diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 13:16:17 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-07 13:16:17 -0800 |
| commit | f09dd585dfe264d23902f61d7c2f4690069e1db4 (patch) | |
| tree | 8b88e6cfdb44bf4642e8c13680baced660f4b15f | |
| parent | ef05be7cbebc9226d9cc6babc5b8263a809b6ecc (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-0.txt | 17578 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-0.zip | bin | 324262 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h.zip | bin | 2366066 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/55263-h.htm | 18440 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 81862 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_016fp.jpg | bin | 75582 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_030fp.jpg | bin | 97722 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_030fp_large.jpg | bin | 237804 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_031fp.jpg | bin | 100024 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_031fp_large.jpg | bin | 242396 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_033fp.jpg | bin | 88328 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_042fp.jpg | bin | 87715 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_047fp.jpg | bin | 88483 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_065fp.jpg | bin | 89629 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_094fp.jpg | bin | 84396 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_123fp.jpg | bin | 82800 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_145fp.jpg | bin | 65377 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_156fp.jpg | bin | 55931 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_161fp.jpg | bin | 66687 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_175fp.jpg | bin | 83785 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_262.jpg | bin | 31812 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_303.jpg | bin | 89509 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_317.jpg | bin | 92422 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_320fp.jpg | bin | 77236 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_346.jpg | bin | 40266 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_356fp.jpg | bin | 44758 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/55263-h/images/i_frontis.jpg | bin | 40738 -> 0 bytes |
30 files changed, 17 insertions, 36018 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..58aa363 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #55263 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55263) diff --git a/old/55263-0.txt b/old/55263-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b51a856..0000000 --- a/old/55263-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,17578 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life, by -Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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/license - - -Title: Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life - -Author: Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -Release Date: August 4, 2017 [EBook #55263] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Brian Wilcox and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -The spelling, hyphenation, punctuation and accentuation are as the -original, except for apparent typographical errors which have been -corrected. - -Italic text is denoted _thus_. - -See further notes at the end of the book. - - - - - THIRTEEN YEARS - OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE - - - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - - GEORGE HARLEY, F.R.S.; OR, THE LIFE OF A LONDON - PHYSICIAN - - THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS. (Several Editions) - - A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY „ - - DANISH VERSUS ENGLISH BUTTER-MAKING - - THE OBER-AMMERGAU PASSION PLAY - - WILTON, Q.C.; OR, LIFE IN A HIGHLAND SHOOTING-BOX - - A GIRL’S RIDE IN ICELAND. (Several Editions) - - BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS „ - - MEXICO AS I SAW IT „ - - SUNNY SICILY „ - - PORFIRIO DIAZ. THE MAKER OF MODERN MEXICO - - HYDE PARK. ITS HISTORY AND ROMANCE - - THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE - -[Illustration: - - _Photo by Hoppé, 1911_ - -WRITING] - - - - - THIRTEEN YEARS - OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE - By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE - - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY - TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN. MCMXII - - - - - THIRD EDITION - - WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - PROLOGUE 3 - - - PART I - - - CHILDHOOD - - CHAPTER - - I. THE GOLDEN AGE 11 - - - PART II - - GIRLHOOD - - II. THE GIRL IS MOTHER TO THE WOMAN 25 - - - PART III - - WOMANHOOD - - III. “Wooed and Married, and a’” 37 - - IV. “A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY” 49 - - V. “THE TENDER GRACE OF A DAY THAT IS DEAD” 58 - - - PART IV - - WIDOWHOOD AND WORK - - VI. WIDOWHOOD AND WORK 65 - - VII. WRITERS: SIR WALTER BESANT, JOHN OLIVER - HOBBES, MRS. RIDDELL, MRS. LYNN LINTON 80 - - VIII. JOURNALISM 94 - - IX. ON THE MAKING OF BOOKS 107 - - X. THE END OF A CENTURY 116 - - XI. MEXICO AS I SAW IT 123 - - XII. THE CONTENTS OF A WORKING-WOMAN’S LETTER-BOX 133 - - - PART V - - THE SWEETS OF ADVERSITY - - XIII. PAINTERS 145 - - XIV. SCULPTORS 161 - - XV. MORE PAINTERS, AND WHISTLER IN PARTICULAR 168 - - XVI. “THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS” 180 - - XVII. LORD LI AND A CHINESE LUNCHEON 188 - - XVIII. FROM STAGELAND TO SHAKESPEARE-LAND 199 - - XIX. WOMAN NOWADAYS 209 - - XX. AMERICAN NOTES 224 - - XXI. CANADIAN PEEPS 241 - - XXII. ON PUBLIC DINNERS 256 - - XXIII. PRIVATE DINNERS 270 - - XXIV. FROM GAY TO GRAVE 283 - - XXV. JOTTINGS 298 - - XXVI. MORE JOTTINGS: AND HYDE PARK 310 - - XXVII. BURIED IN PARCELS 319 - - XXVIII. WORK RELAXED: AND ORCHARDSON 333 - - XXIX. DIAZ—FAREWELL 349 - - - EPILOGUE 356 - - - INDEX 359 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - WRITING. HOPPÉ _Frontispiece_ - - TO FACE PAGE - - ORIGINAL LETTER FROM BISMARCK 16 - - HANS BREITMANN’S BALLAD 31 - - AUTHOR’S HAND 33 - - GRAPES GROWING ON A LONDON BALCONY 42 - - BORKUM OF SPY FAME. (SKETCH BY AUTHOR) 47 - - WHEN FIRST A WIDOW 65 - - MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE’S WRITING-TABLE 94 - - THE WRITER IN DIVIDED RIDING-SKIRT IN SOUTHERN MEXICO 123 - - THE AUTHOR, BY HERBERT SCHMALZ 145 - - HALF-HOUR SKETCH OF AUTHOR, BY JOHN LAVERY 156 - - WATER-COLOUR SKETCH, BY PERCY ANDERSON 161 - - WALTER CRANE’S MOST FAMOUS BOOK-PLATE 175 - - CHARACTERISTIC POSTCARD, BY BERNARD SHAW _Page_ 262 - - CHRISTMAS CARD, BY HARRY FURNISS „ 303 - - CHRISTMAS CARD, DESIGNED BY JOHN HASSALL „ 316 - - BURIED IN PARCELS, BY HARRY FURNISS (TO FACE) „ 320 - - SKETCH BY “SPY” „ „ 356 - - - - - THIRTEEN YEARS - OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE - - - - -THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE - - - - -PROLOGUE - - -One day in the ’nineties I was quietly sitting in my library, when the -door opened and a gentleman was announced. Standing solemnly before me, -he said: - -“I have come to thank you for my life.” I looked at him. Was the man -sane? Was he suffering from hallucinations, or what on earth did he -mean? - -“Yes,” he repeated solemnly, “I have come to thank you for my life.” - -“I am afraid I am at a loss to understand,” I replied, “perhaps you can -explain.” - -“Existence became utterly unendurable,” he continued, “worries heaped -upon one another until the strain was unbearable, and then, to crown -all, a terrible disease took possession of me. I knew I could not live. -It might be a matter drawn out in all its hideousness for two or three -years, but—the germ was there.” - -“We shall none of us live for ever,” I replied cheerily. “Death is -inevitable.” - -“Oh yes,” he nodded, “death is inevitable; but we do not all have to -face it in this way. So unendurable was the strain that I determined -to end the matter in my own fashion, and a day or two ago I finally -decided to take my life.” - -The man talked in a perfectly rational manner, though at the same time -in an extremely impressive tone. - -“I did not come to the conclusion lightly,” he continued. “I weighed -all the _pros_ and _cons_; faced all the circumstances of the case, and -I could not see that my life was of any value; in fact, in many ways -my family would be better off without me. I had not much pluck left to -face the inevitable racks of pain and disease, so after hours and days -of mental torment I decided to end it all. - -“Night came. - -“Having determined to wait quietly until all the family were in bed, I -sat in my study and read. I read and thought, and planned and argued, -and the hours appeared to drag interminably. For some reason the -servants seemed later than usual in retiring, and I watched the hands -of the clock slowly move along. It was almost midnight. The lights -had been put out in the passages. I could no longer hear the tread of -people overhead; but for fear that it was still too early I returned -to the book I was reading. Strangely enough, my eye fell on the word -_suicide_. It seemed to rivet me with a weird and terrible fascination. -I looked again, and that word appeared to be written in letters of -blood. Was it a message, I wondered, to a man standing on the brink of -the grave, on the verge of cutting the knot of life? What did that word -_suicide_ portend? I read on.... - -“Gradually I became interested. Here was a strange case. A man battling -with blindness, a man whose circumstances seemed somewhat similar to -my own; and as I read, I discovered that he had thought deeply on the -same subject, he had disentangled the same problem. Yes, as I read -and re-read the words they seemed to burn into my brain. I realised -that this man decided that he was _not_ justified in taking his own -life, that even though blindness threatened he still had a mission to -fulfil; and when I had learnt those words by heart, I banged down the -book, rose from the table, clenched my fist, and determined to go on -quietly and live my life to the bitter end. That page which altered -the course of events was in the ‘Life’ you wrote of your father.[1] -Since that evening I have read the book from end to end. Clearly he was -right. He had a mission to fulfil and fulfilled it. I have, I hope, now -passed through the darkest hour of my life, but I could not rest until -I came to tell you personally that if you had not written the book, -which chance put into my hand that night, I should have been a dead man -to-day.” - -Seizing both my hands, he uttered, “God bless you and thank you! God -bless you! Good-bye.” - -And he was gone. - -This incident set me thinking. - -My father’s life had helped many men who had never seen or met him. -Well if I, a woman, could in some lesser manner help some lone, -struggling women who, like myself, after being reared in wealth, -suddenly found themselves forced to toil for those “little luxuries” -which to a refined woman are verily the necessaries of life, I too -might be of use. - -The Society bride who went to Ascot on a drag; to Ranelagh, Hurlingham, -or Sandown in her husband’s buggy, or drove her own Park phaeton and -pair; the pampered, spoilt, well-dressed young wife, who only lived for -a “good time,” at one fell swoop lost all. - -A hard school—more kicks than halfpence—and yet now it is passed one is -almost thankful for the experience, thankful for each link in the chain -so often welded with fire and tears. - -Two things made life possible—ambition for one’s children and the -kindly hand of friendship—two most precious pearls in the diadem of -life. These, and a mother’s devotion and encouragement. - -That hard time of Egyptian slavery is over; my thirteen years’ task is -ended. The widow’s cruse may run low, but need not be empty if she has -health and courage to work; yes, work, work, and still keep on working. - -Only let me deplore the unfortunate circumstances that allow the -possibilities of widows and children left to battle with the world, -without sufficient means for a home and education after being born in -luxury. - - * * * * * - -I won’t attempt to write my memoirs, but just jot down a few odds and -ends before they slip my memory. - -Memory is an excellent institution, and often assertive until one -begins to write. Then nasty little doubts have a way of creeping in, -doubts about dates, spelling of names, the actual perpetrator of a -certain cute act, or the inception of a particular thought. Each year -fills memory’s slate more full, and the older markings become gradually -obliterated as new pencillings take their place. - -Poor old slate, let me see if I cannot decipher a few stray -remembrances before they are all rubbed out—and recall how I began to -write. - -Thirteen years. - -What does the title mean? It does not refer to a prison sentence, to -supposed ill-luck as a fateful sign which a modern club of thirteen -members is said to have put to the test, nor to anything romantic. -Like Nansen, I am not superstitious. He was the head of twelve men on -his Polar expedition, and his was the most successful one ever carried -through, for he never lost a man. They started a party of thirteen -and they returned a party of thirteen—an antidote to the superstition -originated by the treachery of Judas. - -Thirteen years is a large lease of existence during which to hire one’s -self out a bond-slave. But that is what I did—perforce. Necessity is a -hard taskmaster; and necessity plied the lash. - -A great deal of water runs in thirteen years; water that turns the -mill-wheel to grind us mortals to finer—perchance more useful—issues. -The various incidents in my busy life during those years of toil all -doubtless had their effect on character and my outlook on the world. -“Nobody simply sees; nobody simply meets, and doing, simply does this -and that. Inevitably in seeing, meeting, and doing there is a certain -shaping of the mind and spirit of the person principally concerned.” So -Richard Whiteing wisely remarked, speaking of this—my hardest stage of -life’s journey. - -Certainly my outlook on the world has altered since the days of happy, -careless childhood, of joyous youth as girl and bride. How I resented -constraint at fifteen and appreciated it later. How the restlessness of -my teens mellowed and sobered and ripened. - -Although I did not experience it myself, I am sure that adversity is a -fine up-bringing for youth. It makes children think, which youth nursed -in luxury seldom does. Adversity only came to me in my twenties. - -Youth is often spent courting time, - -Middle age in chasing time, - -Old age, alas, in killing time. - -Reared in a soil of generous sufficiency, nourished by wisdom and -kindness in the warm sunshine of love, instead of the human plant -being blighted when the winds blew and the rains fell, it grew stronger -and blossomed and bore the fruit of work. - -“Oh, poor So-and-so was not brought up to work,” people often say -despondingly when bad times overtake their friends; “theirs was such a -happy home.” But surely the home should be happy. At least, let there -be something of gladness to look back on, when one is struggling uphill -under a heavy load. The influence of parents is incalculable in effect -on children. The example of my father was powerful in helping me to -take up my burden as he had done his. - -If these pages, put together after thirteen years of constant work, -seem too scrappy—disconnected even—let me ask the sympathy of those who -know what it is to be interrupted again and again by illness in the -midst of a task. Illness that has laid me on my sofa, in bed, even sent -me to a “cure” in search of health, as often as six times in eighteen -months; that makes the grasshopper a burden. - -Without friendship and sympathy courage would have failed to go on -struggling with what seemed a veritable burden, and yet when well, how -little I thought of toil and stress when writing more important books. -The offer of a friend to undertake a little of the drudgery of the task -seemed to lift tons’ weight off my head. Still, though other hands may -pull a sofa and shake pillows into place, the invalid’s direction is -needful or her own room would not have her own individuality, and would -lose the personal touch that gives the clue. - -Ups and downs will come. Bolts will fall from the blue. The unexpected -is what always happens. - -Then, oh, why not be prudent, both young men and maidens? Don’t be -foolish, shy, or negligent to make provision against a possible wintry -time, by settlement, or insurance, and in every sound and legal way -hedge round your home against those desolating intruders—Poverty or -Illness. - -I do not intend to enter into all my ancestral chain between these -covers; and I do not mean to moralise. People don’t care a ha’penny -for other people’s philosophy, although everybody must have some kind -of working philosophy of his own after he has knocked about in the -crowd and scrimmage of life. I’ve got mine, like other folk, and I’ve -learnt there are only two things worth living for—love and friendship. -The first is not passion, but the capacity to care for the welfare -of others more than for one’s own. Passion burns itself out, love is -ceaselessly unselfish. - -And friendship? Why, friendship is the handmaiden of sympathy, the art -of appreciation, the pleasant interchange of thought. - -This is a jumble of facts and fancies, wherein memory and pen run riot. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] _George Harley, F.R.S., or the Life of a London Physician._ - - - - -PART I - -CHILDHOOD - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE GOLDEN AGE - - -Unless a book starts with some interest it finds no readers. The first -page is often the key to the whole. - -But how is one to be interesting about such commonplace events as being -born and vaccinated, cutting one’s first tooth or having measles and -whooping-cough? They are all so uneventful, and while important to the -little “ego” are so dull to the public. Therefore I refuse to be either -“born” or even cut a wisdom tooth within these pages anent a busy -woman’s life, except to say that on the night of my birth my father and -his friend, the famous surgeon John Erichsen (later Sir John), walked -home from a meeting of the Royal Society together, and on reaching the -old house in Harley Street a servant greeted them with the announcement -that my mother was very ill. - -Up the stairs my father hurried, while his colleague went off for -the nurse. I was too small to be dressed, so my early days were -spent rolled up in cotton wool—which fact did not deter my further -development, as at fourteen years of age I stood five feet eight inches -high. On my second day of existence I was introduced in my cradle to -him who for nearly thirty years was as a second father to me—him whom I -always called “dear Uncle John.” - -What a horribly egotistical thing it is to write about one’s self! - -Until now I have generally managed to keep _I_ out of books by using -that delightful editorial _WE_, but somehow this volume cannot be -written as WE, and the hunting of the snark never afforded more -trouble than the hunting out of _I_. There it is and there it remains. -It refuses to be removed. It glares upon the pages, and spurns all -attempts to be suppressed. - -Let me humbly apologise, once and for all, for - - “I.” - -Some people are born smart, just as others are born good—some are -born stupid—and some are born haunted by the first personal pronoun. -People believe they are relating the honest truth when they speak ill -of themselves, and yet it is so pleasant to relate appreciative little -stories of “ego.” - -Why mention my early youth in a book only meant to treat of working -years?—it may be asked. Well, for this friends are to blame. Folk have -constantly asked, “What first made you write? Was it an inherited gift?” - -Did my second baptismal name predestine my career? On this subject my -father wrote in a diary: - -“The next favours I received from Fortune were domestic ones—a boy -and a girl. The name of Ethel was given the little maid to please -her mother, that of Brilliana to please me. Brilliana, I called her, -out of respect for the only woman of the name of Harley who added by -her writings to the celebrity of the race. _The Letters of the Lady -Brilliana Harley_, 1625-43, wife of Sir Robert Harley, of Brampton -Bryan, Knight of the Bath, were reprinted by the Camden Society, -with introductions and notes by Thomas Taylor Lewis, M.A., Vicar of -Bridstow, Herefordshire.[2] - -“Of men authors we have had abundance: of women only one. No wonder, -then, I wished our daughter to perpetuate her name.” - -Thus it seems to have been my father’s wish to dedicate me to the -memory of the well-known Dame Brilliana who shone in both social and -literary circles in the seventeenth century. Did he, perhaps, remember -that the old Romans, at the birth of a child, used to choose for it the -name of some ancestor, whose career they wished to be its example, in -the belief that the deceased would protect and influence the infant to -follow in the same path? - -This second name of mine is queer enough, and seems to have suggested -penmanship, followed by a number of strange nicknames, chosen -promiscuously by my friends, but all tending in two directions: - -“Madame la Duchesse.” - -“Liege Lady.” - -“She who would be obeyed.” - -“Grande Dame.” - -“Esmeralda.” - -“Carmen.” - -“Vixen.” - -Do these denote character?—for they apparently run from the sublime to -the ridiculous. - -My parents seem to have been less careful about choosing me a nurse of -a literary turn, however otherwise excellent the woman was, for the -following quaint letter to my mother from my old attendant, who was for -nearly forty years in the family, is not exactly a model of epistolary -art: - - “I am wrighting to thank you for Papers you so kindly sent Mrs. - B—— she wished me to do so i told her i would do so but there was - plenty of time for doing it but on Monday morning she very quietly - took her long departyer not being any the worse the Delusions was - to much for her and she just went off hoping you are quite well - also your four Gran children and there parents the wether is very - cold for May i remain your Obident - - “S. D.” - -Apart from the undoubted virtues of my illiterate old nurse, my -education proceeded on the usual infantile lines. My father taught us -children a great deal about natural history, which we loved, as most -children do, and many odds and ends of heterogeneous information picked -up from him in those early days proved a mine of “copy” in years to -come. - -A sage once said the child should choose its own parents. He might have -gone farther and said that the child should choose its own school, -because if school-fellows have often had as much influence as mine did -on me, then school companions are a matter of importance. Youth is the -time of selfishness and irresponsibility. How cruel we are through -thoughtlessness! How we stab and wound by quick, unmeditated words! The -journey onwards is a stony one, but we all have to pass along if we are -to attain either worldly success or, greatest of all blessings, mastery -of self. I often wonder why people are so horrid at home. We know it, -we deprecate it, but we don’t seem to have the pluck or the courage to -change it. We suffer the loneliness of soul we all endure at times, -even more than we need, because of our own foolish pride and want of -sympathy with our surroundings. We could be so much nicer and more -considerate if we really tried. We mean to be delightful, of course; -but we signally fail. - -In those far-away kindergarten days in Harley Street there were a -little boy and three grown-up gentlemen with whom I made friends. The -little boy grew up and went to Mexico, where I met him after a lapse -of twenty-five years, a merchant in a good position. He was able to do -a great deal for me during my stay there, and proved as a brother in -occasions of difficulty. - -Sir Felix Semon became a great physician, and Dr. von Mühlberg a German -Ambassador. The more elderly gentleman was studying at the British -Museum, and only lodged at the house. Dr. von Rottenburg was also a -German, and he used to pat my head every morning on the stairs and -talk to me about my playthings, calling me “leetle mees.” When I grew -up this famous philosopher, diplomat, and writer never forgot the -little black-eyed girl going to school with her doll, and was one of my -dearest and best friends in Germany. - -On his return to Berlin he published, in 1878, a book called _Begriff -des Staates_. It was a learned volume and created much sensation in -Germany. One day he was sitting in the Foreign Office when he received -an invitation to dine with the great Bismarck. He was amazed, but -naturally accepted. At the dinner were only two other men, the Imperial -Chancellor and his son Herbert. The former talked to von Rottenburg -about his book in most flattering terms. On his return home that night -his wife asked him how he had got on. - -“Not particularly well,” he replied. “I was so awe-stricken by the -wondrous capacity, the bulk of both body and mind of Bismarck, that I -seemed paralysed of speech and said practically nothing. - -“Why were you invited?” enquired his spouse. - -“I haven’t the slightest idea,” was his reply. “Anyway, I am afraid I -made but a poor impression.” - -A week later von Rottenburg was again sitting in his room when Count -Wilhelm Bismarck was announced. - -“My father wishes to see you to-morrow,” he said. - -“Indeed, and may I ask what for?” - -“That is his business, not mine. Be pleased to call at such an hour.” - -Perplexed as to the repetition of the invitation the young diplomat -called as desired. Bismarck was sitting at his table writing. The man -who held the destiny of Europe in his hands looked up and nodded. - -“Sit down,” he said, and went on signing letters. - -When he had finished blotting the last bold signature, turning to von -Rottenburg, he said: - -“Do you wonder why I sent for you?” - -“To tell the truth, I do.” - -“I wish to make you Chief of the Chancellery.” - -Von Rottenburg was naturally amazed, but said nothing. - -“Do you understand what I say?” repeated Bismarck. “I wish to make you -Chief of the Chancellery.” - -“Well—er—but——” - -“There is no _well_ or _but_ about it.” - -“But, you see, I am rather ambitious.” - -“Are you? I am glad to hear it.” - -“And such being the case, perhaps——” - -“Man!” thundered Bismarck from his seat as he thumped the table; “Do -you understand the importance of what I am offering you?” - -“I quite realise the immense _honour_, but at the same time I am -interested in my present work, and am doing so well at the Foreign -Office that I should be sorry to relinquish——” - -“Are you married?” interrupted the Chancellor. - -“Yes, to an English lady.” - -“I congratulate you. I believe English women are the best wives and -companions in the world.” - -Here let it be remarked that Bismarck was a great English scholar. He -spoke the language fluently, he read _Tom Jones_ from cover to cover -four times, and was never without his Shakespeare in the original, -whole pages from which he could quote. - -“Go home,” said the Prince; “tell your wife what I have offered you -and ask her advice. But mind, if you come to me you will have to be my -slave. Where I go you must go, and it is only fair that you should ask -her permission. Women should be more considered than they are. Go home, -I tell you, and ask your wife.” - -[Illustration: ORIGINAL LETTER FROM BISMARCK WITH A TRANSLATION BY HIS -INTIMATE FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE DR. VON ROTTENBURG] - -Still bewildered, flattered but faltering, von Rottenburg went home. He -told his wife of his extraordinary interview with the Chancellor, and -she at once exclaimed: - -“Of course, you must accept.” - -“Must I?” - -“Why, of course you must. A chance comes once to every man; let him -accept it gladly when it does come.” - -Accordingly he accepted the post of Chief of the Chancellery, and began -his ten years’ service directly under the Iron Chancellor. - -This post is by appointment for three years, and, as a rule, men are -not reappointed, but von Rottenburg was enjoying his fourth term when -Bismarck went out of office. During all those ten years von Rottenburg -rarely left the side of his Chief—the greatest man of his day. - -Speaking of the storm and stress of those years, he once said: - -“No one can realise the strain of that time. Bismarck was the most -remarkable man in the world. His physical health was as wonderful as -his mental capacity. He had so much to do, so much to bear, so much to -arrange, that I naturally saved him in every way I could, therefore -nearly everything of importance went through me. That alone was a -great responsibility. I settled all I could, arranged what interviews -I thought necessary, and played buffer between him and the great world -outside. But I often felt he reposed too much confidence in me.” - -Bismarck objected to German being written or printed in Latin -characters, and never read a book not printed in German letters. Von -Rottenburg told me Bismarck had the greatest mathematical head he ever -knew and a colossal brain. A man of huge bulk, vast appetite, and -unending thirst, he was once at a supper-party in Berlin where six -hundred oysters were ordered for ten people. He ate the greater share. - -“Thank Heaven!” once exclaimed von Rottenburg; “during all those ten -years of constant attendance and companionship with Bismarck we hardly -ever had a disagreeable word, and instead of taking power from me, year -by year he placed more upon my shoulders.” - -“Practically nothing went to the Chancellor that did not pass through -my hands. I shiver to think of the times I was disturbed at night with -messages of importance, telegrams, special messengers, or letters -marked _Private_; all these things seemed to have a particularly -unhappy knack of arriving during the hours one should have had repose. -It was very seldom, however, that I went to Bismarck, as I never -disturbed him at night unless on a matter of urgent business, feeling -that his sleep was as important to him as his health was to the German -nation.” - -“No, I don’t think I am tidy,” von Rottenburg once exclaimed. “I had -to be tidy for so many years that I fear I am a little lax nowadays, -although I can always find the papers I want myself, and generally know -where I have put everything. During those years with Bismarck I had to -be so careful, so exact and methodical. One of his little hobbies was -that when he was staying in an hotel, or anywhere away from home, he, -or I, would carefully search the waste-paper baskets to see no scrap -of paper that could in any way be made into political capital was left -therein. - -“Bismarck was most particular about this. He destroyed everything that -might, he thought, make mischief, or would do harm of any kind.” - -Did von Rottenburg destroy his wondrous diaries which I saw a few weeks -before he died? Of them I may have more to say in the future. - -Another of my very earliest recollections is of Madame Antoinette -Sterling. She came from America to sing in England, and often stayed -at the residence of my grandfather, James Muspratt, of Seaforth Hall, -near Liverpool. In this house in earlier years James Sheridan Knowles -wrote some of his plays, and in it also Baron Justus von Liebig—who -invented his famous soup to save my mother’s life—Charlotte Cushman -(the American tragedienne), Charles Dickens, and Samuel Lover had been -frequent and ever-welcome guests. - -At the time that Antoinette Sterling arrived in this country sundry -cousins, who were all quite little children, sat, open-mouthed and -entranced, before the fire in that beautifully panelled, well-filled -library at Seaforth Hall, while she squatted on the floor amongst us -and sang, “There was an old Nigger and his name was Uncle Ned,” or -“Baby Bye, here’s a fly.” How we loved it! Again and again we wildly -demanded another song, clapping our hands, and again and again that -good, kind soul sang to her juvenile admirers—maybe her first English -audience. - -Seaforth Hall was built by my grandfather about 1830, at which time -four miles of beach divided him from Liverpool. The docks of that -city are eleven miles long to-day, and the Gladstone Dock is now in -the field in which we children used to ride and play. It was named -“Gladstone Dock” because that great statesman was born at a house near -by. The next dock will probably be on the site of my grandfather’s -dining-room, and may berth the largest ship in the world, that monster -now being built by Lord Aberconway (John Brown and Co.). - -During his early years my father went a great deal into Society, being -presumably considered a clever, rising young physician who had seen a -good deal of the world, and was an excellent linguist: so by the time -he moved to the house now numbered “25, Harley Street,” in 1860—a step -followed later by his marriage with Emma, daughter of the above-named -James Muspratt—he was well established in the social world. - -I often heard him speak of the delightful gatherings he attended and -so much enjoyed in those early days before I had opened my eyes on -this wonderful world, when women like Charlotte Cushman, Catherine -Hayes, Helen Faucit, Mrs. Charles Kean, Mrs. Kemble, and Mrs. Sterling -added grace and charm to the company: when the scientific giants were -Faraday, Tyndall, Sir David Brewster, Graham, Sir Henry Holland, and -William Fergusson: and in the literary world he was brought into -contact with Thackeray, Dickens, George Eliot, Matthew Arnold, Samuel -Lover, Theodore Hook, and Mark Lemon. - -The people at whose houses he visited became his constant guests; so -later his children grew up in a delightful atmosphere, in a home of -culture, where art, science, and literature were amply represented. - -Meetings like these, even in earliest childhood, with bright souls, -persons of culture, intellect, polished manners, and brilliant gifts, -all leave strong impressions on a plastic youthful mind, and the memory -is undoubtedly an influence through life. - -But the commanding figure in Harley Street in my early years was -not to be found among the doctors: it was Mr. Gladstone, while Mrs. -Gladstone’s individuality was hardly second to that of her husband. - -When Mr. Gladstone first came to live there the mob broke his windows, -and shouted and yelled outside his house because of his hostility to -Disraeli’s policy in the Russo-Turkish War (1876-8). The Jingo fever -was at its height. There was tremendous excitement, and ultimately -the street had to be cleared by mounted police. To the surprise of -everyone, in the full tide of the tumult, the Gladstones’ front door -opened, and out walked the old couple, arm-in-arm, and passed right -into the midst of the very people who had been hurling stones through -their windows. With the grand manner of an old courtier the statesman -took off his hat, made a profound bow to the populace, and before the -mob had recovered from its astonishment, he had walked away down the -street with his wife. - -It was a plucky act, and one which so surprised the boisterous assembly -that they utterly subsided, and soon dispersed quietly. - -Mr. Gladstone’s habit every morning was to leave home about half-past -nine or ten o’clock and walk down to his work. My sister Olga (wife of -Dr. Francis Goodbody), then a very little girl, used to go out with her -nurse about the same time to Regent’s Park for her airing in a “pram.” -Some twenty or thirty houses divided my father’s from Mr. Gladstone’s, -and therefore, as the elderly statesman and the little girl both left -home about the same time, they often met. - -“Well, how is dolly this morning?” he would say, and then he would -chaff the child on not having washed dolly’s face, or tell her that -the prized treasure wanted a new bonnet. In fact, he never passed her -without stopping to pat her on the head, and make some little joke such -as children love. She became very fond of her acquaintance and came -home quite disappointed if she had not seen “my friend Mr. Gladstone,” -as she always called him. - -Years afterwards, when Mr. Gladstone had ceased all association with -Harley Street, and was Prime Minister, I fell a victim to the desire to -possess his autograph. Few people now realise how difficult a thing it -was to secure, for the public imagined that the statesman showered post -cards, then a somewhat new invention, on his correspondents by hundreds -and thousands. I asked his friend Sir Thomas Bond what was best to do. -His advice was shrewdness itself. Mr. Gladstone, he assured me, had -great objections to giving his autograph. He could not himself ask him -point-blank for his signature. “But if,” said he, “you will send one -of your books as a presentation copy to him, with a little note on the -title page, ‘To Mr. Gladstone, from the Author,’ I will take it across -and ask him to write you an acknowledgment.” - -I did so, and Mr. Gladstone wrote me a charming little letter in his -own hand: - - “10 DOWNING STREET, WHITEHALL. - - “To convey his best thanks for Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s kindness in - sending him a book of so much interest. - - “W. E. GLADSTONE.” - -Not long before his death I had another letter from him, short, as -all his communications were, but always long enough to include the -gracefully drawn compliment which, one fears, has died out of the art -of letter-writing as now practised: - - “DEAR MADAM, - - “I received your obliging gift and letter yesterday. I consider - Finland a singularly interesting country, singularly little known; - and I am reading your work in earnest and with great interest. - - “Your very faithful - - “W. E. GLADSTONE. - - “Jul. 13, ’97.” - -The mention of Mr. Gladstone in connection with Harley Street brings to -mind his famous physician, Sir Andrew Clarke, who was a great personal -friend of my father. - -At one time Sir Andrew Clarke had the largest practice in London, -besides holding the proud position of President of the Royal College of -Physicians. Thanks chiefly to a charming personality, he was one of the -most successful and most beloved of all the London medical men, and to -him is doubtless due the widespread discovery that a careful diet is a -better means to health than promiscuous floods of medicine. - -These were some of the friendships and associations that surrounded -my childhood: such was the soil that nourished my infant roots in -kindliness and encouraged my green idea-buds to put forth into leaf. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[2] Lady Brilliana Harley was the daughter of Sir Edward Conway, and -was born in the year 1600, at the Brill, of which her father was -Governor. She became the third wife of Sir Robert Harley, of Brampton -Bryan, in 1623. - -From her letters published by the Camden Society one gathers she was a -woman of considerable education, and of deep religious feeling imbued -with Calvinistic doctrine, while devotion to her home and children is -the keynote of her correspondence. - -In the Great Rebellion, however, when Sir Robert Harley’s Parliamentary -duties necessitated his absence from Brampton Bryan, the Royalists -in the neighbourhood of the Castle alleged that Lady Brilliana was -sheltering rebels; and, after various threats and efforts to gain -possession of the stronghold, a Royalist force under Sir William -Vavasour laid siege to Brampton Bryan Castle on July 26th, 1643. - -There Lady Brilliana with her children and household, and several -neighbours who had joined her in resisting the encroachments of the -Royalists, were shut up for six weeks, during which time she, usually -spoken of as “the Governess,” conducted the defence with both skill and -courage. Shots were daily fired into the Castle and frequently poisoned -bullets were used: one of these wounded the cook, who died from its -effects; and two ladies among the besieged party were also wounded. - -Finding that Lady Brilliana was obdurate and would not surrender, -Charles I sent her a personal letter by special messenger—Sir John -Scudamore—whom Lady Brilliana received with calm dignity; but with -unflinching endurance she determined to continue her defence. She -replied to the King by a letter setting forth the attacks to which her -husband’s property had been subjected, and humbly petitioned that all -her goods should be restored to her. - -Sir John Scudamore hurried back with another Royal document, offering -free pardon to Lady Brilliana and her supporters in the Castle, if she -would surrender, and also granting free licence to all to depart from -the Castle. - -But Lady Brilliana stood her ground when the Royal messenger arrived on -September 1st. “By this time,” an “eye-witness” wrote later, “the fame -of the noble lady was spread over most of the kingdom, with admiration -and applause....” - -And this courageous determination was all the more pronounced as she -was too unwell to receive Sir John on his return, having contracted a -chill which terminated fatally about a month later. - -On September 9th, the defeat of the Royal troops elsewhere necessitated -the withdrawal of Sir William Vavasour’s force from Brampton Bryan, and -the siege was suddenly raised. - -The relief was too late. Strain of deprivation and anxiety had taken -their toll and weakened the frame of the plucky heart that knew no -surrender. - -“This honourable lady,” continued her historian, “of whom the world was -not worthy, as she was a setting forward the work of God suddenly and -unexpectedly fell sick of an apoplexy with a defluxion of the lungs.... -Never was a holy life concluded with a more heavenly and happy ending.” - -Her body was encased in lead and carried to the top of the Castle to -await burial in more peaceful days; but when the siege of Brampton -Bryan was renewed, and the Castle taken, her coffin was desecrated in -the search for plunder. - -Her three beloved children, who had been through the first attack with -her, were taken prisoner at the end of the second siege in 1644. - - - - -PART II - -GIRLHOOD - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE GIRL IS MOTHER TO THE WOMAN - - -As the boy is proverbially father to the man, so is the girl mother to -the woman. - -Looking back, over thirteen years of exacting professional work, -beginning in 1896—the sad cause and necessity for which will be told -later—my destiny seems to have been that of a writer. - -True, on my first coming out the stage was my girlish ambition. -Elsewhere[3] I have told how, after the success and delirious delight -of the private theatricals given at home for me instead of a ball—at -my own request—there came a tempting offer to make my bow behind the -footlights. Breathless with excitement I rushed downstairs to tell my -father and receive his approval. He heard my story, looked very sad, -and declared it should never be with his consent: “Of all professions -for women he disliked most the stage, especially for one so young.” - -My dream was shattered, but the longing to work remained: _Je l’ai dans -le sang_. Looking back now, difficult though it is to see one’s own -growth, there was doubtless the worker dimly trying to struggle out of -the enveloping husk of protecting conventionalities: something within -me wanting to find an outlet, a means of _self-expression_. - -In girlhood one hates the conventionalities. For instance, how I chafed -at the care demanded in handling old family treasures and wished -the cut-glass decanters, the old Scotch silver salvers, the Italian -embroidered cushions, and all the other details of a refined home, at -the bottom of the sea. I used mentally to vow that when I had a home -of my own I would never have anything that cost more than sixpence, -and would wear it out and throw it away. I did not then realise that -little by little the love of beautiful things, fine workmanship, rich -colours, coupled with reverence for ancient family gods, was being -fostered within me. - -Environment is of enormous importance in a child’s life. Heredity and -environment are three-fourths of character, the other fourth being left -to chance and circumstances; and character counts for more in the end -than any other asset in life. If we are born into a refined home, we -learn to hate vulgar things, we are not interested in vulgar people, -and, however poor we may become, that love of culture and good taste -never leaves us. - -In spite of the tales and explanations that my father gave us about -beautiful things of art, or curios, it must be owned these wearied me. -But when the day for work came, some of them formed the nucleus and -inspiration of the half-dozen articles the grown woman turned out every -week for the Press. - -The influence of that Harley-Street home was very strong. I left it -when young for a house of my own, but its atmosphere went with me. - -After all, it is the woman who makes the home. A man may be clever, -brilliant, hard-working, a good son, a good father, and a good master, -but without a wife the result is a poor thing. It is the woman who -keeps the home together. It is the woman who is the pivot of life. Most -men are like great big children, and have to be mothered to the end of -time. - -To my mother I really owe any success I may have had. Encouragement -goes a long way, just as human sympathy is the very backbone of life. -It was she who encouraged, cheered, and often censured, for she was -a severe critic. It was she who helped my father during those awful -years of blindness, who wrote his scientific books from dictation, -before the days of secretaries and shorthand. It was she who learnt to -work the microscope to save his eyes. Later, it was she who corrected -my spelling and read my proofs. Never an originator herself, she -was always an initiator. She ran her home perfectly and—whether as -daughter, wife, or mother—never failed. Her personality dominated, -and her personality made the home. Only two homes in life have been -mine, and, roughly speaking, half has been spent in each; and yet few -people have had so many addresses. I might have been running away from -creditors, so many strange places have given me shelter in different -lands. - -I was a lazy young beggar in those Harley-Street days. Books and -lessons had no particular fascination for me, and the only things -I cared about were riding daily in the Row with my father, hunting -occasionally, dancing, and painting. My education, after preparatory -schooling, was more earnestly taken in hand at Queen’s College, -Harley Street, but I was a very bad pupil, never did anything with -distinction, and the only lectures I really cared for were literature -and history, and the only occupations that appealed to me were drawing -and map-making; but I did actually win a prize for mathematics. - -Lady Tree, who was my mentor, can vouch for my mediocrity, judging by a -letter just found, written by her shortly after a serious accident. - - “WALPOLE HOUSE, THE MALL, - - “CHISWICK, - - “_November 21st, 1906_. - - “DEAREST ETHEL, - - “Thank you so much for your sweet letter. I am home and getting on - wonderfully well, though I dare say some weeks will go by before - I shall be fit to be seen. _You_ are a wonder with all your work - and energy. What fun your _Observer_ article was on Sunday. You - clever Ethel—and I used to think—how many years ago?