="png.020"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">8</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>‘What would you suggest?’</p> + +<p>‘How would you like a clear soup, a +good spring soup, to begin with, miss?’</p> + +<p>‘Very much.’</p> + +<p>‘And a bit of turbot next, miss, with +anchovy sauce?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, turbot, by all means,’ I said, my +mouth watering at the word.</p> + +<p>‘And what else, miss? Would you +enjoy a young duckling, miss, with new +potatoes and green peas?’</p> + +<p>‘Just the thing; and for dessert—’ +I couldn’t think what I ought to order +next in England, but the high-minded +model coughed apologetically, and, correcting +my language, said:</p> + +<p>‘I was thinking you might like gooseberry-tart +and cream for a sweet, miss.’</p> + +<p>Oh that I could have vented my New +World enthusiasm in a sigh of delight as +I heard those intoxicating words, heretofore +met only in English novels!</p> + +<p><a name="png.021" id="png.021"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">9</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>‘Ye—es,’ I said hesitatingly, though I +was palpitating with joy, ‘I fancy we +should like gooseberry-tart’ (here a bright +idea entered my mind); ‘and perhaps, in +case my aunt doesn’t care for the gooseberry-tart, +you might bring a lemon-squash, +please.’</p> + +<p>Now, I had never met a lemon-squash +personally, but I had often heard of it, and +wished to show my familiarity with British +culinary art.</p> + +<p>‘It would ’ardly be a substitute for +gooseberry-tart, miss; but shall I bring +<em>one</em> lemon-squash, miss?’</p> + +<p>‘Oh, as to that, it doesn’t matter,’ I +said haughtily; ‘bring a sufficient number +for two persons.’</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Aunt Celia came home in the highest +feather. She had twice been mistaken for +an Englishwoman. She said she thought +<a name="png.022" id="png.022"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">10</span><span class="ns">] + </span>that lemon-squash was a drink; I thought, +of course, it was a pie; but we shall find +out at dinner, for, as I said, I ordered a +sufficient number for two persons, and the +head-waiter is not a personage who will +let Transatlantic ignorance remain uninstructed.</p> + +<p>At four o’clock we attended evensong +at the cathedral. I shall not say what I +felt when the white-surpliced boy choir +entered, winding down those vaulted aisles, +or when I heard for the first time that +intoned service, with all its ‘witchcraft of +harmonic sound.’ I sat quite by myself +in a high carved oak seat, and the hour +was passed in a trance of serene delight. +I do not have many opinions, it is true, +but papa says I am always strong on +sentiments; nevertheless, I shall not +attempt to tell even what I feel in these +new and beautiful experiences, for it has +been better told a thousand times.</p> + +<p class="illus"><a name="png.023" id="png.023"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">11</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><img src="images/illus-023.png" width="438" height="700" + alt="“It would ’ardly be a substitute for gooseberry-tart, miss.”" + title="“It would ’ardly be a substitute for gooseberry-tart, miss.”" /></p> + +<p><a name="png.024" id="png.024"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">12</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>There were a great many people at +service, and a large number of Americans +among them, I should think, though we +saw no familiar faces. There was one +particularly nice young man, who looked +like a Bostonian. He sat opposite me. +He didn’t stare—he was too well bred, +but when I looked the other way he looked +at me. Of course, I could feel his eyes; +anybody can—at least, any girl can; but +I attended to every word of the service, +and was as good as an angel. When the +procession had filed out, and the last +strain of the great organ had rumbled into +silence, we went on a tour through the +cathedral, a heterogeneous band, headed +by a conscientious old verger, who did his +best to enlighten us, and succeeded in +virtually spoiling my pleasure.</p> + +<p>After we had finished (think of ‘finishing’ +a cathedral in an hour or two!), Aunt +Celia and I, with one or two others, +<a name="png.025" id="png.025"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">13</span><span class="ns">] + </span>wandered through the beautiful close, +looking at the exterior from every possible +point, and coming at last to a certain +ruined arch which is very famous. It +did not strike me as being remarkable. I +could make any number of them with a +pattern without the least effort. But, at +any rate, when told by the verger to gaze +upon the beauties of this wonderful relic +and tremble, we were obliged to gaze also +upon the beauties of the aforesaid nice +young man, who was sketching it.</p> + +<p>As we turned to go away, Aunt Celia +dropped her bag. It is one of those +detestable, all-absorbing, all-devouring, +thoroughly respectable, but never proud, +Boston bags, made of black cloth with +leather trimmings, ‘C. Van T.’ embroidered +on the side, and the top drawn up with +stout cords which pass over the Boston +wrist or arm. As for me, I loathe them, +and would not for worlds be seen carrying +<a name="png.026" id="png.026"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">14</span><span class="ns">] + </span>one, though I do slip a great many necessaries +into Aunt Celia’s.</p> + +<p>I hastened to pick up the horrid thing, +for fear the nice young man would feel +obliged to do it for me; but, in my indecorous +haste, I caught hold of the wrong +end, and emptied the entire contents on +the stone flagging. Aunt Celia didn’t +notice; she had turned with the verger, +lest she should miss a single word of his +inspired testimony. So we scrambled up +the articles together, the nice young man +and I; and oh, I hope I may never look +upon his face <ins class="TNsilent" title="Transcriber's note: + original lacks people">again.</ins></p> + +<p>There were prayer-books and guide-books, +a Bath bun, a bottle of soda-mint +tablets, a church calendar, a bit of gray +frizz that Aunt Celia pins into her cap +when she is travelling in damp weather, a +spectacle-case, a brandy-flask, and a bon-bon-box, +which broke and scattered cloves +and peppermint lozenges. (I hope he +<a name="png.027" id="png.027"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">15</span><span class="ns">] + </span>guessed Aunt Celia is a dyspeptic, and not +intemperate!) All this was hopelessly +vulgar, but I wouldn’t have minded anything +if there had not been a Duchess +novel. Of course he thought that it belonged +to me. He couldn’t have known +Aunt Celia was carrying it for that accidental +Mrs. Benedict, with whom she went +to St. Cross Hospital.</p> + +<p>After scooping the cloves out of the +cracks in the stone flagging—and, of +course, he needn’t have done this, unless +he had an abnormal sense of humour—he +handed me the tattered, disreputable-looking +copy of ‘A Modern Circe,’ with +a bow that wouldn’t have disgraced a +Chesterfield, and then went back to his +easel, while I fled after Aunt Celia and +her verger.</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>The Winchester Cathedral +has the longest nave. The inside is more +<a name="png.028" id="png.028"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">16</span><span class="ns">] + </span>superb than the outside. Izaak Walton and +Jane Austen are buried here.</i></p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Winchester</span>, + <span class="date"><i>May</i> 28,</span><br + />The White Swan.</small></p> + +<p>As sure as my name is Jack Copley, I +saw the prettiest girl in the world to-day—an +American, too, or I am greatly mistaken. +It was in the cathedral, where I +have been sketching for several days. I +was sitting at the end of a bench, at afternoon +service, when two ladies entered by +the side-door. The ancient maiden, evidently +the head of the family, settled herself +devoutly, and the young one stole off +by herself to one of the old carved seats +back of the choir. She was worse than +pretty! I made a memorandum of her +during service, as she sat under the dark +carved-oak canopy, with this Latin inscription +over her head:</p> + +<p class="i4"><a name="png.029" id="png.029"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">17</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><span class="smc">Carlton cum<br + />Dolby<br + />Letania<br + />IX Solidorum<br + />Super Flumina<br + />Confitebor tibi<br + />Dūc probati</span></p> + +<p>There ought to be a law against a +woman’s making a picture of herself, unless +she is willing to allow an artist to ‘fix +her’ properly in his gallery of types.</p> + +<p>A black-and-white sketch doesn’t give +any definite idea of this charmer’s charms, +but sometime I’ll fill it in—hair, sweet +little hat, gown, and eyes, all in golden +brown, a cape of tawny sable slipping off +her arm, a knot of yellow primroses in +her girdle, carved-oak background, and +the afternoon sun coming through a +stained-glass window. Great Jove! She +had a most curious effect on me, that girl! +I can’t explain it—very curious, altogether +new, and rather pleasant. When one of +<a name="png.030" id="png.030"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">18</span><span class="ns">] + </span>the choir-boys sang ‘Oh for the wings of +a dove!’ a tear rolled out of one of her +lovely eyes and down her smooth brown +cheek. I would have given a large portion +of my modest monthly income for the +felicity of wiping away that teardrop with +one of my new handkerchiefs, marked with +a tremendous ‘C’ by my pretty sister.</p> + +<p>An hour or two later they appeared +again—the dragon, who answers to the +name of ‘Aunt Celia,’ and the ‘nut-brown +mayde,’ who comes when she is called +‘Katharine.’ I was sketching a ruined +arch. The dragon dropped her unmistakably +Boston bag. I expected to see +encyclopædias and Russian tracts fall from +it, but was disappointed. The ‘nut-brown +mayde’ (who has been trained in the +way she should go) hastened to pick up +the bag for fear that I, a stranger, +should serve her by doing it. She was +punished by turning it inside out, and I +<a name="png.031" id="png.031"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">19</span><span class="ns">] + </span>was rewarded by helping her gather together +the articles, which were many and +ill-assorted. My little romance received +the first blow when I found that she reads +the Duchess novels. I think, however, she +has the grace to be ashamed of it, for she +blushed scarlet when I handed her ‘A +Modern Circe.’ I could have told her that +such a blush on such a cheek would almost +atone for not being able to read at all, but +I refrained. It is vexatious all the same, +for, though one doesn’t expect to find perfection +here below, the ‘nut-brown mayde,’ +externally considered, comes perilously +near it. After she had gone I discovered +a slip of paper which had blown under +some stones. It proved to be an itinerary. +I didn’t return it. I thought they must +know which way they were going; and as +this was precisely what I wanted to know, +I kept it for my own use. She is doing +the cathedral towns. I am doing the +<a name="png.032" id="png.032"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">20</span><span class="ns">] + </span>cathedral towns. Happy thought! Why +shouldn’t we do them together—we and +Aunt Celia? A fellow whose mother and +sister are in America must have some +feminine society!</p> + +<p>I had only ten minutes to catch my +train for Salisbury, but I concluded to run +in and glance at the registers of the principal +hotels. Found my ‘nut-brown mayde’ +at once in the guest-book of the Royal +Garden Inn: ‘Miss Celia Van Tyck, +Beverly, Mass., U.S.A. Miss Katharine +Schuyler, New York, U.S.A.’ I concluded +to stay over another train, ordered +dinner, and took an altogether indefensible +and inconsistent pleasure in writing ‘John +Quincy Copley, Cambridge, Mass.,’ directly +beneath the charmer’s autograph.</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<h3><a name="png.033" id="png.033"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">21</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Salisbury</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 1,</span><br + />The White Hart Inn.</small></p> + +<p>We left Winchester on the 1.16 train +yesterday, and here we are within sight of +another superb and ancient pile of stone. +I wanted so much to stop at the Highflyer +Inn in Lark Lane, but Aunt Celia said +that if we were destitute of personal dignity, +we at least owed something to our +ancestors. Aunt Celia has a temperamental +distrust of joy as something dangerous +and ensnaring. She doesn’t realize +what fun it would be to date one’s letters +from the Highflyer Inn, Lark Lane, even +if one were obliged to consort with poachers +and trippers in order to do it.</p> + +<p>Better times are coming, however, for +she was in a melting mood last evening, +and promised me that wherever I can find +an inn with a picturesque and unusual +<a name="png.034" id="png.034"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">22</span><span class="ns">] + </span>name, she will stop there, provided it is +clean and respectable, if I on my part will +agree to make regular notes of travel in +my Russia-leather book. She says that +ever since she was my age she has asked +herself nightly the questions Pythagoras +was in the habit of using as a nightcap:</p> + +<div class="poem"> +<div>‘What have I learned that’s worth the knowing?</div> +<div>What have I done that’s worth the doing?</div> +<div>What have I sought I should have shunned,</div> +<div>And into what new follies run?’</div> +</div> + +<p>I asked her why Pythagoras didn’t say +‘runned’ and make a consistent rhyme, +and she evaded the point by answering +that Pythagoras didn’t write it in English.</p> + +<p>We attended service at three. The +music was lovely, and there were beautiful +stained-glass windows by Burne-Jones +and Morris. The verger (when wound up +with a shilling) talked like an electric doll. +If that nice young man is making a +cathedral tour like ourselves, he isn’t +<a name="png.035" id="png.035"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">23</span><span class="ns">] + </span>taking our route, for he isn’t here. If he +has come over for the purpose of sketching, +he wouldn’t stop with one cathedral, +unless he is very indolent and unambitious, +and he doesn’t look either of these.</p> + +<p>Perhaps he began at the other end, and +worked down to Winchester. Yes, that +must be it, for the <cite>Ems</cite> sailed yesterday +from Southampton. Too bad, for he was +a distinct addition to the landscape. Why +didn’t I say, when he was picking up the +collection of curios in Aunt Celia’s bag, +‘You needn’t bother about the novel, +thank you; it is not mine, and anyway it +would be of no use to anybody.’</p> + + +<p class="dateline dummyh3"><small><span class="date"><i>June</i> 2.</span></small></p> + +<p>We intended to go to Stonehenge this +morning, but it rained, so we took a +‘growler’ and went to the Earl of Pembroke’s +country place to see the pictures. +Had a delightful morning with the +<a name="png.036" id="png.036"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">24</span><span class="ns">] + </span>magnificent antiques, curios, and portraits. The +Van Dyck room is a joy for ever; but one +really needs a guide or a friend who knows +something of art if one would understand +these things. There were other visitors; +nobody who looked especially interesting. +Don’t like Salisbury so well as Winchester. +Don’t know why. We shall drive this +afternoon, if it is fair, and go to Bath and +Wells to-morrow, I am glad to say. Must +read Baedeker on the Bishop’s palace. +Oh, dear! if one could only have a good +time and not try to know anything!</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>This cathedral has the +highest spire. Remember: Winchester, +longest nave; Salisbury, highest spire.</i></p> + +<p><i>The Lancet style is those curved lines +meeting in a rounding or a sharp point like +this <img class= "squiggle1" src="images/squiggle1.png" + alt="inverted U shape and /\" title="inverted U shape and /\" + />, and then joined together like +this <img class= "squiggle2" src="images/squiggle2.png" + alt="\/\/\/" title="\/\/\/" />, the way they scallop +babies’ flannel petticoats. Gothic looks like +triangles meeting together in various spots +<a name="png.037" id="png.037"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">25</span><span class="ns">] + </span>and joined with a beautiful sort of ornamented +knobs. I think I recognise Gothic +when I see it. Then there is Norman, +Early English, fully developed Early +English, Early and Late Perpendicular, +Transition, and, for aught I know, a lot of +others. Aunt Celia can tell them all apart.</i></p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Salisbury</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 3,</span><br + />The Red Lion.</small></p> + +<p>I went off on a long tramp this afternoon, +and coming on a pretty river flowing +through green meadows, with a fringe of +trees on either side, I sat down to make a +sketch. I heard feminine voices in the +vicinity, but as these are generally a part +of the landscape in the tourist season, I +paid no special notice. Suddenly a dainty +patent-leather shoe floated towards me on +the surface of the stream. It evidently +had just dropped in, for it was right side +<a name="png.038" id="png.038"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">26</span><span class="ns">] + </span>up with care, and was disporting itself +most merrily. ‘Did ever Jove’s tree drop +such fruit?’ I quoted as I fished it out on +my stick; and just then I heard a distressed +voice saying, ‘Oh, Aunt Celia, +I’ve lost my smart little London shoe. I +was sitting in a tree taking a pebble out of +the heel, when I saw a caterpillar, and I +dropped it into the river—the shoe, you +know, not the caterpillar.’</p> + +<p class="illus"><a name="png.039" id="png.039"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">27</span><span class="ns">] + </span><img src="images/illus-039.png" width="425" height="700" + alt="I offered it to her with distinguished grace" + title="I offered it to her with distinguished grace" /></p> + +<p>Hereupon she came in sight, and I witnessed +the somewhat unusual spectacle of +my ‘nut-brown mayde’ hopping, like a +divine stork, on one foot, and ever and +anon emitting a feminine shriek as the +other, clad in a delicate silk stocking, came +in contact with the ground. I rose quickly, +and, polishing the patent leather ostentatiously +inside and out with my handkerchief, +I offered it to her with distinguished grace. +She sat hurriedly down on the ground with +as much dignity as possible, and then, +<a name="png.040" id="png.040"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">28</span><span class="ns">] + </span>recognising me as the person who picked +up the contents of Aunt Celia’s bag, she +said, dimpling in the most distracting +manner (that’s another thing there ought +to be a law against): ‘Thank you again; +you seem to be a sort of knight-errant.’</p> + +<p>‘Shall I—assist you?’ I asked. I might +have known that this was going too far. +Of course I didn’t suppose she would let +me help her put the shoe on, but I thought—upon +my soul, I don’t know what I +thought, for she was about a million times +prettier to-day than yesterday.</p> + +<p>‘No, thank you,’ she said, with polar +frigidity. ‘Good-afternoon.’ And she +hopped back to her Aunt Celia without +another word.</p> + +<p>I don’t know how to approach Aunt +Celia. She is formidable. By a curious +accident of feature, for which she is not +in the least responsible, she always wears +an unfortunate expression as of one +<a name="png.041" id="png.041"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">29</span><span class="ns">] + </span>perceiving some offensive odour in the immediate +vicinity. This may be a mere +accident of high birth. It is the kind of +nose often seen in the ‘first families,’ and +her name betrays the fact that she is of +good old Knickerbocker origin. We go +to Wells to-morrow—at least, I think +we do.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Salisbury</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 3.</span></small></p> + +<p>I didn’t like Salisbury at first, but I +find it is the sort of place that grows on +one the longer one stays in it. I am quite +sorry we must leave so soon, but Aunt +Celia is always in haste to be gone. Bath +may be interesting, but it is entirely out of +the beaten path from here.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Bath</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 7,</span><br + />The Best Hotel.</small></p> + +<p>I met him at Wells and again this +<a name="png.042" id="png.042"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">30</span><span class="ns">] + </span>afternoon here. We are always being +ridiculous, and he is always rescuing us. +Aunt Celia never really sees him, and +thus never recognises him when he appears +again, always as the flower of chivalry and +guardian of ladies in distress. I will never +again travel abroad without a man, even +if I have to hire one from a feeble-minded +asylum. We work like galley-slaves, Aunt +Celia and I, finding out about trains and +things. Neither of us can understand +Bradshaw, and I can’t even grapple with +the lesser intricacies of the A B C Railway +Guide. The trains, so far as I can see, +always arrive before they go out, and I +can never tell whether to read up the page +or down. It is certainly very queer that +the stupidest man that breathes, one that +barely escapes idiocy, can disentangle a +railway guide when the brightest woman +fails. Even the boots at the inn in Wells +took my book, and, rubbing his frightfully +<a name="png.043" id="png.043"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">31</span><span class="ns">] + </span>dirty finger down the row of puzzling +figures, found the place in a minute, and +said, ‘There ye are, miss.’ It is very +humiliating. I suppose there are Bradshaw +professorships in the English universities, +but the boots cannot have imbibed +his knowledge there. A traveller at +<i>table d’hôte</i> dinner yesterday said there are +three classes of Bradshaw trains in Great +Britain: those that depart and never arrive, +those that arrive but never depart, and +those that can be caught in transit, going +on, like the wheel of eternity, with neither +beginning nor end. All the time I have +left from the study of routes and hotels +I spend on guide-books. Now, I’m sure +that if any one of the men I know were +here, he could tell me all that is necessary +as we walk along the streets. I don’t say +it in a frivolous or sentimental spirit in the +least, but I do affirm that there is hardly +any juncture in life where one isn’t better +<a name="png.044" id="png.044"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">32</span><span class="ns">] + </span>off for having a man about. I should +never dare divulge this to Aunt Celia, for +she doesn’t think men very nice. She +excludes them from conversation as if +they were indelicate subjects.</p> + +<p>But to go on, we were standing at the +door of Ye Crowne and Keys at Wells, +waiting for the fly which we had ordered +to take us to the station, when who should +drive up in a four-wheeler but the flower +of chivalry. Aunt Celia was saying very +audibly, ‘We shall certainly miss the train, +if the man doesn’t come at once.’</p> + +<p>‘Pray take this cab,’ said the flower of +chivalry. ‘I am not leaving for an hour +or more.’</p> + +<p>Aunt Celia got in without a murmur; I +sneaked in after her, not daring to lift my +eyes. I don’t think she looked at him, +though she did vouchsafe the remark that +he seemed to be a civil sort of person.</p> + +<p>I was walking about by myself this +<a name="png.045" id="png.045"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">33</span><span class="ns">] + </span>afternoon. Aunt Celia and I had taken a +long drive, and she had dropped me in a +quaint old part of the town that I might +have a brisk walk home for exercise. +Suddenly it began to rain, which it is apt +to do in England, between the showers, +and at the same moment I espied a sign, +‘Martha Huggins, Licensed Victualler.’ It +was a nice, tidy little shop, with a fire on +the hearth and flowers in the window, and +I thought no one would catch me if I +stepped inside to chat with Martha until +the sun shone again. I fancied it would +be delightful and Dickensy to talk quietly +with a licensed victualler by the name of +Martha Huggins.</p> + +<p>Just after I had settled myself, the flower +of chivalry came in and ordered ale. I +was disconcerted at being found in a +dramshop alone, for I thought, after the +bag episode, he might fancy us a family +of inebriates. But he didn’t evince the +<a name="png.046" id="png.046"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">34</span><span class="ns">] + </span>slightest astonishment; he merely lifted +his hat, and walked out after he had +finished his ale. He certainly has the +loveliest manners, and his hair is a more +beautiful colour every time I see him.</p> + +<p>And so it goes on, and we never get any +further. I like his politeness and his evident +feeling that I can’t be flirted and +talked with like a forward boarding-school +miss; but I must say I don’t think much +of his ingenuity. Of course one can’t have +all the virtues, but if I were he, I would +part with my distinguished air, my charming +ease—in fact, almost anything, if I +could have in exchange a few grains of +common-sense, just enough to guide me in +the practical affairs of life.</p> + +<p class="illus"><a name="png.047" id="png.047"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">35</span><span class="ns">] + </span><img src="images/illus-047.png" width="463" height="700" + alt="“I was disconcerted at being found in a dramshop alone.”" + title="“I was disconcerted at being found in a dramshop alone.”" /></p> + +<p>I wonder what he is? He might be an +artist, but he doesn’t seem quite like an +artist; or just a dilettante, but he doesn’t +look in the least like a dilettante. Or he +might be an architect; I think that is the +<a name="png.048" id="png.048"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">36</span><span class="ns">] + </span>most probable guess of all. Perhaps he is +only ‘going to be’ one of these things, for +he can’t be more than twenty-five or +twenty-six. Still, he looks as if he were +something already; that is, he has a kind +of self-reliance in his mien—not self-assertion, +nor self-esteem, but belief in self, as +if he were able, and knew that he was able, +to conquer circumstances.</p> + +<p>Aunt Celia wouldn’t stay at Ye Olde +Bell and Horns here. She looked under +the bed (which, I insist, was an unfair test), +and ordered her luggage to be taken instantly +to the Grand Pump Room Hotel.</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>Bath became distinguished +for its architecture and popular as a fashionable +resort in the 17th century from the +deserved repute of its waters and through +the genius of two men, Wood the architect +and Beau Nash, Master of Ceremonies. +A true picture of the society of the period +is found in Smollett’s ‘Humphry Clinker’, +<a name="png.049" id="png.049"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">37</span><span class="ns">] + </span>which Aunt Celia says she will read and +tell me what is necessary. Remember the +window of the seven lights in the Abbey +Church, the one with the angels ascending +and descending; also the rich Perp. chantry +of Prior Bird, S. of chancel. It is Murray +who calls it a Perp. chantry, not I.</i></p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="date"><i>June</i> 8.</span></small></p> + +<p>It was very wet this morning, and I had +breakfast in my room. The maid’s name +is Hetty Precious, and I could eat almost +anything brought me by such a beautifully +named person. A little parcel postmarked +Bath was on my tray, but as the address +was printed, I have no clue to the sender. +It was a wee copy of Jane Austen’s ‘Persuasion,’ +which I have read before, but +was glad to see again, because I had forgotten +that the scene is partly laid in Bath, +<a name="png.050" id="png.050"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">38</span><span class="ns">] + </span>and now I can follow dear Anne and vain +Sir Walter, hateful Elizabeth and scheming +Mrs. Clay through Camden Place and +Bath Street, Union Street, Milsom Street, +and the Pump Yard. I can even follow +them to the site of the White Hart Hotel, +where the adorable Captain Wentworth +wrote the letter to Anne. After more +than two hundred pages of suspense, with +what joy and relief did I read that letter! +I wonder if Anne herself was any more +excited than I?</p> + +<p>At first I thought Roderick Abbott sent +the book, until I remembered that his +literary taste is <cite>Puck</cite> in America and <cite>Pick-me-up</cite> +and <cite>Tit-Bits</cite> in England; and now +I don’t know what to think. I turned to +Captain Wentworth’s letter in the last +chapter but one—oh, it <em>is</em> a beautiful +letter! I <em>wish</em> somebody would ever write +me that he is ‘half agony, half hope,’ and +that I ‘pierce his soul.’ Of course, it +<a name="png.051" id="png.051"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">39</span><span class="ns">] + </span>would be wicked to pierce a soul, and of +course they wouldn’t write that way nowadays; +but there is something perfectly +delightful about the expression.</p> + +<p>Well, when I found the place, what do +you suppose? Some of the sentences in +the letter seem to be underlined ever so +faintly; so faintly, indeed, that I cannot +quite decide whether it’s my imagination +or a lead-pencil, but this is the way it +seems to look:</p> + +<p>‘I can listen no longer in silence. <u>I +must speak to you by such means as are +within my reach.</u> You pierce my soul. I +am half agony, half hope. Tell me not +that I am too late, that such precious feelings +are gone for ever. I offer myself to +you again with a heart even more your +own than when you almost broke it, eight +years and a half ago. Dare not say that +man forgets sooner than woman, that his +love has an earlier death. I have loved +<a name="png.052" id="png.052"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">40</span><span class="ns">] + </span>none but you. Unjust I may have been, +weak and resentful I have been, but never +inconstant. <u>You alone have brought me +to Bath. For you alone, I think and +plan. Have you not seen this? Can you +fail to have understood my wishes? I had +not waited even these ten days, could I +have read your feelings, as I think you +must have penetrated mine.</u> I can hardly +write. I am every instant hearing something +which overpowers me. You sink +your voice, but I can distinguish the tones +of that voice when they would be lost on +others. Too good, too excellent creature! +You do us justice indeed. You do believe +that there is true attachment and constancy +among men. Believe it to be most fervent, +most undeviating, in</p> + +<p class="rt">‘F. W.’</p> + +<p class="tb">Of course, this means nothing. Somebody +has been reading the book, and +<a name="png.053" id="png.053"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">41</span><span class="ns">] + </span>marked it idly as he (or she) read. I can +imagine someone’s underlining a splendid +sentiment like ‘Dare not say that man forgets +sooner than woman!’ but why should +a reader lay stress on such a simple sentence +as ‘You alone brought me to Bath’?</p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Gloucester</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 10,</span><br + />The Golden Slipper.</small></p> + +<p>Nothing accomplished yet. Her aunt +is a Van Tyck, and a stiff one, too. I am +a Copley, and that delays matters. Much +depends upon the manner of approach. +A false move would be fatal. We have +seven more towns (as per itinerary), and if +their thirst for cathedrals isn’t slaked when +these are finished, we have the entire Continent +to do. If I could only succeed in +making an impression on the retina of +Aunt Celia’s eye! Though I have been +under her feet for ten days, she never yet +<a name="png.054" id="png.054"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">42</span><span class="ns">] + </span>has observed me. This absent-mindedness +of hers serves me ill now, but it may +prove a blessing later on.</p> + +<p>I made two modest moves on the chessboard +of Fate yesterday, but they were so +very modest and mysterious that I almost +fear they were never noticed.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Gloucester</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 10,</span><br + />In Impossible Lodgings chosen by Me.</small></p> + +<p>Something else awfully exciting has +happened.</p> + +<p>When we walked down the railway platform +at Bath, I saw a pink placard pasted +on the window of a first-class carriage. It +had ‘<span class="allsc">VAN TYCK: RESERVED</span>,’ written on it, +after the English fashion, and we took our +places without question. Presently Aunt +Celia’s eyes and mine alighted at the same +moment on a bunch of yellow primroses +<a name="png.055" id="png.055"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">43</span><span class="ns">] + </span>pinned on the stuffed back of the most +comfortable seat next the window.</p> + +<p>‘They do things so well in England,’ +said Aunt Celia admiringly. ‘The landlord +must have sent my name to the guard—you +see the advantage of stopping at the +best hotels, Katharine—but one would not +have suspected him capable of such a refined +attention as the bunch of flowers. +You must take a few of them, dear; you +are so fond of primroses.’</p> + +<p>Oh! I am having a delicious time +abroad! I do think England is the most +interesting country in the world; and as +for the cathedral towns, how can anyone +bear to live anywhere else?</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Oxford</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 12,</span><br + />The Mitre.</small></p> + +<p>It was here in Oxford that a grain of +common-sense entered the brain of the +<a name="png.056" id="png.056"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">44</span><span class="ns">] + </span>flower of chivalry; you might call it the +dawn of reason. We had spent part of +the morning in High Street, ‘the noblest +old street in England,’ as our dear Hawthorne +calls it. As Wordsworth had +written a sonnet about it, Aunt Celia was +armed for the fray—a volume of Wordsworth +in one hand, and one of Hawthorne +in the other. (I wish Baedeker and +Murray didn’t give such full information +about what one ought to read before one +can approach these places in a proper +spirit.) When we had done High Street, +we went to Magdalen College, and sat +down on a bench in Addison’s Walk, +where Aunt Celia proceeded to store my +mind with the principal facts of Addison’s +career, and his influence on the literature +of the something or other century. The +cramming process over, we wandered +along, and came upon ‘him’ sketching a +shady corner of the walk.</p> + +<p><a name="png.057" id="png.057"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">45</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>Aunt Celia went up behind him, and, +Van Tyck though she is, she could not +restrain her admiration of his work. I +was surprised myself; I didn’t suppose so +good-looking a youth could do such good +work. I retired to a safe distance, and +they chatted together. He offered her +the sketch; she refused to take advantage +of his kindness. He said he would ‘dash +off’ another that evening and bring it to +our hotel—‘so glad to do anything for a +fellow-countryman,’ etc. I peeped from +behind a tree and saw him give her his +card. It was an awful moment; I trembled, +but she read it with unmistakable approval, +and gave him her own with an expression +that meant, ‘Yours is good, but beat that +if you can!’</p> + +<p>She called to me, and I appeared. Mr. +John Quincy Copley, Cambridge, was presented +to her niece, Miss Katharine +Schuyler, New York. It was over, and a +<a name="png.058" id="png.058"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">46</span><span class="ns">] + </span>very small thing to take so long about, +too.</p> + +<p>He is an architect, and, of course, has a +smooth path into Aunt Celia’s affections. +Theological students, ministers, missionaries, +heroes, and martyrs she may distrust, +but architects never!</p> + +<p>‘He is an architect, my dear Katharine, +and he is a Copley,’ she told me afterwards. +‘I never knew a Copley who was not respectable, +and many of them have been more.’</p> + +<p>After the introduction was over, Aunt +Celia asked him guilelessly if he had visited +any other of the English cathedrals. Any +others, indeed!—this to a youth who had +been all but in her lap for a fortnight. It +was a blow, but he rallied bravely, and, +with an amused look in my direction, +replied discreetly that he had visited most +of them at one time or another. I refused +to let him see that I had ever noticed him +before—that is, particularly.</p> + +<p><a name="png.059" id="png.059"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">47</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>I wish I had had an opportunity of +talking to him of our plans, but just as I +was leading the conversation into the +proper channels, the waiter came in for +breakfast orders—as if it mattered what +one had for breakfast, or whether one had +any at all. I can understand an interest +in dinner or even in luncheon, but not in +breakfast; at least not when more important +things are under consideration.</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>‘The very stones and +mortar of this historic town seem impregnated +with the spirit of restful antiquity.’</i> +(Extract from one of Aunt Celia’s letters.) +<i>Among the great men who have studied +here are the Prince of Wales, Duke of +Wellington, Gladstone, Sir Robert Peel, +Sir Philip Sidney, William Penn, John +Locke, the two Wesleys, Ruskin, Ben Jonson, +and Thomas Otway.</i> (Look Otway +up.)</p> + +<h3><a name="png.060" id="png.060"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">48</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Oxford</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 13,</span><br + />The Angel.</small></p> + +<p>I have done it, and if I hadn’t been a +fool and a coward I might have done it a +week ago, and spared myself a good deal +of delicious torment. ‘How sweet must +be Love’s self possessed, when but Love’s +shadows are so rich in joy!’ or something +of that sort.</p> + +<p>I have just given two hours to a sketch +of Addison’s Walk, and carried it to Aunt +Celia at the Mitre. Object, to find out +whether they make a long stay in London +(our next point), and, if so, where. It +seems they stop only a night. I said in +the course of conversation:</p> + +<p>‘So Miss Schuyler is willing to forego a +London season? Marvellous self-denial!’</p> + +<p>‘My niece did not come to Europe for +a London season,’ replied Miss Van Tyck. +‘We go through London this time merely as +<a name="png.061" id="png.061"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">49</span><span class="ns">] + </span>a cathedral town, simply because it chances +to be where it is geographically. We shall +visit St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey, +and then go directly on, that our chain of +impressions may have absolute continuity +and be free from any disturbing elements.’</p> + +<p>Oh, but she is lovely, is Aunt Celia! +London a cathedral town!</p> + +<p>Now, for my part, I should like to drop +St. Paul’s for once, and omit Westminster +Abbey for the moment, and sit on the top +of a bus with Miss Schuyler or in a hansom +jogging up and down Piccadilly. The +hansom should have bouquets of paper-flowers +in the windows, and the horse +should wear carnations in his headstall, +and Miss Schuyler should ask me questions, +to which I should always know the right +answers. This would be but a prelude, +for I should wish later to ask her questions +to which I should hope she would also +know the right answers.</p> + +<p><a name="png.062" id="png.062"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">50</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>Heigho! I didn’t suppose that anything +could be lovelier than that girl’s smile, but +there is, and it is her voice.</p> + +<p>I shall call there again to-morrow morning. +I don’t know on what pretext, but I +shall call, for my visit was curtailed this +evening by the entrance of the waiter, who +asked what they would have for breakfast. +Miss Van Tyck said she would be disengaged +in a moment, so naturally I +departed, with a longing to knock the +impudent waiter’s head against the uncomprehending +wall. Breakfast indeed! +A fellow can breakfast regularly, and yet +be in a starving condition.</p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Oxford</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 14,</span><br + />The Angel.</small></p> + +<p>I have just called. They have gone! +Gone hours before they intended! How +shall I find her in London?</p> + +<h3><a name="png.063" id="png.063"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">51</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">London</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 15,</span><br + />Walsingham House Hotel.</small></p> + +<p>As a cathedral town London leaves +much to be desired. There are too many +hotels, too many people, and the distances +are too great. For ten hours I kept a +hansom galloping between St. Paul’s and +Westminster Abbey, with no result. I +am now going to Ely, where I shall stay +in the cathedral from morning till night, +and have my meals brought to me on a +tray by the verger.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Ely</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 15,</span><br + />At Miss Kettlestring’s lodgings.</small></p> + +<p>I have lost him! He was not at St. +Paul’s or Westminster in London—great, +cruel, busy, brutal London, that could +swallow up any precious thing and make +<a name="png.064" id="png.064"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">52</span><span class="ns">] + </span>no sign. And he is not here! They say +it is a very fine cathedral.</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>The Octagon is perhaps +the most beautiful and original design to be +found in the whole range of Gothic architecture. +Remember also the retrochoir. +The lower tier of windows consists of three +long lancets, with groups of Purbeck shafts +at the angles; the upper, of five lancets, +diminishing from the centre, and set back, +as in the clerestory, within an arcade supported +by shafts.</i> (I don’t believe even he +could make head or tail of this.) <i>Remember +the curious bosses under the brackets +of the stone altar in the Alcock Chapel. +They represent ammonites projecting from +their shells and biting each other.</i> (If I +were an ammonite I know I should bite +Aunt Celia. Look up ammonite.)</p> + +<h3><a name="png.065" id="png.065"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">53</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Ely</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 18,</span><br + />The Lamb Hotel.</small></p> + +<p>I cannot find her! Am racked with +rheumatic pains sitting in this big, empty, +solitary, hollow, reverberating, damp, desolate, +deserted cathedral hour after hour. +On to Peterborough this evening.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Peterborough</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 18.</span></small></p> + +<p>He is not here. The cathedral, even +the celebrated west front, seems to me +somewhat overrated. Catherine of Aragon +(or one of those Henry the Eighth wives) +is buried here, also Mary Queen of Scots; +but I am tired of looking at graves, +viciously tired, too, of writing in this +trumpery note-book. We move on this +afternoon.</p> + +<h3><a name="png.066" id="png.066"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">54</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Peterborough</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 19.</span></small></p> + +<p>A few more days of this modern Love +Chase will unfit me for professional work. +Tried to draw the roof of the choir, +a good specimen of early Perp., and +failed. Studied the itinerary again to see +if it had any unsuspected suggestions in +cipher. No go! York and Durham were +double-starred by the Aunt Celia’s curate +as places for long stops. Perhaps we shall +meet again there.</p> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Lincoln</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 22,</span><br + />The Black Boy Inn.</small></p> + +<p>I am stopping at a beastly little hole, +which has the one merit of being opposite +Miss Schuyler’s lodgings, for I have found +her at last. My sketch-book has deteriorated +in artistic value during the last two +weeks. Many of its pages, while interesting +<a name="png.067" id="png.067"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">55</span><span class="ns">] + </span>to me as reminiscences, will hardly do +for family or studio exhibition. If I should +label them, the result would be something +like this:</p> + +<p>1. Sketch of a footstool and desk where +I first saw Miss Schuyler kneeling.</p> + +<p>2. Sketch of a carved oak chair, Miss +Schuyler sitting in it.</p> + +<p>3. ‘Angel choir.’ Heads of Miss +Schuyler introduced into the carving.</p> + +<p>4. Altar screen. A row of full-length +Miss Schuylers holding lilies.</p> + +<p>5. Tomb of a bishop, where I tied Miss +Schuyler’s shoe.</p> + +<p>6. Tomb of another bishop, where I +had to tie it again because I did it so +badly the first time.</p> + +<p>7. Sketch of the shoe, the shoe-lace +worn out with much tying.</p> + +<p>8. Sketch of the blessed verger who +called her ‘Madam’ when we were walking +together.</p> + +<p><a name="png.068" id="png.068"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">56</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>9. Sketch of her blush when he did it; +the prettiest thing in the world.</p> + +<p>10. Sketch of J. Q. Copley contemplating +the ruins of his heart.</p> + +<p>‘How are the mighty fallen!’</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Lincoln</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 23,</span><br + />At Miss Smallpage’s, Castle Garden.</small></p> + +<p>This is one of the charmingest towns +we have visited, and I am so glad Aunt +Celia has a letter to the Canon in residence, +because it may keep her contented.</p> + +<p>We walked up Steep Hill this morning +to see the Jews’ house, but long before we +reached it I had seen Mr. Copley sitting +on a camp-stool, with his easel in front of +him. Wonderful to relate, Aunt Celia +recognised him, and was most cordial in +her greeting. As for me, I was never so +embarrassed in my life. I felt as if he +<a name="png.069" id="png.069"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">57</span><span class="ns">] + </span>knew that I had expected to see him in +London and Ely and Peterborough, though, +of course, he <em>couldn’t</em> know it, even if he +looked for, and missed, me in those three +dreary and over-estimated places. He +had made a most beautiful drawing of the +Jews’ House, and completed his conquest +of Aunt Celia by presenting it to her. I +should like to know when my turn is +coming; but, anyway, she asked him to +luncheon, and he came, and we had such a +cosy, homelike meal together. He is even +nicer than he looks, which is saying a good +deal more than I should, even to a locked +book. Aunt Celia dozed a little after +luncheon, and Mr. Copley almost talked in +whispers, he was so afraid of disturbing +her nap. It is just in these trifling things +that one can tell a true man—courtesy to +elderly people and consideration for their +weaknesses. He has done something in +the world; I was sure that he had. He +<a name="png.070" id="png.070"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">58</span><span class="ns">] + </span>has a little income of his own, but he is too +proud and ambitious to be an idler. He +looked so manly when he talked about it, +standing up straight and strong in his +knickerbockers. I like men in knickerbockers. +Aunt Celia doesn’t. She says +she doesn’t see how a well-brought-up +Copley can go about with his legs in that +condition. I would give worlds to know +how Aunt Celia ever unbent sufficiently to +get engaged. But, as I was saying, Mr. +Copley has accomplished something, young +as he is. He has built three picturesque +suburban churches suitable for weddings, +and a State lunatic asylum.</p> + +<p>Aunt Celia says we shall have no worthy +architecture until every building is made +an exquisitely sincere representation of its +deepest purpose—a symbol, as it were, of +its indwelling meaning. I should think it +would be very difficult to design a lunatic +asylum on that basis, but I didn’t dare say +<a name="png.071" id="png.071"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">59</span><span class="ns">] + </span>so, as the idea seemed to present no incongruities +to Mr. Copley. Their conversation +is absolutely sublimated when they +get to talking of architecture. I have just +copied two quotations from Emerson, and +am studying them every night for fifteen +minutes before I go to sleep. I’m going +to quote them some time offhand, just after +matins, when we are wandering about the +cathedral grounds. The first is this: ‘The +Gothic cathedral is a blossoming in stone, +subdued by the insatiable demand of harmony +in man. The mountain of granite +blooms into an eternal flower, with the +lightness and delicate finish as well as the +aerial proportion and perspective of vegetable +beauty.’ Then when he has recovered +from the shock of this, here is my +second: ‘Nor can any lover of nature +enter the old piles of English cathedrals +without feeling that the forest overpowered +the mind of the builder, and that his chisel, +<a name="png.072" id="png.072"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">60</span><span class="ns">] + </span>his saw and plane still reproduced its ferns, +its spikes of flowers, its locust, elm, pine, +and spruce.’</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>Lincoln choir is an example +of Early English or First Pointed, which +can generally be told from something else +by bold projecting buttresses and dog-tooth +moulding round the abacusses.</i> (The plural +is my own, and it does not look right.) +<i>Lincoln Castle was the scene of many prolonged +sieges, and was once taken by Oliver +Cromwell.</i></p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">York</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 26,</span><br + />The Black Swan.</small></p> + +<p>Kitty Schuyler is the concentrated essence +of feminine witchery. Intuition +strong, logic weak, and the two qualities +so balanced as to produce an indefinable +charm; will-power large, but docility equal, +<a name="png.073" id="png.073"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">61</span><span class="ns">] + </span>if a man is clever enough to know how to +manage her; knowledge of facts absolutely +<i>nil</i>, but she is exquisitely intelligent in +spite of it. She has a way of evading, +escaping, eluding, and then gives you an +intoxicating hint of sudden and complete +surrender. She is divinely innocent, but +roguishness saves her from insipidity. +Her looks? She looks as you would imagine +a person might look who possessed +these graces; and she is worth looking at, +though every time I do it I have a rush +of love to the head. When you find a +girl who combines all the qualities you +have imagined in the ideal, and who has +added a dozen or two on her own account, +merely to distract you past all hope, why +stand up and try to resist her charm? +Down on your knees like a man, say I!</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<p>I’m getting to adore Aunt Celia. I +didn’t care for her at first, but she is so +<a name="png.074" id="png.074"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">62</span><span class="ns">] + </span>deliciously blind. Anything more exquisitely +unserviceable as a chaperon I +can’t imagine. Absorbed in antiquity, she +ignores the babble of contemporaneous +lovers. That any man could look at Kitty +when he could look at a cathedral passes +her comprehension. I do not presume +too greatly on her absent-mindedness, +however, lest she should turn unexpectedly +and rend me. I always remember that +inscription on the backs of the little mechanical +French toys: ‘Quoiqu’elle soit +très solidement montée, il faut ne pas +brutaliser la machine.’</p> + +<p>And so my courtship progresses under +Aunt Celia’s very nose. I say ‘progresses’; +but it is impossible to speak +with any certainty of courting, for the +essence of that gentle craft is hope, rooted +in labour and trained by love.</p> + +<p class="illus"><a name="png.075" id="png.075"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">63</span><span class="ns">] + </span><img src="images/illus-075.png" width="406" height="700" + alt="She ignores the babble of contemporaneous lovers" + title="She ignores the babble of contemporaneous lovers" /></p> + +<p>I set out to propose to her during service +this afternoon by writing my feelings +<a name="png.076" id="png.076"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">64</span><span class="ns">] + </span>on the flyleaf of the hymn-book, or something +like that; but I knew that Aunt +Celia would never forgive such blasphemy, +and I thought that Kitty herself +might consider it wicked. Besides, if she +should chance to accept me, there was +nothing I could do in a cathedral to relieve +my feelings. No; if she ever accepts me, +I wish it to be in a large, vacant spot of +the universe, peopled by two only, and +those two so indistinguishably blended, as +it were, that they would appear as one to +the casual observer. So I practised repression, +though the wall of my reserve is +worn to the thinness of thread-paper, and +I tried to keep my mind on the droning +minor canon, and not to look at her, ‘for +that way madness lies.’</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<h3><a name="png.077" id="png.077"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">65</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">York</span>, + <span class="date"><i>June</i> 28,</span><br + />High Petergate Street.</small></p> + +<p>My taste is so bad! I just begin to +realize it, and I am feeling my ‘growing +pains,’ like Gwendolen in ‘Daniel Deronda.’ +I admired the stained glass in the Lincoln +Cathedral the other day, especially the +Nuremberg window. I thought Mr. +Copley looked pained, but he said nothing. +When I went to my room, I consulted a +book and found that all the glass in that +cathedral is very modern and very bad, +and the Nuremberg window is the worst +of all. Aunt Celia says she hopes that it +will be a warning to me to read before I +speak; but Mr. Copley says no, that the +world would lose more in one way than it +would gain in the other. I tried my +quotations this morning, and stuck fast in +the middle of the first.</p> + +<p>Mr. Copley thinks I have been feeing +<a name="png.078" id="png.078"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">66</span><span class="ns">] + </span>the vergers too liberally, so I wrote a song +about it called ‘The Ballad of the Vergers +and the Foolish Virgin,’ which I sang to +my guitar. Mr. Copley thinks it is cleverer +than anything he ever did with his pencil. +Of course, he says that only to be agreeable; +but really, whenever he talks to me +in that way, I can almost hear myself +purring with pleasure.</p> + +<p>We go to two services a day in the +minster, and sometimes I sit quite alone in +the nave drinking in the music as it floats +out from behind the choir-screen. The +Litany and the Commandments are so +beautiful heard in this way, and I never +listen to the fresh, young voices chanting +‘Write all these Thy laws in our hearts, +we beseech Thee,’ without wanting passionately +to be good. I love, too, the +joyful burst of music in the <i>Te Deum</i>: +‘Thou didst open the kingdom of heaven +to all believers.’ I like that word ‘all’; +<a name="png.079" id="png.079"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">67</span><span class="ns">] + </span>it takes in foolish me, as well as wise Aunt +Celia.</p> + +<p>And yet, with all its pomp and magnificence, +the service does not help me quite +so much nor stir up the deep places, in me +so quickly as dear old Dr. Kyle’s simpler +prayers and talks in the village meeting-house +where I went as a child. Mr. +Copley has seen it often, and made a little +picture of it for me, with its white steeple +and the elm-tree branches hanging over it. +If I ever have a husband I should wish him +to have memories like my own. It would +be very romantic to marry an Italian +marquis or a Hungarian count, but must +it not be a comfort to two people to look +back on the same past?</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<p>We all went to an evening service last +night. It was an ‘occasion,’ and a famous +organist played the Minster organ.</p> + +<p>I wonder why choir-boys are so often +<a name="png.080" id="png.080"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">68</span><span class="ns">] + </span>playful and fidgety and uncanonical in behaviour? +Does the choirmaster advertise +‘Naughty boys preferred,’ or do musical +voices commonly exist in unregenerate +bodies? With all the opportunities they +must have outside of the cathedral to exchange +those objects of beauty and utility +usually found in boys’ pockets, there is +seldom a service where they do not barter +penknives, old coins, or tops, generally +during the Old Testament reading. A +dozen little black-surpliced ‘probationers’ +sit together in a seat just beneath the choir-boys, +and one of them spent his time this +evening in trying to pull a loose tooth from +its socket. The task not only engaged all +his own powers, but made him the centre of +attraction for the whole probationary row.</p> + +<p>Coming home, Aunt Celia walked ahead +with Mrs. Benedict, who keeps turning up +at the most unexpected moments. She’s +going to build a Gothicky memorial chapel +<a name="png.081" id="png.081"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">69</span><span class="ns">] + </span>somewhere, and is making studies for it. +I don’t like her in the least, but four is +certainly a more comfortable number than +three. I scarcely ever have a moment +alone with Mr. Copley, for, go where I +will and do what I please, as Aunt Celia +has the most perfect confidence in my indiscretion, +she is always <i>en évidence</i>.</p> + +<p>Just as we were turning into the quiet +little street where we are lodging, I said:</p> + +<p>‘Oh dear, I wish that I really knew +something about architecture!’</p> + +<p>‘If you don’t know anything about it, +you are certainly responsible for a good +deal of it,’ said Mr. Copley.</p> + +<p>‘I? How do you mean?’ I asked +quite innocently, because I couldn’t see +how he could twist such a remark as that +into anything like sentiment.</p> + +<p>‘I have never built so many castles in +my life as since I’ve known you, Miss +Schuyler,’ he said.</p> + +<p><a name="png.082" id="png.082"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">70</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>‘Oh,’ I answered as lightly as I could, +‘air-castles don’t count.’</p> + +<p>‘The building of air-castles is an innocent +amusement enough, I suppose,’ he +said; ‘but I’m committing the folly of +living in mine. I—’</p> + +<p>Then I was frightened. When, all at +once, you find you have something precious +that you only dimly suspected was to +be yours, you almost wish it hadn’t come +so soon. But just at that moment Mrs. +Benedict called to us, and came tramping +back from the gate, and hooked her supercilious, +patronizing arm in Mr. Copley’s, +and asked him into the sitting-room to +talk over the ‘lady-chapel’ in her new +memorial church. Then Aunt Celia told +me they would excuse me, as I had had a +wearisome day; and there was nothing for +me to do but to go to bed, like a snubbed +child, and wonder if I should ever know +the end of that sentence. And I listened +<a name="png.083" id="png.083"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">71</span><span class="ns">] + </span>at the head of the stairs, shivering, but all +that I could hear was that Mrs. Benedict +asked Mr. Copley to be her own architect. +Her architect, indeed! That woman ought +not to be at large—so rich and good-looking +and unconscientious!</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">York</span>, + <span class="date"><i>July</i> 5.</span></small></p> + +<p>I had just established myself comfortably +near to Miss Van Tyck’s hotel, and found +a landlady after my own heart in Mrs. +Pickles, No. 6, Micklegate, when Miss +Van Tyck, aided and abetted, I fear, by +the romantic Miss Schuyler, elected to +change her quarters, and I, of course, had +to change too. Mine is at present a +laborious (but not unpleasant) life. The +causes of Miss Schuyler’s removal, as I +have been given to understand by the lady +herself, were some particularly pleasing +window-boxes in a lodging in High Petergate +<a name="png.084" id="png.084"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">72</span><span class="ns">] + </span>Street; boxes overflowing with pink +geraniums and white field-daisies. No one +(she explains) could have looked at this +house without desiring to live in it; and +when she discovered, during a somewhat +exhaustive study of the premises, that the +maid’s name was Susan Strangeways, and +that she was promised in marriage to a +brewer’s apprentice called Sowerbutt, she +went back to her conventional hotel and +persuaded her aunt to remove without +delay. If Miss Schuyler were offered a +room at the Punchbowl Inn in the Gillygate +and a suite at the Grand Royal Hotel +in Broad Street, she would choose the +former unhesitatingly; just as she refused +refreshment at the best caterer’s this afternoon +and dragged Mrs. Benedict and me +into ‘The Little Snug,’ where an alluring +sign over the door announced ‘A Homely +Cup of Tea for Twopence.’ But she would +outgrow all that; or, if she didn’t, I have +<a name="png.085" id="png.085"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">73</span><span class="ns">] + </span>common-sense enough for two; or if I +hadn’t, I shouldn’t care a hang.</p> + +<p>Is it not a curious dispensation of Providence +that, just when Aunt Celia is confined +to her room with a cold, Mrs. Benedict +should join our party and spend her +days in our company? She drove to the +Merchants’ Hall and the Cavalry Barracks +with us, she walked on the city walls with +us, she even dared the ‘homely’ tea at ‘The +Little Snug’; and at that moment I determined +I wouldn’t build her memorial church +for her, even at a most princely profit.</p> + +<p>On crossing Lendal Bridge we saw the +river Ouse running placidly through the +town, and a lot of little green boats moored +at a landing-stage.</p> + +<p>‘How delightful it would be to row for +an hour!’ exclaimed Miss Schuyler.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, do you think so, in those tippy +boats on a strange river?’ remonstrated +Mrs. Benedict.</p> + +<p><a name="png.086" id="png.086"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">74</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>The moment I suspected she was afraid +of the water, I lured her to the landing-stage +and engaged a boat.</p> + +<p>‘It’s a pity that that large flat one has a +leak, otherwise it would have held three +nicely; but I dare say we can be comfortable +in one of the little ones,’ I said doubtfully.</p> + +<p>‘Shan’t we be too heavy for it?’ Mrs. +Benedict inquired timidly.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, I don’t think so. We’ll get in +and try it. If we find it sinks under our +weight we won’t risk it,’ I replied, spurred +on by such twinkles in Miss Schuyler’s +eyes as blinded me to everything else.</p> + +<p>‘I really don’t think your aunt would +like you to venture, Miss Schuyler,’ said +the marplot.</p> + +<p>‘Oh, as to that, she knows I am accustomed +to boating,’ replied Miss Schuyler.</p> + +<p>‘And Miss Schuyler is such an excellent +swimmer,’ I added.</p> + +<p>Whereupon the marplot and killjoy +<a name="png.087" id="png.087"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">75</span><span class="ns">] + </span>remarked that if it were a question of +swimming she should prefer to remain at +home, as she had large responsibilities +devolving upon her, and her life was in +a sense not her own to fling away as she +might like.</p> + +<p>I assured her solemnly that she was +quite, quite right, and pushed off before +she could change her mind.</p> + +<p>After a long interval of silence, Miss +Schuyler observed in the voice, accompanied +by the smile and the glance of the +eye, that ‘did’ for me the moment I was +first exposed to them:</p> + +<p>‘You oughtn’t to have said that about my +swimming, because I can’t a bit, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘I was justified,’ I answered gloomily. +‘I have borne too much to-day, and if she +had come with us and had fallen overboard, +I might have been tempted to hold +her down with the oar.’</p> + +<p>Whereupon Miss Schuyler gave way to +<a name="png.088" id="png.088"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">76</span><span class="ns">] + </span>such whole-hearted mirth that she nearly +upset the boat. I almost wish she had! +I want to swim, sink, die, or do any other +mortal thing for her.</p> + +<p>We had a heavenly hour. It was only +an hour, but it was the first time I have +had any real chance to direct hot shot at +the walls of the maiden castle. I regret +to state that they stood remarkably firm. +Of course, I don’t wish to batter them +down; I want them to melt under the +warmth of my attack.</p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">York</span>, + <span class="date"><i>July</i> 5.</span></small></p> + +<p>We had a lovely sail on the river Ouse +this afternoon. Mrs. Benedict was timid +about boating, and did not come with us. +As a usual thing, I hate a cowardly +woman, but her lack of courage is the +nicest trait in her whole character; I might +almost say the only nice trait.</p> + +<p><a name="png.089" id="png.089"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">77</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>Mr. Copley tried in every way, short of +asking me a direct question, to find out +whether I had received the marked copy +of ‘Persuasion’ in Bath, but I evaded the +point.</p> + +<p>Just as we were at the door of my +lodging, and he was saying good-bye, I +couldn’t resist the temptation of asking:</p> + +<p>‘Why, before you knew us at all, did +you put “Miss Van Tyck: Reserved,” on +the window of the railway carriage at Bath?’</p> + +<p>He was embarrassed for a moment, and +then he said:</p> + +<p>‘Well, she <em>is</em>, you know, if you come to +that; and, besides, I didn’t dare tell the +guard the placard I really wanted to put on.’</p> + +<p>‘I shouldn’t think a lack of daring your +most obvious fault,’ I said cuttingly.</p> + +<p>‘Perhaps not; but there are limits to +most things, and I hadn’t the pluck to +paste on a pink paper with “Miss Schuyler: +Engaged,” on it.’</p> + +<p><a name="png.090" id="png.090"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">78</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>He disappeared suddenly just then, as if +he wasn’t equal to facing my displeasure, +and I am glad he did, for I was too +embarrassed for words.</p> + +<p>Memoranda: <i>In the height of roofs, +nave, and choir, York is first of English +cathedrals.</i></p> + + +<h3><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Durham</span>, + <span class="date"><i>July something or other</i>,</span><br + />At Farmer Hendry’s.</small></p> + +<p>We left York this morning, and arrived +in Durham about eleven o’clock. It seems +there is some sort of an election going on +in the town, and there was not a single fly +at the station. Mr. Copley looked about +in every direction, but neither horse nor +vehicle was to be had for love or money. +At last we started to walk to the village, +Mr. Copley so laden with our hand-luggage +that he resembled a pack mule.</p> + +<p>We called first at the Three Tuns, where +<a name="png.091" id="png.091"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">79</span><span class="ns">] + </span>they still keep up the old custom of giving +a wee glass of cherry-brandy to each guest +on his arrival; but, alas! they were +crowded, and we were turned from the +hospitable door. We then made a tour +of the inns, but not a single room was to +be had, not for that night, nor for two +days ahead, on account of that same +election.</p> + +<p>‘Hadn’t we better go on to Edinburgh, +Aunt Celia?’ I asked, as we were resting +in the door of the Jolly Sailor.</p> + +<p>‘Edinburgh? Never!’ she replied. +‘Do you suppose that I would voluntarily +spend a Sunday in those bare Presbyterian +churches until the memory of these past +ideal weeks has faded a little from my +memory? What! leave out Durham and +spoil the set?’ (In her agitation and disappointment +she spoke of the cathedrals +as if they were souvenir spoons.) ‘I intended +to stay here for a week or more, +<a name="png.092" id="png.092"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">80</span><span class="ns">] + </span>and write up a record of our entire trip +from Winchester while the impressions +were fresh in my mind.’</p> + +<p>‘And I had intended doing the same +thing,’ said Mr. Copley. ‘That is, I +hoped to finish off my previous sketches, +which are in a frightful state of incompletion, +and spend a good deal of time on +the interior of this cathedral, which is unusually +beautiful.’</p> + +<p>At this juncture Aunt Celia disappeared +for a moment to ask the barmaid if, in her +opinion, the constant consumption of malt +liquors prevents a more dangerous indulgence +in brandy and whisky. She is +gathering statistics, but as the barmaids +can never collect their thoughts while they +are drawing ale, Aunt Celia proceeds +slowly.</p> + +<p>‘For my part,’ said I, with mock humility, +‘I am a docile person, who never +has any intentions of her own, but who +<a name="png.093" id="png.093"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">81</span><span class="ns">] + </span>yields herself sweetly to the intentions of +other people in her immediate vicinity.’</p> + +<p>‘Are you?’ asked Mr. Copley, taking +out his pencil.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, I said so. What are you doing?’</p> + +<p>‘Merely taking note of your statement, +that’s all. Now, Miss Van Tyck’ (of +course Aunt Celia appeared at this delightful +moment), ‘I have a plan to propose. +I was here last summer with a +couple of Harvard men, and we lodged at +a farmhouse about a mile distant from the +cathedral. If you will step into the coffee-room +for an hour, I’ll walk up to Farmer +Hendry’s and see if they will take us in. +I think we might be fairly comfortable.’</p> + +<p>‘Can Aunt Celia have Apollinaris and +black coffee after her morning bath?’ I +asked.</p> + +<p>‘I hope, Katharine,’ said Aunt Celia +majestically—‘I hope that I can accommodate +myself to circumstances. If +<a name="png.094" id="png.094"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">82</span><span class="ns">] + </span>Mr. Copley can secure apartments for us, +I shall be more than grateful.’</p> + +<p>So here we are, all lodging together in +an ideal English farmhouse. There is a +thatched roof on one of the old buildings, +and the dairy-house is covered with ivy, +and Farmer Hendry’s wife makes a real +English curtsey, and there are herds of +beautiful sleek Durham cattle, and the +butter and cream and eggs and mutton are +delicious, and I never, never want to go +home any more. I want to live here for +ever and wave the American flag on +Washington’s birthday.</p> + +<p>I am so happy that I feel as if something +were going to spoil it all. Twenty +years old to-day! I wish mamma were +alive to wish me many happy returns.</p> + +<p>The cathedral is very beautiful in itself, +and its situation is beyond all words of +mine to describe. I greatly admired the +pulpit, which is supported by five pillars +<a name="png.095" id="png.095"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">83</span><span class="ns">] + </span>sunk into the backs of squashed lions; but +Mr. Copley, when I asked him the period, +said, ‘Pure Brummagem!’</p> + +<p>There is a nice old cell for refractory +monks, that we agreed will be a lovely +place for Mrs. Benedict if we can lose her +in it. She arrives as soon as they can +find room for her at the Three Tuns.</p> + +<p>Memoranda:—Casual remark for breakfast-table +or perhaps for luncheon—it is a +trifle heavy for breakfast: <i>‘Since the sixteenth +century, and despite the work of +Inigo Jones and the great Wren</i> (not +Jenny Wren: Christopher), <i>architecture +has had, in England especially, no legitimate +development.’ This is the only +cathedral with a Bishop’s Throne or a +Sanctuary Knocker.</i></p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p> + +<h3><a name="png.096" id="png.096"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">84</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Durham</span>, + <span class="date"><i>July</i> 19.</span></small></p> + +<p>O child of fortune, thy name is J. Q. +Copley! How did it happen to be election +time? Why did the inns chance to +be full? How did Aunt Celia relax sufficiently +to allow me to find her a lodging? +Why did she fall in love with the lodging +when found? I do not know. I only +know Fate smiles; that Kitty and I eat +our morning bacon and eggs together; +that I carve Kitty’s cold beef and pour +Kitty’s sparkling ale at luncheon; that I +go to matins with Kitty, and dine with +Kitty, and walk in the gloaming with +Kitty—and Aunt Celia. And after a day +of heaven like this, like Lorna Doone’s +lover—ay, and like every other lover, I +suppose—I go to sleep, and the roof +above me swarms with angels, having +Kitty under it.</p> + +<p><a name="png.097" id="png.097"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">85</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>She was so beautiful on Sunday. She +has been wearing her favourite browns and +primroses through the week, but on Sunday +she blossomed into blue and white, topped +by a wonderful hat, whose brim was laden +with hyacinths. She sat on the end of a +seat in the nave, and there was a capped +and gowned crowd of university students +in the transept. I watched them and they +watched her. She has the fullest, whitest +eyelids, and the loveliest lashes. When +she looks down I wish she might never +look up, and when she looks up I am +never ready for her to look down. If it +had been a secular occasion, and she had +dropped her handkerchief, seven-eighths +of the students would have started to pick +it up—but I should have got there first! +Well, all this is but a useless prelude, +for there are facts to be considered—delightful, +warm, breathing facts!</p> + +<p>We were coming home from evensong, +<a name="png.098" id="png.098"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">86</span><span class="ns">] + </span>Kitty and I. (I am anticipating, for she +was still ‘Miss Schuyler’ then, but never +mind.) We were walking through the +fields, while Mrs. Benedict and Aunt +Celia were driving. As we came across +a corner of the bit of meadow land that +joins the stable and the garden, we heard +a muffled roar, and as we looked around +we saw a creature with tossing horns and +waving tail making for us, head down, +eyes flashing. Kitty gave a shriek. We +chanced to be near a pair of low bars. I +hadn’t been a college athlete for nothing. +I swung Kitty over the bars, and jumped +after her. But she, not knowing in her +fright where she was nor what she was +doing, supposing also that the mad creature, +like the villain in the play, would ‘still +pursue her,’ flung herself bodily into my +arms, crying, ‘Jack! Jack! save me!’</p> + +<p>It was the first time she had called me +‘Jack,’ and I needed no second invitation. +<a name="png.099" id="png.099"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">87</span><span class="ns">] + </span>I proceeded to save her, in the usual way, +by holding her to my heart and kissing +her lovely hair reassuringly as I murmured:</p> + +<p>‘You are safe, my darling; not a hair +of your precious head shall be hurt. Don’t +be frightened.’</p> + +<p>She shivered like a leaf.</p> + +<p>‘I am frightened,’ she said; ‘I can’t +help being frightened. He will chase us, +I know. Where is he? What is he +doing now?’</p> + +<p>Looking up to determine if I need abbreviate +this blissful moment, I saw the +enraged animal disappearing in the side-door +of the barn; and it was a nice, comfortable +Durham cow, that somewhat rare +but possible thing—a sportive cow.</p> + +<p>‘Is he gone?’ breathed Kitty from my +waistcoat.</p> + +<p>‘Yes, he is gone—she is gone, darling. +But don’t move; it may come again.’</p> + +<p><a name="png.100" id="png.100"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">88</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>My first too hasty assurance had calmed +Kitty’s fears, and she raised her charming +flushed face from its retreat and prepared +to withdraw. I did not facilitate the preparations, +and a moment of awkward +silence ensued.</p> + +<p>‘Might I inquire,’ I asked, ‘if the dear +little person at present reposing in my +arms will stay there (with intervals for +rest and refreshment) for the rest of her +natural life?’</p> + +<p>She withdrew entirely now, all but +her hand, and her eyes sought the +ground.</p> + +<p>‘I suppose I shall have to—that is, +if you think—at least, I suppose you do +think—at any rate, you look as if you +were thinking—that this has been giving +you encouragement.’</p> + +<p>‘I do indeed—decisive, undoubted, bare-faced +encouragement.’</p> + +<p>‘I don’t think I ought to be judged as +<a name="png.101" id="png.101"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">89</span><span class="ns">] + </span>if I were in my sober senses,’ she replied. +‘I was frightened within an inch of my +life. I told you this morning that I was +dreadfully afraid of bulls, especially mad +ones, and I told you that my nurse frightened +me, when I was a child, with awful +stories about them, and that I never outgrew +my childish terror. I looked everywhere +about. The barn was too far, the +fence too high; I saw him coming, and +there was nothing but you and the open +country. Of course, I took you. It was +very natural, I’m sure; any girl would +have done it.’</p> + +<p>‘To be sure,’ I replied soothingly, ‘any +girl would have run after me, as you +say.’</p> + +<p>‘I didn’t say any girl would have run +after you—you needn’t flatter yourself; +and besides, I think I was really trying to +protect you as well as to gain protection, +else why should I have cast myself on you +<a name="png.102" id="png.102"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">90</span><span class="ns">] + </span>like a catamount, or a catacomb, or whatever +the thing is?’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, darling, I thank you for saving +my life, and I am willing to devote the remainder +of it to your service as a pledge +of my gratitude; but if you should take +up life-saving as a profession, dear, don’t +throw yourself on a fellow with—’</p> + +<p>‘Jack! Jack!’ she cried, putting her +hand over my lips, and getting it well +kissed in consequence. ‘If you will only +forget that, and never, never taunt me +with it afterwards, I’ll—I’ll—well, I’ll do +anything in reason—yes, even marry +you!’</p> + +<p class="fivestar">* * * * *</p><!-- in the original, this comes after the next section heading --> + + +<h3><i>He</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Canterbury</span>, + <span class="date"><i>July</i> 31,</span><br + />The Royal Fountain.</small></p> + +<p>I was never sure enough of Kitty, at +first, to dare risk telling her about that +<a name="png.103" id="png.103"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">91</span><span class="ns">] + </span>little mistake of hers. She is such an +elusive person that I spend all my time in +wooing her, and can never lay the flattering +unction to my soul that she is really +won.</p> + +<p>But after Aunt Celia had looked up my +family record and given a provisional consent, +and Papa Schuyler had cabled a reluctant +blessing, I did not feel capable of +any further self-restraint.</p> + +<p>It was twilight here in Canterbury, and +we were sitting on the vine-shaded veranda +of Aunt Celia’s lodging. Kitty’s head was +on my shoulder. There is something very +queer about that; when Kitty’s head is on +my shoulder, I am not capable of any consecutive +train of thought. When she puts +it there I see stars, then myriads of stars, +then, oh! I can’t begin to enumerate the +steps by which ecstasy mounts to delirium; +but, at all events, any operation +which demands exclusive use of the intellect +<a name="png.104" id="png.104"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">92</span><span class="ns">] + </span>is beyond me at these times. Still, +I gathered my stray wits together, and +said:</p> + +<p>‘Kitty!’</p> + +<p>‘Yes, Jack?’</p> + +<p>‘Now that nothing but death or marriage +can separate us, I have something to confess +to you.’</p> + +<p>‘Yes,’ she said serenely, ‘I know +what you are going to say. He was a +cow.’</p> + +<p>I lifted her head from my shoulder +sternly, and gazed into her childlike, candid +eyes.</p> + +<p>‘You mountain of deceit! How long +have you known about it?’</p> + +<p class="illus"><a name="png.105" id="png.105"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">93</span><span class="ns">] + </span><img src="images/illus-105.png" width="426" height="700" + alt="“Lor’, miss!” said Farmer Hendry, “he haven’t +been pastured there for three weeks”" + title="“Lor’, miss!” said Farmer Hendry, “he haven’t +been pastured there for three weeks”" /></p> + +<p>‘Ever since the first. Oh, Jack, stop +looking at me in that way! Not the very +first, not when I—not when you—not +when we—no, not then, but the next +morning, I said to Farmer Hendry, “I +wish you would keep your savage bull +<a name="png.106" id="png.106"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">94</span><span class="ns">] + </span>chained up while we are here; Aunt Celia +is awfully afraid of them, especially those +that go mad, like yours!” “Lor’, miss!” +said Farmer Hendry, “he haven’t been +pastured here for three weeks. I keep him +six mile away. There ben’t nothing but +gentle cows in the home medder.” But I +didn’t think that you knew, you secretive +person! I dare say you planned the whole +thing in advance, in order to take advantage +of my fright!’</p> + +<p>‘Never! I am incapable of such an +unnecessary subterfuge! Besides, Kitty, +I could not have made an accomplice of +a cow, you know.’</p> + +<p>‘Then,’ she said, with great dignity, ‘if +you had been a gentleman and a man of +honour, you would have cried, “Unhand +me, girl! You are clinging to me under +a misunderstanding!”’</p> + +<h3><a name="png.107" id="png.107"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">95</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><i>She</i></h3> + +<p class="dateline"><small><span class="smc">Chester</span>, + <span class="date"><i>August</i> 8,</span><br + />The Grosvenor.</small></p> + +<p>Jack and I are going over this same +ground next summer on our wedding +journey. We shall sail for home next +week, and we haven’t half done justice to +the cathedrals. After the first two, we +saw nothing but each other on a general +background of architecture. I hope my +mind is improved, but oh, I am so hazy +about all the facts I have read since I +knew Jack! Winchester and Salisbury +stand out superbly in my memory. They +acquired their ground before it was occupied +with other matters. I shall never +forget, for instance, that Winchester has +the longest spire and Salisbury the highest +nave of all the English cathedrals. And +I shall never forget so long as I live that +Jane Austen and Isaac Newt— Oh +<a name="png.108" id="png.108"></a><span class="ns">[p</span><span + class="pgmark">96</span><span class="ns">] + </span>dear! was it Isaac Newton or Izaak +Walton that was buried in Winchester +and Salisbury? To think that that interesting +fact should have slipped from my +mind, after all the trouble I took with it! +But I know that it was Isaac somebody, +and that he was buried in—well, he was +buried in one of those two places. I am +not certain which, but I can ask Jack; he +is sure to know.</p> + + +<p class="fin">THE END</p> + + +<p class="ctr top4 ws1"><small class="printer">BILLING AND SONS, LTD., PRINTERS, GUILDFORD</small></p> +</div> + +<div class="ads"> +<h2><a name="png.109" id="png.109"></a><span class="ns">[</span><span + class="pgmark">ad1</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span><strong>A Selection of Gift-Books</strong><br + /><small>PUBLISHED BY</small><br + />GAY AND BIRD,<br + /><b>22 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, LONDON.</b></h2> + +<hr class="mini" /> + +<p><i>The books in this list can be seen at the chief Booksellers, but in any case +<span class="smc upright">Gay and Bird</span> will arrange to send any on approval to the nearest +book-store, to suit the convenience of book-buyers, upon receipt of postcard.</i></p> + +<hr class="dbl" /> + + +<p class="puff noindent"><b>HOLIDAY EDITION.</b> Illustrated by <span class="smc">Charles E. Brock</span>. Price <b>6s</b>.</p> + +<h3><big>PENELOPE’S<br + />ENGLISH EXPERIENCES.</big><br + /><small class="smc">By KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN.</small></h3> + +<p class="puff noindent"><b>HOLIDAY EDITION.</b> Uniform with the above and illustrated by +<span class="smc">Charles E. Brock</span>. Price <b>6s</b>.</p> + +<h3><big>PENELOPE’S EXPERIENCES IN<br + />SCOTLAND.</big></h3> + +<hr class="mmini" /> + +<p class="puff">Over 150,000 copies of these two works have been sold in England +and America, and the unanimous opinion of the World’s Press is +expressed in the word ‘DELIGHTFUL.’</p> + +<hr class="mmini" /> + +<p>‘The reader is kept entertained in the brightest fashion throughout…. A +true humorist.’—<cite>Literary World</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘The most charming holiday book possible.’—<cite>Methodist Times</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘One of the very best holiday books.’—<cite>Sketch</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘So genial and jolly a book about Scotland is seldom written.’—<cite>Glasgow +Herald</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘A delightful book, full of dainty humour and picturesque fun.’—<cite>World</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Sure of a hearty welcome.’—<cite>Spectator</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘She is what is always and everywhere rare—a real humorist.’—<cite>Graphic</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Penelope, Francesca, and Salemina leave Max O’Rell far behind, and might +take the prize for innocent fun even from Mr. Jerome.’—<cite>Dundee Advertiser</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Irresistibly funny.’—<cite>Glasgow Daily Mail</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Always a pleasure to read Mrs. Wiggin’s books.’—<cite>Daily Telegraph</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Wiggin has a fund of genuine and refined humour that is simply +irresistible.’—<cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite>.</p> + +<p class="pgbrk">‘It is seldom that we have read a more delightful and humorous book than +this.’—<cite>Church Times</cite>.</p> + +<div class="ads2"> +<h2 class="sans"><a name="png.110" id="png.110"></a><span class="ns">[</span><span + class="pgmark">ad2</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>OTHER BOOKS BY KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN</h2> + +<hr class="mini" /> + +<h3>Penelope’s Irish Experiences.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 6s.</p> + + +<h3>A Cathedral Courtship.</h3> + +<p class="puff">A New Edition, revised and enlarged. With six full-page Drawings +by <span class="smc">Charles E. Brock</span>. Crown 8vo., 104 pages, cloth, 2s. 6d., or +cloth gilt extra, with gilt edges, 3s. 6d.</p> + + +<h3>Marm Liza.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 6s.</p> + +<p><cite>Baron de Bookworms</cite> says: ‘It is a story told with that rare combination +of humour and pathos that is genius.’</p> + +<p>‘Mrs. Wiggin has never written a better book, unless it be “Timothy’s +Quest.”’—<cite>Queen</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>Polly Oliver’s Problem. <small>A Story for Girls.</small></h3> + +<p class="puff">Fourth Edition. With eight illustrations, crown 8vo., cloth gilt, 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>‘No page will be skipped; surely Louisa Alcott has at last found a +successor.’—<cite>Scottish Leader</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>A Summer in a Cañon. <small>A California Story.</small></h3> + +<p class="puff">Illustrated, crown 8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>‘The work is a fresh and charming tale of country life in California, full of +good spirits and healthy thoughts.’—<cite>Scotsman</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>Village Watch Tower.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Crown 8vo., cloth, tastefully bound, 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>Mr. <span class="smc">W. L. Courtney</span>, in the <cite>Daily Telegraph</cite>, says: ‘It is the exquisite +felicity of the whole which strikes the reader; hardly a word too much, not a +colour or a pencil-stroke amiss.’</p> + + +<h3>The Story of Patsy.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Fifty-seventh Thousand. Illustrated, crown 8vo., cloth back, 1s. 6d.</p> + + +<h3>The Birds’ Christmas Carol.</h3> + +<p class="puff">One Hundred and Fiftieth Thousand. Eight charming illustrations, +crown 8vo., cloth back, 1s. 6d.</p> + + +<h3>Timothy’s Quest.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Popular Edition. Ninety-sixth Thousand. Illustrated by <span class="smc">Oliver +Herford</span>. Crown 8vo., tastefully bound in cloth, 2s. 6d.</p> + +<p class="pgbrk">‘The book is an almost perfect idyll. It is the best thing of the kind +that has reached us from America since “Little Lord Fauntleroy” crossed the +Atlantic.’—<cite>Punch</cite>.</p> + + +<h3 class="top4"><a name="png.111" id="png.111"></a><span class="ns">[</span><span + class="pgmark">ad3</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>Modern Daughters.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Being Conversations with various American Girls and One Man. +By <span class="smc">Alexander Black</span>. Profusely illustrated with designs and +photographs by the Author. Royal 8vo., elegantly bound in silk cloth, +with charming cameo portrait on side, 10s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>‘Particularly fresh and original in idea is “Modern Daughters.” Mr. Black +has written some exceedingly clever conversations, which give us verbal pictures, +so to speak, of some characteristic types of American womanhood. The chapters +called “With a Gym Girl” and “With a Club Woman” are specially successful. +There is a perception and a sense of humour about them which make +them not only delightful to read, but worth thinking about afterwards. The +illustrations, which are excellent, consist mainly of portraits which would be +recognised at once by anyone familiar with the American Society of to-day—a +fact which should make the book interesting to American women in London. +The volume is well and prettily bound, and its “get-up” is admirable. It is +quite a book to possess.’—<cite>World</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>The Ancient Mariner. <small>A Choice Gift Book.</small></h3> + +<p class="puff">By <span class="smc">S. T. Coleridge</span>. With six full-page illustrations reproduced in +photogravure, and other text illustrations by <span class="smc">Herbert Cole</span>. Foolscap +4to. Printed on one side of the paper only, by <span class="smc">T.</span> and <span class="smc">A. Constable</span>, +on a special antique wove paper, cloth, richly gilt side +design, 5s. net.</p> + +<p class="puff">ÉDITION DE LUXE, printed on hand-made paper and bound in +half-vellum. Limited to 200 copies, 10s. 6d. net.</p> + +<p>‘The one thing that can justify this re-issue of Coleridge’s classic poem is the +excellent illustrative work done by Mr. Cole.’—<cite>King</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘Nearly every feature of this little book is tasteful and appropriate. Praise +is due to the typography, paper, and binding, and, above all, to Mr. Cole’s +highly dramatic and spirited designs, of which the best shows the bride, her +groom, and the “merry minstrelsy” entering the hall.’—<cite>Athenæum</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘A beautiful edition—beautiful in print and paper, and, above all, beautifully +illustrated. Mr. Herbert Cole’s pictures are, indeed, the finest of their kind we +have come across for a long time, and they are reproduced with rarest skill. +All concerned are to be congratulated on a most successful production.’—<cite>Bookman</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>A Book of Elfin Rhymes.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Verses by <span class="smc">Norman</span>. With forty full-page illustrations in three colours. +Illustrated by <span class="smc">Carton Moore Park</span>. Size 9½ by 7½. Beautifully +printed on art paper and attractively bound with special side design, 5s.</p> + +<p>‘An admirable book…. Children will revel in this bright and genuinely +amusing book of coloured pictures and entertaining rhymes. The artist has a +genuine sense of humour, as well as much technical skill, and his sketches are +artistic in more than the hackneyed sense of that oft-abused word.’—<cite>Lady’s Pictorial</cite>.</p> + +<p class="pgbrk">‘One of the books of rhymes which are bound to become favourites with +young people and old alike is “Elfin Rhymes.” The rhymes are lively and +have the proper “jingle;” the illustrations are very clever.’—<cite>Westminster Gazette</cite>.</p> + + + +<h2><a name="png.112" id="png.112"></a><span class="ns">[</span><span + class="pgmark">ad4</span><span class="ns">]<br + /></span>CHARMING BOOKS OF TRAVEL.</h2> + +<hr class="mini" /> + + +<h3>Paris of To-Day.</h3> + +<p class="puff">An Intimate Account of its People, its Home Life, and its Places of +Interest. By <span class="smc">Katharine de Forest</span>. Profusely illustrated, crown +8vo., cloth, 3s. 6d.</p> + +<p>‘A better book than this on Paris <i>intime</i> has not chanced in our way.’—<cite>Daily Chronicle</cite>.</p> + +<p>‘This is not by any means a guide book; it is something far better.’—<cite>Spectator</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>The American in Holland.</h3> + +<p class="puff">Sentimental Rambles in the Eleven Provinces of the Netherlands. +By Dr. <span class="smc">William Elliot Griffis</span>. With seventeen full-page illustrations +and maps. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, gilt top, 7s. 6d.</p> + + +<h3>In and Out of Three Normandy Inns.</h3> + +<p class="puff">By <span class="smc">Anna Bowman Dodd</span>. With many illustrations by <span class="smc">C. S. Reinhart</span> +and others. Demy 8vo., cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. net.</p> + + +<h3>Under the Cactus Flag.</h3> + +<p class="puff">A Story of Life in Mexico. By <span class="smc">Nora Archibald Smith</span>. Eight +illustrations, crown 8vo., cloth extra, 5s.</p> + +<p>‘It is full of fresh and charming pictures of the country and of the ways and +character of the Mexicans, giving in these ample evidence that its studies have +been made from nature.’—<cite>Scotsman</cite>.</p> + + +<h3>Japanese Girls and Women.</h3> + +<p class="puff">By <span class="smc">Alice Mabel Bacon</span>. Holiday Edition. Revised and enlarged. +With twelve full-page illustrations in colour, and fifty page and text +illustrations, the work of Japanese artists. Crown 8vo., cloth gilt. +Probable price 7s. 6d. net.</p> + + +<h3>Paris in its Splendour.</h3> + +<p class="puff">By <span class="smc">Reynolds Ball</span>. Illustrated with numerous half-tone plates, +handsomely bound in cloth, richly gilt. Two vols., demy 8vo., +21s. net.</p> + + +<h3>Rome.</h3> + +<p class="puff">By <span class="smc">C. E. Clement</span>. 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