—that you only - cared about the set of your lovely ‘pinafores’ over your black silk - dresses, with slim body and _tiny_ waist. What were you?—14-16, I - think, and _the_ most lovely figure I ever saw. _Most_ naughty and - inattentive and _vain_ (I feared), with very small feet in little - tiny smart shoes below the kilt of the black silk dress. - - “You will think my brain has gone the way of my jaw (indeed, - it _was_ cracked a little as a matter of fact); but I am only - remembering. Tell me, if you have time, dear, to write to me again, - all sorts of _goodish_ novels to read. I mean that I find I can - devour _now_ what I called trash a month ago. - - “It is lovely to be at home here, with the babies and Viola, - and Herbert sparing as much time as he can from his _Anthony_ - rehearsals. He, like everybody else, has been an angel to me, and - my heart is _too_ full of gratitude to everybody for all the love - and tenderness they have shown. - -“What a long letter, but it will show you how well I am, dear. Thank -you again and again for writing. - - “With love always, - - “Yours affectionately, - - “MAUD TREE.” - -Later on my school education was finished in Germany, where my mother -had many old friends, among whom was the great chemist, Baron von -Liebig, my godfather. How oddly, as years roll by, friends meet and -part and meet again, like coloured silks in a plaited skein. One of my -school-fellows in Germany, for instance, came from Finland, and, later -on, it was the fact of meeting her again that brought about my visit to -“Suomi,” described in _Through Finland in Carts_. - -Another of my companions became engaged to one of Sweden’s most famous -artists, Carl Gustav Hellqvist, though at that time he was not known -so well as later. He only spoke Swedish and French, and Julie Thiersch -spoke German and English. Therefore many little translations were done -by myself at that delightful country home of Maler Thiersch, on the -shores of the König See, in Bavaria. Many sweet little sentences had to -be deciphered by me, although the language of the eyes is so powerful -that the actual proposal was accomplished through music (of which they -were both passionately fond) and rapturous glances, in which he, at any -rate, excelled. - -What a delightful, fair, rough-and-tumble, jolly boyish man Hellqvist -then was. Later, gold medals were showered at his feet, and many -distinctions came to him while he painted those wonderful historical -pictures which are now in the Museum at Stockholm. - -But, alas! a few years of happy married life ended in an early death. - -Other German girl companions are now married to Dr. Adolf Harnack, the -famous theologian, and Professor Hans von Delbruck, Under-Secretary of -State for Germany. - -Of amusement there was no lack at home, for from the age of seven, -I rode every morning with my father in Hyde Park, and kept up the -practice with my husband after my marriage. Then there was skating on -ice or rinks, croquet or tennis. There was also amusement of another -kind. A delightful old Scotch gentleman used to come and tune the piano -on Harley Street. One day he told me he was going on to tune one for an -entertainment for the blind in the East End. - -“Why don’t you come and recite to them?” he asked. - -I was fifteen or sixteen at the time and bursting with pride over -having won a prize for repeating Gray’s _Elegy_. That is a long time -ago, but from then till now I have gone two or three times a year as -girl, wife, or widow, to entertain those poor afflicted people—the -blind. - -The Somers Town club, which began in a small way and now numbers over -eight hundred members, is the work of one woman. Mrs. Starey has -accomplished a great mission. Besides her clothing club, coal club, -and employment bureau, she provides an entertainment every Thursday -night for these sightless sufferers to whom she has devoted her life. -And as there are fifty-two Thursdays in a year, and it takes five or -six performers for each entertainment, one can glean some idea of the -labour entailed; but beyond all this, no outsider can realize what -her life and sympathy have done for these sufferers. As a girl my -interest was aroused in these people by the old piano tuner, and years -afterwards I went on to their work Committee—just one instance among -many, showing how first impressions and environment influence one’s -after-life. - -At “our shop” for the _Society for Promotion of the Welfare of the -Blind_, on Tottenham Court Road, they sell mats, brushes, chairs, -re-make mattresses, and even undertake shorthand notes and typewriting -with nimble fingers and blind eyes. - -I danced hard, painted, and accomplished a good deal of needlework -for my father’s hospitals, or my own person. One Bugaboo haunted me, -however, and that was music. I sang a little and played a little, both -very badly, but my parents insisted on me struggling on. When I first -met Alec Tweedie, shortly after my coming out, I heard him say, “There -is only one thing in the world that would induce me to marry, and that -is a thoroughly musical girl.” He had a beautiful voice and sang a -great deal—but he married me! - -Perhaps those music lessons made me appreciative later, but they were -an awful waste of time and money. - -Again, painting was another likely channel for my energies, for at that -time I used to show my pictures at the women’s exhibitions; yes, and -sell them too. But writing must have been ordained for me by the stars. - -A year or two before my actual coming out my parents took me to supper -one Sunday night at the house of Nicholas Trübner (the publisher), in -Upper Hamilton Terrace, his only child being about my own age. Charles -Godfrey Leland, Bret Harte, Miss Braddon, and others were there. - -On this particular occasion I sat next that famous writer of gipsy -lore, Charles Godfrey Leland. He was an old friend of my father, and -often came to Harley Street, so I knew him well. He chaffed me about -being so grown up, and told me tales of some gipsy wanderings he had -just made, when suddenly he exclaimed: - -“Let me see your hand.” - -Leland was a firm believer in palmistry, which lore he had picked up -from the gipsies. For a long time, as it seemed to me, he was silent. - -“Most remarkable, the most remarkable hand I have ever seen in anyone -so young. My dear, you must write, or paint, or sing, or do something -with that hand.” - -Up to that moment I had certainly never thought of doing anything but -lessons or enjoying myself. - -He took out his pocket-book and made some notes, then he insisted upon -the others looking at what he called “the character, originality, and -talent” depicted in my hand. - -He was so long about it that I grew tired, and at last exclaimed: - -“I shall charge you if you lecture them about me any more.” - -“And I’ll pay,” he said; “I’ll send you a Breitmann Ballad all to -yourself.” - -And he did. Naturally proud of being so honored in verse, its heroine -was nevertheless shy, and never, never showed her poetic trophy for -fear of being thought conceited. - -[Illustration: HANS BREITMANN’S BALLAD TO THE AUTHOR WHEN] - -[Illustration: A GIRL—SET TO MUSIC BY ADOLPH MANN] - -Years afterwards—in 1908—Mrs. E. K. Pennell wrote the _Life_ of -her uncle, Charles Godfrey Leland, and there, to my surprise, -reproduced my hidden ballad, a copy of which she had found amongst -the writer’s papers. Sydney Low, in his critique of the book in the -_Standard_, said this poem “was one of the best Leland ever wrote.” -Leland intended it to be his last Breitmann Ballad, but I believe he -wrote another later. - - I dink de sonn’ hafe perisht in all dis winter rain, - I never dink der Breitmann vould efer sing again; - De sonne vant no candle nor any Erdenlicht, - Vot _you_ vant mit a poem? bist selber ganz Gedicht. - - For like a Paar of Ballads are de augen in your head, - (I petter call dem bullets vot shoot de Herzen dead). - And ash like a ripplin’ rifer efery poem ought to pe, - So all your form is flowin’ in perfect harmony. - - I hear de epigramme in your sehr piquant replies, - I hear de sonnets soundin’ ven your accents fall and rise, - And if I look upon you, vote’er I feel or see, - De voice and form and motion is all one melody. - - Du bist die Ideale of efery mortal ding, - Ven poets reach de perfect—dey need no longer sing - Das Beste sei das Letzte—de last is pest indeed! - Brich Herz und Laut! zusammen—dies ist mein letztes Lied! - -Leland was an enormous man, with a long, shaggy beard. He came from -Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1824, but lived the greater part of -his life on this side of the water. He was full of good stories: knew -Oliver Wendell Holmes, Talleyrand, J. R. Lowell, Emerson, and others of -that ilk. Our sympathy lay, however, in his love of the gipsies (about -whom he wrote so much that to his friends he was known as “The Rye”), -also in his affection for and knowledge of Germany, so that when I came -back from that country a first-class chatterbox in the Teuton tongue, -and ready to shake school-days from my feet, he wrote me that I “looked -like a gipsy and talked German like a _backfish_.” - -Those were the days of his waning as a literary star in London life, -a firmament in which he had shone for long. His Breitmann Ballads -were an unexpected hit. They made the journalist famous. The author -became known as “H. B.” on both sides of the water. History relates -that cigars were called after them, they were the rage. Germany was -indignant; France ecstatic. - -Lying by me is a letter I received from “Hans Breitmann.” It displays -his unvarying kindness and helpfulness towards younger people, always -wanting to be doing something to employ their energetic mind and body. -I had evidently made some proposal to him, and he says: - - “DEAR FRIEND, - - “Short biographical sketches, as they are almost invariably given, - are the veriest nutshells filled with ashes that literature yields. - As regards to accuracy, you cannot obtain it by interviewing. It - does not happen that once in twenty times—if ever—that the most - practiced reporter succeeds in getting and giving even an average - idea of a life. I have sat for this kind of portrait more than - once. I once gave a professional collector of anecdotes _six_—and - when they appeared in his book he had missed the point of _five_. - - “The best I can do for you will be to write you a brief sketch - of my rather varied and peculiar life—which I will do whenever - you want to go to work on me. It is rather characteristic of the - Briton that he or she does not invariably distinguish accurately in - conversation what is printable from what is not. Once in talking - with Frank Buckland about animals I mingled many Munchausenisms and - ‘awful crammers’ with true accounts of our American fauna, etc. - Fortunately he sent me a _proof_ of his report! I almost—gasped—to - think that any mortal man _could_ swallow and digest such stories - as he had put down as facts. Had they been published he would have - appeared as the greatest fool and I as the grandest humbug—yea, - as the ‘Champion Fraud’ of the age. I believe that he was - seriously angered. Now the American knows the scum from the soup - in conversation. I never dreamed that any human being out of an - idiot asylum or a theological seminary could have believed in such - ‘yarns’ as the great naturalist noted. - - “I will do myself, however, the pleasure of interviewing you when I - get a little relief from the work which at present prevents me from - interviewing even my tailor. - - “Yours faithfully, - - “CHARLES G. LELAND.” - -Leland was a most talented man, if one may use the word, for talent -itself is generally undefinable even through a magnifying glass. - -[Illustration: AUTHOR’S HAND] - -Later, Adolph Mann, the composer, wished to set Leland’s charming words -to music, and the accompanying ballad in 1908 was the result. - -Sir Charles Santley thought so highly of it, “that he much regretted -that the public would not let him sing any new things or he would have -rendered it himself,” but, as he sadly remarked, “I am never allowed to -sing anything but the old songs,” and at seventy two, when he retired, -he was still “singing the old songs.” - -That is the worst part of being a celebrity. The moment a man makes -a name in any particular line, whether singing a song, acting a -particular style or part, painting a certain type of tree, scenes -of snow or what not—along that line he has to go for evermore, for -the public to consider anything else from that particular person an -imposition. People do not naturally become groovy. It is the public -that makes them so. - -The next development of Leland’s palmist theory, which begun in my -youth, took place some years later, when a man arrived one day asking -permission to make an impression of my hand. If I remember correctly, -it was for a series of magazine articles upon the resemblance between -the hands of persons occupied in the same professions. He showed -impressions of the hands of many well known folks, and it was strange -to see how inventive minds, like Sir Hiram Maxim, that delightful man -of leonine appearance, had blunted tips to their fingers. That artistic -and musical people should have long and tapering fingers was not -surprising, but he pointed out other characteristics. Smearing a sheet -of white paper with smoke, he pressed the palm of my hand on it, ran -round the fingers with a pencil, and the trick was done. Anything more -hideous or like a murderer’s fist one has seldom seen, but the lines -were there as distinctly as those of prisoners’ fingers when their -impressions are taken for purposes of identification. - -This discovery, that the lines of the human thumb do not change from -cradle to grave—was one of the brilliant achievements of Sir Francis -Galton (the founder of Eugenics). I remember the great kindly, -soft-voiced scientist in my father’s house speaking enthusiastically -of Darwin—who was his relative—and his work. He was as determined to -improve the race as Darwin was to prove its origin. - -Sir Francis Galton was one of the kindest old gentlemen. Benevolence, -goodness, and sympathy were written large all over his face. It was his -very sympathy with mankind that made him wish to better the lot of the -degenerate, while preventing their marriage, and improve the condition -of the unsound. He even went so far as to wish rich folk to gather -about them fine, sturdy young couples, to protect them and look after -their children for the good of the race. He saw that the human race is -deteriorating, while different breeds of animals are improving under -care. - -The tiny seeds of the environment of youth are what blossom and ripen -in later years. And here, again, my childish environment bore ultimate -fruit. As a child I met Galton, and as a woman I went on to the Council -of the Eugenic Society of England. - -Yes, I had a good time, a really lovely girlhood, and when the days of -worry came I could look back with pleasure to those happy years. The -remembrance helped me—but I missed the old life. - -It doesn’t matter being born poor, that is no crime, and we cannot miss -what we never had; but the poverty which robs of the luxuries—that use -has really made necessaries—of existence is a cruel, rasping kind of -poverty, that irritates like a gall on a horse’s back until one learns -the philosophy of life. Luxury is merely a little more self-indulgence -than one is accustomed to. Prolonged luxury becomes habit. The -well-born can do without cream, but they cannot do without clean linen. - -Those girlhood days were bright and happy. I had no cares, just a -rollicking time in a refined and cultured home, with lots of young men -ready to amuse me, and after all these years I am proud to say girl -friends of my school days, and even of the kindergarten, are still -constant visitors at my home. As I write a beautiful white azalea -stands before me, an offering from a woman, who sent it with a note, -saying, “It was so kind of you to let me come and see you after nearly -thirty years, and so charming to find you so little changed from my -school-playmate, in spite of all you have done since we met. Accept -this flower with gratitude and affection from a friend of your early -youth.” - -These are the pretty little things that make life pleasant. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[3] _Behind the Footlights._ - - - - -PART III - -WOMANHOOD - - - - -CHAPTER III - -“WOOED AND MARRIED, AND A’” - - -Iceland seems a strange place to go to, but it came about in this wise. - -My brother was ill after completing his medical education, and wanted -a holiday. Not having the slightest idea where to go, Iceland was -suggested. To Cook’s I then went. The young man behind the counter -shook his head. They had never been asked for a ticket to Iceland. -Indeed, they did not know how to get there. They knew nothing about the -place. That decided the matter, and to Iceland, in 1886, we young folk -went. - -Then it was that my father besought me to keep a diary. “There will -be no possibility of sending letters home,” he said, “because there -are only two or three posts a year, and there is no telegraphic -communication. So by the time you come back, you will have forgotten -many of the interesting details, all of which your mother and I would -like to know. Consequently I beg you will keep a diary.” - -Therefore I took with me some funny little black-backed shiny books -at a penny each, and scrawled down notes and impressions, sometimes -written from the back of a pony, sometimes in the darkness of a tent in -which one could not stand up; sometimes sitting beside a boiling geyser -while our meal bubbled in a little tin can on the edge of the pool, but -always beneath the gorgeous skies, the endless days and little-known -nights of the Arctic in summer. - -To that little trip romance is attached. - -Alec Tweedie, who had been proposing to me regularly since the day I -came out, was, to my amazement and disgust, standing on the quay at -Leith when we arrived there ready to start. - -We were a little party of four, and as he knew I particularly wished -him not to come, and that he would make an odd man in the party and -also render the situation uncomfortable for me, I was perfectly furious. - -I raged up and down that quay, I used every bad word I could think of. -But still he was firm to his ground. He would take his gun, he would -shoot. He would never say a word to cause me the least embarrassment -from the day we started till we returned, he would never refer to -the old sentimental charge of which I was heartily sick. In fact, he -promised to be on his “best behaviour,” but come he would. - -I nearly turned tail myself, even at the last moment, so furious was I -at the situation. However, as his word of honour was given, I accepted -the matter rather than upset the whole party at the eleventh hour or -let the others guess the secret. - -To his credit be it said, he entirely carried out his promise. He was -always there when I wanted him, never when I did not. He was just as -nice to my girl companion as to myself. He was good pals with the two -men, in fact, I do not think any of the others realised the situation -in the least. - -It was his behaviour during that time that made me begin to change my -mind. I saw the strain it was on him and admired him for carrying it -through. I saw him pull himself up many times and march off to light a -pipe for solace. - - * * * * * - -If love is service, Alec loved. - -Riding astride over a lava bed near Hekla my pony fell, the girths gave -way, and saddle and I turned round together. It was a nasty fall on my -head and I was stunned. Alec appeared—from goodness knows where—to pick -me up. I have ridden since I was seven, generally on a side-saddle, but -in Iceland, Morocco, and Mexico astride, and only two falls have been -my lot, this and another from a side-saddle in Tangier, when my horse, -climbing a steep stony road, strained and broke the girths and I fell -on the off-side. - - * * * * * - -It was not till we were coming into the Firth of Forth many weeks -later, just before landing on the quay where I had stormed and raged, -that Alec Tweedie said: - -“There is Edinburgh Castle, have I kept my word?” - -“Yes,” I replied. - -“Have you any fault to find with anything I have said or done during -the trip?” - -“No,” I murmured. - -“Have I kept my promise in the letter and the law?” - -Again I had to answer “Yes.” - -“Then you are satisfied?” - -“But you had no right to come,” I weakly said. - -“That has nothing to do with it. Are you satisfied?” - -“Yes,” I had to reply. - -“Then,” he continued, “remember that my bond is waste paper when we -land in a few minutes, and the proposals I have made before, I shall -repeat on _terra firma_.” - - * * * * * - -Six weeks later we were engaged, and six weeks later still I married -one of the handsomest men in London. - - * * * * * - -When I was first engaged it was a constant subject of interest to my -friends that the man should have such an extraordinary name as ALEC. -In 1887 no one in England had apparently ever heard the name of Alec. -He was the fifth generation bearing the name himself, but outside that -family the abbreviation does not appear to have penetrated. - -Times change, and twenty years later the name had become so well -known that I had the honour and felicity of seeing it on a music-hall -programme, and placarded for a music-hall artist. - -In his diary my father states the following: - -“My daughter Ethel has just married (1887) Alec Tweedie, son of an -Indian Civil Servant and grandson of Dr. Alexander Tweedie, F.R.S., -formerly of 47, Brook Street, whose portrait hangs in the Royal College -of Physicians, London. Old Dr. Tweedie’s work on fever was very well -known, and the London Fever Hospital was built under his auspices. -Strangely enough, he examined me when I first came to London to take -the membership of the Royal College of Physicians. - -“But the connecting-link is even stronger, for Alec Tweedie is first -cousin to Sir Alexander Christison, my old Edinburgh chum, who took -his degree with Murchison and myself on the same day in Edinburgh. My -son-in-law is therefore a nephew of dear old Sir Robert Christison, -whose classes I attended as a student. - -“On his mother’s side, Alec is the grandson of General Leslie, -K.H., and great-grandson of Colonel Muttlebury, C.B.K.W., a very -distinguished soldier, who was in command of the 69th at Quatre Bras. - -“My son-in-law is also a nephew of General Jackson, who was in the -famous charge of Balaclava, so that on his mother’s side he is as much -connected with the army as he is on his father’s with medicine.” - - * * * * * - -Being a young person with a mind of her own, I rebelled against hideous -sugar flowers on my wedding-cake. I loved wedding-cake, and my father, -knowing this form of greed, laughingly said: - -“You had better get a wedding-cake as big as yourself and then you will -be happy.” - -I did, that is to say it weighed nine stone four pounds, my own weight, -which is barely a stone more when these pages go to press. - -Well, thereupon, I repaired to Mr. Buszard, junior—whose father, -attired in a large white apron and tall hat, I, as a baby, had known in -his then little shop in Oxford Street. - -“I want real flowers on my cake,” I announced. - -“Impossible, we never do such a thing,” he replied. - -“Then you must do it now, do it for me.” - -Much palaver, and Mr. Buszard and I crossed the street together to -a little flower shop, with the result that those three tiers of -wedding-cake were decked with natural blooms and a tall vase of white -flowers as a central ornament. - -Everyone has natural flowers nowadays. - -I travelled away with the top tier of my cake, and ate bits of it in -France, Switzerland, Italy, and Germany, during our three months’ -honeymoon. - -We took one of the houses at the top of Harley Street, overlooking -Regent’s Park, where squirrels frolic and wood pigeons cry, and there, -in York Terrace, where the muffin man rings his bell on Sundays and -George IV lamp-posts hold our light, I still live. - -Apropos of this street, Sir Arthur Grant of Monymusk once told me a -curious story. - -His grandfather owned many houses in the neighbourhood in the beginning -of the nineteenth century, and whenever one was empty he put an old -caretaker in who had once been a personal servant. On one occasion one -of the houses was to let. A lady and gentleman arrived in a carriage -and asked to see over it. The caretaker showed them round and they -seemed pleased with everything. They asked many questions and lingered -some time, and when they left, to the surprise of the caretaker, they -handed her a sovereign. - -As most people gave her nothing, and others a shilling, she was rather -taken aback with the sovereign, and explained how large a sum it was. - -“It is all right,” said the gentleman, “put it in your pocket and may -it bring you luck.” - -Not long after her return to the staircase, which she had been cleaning -before their arrival, she heard a child’s voice. It seemed to be -crying. She listened for some time, and as she was quite alone in the -house, she was unable to understand the cause. Finally, feeling sure it -came from a certain room, she went and opened the door, just to satisfy -herself it was an hallucination. What was her amazement to find a -sturdy little boy of two standing before her. She nearly had a fit, the -people had not mentioned a child, nor had she seen anything of it, and -she remembered that the lady and gentleman had left no address. Feeling -sure such kind people would come back, she took the small boy to the -kitchen and gave him some milk. He was too small to tell her who he was -or where he came from, though he sat and cried. - -When her husband came home she told him the strange story. - -“Oh, they will come and fetch him presently. Don’t you worry,” he said. - -But day wore on to evening, and evening wore on to night, and no one -came. The only thing she could do was to pacify him and put him to bed, -and when she undressed him golden sovereigns fell out of a bag tied -round his neck. - -The mystery thickened. Days went on; no one claimed the child. The -caretaker went to Sir Arthur’s grandfather and reported the matter, and -everything was done to try to trace the owners of the little boy, but -nothing was heard of them. - -The woman’s husband was a nice old man, and instead of wishing to turn -the child out, he said: - -“No, God ordained to give us no children of our own. This little boy -has been left with us, and it is our duty to take care of him.” So -accordingly the little boy was brought up as their own son. - -He was sent to school, went out as a page-boy, and became a footman. He -made an excellent servant, clean, punctual, tidy, and efficient—but, -alas! he finally traced his pedigree to a family of very high degree; -from that moment he was ruined. He thought himself too grand for his -situation, became idle, took to drink, began blackmail, and generally -went to the dogs. - -The house we took was a few doors from this romance. - -Built about 1810, the house was strong and good, but old-fashioned, so -we had to put in a bath, have hot and cold water laid on upstairs; add -gas, after finally deciding it would be too much bother to work our own -electric dynamo in the cellar (the only possible source of electric -light in London in 1887 was at the Grosvenor Gallery in Bond Street); -reconstruct the drains from end to end; in fact, turn an ancient -dwelling into a modern one. A vine, probably as old as the house, bears -fruit on the drawing-room balcony every summer, and lilies of the -valley and jasmine flourish beneath the window. - -One year the vine bore one hundred and seventy bunches of little black -grapes. In the hot summer of 1911 the number of bunches was less; but -two weighed respectively one pound, and thirteen ounces. - - * * * * * - -Was it Chance? or did Dame Brilliana Harley hover as a guardian angel -round the path of her namesake, gently whispering suggestions shedding -her influence to draw me in her footsteps? Howe’er it was, after my -marriage and departure abroad, naturally nothing more was thought of -the shiny black cloth book of Iceland notes by its owner. - -Meantime it happened that Miss Ellen Barlee, a fairly well-known -authoress in those days—she wrote a _Life of the Prince Imperial_—was -going blind, and my father lent them to her so that her secretary might -read my jottings aloud in the evening with a view to amusing the old -lady. - -[Illustration: GRAPES GROWING ON A LONDON BALCONY] - -One day she sent for me. “My dear, you must publish this,” she said as -soon as I arrived. - -At that time I had not long returned from my wedding tour. Needless -to say, therefore, I laughed at the idea. Miss Barlee was determined, -however, to carry her point. - -“If you do not believe in my opinion,” she said, “may I send the -manuscripts to my publisher, and if he approves of it, will you take -the matter into serious consideration, as you are almost the first -woman—girl, I should rather say—to have been across Iceland?” - -Naturally I assented to her proposal, thinking the whole thing absurd. -What was my surprise when, a little later, I received a letter from the -publisher to say that he liked the notes, and if I would divide them -into chapters he thought that they would make a nice little book. He -also asked whether I could let him have any illustrations for it. - -Feeling somewhat exalted, and yet very shy about the whole thing, I -sent him a number of the sketches that I had made. Lo and behold, they -were accepted for the illustrations, and the book appeared as _A Girl’s -Ride in Iceland_. - -How strange it seems to look back and remember the origin of the title -_A Girl’s Ride in Iceland_. It was the title I had put on the cover of -the little black book—but it seemed absurd and ridiculous to my mind as -a cover on a real book. I thought of all sorts of grand, high-sounding -delineations; but Miss Barlee would none of them. “I love your title,” -she said. “You were a girl, and it seems such an original idea, you -must stick to it.” I did, but the critics laughed at the idea of a girl -doing anything—nevertheless it was quickly followed with _A Girl in the -Carpathians_, and every sort and kind of “girl” has haunted the public -ever since, from the stage to the library. - -The book ran through four editions, finally appearing on the bookstalls -at one shilling. - -But, oh dear, how I struggled with those chapters! How I fought those -“Mondays,” “Tuesdays,” and “Wednesdays” of the diary-form and wrestled -to get the whole into consecutive line and possible chapters: but it -gave me amusement during long hours spent on a sofa before my eldest -child was born. I used to get into despair, the despair of the amateur -who does not know what is wanted, and which is just as bad as the -despair of the professional who really knows what is wanted and yet -cannot pull it off. And so _A Girl’s Ride in Iceland_ appeared just for -the fun of the thing. It cost me nothing and amused me hugely at the -moment; but I soon forgot all about it and set to work to enjoy myself -again. - -Among the friends who came to our bridal dinners—alas! years have -rolled on and death has played havoc among them—was Professor John -Stuart Blackie, my husband’s cousin. In Edinburgh that remarkable head -of his, with the shaggy white locks, the incomparable black wide-awake -and the Scotsman’s plaid thrown around his shoulders, was really one of -the sights. In fact, no figure was better known north of the Tweed than -Professor Blackie in his day. The north was his “ain countree,” but he -was a delight to every social circle that he entered on those occasions -when he came south. - -Of course, he commanded the whole company. And why not? Who would be an -octogenarian as full of activity and high spirits as he was, a Greek -scholar, professor, and a wit, without the authority to bid others keep -silence while one’s self talks? His little foibles and vanities were -the man, and nobody who knew him would willingly have seen him part -with a single one of them. - -On such an evening, soon after my marriage, I was sitting between him -and Mr. (now Sir) Anderson Critchett. The Professor declared in his -emphatic way that no man who lacked a poetic soul ought to live, poetry -being one of the most refining and ennobling gifts; he had always been -a poet himself and hoped to continue so as long as he lived. - -The old scholar became quite excited on the theme and said he would -sing to us after dinner, which he did, half singing, half reciting -“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.” - -“I believe in singing, it does one good,” he professed, and so he sang. - -Eccentric as he was, Blackie’s courtesy was delightful. What a pity we -have not more of that sort of thing nowadays! We women do love pretty -little attentions. - -Blackie once wrote me a poem—it was in Greek: - - _Likeness to God._ - - Those _things_ are likest to God, - The _heart_ that fainteth never, - The _love_ that ever is warm, - And the hand of the generous giver. - -When he gave it to me, he dropped on his knees on the floor before a -whole roomful of people, kissed my hand like a courtier of the Middle -Ages in humble obeisance, and handed me the little poem. - -About this time also dates my first essay in journalism. Chance so -often steps in to foreshadow the important events of our lives. -Everyone gets his chance; but many do not recognise it when it comes. -If we only accept small beginnings they often lead to big endings. My -chance notebook on Iceland and some sporting articles in the _Queen_ -were the beginning of an income a few years later. - -I was going to Scotland to pay a round of shooting and golfing visits -with my husband, who was fond of all kinds of sport. It occurred to -me it would be an interesting thing to write some sporting articles, -for I invariably followed the guns. I therefore went down to the -office of the _Queen_ and boldly sent my card in to the editor. Miss -Lowe received me. I explained my idea to her, but as it would be an -innovation for a lady’s paper to attempt to print anything in the -nature of sport she did not know how it would be received, so she sent -for a worthy captain, who was at that time the art editor of the paper, -and asked for his opinion. “Absurd!” he exclaimed, without a moment’s -hesitation; “perfectly absurd! A woman can’t write articles on sport.” - -As really I did not care very much about doing the articles except -for an amusement, I was turning to go away, when I noticed the editor -holding the lapels of the old gentleman’s coat and trying to bawl into -his ear. - -“Women don’t know anything about sport and don’t want to,” he -continued, still determined not to listen. - -Those were the early days of women in journalism, and men—or rather -most men—had a strong prejudice against us and a distinct disbelief in -our abilities. After this ultimatum there was nothing left for me to -do but to say good-bye and leave Miss Lowe’s room. I was going out a -little crestfallen that my plan had so completely fallen through, when, -as the captain opened the door for me, he suddenly noticed my gloves, -and said: - -“Why do you wear those white gauntlet gloves? They look like the Horse -Guards.” - -“They are my driving gloves,” I replied. - -“Driving gloves!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean? You didn’t drive -here?” - -“Certainly,” I answered, “the phaeton is at the door.” - -“You drove down Holborn at this crowded hour of the day?” - -“Yes,” I mildly replied. - -He looked out of the window and saw the carriage and horses standing in -the street below. By this time I was in the passage. He called me back, -scanned me curiously, and, turning to Miss Lowe, said suddenly, and -without any preliminary canter: - -“Let her do the articles. A woman who can drive a pair along the -crowded London streets in the season ought to be able to write a -sporting article.” - -Perhaps his conclusion was as illogical as his previous opinion of -woman’s capability in the sporting line had been. Anyway, as it gave -me the opportunity I wanted, I was not disposed to question, much less -to quarrel, with it. So began the first series of sporting articles -to appear in a woman’s paper. The little set was a success. This was -my first essay in journalism, just done at the time for the fun of -the thing. I think I made about fifteen pounds over it, and promptly -distributed my earnings where most sadly required. - -Any little earnings then were devoted to charity, and I always called -them my “charity money.” It was the generousness of superfluity. Now, -when I can’t help giving away a great deal more than I ought to afford, -it is the “extravagance of generosity.” - -Having tried my hand at journalism I was satisfied, just as I had tried -my hand as a girl in my teens at exhibiting oil-paintings at the Lady -Artists’ Exhibitions or china plaques elsewhere; or as later, when I -exhibited photographs and won a Kodak prize of five pounds for horses -galloping across the open prairie. It is nice to make an attempt at -anything and everything, and sometimes such experience becomes of -value. Truly, journalism did so to me when, six years after those first -half-dozen sporting articles appeared for “the fun of the thing,” I had -to look to my pen, or my brush. - -[Illustration: BORKUM OF SPY FAME—NOW A GREAT NAVAL STATION - -_Water-colour sketch by the Author. Exhibited in London 1911_] - -How strange, after such a span of time, to feel a little thrill of -pleasure at the announcement of acceptance of something I had done! -It shows that, after all, one is capable of new sensations along new -lines, even when parallel ones. - -Everyone was talking of Borkum in 1910. Two English officers had been -arrested as spies there and imprisoned in a German fortress. - -Mr. Percy Anderson, fresh from designing the dresses for _Kismet_, -chanced to see a sketch I had made at Borkum a few years before. - -“Why on earth don’t you send it to an exhibition?” he asked. - -“I never show anything nowadays,” was my reply. - -“Send this for a change, then—just get a frame and send it in.” - -The frame was bought, and to the Lady Artists in Suffolk Street it -went. A little thrill of joy passed through me when I opened an -envelope with a bright red ticket: - - _Admit the artist to varnishing day._ - -A week later my little picture appeared in the _Daily Graphic_. - -Borkum, once famous “as the only spot on earth without a Jew,” is now -a great German naval base. In 1900 it was little more than a sandhill, -with a few lodging-houses and bathing-machines, and ourselves the -only English folk. Icebound in winter, it was the home of millions of -wild fowl in summer. Every evening before going to bed the visitors -and residents sang their anti-Jewish anthem. Though strong in -fortification, Borkum is not great in size, being only six miles long -and half a mile wide. - -Public charity is no doubt an excellent thing. The world could not -get on without it. But private charity seems to me of infinitely more -value. If every one of us always had some particular case in hand for -someone less blessed than ourselves, what a much happier place the -world would be. Individual charity means so much. There is nothing -easier than for a rich person to write a cheque and send it to some -institution, where a large percentage is swallowed up in paying rates, -rent, and taxes, clerks, and the rest of it, but it means a great deal -for a person to give up their private time, to expend their own energy, -in looking after some individual case. We all know people we can -help, not singly, but in multitudes, if we choose to take the trouble, -and for the greater part of my life I have found it a good thing to -have one big job in hand at a time and to work at it till completed. -Procuring public or private pensions for the genteel poor, getting -cripples into homes, invalids into hospitals, or people recovering -from illnesses into convalescent homes; starting young people in life; -enquiring into emigration cases and helping them; finding young women -places in bonnet shops, even securing employment in orchestras. - -In fact, there is generally a niche for every case if one only takes -the trouble to find it. The niche is not always procurable by the -persons themselves, as they have not the world-wide knowledge and -influence to secure it; but with a little capacity, a little work, -and a little thought one is often able to help young people to start, -to help to educate children, and do hundreds of little individual -kindnesses which may keep the whole family together, or mean the future -success of the individual. - -Poverty is always relative. It means possessing less than we have -been accustomed to. Having been both rich and poor, I am perhaps an -impartial critic. - -The domestic experiences of those married years were, later, as so much -garnered grain to the writer. My luxurious, happy home was—without my -knowledge—affording me training which afterwards proved invaluable in -my writing. The responsibilities of motherhood gave me insight into the -workings and imaginations of children’s minds. The household wisdom -learnt as mistress of a fairly large establishment has been of infinite -use in writing on practical subjects of domestic interest—especially -those of interest to women. - -Men must really cease to think women find fun in ordering cabbages. - -As every book we read leaves some sort of an impression, so every scene -or incident we live leaves its mark. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -“A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY” - - -On a terribly cold day in January, 1893, my father received a wire from -Christiania, saying that my brother was dangerously ill there. - -After he took his degree, Vaughan had worked with Pasteur in Paris -for some time at the table next Professor Sophus Torop. They thus -became friends, and when my brother wished to complete some original -scientific work of his own, Professor Torop kindly offered him space in -his huge laboratories at Christiania if he cared to use them. Thither -he went. A cut on his hand ended in serious blood-poisoning, and a -terrifying telegram suggesting amputation of the right arm was the -first intimation we had of the illness. - -It was afternoon. Someone must go to Norway. Norway in winter! Yes, -Norway covered with snow and ice: its rivers, fjords, waterfalls, and -lakes all frozen: its mountains cloaked with purest snow: its people -swathed in fur. - -My father was too tied by his profession to leave. My mother was not -equal to so perilous a journey. My husband was away in Scotland on -business, so I undertook the expedition. It was considered too wild -an undertaking for me, a young woman, to do quite alone, so my people -insisted that my sister, then a little girl, should accompany me. - -Three hours later we started, not in the least knowing how we were ever -going to get to Christiania, as the winter was particularly severe, -and for months the great naval station at Kiel had been completely -ice-bound. We had the most exciting time crossing from Kiel to Korsör -in the first boat that had ventured through the ice for twelve weeks, -and so bad did the passage finally become that we were forced to get -out and walk. - -Crossing an ice-floe was somewhat interesting and certainly exciting, -and walking on one’s feet from Denmark to Sweden was a queer experience. - -Sometimes we stumbled through slush across ice-hummocks between two -and three feet thick. At other times we got into lumbersome ice-boats -and were pulled by sailors with feet properly swathed for the purpose. -Occasionally the boat would slide into an ice-crack, and, though the -passengers remained dry, the wretched men dragging the craft suffered -unexpected cold baths. - -We passed encampments on the ice, with people living calmly there, -from whom we learnt that various venturesome travellers, thinking they -could cross the frozen belt without proper guides, had started off on -foot. Then fog or mist overtook them and they lost their way, or, being -fatigued, they sat down to rest and were frozen into their eternal -sleep. Others slipped and lost their lives in the ice-cracks. Two or -three such deaths were matters of weekly occurrence that severe winter. - - * * * * * - -We were met in Christiania at six o’clock in the morning by Dr. Nansen, -who came to tell us that our brother’s hand had been saved, and though -he was still seriously ill, they hoped all immediate danger was past. - -We nursed him and finally took him away to the mountains, where there -was snow ten feet deep, to recoup after his illness. - -Our experiences were so delightful that we returned to Norway a -couple of years later for the fun of the thing, and I took a number -of photographs. The Lady Brilliana Harley must have been at my elbow, -I think, as I only did the thing as a joke and to amuse myself at the -time. I had found ski so exciting a sport, I wanted others to know -about its joys. Strange to say, however, no newspaper would take my -photographs of ski. “They had never heard of such a sport, they did not -wish to hear of such a sport—one which would never be the slightest -interest to English people,” and so on. Who would believe this, when, -only fifteen years later, the windows of London sporting outfitters are -filled with _ski_ in the winter months, and great numbers of young men -and women have tried Skilübling themselves? Do not our English people -go out to Switzerland in thousands and tens of thousands every year -for this very purpose? While, after all, Norway is preferable in winter. - -When I took up my pen professionally, I pegged away, and I wrote and -wrote and wrote. Other people began to be interested, so I contributed -the first snow-shoe articles to the _Encyclopædia of Sport_, and -newspapers and magazines galore. - -At that time in Christiania, and later on when we returned for -snow-shoeing, Society was very simple, but very interesting. Night -after night at parties we met such men as Nansen, Ibsen, Björnson, -Leys the poet, and Ilef Petersen the artist. There were no grand -dinners, just simple little supper-parties, beer and milk being the -chief beverages, with one hot dish and many delicious cold compounds. -The daughter of the house, more or less, waited at table. Everything -was simplicity itself, but brains and talent, wit and humour were -omnipresent. - -The greatest personality of all this group was undoubtedly Björnson. He -was one of the finest men, both in appearance and brain, that I have -ever met, and I have met many great men. - -I made a few notes, remembered much more; and finally, when friends -begged me to write a volume of these travels, I wrote _A Winter Jaunt -to Norway_. It went into two or perhaps three editions, but that was -only as a _hors d’œuvre_. It contained personal chapters upon such -people as Nansen and the latter-day dramatists of Norway, Ibsen and -Björnson. Ibsen had not then the cult that he immediately afterwards -acquired, and it is curious now to read of the hostility which his -writings provoked. Sir Edwin Saunders wrote to me: - - “You have gone far to sweeten Ibsen, which is no ordinary - achievement.” - -Mr. W. C. Miller, the editor of the _Educational Times_, wrote: - - “Some time I propose to try Ibsen again, when, I dare say, I shall - be reviled (once more) almost as if I were advocating robbery and - murder.” - -One appreciates most the compliments of one’s own fellow-countrymen. -But the foreigner is charming, so frank and free, so naïve. How could -a young writer be otherwise than pleased to receive this letter from a -Norwegian? - - “How well you bring out the poetry of winter in your Norway book! - I think you are more of a poet than you know of yourself. I think, - too, that you are a born story-teller. I never knew anyone seize - so quickly and unerringly the spirit of those Icelandic tales. I - believe you could modernise one of the Sagas so as to make it as - interesting to a modern reader as a novel. I have an unbounded - belief in you. - - “Yours truly, - - “J. STEFANSSON.” - -Even as I write, the vision of Ibsen’s simple home, his plebeian wife, -and the old man seated at his desk with his little dolls laid out -before him, comes floating over the space of years. - -A most unromantic figure, surely! though at the end of his life Ibsen -formed an attachment for a young girl which was tenfold returned -by her. He was, notwithstanding the rough exterior, an amorous old -gentleman, fond of squeezing ladies’ hands and whispering pretty things -into their ears, so I was not so surprised as some of his admirers on -this side seem to have been. - -He was hardly dead before a little book appeared in German, its title -being _Ibsen. With Unpublished Letters to a Friend_, by Georg Brandes. -The friend was the girl. There were twelve letters, including a set of -album verses and the dedication of a photograph. The romance came about -in this wise. - -In the late summer of 1889 Ibsen and his family spent a holiday in the -Tyrolese watering-place Gossensass, where they made the acquaintance -of a young Viennese girl who was also staying there. She was eighteen -years of age, the poet sixty-one; but that wide disparity did not -prevent a warm friendship springing up between them, which apparently -was cultivated more assiduously on her side than on his, and was -eventually brought to a close, as far as overt manifestations were -concerned at any rate, by his decision. On separating, the dramatist -gave her a copy of his photograph, on the back of which was written: - - “To the May sun of a September life—in the Tyrol; 27-9-89.—HENRIK - IBSEN.” - -By the following February Ibsen was already troubled in his mind over -the development which the friendship was taking. He wrote: - - “Long, very long, have I let your last dear letter lie, read it - and read it again, without sending you an answer. Please accept my - most heartfelt thanks in a few words. And henceforward, till we - see one another personally, you will hear from me by letter little - and seldom. Believe me—it is better so. It is the only right thing - to do. I feel it a matter of conscience to put a stop to this - correspondence with you, or, at any rate, to restrict it.... You - will understand all this as I have meant it. And if we meet again - I will explain exactly. Till then and for ever you remain in my - thoughts. And that all the more if this troublesome letter-writing - causes no disturbance. A thousand greetings. - - “Your - - “HENRIK IBSEN.” - -In spite of Ibsen’s entreaties his young friend continued to send him -letters, and a little present accompanied one of them at the close of -1890. He replied: - - “I have safely received your dear letter. Also the bell with the - lovely picture. I thank you for them from my heart. My wife, too, - thinks the picture is very well painted. Soon I will send you my - new play. Receive it in friendship—but in silence. - - “Your ever devoted - - “HENRIK IBSEN.” - -That was the end of the letter-writing. They never saw one another -again after the meeting in the Tyrol, and from then the Viennese girl -kept silence. Only once did she break it—on the poet’s seventieth -birthday, in 1898, when she sent him a congratulatory telegram. Three -days later she received from him a photograph, on the back of which was -written: - - “The summer in Gossensass was the happiest, the most beautiful in - my life. Hardly dare to think of it. And yet must always—always.” - -So Love came tapping at the window of the old gentleman who had -described Youth knocking at the door. - -_A Winter’s Jaunt to Norway_ the papers unanimously described as -“lively” and “breezy,” and its proud parent began to feel as if she had -discovered the home of the winds. - -A few years later the solid meal followed—the notes were served up as -soup, re-served as fish for the papers, and took more solid form as -meat for the magazines. Memory was called upon in all kinds of ways -and on all kinds of Scandinavian subjects as puddings for the Press, -so these little trips for pleasure became invested capital and bore -good interest. I became an authority on Northern lands, and for years -was written to, or telegraphed to, or ’phoned to for copy on like -subjects. I was asked to review somebody else’s Norway book; to join a -Norwegian Club; to supply someone with a teacher of Norsk literature, -and be interviewed for “galleries” of travellers or sportswomen. One -gentleman, whom I unfortunately did not see, but of whose industry I -remain an unceasing admirer, wrote an admirable four-column interview -with me, entirely from his own imagination. - -It always pays to master something well, and it is strange how one -comes across things again and again through life. When I had been very -ill in 1909, and was ordered to Woodhall Spa for a course of baths, the -delightful Bath-chair man who conveyed me to the pump-room, suddenly -exclaimed, “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you the Mrs. Alec Tweedie that -writes?” - -“Yes,” I replied. - -“I wondered if you were immediately I heard your name,” he said, -“because I owe you a lot, ma’am.” - -“Owe me?” I asked. - -“Yes,” he said, “seven or eight years ago there was a sale near here -and a lot of books were sold. I bought a dozen old copies of _Murray’s -Magazine_ for a shilling, and a shilling meant a good deal to me in -those days, but reading meant more. In them I read articles by you on -Nansen, Björnson, and those Norwegian fellows, and I got so interested -in Norwegian literature and the North Pole that I have read everything -about them I have been able to lay my hands on ever since. The Squire -has been awfully good in lending me his books on Arctic travel, and if -it had not been for you I should never have begun to take an interest -in such things.” - -It was really quite touching. How little one knows when one takes up -one’s pen what good or ill those inky scratches may do. - -On the heels of _A Winter’s Jaunt to Norway_, written for pleasure, -came _Wilton, Q.C., or Life in a Highland Shooting-Box_, written for -gain, which _The Times_ was kind enough to praise for its _instruction_ -as well as amusement, saying the author appeared to have a sound -knowledge of all varieties of the chase. This was the outcome of those -sporting articles in the _Queen_ written when I used to follow the -guns with my husband. It was followed by a booklet on _Danish versus -English Butter-making_, reprinted from the _Fortnightly Review_. This -subject interested me so greatly that it was most cheering to find -the big “dailies” taking up with zest my lecture to our slack farmers -at home. A leading article in the _Daily Telegraph_ said, “Those of -our readers who wish to learn how the thrifty, hardy, and industrious -Danes have grown rich during the last quarter of a century we refer to -Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s instructive exegesis.” And the _Review of Reviews_ -affirmed, “It is a discourse much needed in the present day by our -agriculturists.” But I am running too far ahead. Life is often ruled by -chance, and that Danish subject which brought so much _kudos_ at the -time was taken up by chance because of a stray remark at a big dinner -in Copenhagen. - -Apropos of the simplicity of life in Norway, it was rather amusing -to note the despair and worry caused over the dress allowance of the -maids-of-honour appointed to attend upon the young English Princess, -who had, in 1906, but recently taken her seat upon the throne of Norway. - -It was decided that a certain amount of Court etiquette must be kept -up. Accordingly, a high official from the Court of St. James’s went -over to Christiania to see what could be done. It is a rule that a -maid-of-honour should be paid a sum sufficient to dress upon, a sum -which in England amounts to £300 a year, although a maid-of-honour -is no longer given a thousand pounds as a marriage portion; all she -carries away is her badge, with permission to wear it as a brooch since -it is no longer required as an Order. - -Being anxious to make all arrangements as satisfactorily as possible -the Englishman visited a well-known gentleman in the capital, who had -several daughters and went much into Society. Touching the subject, he -asked, “What would be a reasonable figure for a Norwegian girl to dress -upon?” and explained his reason for wishing to know. - -“Well,” said the likewise exalted Scandinavian official, “I have three -daughters, and as they go out a good deal, and I am particular that -they should always look nice, I am afraid I am a little extravagant in -their allowance and give them each twenty-five pounds a year.” - -“Twenty-five pounds a year!” exclaimed the Britisher, amazed. - -“Well, you see,” continued the Norwegian, evidently fearing that his -visitor was shocked at the magnitude of the amount, “an ordinary young -lady here would dress on fifteen or seventeen pounds a year, and, of -course, some people do think the allowance I give my daughters somewhat -excessive.” - -The Englishman, evidently more surprised, proceeded to explain that a -_dame-d’honneur_ would have to dress more expensively than an ordinary -young lady; besides, there would be an occasional visit to London, or -some other capital, when new clothes would be required. - -So these two good, kind creatures put their heads together, and, -hovering between the hundred pounds offered by the Britisher and the -fifty suggested by the Norwegian, decided that seventy-five pounds a -year would be ample. - -Norway was amazed at the magnitude of the sum. For a young lady to have -seventy-five pounds a year to put upon her back was astounding. But -the young ladies soon discovered that they were expected to dress for -dinner every night, a social custom unknown in their experience; and -before the year had run out, they had learnt that their allowance was -as little as they could clothe themselves upon as maids-in-waiting to -the Queen of Norway. - -It was pleasant, when I paid my last visit to Norway in 1910, to -hear how popular our English Princess and her Danish husband had made -themselves. - -Norway is poor, but delightful. - -Life on lentils and beans can be quite pleasant; but perhaps the -proletariat may deny us even these luxuries. - -Demos may decree that all men and women not employed on manual labour -are “waste products,” and to work or to die will be demanded of them, -work being to Demos a purely physical action. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -“THE TENDER GRACE OF A DAY THAT IS DEAD” - - -Those early days of married life were very gay. We entertained -tremendously. We went out enormously. We lived in a perfect social -whirl. I enjoyed the privilege of wearing pretty frocks at luncheons, -dinners, and dances; of riding in the morning, and driving a Park -phaeton and pair of cobs in the afternoon, followed by two brown -collies, given me by Sir John Kinloch of Kinloch. One, “Ruby” by name, -went everywhere with me, and, clinging to her coat as she perambulated -round the dining-room, my babies learnt to walk. They were a pretty -sight, those two small boys in Lord Fauntleroy suits, tumbling about on -the hearth with the long-haired red collies. - -How I loved going to Ascot and Goodwood, taking people down, or being -taken down, always feeling I could help to make things “go” and amuse -people. Then the dinners; we had eight or ten to dine every Sunday -night, quite informally, but as we usually lunched out and were away -all day, we used to do this in the evenings. All sorts of charming -people came, and I never enjoyed myself more than in the capacity -of a hostess. Alec sang well, and we collected good musicians about -us; Madame Lemmens-Sherrington, Madame Antoinette Sterling, George -Grossmith, Corney Grain, Eugene Oudin, all went to the piano in turn. - -My husband was member of a dozen golf clubs, including St. Andrews, -Wimbledon, and Sandwich; and we took houses for odd months on different -links for the benefit of the children, who were looked after by two -excellent nurses, while we ran down to see them for week-ends or -slipped over to Paris for a few days. - -We went to shooting parties in the autumn, to race-meetings in the -spring, were members of Sandown and Hurst Park, were constantly at -Ranelagh or Hurlingham, kept a couple of boats on the river (the river -was the height of fashion in the ’nineties) and generally enjoyed -ourselves. - - * * * * * - -As a rule, we always lunched at the old Harley-Street house on Sundays -when we were in town, went to all the theatres, and, in fact, lived a -thoroughly happy, gay, social life, with no thought for the morrow. - -I still kept up my painting, did a quantity of embroidery from my own -designs for bedspreads, sideboard cloths, babies’ bonnets, or lapels of -dresses; once and again wrote a little, but the business of existence -was more amusement, and fun and spending, rather than making money and -saving. - -Everything seemed gay and bright and I found life one continual joy. - -Let Youth be happy and gay. It is the time to be irresponsible and -light-hearted. Years bring soberness. Life makes us wonder if the game -is worth the struggle. I suppose it comes to all of us at times to wish -to run away and hide ourselves as Tolstoi did. The rebellion of youth -against home restraint returns again in later years as the rebellion of -age against life’s thraldom. - -And then, when the sky was blue, the bolt fell. We had been married -eight years. - -Suddenly all was changed. My husband had joined a syndicate. The -syndicate failed. He had lost—lost heavily. Lost his capital. - - * * * * * - -Immediately our household was reduced to modest limits. Our -drawing-room was shut up, three servants dismissed, the horses sold. -For the first time in my life I was without a carriage. But, as Alec -was sure of earning money again shortly, we did not part with anything -which this income would make possible to keep. - -Then a wonderful thing happened. A very dear old friend came to me. - -“Ethel,” he said, “I am more than sorry, my dear child, for all that -has happened, but your husband will go back to business and all will be -well; meantime put that in your bank to tide you over and keep things -going as a weapon to fight fate.” - -It was a cheque for two thousand pounds. Imagine my amazement, imagine -my pride at having a friend willing to make such a sacrifice; but, of -course, I did not take it. I could not take it, although I thanked him -from the bottom of my heart and promised if the necessity really came I -would go to him. - -To give in one’s lifetime is true generosity, to bequeath after death -is often merely convenience. - - * * * * * - -But my husband never smiled again. Overpowered by grief at the position -in which he had placed his wife and children, he died six months later -in his sleep; died simply of a broken heart. - -He was followed on the same journey only a few weeks later by my -father, who passed away quite as suddenly, with the ink still wet on -the paper of an article he was writing for the _Lancet_. He never -finished his article, neither had he altered an old will as he had -intended. - - * * * * * - -Three shocks had thus each followed the other in quick succession -without time to recover from one before the next came, and so in little -more than half a brief year the once happy daughter, wife, and mother -stood alone, stunned, reduced to comparative poverty, with children -clinging to her skirts. The two breadwinners of the family had gone out -almost together. - - * * * * * - -There was not time to think and mourn and let precious moments go by. -Something must be done. There was I with about as much to live on as I -used to spend on my dress. - -Then my old dear friend came back to me. - -“I admired your pride and your pluck six months ago,” he said, “when -you had a husband beside you to fight for you. But now, my dear child, -you are alone and you have the children to think of. I wish you to go -to your bank and put that two thousand pounds to your credit; and, more -than that, I wish to adopt you as my daughter.” - -It was all so bewildering, so strange. I had known him all my life. -He was one of my father’s oldest friends. His wife had always been -charming to me and she had left me bits of jewellery when she died; -but again I had to refuse. He had relations. I could not claim that -privilege. Still he persisted. - -“You have always been like a daughter to me—to us—and now I want to -claim the right to provide for you and your children.” - -Still I refused. I promised again to go to him if ever I was in real -need; but I took nothing. - -When he died others inherited all he had. - - * * * * * - -There are only two crimes in Society: one to be poor, the other to be -found out. - -It seems to me that everything in life is relative. If one is born -poor, one does not know what it is to be rich, and if one is rich, one -does not understand the responsibilities of strawberry leaves, and -strawberry leaves do not comprehend the difficulties of a throne. - -If things change, if one goes up in the world, one naturally -assimilates ideas and ways by merely taking on a little more of what -one already has; but if one slides back in life, one has to give up -what is part and parcel of one’s very existence. I was not born in a -back street or a country cottage or a suburban villa—in either of these -I might have lived in simple comfort on my small income—but that would -not have been _me_. - - * * * * * - -Bills came in on every side. Bills haunted me. Bills were nothing in my -old life when they were paid up every quarter; but even a few hundreds -meant sleepless nights of haunting fear to me now. - -I took up my pen feverishly. Nine years of married life were ended. All -was changed. Still, during those first few months of shock, my father -yet lived, and I knew I could rely on his help, so it was not until the -late autumn of 1896 that I realised my position in all its cruelty. - - * * * * * - -Pause, readers, not to give me your sympathy, not to shed tears on what -is past, but to think of the future; pause and think, and pave the -paths for your daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters by settlements. - -Yes, _settlements_. It is a cruel thing to let a girl leave a home -without a safeguard in proportion to the income of her family. It is a -crueller thing to bring boys and girls into the world with insufficient -provision for their education and maintenance. - -This little book of a woman’s work will have served a good end if one -father, husband, son, or brother, sees what opportunities were lost by -no adequate provision being made for its author, when this could so -easily have been done. Settlements of some sort are as necessary as the -marriage ring, a health certificate is as important as the marriage -lines. - -I feel strongly that every child born should have some kind of -provision made for its education and maintenance and to give it a start -in life. Both boys and girls should be treated exactly alike. - - * * * * * - -The unexpected change in my position showed me how kind the world can -be; how good and generous the bulk of humanity is. There are certainly -exceptions, and those generally where they should not be. But one -does not think of them: one turns to the geniality and little acts of -thoughtfulness that day by day come from friends in the truest sense of -the word, and I can only wish that mine could realise to what extent -they have greased the wheels of these working years. Little kindnesses -are like flowers by the roadside or sun-gleams on a rainy day. - - - - -PART IV - -WIDOWHOOD AND WORK - -[Illustration: - - _From a photograph by Lombardi & Co._ - -WHEN FIRST A WIDOW] - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WIDOWHOOD AND WORK - -_Labor omnia vincit_ - - -Alone! - -’Tis often harder to live than to die. - -Schopenhauer says happiness is only a delusion of youth and childhood; -anyway, my work now began. Hard work; collar-work, uphill and -unceasing. The work of a professional woman, not the pleasant dipping -into the inkpot as amateur fancy led. - -Despite advice showered on me I refused to give up my “home.” Many -things were sold, the carriages and saddles among them, but I stuck to -the “home.” The old family silver was sent to the bank, the ancestors’ -china packed away; the house was let for two years until the worker -should feel her feet. But those two years were destined to be more than -doubled before I should sit down once more on my own hearth, among my -beloved household gods. - -Now that I had to face the world on my own and take up my pen -seriously, the few pounds that dilettante work had brought in before—to -be distributed in charity—must be doubled and quadrupled. - - * * * * * - -A school-fellow—the native of Finland whom I have already mentioned—was -staying with us in England that spring. She had often talked of her -wonderful country—her beloved Suomi—with its eight hundred miles of -coastline, and literally thousands of islands, ranging in size from -tiny rocks to habitable portions of land. She had often done her best -to persuade us to go there, but it seemed a long way and there was no -particular reason for the journey. Now, when my husband had passed -away, she persuaded me anew to pack my trunk and accompany her to -Finland. Change of scene and thought would be good for me, and I could -gather material for a book. We started within a week, and thus, on -a brilliant morning early in June, in 1896, our vessel steamed into -Helsingfors. - -My friend was connected with some of the oldest families in Finland, -and great and wonderful was the hospitality we—my sister and I—received -upon her native shores. We were there for some months. We wandered -north, south, east, and west. We slept in a haunted, deserted -castle, which stood alone on a rocky island, round which the current -made endless whirlpools. We roved through districts where milk and -eggs and black bread were the only food procurable; we went to the -fashionable watering-place Hangö, and there were entertained on a -Russian man-of-war. We saw the Kokko fires lighted on Midsummer’s Eve; -we watched the process of emptying the salmon nets at five o’clock in -the morning and packing the fish for transport to St. Petersburg. We -heard the Runo singers, those weird folk who, by word of mouth, have -kept alive the Finnish legends from generation to generation. We saw -forests burnt; and I tried an ant-heap bath, which is a Finnish remedy -for rheumatism and such-like ills. We plodded along the stony path to -Russia. We stayed at a monastery at Lake Ladoga, and, above all, we -descended in tar-boats the famous rapids between Russia and the Gulf of -Bothnia, which was perhaps one of the most exciting events in my life—a -life which has not been altogether devoid of excitement. - -No one can dream of the pleasure and nervous strain of rushing through -curdling water for six miles at a stretch over huge waves, in a fragile -craft, at breakneck speed. - -Six miles, with a new experience every second. Six miles, when every -bend, every mile, may be the last. Turning and twisting between piles -of rocks, running down like precipices to the water’s side, from which -one could feel the drops of water as they splashed over our little -craft, or when a great wave struck it and threw a volume of water into -our laps. We felt almost inclined to shriek at the speed with which -we were flying those rapids. Wildly we tore past the banks, when, lo! -what was that? A broken tar-boat, now a scattered mass of beams, which -only a few short hours before had carried passengers like ourselves. -In spite of the wonderful dexterity of the pilots such accidents -sometimes happen. The steersman of that boat had ventured a little -too near a hidden rock and his frail craft was instantly shattered -to pieces, the tar barrels bubbling over the water like Indian corn -over a fire. The two occupants had luckily been saved, as they were -sufficiently near the water’s edge to allow a rope to be thrown. - -Yes, these rapids, of which there are several, the largest being -thirteen miles long at Pyhakoski, represent an enormous force of -nature, and, to descend them, shows a wonderful example of what great -skill and a cool head can do to steer a frail boat through such -turbulent waters and such cataracts. - -I tremble now when I think of those awful nights in Finland. Sleep had -deserted me. I used to steal from my bed in the small hours, when I -could toss about no more, and, throwing on a dressing-gown, slip out -on to the balcony. How perfect it all was, that great high dome of -sky so light that one could barely see a star, so warm that sun and -moon fought for pre-eminence. No one who has not really seen them can -know the glory of those Northern nights both in winter and in summer. -In winter the glory of the darkness and the aurora borealis (Northern -Lights), in summer the perfection of colour and light. I have seen them -on four or five different occasions. Beautiful as is the South, the -night of the Arctic is still more wondrous. It is so still, so calm, so -vast. - -There on the balcony, listening to the grasshoppers and watching the -reds and yellows of the midnight sun, I would dream waking dreams. -Could I really write professionally? Could I earn sufficient to send my -boys to school and keep a home, ought I to risk it, or should I decide, -as so many friends wished, to part myself from all my old ties and -treasures, and live in seclusion on my little income in a cottage or a -suburb? It was a great fight. Six months of anxiety and two terrible -shocks had weakened me and made me distrust myself. - -Yes, even now I shiver when I think of those nights. Nights of -wakefulness after a hard working day. Napoleon, Wellington, and Grant -could all sleep at a moment’s notice, even on the battlefield, the -result of will-power and habit. I wished I could acquire the gift. - -Was it possible that I, a woman of no particular education, no -particular gift as far as I knew, could become one of the army of -workers? - -That an occupation was necessary, I resolved. I had no money to enjoy -my old world, not enough to keep up my old home. There were debts to -be paid. The children must be properly educated, something must be -done—Ah—but what? - -Should I turn to the stage? There I felt fairly sure of success. -I could walk, talk, move as a lady, knew how to recite and speak; -besides, had I not had that girlish offer when I was less capable than -now? - -In the early ’eighties Mrs. J. H. Riddell, the then fashionable -novelist, started a magazine called _Home_. Looking back, I fancy -she wrote a good deal of the copy herself, anyway, it was fairly -successful, and amongst other articles was one called “Here and There,” -by an Idle Man. This gives in a few words her impressions of my -performance as a girl in the schoolroom. - - - _THEATRICALS_ - - - “SWEETHEARTS.” - - A Dramatic Contrast, by W. S. GILBERT. - - - ACT I - - _Garden Scene—Early Spring, 1849._ - - Harry Spreadbrow (the Young Lover) SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY, BART. - Wilcox (the Old Gardener) GENERAL ANDERSON. - Jenny Northcott MISS ETHEL B. HARLEY. - - - ACT II - - _The Fall of the Leaf, after a lapse of Thirty Years._ - - Sir Henry Spreadbrow SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY, BART. - (an Old Indian Judge) - Miss Northcott MISS ETHEL B. HARLEY. - Ruth (her maid-servant) MISS MAUD HOLT (afterwards - LADY BEERBOHM TREE). - - - Scenery painted by Miss Ethel B. Harley, Proscenium by General - Anderson. - - - Number 25, Harley Street, is the residence of Doctor George Harley, - F.R.S., the mention of whose name will at once recall to the - readers of _Home_ “My Ghost Story”—so weird a narrative that, to my - thinking, it was a pity to mar its dramatic effect by explanation. - To the general public, he is better known by the results of his - labours in the field of medical science; but it is only his friends - who are aware of his large experience, his wide knowledge, and - his untiring efforts to make the age in which he lives wiser, - happier, better. Though still, comparatively speaking, young, he - has been on terms of intimacy with most of the men of the Victorian - era, whose memories (alas! we live fast now and the great die too - soon) will never be forgotten while the English language remains - to tell of their achievements; and his conversation teems with - anecdotes concerning famous beauties, authors, artists, statesmen, - millionaires. No pleasanter hour could be spent than in hearing his - kindly appreciative talk concerning “People I have known.” - -His observation of the habits of animals also has been marvellous. I -never recollect reading anything which conveyed so vivid a picture to -my mind, as his verbal description of a lake haunted by wild swans in -Scotland. - -At the door of his house, then, do we find ourselves. - -Such a day! the rain pouring down in torrents, the sky leaden, the -earth soppy, all cabs engaged, all trains full, all omnibuses wretched. - -But once across the hospitable threshold, life casts its cloud-tints, -and sunshine seems to reign. - -We go upstairs. Can this possibly be the remembered drawing-room? It -is parted off from door to window, the side next the hearth being -converted into the stage, and the larger half admirably arranged for -the accommodation of the spectators. - - * * * * * - -So, the lover comes to say farewell, and the young lady’s manner will -not let him say more. One does not quite like—at least an old fogey -like myself, with ideas as much out of fashion as his coat, hesitates, -even in such an exclusive publication as _Home_—to talk about the -charms of a living maiden in print; but yet in some future happy time -Miss Harley may like to show eyes still younger and brighter than her -own are now, the impression she produced upon one not too impressible. -Most fair, most sweet, most lovable. With respect as profound as our -admiration is deep we write this sentence. We look and wonder. So -young, so gifted! - - * * * * * - -And now we all go downstairs again, to find Wilcox—who we had fancied -was dead—alive, and looking exactly as he did thirty years ago, -handling meringues and jellies to the ladies, and suggesting coffee, -sherry, claret-cup. It is all very pretty and very pleasant. Our last -memory, ere we go out into the rain again, is of Jenny Northcott’s -lovely face, and our hostess’s kindly farewell; and so we take our -leave, feeling—well, we scarcely know how we feel! - -At one moment the stage flashed through my mind, but the stage had -serious disadvantages my friends at the top of the tree told me. Supers -can generally get work, stars can’t. Of course, I hoped to be a star, -we all do, and then those kind friends told me of the weary months, -perhaps years, without work of those who have reached the top and for -whom there are no suitable parts—years of long-drawn-out waiting, -ironically called “resting.” - -A very amusing account of some theatricals we had the following year, -for which Weedon Grossmith and I painted the scenery, appeared in a -little book by L. F. Austin, the predecessor of Chesterton on the -_Illustrated London News_—Beerbohm Tree supervised the performance, -and his young wife took part. - -Should I take up painting seriously? My love of colour and form, the -fact that I had exhibited a little without lessons, seemed to point to -the possibility of my doing more if I studied. - -Then again, a hat shop was no impossible means of livelihood, with my -huge connection of friends. - -Or, should I give up everything, give up the battle, and just live -quietly in a small cottage somewhere and look after chickens? - -Weeks rolled on in Finland, the notes for the book were made; parts of -it were written in steamers or on railway trains, bundles of material -had been collected for subsequent articles, and, most important of all, -my mind was made up. _I was going to write._ - -By the time we had knocked about Finland for three or four months I -was worn out, from worry, work, anxiety as to the future, and want of -sleep. Many people in England do not realise that the midnight sun -shines in Finland no less than in northern Norway, and the perpetual -sense of light is wearying, inexpressibly so sometimes, to the brain. - -However, the notes were taken. I was steeped in the customs, habits, -thoughts, and scenery of Finland, but, more important than all the -rest, I had entered Finland in deepest sorrow, my mind had now been -made up, flame-like—imagination had decided I would write—my spirit -emerged in the house of life. - -Artistic life is, after all, self-development, and self-development and -outward expression lay before me in my newly sought profession. Cruel -doubts crept in; but the flame of desire was burning, and again and -again I said to myself, “I _will_ write.” _Through Finland in Carts_ -appeared in 1897, the third edition came out three years later, and -others followed at intervals (now in Nelson’s 1/- library). - -On the borders of Lapland my resolution to become a scribe had -been made and my luck had turned. It was there I received the wire -containing an offer to take my house off my hands; and so began my -first “let.” Four years later, when strenuous effort had made it -possible, I went back to live in that same old home. It was a very -old-fashioned thing to do, because everybody lives in everybody else’s -house nowadays. The snobbish rich luxuriate in the castles of the -aristocratic poor, and the aristocratic poor curl themselves up in the -abandoned cottages of the self-made. But I reached my first goal when -I stepped across the threshold of my old home again. The accompanying -illustration, taken just after my husband’s death, is from a photograph -for which a paper asked on the appearance of _Finland_. The reason for -its not showing the conventional widow’s weeds—no crêpe and no veil—is -that I never wore these social brands, and my severe, unrelieved -black—a terrible breach of custom in the opinion of Jay’s forewoman—was -impossible, for reasons connected with the camera. Hence a dilemma! -Suddenly remembering my grandmother’s lace scarf and my sister’s new -bridesmaid’s hat, I donned both and went off to be “taken.” Hence this -photograph. - -When I returned to England, late in September, and York Terrace was -in other hands, I took a tiny country cottage in Buckinghamshire, and -retired there alone with my little boys of six and seven years of age -to write my book. - -This had barely been started, and the notes were still scattered over -the table and piled on the sofa, and the chapters had not yet been -formulated, when another dreadful telegram was put into my hands: My -father had fallen dead of apoplexy in his study. The second breadwinner -in the family had gone out. - -This made the third death in my circle of loved ones within four -months: my husband, my father, my more or less adopted father, Sir John -Erichsen—“dear Uncle John”—and my mother was very ill. - -Life seemed full of sorrow. - - * * * * * - -These were the sad circumstances under which _Finland_ was written. - - * * * * * - -Curious. Whilst so often my feelings during those days of journeying -were of exhaustion from insomnia, heat, mosquitoes, jolting vehicles, -and impossible beds, the papers were full of compliment on my “spirited -sprightliness,” on “the liveliness of observation and the humour -displayed by the narrator” whose pages were “full of entertainment -and instruction.” It must often be so in the lives of those who are -servants of the public. A smile and grin from actress or mountebank: -the sigh and tear when the curtain drops. - -A leading article in the _Liverpool Post_, a column and a half in -length, kindly said: - - “Very few English people visit Finland. There is a far-away sound - in the name. Probably the general idea of Finland in this country - is associated with thoughts of Polar bears and barbarity and - reindeer sledges in use all the year round. The task of disabusing - the English mind on this subject has fallen to a well-known and - popular English lady—Mrs. Alec Tweedie—whose latest book, entitled - _Through Finland in Carts_, has recently been published. In this, - Finland is extremely fortunate. No country and no people could find - a more capable champion. Not only is Mrs. Tweedie an experienced - traveller, whose intrepidity might well put many of the sterner sex - to the blush: she is also possessed of a remarkably keen faculty - for minute observation of men and manners and scenery; and a - power of expression and a literary style which are as strong and - convincing as they are easy and graceful. Her book has all the - interest of a well-told story; the vivacious charm of a volume of - personal reminiscences; the excitement of a book of adventure, - and the exactness and studious attention to necessary detail of - an official Blue Book. From this time forth let no one complain - that a journey to Finland is almost the only means of becoming - intimately acquainted with the country and its inhabitants. Mrs. - Alec Tweedie’s book—which ought to become a standard work on the - subject—is a contradiction of that notion. - - “It is worth a thought that—some would say as a result of the free - and equal footing of the sexes—the morality and virtue of the - people reaches the highest possible level. Divorce is not often - heard of. When it does occur, it is oftener through incompatibility - of temper than immorality. ‘Surely,’ says Mrs. Alec Tweedie, - ‘if two people find they have made a mistake, and are irritants - instead of sedatives to one another, they should not be left to - champ and fret like horses at too severe a bit, for all their - long, sad lives—to mar one another’s happiness, to worry their - children and annoy their friends. Finland shows us an excellent - example. The very fact of being able to get free makes folk less - inclined to struggle at their chains. Life is intolerable to Mrs. - Jones in Finland, and away she goes; at the end of a year Mr. - Jones advertises three times in the paper for his wife, or for - information that will lead to his knowing her whereabouts; no one - responds, and Mr. Jones can sue for and obtain a divorce without - any of those scandalous details appearing in the Press which are - a disgrace to English journalism.’ Whatever may be thought of - Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s plain words as to the facilities for divorce, - her remarks about the English Press do not quite convince the - journalistic mind. The Press has a public duty to perform, and if - it can be proved that the conscientious publication of ’scandalous - details’ is more likely to act as a deterrent to vice and crime - than would be the case if those details were suppressed, one should - pause before describing the course adopted by the majority of - English journals as a disgrace to the profession.... - - “We can only refer our readers to Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s pages, where - the inner life and the outer life of the Finns, their weaknesses - and their strong points, their advantages and their limitations, - are all revealed with the discreet thoroughness of an artist and - the kindliness and consideration and admiration and candour of a - friend.” - -And now journalism in turn began and that seriously. - -I found a list of editors and papers, scanned it carefully, and to the -most likely addressed manuscripts. On every possible and impossible -subject—very often the latter, be it known—I scribbled. Often the -manuscripts were returned, but equally often they were accepted, and -gradually this came to mean regular engagement. Thus, for years, I -turned out four, five, and six articles every week, many of them -signed. The front page of the _Pall Mall Gazette_ and the front page -of the _Queen_ were a constant source of employment, to say nothing of -other work on nearly every important paper at some time or the other. -I have written serious stuff for the magazines, topical stuff for the -dailies, and rubbish for the frivolous papers. - -I never had an introduction in my life and have rarely been inside -a newspaper office. My work was done from my own writing-table and -entirely by correspondence; for, in my belief, if the material is -worth taking it will find its own market, and no amount of pushing or -introductions will be of the slightest avail. - -Penmanship means hard brain-fagging work with little gain in -proportion. A well-known writer once told me one of his big important -books brought him exactly thirteen pounds. - -I still remember with what joy I read a leader in the _Daily Telegraph_ -on a magazine article of mine. It then seemed so great and wonderful to -be mentioned in a leader; next to which recollection comes my pride on -seeing book reviews with my own name above them in the literary page -of that literary paper, the _Daily Chronicle_. These little vanities -were the recompense for the dreary hours of work, when one’s head ached -and one’s eyes felt hot and swollen and one’s brain seemed on fire or -asleep. - -What years of anxiety some of those were, when the house would not -let and the bills would come in! Tenant succeeded tenant, and between -whiles I wandered. - -Later, when I returned to the old home, I took a boarder. In -polite society people talk of “paying guests.” I prefer the true -term—“lodger.” She was an old lady with a title, nearly blind, and had -her maid. They were with me for two years. I used to work all day, -and read aloud, trim her caps, or chat to her in the evening. She -very rarely had a meal outside the house, so there was a good deal to -arrange for her in my otherwise busy life. - -My old lady came into an unexpected fortune and left. - -Little boys home from school had to be fed at meals, amused between tea -and dinner during that precious “children’s hour,” and I often left my -bed in the morning, to begin another strenuous day, more tired than I -had entered it the previous night. - -But mediocrity and determination succeeded where genius and inspiration -might have failed. - -One rule, and a very good rule, for success is never to let one’s self -get out of hand. If anybody cannot rule himself, he cannot rule his -life. - -Age has nothing to do with success. Byron, Burns, and Shelley all wrote -priceless gems in youthful years, and, on the other hand, Samuel Smiles -never took up his pen until he was past forty, and was then read by -millions all over the world and translated into a dozen languages. - -Often in those days I longed for my old world. I was too proud to -tell people I could not afford a cab, and a bus fare was often -a consideration. My beautiful evening dresses were out of date. -Opera-cloaks and tea-gowns were laid aside in tissue paper—quite -inappropriate for a journalist living in a country cottage. I used to -long for a night at a theatre, a whirling dance, a day on the river. -But no, life was one round of work, work, work. Thoughtless friends, -out of the kindness of their heart, invited me to stay with them. -Wealth of gold often accompanies poverty of mind. They thought they -were helping me—they had not brains to see I could not afford the -ticket to Scotland, the clothes necessary for them and their guests, or -the stupendous tips required in large households—a life of pleasure now -seemed to me merely fierce misery. What time I could spare from my work -I spent resting, often in bed. Worn out mentally, bodily repose seemed -the only way of re-stoking the engine for a further pull uphill. - -Invitation after invitation had to be refused because I could not -afford the expense nor the time. A great barrier had arisen between -me and my old world. How I regretted I had not done even more than -I had done for people less dowered than myself in the past! And yet -Alec and I had often sent a bank-note in an envelope to a sick or poor -friend. Then, yes then, the reward came. The thoughtless rich, with -all their kindly but useless offers of hospitality, left me alone, and -the others—those who were really worth knowing—sought me out. Well I -remember a first-class return ticket to Scotland being pinned, as if by -chance, on the top of the letter which invited me to a shooting-box. -Another time some friends asked me to go abroad with them _as their -guest_, and treated me as their most honoured friend. Boxes came for -the theatres, and the note accompanying them asked at what hour I would -like the carriage to fetch me, or motors were lent me to shop or call. -It was all to save me expense, I knew; but done so nicely, and showing -so keenly the determination to give me a good time and save my slender -purse. These were the acts of true gentlefolk—the vaunted offers of -visits that meant hundreds of pounds’ worth of clothes and ten pounds’ -worth of tickets and tips were mere pretence, merely salves to the soul -of the sender of the invitation, that he or she was doing something -kind, knowing all the time they were but dangling a fly from the world -I had lost, to the woman not yet sure of her new world or of herself. - -The creative mind is like a sensitive plant. It feels sorrow or joy -more acutely than its neighbour or it could not take in or give out -impressions. - -Everyone with initiative in the Arts is receptive. They are like -sensitive plates in a camera. They conceive and receive impressions. -Genius suffers, or it cannot expand, and poverty to genius is often -cruelly crushing. It paralyses output, or is a wild incentive to work -at the cost of double brain force. - -It would be so nice if all really clever people, people whose work -benefits mankind, could be saved the gnawing pains of poverty. - -Genius is often emotional, and there are just as many emotional men as -emotional women. I have seen as many tears lurking in men’s eyes as in -women’s in my day. God bless them for it—a person who cannot feel is -not human. - - * * * * * - -I went to all sorts of queer old eating-houses, doss-houses, lunatic -asylums, gaols, docks, slums, Jews’ markets, and Billingsgate, in my -pursuit of “copy”; always seeking something new. - -I began to wonder if money was the only thing that counted, and then—a -thousand times no. I realised that money was the only thing that -counted in the world of snobs—but did the world of snobs count at all? - -The words of Montaigne came back to me: “We commend a horse for his -strength and sureness of foot and not for his rich caparison; a -greyhound for his share of heels, not for his fine collar; a hawk for -her wing, not for her jesses and bells. Why in like manner do we not -value a man for what is properly his own? He has a great train, a -beautiful palace, so much credit, so many thousand pounds a year, and -all these are _about_ him, but not _in_ him.” - -A millionaire was one day sitting having tea with me, when I exclaimed: - -“I wonder what it feels like to be so rich?” - -He stared at me, as though puzzled that anyone should be in doubt. -“Often very disagreeable,” he replied. - -“Why?” - -“Well, one never knows who are one’s friends, because of one’s money; -or who would cut one to-morrow if it were lost!” - -Then he told me an experience which must certainly have been mortifying. - -“At a ball my wife and I gave recently I felt tired, and slipped down -to the supper-room for a glass of champagne and a sandwich. I sat for a -moment at a little table where two young men were sitting, and this is -what I heard: - -“‘Whose house is this?’ - -“‘Oh, one of those beastly rich African Jews, I’m told.’ - -“‘Do you know them?’ - -“‘Lord, no! I came with Lady M——.’ - -“‘And I came with Lady N——. Not a bad house, though. Champagne might -have been better.’ - -“Sick at heart, I looked at them, turned on my heel, and went upstairs. -A few minutes later they followed. I was standing talking to Lady M—— -as the pair sauntered up. - -“She caught one of them by the arm and said to him, ‘Oh, I must -introduce you to Mr. X——, our host.’ - -“I pulled myself together. ‘Thanks, there is no need; we met in the -supper-room a moment ago, and I had the pleasure of hearing his opinion -of my champagne.’ And having said that, I put out my hand and hoped he -was enjoying himself. You should have seen that young man’s face. - -“Is it pleasant to be rich? No!” - -He spoke so bitterly, one could not help feeling how often accumulated -wealth is merely luck, when it comes from the yield of the earth -or is the product of invention; but yet how often it comes through -Stock-Exchange knowledge, which not infrequently is another name for -organised robbery! - -In an earlier chapter I have alluded to my school-days at Queen’s -College, Harley Street. This was the first college opened for women, -and when it had been in existence fifty years (started 1848), I—as -an “old girl”—volunteered to edit a booklet giving a short account -of its history; and also suggested that other “old girls,” as an -encouragement to the younger generation, should contribute articles -describing their own particular professions, all of which were more or -less the outcome of the education they received in Harley Street. - -If I gave an honest account of the editing of that volume people -would laugh. Up to that time no careful register of “old girls” -had been kept. These were the initial days of women learning to be -business-like, I suppose, and if the girls’ names were known their -addresses were not forthcoming, or else nobody had any idea whether or -not the said “girls” were married. - -Persistency and dogged determination is rewarded in most things, and in -the end the first page of the little volume entitled: - - “THE FIRST COLLEGE OPEN TO WOMEN, - QUEEN’S COLLEGE, LONDON,” - -recorded the following contributions, among others (it appeared in -1898): - - Dorothea Beale, “Recollections of the Early Days - of Queen’s College.” - - Sophia Jex Blake, “The Medical Education of - Women.” - - Louisa Twining, “Workhouses and Pauperism.” - - Lady Beerbohm Tree, “Quick, thy tablets, memory!” - -Dr. Jex Blake was too busy to write her own articles, so I jotted down -the sort of thing I wanted and she filled in the facts and figures. - -Another good lady’s I entirely re-wrote; it was so impossible in the -form in which it was sent in. - -Some of the other contributors accepted the task gleefully, wrote to -the point, sent copy to date, returned their proofs the same day, and -otherwise showed the difference between an amateur and the professional -journalist. - -Several of my contributors seemed unaccustomed to writing for the -Press. One dear lady actually wrote to enquire how she would know when -she had written fifteen hundred words. She explained that a friend -had told her, that _she_ had a friend, who had another friend, who -thought that a column of a daily paper contained about three thousand -words, etc. etc. I suggested her writing a page and counting it, and -multiplying by the number of pages, but when the manuscript came back -the first page had been counted, and at the top of the second page -appeared, “Carried forward 162 words,” at the top of the third page, -“Carried forward 314 words,” and so on, as if it were the butcher’s -book. She had succeeded in life, but not as a scribe. - -Another insisted on writing something quite different from the subject -arranged and asked for. - -I had to sit in Maud Tree’s dressing-room at the Haymarket Theatre -during a performance of _Julius Cæsar_ to get her article out of her at -all. Not that she does not know how to write, for she is particularly -clever with her pen, as in many other things; but she has a little -trick of procrastination, so it was only by sitting beside her during -the “waits” and taking her ideas down on pieces of paper that we -managed the article. I know nothing of shorthand, unfortunately, so -the notes were somewhat scratchy and interlarded with remarks to her -dresser: “Give me my cloak,” “A little more rouge,” “Has the call-boy -been?” and so on. - -There are two classes of successful people: those who buy a reputation, -and those who make one. - -Each despises the other and nurses his own illusions. But, after all, -life would be deadly were it not for its illusions. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -WRITERS: SIR WALTER BESANT, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, MRS. RIDDELL, MRS. LYNN -LINTON - - -New! Why, there is nothing new. The only luck is to pitch on something -old enough to be forgotten. - -The writing profession is a hard and often underpaid one, but one thing -may be said, that writers are ever ready and willing to help each other. - -We can most of us testify to this by kindnesses received. - -Sir Walter Besant was the very embodiment of this spirit of -helpfulness, not only to me personally, but also to the literary world -at large, and it was he who conceived the idea of bringing this same -friendliness into a common centre by establishing the Incorporated -Society of Authors. - -Having touched on the toil, sorrows, and worries of “work,” it is -pleasant to pass on to the silver lining to the cloud. - -I cannot remember when I first met Sir Walter Besant, although two -or three meetings stand forth distinctly in the tangled web of -recollection. One of the many kind things he did for me was soon after -my election to the Society of Authors. A dinner was announced. I had -never been to a public dinner in my life, but as a member of that -august body I had a right to be present. - -Naturally wishing to go, I wrote a little letter to Sir Walter, saying -that I simply dared not go alone; did he know any lady who would join -forces with me? - -“I quite understand,” he replied; “you are young and new at the game, -and may bring any guest you like. If you take my advice you will let -it be a man, and not a woman, because, I think, you will have a better -evening’s enjoyment.” - -From that moment women writers were allowed a guest. - -Accordingly, with a man as my “chaperon,” I attended my first public -dinner. - -Afterwards, when I was in great anxiety as to ways and means of -obtaining a pension for the late Mrs. J. H. Riddell, I went one day -to see Besant at his office in Soho Square. He was surrounded—half -buried, in fact—by manuscripts, for he was then correcting his books -on London—the really joyful work of his literary life. Volumes strewed -the floor, volumes were stacked upon the writing-table, volumes lay -pell-mell on the chairs. In fact, there was nowhere to sit or stand; -London on paper filled the room. - -He quite sympathised with my difficult task, but said there was then no -fund available to which one could apply; and I asked if it would not be -possible to form, in connection with the Society of Authors, some sort -of Pension Fund for writers who had made fame but not fortune. - -“Well, I don’t know; it might be,” he said. - -As I poured forth a string of enthusiastic suggestions the dear -old gentleman listened calmly and quietly, gazing through his gold -spectacles in wonderment at my volubility. - -“Not a bad idea,” he remarked. - -Several interviews were the result, and not long afterwards the Pension -Fund of the Society of Authors was formed, under the able Chairmanship -of Mr. Anthony Hope. On the Original Committees of which I served, and -still serve. - -Besant was a real practical help to young writers. Quaint, -old-fashioned, and prim, he addressed even his best friends as “Madam.” -The following letter is in connection with a further pension for Mrs. -Riddell, which I was then endeavouring to procure from the Civil List, -and did afterwards succeed in obtaining from Mr. Balfour: - - “DEAR MADAM, - - “The way to get a (Civil List) pension is to ask for it. You must - draw up a petition setting forth the exact circumstances of the - case, and get this signed by as many people of name and position - as you can, or—what is perhaps better—get it signed by a few - whose names command attention. If your friend is a member of our - society, I will undertake the petition and the signatures of a good - many known names. Remember that W. H. Smith, in administering - these pensions, is under the fixed belief that novelists are an - extravagant race who spend in luxury the enormous sums their - publishers allow them. Word your petition, therefore, so as to show - that your friend was never in receipt of his imaginary fabulous - income. - - “I remain, dear madam, - - “Very sincerely yours, - - “WALTER BESANT.” - -No man did more for writers than Walter Besant. He raised their -status, he demanded more pay for their products, he attempted to make -a copyright with America; and the present-day position of authors, -unsatisfactory though it is, is a thousand times better than it was -before Sir Walter Besant took the matter up and maintained that -literary wares were property, and as such should be treated legally. I -merely quote this letter to show the kindness of heart of the man, and -how even the busiest people find time to do a good deed. He wrote: - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “Your little book looks very nice. I hope it will go. Publishers - work by a regular method. Their travellers offer the book to - booksellers, who take at first what they think they can sell. Then - reviews—nature of the subject—the reputation which a book quickly - gets—cause or do not cause—a demand, and so the book succeeds or - fails. I hate to discourage people, but I have always entreated you - not to expect too much. This only on the general principle that - most books fail. - - “Publishers, though very few would acknowledge this, can really do - very little for a book. What helps more than anything is for the - book to be talked about.” - -His death was a loss to the entire literary profession. - -He lived at Hampstead in a charming old house not far from George du -Maurier and Frank Holl; in fact, in the early days of my married life, -there was quite a little colony of interesting people living in that -neighbourhood, and we often drove up on Sundays for luncheon or to call -on those delightful folk. - -Are there any novelists to-day who make enormous sums? When Sir Walter -Besant himself died he left only £6000. - - * * * * * - -Looking back into the recesses of one’s memory two women writers, -who died within a few weeks of each other (1906), come to mind; two -women entirely distinct in their lives and in their deaths, in their -writings, in their purpose. One rich, popular, and brilliant; the other -poor, popular, and—less brilliant, perhaps, but so extraordinarily -brave and persevering, that if it be true that genius is the capacity -to take infinite pains, no one will deny the late Mrs. J. H. Riddell’s -genius. - -The first woman writer of these two was Mrs. Craigie (John Oliver -Hobbes). - -And Mrs. Craigie was herself a dual personality. As a girl she was full -of romance, sentiment, enthusiasm, and fire. Mrs. Craigie as a woman -renounced romance—of which she had but a sad experience—and sought -solace in religion. The dissection of love and the solace of religion -became the keynotes of her writings. - -“John Oliver Hobbes” was another person altogether. He was a cynic, -clever, brilliant, at times as hard as his name implied. He was the -mask, the curb by which the budding womanhood of Mrs. Craigie was -extinguished and held in check. The death of this duplex personality -was a real loss. - -A paradox often ends conversation, the listener is so busy trying to -unravel its meaning. But a paradox in a book often stimulates the -reader, and Mrs. Craigie was a master of paradoxes. - -No one could honestly wish her back. Her death was ideal. At the zenith -of her power, in the prime of her life and looks, with the happiness of -unfulfilled dreams still before her, she lay down quietly to rest and -passed away. She was a handsome woman, with wit and charm; her parents -were rich, she acquired position, and she commanded respect by her -work. She did not live to grow old or grey, she just slipped the cable -when all the world was rose-colour and the sun shone. - -Mrs. Craigie’s face when in repose had a melancholy aspect, her tongue -was often bitter. Like all Americans, she loved titles and craved -for social success; for, clever and brilliant writer as “John Oliver -Hobbes” was, Mrs. Craigie was undoubtedly a woman of the world. - -To a certain extent her life was dwarfed. An unhappy marriage, in -which she early divorced her husband, kept the woman in her nature -from expanding; she imposed restraint upon all her actions, all her -thoughts. She never—even in her writings—let herself go. - -Mrs. Craigie was of medium height, with a slight figure, piercing -eyes, and dark hair, which she wore very simply. She was an excellent -_raconteur_, and a delightful neighbour at a dinner-table. She -certainly showed to greater advantage in the company of men than of -women, in which characteristic she was somewhat un-American. - -Knowing this want of sympathy with her own sex, she rarely appeared at -women’s functions. - -Mrs. Craigie’s name appeared in many papers as attending dinners or -committees, and making speeches; but in reality Mrs. Craigie herself -came seldom, ill-health or retirement into a convent being a frequent -excuse at the last moment for her non-appearance. She spoke well when -she did speak, although it was not really a speech at all, but a -carefully prepared little treatise which she read word for word to her -audience. She delivered it well, the matter was always worth listening -to, and she was pleasing to look upon. - -“John Oliver Hobbes” was a weird pseudonym. The titles of her books -were equally incongruous. Imagine such anomalies as _Some Emotions -and a Moral_, _The Gods, Some Mortals and Lord Wickenham_, _The Herb -Moon_, or the latest—_The Dream and the Business_. Mrs. Craigie will be -remembered as a novelist, not as she aspired to be—a dramatist. - -None of her plays achieved any real success except _The Ambassador_, -which had a considerable run at the St. James’s Theatre, ably helped -by that excellent manager, Sir George Alexander. Smart epigrams, -pretty setting, and French frocks won’t make a play. Her characters -lacked blood and sinew; they meant well and generally began well, -but they were not healthy, living beings. In a novel that lack of -characterisation was not so obvious as on the stage, and her smart -lines, her epigrams, and ironic thoughts, or rather the irony of “John -Oliver Hobbes” (her double), covered the lack of plot and thinness of -character more satisfactorily. - -As years rolled on and the sentimental woman was lost in the thoughtful -religionist, swayed by the Romish Church, the philosopher found -satisfaction, and her later books became deeper in tone, stronger in -handling, and likely to be more lasting on the shelves of time. She -was a literary personality, with high aims where her art was concerned, -and had she lived she might some day have rivalled George Meredith, -whose style she so much admired. Much mystery surrounded her death; she -was barely forty when she suddenly and swiftly passed, as it were, like -a person going out of a house without a good-bye. - -People pray against sudden death. Let me pray for it. What more lovely -ending than to sleep away into the Unknown? It may be a selfish wish, -because the shock is greater for those left behind, but, after all, to -them the death of a dear one is always a shock, come quick, come slow, -and why should the parting be harrowed by tardiness? Yes, let me pray -for sudden death, and at an early age before one gets dependent on -others. - -And my body. Well, if I die of anything interesting—disease or -accident—that will make my body of any value whatever to medicine or -science, I bequeath it for dissection to University College, Gower -Street (or to any other hospital that may be nearer me at my decease). -It is only right we should help the living to the last, and interesting -cases should always be investigated; at least, my love and admiration -for science and medicine tell me so. - -Then the scraps can be cremated, because they will have fulfilled their -end. Putrefaction is disgusting and harmful to living things; so let my -remains be consumed by fire to clean white ash, and let that (in one of -those beautiful urns designed by Watts) rest inside Kingsbury Church, -or in the vault outside, beside my husband and father. - -None of this is morbid, it is only common sense. Death has no horrors -for me. I am content to die, and have even paid for and arranged my own -cremation to save my survivors time and expense. - -But let us return to Mrs. J. H. Riddell, who was the second of these -two well-known women writers. Of her one thinks and writes differently; -and for myself it is difficult not to hold her in memory more as the -woman than the writer, for she was an intimate friend of my earliest -years. Even then she was approaching middle life, and, unlike “John -Oliver Hobbes,” who passed away when so much of the best of life seemed -before her, Mrs. Riddell had reached the eve of her seventy-fifth -birthday before death at last—in September, 1906—released her from her -prolonged struggle. - -She was writing as early as 1858, when women writers were little known. -At one time she was among the most popular novelists of the day; but -she only declared her identity in 1865, after the enormous success of -_George Geith of Fen Court_. - -The death of her husband whom she adored, the failure of her -publishers, and her own constant ill-health, brought her much trouble, -but she bravely struggled on with her writing for nearly half a -century, producing some thirty or forty novels, many of which ran into -second and third editions and are now in sixpenny numbers. Her insight -into character was her strong point, and her people gradually unfolded -themselves with skill and thought as the stories proceeded. She reaped -little reward, however, as her best work was done before there was any -copyright with America, and, being poor, she sold her books out for an -average of about one hundred pounds each. - -Although born on the hill-side in Ireland, at Carrickfergus, the -daughter of a squire, and a lover of fresh air, fowls, flowers, and -country pursuits and produce, Mrs. Riddell settled in London. She hated -it at first, and then became an enthusiast over its charms. By day and -by night she wandered into its highways and peered into its alleys. She -learnt the City off by heart, and penetrated the mysteries of business -life so successfully that, woman though she was, she wrote _The Senior -Partner_, _City and Suburb_, etc. At that time business was not thought -a suitable subject for the novelist except in France, by men like -Balzac, so to Mrs. Riddell is due the honour of introducing the City -gentleman and making him known to the West End. - -Many of the tragedies, the failures, and mysteries of business routine -which she so often depicted in her books, she wrote from personal -knowledge. Misfortunes fell upon her family and, as she was the one -to try to put matters right, she naturally learnt many curious ins -and outs of speculation and failure. Had she not always had her hand -in her pocket for someone, she would not have been so miserably off -financially when old age and sickness overtook her. - -She wrote her first novel when only fifteen; but this she candidly -admitted never saw the light. - -In my early writing days I remember asking Mrs. Riddell for an -introduction. - -“What?” she replied. “Introductions are no good; the best and only -introduction to an editor is a good article.” - -How right she was! - -Mrs. Riddell once told me she collected the whole of a three-volume -novel in her head—all novels were then in three volumes—and for weeks -and months she worried out the story. When it was quite complete she -wrote the last, or the most telling chapter of the book, first. For -instance, Beryl’s death scene in _George Geith_ was set down just as it -appeared in print three years subsequently. - -As I have said, it was my privilege to know Mrs. J. H. Riddell from my -childhood. She was an old and valued friend of my father, and in the -curious jumbling of early recollections I recall eating my first ice at -her house at Hampstead, and being obliged to confess, with a cold lump -of surprise on my tongue, “It isn’t as nice as I ’spected.” A remark -she recalled with amusement years afterwards. - -I do not suppose I was more than five years of age at that time, but -I can remember perfectly well the kindly and charming face of the -hostess, and her dark brown hair, which she wore in a loose curl -hanging behind each ear. - -Her Hampstead home existed in Mrs. Riddell’s palmy days; she went -through much subsequent trouble, backing a bill for a friend, paying -debts for her husband, keeping a paralysed brother whose health -necessitated constant care, and who was for many years a heavy drag -upon her purse, all of which brought incessant anxiety upon the -authoress. My father and my husband helped her substantially many -times—so when they both died so suddenly she was even more handicapped -by Fortune. She nobly struggled on until the year 1900, when, as -already mentioned, I made a personal application to Mr. Balfour, then -Prime Minister, for a sum of money towards purchasing an annuity for -her. Much correspondence ensued, and, thanks to the courtesy of Mr. -Balfour, a cheque for three hundred pounds was finally handed to me -from the Civil List. Through the help of Mr. J. M. Barrie, a further -couple of hundred pounds was obtained from the Royal Literary Fund. -This, with some kindly contributions from my own personal friends, -among whom may be mentioned Sir W. S. Gilbert, Mrs. Humphry Ward, -Justin Huntley McCarthy, E. W. Hornung, and Anthony Hope Hawkins, -was, however, found to be too small a sum to buy an annuity of real -value, and, accordingly, I made that bold suggestion to the Society of -Authors. It was finally agreed that I should hand over three hundred -pounds direct to them, in consideration of their granting her a pension -for life, the Society retaining the three hundred at her death. - -Mrs. Riddell thus became the first pensioner of the Society of Authors, -of which she was one of the original members; and time after time she -expressed to me her gratitude for that sixty pounds a year, her own -private income being practically _nil_. The Society conferred a great -benefit in bestowing this pension, and, at the same time, must feel -proud to know it was given to one so worthy to claim it in the world of -literature. - -Her struggles to work were magnificent, and she actually published -her last book after she was seventy years of age. Nearly fifty years -of penmanship is indeed a record. During the last months of her life -she suffered much pain from cancer, and was constantly in her bed, not -being able to write at all, and to read but little. I constantly went -to see her, and wondered at her patience and grieved at her poverty and -suffering. - -Then came her release; for such was the messenger of death to her tired -spirit. And the few friends who saw her laid in the grave, felt it was -so, and had the relief of knowing they had added to her comfort—and -even the necessaries of life—in her last darkened years. - -Since those days I have collected purses for a dozen or more folk. -Men and women whose names are known in every land—but who have fallen -on evil days—generally ill-health having been the cause. The Arts -are shockingly paid, the mental strain is great. Exponents of great -work live on their health capital, their brain-force, and sometimes -the chain snaps and the wheels refuse to go round. Then a few hundred -pounds, or a pension, or the kindly sympathy of friendship that backs -up their faltering strength, comes like a new fuse, inspiring the -recipient to take up the threads of work almost as well as before. - -Yes, I collected between seven and eight hundred pounds for Mrs. -Riddell, which I doled out weekly till her death. I paid her servant’s -wages, rent, the doctor, and all the necessities of years of illness. -Just as my little store was coming to an end her life flickered out. -There was enough left for a modest funeral and a stone slab above her -grave. That was the first time I undertook a big job of the kind; but -not long after I did the same for one of the most famous singers of the -day. - -Then again, the people who do things that will live have proverbially -bad business heads. Just as judges die without wills, and Chancellors -of the Exchequer leave their own affairs in a muddle, so artists, -writers, painters, scientists, reap little reward themselves when -weighed against the intense pleasure they give to others. - -Each little monetary collection or pension has necessitated dozens, -almost hundreds, of letters, all of which have come into extremely busy -days. I only wish I could have done twice as much, for well I know what -a few hundred pounds handed over to me by friends and sympathisers -would have been in those early days of widowhood. - -He who gives quickly gives twice. The generous people are those who -have been poor and suffered. The rich so seldom think of anyone but -themselves, although writing a cheque costs them no self-sacrifice. - -Then comes another notable woman; a power in her day. One who, herself -strong-minded and a pioneer without recognising it, bitterly denounced -other women for so-called strong-mindedness; but, while inflicting -the lash on imaginary victims, she poured balm on the wounds of real -sufferers. Unhappily deserted in her married life, she yet extolled the -virtues of mankind to the skies—a living paradox. - -Woman has advanced very far since Mrs. Lynn Linton invented the phrase -of “the shrieking sisterhood.” - -That was in the distant ’eighties, when the modern young woman, -who filled her with such holy horror, was, after all, but a poor, -shrinking creature compared with the amazons of 1907, who marched to -Hyde Park to demand votes for women. A desire for the development -of her own individuality, freed from the control of parents and the -enforced escort of brothers, a latch-key, a club, and a _mode_ of -short hair, waistcoats, men’s coats, and even hard shirts, besides a -horse-shoe pin, were all that the “Girl of the Period” advanced; but, -in contemptuous condemnation of her, Mrs. Lynn Linton dipped her pen in -gall. - -Dear me! what an archaic type she already seems, that original “new -woman” whom one used to find at the Pioneer Club in its early days. - -Perhaps it is as well that Mrs. Lynn Linton did not live to see -suffragists concealed in pantechnicon vans for the purpose of raiding -Parliament, or shouting down Cabinet Ministers, assaulting policemen, -smashing windows, and going to prison in hundreds with as much -self-glorification as if they were notorious criminals and heroines -of a “Penny Dreadful.” The dictionary surely does not contain words -so scathing as the old lady would have required for such flagrant -revolters against her ideal of womanhood. That women suffragettes have -an ideal she would not have understood. The curt indifference of men -to their more peaceable demands has forced women to perpetrate these -antics to draw attention to their creed. She was herself a woman who -was greatly misunderstood. The conception formed by the public, who -knew Mrs. Lynn Linton only by her writings, was entirely different from -that of people who were privileged to know her personally. All her -venom was in her pen, all her heart in her home and her friends. - -I have reason to recall her name with gratitude, for she was one of the -first to assist me by helpful advice and example along the slippery -path of authorship. Indeed, her readiness to place her long experience -at the service of young writers, who were often entirely unknown to -her, even at the sacrifice of considerable time and convenience to -herself, was one of the most delightful points in her character. - -One day, late in the last century, I was chatting with her in her flat -eight stories up in Queen Anne’s Mansions, the windows of which looked -out high over the neighbouring chimney-pots and far away beyond the -grey mist of smoky London to the Surrey hills. Lying on the table was a -large bundle of manuscripts, upon which I naturally remarked, “What a -lot of work you have there on hand; surely that means two or three new -books?” - -“Not one page is my own,” she replied, peering at me through her -gold-rimmed spectacles. “Bundles of manuscripts like these have haunted -my later life. I receive large packets from men and women I have never -seen and know nothing whatever about. One asks for my advice; another -if I can find a publisher; a third enquires if the material is worth -spinning out into a three-volume novel; a fourth lives abroad and -places the MS. in my hands to do with it exactly as I think fit. - -“How fearful! But what do you do with them all?” - -“Once I returned one unread, for the writing was so bad I could not -decipher it. But only once; the rest I have always conscientiously -read through and corrected page by page, if I have thought there was -anything to be made of them. But to many of my unknown correspondents, -I have had to reply sadly that the work had not sufficient merit -for publication, and, as gently as I could, suggest their leaving -literature alone and trying something else.” - -“You are very good to bother yourself with them.” - -“No, not good exactly; but I feel very strongly the duty of the old -to the young, and how the established must help the striving. I am so -sorry for young people, and know how a little help or advice given at -the right moment may prove the making of a career; kindly words of -discouragement, given also at the right time, may save many a bitter -tear of disappointment in the future.” - -This was the “dragon” who, I do not doubt, existed in the minds of -thousands of readers of Mrs. Lynn Linton’s magazine essays—essays which -were full of fire; critical, analytical, clear-sighted and written -unflinchingly. Who would dream after reading one of her splendidly -forcible arguments, written in her trenchant style, that the real -author was one of the most domesticated, home-loving women possible, -full of kindness and sympathy, and keenly interested in the welfare -of all around her? How little a book reveals the true author. How -often the pen disguises the real person, as words disguise the inmost -thoughts. - -Indeed, one might go far to find another such lovable old lady. - -It is often supposed by the outside world that jealousies and rivalries -exist between authors, as is too often said to be the case in other -professions. Nonsense! Here is one example to the contrary. And many -another could easily be furnished. - -At the very time that Mrs. Lynn Linton was earning her living by -writing novels, Mrs. Alexander, in private life Mrs. Hector (another -dear memory), was doing the same. Rivalry there was none between these -two; more than that, they actually helped each other. And in the end, -when Mrs. Lynn Linton died, she left her most cherished cabinet of -china and many other souvenirs to her woman writer friend, who prized -them above rubies. - -The following is a characteristic letter from Mrs. Lynn Linton, anent -an article I had written about her: - - “MY DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “Thank you so much for your kind letter. I am so glad you are busy - and successful in your work. - - “The She you painted in _T.B._ was a very nice old She indeed, a - quite superior She, and a little better than the original, I am - sorry to say! But, la, la, la, the heaps of begging letters and - manuscripts the paper has brought me. It has punished me for any - pride I might have had there-anent, and kept my comb cut down to - my head. To-day, again, comes a long eight-paged letter of sorrow, - distress, and nonsense, which I am asked to help. Well, I do what I - can, and, at all events, sympathy and kind words and thoughts have - their own value, if that is not of a productive or golden kind. - - “I was very sorry not to see that fine young fellow again. I was - charmed with him, if you like![4] I should have liked to kiss his - hand for respect and hope and admiration. I should have liked to - whip him as an aged Sarah might have whipped her grandson! I hope - he will come back safe and with renown and success. - - “Good-bye, dear Mrs. Brightness. - - “Yes, I have partly recovered from Ibsen, who had a lurid kind of - light that fascinates yet repels, a lying spirit that enthusiates - yet revolts. - - “Affectionately yours, - - “E. LYNN LINTON.” - -I had sat between her and Beerbohm Tree at the first performance -in England of “Hedda Gabler,” which I had seen Ibsen rehearse in -Christiania shortly before in his slow pompous manner. - -To understand humanity is a work of intelligence, and Mrs. Lynn -Linton had that gift in a marked degree. She was a woman of strong -individuality. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[4] Nansen, whom she met at dinner at our house. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -JOURNALISM - - -From other people’s work I must return to my own. As is Fleet Street -compared with Hyde Park, so is journalism with the authorship of more -lasting literature. - -To would-be scribblers I would say journalism is a bagatelle in -comparison with the production of a book. The main axiom for a book is -_Write what you know about_. If you live with dukes, don’t write about -the slums. If you live in the slums, don’t write of dukes. - -Don’t write unless you have something to say. For the papers, matter is -more important than style. Aim at telling something interesting in an -interesting way. Keep it short and crisp and to the point. Never mind -rejection. Introductions to editors are of no avail. They generally -retard. Work of merit always finds its niche, so peg away till you get -the right thing and fit it into the right corner. - -A journalist requires no equipment but a quick perception of men and -matters, a desire for information, and a belief that what interests her -may interest someone else. A journalist is obliged to look ahead: - -Someone is reported very ill—collect facts for an obituary notice. - -A picture promises to become successful—have an account of the artist -and his work ready for press. - -An actor is producing a new play—try to learn something about the play, -and any little incident of its production. - -One used to write of things that had been; but since all this Yankee -journalism has come in, one has to anticipate things that _are_ to be. -Weddings are described to-day before the marriage ceremony even takes -place. - -[Illustration: MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE’S WRITING TABLE] - -It is a bad sign of the times, but that is modern journalism. A -journalist’s is a hard and anxious life and often ill-paid; but -here, at least, men and women can earn equal wages, and have equal -chances. Nearly all the papers except _The Times_ now have women on -their staff. - -Just as an actor adopts various disguises, so it is amusing to remember -how many pseudonyms have been the different masks which have helped -me, as other journalists, to attract the attention of the public. The -public loves variety. It would never, never pay to appear always as the -same old stager. - -Journalists must turn their hand to anything, at any time, and in any -way. Sometimes I wrote as a man, sometimes as an old lady, comparing -the past with the present. For instance, the “Elderly Scribe” became -“A Girl at the Drawing-room,” under which heading a long article once -appeared in a leading paper, describing my imaginary thrills as an -American _débutante_ at the first Court of King Edward VII. - -I think it was in the _Pall Mall Gazette_: - - “Although I am an American, a Republican and all that sort of - thing, I must own I dearly love a ceremony, adore a title, and was - prepared for wild enthusiasm at a Court function. I crossed the - Atlantic all in a quiver of excitement to know whether I should - receive a card or not, because on that would depend our tearing off - to Paris to get a Court dress. - - “Oh, the joy and excitement on opening a big envelope, without a - stamp, with a purple die-mark in one corner, bearing the mysterious - words, ‘Lord Chamberlain’s Office’! There was nothing grand - whatever about the card, just a great, big, plain invitation: - - “‘The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by their Majesties to invite - Miss American to a Court to be held at Buckingham Palace on Friday, - June 6, 1902, at 10 o’clock p.m.’ - - “‘Full dress, ladies with feathers and trains.’ - - “Hugging the much-prized card to my heart, I skipped about the room - practising that bow, or curtsey, or bob, or whatever they like to - call it, that I had been rehearsing for weeks in my own mind, so as - to be ready for the great event. - - “We went to Paris and ordered the dress, which I dare say would - have been just as well made in England, only somehow it sounds - smarter to cross the Channel for it. The four yards of wonderful - train of glistening, sheeny, silvery stuff was made and ready, the - three white plumes, the long tulle veil and white gloves were all - on my bed waiting, and I was just wild with excitement. I wanted to - get dressed at breakfast-time, but as the Court did not begin until - 10 p.m., the family decided that was rather too early, although I - really did have my head done soon after lunch, as the hairdresser - came then to perform upon it. He had so many engagements for Court - heads, he had to dress it then or not at all. He did it up in - the most wonderful manner, frizzed it and curled it, the greater - part of the coiffure being, however, low on my neck, as that, he - declared, was more becoming with the tulle veil. When he had done - he placed the three white feathers conspicuously in front, and - twisted the tulle in and out of the curls. A long strand of tulle, - which was finally to hang down my back, he folded up and pinned in - a bob on the top of my head, so that it might not inconvenience me - during the many hours that intervened before I went to Buckingham - Palace. - - “They say that seven thousand people are still waiting for - invitations; if they only knew how lovely it all was they would be - more anxious even than they now are, for it was a veritable dream - of splendour, gorgeousness, and magnificence, such as my youthful - mind had never conceived possible. - - “We left home early, and when we arrived at St. James’s Park about - half-past eight, a line of carriages was already before us, but - as the doors were not opened till nine we had to wait our turn. - Gradually that procession of carriages moved on; we did not draw up - in front of Buckingham Palace, which I know so well from the road, - but drove right into a courtyard at the back, a regular quadrangle, - round the four sides of which a brilliant row of gas-jets was - shining. The Royal folk wisely live in these more secluded portions - of the Palace, and their private rooms overlook the gardens, which - are lovely and contain a lake, instead of looking on to the public - part of St. James’s Park. - - “There was a great wide stairway with red carpet, beyond which - was the cloakroom, and once having struggled through that, my - chaperone straightened me out and shook my train, telling me I - looked ‘just sweet,’ a very consoling remark in my flutter of - excitement. She then gave me my train back over my arm, and we were - ready. Four yards of Court train were pretty heavy, I found; for - although it was shining silver outside, it was lined with white - satin (_débutantes_’ dresses are always white), and there was an - interlining to make it stand out as I passed before the King and - Queen. Then I had a bouquet too, which seemed to grow very heavy - before the evening was over, and I envied those ladies who had come - without such floral adjuncts. - - “Continuing our journey up the staircase we gave up our cards of - invitation at the top, and I passed into a room at the left—my - chaperone passing on to the big ballroom at once. - - “The great State ballroom at Buckingham Palace is a magnificent - chamber; it is an immensely long saloon, probably about a hundred - and fifty feet, which looks out on the gardens. A friend we met - there said that the kitchens were underneath, and that this wing - was only added in 1850, when more space was found necessary. - - “Our friend told us that all the rooms had been redecorated. They - were certainly perfectly beautiful—such lovely brocaded walls and - wonderful curtains, lots of pictures, many of which they said were - priceless; and one thing struck me as particularly strange: the - magnificent glass chandeliers and candelabra. We never have such - things in America; but they were simply gorgeous with incandescent - lights shining behind their prismatic colours. The Palace was - literally banked with flowers and the air scented with their - perfume. - - “There were lots of gorgeous servants everywhere with red liveries - emblazoned with gold. Most of them wore white silk stockings - and black shoes with buckles. There were endless officials from - the Lord Chamberlain’s Office in dark blue uniforms with gold - embroidery. There were some of the most delightful old men - possible, who, they said, were Beefeaters, and had come from - the Tower of London in all their magnificence to assist at the - Court at Buckingham Palace. Numbers of men were there in black - velvet or cloth, with steel buttons, little white lace frills, - silk stockings, and a sword, probably the most becoming costume - a modern man ever wore, and there were many wonderful uniforms - with breasts ablaze with Orders and medals. These gentlemen were - specially favoured and allowed to go with their women-folk, but, - of course, they were not presented. A man is only presented to the - King at a Levée, and when at a Court and their ladies pass the - Royal Presence, the men disappear and join them in a later room. - Then there were beautiful men of the Body Guard, all gentlemen of - importance, who wore splendid uniforms and big brass helmets. There - are only forty-eight in this Royal guard, so most of them were - present, and I was sorry for them standing on show in their heavy - clothes for hours and hours. At the last Court one of them fainted - twice, they say. - -“It was all so beautiful I hardly know how to describe it. At the top -of the staircase was the hall, which was lovely. Hundreds of ladies -were there before us, and nearly all of them had seats. Some of the -elderly ladies thought the seats were not comfortable, but there seemed -to be banks of long sofas with gilt legs and red cushions, which formed -a welcome resting-place and an opportunity for laying down the weight -of one’s train. That train made me feel awfully grand, ‘quite too -utterly too, too,’ in fact; but, oh dear, it was heavy. - -“King Edward and Queen Alexandra arrived exactly at twenty minutes -past ten. By this time we had been in the Palace about an hour. They -entered at the top end of the big hall or concert-hall, and stood on -a red velvet carpet—not on a dais—facing the organ-loft, where the -band played at intervals. Behind them were two thrones, but they stood -for one hour and a quarter while the _débutantes_ and mothers passed, -and each bowed separately to each woman or Indian Prince who passed. -The Royal pair often talked to one another, and seemed to be enjoying -themselves. The Indian Princes over for the Coronation were wonderful. -One man in gold and cream brocade wore gorgeous jewels and a ruby as -big as a florin; another was dressed in a sort of dressing-gown with -diamond buttons of enormous size; another wore a wonderful green and -gold sash, which fastened in a big bow in front over his portly form. -They were certainly a great addition to a magnificent spectacle. - - “We _débutantes_ passed through the bottom of the long hall—up the - corridor at the side, where I saw our Ambassador (the only man in - plain clothes), where our trains were let down by someone belonging - to the Lord Chamberlain’s Office, before re-entering the ballroom; - he seemed to be quite accustomed to that sort of thing, and spread - them out most neatly over the highly polished floor. I was feeling - all in a flutter when an official asked me for my card, which had - somehow got mixed up with my handkerchief and my bouquet; but I - managed to extricate it for him, and he roared my name out very - loudly as I entered the Royal Presence. I felt I should like to - catch hold of His Majesty’s hand as I made my curtsey, but I pulled - myself together and just had time to realise what a nice kind face - the King had, and how pleasantly he smiled, before walking a couple - of steps further and repeating my low obeisance to that beautiful - and lovely woman Queen Alexandra. - - “Oh dear, how I wished I could stop and look at her for five - minutes instead of making my oft-rehearsed curtsey and getting out - of the way in five seconds. She looked perfectly charming, and it - seemed quite impossible to believe that those were her daughters - beside her. She did not seem to be any older than I am myself; her - auburn hair she wears in a fringe almost down to her eyebrows, - and it is all very neat and tight and well arranged. On her head - she wore a little crown of diamonds, encircled by a larger tiara. - It was not a great big crown, such as the peeresses are going to - wear at the Coronation in a few days’ time, but just a dear little - shining circlet looking eminently regal. Somebody said she was not - going to wear the crown that all the Queen Consorts have worn at - former coronations, but is having one made all for herself, and - the Koh-i-noor, the famous diamond, is to be mounted in it. The - late Queen had this famous diamond cut and wore it as a brooch. - So, although it is only half its original size, it is much more - beautiful and valuable now. The Queen was dressed in white satin - with golden fleurs-de-lis embroidered all over it. Her train was of - gold, lined with Royal crimson velvet, and in the procession it was - carried by two pages. - - “What masses of jewels she wore. Round her neck she seemed to have - about a dozen necklaces of pearls and diamonds; great long strings - of pearls reaching down to her waist. They all suited her, and she - has the most delightful figure and most winning smile of anyone - I ever saw—in fact, it was worth while coming all the way from - America just to look at England’s Queen. - - “The presentation was all too quick, the exciting moment had come - and gone, and when I found I was out of the room, another of those - grand gentlemen caught my train on his stick and in some wonderful - manner turned it over my arm, and I sailed away, my presentation - accomplished. The arrangements were excellent; of course, there - had been some difficulty about trains or no trains, but it had - been decided that everyone was to wear a train, although only - _débutantes_ passing immediately before their Majesties were - required to let them down at this evening Court early after the - death of Queen Victoria. - - “Perhaps the most beautiful part of the Court was the passing of - the Royal procession through the galleries on their way to supper. - I was not flurried then as I was on presentation, so I could just - stand and see the regal party pass without personal emotion. The - King looks every inch a King in his dark blue uniform, wearing, of - course, that blue ribbon which they call the Order of the Garter. - First of all came the King and Queen, followed by their daughters, - the Duke and Duchess of Connaught, the Mistress of the Robes, and - a host of others. They walked very slowly, and the Queen, who had - no bouquet, bowed delightfully to everyone, as she passed through - those vast rooms. Oh dear! Oh dear! It was lovely, and I am sorry - it is over, for it was more lovely than anything I could ever have - conjured up in my wildest dreams.” - -Most useful proved my own experiences at such functions as -Drawing-rooms, and my favourite adage as to journalism came into play, -viz. Write of what you know. - -But how, some timid minds may object, can a working-woman still afford -to go to Court? Suffice it to say that one originally handsome gown of -wealthier days served me, its wearer, several times to make my curtseys -to Royalty. - -I should not have attended so often in the ordinary way, but going -so much abroad as I did, it was advisable. There one’s reception at -Court is of use, for, after all, foreigners are unable to judge one’s -social position from one’s appearance, some of the worst scamps seeming -the most ideal on the surface, therefore a pass-word, such as having -“been to Court”—which means so little in England—counts for something -across the water. I always wore a train, that once belonged to my -great-grandmother. It ought to know its way to Buckingham Palace by -now. Strangely enough, that old _chiné_ silk (it must be between one -hundred and a hundred and fifty years old) has a stripe of soft grey -between wider stripes of beautiful mellowed flowers. It is exactly -the same kind of thing that is so fashionable to-day. History repeats -itself even in silk, and those dull _chiné_ ribbons and dull _chiné_ -silks are but reproductions of those worn by our great-grandmothers. - -Royalty and really great folk—that is great-minded people in high -places—do not carp at the clothes of those whose work in life is harder -than showing off new and expensive dresses. Thank goodness, the days -are long dead when writers were supposed to exist on the sufferance of -publishers, to be always ragged, in debt, or to fawn on patrons and -live in Grub Street. - -Still, this is forestalling the account of my laborious, weary time -before achieving anything, so it must be put down in faithful warning -that “good times” have to be worked and waited for. - -I often wonder now how I lived through those first years of hardship, -paying off debts, working often ten hours a day with the constant goal -of making an income and achieving success. - -Poverty or ambition are the only stepping-stones to attainment. -Perseverance did it, and bed. On and on I pegged. Wrote and re-wrote -some things several times over, while others were not even corrected. -Worked with throbbing eyes and weary brain—I’ve always been more or -less a teetotaller, but it wasn’t that which helped me—it was bed. -Never a good sleeper at any time, I crept off to bed as early as -possible, and even if I did not sleep, I rested my back, closed my -eyes, and lay in the dark. Most of my work was planned then, all my -articles were thought out in that silent obscurity. My bed was my -salvation. - -Lots of people work best in the evening and the small hours of the -morning. I was never any good then, and if “copy” had to be ready, say, -by eleven at night, and I knew a “printer’s devil” would be standing in -my hall at that hour to bear it away to the machines, I always got hot -and cold, nervous and fussy; I never worked so well as directly after -breakfast. - -Work! Would anyone dare to say I have not worked? Why, in one fortnight -(November, 1906) I see I had long signed articles in the _Queen_, -_Daily Chronicle_, _Observer_, _Daily Mail_, and _Tatler_. Five -important papers, besides unsigned articles in others. - -“What does a signed article imply?” someone may wonder. It means -double, treble, quadruple pay—as compared with an unsigned one. It -means the writer’s name is of value, and sufficiently established to -say what he thinks and means right out, instead of sending his poisoned -darts unofficially in the disguise of anonymity. All articles and -reviews ought to be signed, I think. One takes more care, gives more -thought, attains a higher standard than for anonymous stuff. Leaders -and critiques would be of real value if one knew who had written them. - -Ease has come, facility of the pen. I believe I could write an article -on almost any sort of subject with five minutes’ notice, and twenty -minutes in which to dictate it. It is so easy to write on a theme which -you never really touch on at all, but just glide along the outside -edge. Things conceived like this cannot be of permanent value, but they -are the product of an active brain and serve their purpose for the -moment. That is journalism. - -It may be interesting to beginners to read here how I wrote my first -magazine article as a girl, in amateur days. This will illustrate how -wise it is to make use of one’s opportunities; how from one small -beginning a path may be opened in the wood of difficulty, at which, -except in rare instances, all but genius has to hew. - -I chanced to be in Paris in 1890, with my husband and mother who knew -Pasteur, and thus I saw a good deal of the delightful, grey-bearded old -gentleman whose work made such a stir at that time and revolutionised -science. He was then about seventy. Short in stature, he was in no way -a striking figure, but his clear eyes and thoughtful face arrested -attention. I shall never forget the charm of his manner, and the -courteous tolerance he displayed towards an unscientific young woman, -who had no excuse for poking about the place save that she was the -sister of one of his students and the daughter of a scientist. At that -time Pasteur did very little personal work or research himself, but he -most carefully superintended everything that was done under his roof. - -So anxious was he for others to benefit by his experience that he had -set apart fourteen tables in his large laboratory, at which were to be -found working students of all nationalities and ages, from twenty-five -to fifty—some of them men who had already won a name in science. No -charge was made to them beyond the price of the materials they used, -and every facility for scientific research was provided. - -The hydrophobia cure was then the subject of commanding interest in -the scientific world. It was a curious set of people who assembled in -the large outer hall of the Institute every morning. On one occasion -when I was there the patients numbered eighty-nine, amongst whom were -a little English girl (the first to be sent over by the Lord Mayor’s -Mansion-House Fund), a French soldier, a Belgian fisherman, a German, -and many more of different nationalities. - -On my return to England from that visit, with mental and scribbled -notes, I sat down to write a little article on “Pasteur and his -Institute,” which I sent addressed to the editor of _Murray’s -Magazine_, feeling quite proud of myself but absolutely certain of its -rejection. It was the first magazine article I had attempted. What was -my surprise on receiving a letter in the course of a few days, signed -“The Editor,” saying that he had been much interested in the article, -but it was far too short for a magazine, and if I could double its -length and write on one side of the paper only, he would have great -pleasure in inserting it. - -I actually jumped for joy. It seemed as if the whole literary world -were opening at my feet. Of course, I copied it all out carefully on -one side of the paper as ordered, and added a little bit here and a -little bit there, counting the words one by one as they crept from -tens into hundreds. The article duly appeared. It was wonderfully well -reviewed, for it was the first thing of the kind on Pasteur that had -been written in English, and therefore was quoted at some length in our -Press. - -A few years afterwards, when struggling to pay Charterhouse and Harrow -bills, I was dining out one night when a gentleman was introduced to -me. He said: - -“I know you very well, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, far better than you know me. -I have printed several of your articles.” - -“Indeed,” I exclaimed, surprised, “but I have never seen you before.” - -“No, but you know the editor of _Murray’s Magazine_ as a correspondent.” - -“Of course I do,” I laughed, “and love him very much, for he printed my -first magazine effort.” - -“I am the man,” he replied; “I am W. L. Courtney, under which name I -have since accepted several articles of yours for the _Fortnightly -Review_.” - -This was a pleasant means of introduction to one’s editor. - -Lending or borrowing money ends friendship, and in the same way I -feel shy of offering my wares to anyone I know. Mr. Courtney and I -are excellent friends; but the work is arranged by an agent nowadays. -Friendship and work have never gone together in my case. It is so much -better to be incognito, and for them to remain unknown. Writing is a -business, and can only be worked on a strictly business footing. - -On one of the few occasions I ever entered an editor’s room—certainly -in all those thirteen years of stress of work the occasions could be -counted on my fingers—the experience was not pleasant. - -Up dirty, dark stairs I stumbled, and after much waiting was shown into -the gentleman’s office. I informed him I was going abroad, that I could -take photographs, and suggested a somewhat new scheme of illustrated -articles. - -“What do you want for half a dozen?” he enquired. - -“Five guineas a column,” was my reply. - -“Five guineas a column. Tush! I’ll give you one guinea; and take six -articles.” - -I had only been a widow a short time, and was in deep, dull black, with -the little uniform muslin collar and cuffs. He looked me up and down. -Perhaps he thought I wanted the money badly, and repeated “A guinea a -column, no more.” - -“But I cannot take less than five. I am going abroad to get the -information, and six guineas would not pay the ticket one way.” - -“Ten guineas for the six, then.” - -“No,” I replied, sticking firmly to my guns; “I am sorry I cannot do -them for that. Good morning.” - -He barely raised his eyes from the paper. He did not even rise, nor -open the door. I stepped out, choking with humiliation and tears, but -with my head still high. - -I wrote several books in the following years and many magazine -articles, but for five long years my name never once appeared in that -gentleman’s paper. Probably the only paper in the country into which -some sort of notice of something of mine did not creep. - -He paid me out; but I survived. - -Another time, I was dining in Grosvenor Street. A charming young man -took me in to dinner. He asked a number of questions, spoke much of my -past work and future plans. Being surprised, I said: - -“You seem to know a great deal about me.” - -“I do.” - -“Would you mind telling me why? Are you a detective from Scotland Yard?” - -He laughed. - -“No, I am only one of your editors. You constantly write for me in the -_St. James’s Gazette_. My name is Hugh Chisholm.” - -The same thing happened with regard to the _Pall Mall Gazette_ and Sir -Douglas Straight. - -Editors seldom or never write; many of them do not even know how. There -are, of course, one or two brilliant exceptions, as W. L. Courtney of -the _Fortnightly_, Owen Seaman of _Punch_, L. J. Maxse of the _National -Review_, Austin Harrison of the _English Review_. But there is hardly -a single daily paper where the editor is a writer, except J. L. Garvin -of the _Pall Mall_, and J. S. R. Phillips of the _Yorkshire Post_. -Many editors were once “reporters,” and on an occasion of stress were -put on to edit some subject. Having done it satisfactorily they came -in useful in times of pressure, and finally became one of the many -sub-editors necessary in a news office. From that apprenticeship they -have gradually climbed to the post of editor. An editor is therefore -not a literary man as a rule, but a business manager with a sound -judgment of the public pulse and what the public wants. If he is wise -he never goes into Society or knows people, because then his hand is -free, and he can be independent. He decides the policy and the attitude -of his paper, therefore he must read all the contemporary Press, and -about eleven o’clock in the morning he is so buried in other people’s -newspapers that he has to be dug out of the pulpy débris and printer’s -ink. - -It is a tremendous strain to be an editor, besides a terrible -responsibility. Poor men, I pity them. It is bad enough to be a topical -writer; to have a “printer’s devil” waiting on one’s door-mat for -articles on which the ink is hardly dry; but to have to read and pass -everything nightly at such a pace is enough to send the wretched editor -demented. He is responsible for libellous matter, so out it must go. He -must not offend his political party, so free-lance contributors must be -“edited,” and, above all, he has only so many columns to fill and ten -times the amount of stuff waiting to be inserted. - -Then again, _The Times_, that great bulwark of the British -Constitution, receives from fifty to a hundred letters a day for -insertion, out of which only six or eight of the most public interest -can be printed. _The Times_ is a great asset of the country, and proud, -indeed, should be John Walter, the fifth generation. He is Chairman -of the journal founded and maintained by his family at such a high -standard for so many years. He ought to write the true history of _The -Times_, as he alone can. - -But there are many and puzzling questions as to the journalism of the -present day. - -Why are modern writers so destructive in their ideas? Why are they so -seldom constructive? - -Why in politics is everything for pulling down, and nothing for -building up? - -Is this the craze of the age? The hypercritical, hypersensitive desire -to destroy everybody and everything, and why, oh why, must we have -veiled advertisements in nearly every column of our minor newspapers? - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -ON THE MAKING OF BOOKS - - -Once I thought the grandest thing in the world would be to write a -book. It appeared the acme of desire. To see one’s name on a cover, oh, -the joy of it! I trembled with fear and pride when that wondrous end -was attained. I almost took that first book to bed with me. I wasn’t -very old or very sedate, and so that little volume made me childish -with glee. - -Well, I thought to myself, “I’ll never give away a single copy. -If anyone wants it they must get it from a library or spend -three-and-sixpence on it themselves.” I kept to my resolve, because -honestly afraid that if an utterly unknown young writer made presents -of her little venture, kind folk (!) would say she could not sell the -work, so distributed it amongst friends. A year or two afterwards, when -_A Girl’s Ride in Iceland_ had gone through two or three editions, and -appeared on the bookstalls at a shilling, then—but not till then—did -its author feel justified in sending presentation copies, with some -words and her name inscribed on the fly-leaf. This was not churlish, -but reasoned out. Cheap sales of goods mean deterioration; but cheap -editions of books denote the popularity of the originals. On that first -venture I received a ten per cent royalty. - -And now after years of labour and experience, so many and great to me -are the hardships, the struggles, the worries, the endless detail and -annoyances of producing a book, that I always feel inclined to take off -my hat figuratively, or drop a curtsey, to every fellow-author. - -Strange as it may seem, every volume of mine has caused me sleepless -nights of ever-increasing anxiety. _Hyde Park_, for instance, was -written twice over from cover to cover—a little matter of about a -hundred thousand words, re-arranged and practically rewritten. - -I have generally worked myself into a perfect fever of anxiety by the -day of publication, and even when those kindly, delightful reviews -have appeared, my misery has not abated. Treated more than generously -by both critic and public, I have naught to complain of. I have made -far more money by my pen than I ever deserved—three hundred pounds -advance on a twenty-five per cent royalty, is “nae so bad,” as our -Northern friends would say. Columns of excellent reviews have appeared -in the best papers of many lands. Yet I know the anxiety of it all, the -rejection of articles, the return of “copy” from magazines, the weary, -weary waiting when weeks seem years, after one has worked at break-neck -speed; and although literature—no, I must not call anything I have -done by such a stupendous name—although writing is a feverish joy, it -is generally ill-paid, and the greater the rubbish, the more money -it brings in. It certainly has done so in everything I have written. -Serious work receives the least remuneration. - -Major Martin Hume and other kind critics have told me I have “written -two books that will live.” All I can say is those books (the last two -on the list) have cost me ten times the work for less reward and much -less public acknowledgment than the others. Serious work may live, but -it seldom pays. Rubbish may pay, but it never lives. - -Here is the list of thirteen books—the children of my pen—and various -editions and translations of these have been published. But the -newspaper and magazine articles number thousands, they cannot be -counted. - - _A Girl’s Ride in Iceland._ - _The Oberammergau Passion Play._ (Out of print.) - _A Winter Jaunt to Norway._ - _Wilton, Q.C., or Life in a Highland Shooting Box._ (Out of print.) - _Danish versus English Butter-making._ - _Through Finland in Carts._ - _The First College for Women._ (Out of print.) - _George Harley, or the Life of a London Physician._ - _Mexico as I saw It._ - _Behind the Footlights._ - _Sunny Sicily._ - _Porfirio Diaz, Seven Times President of Mexico._ - _Hyde Park, Its History and Romance._ - -So many people have asked me how a writer works or plans out a day, -that a sketch of an ordinary writer’s ordinary day may be of interest. - -For years I have been called with a cup of tea at seven o’clock. -Between then and getting up, thoughts have chased one another in quick -succession. As a composer composes without a piano, so a writer writes -without a pen. It is the thinking that does it. The arranging of facts -and settling the sequence of events. It is the length of a book that -wears one out, the necessity of keeping up the interest and working up -to some definite end. - -Breakfast at half-past eight, and a glance at the papers. To the -kitchen as the clock struck nine, and then, every order given for the -day, the flowers arranged, and so on. Nine-thirty heralded the arrival -of my secretary, and from then till luncheon I was a hard-working -woman. After luncheon, I could afford to be a “laidy,” not before. - -At one time I had three secretaries, one Spanish and two English, and -kept them all busy. On other occasions, I perforce worked ten hours a -day. But as a rule four to five hours’ steady grind accomplished all -that was necessary. One can do an immense amount in that time if one -sticks to it. - -It is fairly easy to give advice on how to write for the papers: -journalism can be taught as a school task to a great extent, but with -books it is different. We all have to serve our apprenticeship for -ourselves, to learn how to balance our subject, to work out our theme, -and finally to make a readable volume. It seems to me book-making is -more a gift than anything else. Artists learn to draw, but they never -learn to paint. Colour is an inspiration. Drawing requires work. The -same applies to a book. We can all learn the mechanical part; but I -don’t honestly think that anyone can write a book that people will -read, unless they have some special gift that way. Books must be -individual. - -All this perhaps sounds pedantic, but the dozens and dozens of young -men and women, who have written to me asking for advice, show how many, -from milk-maids to hotel-lift boys, are interested in the subject. -People, who can neither write nor spell, have strange ideas that God -has sent them special literary powers, and hope to sit on the top of -the ladder of fame without putting a foot on the bottom rung. ’Tis a -laborious ladder to climb in all the arts; but it has its rewards. -Public praise counts for little, the real pleasure is the knowledge -within ourselves that we have given of our best. It does not satisfy; -but it pleases. - -To produce a book or a picture is a stupendous effort. It claims all -the power of thought and of concentration that is in us. It demands -enthusiasm, determination, the conquest of idleness and self. We may -not produce a great book or a great picture, but it is our supremest -effort at that time, and when done, we feel like a squeezed lemon. - -“Writers are so dull,” is a frequent remark. So they may well be—at -times. So are artists, or musicians, or any creative workers. Their -life’s blood is given to their work. - -Another saddening result of giving one’s self wholly (as a worker -should) to a task until success crowns one’s efforts is that it often -arouses the envy of onlookers, and mostly of those who would not take -the least trouble to compete. - -Yes: it is fairly certain that the more one achieves in any walk of -life, the more jealousy one encounters. A pretty woman is called -hideous by some; a woman with charm—that indefinable attraction we all -love—is dubbed a minx. Brilliant wit calls forth much condemnation. -Success of work and brain is belittled by the envious. So while nothing -succeeds like success, no one makes more enemies than the one who wins. - -Every little victory brings a new enemy. When one hears the “catty” -things people say, one can but wonder what catty things are said about -one’s self. People say malicious things, suggest improprieties without -foundation, assert motives that have never been born. In fact, Society -is often cruel and hard. It eats and drinks too much, gets overwrought -and tired, and says nasty things it does not mean. - -The life of many an ordinary Society man or woman is despicable. They -are the people who are “too busy” to do anything useful, whose lives -are no good to anyone, and therefore boring to themselves. - -Better work and be busy with something tangible, than idle life away in -social dissipation. Yet how good and kind and generous most people are, -and how hard many of them work for the good of others! - -The vicissitudes of writers are many. I once suffered the loss in the -post of an entire chapter of a manuscript. That missing link never -turned up, and as I stupidly had kept no copy, while the rough notes -thereof were of the roughest order, it was considerably difficult to -rewrite the passages; indeed, impossible to remember the exact details -of what the missing fragment formerly contained. Oh, the exasperation -of it!—it was a thankless, dreary task. - -How on earth Carlyle ever wrote his _French Revolution_ over again is -a marvel which fills me with admiration, whenever anything brings back -the memory of all that labour which the second edition of that silly -little chapter of an ordinary book cost me. - -Work, too, is often wasted. Full of enthusiasm, after a peep at the -gorgeous Eastern life on my return from Morocco in the ’nineties, I -started a novel, which was nearly completed when the agent discovered -there was already a somewhat similar book on the market. The appended -letters speak for themselves and show the generosity of a man like -Grant Allen in replying to a young and almost unknown author: - - “DEAR MR. GRANT ALLEN, - - “I am much distressed! I was in Morocco this spring, and took - copious notes, which I have since been busily writing up into a - story, now nearing completion. - - “Telling the plot to my host the other night, he exclaimed, ‘That - is very like Grant Allen’s _Tents of Shem_.’ He found the book, and - I have just read it, and put it down feeling very sad. - - “You make English characters play the drama in Algiers, I do the - same in Tangier. - - “You have a naturalist, F.R.S.; I have a Science Professor from - Cambridge. - - “A Moorish girl falls in love with an Englishman. - - “A Moorish man falls in love with my heroine. - - “Indeed, the similarity of idea is in many ways extraordinary. I - don’t see what to do unless I rewrite the whole thing, the work of - some months, and even then, your story is splendid and your name - famous; mine is simple and my name more or less obscure. - - “It is altogether very disquieting. - - “Being an author yourself, I felt I must tell you of my woes.” - - - “MY DEAR MADAM, - - “I really don’t think you need trouble yourself excessively. Pretty - much the same thing has happened to most of us—myself included. - Besides, the number of people who have read _The Tents of Shem_ is - not so very great; nor did the book make stir enough to be well - remembered by reviewers. My advice to you would be, go on and - publish, and you will probably find nobody else is struck by the - undesigned coincidence. Nor does it seem to me, from what you say, - to be particularly close. If you will kindly send me a copy of - your book when it appears, I will try to prevent any suggestions - by reviewing it myself (if editors will permit me) over my own - signature. If _I_ am not struck by the supposed resemblance, nobody - else need be. One little hint: don’t say anything about it to the - publisher to whom you offer the book; never anticipate possible - objections; ten to one, if _you_ don’t, nobody else will raise them. - - “Yours very faithful, - - “GRANT ALLEN. - - “Writers’ cramp, not discourtesy, compels typewriting. My right - hand is useless, and even this machine I work with my left only.” - -Still, that book was never finished. I had lost heart. - -The same thing happened again in regard to a play in 1907. Everyone -seemed to be making vast sums by writing plays and naturally an -energetic woman wished to have a shot, too. I sketched out a most -elaborate plot, laid partly in England and partly in America, and was -brimming over with enthusiasm about it. Then I went gaily to the first -night of Sutro’s play, _John Glayde’s Honour_, at the St. James’s -Theatre, and lo and behold, the whole of my story unfolded itself on -the stage. - -Sutro’s play ran for about a year. Mine was never completed. - -After one has passed the critical age of twenty—I say critical, as -many a man and woman have made or marred their future by that time—the -love of books, the real honest pleasure of reading, the insatiable -craving for knowledge takes fast hold of us, and we begin to realise, -as we study even one single subject, what a vast field lies open before -us. Unfortunately, the enormous number of cheap newspapers that have -appeared on every side within the last few years have done much to -interfere with more profound reading; but it is quite unnecessary for -this to be the case, for there ought to be time for both. Newspapers -are excellent amusement, and sometimes afford much information in odd -moments, such as on journeys by train, or long rides in omnibuses, and -at other periods of the day’s existence. But there are the evenings, -and unless people are professionally engaged during that time, there -is no greater pleasure or amusement than in the perusal of some sound -book. Literature is so cheap nowadays, that it is within the scope of -everyone. - -Besides, what a great field is Literature! A vast mass of education can -be gleaned from the pleasantest reading. It is a poor book, indeed, -from which we can obtain neither amusement nor instruction. - -It is strange how even a humble writer like myself gets quoted; more -often than not, without payment or acknowledgment. A certain well-known -author wrote a book which was literally a réchauffé of one of mine; -but beyond my name appearing in the preface as “one of the works -consulted,” no further acknowledgment was made. Whole articles have -appeared with new headlines. Pages and pages have been embodied in -other people’s work without any acknowledgment whatever. - -I remember two instances, however, where I was most graciously asked -for the right of reproduction. I say “graciously” advisedly, because -I should never have seen the publications, and never have known the -articles were used. - -One was a letter from the head teacher of the great Military College -near Berlin, Lichtenfelde, who asked if an article on Mexico might be -used in the new _English Reading-book_, then in preparation for the -students. - -The other was a request for permission to transcribe an article on the -_Silent Sisterhood_ at Biarritz into Braille for the blind. That again -was a thing I should never have been likely to come across. - -Speaking of translations reminds me of the lack of emancipation of -Germany as recently as Christmas, 1906. _Porfirio Diaz_ had just been -translated. It was being well advertised and well reviewed, all the -result, probably, of a long article that had appeared a few months -before in the _Preussische Jahrbücher_, the leading political magazine -of the Fatherland, which had suggested that the book was of such value -they hoped to see a German translation. - -Having many friends in Germany, I thought I would go over for a month, -let my boys join me for Christmas at Bonn, where we would visit Dr. von -Rottenburg (mentioned in an earlier chapter), and afterwards snow-shoe -and skate in the Thüringian Mountains. - -On my dressing-table when I arrived in Berlin was a copy of _Diaz_, -with the publisher’s compliments. It was charmingly and most -artistically got up, and what cost a guinea here was only twelve -shillings there. - -But I at once noticed the name attached was _Alec Tweedie_. There was -no “Mrs.” nor “Frau.” I peeped inside. Again the man’s name, without -the feminine prefix. - -Next morning my esteemed publisher, who represented one of the most -important houses in Germany, called to make my acquaintance. - -I congratulated him on the get-up of the book, and the excellent -translation. “But why,” I said, “did you put ‘Alec Tweedie’ on the -volume without a prefix?” - -He hummed and hawed. - -“That is a man’s name,” I continued, “my husband’s name, and I am a -woman.” - -“That is true, Gnädige Frau, we preferred to put a man’s name on the -cover. You see a big historical, biographical work like that with a -woman’s name upon it would be seriously handicapped in Germany. Fifty -years ago, aye, twenty years ago in England, you women were hiding -your identity under the manly names of George Eliot, George Trafford, -George anything. Well, we are still in that condition in Germany, not -as regards novels, but as regards more serious work.” - -True, O publisher, and yet with all this female emancipation, with all -the _Reform Kleider_ which stand for advancement in Germany, it really -was amusing. - -Five years later the girls of the Fatherland were reading risky books -and taken to see risky plays, such was the rapidity with which the -pendulum of ultra-propriety swung the other way. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -THE END OF A CENTURY - - -The close of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth -was the subject of much notice both in drawing-room talks and articles -in the papers. The latter recapitulated all that the march of science -and civilisation had effected. Private persons spoke gaily or piously -anent “turning over a new leaf.” - -For me? Well, it was much the same as with the rest of nature. My life -went on through 1900 with only this difference, that it had grown—grown -certainly in the past years of striving to put forth one’s self. - -Personally the end of the old century marked a new departure, and was -the starting-point of much interesting public work—work, by the way, -that only a few short years before might not have seemed so enticing to -the then young Society woman as it was now to the thoroughly interested -worker. - -In 1899 the International Council of Women, under that brilliant worker -the Countess of Aberdeen, had met in London. It was a tremendous -undertaking, and I served on several of the committees. The one, -however, which took most of my time and thought was the Agricultural -Section, for which I was the Convener, and finally took the chair. -It seems a funny thing for a writer to have taken the chair at the -proceedings of an Agricultural Section, but this was the outcome of the -pamphlet on butter-making, and the endless articles I had then written -about women taking up dairy-work in this country. - -The Agricultural Section was a novelty, and, I am glad to say, proved -a success. I never felt more nervous in my life, although supported -on the platform by many able people, among them the Earl of Aberdeen. -Viscount Templetown sat next to me, and primed me in what to say, rang -bells when the allotted space of time had been filled by some speaker, -and generally acted as call-boy and prompter combined. And Professor -James Robertson, Agricultural Commissioner of Canada, travelled to this -country purposely to speak for me. I felt terribly impressed by the -solemnity of the entertainment, the whole section being a new departure. - -I continually received little notes from the audience asking questions -or offering to speak. One of them ran, “Please pass me down that -beautiful hat.” Utterly amazed at such a thing, I read and re-read the -sentence. I seemed to know the writing. I looked again, and found a -little “Hy. F.” - -“Good heavens!” I thought. “Harry Furniss is here making caricatures of -the proceedings.” - -Truly enough, the picture appeared in a paper the following week. - -One thing leads to another. At the Paris Exhibition of 1900 a Woman’s -Section was inaugurated, and a few people were invited by the Minister -of Commerce of the French Republic from England to go over and speak on -different subjects. Accordingly to Paris I went, and for twelve minutes -inflicted upon those poor, dear French people a speech which I read -in French, entitled “L’Agriculture et les femmes en Grande Bretagne.” -Since those days cultured women have energetically taken up dairying, -chicken-rearing, and egg-collecting, to say nothing of many branches of -horticulture in which they have proved themselves eminently successful. - -But while these international courtesies and gatherings were in process -the tragedies of war were being enacted in South Africa, and deep -anxiety and sorrow prevailed throughout the British Empire. - -Only a few weeks after the relief of Kimberley and Ladysmith Queen -Victoria came to London for a couple of days. She had a splendid -reception as she drove through the chief streets, a marvellous -demonstration of unorganised loyalty. After our sad reverses early in -the Transvaal War England went wild at the favourable turn of events, -and London continued its jubilation during Her Majesty’s stay. - -The Queen visited the City—it was on March 8th, 1900—and, in -accordance with the ancient custom, the Lord Mayor awaited Her -Majesty’s arrival at the City boundaries. On this occasion the -Embankment was the route taken by the Royal procession, and the Lord -Mayor—Sir Alfred Newton—stood in the road by the Temple Gardens and -presented the Queen with the City sword in its pearl scabbard, offering -a welcome “on behalf of your ancient and most loyal City.” It was an -impressive scene. The great City dignitary is privileged to wear an -earl’s robe when receiving a crowned head, and he was surrounded by his -Sheriffs, the City Marshal, the Sword-bearer, and the members of the -Common Council. - -After taking the sword—which was presented to the Corporation by -Queen Elizabeth—in both hands, Queen Victoria returned it to the Lord -Mayor “for safe keeping,” adding in her beautiful voice and faultless -diction, “My Lord Mayor, I wish to thank you for all the City has -done.” This, of course, alluded to the formation of the City Imperial -Volunteer Corps, which had started some weeks before for South Africa. - -The next day, March 9th, 1900, a luncheon party was given at the -Mansion House by the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress to the members of the -Executive Committee of the International Associations of the Press. -Among others I received an invitation. - -When an alderman is elected Lord Mayor, he and his family take up their -residence at the Mansion House for a year. There is a charming suite of -apartments at the top of the house for their reception, and all they -have to take with them is their private house-linen; everything else is -found. The servants are supplied, but as the Lord Mayor _pro tem._ pays -their wages, he can dismiss them at his pleasure. This rarely occurs, -however, especially among the upper servants, who positively nurse the -Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress and steer them clear of shoals during -their year of office. - -Arrived at the state door of the Mansion House, where magnificent -servants in blue velvet and gold trappings, white silk, and powdered -heads, took our cloaks, the guests ascended the red-carpeted staircase -to the chief corridor. Here, at the far end, between two splendid -thrones, stood the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress. The former wore a -black Court dress, with his chain of office, and a wonderful locket of -diamonds and enamel. On my name being announced, he most graciously -shook hands, and remarked, “I believe I am to have the pleasure of -sitting next you.” Evidently a Lord Mayor is not devoid of tact, -judging by this small incident. - -The City Marshal, resplendent in scarlet uniform, the Mace-bearer -in black robes with sable cap, many well-known City dignitaries, -and various officials stood around; among others being Mr. Sheriff -(afterwards Alderman Sir) William Treloar, who was later a most popular -Lord Mayor himself. - -Some hundred and fifty people had been received when luncheon was -announced. The Lord Mayor offered his arm to Mademoiselle Humbert, -the daughter of one of the French Deputies and editor of _L’Éclair_, -and the late Sir Hugh Gilzean Reid, one of the originators of evening -papers, was allotted to me. We formed into a procession and marched to -the big banqueting hall. A long table was arrayed down the room. At the -side centre sat the Lord Mayor, in a veritable throne of red velvet and -gilding. It was a magnificent setting, for behind him, along a large -part of the room, a sort of red-baize-covered sideboard was erected, -which literally groaned under gold plate. Tankards, cups, swords, and -bowls in number were here displayed, the collection of hundreds of -years of City wealth. - -We began with the renowned turtle soup, and I ventured to ask the Lord -Mayor if that were part of the City religion, at which he laughed. - -“Almost,” he said. “But I think to-day it has been given for luncheon, -a somewhat unusual affair, in honour of our foreign friends.” He -was both affable and charming. During the meal a perfect budget of -papers was brought in for his signature. He did not even look at their -contents—there were too many of them—but merely signed. Thereupon I -remarked: - -“You may be signing away your birthright.” - -“Oh,” he replied, “the Mansion House is a network of officialism, and -all these papers have gone through the proper office, been enquired -into, and passed; I have, therefore, nothing to do with them but sign -my name.” Gorgeous flunkeys placed the papers before him and gorgeous -flunkeys bore them away. - -The luncheon was not particularly good, except the turtle soup, -though it was well served. All the plates and silver bore the City -arms. Beautiful yellow tulips stood in golden vases down the table. -Certainly the foreign visitors ought to have been impressed by the -solid magnificence of a City banquet. The Lord Mayor made a happy, -though evidently unprepared speech, and regretted that he was not -master of each of the sixteen languages represented by the different -nationalities sitting round the table, but he did give a few phrases in -French and German, much to the delight of the foreigners. - -“What is the most difficult part of being Lord Mayor?” I asked. - -“The dinners,” was his surprising reply. “It is a case of dining out -practically every night, and as the Lord Mayor goes everywhere in his -official capacity, he is always expected to say something. How is it -possible to say anything with any sense in it six times a week?” - -He seemed delighted with the Queen’s visit and showed the sword which -had been used for the ceremony. The next day the announcement appeared -in the papers that Her Majesty, in recognition of her City reception, -had been pleased to confer a baronetcy upon him, and knighthood upon -the Sheriffs. - -I had a long talk after the luncheon with Sir William Agnew, who -said, “I have now collected all my pictures for the Paris Exhibition, -and flatter myself they are the finest collection of representative -English art that has ever been brought together, considering the -number—Gainsborough, Raeburn, Romney, Constable, Turner, Watts, -Burne-Jones are among them, and several are insured for from £10,000 -to £15,000 apiece. But I have never before found such difficulty in -obtaining the loan of pictures. In several cases I received an answer -in the affirmative until I mentioned Paris. ‘Oh no, my dear fellow! I -am not going to let my picture go _there_,’ has been the reply. - -“There is no doubt about it,” he continued, “that the attitude of -the French Press lately towards the Queen, and their comments on the -Transvaal War, have caused a very bitter feeling in this country, and -in several instances I have had to make it a personal favour to myself -to get the pictures at all. Indeed, the fear has been so great that the -exhibition might be burnt down, or the canvases cut and destroyed, that -I almost gave up all idea of a representative English collection in -despair; and, although I have insured the pictures for a large sum from -their owner’s door till their ultimate return, I shall not be happy -in my mind until the exhibition is over and they are back again. The -present mistrust of the French people is extraordinary, and the sort -of feeling current that we may go to war with France has made it very -difficult.” - -A few years later the influence of King Edward did much to create a -better understanding with France. - -The Lord Mayor’s documents coming in for signature reminded me of a -millionaire, who has much to do with the issue of shares and can sign -his name fourteen or fifteen hundred times in an hour. - -“I often do that,” he said; “in fact, two or three times in a year. But -the greatest number of times I ever signed my name in a week was once -in Paris when we were bringing out a new company; then I signed my name -thirty-three thousand times in one week.” - -“How on earth do you manage it?” I exclaimed. “Does a secretary pass -the papers before you and blot them as you sign?” - -“I have no secretary and no one blots them,” he replied. “A book, -containing from one to three hundred documents, is put before me, and -I lift each one with my left hand while I sign with my right. I don’t -stop to blot them, they blot themselves—or smudge,” he laughed; “and as -each book is completed I throw it on the floor and take up another from -the table beside me. Every hour or so one of the clerks comes in, and -wheels the signed books away on a trolley and places another bundle on -the table. I sometimes sign my name for three hours straight off, which -means four thousand to four thousand five hundred signatures without -rising from my seat.” - -“I am going to assist at a bazaar,” I exclaimed, “and I really think -it would be a splendid idea to put you in a little room dressed up in -gorgeous Eastern attire, charge sixpence for admission, and write in -large letters on the outside: “‘The man who can sign his name fifteen -hundred times in an hour!’ We should make quite a lot of money.” - -He laughed. Writer’s cramp never troubled him. - -When the day came that I really was overpowered with work, that my -table was strewn with commissions, that I had secretaries hard at it, -sorting, arranging, looking out photographs or figures; as I dictated -between whiles and they typed, a horrible pain, like hot sand, came -in my eyes. At first intermittently, then more frequently, till at -last a hideous dread of blindness—like my father’s—seized hold of me. -Off to Sir Anderson Critchett I went. “Overwork, overstrain; you must -give up your work for a time.” “I can’t,” I replied. “Then you must be -responsible for the consequences.” Lotions, blisters behind the ears, -brought improvement, but still that hot, burning sand was there. - -To Sir John Tweedy I then repaired. “Inflammation of the eyes from -overwork; you must rest the eyes. Never work at night, and always wear -a black shade when possible.” - -So I gained nothing fresh from him. Both gave me exactly the same -advice and warned me of danger. - -I wore that hideous shade for a year, tore it off the moment a stranger -appeared—never went out at night. The glaring lights of the theatre had -become positive torture; but, in spite of all, I managed somehow to -keep up my work and write another book. - -Gradually, by resting my eyes whenever possible, never reading unless -obliged, and sitting much in the dark, my eyes became better and remain -better. - -And thus the last days of the great Century of Progress sped into -the realm of past ages. But when the newcomer crossed the threshold -of Time, with all the new century’s opportunities and hopes, I was -far away under the Southern Cross amid the brilliant colouring and -luxuriant vegetation of the tropics. - -[Illustration: THE WRITER—IN DIVIDED RIDING SKIRT, SOUTHERN MEXICO, -1900-1] - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -MEXICO AS I SAW IT - - -One day in July, 1900, I was explaining to my small boys that I was -going off through Canada and America to Mexico to write a new book, to -make some more money for bread and butter and school bills. - -One of them appeared distressed at the idea. At last, after a pause, he -said: - -“Why don’t you go and sit in that shop in Regent Street with your hair -hanging down, like those three girls do?” - -I looked surprised. - -“It would not be so tiring as travelling all that long way and writing -another big book,” he explained, “and you would make just as much -money, I am sure.” - -Lovely idea! - -But I dared not accept his suggestion, kindly meant though it was. - -A letter I wrote to a woman friend in 1900 has just come into my hands. -It says: - - “Your congratulations on my ‘success,’ as you are pleased to call - it, are very sweet. Public success seems to me to mean so little. - After a good dinner the playgoeer enjoys any foolery—and much the - same with books. A good temper makes a satisfied reader, and an - easy chair and shady lamp do the rest. I am not satisfied. Far from - it. Sheaves of reviews—and all good ones, strange to relate—lie - before me; but they mean nothing. I know inside my little _me_ that - I ought to have done better. - - “Perhaps I should have been wise never to have commenced the - struggle. To have retired from London to a suburb or a cottage and - lived quietly on my small income. You will say I have a fit of the - blues—and doubtless I have—or liver, or something equally stupid; - but I’ve been pretty hard at it for four years now—three - books have been conceived and born and a fourth nearly done, and - I am still alive; but I’m tired. Shall I go to Mexico and write - another while I am young enough to rough it and stand the racket, - or shall I throw down the pen and cry vanquished? Work is a tough - job to a woman never brought up to the idea of working, and perhaps - I’m trying to carry more on my silly shoulders than those silly - sloping shoulders can bear. The table is covered with orders of all - sorts and kinds—work lies before me if only I had the pluck to do - it. The more ’success’ I gather, as you call it, the more incapable - I feel. - -“Two strings are tugging at me, one says _go on_, the other says -_stop_. The first may end in failure. The second begins in failure. -Mexico—and quite alone—mind you, is a long way, and a big job. To-night -I seem to funk it; but, then, to-night I seem to funk everything, and -even your letter of love and sympathy, dear friend, has not quite -dragged me back to my senses. I’m very lonely at times, and that’s the -truth. After that remark you will think I’m going to marry again; but -there you are wrong. You lost your hundred pounds bet that I would -re-marry in a year—so don’t be foolish and risk any more on this silly, -wayward, lonely, spoilt pen-woman. - - “Yours, etc.” - -N.B.—I went to Mexico shortly after—alone, quite alone, on a -twenty-five-thousand-mile journey. - -Why did I choose Mexico to visit and write about? Because with all the -world before me that land seemed to offer a more historic past than -almost any other country on God’s earth; and was there not a spice of -danger and romance lurking amongst its hills and valleys? - -I left London in July, and, after halting in Canada and the United -States, landed in Mexico on November 1st, 1900, and returned to England -in April, 1901. Between those dates I had travelled some twenty-five -thousand miles, had spent thirty-nine nights in moving trains, and many -more in private Pullman-cars in railway sidings. I had lived a life of -luxury and ease and had roughed it to nigh unendurable straits. Besides -which I was constantly sending home articles to the English Press. - -It was a several months’ journey from Liverpool to Quebec, through -Canada to Niagara, then to New York, Chicago, Washington, and -Philadelphia; and onward, onward to Mexico. Before leaving America, -however, I turned aside when I found myself only fifty miles from -Galveston, which, about ten weeks previously, had been visited by its -historic and terrible storm. Heart-rending were the sights that met -my eyes and the tales that were poured into my ears. Eight thousand -people had perished in that terrible hurricane, their bodies were -even then being cremated on the shore. Rows of small houses literally -stood on their heads, while on the beach pianos, tramcars, saucepans, -sewing-machines, baths, and perambulators lay in wild confusion. - -Resuming my journey I soon passed the Mexican frontier, and there -had my first experience in ranch life; there, too, a “norther,” or -dust-storm, made me long for the comparative comfort of a London fog. -Eyes, nose, mouth, ears, were all choked with hard, sharp, cutting -sandy dust. My raven locks were grey and no longer suitable for -exhibition in the shop in Regent Street. Next came another long railway -journey to Mexico City, with the President of the line in his private -train, with various entertainments on the way, including a bull-fight -and a cock-fight, and much interested amusement at the customs of -the people. Mexico City was reached just in time for me to see the -celebrations of the Feast Day of the Lady of Guadaloupe, the patron -saint of Mexico. It was a wonderful sight, and the story reminded me of -Lourdes, though it is of much earlier origin and the pilgrimage of far -greater magnitude. - -The welcome tendered to me in the capital was delightful. - -The Christmas customs were, of course, of great interest; Madame Diaz, -the wife of that great President, invited me to her _posada_. A most -enjoyable and novel evening. One of my most valued treasures is the -little bonbonnière she gave me on that occasion. - -Many varied experiences followed; rides lasting two or three weeks -through that marvellous country to see old Aztec ruins; life at -tobacco, sugar, tea, or coffee _haciendas_; to say nothing of the -national customs, traditions, and superstitions on every side. The -President gave me a guard of forty _rurales_ (soldiers), and, as -the opportunity of penetrating remote parts was great, twenty-two -gentlemen of all nationalities, from Cabinet Ministers to clerks, -joined us. We were sixty-three all told, and, though I rode astride -like a man, I was the only woman. - -Perhaps the most thrilling and exciting moment on my various travels -was that spent on a trolley-car in Southern Mexico. Along those distant -tracks barely two or three trains pass in a day, and hundreds, aye, -thousands, of miles of railway have to be kept in repair. It is usual -for the engineers to run along the line in a little open wagon, known -as a trolley-car, which is worked by hand by four or six men, and -covers the ground at a good pace. It can stop at any moment, and be -lifted bodily off the line should a train require to pass. - -Naturally, one sees the scenery magnificently from a car of this -kind, for there is nothing before one. I was sitting in front with an -engineer on each side of me. We had just come through one of the most -magnificent passes in the world of engineering, and had, indeed, at -that moment crossed a bridge, a slender, fragile thing. Some two or -three hundred feet below it the water gurgled in a rushing stream. -Parrots shrieked overhead, terrapins floated on the water, and monkeys -swung from tree to tree. There was a precipice on one side, a high, -rocky hill on the other, and just room for this mountainous line to -crawl round the rocks. - -We were all telling stories and chatting cheerfully: the next thing -I knew was that the man on my right seized me by the neck, as if he -suddenly wished to strangle me, and somehow he and I fell together a -tangled mass down the side of the precipice. - -When I looked up—luckily caught in the shrubs—an enormous engine was -towering over my head, the grid-like rails of the cow-catcher looking -ominous and weird above me. The splintered platform of the trolley-car -was rushing down the mountain-side, and our iron wheels were running -off in different directions. It was a marvel we were not all killed. - -It had happened in this wise. - -As we turned a sharp corner an engine suddenly bore down on us—one -of those great black, high American locomotives, neither varnished -nor painted. The engineers, accustomed to the ominous sound, luckily -heard it before it was quite upon us. Hence, I was violently dragged -from what, in another second, would have been instantaneous death. The -natives all jumped off in some wonderful manner, also being accustomed -to the sound; but our trolley-car was smashed to smithereens. - -It was a ghastly experience. By the time I regained my equilibrium, -and saw the horrible accident to our frail little carriage and learnt -the awful danger we had just come through, I realised that I had just -experienced one of the most perilous moments of my life. - -I should have sat there oblivious and literally courted death. We never -know life’s real dangers till they are past, hence the courage of the -battlefield or shipwreck. We only worry over what we but partially -understand, hence the anxiety so often experienced before sitting in -the dentist’s chair. Anticipation is so much sharper than realisation. - -This was not my only narrow escape, for I was blessed with the -proverbial three. - -While visiting at the _hacienda_ of the Governor of one of the Southern -States we, one day after lunch, amused ourselves by shooting at bottles -with the rifles of the _rurales_. After a time my hostess and I had -wandered away for a stroll, and, as we returned, a ricochet bullet -slid off a bottle and buried itself in my womanly “Adam’s apple.” A -red streak ran down my collar, I opened my mouth and literally gasped, -choking; everybody thought I was dead. But it proved nothing, and in a -few minutes I could breathe and speak again and was washed clean. - -My third escape was a terrible illness, contracted when riding in the -tropics, and caused either by venomous bites or poisonous ivy. Never -shall I forget the awful loneliness of those days and nights fighting -with death in a Mexican hotel. - -Of all the marvellous sights, the magnificent scenery, the -many-coloured birds and flowers rivalling each other in gorgeousness, -I need not write here. But, far beyond everything, the scene that left -the deepest impression on my mind was in Southern Mexico. It was a -visit to the Caves of Cacahuimilpa, one of the greatest wonders of the -world, and the Governor of the State organised an expedition for me to -see them. Numberless Indians from far and wide had joined my party, -glad of the opportunity of going inside the wondrous caves which they -hold in such superstitious dread. Candles were distributed to the -company, which by now must have been swelled to something like a couple -of hundred people. All was ready. - -The descent was easy, for a roadway had been made; but it was really -very impressive to see so many individuals solemnly marching two and -two into impenetrable blackness to the strain of martial music. Each -person carried a long lighted candle, but before we returned to our -starting-point, six and a half hours later, these candles had nearly -burnt out. - -The caves were originally formed by a river, the waterline of which -is distinctly visible, while in places the ground is marked with wave -ripples like the sand of a beach. Then, again, many stones are round -and polished, the result of constant rolling by water; and, still more -wonderful, two rivers flow beneath them, probably through caves just as -marvellous, which no man had then dared penetrate. - -I believe we went through seven caverns, and our numerous lights barely -made a flicker in the intense gloom—they were nothing in that vast -space. Rockets were sent up. Rockets which were known to ascend two -hundred and fifty feet, but which nowhere reached the roof; the height -is probably somewhere between five and six hundred feet. Think of a -stone roof at that altitude without any supports. - -The size alone appalled, but the stalactites and stalagmites almost -petrified one with amazement. Many of them have joined, making rude -pillars a couple of hundred feet high and perhaps a hundred feet in -diameter at the base. Others have formed grotesque shapes. A seal -upon the ground is positively life-like: a couple of monster Indian -idols: faces and forms innumerable; here an old woman bent nearly -double, there a man with a basket on his head, thrones fit for kings, -organs with every pipe visible, which, when tapped, send forth deep -tones. It was all so great, so wonderful, so marvellous; I felt all -the time as if I were in some strange cathedral, greater, grander, and -more impressive than any I had ever entered. Its aspect of power and -strength paralysed me, not with fear, but with admiration. - -At times it was terribly stiff climbing and several of the party had -nasty falls in the uncertain light; at others it was a case of sitting -down and sliding, in order to get from one boulder to another; but it -was worth it all to see such a sight, to realise the Power that made -those caves, to bow before the Almighty Hand which had accomplished -such work, even in millions of years. There hung those great stone -roofs without support of any kind—what architect could have performed -such a miracle? There stood those majestic pillars embedded in rocks -above and below; there hung yards and yards of stalactites weighing -tons, and yet no stay or girder kept them in place. It was a lesson, -a chapter in religion, something solemn and soul-stirring, something -never to be forgotten; one of the Creator’s great mysteries, where -every few yards presented some fresh revelation. - -My knees were trembling, every rag of clothing I wore was as wet as -when first taken from the washerwoman’s tub, yet I struggled on, -fascinated, bewildered, awed, by the sights which met me at every step. -Think of it. Stumbling along for four and a half hours, even then not -reaching the end, and, though we returned by the easiest and quickest -way, it was two hours more before we found the exit. - -In one of the caves the Governor proposed my health, and the party -gave three cheers, which resounded again and again in that wonderful -subterranean chamber, deep down in the bowels of the earth, with a -mountain above and a couple of rivers below. The military band of -Cacahuimilpa accompanied us, and the effect produced by their music was -stupendous. No words can give any idea of the volume of sound, because -the largest band in the world could not succeed in producing the same -effect of resonance in the open air which ten performers caused in -those vast silent chambers. - -It is impossible to describe the immense grandeur of Cacahuimilpa. - -Man is speechless in such majestic surroundings; but in this -all-pervading silence surely the voice of God speaks. - -Hot, tired, and overpowered we were plodding homewards, when a letter -was handed to a member of the party by a mounted soldier, who, seeing -our lights approaching the entrance, had dared to venture into the -grottos to deliver his missive. We were all surprised at the man’s -arrival, and more surprised to find he carried an envelope. It turned -out to be a telegram which had followed our party from a village -forty miles distant, and had been sent on by special horseman with -instructions to overtake us at all speed. Was ever telegram delivered -amid stranger surroundings, to a more cosmopolitan collection of -humanity assembled in the bowels of the earth, far, far away from -civilisation? - -What news that telegram contained! It had travelled seven thousand -miles across land and sea; it had arrived at a moment when we were all -overawed by stupendous grandeur and thoroughly worn out with fatigue. -At the first glance it seemed impossible to read. Men, accustomed to -the vagaries of foreign telegraph clerks when dealing with the English -language, found, however, no difficulty in deciphering its meaning. - -Then the Governor spoke a word. Every Indian doffed his hat and bent -his eyes, as Colonel Alarcon walked solemnly towards me, and in deep -tone, with evident feeling, explained that the President of Mexico had -sent on the news to tell the English señora— - - “QUEEN VICTORIA IS DEAD.” - -A historic telegram, truly, announcing a national calamity, and -received amidst the wildest possible surroundings in the strangest -possible way. - -The Queen was dead. The English-speaking people had lost her who had -been their figure-head for sixty-three years. The monarch, to whom the -whole world paid homage as a woman and respect as a Queen, had died at -Osborne on the previous day, while we, wandering over Aztec ruins at -Xochicalco, had not even heard of her illness. - -Impressed as we were by the mystic grandeur of the caves, amazed at the -wonders of nature, this solemn news seemed to fit the serious thoughts -of the day, thoughts which had grown in intensity with each succeeding -hour. Cacahuimilpa appeared a fitting spot in which to hear of a great -public loss. Time and place for once were in no wise “out of tune.” - -It was dark and the way steep as we rode back to the village in -silence. - -Like the proverbial bad penny, I rolled home again with my pocket -full of notes on men, women, and things. I had collected my material, -written bits in railway trains, on steamboats, and almost in the -saddle, and as soon as I felt well enough, put together _Mexico as I -saw It_. - -The beginning of the manuscript was sent off to the publishers in -the June following, just two months after landing at home, and the -remainder was printed, chapter by chapter, as I managed to finish each: -a most terrible and anxious manner of proceeding and one certainly not -to be recommended. The first proof of _Mexico as I saw It_ was returned -on July 10th; the slips, or galleys, finished on August 10th; the -whole was paged and passed for press on September 10th. It appeared in -October at a guinea net, the illustrations mostly from my own camera. -So I was just six months in Mexico, and just six more getting out the -book; in my own souvenir copy there is written on the fly-leaf: “It is -done, but it has nearly done for me.” - -Reviews were more than kind, but then the subject was new, so people -found it interesting. As Frederic Harrison wrote in the _Positivist -Review_: “The marvellous restoration of Mexico, from being a hot-bed -of anarchy and the victim of superstition to its present condition of -one of the best governed and most enlightened of modern countries, has -often attracted the attention of political observers. In Mrs. Alec -Tweedie’s most interesting volume we find suggestive sketches of the -institution of the Republic, and a personal character of the President, -General Porfirio Diaz, the noble statesman who has achieved such -triumphs.” How could one help being gratified that other influential -organs of public opinion felt with me the “fascinations of the Southern -_haciendas_ and of the natives of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,” and held -the information, that had been zealously collected, of practical and -informing value? - -On the hospitality of the President it is only necessary to say that, -looking back to those records of 1900-1, I find this expression—warm -from the heart—respecting General and Madame Diaz: - -“Their kindness and courtesy, the extraordinary thoughtfulness and -consideration with which I was treated, will ever remain in my mind. -Without the personal aid of General Diaz I could not have written -_Mexico as I saw It_, and perhaps this peep into the life of the -people, over whom he rules so powerfully, may help to make that -wonderful country a little better understood.”[5] - - * * * * * - -Five years later I returned to Mexico and wrote the _Life_ of the -President. - -The first time I left the country I was limping with pain after a -serious illness of blood-poisoning—the second time I left almost -limping again, but that was from the weight of the precious documents I -bore away. - -No one knew but the President, his wife, and three of his Ministers, -what important material I was taking with me, or that I was going to -write the _Life_ of General Diaz from his diaries and notes. It was -published in England and America in February, 1906, and reprinted with -additions two months later. One kindly critic said: “It is a romance, -a history, a biography, one of the most thrilling stories of real life -ever written.” Later it was translated into German and Spanish. I was -so pressed with work at that time I had one Spanish and two English -secretaries constantly employed—I often sat at my desk for nine or ten -hours a day, and rarely went to any social entertainment except an -occasional public dinner. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[5] _Mexico as I saw It_ quickly passed into a second edition in spite -of its price, and then fell out of print. Nearly ten years later Nelson -and Sons decided to add it to their shilling Library of Travel. Strange -as it may appear, not a single copy of the old edition was on the -market anywhere, and we had to advertise three times before we could -get a dirty copy to tear to pieces for correction for the printers. In -August, 1911, the cheap edition was selling in thousands on the railway -bookstalls of Great Britain. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE CONTENTS OF A WORKING-WOMAN’S LETTER-BOX - - -The fact of having committed a book into printer’s ink lays one open -to curious correspondence. I am sure there are autograph hunters who -seek the appearance of each new writer, in order to mark her down, as -eagerly as ever angler watched for a trout rising to his fly. Some ask -directly and are unashamed; others wrap up their request by desiring -some piece of information. Happily it has not yet become a recognised -custom for a writer to be asked by people entirely unknown to her to -give them her books, but I have experienced even such modest requests. -One circumstance was perhaps a little unusual. - -From far-away Mussoorie, in the North-West Provinces of India, came -a letter one day. It was dated “January,” after the season at the -hill station was over, by some exile compelled to stay on through -the dreariness of a deserted health resort, to live through the -monotonously dull days and watch the successive falls of snow on the -mountains. My correspondent had been reading about myself and my books -in a popular monthly which had reached her, and became emboldened to -ask “if the writer would lend her a copy of _A Girl’s Ride in Iceland_, -which she would carefully return.” As she covered the thin pages of her -foreign note-paper her boldness grew, for next she “confessed” that she -would like to possess the book; and she wound up with a suggestion that -if my name “was written on the fly-leaf, signifying that the book was a -gift to her by the author, it would add to its value.” - -I believe in this instance I did weakly send the book, autographed -fly-leaf and all. One feels sympathetic towards a lonely woman -compatriot left stranded on an Indian hill-top, thinking perchance of -a friendly Christmas-time at home, with one’s own people, shops and -shows to amuse and cheer one. - -“A bibliophilic favour” was on another occasion requested. This time my -correspondent was nearer home: - - “Ever since boyhood I have been an ardent lover of books; but, - alas! owing to a paucity of pence (to say nothing of pounds), I am - only able to buy when I can, not when I would. So I am sorry to - have to confess that none of your volumes grace, as yet, my humble - shelves. But I am not wholly without examples of your pen. Some of - your articles, those on “Dr. Nansen at Home” and “Henrik Ibsen” and - “Björnstjerne Björnson,” I have had carefully excerpted from back - numbers of _Temple Bar_ and neatly backed for preservation. Well, - I should very much like to adorn each of them by the insertion - of a line or two in your handwriting—will you graciously make - it possible for me to do so? The veriest trifle—or trifles—that - you might care to send me would, you may be sure, be gratefully - accepted and prized.” - -I am afraid those magazine excerpts, though neatly “backed” for -preservation, are still unadorned. - -What, one wonders, will become of pickers-up of bibliophilic trifles -in these days when everything committed to paper is typewritten? The -relics of dead authors of the twentieth century, when those of the -twenty-first come to collect them, will not be the manuscripts written -in ink in a neat (or otherwise) handwriting, such as the British Museum -purchases for hundreds of pounds and stores among its treasures to-day; -but lacerated engrimed sheets of typescript which can make but small -appeal to anyone’s emotions. - -At other times various correspondents have asked of me: - -If I would figure with my children in a series of articles entitled -“Model Mothers,” which Mr. Harmsworth’s (Lord Northcliffe’s) enterprise -was bringing out. - -Would I get somebody concert engagements? - -Did I approve of divorce? - -Had I any theory in the bringing up of babies? - -Would I permit my visiting-card to be reproduced in the illustration of -an article on “The Etiquette of Card-leaving”? - -Had I two or three good specimens of opals from Querétaro for a -correspondent who had _twice_ read my Mexican book? - -While another enterprising gleaner sought my help in gathering his -sheaf as follows: - - “I am endeavouring to collect the opinions of prominent ladies - and gentlemen as to what is the ideal age for marriage. If you - would be so good as to write a few lines, giving your opinion - on this matter, from the lady’s point of view, and enclose them - in the accompanying stamped addressed envelope at your earliest - convenience, I assure you that I should esteem it a great favour. - Sincerely hoping that you may see your way to accede to my - request,” etc. - -Another enquired if I thought widows should remarry. - -Lastly, among begging letters that visit the working-woman’s desk -like so many buzzing flies, one covering many pages may be taken as a -specimen. A youth, a French polisher by trade, wrote that he had given -up his situation: taken to writing: failed and become a tramp. After -many hardships, having only one penny left, he bought a postage-stamp -and hoped to find a _Who’s Who_ in his inn. He was unsuccessful, but -discovered a _Literary Year-Book_, which he opened by chance, and his -eyes fell on my name; therefore he sent me a most lengthy appeal for -help, adding a promise of repayment as he had a prospect of work. - -Truly strange epistles drift into the working-woman’s letter-box, and -each steals a little time from her busy day. - -Once an unknown person, chancing to read an article of mine on Lourdes, -sent me sixteen closely written pages in French, betraying a profound -anxiety on the writer’s part to convert me to Roman Catholicism. - -Then come letters of a different kind requesting loans. They may be -from the Royal Geographical Society, or the Earl’s Court Exhibition, or -a lace collection, or perhaps some clergyman in the East End, but the -letters come and the letters have to be answered. - -The writers generally require the loan of curios from Iceland, Finland, -Norway, Mexico, Morocco, Sicily; or any country, in fact, with which -one’s name is associated. Lists have to be made, the objects looked -out, packed, sent, placed, fetched, unpacked. Sometimes things get -damaged, or lost, and then no one seems responsible. - -People write asking for patronage; the loan of one’s name as a -patroness to soup kitchens, charity concerts, balls, clubs, hospital -bazaars, or collections by a friend for some charity. I was once asked -by an unknown man to be godmother to his child. Soaps have asked for -my patronage, and a motor-car was suggested as a free gift (it was the -early days of motoring) if I would drive it through the streets of -London. - -Letters from women and men aspiring to literature—and verily half the -world seems to think literary gifts are as common as pens and inkpots; -letters from the natives of all the countries about which I have ever -written, asking for help, or “for money to buy a ticket home because -they are stranded in London and destitute”; or a fond father wishing -to start his son in mining writes to ask my experience of mines in -Mexico; while perhaps a mother thinks my experience would solve a -question whether her daughter, who is a hospital nurse, would find a -good opening in Canada; and, again, a girl starting a dairy enquires -for hints on the Danish procedure. - -Letters modestly ask me if through my medical connection I can get -“a poor friend” seen by a doctor gratis; or if I can give someone an -introduction for the stage, or hear somebody else sing or recite, and -see what he or she had better do with their talent. - -Oh dear! Oh dear! Letters never end, they are like the taxes in their -persistency. Is there anything under the sun people will not bother a -busy woman to obtain? The following letter was as much underlined as -one of Queen Victoria’s epistles: - - “I know your books so well, and have heard so much of _all_ your - _great_ kindness to people. I am a worker in one of ... and am - resting a time, and am anxious to get some help towards getting - a _Bath chair_ for a poor crippled child. It is _such a sad, sad - case_, and if she had a chair she could get to church and Sunday - School. I have also been a missionary in poor needy India. Please - send a _little_ help towards the Chair, and also if you can - _towards_ the support of our Hospital for poor _Purdah women_ in - India, where I hope to be able to return _some day_. I am Dean - ...’s niece. - - “Yours very truly, - “O. P.” - -One effusion addressed to me begins: - - “It is very many years since we met, but I am hoping you have not - quite forgotten me. I have been a widow for nearly two years, - and am now anxious to get some employment, as I am _absolutely - penniless_.” - -In the same strain the letter runs on for several pages. For a long -time the signature was a puzzle, and then gradually rose before me the -vision of a man with whom I used to dance twenty years before as a -girl; he was then a rich bachelor in Park Lane. A few years after this -he married, and I only saw his wife two or three times. Surely on such -a slight acquaintance the letter could not come from her. But it did. - -What is to become of the endless stream of charming but incapable -women, whose husbands, fathers, or brothers leave them in this -deplorable condition? - -Among the newspaper articles for which my pen has travelled -over reams of paper—articles responsible for much of my strange -correspondence—were some on hand-loom weaving. - -Far away in the wilds of Sutherlandshire, chance once drew my steps to -visit a little croft where homespuns were woven by the family, while -the hens laid their eggs in the corner, or cackled in the rafters. -Years went by and better days came to that household. - -Appreciation is always pleasant, and such kindly words as those in the -following simple letter are good to read. The excellent English used by -the writer is a testimony to education in the Highlands of Scotland. - - “DEAR MADAM, - - “I feel very much my inability to write as I feel in regard to - the very able and very earnest appeal you have made through the - columns of the _Queen_—on behalf of the British workman, but more - especially for your kind way of writing about our little Cottage - home. - - “Dear Lady, your visit had gladdened our hearts but your paper more - so, and I feel quite at a loss to thank you for your kindness. We - have an ‘heirloom’ in the family already (the one you saw), but if - this paper won’t be an ‘heirloom’ it will be a relic, in the family - of all about the loom. - - “My mother said while you were here you would soon come to - understand about it, but I can’t help complimenting you on the - retentiveness of your memory. I don’t think you have forgotten - anything I said, but certainly you haven’t forgot about the hen - laying her egg. “What a joke?” nor my kitten either. - - “Teazled ought to have been spelt Teazed. Teazling is part of the - operation fine tweeds undergo in the finishing process after being - woven. - - “Teazed is an opening out of the wool. - - “That is the only error and probably a printer’s one, so that your - facts are perfectly correct, the prices of your wool are not my - quotations. - - “Sutherlandshire wools always get a higher price in the wool - markets than any other work. Wools under 9d. per lb. are of no - great value. - - “I have been very successful in this Exhibition, sold out, some - orders, three prizes, for our own goods; woven the goods of seven - others (crofters), who have also obtained prizes. In the green - wincy 1st prize, the Black second; the travelling-rugs 1st prize, - the shepherd’s plaid commended. - - “Again thanking you for your kindness - - “I am, - - “Dear Madam, - - “Your humble and obedient Servant, - - “A. P.” - -If the weaver’s letter was pleasant, the following reversed the shield. -I have not often received abusive letters; but here is an example at -random: - - “PUTNEY. - - “MADAM, - - “I have read your article on ‘Beauty’ in _The Daily Mail_ of - to-day’s date, regarding your idea of tall, slight figures (which - _you_ describe as being leggy, lanky, etc.). I consider you a fool - and an idiot and certainly _low-bred_. You are evidently coarse and - fat yourself, therefore you do not understand refined breed. Kindly - insert this in your next article on ‘Beauty.’ - - “A JUDGE OF REFINEMENT.” - -Possibly my correspondent would claim that her judicial merits in the -matter of refinement extended to language. - -A total stranger sent me the following—among epistolary -curiosities—dated from a well-known ladies’ club: - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “I am doing a most unusual thing and I fear you will at once - say—impertinent! but please don’t. You travel so tremendously, - each of your works I seem to like better than the other. I suppose - you always have a maid with you? or a companion? If only you would - take me with you (I would pay my own expenses) on one of your - fascinating journeys. I am just consumed with a desire to travel in - unfrequented country and would do anything if only I could go with - you sometime. Please do not consider me a most rude and forward - girl.” - -Being struck with this letter, I sent for the girl. She came; tall, -dark, handsome, and a lady. It appeared that she was not happy at -home, but had means of her own. She had been abroad with friends, who -invariably stayed in large hotels, all alike and all uninteresting, -whilst she wanted to see something of the real life of the foreign -lands she visited. - -“But what do you want to do with me?” I asked. - -“Travel with you. I would go as your secretary, as your maid, as -anything if you would only take me. I would pay all my own expenses and -promise to be useful.” - -“Maids sew on buttons and lace up boots,” I replied, laughing. - -“I’ll do all that and more, if you will only take me. I have your -books, and I know I should love you, and I do so want to travel, to -really travel as you do.” - -She was delightfully enthusiastic; but, alas! I could not take her; the -responsibility of a headstrong girl was too great. It might have turned -out an ideal arrangement, but, again, it might have been a hideous -failure, and when travelling to write books one has no time to tackle -needless worries. - -To end this list of letter-samples that more often tease than gratify -the recipient are constant demands for subscriptions; appeals for gifts -of books to poor clubs; letters from comparative strangers asking if -they may bring a particular friend or a foreigner to call, as they wish -to have a talk with me, or see over my house. In fact, no one who does -not peep into a busy woman’s letter-box can have any idea of the amount -of correspondence on all conceivable subjects it contains. - -No doubt other workers have likewise helped—or are helping—the young or -shiftless beginners who have not yet found foothold on the lowest rung -of the ladder, round which so great a crowd is struggling. But do all, -one wonders, learn, as has been my experience, how quickly eaten bread -is sometimes forgotten by the eater: how often so-called gratitude is -only the hope of fresh favours to come? - -Does it ever strike people that it hurts? - -A girl of my acquaintance was once very, very poor. She wrote asking -my advice; saw me, and finally started in a small way as a manicurist. -No move was made without claiming my advice at all times and seasons. -She called and sat for hours asking this and that. She brought -agreements to be looked over, earnings to discuss, address-books for -suggestions; Heaven knows what she did not bring. At my persuasion she -saved shillings and put them into the Post Office Savings Bank. Then it -became pounds, and I arranged with a bank to open a little account for -her, and later asked my stockbroker to invest her first saved hundred -pounds in something _very_ safe. - -That first hundred saved, in a year or two became a thousand, and -quickly doubled itself. She deserved it all, for she worked hard and -saved diligently, but—well! the protectress was wanted less and less, -the protestations of affection and admiration slowly ceased, and when -my help could no longer be of use they came to an end. - -Gratitude. Where is it? The people one helps most generously often turn -away the moment they are firmly established. - -Take another case. I started a certain girl in journalism. (I’ve -started so many.) She worried me day and night for help and advice. -I corrected MSS., suggested subjects, rewrote whole articles, and -all because of feeling really sorry for her plight. She is now a -flourishing journalist. We often meet, but she rarely takes the trouble -to call because she need no longer get anything out of me. - -Yes! after correcting four whole books, and that means hours and hours -of dreary work, only in one case, to my surprise and delight—for -such a small return gives one real pleasure—did I find a pretty -acknowledgment, in a preface, of my part of the work. - -People will come again and again, and a hundred times again, no matter -how inconvenient the hour; they will drop in at meal-time, and knowing -how poor they are, one feels forced to ask them to stop. But these very -folk, once on their feet, sometimes forget the friendly outstretched -hand of help by which they climbed. - -It hurts. - -On the other hand, some people are almost too grateful. A boy who was -alone in lodgings and spent his Sundays with us in Harley Street in the -long ago, went to China, where he has done splendidly; and every year -since I have had a home of my own—since 1887, in fact—he has sent me a -chest of tea, “because he never could forget the kindness of the past.” -And he sends a similar recognition to my mother for the same reason. -Such tokens of remembrance keep alive the friendships of those bygone -days. - -A woman who was with me for some years as secretary and left through -ill-health never forgets to send me a kindly note on my birthday, a -little thoughtfulness I greatly appreciate. One loves to be remembered. -A penny bunch of violets often gives a hundredfold its weight in -pleasure. - -Yes, remembrance is always pleasant. Dear old Sir John Erichsen left me -£300 in his will to buy a memento. I was too poor for mementoes when -it came, so I invested it, and the £12 a year became of real tangible -help. Or again, an old cousin in Scotland whom I only saw twice, left -me, when she died, my paternal grandmother’s engagement-ring, and her -delightful old tea-service of soft buff and white china ornamented with -the daintiest landscape medallions. - -Thank God, I have never been pursued in life by little ills, but three -or four times big collapses have overtaken me. Typhoid, rheumatic -fever, and blood-poisoning are no slight matters: but they are almost -worth the suffering and pain for the pleasure of receiving such -kindnesses from friends, letters of sympathy, flowers, fruit, wine, -jellies, all have been left at my door, and I blessed the kind donors -then as I bless them in remembrance now. Doubtless the severity of the -illnesses that overtook me was due to intense overwork coupled with -anxiety—overstrain invariably spells breakdown. - -A horrible distrust overcame me at one time. - -I used to go to bed worn out and weary, at last sleep would come. -Then I would wake up with a start, feeling some awful calamity had -overtaken me, that I had written something libellous or said something -scandalous, and the Court of Law was waiting to receive me. No one -would intentionally write a libel any more than they would cut a -friend. I would see paragraphs chasing paragraphs across the page, just -as the typed letters had turned red under my gaze when my eyes gave -out a few years before. I used to get horribly anxious over my proof. -Things I had rattled off when well were laborious now, and the anxiety -they entailed was wellnigh unendurable. - -It was merely a matter of health—a tonic and a rest put matters right. - - - - -PART V - -THE SWEETS OF ADVERSITY - -[Illustration: MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE - -_After a painting by Herbert Schmalz, 1894_] - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -ABOUT PAINTERS - - -It has been rather amusing to sit to various artists; they have such -different ways of working. When Herbert Schmalz did my portrait (1894) -he was busy upon those enormous religious canvases of his which -afterwards toured round England and Australia as a one-man show, and -which are so well known in reproductions. - -He was painting “John Oliver Hobbes” at the same time, and she and I -went to the studio on alternate days. Although we were hardly alike, -the names of _Craigie_ and _Tweedie_ had something of the same sound, -and quite confused the little servant, who always announced me as Mrs. -Craigie, and John Oliver Hobbes as Mrs. Tweedie. Those were pleasant -sittings, and perhaps I went ten or twelve times for the picture. -Herbert Schmalz is a careful, painstaking artist, who is prone to alter -scheme or colour, and do the work all over again unless it pleases him. -At that time Sir Frederick Leighton often came to the studio, which -almost adjoined his own. - -Leighton was one of the most courtly, charming men I ever knew. Short -of stature, he still had a magnificent presence, and his grey head -was grand. No President of the Royal Academy ever looked finer at the -top of the stairs on soirée night than this splendid draughtsman. -The Academy Soirée in his day was a grand function. His personality -attracted all that was best. I never liked his painting, but always -loved his drawing. - -The portrait painted by Mr. Schmalz[6] was one day standing in my hall -a year or two later, when a new servant—new servants are luxuries I do -not often indulge in—asked if the picture was going away. - -“Yes,” I replied, “it is going to an exhibition.” - -“I thought pictures only went to exhibitions when they were newly -painted,” she remarked. - -“So they do, as a rule,” I answered, “but this one is going to the -Exhibition of ‘Eminent Women’ at Earl’s Court.” - -“Lor’!” (in her surprise she nearly dropped what she was holding). “You -don’t mean to say _you_ are going there?” - -Mohammed could not have been a prophet in his own household. - -After all, plain truths and trifling jokes are often the most -enjoyable, just as small ills are the least endurable. - -When I sat to Blake Wirgman in 1902 for my portrait shortly after my -visit to the West, he insisted on my being dressed in a dirty old -divided skirt, huge Mexican sombrero, high boots, and shirt. The -canvas is nearly life-size, and as I was foolish enough to submit to a -standing position, with one foot up on a stone, I used to get awfully -tired. Balancing on one leg in stiff riding-boots is apt to bring -on cramp, so at odd intervals I danced round the studio to relieve -my aching toes, and begged him to paint the boots without me. After -dressing one day I returned to the studio, having put the boots on -their trees, and placed them carefully beside the rocky stone where I -stood. “There,” I exclaimed, “there are the boots, now can you paint -them without torturing me.” Never shall I forget his peal of laughter -at the idea of painting a pair of boots with wooden insides! However, -he found a girl who took “threes” in boots, and she saved me a few -hours of torture. Blake Wirgman is a delightful man, and I thoroughly -enjoyed those sittings—all but the cramp. - -“All but” reminds me of a dear old Scotch minister who used to read -out the prayers for the Royal family, and to our amusement pronounced -“Albert Edward Prince of Wales,” “All-but Edward Prince of Wiles.” This -happened in a Highland kirk in Sutherlandshire, where the collie dogs -used to come into the church and get up and shake themselves at the -benediction, knowing that it was time to go home. A tuning-fork and a -precentor added simplicity to the service, while the shepherds from -the hills wore black coats and top-hats and pennies were collected on -a tray at the door, just as represented in the play _Bunty pulls the -Strings_. - -The famous picture of “Scotch Elders” was painted by my husband’s -cousin John Lorimer, A.R.A.; a very fine picture it is too. The -appreciation of pawky Scottish humour runs in our blood, on both -sides of the family, so my praise of a kinsman’s work will be readily -understood as needing no apology. - -Being with other workers amused and interested me, and made me forget -the everlasting grind of my usual working-day. Mr. Cyril Davenport, of -the British Museum, and author of many books on jewels, miniatures, -and heraldry, made a _vitreous_ enamel of my head. This is not paint, -but powdered glass, shaken on the silver and then fired in a furnace. -Some of the effects produced by this process are lovely. It is an old -art revived, and a tricky one, as no workman knows the exact shade -the furnace will turn out, any more than they did in the days of the -manufacture of the famous _rose du Barry_. - -It is quite a mistaken idea to suppose that sitting for a portrait -necessitates sitting still. Far from it. Artists like one to talk and -be amused, otherwise the sitter gets bored and the picture reflects -the boredom. Few painters can work with a third person in the room, -although Sir William Orchardson always preferred to have his wife -reading aloud to him, or talking to his sitter while he was at the -easel. - -It may seem strange that so many people have painted my head, but -please do not think it was the outcome of vanity on my part. I did not -ask them; they asked me. Dozens have asked me to sit, and the baker’s -dozen to whom I have sat have started off full of enthusiasm, found me -difficult, and ended by thinking me horrid. Yes, horrid, I know. They -have not said so in so many words, they have been too polite for that, -but they have owned I was “very difficult, especially about the mouth.” -That is why I have thirteen different mouths in thirteen different -pictures. A mouth is the most expressive and the most characteristic -feature of a face, and therefore the most elusive for the artist’s -brush. When I am not talking, my face is as dull as London on a Bank -Holiday. - -Some painters make too much of a portrait and too little of a picture. -Others, on the other hand, make too much of a picture and too little -of a portrait. Really, the picture is of most consequence, because -the good picture with its impression of the sitter remains, while the -fleeting expression of the face and age of the sitter passes away. - -Joy is only a flash, sorrow is an abiding pain. We women have lines of -figure when young, but we must all expect lines of wrinkles when old. - -Artists and writers are generally poor, but we are often happy. The -greater the artist, the less he seems to be able to push his wares. It -is the mediocre who ring the muffin-bell, or whose wives sell their -cakes. A certain clever woman is said never to stop in a country house -without returning home with an order for a new ship in her husband’s -wallet. Well, why not? If a woman is smart enough to find purchasers -for her husband’s pictures, his horses, or his ships, all honour to -her. We all want agents, even literary agents—poor, dear, abused -things—and if we can get our own flesh and blood to do the work without -demanding a commission, so much the better, but we might give them a -little acknowledgment sometimes. - -The poor want to be rich, and the rich want seats in the House of -Lords, while a Duchess wants to write books and be poor. The simple -want to be great, while the great know the futility of fame. It is a -world of struggle and discontent. The moment _any_body can get seats -for a first night, or tickets for a private view, _no_body wants them. - -That sounds rather Gilbertian. - -The late Sir William S. Gilbert was a dear and valued friend of mine -for many years. One of the most brilliant companions I ever knew when -he chose, and one of the dullest when something had put him out. He -talked as wittily as he wrote, and many of his letters are teeming with -quaint idiosyncrasies. He was a perennial boy with delicious quirk. - -So few people are as interesting as their work—they reserve their wit -or trenchant sarcasm for their books. W. S. Gilbert was an exception—he -was as amusing as his _Bab Ballads_, and as sarcastic as “H.M.S. -Pinafore.” A sparkling librettist, he was likewise a brilliant talker. - -How he loved a joke, even against himself! How well he told a story, -even if he invented it on the spot as “perfectly true.” His mind was -so quick he grasped the stage setting of a dinner-party at once, and -forthwith adapted his drama of the moment to exactly suit his audience. - -After a lapse of nearly twenty years “Iolanthe” was revived at the -Savoy. Not one line or one word of the original text had been altered. -“Pinafore,” when it was revived for the second time, just twenty-one -years after its first performance, ran for months. How few authors’ -work will stand such a test of excellence, yet Gilbert penned a dozen -light operas. - -The genesis of “Iolanthe” is referable, like many of Gilbert’s -libretti, to one of the _Bab Ballads_. The “primordial atomic globule” -from which it traces its descent is a ballad called “The Fairy Curate.” - -It is a well-known fact that almost every comedian wishes to be a -tragedian, and _vice versa_—look at Irving and Beerbohm Tree—and -Gilbert had a great and mighty sorrow all his life. He wanted to write -serious dramas, long five-act plays full of situations and thought; -but no, fate ordained otherwise, when having for a change started his -little bark as a librettist he had to persevere in penning what he -called “nonsense.” - -The public were right; they knew there was no other W. S. Gilbert, they -wanted to be amused. Some say the art of comedy-writing is dying out, -and certainly no second Gilbert seems to be rising among the younger -men, no humorist who can call tears or laughter at will, and can send -his audience away happy every night. The world owes a debt of gratitude -to this gifted scribe, for he never put an unclean line upon the stage -and yet provoked peals of laughter while slyly giving his little digs -at existing evils. His style has created a name of its own; to be -Gilbertian is all that is smart, brilliant, caustic, and clean. - -Mr. Gilbert proudly remarked when he was just sixty-five, that he -had cheated the doctors, and signed a new lease of life on the -twenty-one-year principle. During those sixty-five years he had turned -his hand to many trades. After a career at the London University, -where he took his B.A. degree, he read for the Royal Artillery; but on -the Crimean War coming to an end and no more officers being wanted, -he became a clerk in the Privy Council Office, and was subsequently -called to the Bar. He was also a Militiaman, and at one time an -occasional contributor to _Punch_, becoming thus an artist as well -as a writer. His pictures are well known, for all the two or three -hundred illustrations in the _Bab Ballads_ are from his clever pen. I -saw him make an excellent sketch in a few minutes at his home on Harrow -Weald; but photography cast its web about him and he disappeared into -some dark chamber for hours at a time, alone with his thoughts and his -photographic pigments. The results were charming. - -What a lovely home that is, standing in a hundred and ten acres -right at the top of Harrow Weald, with a glorious view over London, -Middlesex, Berkshire, and Buckinghamshire. He farmed the land himself, -and talked of crops and stock with a glib tongue, although the real -enthusiast was his delightful wife, who loves her chickens and her -roses. - -Sullivan always wrote the music after Gilbert had written the words. -Gilbert’s ear for time and rhythm was impeccable, but he freely -admitted that he had a very imperfect sense of tune. - -The Gilberts were tremendous travellers; for many years they wintered -in Egypt, India, the West Indies, Burma, or some other far-away -land, and it was on these wanderings that he conceived ideas for the -“Mikado.” When in Egypt for the third time, they nearly lost their -lives in the railway accident between Cairo and Halouan. Fortunately -they were only bruised from the concussion, but several of the -passengers were killed and many wounded. The expert photographer was -of course on the spot, and while waiting for a relief train W. S. -Gilbert was busy with his camera. Being physically incapacitated by a -long illness from being of any service to the sufferers, he contented -himself with sitting on a rock in the desert and taking snapshots at -the scene of the calamity. - -Apropos of an interview I was writing on himself for one of a set that -appeared in the front page of the _Pall Mall Gazette_, he wrote the -following amusing reply to my chaff suggesting all sorts of dreadful -things that I would put in if he did not help me. - - “GRIM’S DYKE, HARROW WEALD, - - “_3rd December, 1901_. - - “MY DEAR MRS. ALEC, - - “I have filled the gap to the best of my ability—but really I have - very little to tell, on the subject of _Iolanthe_. - - “I haven’t the least objection to be described as a ‘whipped - cur’ (indeed, I rather like it), but unfortunately the epithet - doesn’t in the least describe my attitude on a first night. The - ‘embankment’ is purely mythical. I usually spend the evening in - the greenroom or in the wings of the theatre, and I fancy that few - authors accept failure or success more philosophically than I do. - When ‘Princess Ida’ was produced I was sitting in the greenroom as - usual, and, likewise sitting there, was an excitable Frenchman who - had supplied all the armour used in the piece. The piece was going - capitally, and he said to me, ‘Mais savez vous que vous avez là un - succès solide?’ I replied that the piece seemed to be all right, - and he exclaimed, with a gesture of amazement, ‘Mais vous êtes si - calme!’ And this, I fancy, would describe the frame of my mind on - every first night. - - “It is also a mistake to suppose that I have fruitlessly longed to - write more important plays. As a matter of fact, I have written - and produced four ambitious blank-verse plays, ‘The Palace of - Truth,’ ‘Pygmalion and Galatea,’ ‘The Wicked World,’ and ‘Broken - Hearts,’ all with conspicuous success—besides many serious and - humorous dramas and comedies—such as ‘Daniel Druce,’ ‘Engaged,’ - ‘Sweethearts,’ ‘Comedy and Tragedy,’ and many others. It was when - I was tired of these that I tried my hand on a libretto, and I was - so successful that I had to go on writing them. If d——d nonsense is - wanted, I can write it as well as anybody. - - “I know I can be dismally dull—but I am sure that dinner-party at - which I never opened my mouth (except to eat) is apocryphal. If you - put that in, I shall never be invited to dinner again! - - “By the way, would you like to go to a rehearsal? There will be one - on Thursday at about 11.30, and the Dress Rehearsal on Friday at - 2.30. The enclosed will pass you. If you don’t use it, tear it up. - - “On Thursday the entrance will be by Stage Door—on Friday at the - front entrance. - - “Yours for ever and ever, Amen, - - “W. S. GILBERT.” - -Amongst the many people who made a sketch of my head was the late -Captain Robert Marshall, the author of “The Second in Command” and -other delightful plays. - -This came about a few days before the Coronation of Edward VII. We were -having tea together, when he took out a pencil, and in a few minutes -this soldier-playwright made a charming little sketch. What a strange -thing it is that people who succeed in one particular thing are often -so gifted in various other lines. And people who do not succeed at -anything seem to have no versatility of any sort or kind, except to -amplify the various forms of stupidity. - -I first met Captain Marshall at Sir W. S. Gilbert’s. The younger man -almost worshipped his host, and considered him a model playwright. On -his side, Sir William had been very kind and encouraging. His manner -was perfectly frank, and he never hesitated to say whether he thought a -piece of work good or bad, as it struck him. - -There are not many cases in which a man can earn an income in two -different professions. Lord Roberts is a soldier and a writer; Mr. -Forbes Robertson, Mr. Weedon Grossmith, and Mr. Bernard Partridge are -both actors and artists; Mr. Lumsden Propert, the author of a great -book on miniatures, was a doctor by profession; Mr. Edmund Gosse and -Mr. Edward Clodd have other occupations besides literature; Sir A. -W. Pinero is no mean draughtsman; Miss Gertrude Kingston writes and -illustrates as well as acts; and Mr. Harry Furniss is as clever with -his pen as with his brush. - -No one looking at Captain Marshall would have imagined that ill-health -pursued him; such, however, was the case, and but for the fact that a -delicate chest necessitated retiring from the army, he would probably -never have become a dramatist by profession. “After one gets up in -the service,” he amusingly said, “one receives a higher rate of pay, -and has proportionately less to do. Thus it was I found time for -scribbling, and it was actually while A.D.C. and living in a Government -House, that I wrote ‘His Excellency the Governor.’ Three days after -it came out I left the army.” Many men on being told to relinquish -the profession they loved because of ill-health would have calmly sat -down and courted death. Not so Robert Marshall. He at once turned his -attention elsewhere; chose an occupation he could take about with -him when each winter drove him to warmer climes to live in fresh -air, doing as he was medically bidden, thus cheating the undertaker -for ten years. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to spend an -evening at the Opera. One night I happened to sit in a box between -him and Mr. Cyril Maude, and probably there were no more appreciative -listeners in the house than these two men, both intensely interested -in the representation of “Tannhäuser.” Poor Mr. Maude was suffering -from a sore throat, and had been forbidden to act that evening for -fear of losing the little voice that remained to him. As music is his -delight, and an evening at the Opera an almost unknown pleasure, he -enjoyed himself with the enthusiasm of a boy, feeling he was having a -“real holiday.” Since then he has appeared as a singer himself, in a -Christmas frolic. - -Herbert Bedford, the painter who married that delightful composer -Liza Lehmann, was another once desirous to do a miniature of me. -Accordingly, one terribly foggy morning in January, 1909, he arrived -with his little box and ivory. He started; but of all things for a -miniature a good light is the most necessary and fate was not kind. The -fog deepened and blackened, till we were thoroughly enveloped in one of -“London’s particulars.” I really think it was one of the worst fogs I -remember; and that is saying a good deal, for I have not only had much -experience in London, but have seen denser specimens in Chicago, and -almost as bad in Paris and Christiania. - -He waited an hour, but working was hopeless, so he departed. Next time -he came, the morning was beautifully bright, but ill-fate pursued us, -and we had no sooner settled down to work than Cimmerian darkness came -on again. A week later a third attempt was made, and incredible as -it may appear, the blackest of all smoky, yellow, carboniferous fogs -arrived that day also. Verily, it was a black month. Though the morning -was always fine when we started, the darkness arrived as soon as we -were well settled down to work, as if from very “cussedness.” - -November is named the month of fogs, but as a Londoner I should say -they rarely come before Christmas, generally in January; and three or -four during the entire winter is now our usual number. They seldom last -more than a few hours; but they are so awful when they do come, that -that is quite long enough, and the sooner science robs us of their -presence the better. They certainly are less frequent and less severe -than when I was a child. Poor old London climate! how we abuse it, -and yet we have much to be thankful for. We do not get prickly heat -or mosquitoes, sunstroke or ticks, neither do we have frost-bite or -leprosy. The Marquis de San Giuliano, late Italian Ambassador in London -and now Minister of Foreign Affairs in Rome, always maintained that -London possesses the best climate in the world, and wondered why people -ever left England with all its comforts in the winter, for the South -with its cheerless houses and treacherous winds. - -Madame Liza Lehmann has one of the most interesting faces I ever saw: -fragile, delicate, refined. Once a well-known singer, but always -shivering with nervousness, she left the public platform when she -married, about 1894, and began composing. No woman has had more success. - -“Liza doesn’t work, she conceives,” her husband once said as he -stippled in my head. “For instance, sitting over the fire after dinner, -I give her a poem that I think would make a song; she reads it through, -drops it idly on the floor, and takes up the nearest book. I know the -subject has not pleased. Another time she reads some verses, pauses, -puts them on her lap, looks into the flames, waits and then reads -them again. I say nothing; one word would spoil her thoughts. Again -and again she reads them. She gazes into the flames or plays with -her bracelet. Then, as in a dream, she gets up and fetches paper and -pencil. In feverish haste she writes. I have known her write a song -like that in ten minutes. I have known her go months and do nothing. -Words speak to her, thoughts come, she seems at times inspired—but she -can do nothing otherwise. - -“One day she was at a publisher’s and was running through _The Daisy -Chain_. - -“‘Too serious,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it won’t sell.’ (He was wrong; it -did.) She was angry. - -“‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘the public can’t only want rubbish like this.’ -And she rattled off something. - -“‘Excellent, excellent,’ he cried; ‘just what they do want.’ That -became a popular song, and fifty thousand copies were sold in no time.” - -“I feel almost ashamed of that song,” she said to me one day. “It -is not music at all, but I am punished for my sins; it haunts me on -hurdy-gurdies and from boarding-houses, when the windows are open in -the summer.” - -Her husband is also an enthusiastic composer in a heavier line. His -orchestral pieces have been played in Berlin, Russia, and other -centres, but he cannot set a ballad to music, and has none of her -pretty touch. He is a charming miniaturist, and once painted an -interesting series of Meredith’s heroines. - -Next in my gallery of artists comes Mr. Percy Anderson, who is -almost better known by his designs for stage costumes than as a -portrait-painter, although he has done some delightful sketches of -women and children. His wonderful knowledge of human attire through -the world’s history is well known. He has every period at his fingers’ -ends, although sometimes, as in the case of “Ulysses” for His Majesty’s -Theatre, he spends days and weeks in the British Museum, hunting about -to find suggestions and designs for the required costumes; in fact, he -even went to Crete on one occasion to copy the mural decorations, in -order to be certain he was correct in his work. - -Mr. Anderson is really an artist, not only in colour and form, but -also in grouping and harmony. The greatest compliment he ever received -was when he was invited to design the dresses for the famous “Ring” at -Munich. That for an Englishman was indeed high praise from Germany. In -working for the stage he often does six or seven hundred costumes for -a single historical play. Each has to harmonise with its own tableaux -groups, be right in detail and singly, yet form part of a scheme for -the effect of the whole. - -The water-colour drawing of me was done in a couple of hours. (See page -161.) - -One summer day in 1903, I sat to John Lavery for a little sketch of my -head, which that brilliantly clever artist painted in thirty minutes. -I chanced to have sat next to him at dinner shortly before, and he had -then exclaimed: - -“I would like to paint your head!” - -“You know how I hate sitting,” I replied. - -“But could you not spare me half an hour one afternoon just for the -gratification of making a sketch of you? Once I have gained that -satisfaction I will give you the picture.” - -This put a different complexion upon the matter, and accordingly one -afternoon I went to his studio, near the South Kensington Museum, to be -decapitated. That studio is probably the best proportioned in London. -It was built by Sir Coutts Lindsay, and is almost square like a box. -The high walls are covered with a sort of dull brown paper, and a few -French chairs and bureaus are its only decoration. I sat down in one -of these special chairs waiting for him to arrange his easel, when he -exclaimed: - -“That will do, just sit as you are, and if you don’t mind I should like -to take off my coat, as when I paint at high pressure it is hot work.” -To this I assented, and in a moment he was hard at it. - -“Talk as much as you like,” he said. “Forget you are sitting; move your -head or your arms as you wish, just simply think you are paying me a -little call; never mind the rest.” - -All this sounded delightful. Then in a few minutes the speaking-tube -whistled, and a message was called up to know if Mr. Cunninghame Graham -might come up. - -“Do you object?” asked Mr. Lavery, “Because he knows you are sitting to -me, and said he would like to come if he might.” - -“Not in the least,” I replied; “I should like it.” - -Cunninghame Graham in the capacity of chaperon was a novel experience. - -So up he came, and took a seat immediately behind the artist so that -my eyes should not wander from the right direction for the picture. -Was there ever a greater contrast than those two men? Lavery, short -and broad, with ruddy cheeks, dark hair, and little, round, twinkling -black eyes full of life and verve, and the calm aristocratic, artistic -Cunninghame Graham, who always looks exactly like a Velasquez picture, -so perfect is he in drawing and colouring. - -Mr. Lavery has a curious arrangement for his palette. There is a -table at his right hand, upon which a palette slants as on a desk. It -is about three feet by two in size, and can hold a large number of -colours. - -[Illustration: HALF-HOUR SKETCH OF AUTHOR BY JOHN LAVERY, R. A. -EXHIBITED FAIR WOMEN EXHIBITION, LONDON, 1910] - -“I require lots of paint and lots of room to splash about, and I like -the table arrangement; it is, in fact, the only way I can work,” he -remarked. - -We chatted on about many subjects, and when the conversation turned on -Velasquez, whose wonderful pictures I had visited in Madrid only a few -months before, Cunninghame Graham waxed warm. Although descended from -a stock old as any in Scotland, his mother (or his grandmother) was -a Spaniard, and there is clearly some of the warm Southern blood in -his veins. He speaks Spanish with a charming accent, and has the true -Castilian lisp and pretty intonation. - -In the ’nineties I was riding along the shore in Tangier with W. B. -Harris, _The Times_ correspondent, Sir Rubert Boyce, of the Liverpool -University, and the late Mr. Russell Roberts, a well-known barrister, -when we saw two men riding towards us. One of them was performing all -sorts of wild antics upon his steed, standing on the saddle and waving -his whip in the air. As he galloped towards us I thought he must be a -cowboy let loose, but as he came nearer he looked like a picture of -Charles V painted by Velasquez which had stepped out of its frame. The -tawny hue of his clothes, the brown leather of his boots, the loose -shirt, the large brown felt sombrero, and the pointed brown-grey beard -seemed familiar, and as the man drew nearer I discovered it was Mr. -Cunninghame Graham, with whom was Will Rothenstein. - -The next night I heard this descendant of old Scotland’s shores -expounding Socialism to a handful of Arabs in Spanish. Well, well, Mr. -Graham has his foibles; but he is doubtless the most brilliant short -story writer in our language; and as fine a rider as any I ever saw on -the open prairie catching wild bulls for the ring. - -Cunninghame Graham is a strange personality; he is an artistic being, -and Mr. Lavery’s portrait of him is inimitable. It has been exhibited -all over the world and is well known. - -Suddenly Cunninghame Graham exclaimed, “Twenty-seven minutes are up.” - -“All right!” replied the painter. “Let me know when the next three have -gone.” - -“Thirty minutes, my friend. Time is up.” - -Lavery looked round at me, smiling. - -“Done. I shan’t touch it any more. You allowed me thirty minutes, but -you must let me have a moment over-time to add your name to the canvas, -and then you may take it home with you.” - -And I did so. - -In 1910, that canvas appeared at the Exhibition of Fair Women at the -Grafton Gallery, and a month or two later to my surprise I found it -reproduced in a large volume of works by Scottish artists published in -Edinburgh, under the title, _Modern Scottish Portrait Painters_, by -Percy Bate. - -So much is John Lavery appreciated abroad that his most famous pictures -hang in Pittsburg and Philadelphia in the United States; in the -Pinakothek, Munich; the National Gallery of Brussels, the Luxembourg in -Paris, the Modern Gallery of Venice, the National Gallery of Berlin, -although a few have luckily been gleaned by the public galleries of -Glasgow and Edinburgh. - -It is a curious fact that Mr. Lavery sent six or seven years -continuously to the Academy, and six or seven times his pictures were -refused. In 1888 the Committee accepted his “Tennis Party”—to his -amazement—and actually hung it on the line. It went to Paris, where it -gained a gold medal, was then “invited” to Munich, where it was finally -bought for the National Gallery. He continued to send to the Academy -for a few years, generally without success, but those rejected pictures -are now hanging in various National Galleries. Suddenly in 1910 he was -elected an Associate of the Royal Academy. - -Concerning John Lavery, he told two funny little stories about himself -one night when he was dining with me. The Exhibition of Fair Women, in -1908, had been attracting all London. - -“A picture of mine was lost there,” he remarked. - -“Lost? How?” - -“Well, I painted the portrait of a lady, and this picture went to the -New Gallery. It was three-quarter length. When its space was allotted -it was stood on the floor under the place where it was to hang, but -when the moment of hanging came the picture was gone, and what is more, -has never been heard of since.” - -“Who would take it?” - -“That is more than I can say.” - -“Why would they take it?” - -“For the sake of the frame.” - -“But was the frame anything very remarkable?” - -“Oh, it was worth about ten pounds.” - -I laughed: “So they stole your valuable painting worth some hundreds of -pounds for the sake of a ten-pound frame. What have you done to get it -back?” - -“Nothing,” he replied. - -“Nothing,” I repeated, amazed. - -“No, my only chance of ever seeing that picture again is to do nothing. -You see, it is this way. If a thief realised it was a valuable painting -which had attracted attention and was being searched for, he would -destroy it. Whereas, if he thinks it is of no value, he will sell it in -some back slum, and in course of time the picture will turn up again. -At least that is what we artists think. I have no replica, not even a -photograph, but the lady has kindly promised to sit again. Mercifully, -it was not an order, but my own picture; and in a year or two I shall -exhibit the second portrait and let it be photographed for different -papers, when, in all probability, someone will discover they have one -just like it, and we may be able to trace the picture back to the -original thief. The frame must have attracted his attention, for it was -not quite ordinary. I had it made in Morocco.” - -“Have you ever had any other queer episode with a picture?” - -“Yes,” he replied. “There is a certain well-known lady whose husband -has her painted every year by some artist. She is good-looking and -this is his hobby. My turn came. I painted the picture. It was barely -finished, and had to go to an exhibition while the paint was still -wet. When I went on varnishing day I was surprised to see a curious -green haze over the face just as when you stick your nose against a -window-pane, and the skin appears green in hue. I did nothing at the -time, but determined to make some little alteration when the exhibition -closed. The portrait came home. I looked at it. Yes, there was still -that strange green hue over it, so I began to take it out of the frame -in order to touch it up. - -“Imagine my horror when I found that the canvas had stuck to the glass! -and the more I lifted it, lumps of paint from the lady’s cheeks stuck -to it. I did everything I could think of to get the two apart, ending -by leaving the glass and losing my temper. - -“‘Oh,’ said an artist friend, ‘just break the glass, and you will find -it will be easier to get the portrait away.’ - -“Accordingly, I broke the glass. Worse and worse! bits of the canvas -broke too, and anything more deplorable than my poor lady with her torn -canvas and bits of glass hanging to her nose cannot be imagined. The -issue was critical. - -“I dared not tell her, for her husband had liked the picture, so I -determined to copy it. For three solid months I painted every day at -that copy. I never can copy anything, and that was my last attempt. The -more I worked the worse it grew. I really was in despair. They kept -bothering me for the return of the picture. The lady was abroad and -could not sit again. They had paid me for a thing that was destroyed, -and I was at my wits’ end. - -“One day the lady was announced. I felt in an agony. Then I thought, -before confessing, I would have one desperate and final shot. I told -her I wanted to make a slight alteration—would she sit? She amiably -complied. I seized the copy; feverishly for a couple of hours I worked -upon it, and then—all at once the long-lost likeness returned. I had -got it. - -“The picture was sent home; her people were delighted with it, and it -was not till long afterwards that I told them the awful episode, by -which I had at least painted half a dozen portraits of that lady.” - -Live and learn. Education is one constant enquiry, and knowledge is but -an assimilation of replies. - -[Illustration: WATER-COLOUR SKETCH BY PERCY ANDERSON] - -FOOTNOTES: - -[6] Since reproduced in a volume, _Herbert Schmalz and his Work_. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -ON SCULPTORS AND MODELLING - - -Few experiences are more interesting than sitting for a bust. There is -something enthralling in seeing great lumps of clay flung about in a -promiscuous manner, and then gently modelled with finger and thumb into -nose, eyes, and ears. - -I had the privilege of sitting, in 1910, to Herbert Hampton, verily a -privilege, for not only is he a sculptor of note, but also a charming -personality. - -Strangely enough, the first time we met, Hampton, without knowing -anything about previous performances, said he would like to model my -head. - -“Oh no,” came in answer, “never again. I have done with studios and -sitting on what you call a ‘throne,’ but what I look on as a chair -of torture.” And so we laughed the matter off, but, after a second -meeting, he wrote such a perfectly charming letter on the subject that -my resolve gave way, and, let it be acknowledged at once, I have never -regretted the weakness. - -Hampton has the finest sculptor’s studio in London. - -Here are casts of Lord Kelvin, Sir Henry Irving, Sir Luke Fildes, Miss -Geneviève Ward, General Booth, and dozens more, besides plaster models -of the colossal statue of the late Lord Salisbury, now erected on the -stairs at the Foreign Office, and that of the late King Edward, to say -nothing of five of Queen Victoria. - -We talked for about a quarter of an hour after my arrival, as he said, -“just to renew my first impressions,” and then, asking me to sit in a -revolving chair on that terrible dais, he went to work. In front, on a -moving table, stood the _armature_, or inside skeleton-support for my -future head. At the bottom was a block of wood, from which three narrow -lead pipes, tied together at the top, were designed to make a support -for my neck and face. It was a simple, amateurish-looking thing, but, -as Mr. Hampton explained, “the lead pipe is pliable, so I can alter the -pose of the head as I go on, as you will see.” I did see. - -On the modelling stand were great lumps of dark grey mud, or shall we -call them bricks?—for they were about that size. This was the modelling -clay, known as _la terre_, because it is French. It is more tenacious -for working than our English clay. That is to say, it is firmer, and -is darker to look at. One great block was laid on top of the pipes and -squeezed till it might have been a melon; that was the beginning of my -head. - -Half another brick went on in front, and this gradually assumed the -shape of a fat banana, out of which a nose was shortly evolved, and a -chin. Another block was quickly divided and dumped on each side. Out of -this two ears and some neck were manipulated. - -Who shall say that such a performance was not fascinating? It reminded -me of the dear, dirty mud-pies of my youth, of the spade-and-bucket -days, and it was quite delicious to hear the “squeege” of the clay as -it was flung on the armature. This took but little longer to do than to -tell, for in a few minutes there was a sort of head and the beginning -of a neck, though it closely resembled a block in a barber’s shop. When -sufficient clay was in place, Mr. Hampton—who was talking all the time, -and kept declaring he did not want me to remain still, but that the -more I talked and amused him the better he should like it—really set to -work. Then one saw the capacity of the man. - -In two hours he had modelled my head. Eyes, nose, ears, chin, cheeks, -and hair were all there; what was more, he had got the likeness. - -It was a marvellous piece of work, not only as an exhibition of -modelling, for he is a master of his craft, but as a likeness. Also, -it was extremely pleasant to watch him work, to see him create order -out of chaos, and it seemed impossible that we could have been talking -for two hours, or that he could have done so much in two days, when the -time was ended. - -As to the manner of work, a few boxwood modelling tools lay upon the -stand. They were like flat wooden knives with pointed ends, but except -to slice off a little extra neck or hair, or to draw a fine line round -eye or nostril, he did the whole thing with his hands. - -Covered with a wet cloth, a bust of this kind will remain for months in -a moist condition, fit for working on, but if kept too long, say a year -or two, the wood inside rots and the clay falls to pieces. - -On my next visit it was decided I should sit for the neck, and as a -good many solid pounds of clay go to form a modelled human neck and -shoulders, this had been prepared, so I did not have the pleasure of -seeing it lumped on in handfuls. - -Taking off my high bodice, I tied up my sleeves like a little girl -of olden days. He walked round me several times, looked at me from -different points of view, and then exclaimed: - -“I shall not turn your head quite so much.” Accordingly, he took my -clay face between his hands and twisted the whole physiognomy round. -This was where the pliable pipes proved of use. But I could not help -a little exclamation of horror when I saw a crack had come across the -neck of my second self. - -“I have cracked!” I exclaimed. - -“That does not matter, we will soon mend you again.” So, with my head -divided from my shoulders till he found the angle he wanted, he gave a -few more friendly pats, seized _la terre_, and in a moment my neck was -swan-like in form. - -There was a particular fascination in sitting for this bust. Two more -hours completed the neck and shoulders, and we had finished work -for that day. If it had never been touched again, it would not have -mattered. It was rough and impressionist in style, but I was there. I -could see my very image on the modelling stand. - -On my third visit the sculptor decided to add my hands and arms. - -“Hands being as expressive as a face,” he said. - -This meant more building up. Accordingly, bundle after bundle of -firewood was requisitioned, until nine whole faggots were piled up -inside me. A pretty little waist, truly, to require nine bundles of -firewood as a foundation. However, in they went, and on went the clay -in great dabs, with a nice greasy squish-squish each time it received -a pat from the sculptor’s hand. - -Simplicity is his ideal, and it is interesting to hear Herbert Hampton -discourse on this subject, as, indeed, on other matters connected with -his craft. - -The bust to the waist was completed in six sittings of about two -hours each, and a week later my image was placed in the Rotunda of -the Royal Academy, where it smiled on everyone passing the door. “The -impersonation of animation was my first impression of you,” said -Herbert Hampton, “and that is what I tried to get in the bust.” And he -certainly did. In spite of the usual placidity of white clay, the lady -looks as if she were speaking. - -One can know too much. - -I remember, for instance, Herbert Hampton saying one day to me: - -“Only the rudiments of anatomy are wanted for sculpture. If one knows -too much one is apt to emphasise every muscle, every vein, every sinew, -and the result is an anatomical specimen. Simplicity is the greatest -charm of art, suggestion its goal. Why! great and wonderful as Michael -Angelo was, I almost feel he knew too much anatomy.” - -Experiences such as this sitting are of the greatest help and value -to a writer, and give an insight into sister arts that widen one’s -mental horizon and ripen one’s judgment. All workers should leave -their own groove and see and know craftsmen in kindred branches of -endeavour. Outside interests and hobbies are the worker’s salvation and -inspiration. - -After a bust is modelled it has to be cast in plaster. As a rule, only -one cast can be taken, but there are various ways of getting a second, -or even a third reproduction. The original clay bust on which the -sculptor worked is now so damaged that it is destroyed, the clay often -being used again for a fresh subject, and the bundles of wood being -utilised for lighting the fire. - -A young Frenchman once begged me to let him cast a hand and foot for -some work he was doing, explaining that, though amongst the artists’ -models there were exquisite heads and forms, that class of woman seldom -had good hands, and a good foot never. Bad boots doubtless accounted -for the latter. He made a pudding of plaster of Paris on a tin tray, -and into the cold, clammy stuff my well-vaselined extremity was -plunged. In a few minutes the cold, wet mud felt hot, almost burning, -and the foot was done; but, oh, the dirty mess and the nastiness of it -all. - -Although England possesses some of the finest marble carvers, much -of the work, unfortunately, is sent to Italy to be hewn, and even -finished, because labour is cheaper there. Herbert Hampton always -employs Englishmen, and does the actual finishing of the marble -himself. In that he is a thorough John Bull. - -It is an extraordinary thing to see how a bust is “mechanically -pointed” in a rough block. Three fixed points with needles attached to -each can copy the most accurate measurements, which, of course, are -purely mechanical, from the original cast. After it is roughly hewn the -sculptor begins carving and modelling with chisel and hammer. Thus the -process is done in three parts: modelled in clay, pointed in marble, -and then carved to its finished state of perfection. - -Figures that are cast in bronze are done differently. The bust or -figure is prepared in exactly the same manner in plaster of Paris, -an exact model of what is wanted, and this has to be sent to the art -foundry to be cast. That is not the work of the sculptor himself, but -of the bronze-workers, and as bronze fetches from seventy to ninety -pounds per ton, and it takes two or three tons to make a large figure, -it is easily seen that five hundred pounds is quite an ordinary bill -for casting a single figure at a foundry. - -The huge figure of the late Duke of Devonshire (now in Whitehall) and I -occupied the studio at the same time. - -The greatest sculptor England ever produced, to my mind, was -the versatile Alfred Gilbert. He was also one of the strangest -personalities. He was both a genius and wayward. A genius as a -sculptor, and wayward as regards the world. Never, never, in all my -experience, have I known a stranger personality. For years I saw a -good deal of him. He often came and dined, preferably alone, for -dress-clothes irritated him, and humanity in the aggregate bored him. - -I do not believe Gilbert knew what time or method meant. He slid -through life. Sometimes he slipped into the right niche, sometimes he -glided into the wrong one—but he was a genius by temperament, a genius -oft-times in execution. He turned up on the wrong day to dinner, or -failed to come on the right one. In fact, he was the most delightful, -irresponsible, brilliant, irresistible human creature I have ever come -across. His life was full of trouble, yet all those who really knew him -loved him, and their hearts went out to him and condoned his muddles as -the escapades of a boy. - -Gilbert created the Clarence Memorial at Windsor, and if he had never -done anything else, that would have been enough to stamp him as a -genius. He designed the wonderful iron gates at Eaton Hall, and his -work in metals and precious stones was unsurpassed. He practically -revived the work of Albrecht Dürer and Benvenuto Cellini in this -country. - -When he dined with me he talked, he listened, he wept, he laughed by -turns; after dinner he walked about, or passed his hands over the piano -and played awhile, or would strike weird chords of wailing. He was a -bit of a musical genius as well as a master in his own line. How often -music and its sister art are thus twinned! But then, if I mistake not, -he was descended from musicians on both sides. Suddenly he would leave -the piano, attracted by a door-knob, a button, or an idea, and would -then plunge into a dissertation upon art or a lecture on philosophy. -How Gilbert loved art! Every bend and curve meant something to him. -His blue eyes would dilate with pleasure or his heavy jaw become set -and rigid in anger or contempt. When his work really pleased him he -could not bear to part with it; when it dissatisfied him he broke it -up—very honest of him, but hardly remunerative. He was never made for -this world. He was a dreamer, a poet, an idealist; perhaps this very -incongruity of temperament was the source of the beautiful ideals he -conceived and sometimes brought to birth. - -Down in that studio in the Fulham Road I spent many pleasant hours -watching him work. He would often forget I was there. Then, rousing -himself to my presence, he would offer me a cup of tea at odd intervals -of half an hour, entirely oblivious of the fact that it was nearing -dinner-time. A certain actor does this sort of thing as a pose—an -impudent pose—but Gilbert did it because he could not help himself. -He wanted to be hospitable, and hours became moments as he worked -and dreamed. There were days and weeks and months when he never did -anything, when hunger stared him in the face. But rather than part with -a work of his creation, or an unfinished dream, he preferred to starve -and, if needs be, die. London was no place for him. He was too utterly -an artist for a great, teeming, bustling city, and away in Bruges—dead -to the world, dead to his friends—the wreck of that great and charming -personality is dreaming his life away amongst his unfinished gods, -without the strength of will or purpose to complete his inspirations. - -The complexity of Gilbert was beyond comprehension. His very genius -was his curse. Truly a gifted, wayward child—lovable, but annoying; -exasperating, but delightful. - -Bertram MacKennall, an Australian by birth, was poor and unknown as a -student in Paris, when he met Alfred Gilbert. He adored Gilbert and -worshipped his work. One day the latter said to MacKennall: - -“Go to London, man, and start there.” - -“But I cannot afford it.” - -“Never mind, go and try, and you will become my rival. It will do us -both good, spur us both on to better things, perhaps.” - -To London he came. He succeeded, and finally stepped into Alfred -Gilbert’s place at the Academy. What irony of fate! - -One day I chanced to go to MacKennall’s studio when he was working on -a wax of the head of King George V for the coinage. On a school-slate, -standing up on a small easel, was a little grey wax head in relief, -measuring three or four inches across. Smaller he would not work -because of his eyes; from that plaque a machine would reduce the -silhouette exactly to the size required for the coin. - -“Oh, the bother of this work,” he exclaimed. “Stamping one side of the -coin often bumps out the other side in the wrong place, and all sorts -of little annoyances like that constantly occur.” - -His love of Gilbert was very touching—and his admiration of Phil May -was only equalled by his surprise at his becoming a Roman Catholic a -week before his death. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MORE PAINTERS, AND WHISTLER IN PARTICULAR - - -James Mcneill Whistler was a foremost figure in the artistic world, and -he always struck me as the most curiously satanic gentleman I ever saw. -He cultivated an upward turn of his dark eyebrows, he waved his long, -thin hands in a fantastic way, he shook his locks or passed his fingers -through them in a manner all his own, and appeared not only a _poseur_ -in art, but a _poseur_ in literature, and a _poseur_ among men. This -probably added to his interest, for he certainly had a remarkable -personality, and a better half-hour could not be spent than in his -company. - -He was as cruel to his friends as to his enemies, as scathing in his -remarks, and yet at times almost maudlin in his sentimentalism. It -was quite delightful to hear him discuss his own work. His egotism -was—well, it was his own. His sweeping assertions were a revelation. - -On my return from America in 1900 he told me that, “although an -American himself, he should never visit that country again, as there -was not an artistic soul to be found there.” And yet the purchasers of -a host of his pictures and etchings were Americans, as were many of his -best friends. - -One hesitates to tell any Whistler stories, there has been such an -extraordinary output. Many are doubtless apocryphal. I recall one or -two that I have heard from his own lips, or from the persons (often the -victims) chiefly concerned in them. - -George Boughton, the painter, had a house on Campden Hill, designed -by Mr. Norman Shaw, R.A., and five or six steps lead to the hall, as -that eminent architect so often arranges. Whistler had been dining with -Boughton one evening, and, as he was leaving, he did not notice the -steps and fell down head first. The host was distracted and ran to -pick him up. - -Whistler sat up on the bottom step. - -“What a d——d total abstainer you must have had for an architect, -Boughton!” was all he said. - -The famous “Peacock Room” at Prince’s Gate was a wonderful scheme -of decoration, peacocks’ eyes on a gold ground being its principal -_motif_. About the year 1880 the late Mr. Leyland, a wealthy shipowner -and patron of the arts, had taken this grand new mansion, and asked -Whistler to decorate a room. Jimmy, poor and out at elbows, as usual, -jumped at the idea, but no terms were fixed upon. The work began. It -was a prodigious undertaking, and the extraordinary and erratic little -man spent two years and a half over his grateful task. - -Being at Prince’s Gate all day, and having the run of Leyland’s house, -Whistler had a hospitable way of inviting his friends to come and see -the room, and then he would ask them to stop to luncheon. This sort -of thing, which began occasionally, ended in being an almost daily -occurrence, and Jimmy used to hold a little levée every morning, when -subsequently three, four, and five people remained to luncheon. This -became too much for Mr. Leyland, and his plan for putting an end to the -campaign was a somewhat ingenious one. - -Jimmy one day entertained four friends; the meal not being announced, -he rang the bell for the butler. - -“When is lunch?” he asked. - -“I have no orders for lunch,” replied the man with a stately air. - -“Oh no, of course,” replied Jimmy, not in the least disconcerted. -“We’ll go along to such and such an hotel. Stupid of me to forget it!” - -But it was enough, and though he pretended not to mind, and with that -delightful impudence for which he was famous turned it off, he never -forgave the incident, and determined to pay Leyland out. From that day -he took his own lunch in a little paper parcel, and sat and devoured it -when so inclined. On the next occasion Leyland came in to admire the -peacock decorations about the usual luncheon hour. - -“_You_ will have some lunch, won’t you?” Whistler said. - -Leyland looked surprised. - -“Oh, please don’t refuse. It is always excellent, I assure you.” - -Leyland looked still more uncomfortable. - -Up jumped Jimmy, fetched his bag, and proceeded to untie his parcels, -saying: - -“It’s all right, old chap, have no anxiety; it is my lunch, not yours, -and you are heartily welcome to it.” - -When the work was accomplished which had taken so long Leyland wished -to pay the bill, and asked the artist what was his figure. - -“I have worked a whole year and more,” Whistler said. “I consider my -services are worth two thousand pounds a year, therefore the figure is -two thousand five hundred pounds, from which you can deduct the few -hundreds you have given me on account.” - -Leyland was horrified. - -“Preposterous!” he said, “perfectly preposterous!” - -Jimmy looked at him and drew himself up to his full height, which was -not great. - -“I beg, Mr. Leyland, that you will accept as a gift the entire work of -my life for the last year and a quarter. I can compromise nothing.” - -Once again Whistler scored and Leyland paid. His thanks to his patron -afterwards took the form of painting a life-size portrait of him as a -devil with horns and hoofs. - -The sale of the famous portrait of Carlyle gave Whistler one of -those opportunities in which he delighted. It was first exhibited in -Edinburgh, and the Edinburgh Corporation, wishing to possess this -masterful work, telegraphed to know what would be his lowest figure, to -which Jimmy replied by wire: “Terms a thousand guineas, to the tune of -the bagpipes.” - -This was pure cheek, for the picture stood at five hundred guineas in -the catalogue, and instead of replying how much less he would take for -it, as the canny city fathers desired, he had doubled the sum. Three or -four years later he sold that selfsame picture to Glasgow for the sum -of a thousand guineas. - -When painting his delightful picture of Miss Alexander, Whistler took -about seventy sittings—a fearful ordeal. She told Phené Spiers that she -thought he often rubbed out a whole day’s work after she had gone. - -Near the close of his life Whistler withdrew from London for a period, -living permanently in his rooms in the Rue du Bac, in Paris. I had not -seen him for seven or eight years when I met him again in May, 1900, -at a dinner-party at Mr. Heinemann’s in Norfolk Street, Park Lane. -How altered Whistler was—he had changed from a somewhat sprightly -middle-aged man to one nearer seventy. - -His shaggy hair was grizzly grey, his round, beady, black eyes were as -clear and brilliant as ever, overhung by thick black brows. A bright -colour was upon his cheek, almost a hectic flush, if one may apply the -term to a man of his age, and there was the same vivacity about him -as of old. He was just as thin, and, needless to say, had not grown! -He was the same witty little person, with the same sharp, sarcastic -tongue. The artistic world had come to appreciate his work very -differently from of old, and already he was encountering what a rival -wit has pithily described as “the last insult—popularity.” - -He had practically given up living in England, he said, with that -strong American accent which he never lost: Paris he “found so much -more inspiring.” - -“There is not much wit in France now,” he remarked, “but there is -positively none in Britain. There is not much good literature in France -either, but there is less in England. People are all too busy trying to -fill their pockets with gold to have time to store their brains with -knowledge.” - -The conversation turned upon his studio. Speaking of students, he said: - -“Oh, I like women ever so much better than men. They are finer artists; -they are more delicate, more subtle, more sensitive and artistic; -indeed, it is the feminine side of a man that makes him an artist at -all. Art is refined, or it is not Art. Man is not refined, except when -he copies woman.” - -“That is all very well,” I answered, “but unfortunately there have been -so few great women artists.” - -“Have there been many great men artists?” he enquired, with a little -twinkle; “because I think not. In fact, there has been just as good -work done by women as has ever been done by men in that line, and now -that more of them are taking up Art, and are breaking the trammels by -which they have been surrounded for generations, I shall be surprised -if the world does not produce better women artists than men. It is -in them; it is a born instinct. Love of refinement, beauty, poetry, -sentiment, and colour belong to woman. Cruelty, perhaps valour, -strength, and ruggedness, are on the man’s side.” - -Encouragement goes a long way, just as human sympathy is the very -backbone of life. Poor Jimmy Whistler got very little of either until -his last few years. To the philosophy of youth everything matters, to -the maturity of old age nothing matters. - -He was brilliant and vain. But then, all men are vain. It is the -prerogative of the male from the peacock upwards. - -For some years Whistler had a little Neapolitan model, with very dark -hair and beautiful black eyes. His wife took great interest in her. -After his bereavement Jimmy felt he ought to continue to minister to -the welfare of the girl, who by this time had grown into a magnificent -specimen of a Neapolitan woman. She married when still very young, -and, being tired of sitting as a model, she asked her patron one day -to allow her to use his name if she started an atelier. “Might it be -called the ‘Whistler Studio,’ and would he himself come and see after -it and give instruction once a week?” Whistler approved of the plan and -assented. - -The woman therefore took a studio in Paris, where the painter was -living, and at the end of the month, instead of having a dozen students -as she expected, something like a hundred had entered their names, all -eager to study under Whistler. On the strength of her success Madame -abandoned her simple clothes and appeared gorgeous in black, rustling -silk robes, in which she strutted about the studio and played the -_grande dame_. Whistler, as has been said, promised to attend, and -more or less he kept his word. The first day of his appearance the -great little man marched into the room occupied by the female students, -and, picking out one girl, sat down opposite her canvas, intending to -correct her work. - -“Give me your palette,” he said. “What is this? and this? and this?” - -She told him the different colours. - -“Hideous!” he replied, “and impossible! Where are so and so, and this -and that?” - -She had none of them. No one in the room was lucky enough to possess -the colours he sought, so Whistler sent out for them and chatted -pleasantly until the messenger’s return, having told the maiden in the -meantime to clean her palette of all the vivid hues she had displayed -upon it. The paints and the clean palette arrived together. Jimmy -arranged them according to his taste. - -“Now,” he said, “that palette is fit to paint with, and so ends your -first lesson. Study it, and paint only with those colours until you see -me again.” - -Before the day was finished every girl had arranged her palette -according to the plan, and the men in the other room likewise followed -suit. When the artist paid his next visit to the studio, he found the -palette he had himself prepared fixed upon the wall and immortalised -with a wreath, while underneath was a label announcing, “This palette -has been arranged according to the regulation of James Whistler, the -artist.” - -Whistler’s marriage was the strangest affair in the world, for he was -probably about sixty at the time, and his bride, Mrs. Godwin, a widow, -although a pretty woman, was by no means young. Yet the romance and -enthusiasm they developed were delightful, and during the ten years -or so of his married life Whistler became infinitely more human and -contented in every way. They were very happy; indeed, his tender -solicitude for his wife’s welfare on every occasion, and his anxiety -and concern during her long illness, were a revelation to those who -only thought of Whistler as a quarrelsome egoist wrapped entirely in -himself. Hidden away, he had a kind heart, although he chose generally -to conceal it. His wife’s loss was the tragedy of his existence, and he -was never the same man afterwards. - -Henry Labouchere wrote: “So my old friend Jemmy Whistler is dead. I -first knew him in 1854 at Washington. He had not then developed into -a painter, but was a young man who had recently left the West Point -Military College, and was considering what next he should do. He was -fond of balls, but he had not a dress-coat, so he attended them in -a frock-coat, the skirts of which were turned back to simulate an -evening-coat. - -“I believe that I was responsible for his marriage to the widow of Mr. -Godwin, the architect. She was a remarkably pretty woman and very -agreeable, and both she and he were thorough Bohemians. I was dining -with them and some others one evening at Earl’s Court. They were -obviously greatly attracted to each other, and in a vague sort of way -they thought of marrying. So I took the matter in hand to bring things -to a practical point. ‘Jemmy,’ I said, ‘will you marry Mrs. Godwin?’ -‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘Mrs. Godwin,’ I said, ‘will you marry Jemmy?’ -‘Certainly,’ she replied. ‘When?’ I asked. ‘Oh, some day,’ said -Whistler. ‘That won’t do,’ I said; ‘we must have a date.’ So they both -agreed that I should choose the day, tell them what church to come to -for the ceremony, provide a clergyman, and give the bride away. I fixed -an early date, and got the then Chaplain of the House of Commons to -perform the ceremony. It took place a few days later. - -“After the ceremony was over we adjourned to Whistler’s studio, where -he had prepared a banquet. The banquet was on the table, but there were -no chairs. So we sat on packing-cases. The happy pair, when I left, had -not quite decided whether they would go that evening to Paris or remain -in the studio. How unpractical they were was shown when I happened -to meet the bride the day before the marriage in the street. ‘Don’t -forget to-morrow,’ I said. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘I am just going to buy -my trousseau.’ ‘A little late for that, is it not?’ I asked. ‘No,’ -she answered, ‘for I am only going to buy a new tooth-brush and a new -sponge, as one ought to have new ones when one marries.’ However, there -never was a more successful marriage. They adored each other, and lived -most happily together; and when she died he was broken-hearted.” - -[Illustration: WALTER CRANE’S MOST FAMOUS BOOK PLATE] - -One day I asked Walter Crane, who knew both Watts and Whistler more -intimately than I did, whether he could tell me something of these two, -so different from one another, and yet each of whom needs a prominent -place—the one in the painter’s Valhalla; the other, well, let time -decide in what niche and where Jimmy’s little statue shall command -worship. - -Crane replied: - - “Watts was a most revered and generous friend of mine, I can - truly say, but as to Whistler, I never saw much of him, but I - always recognised his artistic qualities, though I was not of - his school. I think he regarded me as necessarily in a hostile - camp, artistically speaking, but it was not so. I can appreciate - Impressionism without decrying pre-Raphaelitism. As regards - Whistler and the Peacock Room, there was a panel at the end with - two peacocks (one with a diamond eye and one with an emerald eye) - fighting. Whistler is reported to have said that the one who is - getting the worst of it was Leyland and the conqueror was himself. - (Of course.) - - “We were not intimate friends—only acquainted. Although I always - realised his distinction as an artist, I could not extend my - admiration to the man, and I think he only cared for worshippers - and even these he tired of.” - -One of my cherished possessions is the book-plate here shown which -Walter Crane designed for me. He is probably the best _Ex Libris_ -draughtsman of the day, and he himself thinks this is the best -book-plate he ever drew. At his request it was reproduced on wood, and -while it has delighted its possessor, it will surely be admired by all -for its intrinsic merit. - -To explain the riddle of its symbolism. - -On the right-hand side is the crest of the Harleys; on the left, -the arms of the Tweedies. At the top the Medusa head and three legs -represent Sicily. At different corners are implements, trappings, -and odds and ends from various countries I have visited. The lamp -of learning is burning brightly, the wreaths of fame, the book of -knowledge are there, and a little ship is sailing away into the -unknown; while below—and surely this is brilliant imagination—lies -the world at my feet. This was sent to me with the following letter, -written in the neatest and most brush-like of caligraphy: - - “13 HOLLAND STREET, KENSINGTON. - - “_Nov. 12, ’05._ - - “DEAR MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE, - - “I have pleasure to send you my design for a book-plate in which - I have endeavoured to explain in symbolical way your literary - activities and your triumphs of travel. - - “Trusting it may not be unpleasing, believe me, with kind regards, - - “Yours very truly, - - “WALTER CRANE.” - -At a later date, on returning a book, the kind originator of my -treasure added some notes in pencil about this particular kind of work; -notes quaint and full of pith as the writer’s drawing. - - “You have given me a handsome certificate as a book-plate designer - and I must live up to it, though, so far, book-plates have only - been a small part of my work. I am not always _Ex Libris_, but like - a rest inside the pages, you know, letting one’s fancy loose, both - as a writer and as a decorator and illustrator. All the same, there - are moments when one is inclined to shriek, with Hilda in Ibsen’s - _Master Builder_, ‘Books are so irrelevant,’ and, again, at other - times to say (with Disraeli, was it not?), ‘When I want a book, I - will write one.’” - -Another note given below enclosed his own book-plate: - - “I send you my own book-plate with the greatest pleasure. It has - been done some years, and I do not think it is as nice a one as - yours—though I say it! I am glad that yours not only pleases you, - but your friends. I don’t know whether you saw it in the _Arts and - Crafts_, but it was there.” - -As to book-plates, seeing that books are a particularly treasured -kind of personal property and cannot yet be considered as communal as -umbrellas; and because borrowers of books like long leases, but are -generally provided with short memories, the possibly harmless, but -certainly most necessary, book-plate has a distinct _raison d’être_. - -Furthermore, they afford an opportunity of embodying in a succinct, -symbolic, and decorative form the concentrated essence of the -character, performances, career, and descent of the book-owner or -lover. Thus book-plates acquire a certain historic interest in course -of time, and may from the first possess as well an artistic interest; -but this, naturally, depends on their design and treatment. - -Next appears a notable figure thrown upon my cinematograph stage by the -rapid process of setting free successive memories. - -Watts. For a lover of pictures, what recollections that name implies! - -How many and varied the styles, how many and varied the subjects, that -in turn have found expression and thus sprung into life on the easel of -this great painter. - -It happened that on June 1st, 1886 (the anniversary of my birthday), a -friend took me to the studio of Mr. Watts to see him at work, a note of -which incident lies before me in a big, round, girlish hand. - -To begin with, the charming house in Melbury Road, Kensington, with its -large studio and spacious picture-gallery, seemed exactly the right -home for a great artist. - -At this time the master was working on what appeared, to my young -mind, a ghastly subject—“Vindictive Revenge,” depicting a vulture of -human form tearing to pieces a victim, whether man or woman escapes my -memory. Horrible, and in no way satisfying to my reason. On another -easel was a huge sulphur-coloured canvas showing a dying man sitting in -his chair with a majestic woman’s figure standing by his side. Lying on -a table near was a sketch (later exhibited in the Grosvenor Gallery) of -a most quaint and antiquated musical instrument that was used in the -larger picture. This instrument resembled a wooden bowl, its aperture -covered with a stretched skin, on which the shaggy hair was left, and -the strings were passed over a few holes in this skin. - -What it was called or whence its origin history does not relate. It had -probably been picked up as a curio for its quaint appearance, but Mr. -Watts disclaimed being a collector of such, telling me that his house -would have been long overfilled had he given rein to this hobby, unique -in the way it carries one on and on. - -In the gallery in Melbury Road hung all manner of pictures and numerous -portraits, amongst which I recognised those of Tennyson, the Prince -of Wales, his former wife Ellen Terry, and Violet Lindsay—one of his -favourite models—besides many more; but almost seventy were then being -exhibited at Manchester, which somewhat denuded the walls. - -In personal appearance Watts was a gracious, kindly old gentleman, with -white hair and a closely trimmed beard. He wore a tight tweed suit and -a scarlet ribbon loosely tied round his neck, besides a black velvet -skull-cap, head-gear of so many “old masters.” - -Here it seems permissible to quote a message from that great artist, -when he was ill, delivered by Alfred Gilbert at an Art Congress. - -He urged “the importance of making the aims and principles of art -generally understood. The stumbling-block to the English was the -practical: all that did not present the idea of immediate advantage -seemed to them impractical. Till the love of beauty was once more alive -among us there could be little hope for art.... The art that existed -only in pictures and statues was like a religion kept only for Sundays.” - -Like all other first impressions, this visit to the studio stands out a -clear and vivid sketch in my mind. Everyone must have enjoyed meeting -Watts, but to those workers who use the pen there is always a kindred -interest, an alliance of aim with the brothers of the brush, besides -the inspiring pleasure derived from the presence and helpful words of a -master of his art. - -From 1886 to the year of grace 1910 is a leap indeed: all but a quarter -of a century! Likewise, from the awe-inspiring canvases of Watts, -the master, to the witty, delightful, crisp illustrations of that -past-craftsman of Art, Harry Furniss, is a change of subject well-nigh -as great. At the thought of him gravity forsakes one’s visage, gives -way to a smiling mien and expectation of wholesome fun, of delicate -enjoyment. - -What a worker, oh, but what a worker! as the French would phrase it, is -the well-known and popular _Hy. F._ - -I think I can lay claim to being a fairly busy person, but I feel -ashamed, stunned, when I think of the stupendous amount of work -accomplished by Harry Furniss. Anyone who has seen those five hundred -illustrations to the eighteen volumes of Dickens must have admired -the delicate draughtsmanship, the characterisation, the comedy and -tragedy, and, above all, the penmanship of the artist. Five hundred -illustrations! Yes, nearly all full-page, most of them containing -several figures, and yet—but read in his letter below. - -No wonder he was up with the first streaks of dawn for months, no -wonder he became ill. Harry Furniss achieved a Herculean piece of work, -if ever artist did. - - “THE MOUNT, HIGH WICKHAM, - - “HASTINGS, - - “_May 7th, 1910_. - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “Just received yours. Nothing I could enjoy better than to enjoy - your hospitality for a few days—but alas! I have my nose to the - grindstone again. Another big work. I _must keep_ at it until I - finish. - - “If I should find myself away from the British Museum print-rooms - (where I fly for references), I shall certainly walk in some - afternoon and have tea with you. At present I am here for the next - six weeks with models every day. I have to get them from London and - pay them whether I work or not. - - “Glad you like my Dickens. I shall go down on my knees when I see - you (you will have to help me up again, though, as I have the gout) - and _swear_ the truth, which is, I illustrated the whole of Dickens - between the 1st of May last year and New Year’s Day. Eight months, - having it read and re-read as I worked, and yet I am alive! - - “You do not say how you are, but I do hope your eye trouble is over. - - “Yours very sincerely, - - “HARRY FURNISS.” - -Later in the autumn, accompanying a brief note snatched out of the -over-busy worker’s day, is the expressive sentence, scribbled beside a -pen-and-ink sketch of Father Time bearing the artist’s easel upon his -back, as the patriarch squats and smokes, and H. F. breathlessly paints: - -“Still working _against_ Time.” - -Doubtless he will go on doing so all his life, five hundred new -illustrations for Thackeray later being but an episode, and yet he -found time to illustrate many of his letters to friends: I have many I -prize. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -“THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS” - - -A knock came at the prison door. - -“Is Mrs. Alec Tweedie here?” - -Yes, Mrs. Alec Tweedie was having her tea, and heard the question. -Truly a nice situation! To be enquired for at a gaol. - -But even that is capable of explanation. The man on the doorstep held a -letter in his hand addressed to me by name, but only vaguely “Glasgow” -otherwise. With the usual brilliancy of the postal authorities, -they had found the rest of the address and pinned me to the prison, -for I was staying with the Governor, who had married a friend of my -kindergarten days. - -The letter was an invitation to christen a “P. & O.” steamer on the -Clyde at Greenock: to be godmother to an infant of twelve thousand -six hundred tons, that, lying in her cradle, was four hundred and -fifty feet long and fifty-four feet wide. When she sailed out to sea -on January 6th of 1900, this mighty goddaughter of mine carried two -thousand three hundred troops between her ample decks. - -Needless to say, the sponsorial honour thus offered—the responsibility -being light—was duly accepted. - -It was a most glorious day when the Governor of the prison escorted me -to Greenock. The P. & O. has become one of the most important factors -in the commerce of the nation, under Sir Thomas Sutherland, so the -christening was not only impressive to “those who go down to the sea -in ships,” but to all onlookers. Those great yards on the Clyde employ -several thousand men, all of whom, with their wives and children, were -spectators of the ceremony, to say nothing of an invited public. - -How enormous that ship looked, her great iron sides standing out from -what shipwrights are pleased to call the “permanent ways”. She owned -as yet no masts or funnels, or indeed any _et ceteras_, only there -loomed her enormous iron carcase. One felt a fly on the wall standing -beneath the shadow of her massive frame. She literally towered above -us, a monster of steel and bolts and rivets. At the stern a wooden -erection had been made, with a little staircase leading to a platform, -and on this the builder of the vessel, Mr. Patrick Caird, and I stood -alone. - -It was a most exciting moment. The sun shone, there resounded a dull -thud, thud, thud, for the men below were hammering her sides loose from -the wood in which she had been embedded for about two years. Then came -an almost breathless silence among the vast audience, when Mr. Caird -turned to me and said: - -“_Be sure and break the bottle._” - -I had never thought of doing anything else, knowing the importance -to the superstitious sailor-man that the glass should be shattered -to atoms, but his serious tones sent a shiver through me, and I -recognised, as in a flash, the gravity of the moment. - -There was, as usual, a bottle of champagne, decked with ribbons and -flowers, hanging from the top of the vessel to a level with the place -on which we stood. - -“Remember,” he continued, in an undertone of adjuration, “that once -the ship starts to move, she will run; so you must waste no time in -throwing the wine.” - -I did not really feel nervous until this, but on being suddenly told -that the boat might be out of reach before one had time to execute the -critical deed, and also being reminded of the importance of scattering -the fluid, I felt a cold douche down my back. - -We waited breathless—it seemed ages of suspense, and yet it was -probably only a few minutes. Suddenly the vast bulk began to tremble, -next gave herself little shakes like a dog, then she appeared to pause -and shiver again. It was a breathless moment. Then the mighty carcase -started. What a grand sight! There was something awe-inspiring as that -vast thing slid slowly, majestically, and then more and more rapidly, -down to the sea. I seized the flagon, and with might and main flung it -against the side of the ship, determined that it should be broken more -completely than bottle had ever been broken before. - -“With this I wish all luck and prosperity to the _Assaye_,” I cried, -with a strange sensation of chokiness in my throat, while I flung the -ribbon-decked flagon towards her. Truly a thrilling scene. - -Whether the heat of the day or the strength of my fling was the cause, -I know not, but the amount of froth that came out of that bottle of -champagne was quite impossible to believe. I was drowned in it. The -quart bottle seemed to contain gallons of froth. It effervesced over -my hat, ran in rivers down my nose, and scattered white foam all over -my shoulders. Mr. Caird, having recovered from his bath, produced a -handkerchief, and kindly began to mop my dripping face and dry my -watery eyes. It was a funny scene, rendered all the more funny, as -it turned out, because some of the cinematograph people were behind -us (those were the early days of cinematographs), and that night in -the music-halls of Glasgow and Edinburgh the _Launching of a P. & O. -Steamer_ caused much amusement to the audience. Only my back view -showed, I believe, but the black of my dress and the white champagne -froth made an interesting production. - -Having slid down the permanent ways, the ship’s pace became quicker -and quicker, she really did run, and then she appeared to literally -duck as if to make a bow when she entered the Clyde. For a moment, to -my uninitiated eyes, it seemed as if she would turn a somersault. Not -a bit of it. She righted herself, while the great chain anchors fixed -to her sides were dragging mother-earth along with them, holding her -sufficiently in check, or else she would have run up the opposite bank -before the tugs had time to make her fast and tow her down-stream. - -There was a rumour in the air that war was imminent in South Africa, -and Mr. Caird murmured in my ear that it was possible they would -receive a command to have her ready for transport as quickly as -possible. And although, as I have said, she had nothing whatever inside -her on October 7th, 1899, six weeks from that date the _Assaye_ left -Southampton fully equipped for the seat of war, and during the next two -or three years she made so many voyages with troops, that she conveyed -more soldiers to and from the Cape than any other boat afloat. - -As a memento of the occasion, Mr. Caird gave me a charming brooch -representing the three crescents of the Orient in diamonds. It was a -pleasant, happy, and interesting experience. - -Some years later it was my good fortune to go for the trial trip, as -the guest of the Chairman of the Cunard Company, in the greatest ship -and wonder of her day, the _Lusitania_ (July, 1907), and lastly, to -have been to the inaugural luncheon on one of the five new (1909) ships -of the Orient Line, fitted with all the latest modern improvements, -from electric plate-washers to electric potato-peelers and egg-boilers. -This last was truly a little history in shipping. Where will wondrous -labour-saving inventions end? It is these magnificent boats which do -so much to cement the friendship and foster family ties between us and -our Colonies, and when one sees that in an Orient steamer third-class -passengers can travel twenty-six thousand miles for eighteen pounds, -one opens one’s eyes at the comfort and marvels. These travellers have -even a third-class music-room, and never more than six people in a -cabin. Children can visit their parents, husbands their wives, in fact, -the East and West become as one. Sir Frederick Green, the Chairman of -the Orient Company, is not only a delightful man, but is extremely -enterprising, and has achieved wonderful things. Even the amateur band, -composed of stewards, has been abolished, and proper professional music -is provided for the passengers. Those terrible days when one packed up -sufficient underlinen for six weeks’ use have gone by, and everything -can now be sent to the laundry on board on Monday morning, as regularly -as it is done at home. - -The christening of the proud P. & O. _Assaye_ amused me the more -at the time because of its sharp contrast with a humble Highland -“baptisement,” at which it had also been my lot to assist a few years -earlier. This last committal of a boat to the sea was the subject a -year or two after of one of my sketches in words, and may be here given -again, for who amongst us, on watching a fishing-smack going out from -harbour, does not feel a stir of interest, and wish that “weel may the -boatie row”? - -At that time we—my husband was alive—had a little house in Sutherland, -and became much interested in the simple fisher-folk near by. - -“Can you speak to Mrs. Murray, the fishwife, for a minute. Very -particular, she says, ma’am,” said the parlourmaid one morning. - -“All right,” and, leaving the steaming herrings on the breakfast-table, -I went to the door to see Mrs. Murray. - -“Good morning, Mrs. Murray. Did you want to see me?” - -“’Deed, mem, yes, mem,” and the old body in short serge skirt, so full -at the waist that her creel of fish literally rested on the pleats, -beamed all over inside her nice, clean, white “mutch” cap. - -“Maybe ye ken, mistress, we have got a new haddie boatie [haddock -boat], and we want to have the baptisement whatever.” - -“Well?” - -“And maybe, mem, ye would be sae guid as to humble yersel’, mistress, -and come down—the laddies want ye to come down and do the baptisement -yersel’.” - -“Me?” - -“Yes, mem, if we might make sae bold in the asking,” and the old body -looked quite shy at having asked, and actually the colour mounted to -her weather-worn cheeks. - -“But what do you want me to do?” I enquired, really interested in what -a baptisement could be. - -“Jist the baptisement, whatever.” - -“Yes, but how do you do it?” I persisted. - -“Law, mem, ye jist break the bottlie, whatever.” - -“Oh; all right, I know all about that, and I’ll do it with the greatest -possible pleasure; but which day?” - -“If ye’ll jist please to name the dee yersel’.” - -“High tide would be nicest, I think. It would not be so wet and sloppy, -would it?” - -“Weel, weel. I near forgot the laddies want ye to come pertikeler -Tuesday at three or Wednesday at four, for the tide be high then; and -they’ll bait some hooks, and ye can go out and catch the first haddie -yersel’ for luck, mem.” - -“All right, then, Tuesday, at three.” - -So on Tuesday we hurried over luncheon and drove in the dogcart to the -fishing village of Haddon, for the official ceremony, carefully armed -with a bottle of red wine to sprinkle the sides of the boat, and a -bottle of whisky for the family to drink the boat’s health; both being -suggestions of the dear old fishwife herself—the one for the cold, the -other for the boat, as she wisely remarked. - -All our friends, the minister among them, refused to believe I—a -stranger—had actually been asked to perform such a ceremony: the Haddon -folk being usually so exclusive. They marry amongst themselves and do -everything amongst themselves, no outsider ever being asked to partake -in any of their functions. - -Arrived at the quaint little village, driving with difficulty between -the pigs, the babies, and the chickens, we sought the heather-thatched, -whitewashed house of the Murrays. - -“Good dee to ye, mem—good dee to ye au,” and out of the kitchen -tumbled the mother, father, sons, and daughters, pigs, chickens, and -grandchildren. - -Carefully carrying a bottle in each arm, I marched to the beach, -followed by the Murray family, our numbers being swelled by other -villagers at every step. - -There, on the sand, reposed the haddie boatie—a fine big boat, capable -of taking a dozen or twenty men to sea. She was lying on rollers, ready -to be put in the water—but, oh! what water. Great white horses lashed -the shore; Neptune truly was riding fiery steeds. We were admiring the -majestic crested waves breaking over the rocks when Mr. Murray said, -“The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck -yersel’, mem.” - -Should I, or should I not, disgrace myself on that turbulent water, -over which the seagulls screeched and whirled and flapped their wings? - -By this time fifty or sixty of the villagers had arrived to help launch -the boat, and my heart trembled when I remembered the one bottle of -whisky brought for the Murray family to drink to the boat’s success. -How far would it go amongst so many? - -But my cogitations were interrupted by Willie Murray exclaiming, “Will -ye please to gie the name?” - -“Yes; what do you want it called?” - -“Your own name, mem, if ye will please to humble yersel’ to gie it.” - -“Mrs. Tweedie.” - -“Na, na, na, mistress, whatever, jist yer surname.” - -“Well, Tweedie is my surname.” - -“Na, na, no’ that surname. Yer other surname, mistress.” - -“Do you mean Ethel?” - -“Oi, oi, Essel—Essel.” (There is no “th” in Gaelic, and their tongues -cannot frame it.) “Oi, oi, that be it, mem—Essel Tweedie, whatever,” -and he took off his hat as though he hoped the wind would blow such an -extraordinary name into his cranium. - -By this time men and women had put their shoulders to the boat, and had -got her down to the water’s edge. Just as she touched the sea I threw -the bottle with all my might, nearly upsetting myself in the endeavour, -for, if the bottle should not shatter to atoms, these superstitious -fisher-folk would think that their new boat was cursed. - -As she touched the water the red wine ran down her side, and I cried, -“I name her Ethel Tweedie, and wish her all luck.” - -“May the evil eye ne’er take upon her,” called Mrs. Murray, as the red -wine mingled with the crested waves. - -Into the water with a cheer both men and women went, right up to their -waists, the waves breaking over their shoulders; but every time they -got the _Ethel Tweedie_ launched, a huge wave brought her back again. - -“Come and drink her health before you put her into the sea,” I called. -“Has anyone a glass?” - -“Oi, oi,” replied Mrs. Murray; and unfastening the front of her blue -cotton blouse, she brought forth a wine-glass, evidently brought down -in anticipation. The chief members of the party drank the health of the -boat and her namesake in Gaelic, and then one lad replied, when the -glass was offered to him, “I’m no’ for the tasting the dee.” - -Had he a cold, or why couldn’t he taste? So I offered the glass to his -neighbour. - -“I’m no’ for the tasting the dee,” he likewise replied; and we -afterwards learnt they were teetotallers, and that was their way of -expressing the fact. - -“The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck -yersel’, mem,” resounded in our ears; and the roar of the sea kept -up a strange accompaniment, as a seagull shrieked in triumph at our -discomfiture. - -I dare not say no; I must risk disgracing myself, endure any agony of -mind or body, but I must for the honour of Old England go and catch -that first haddie. - -How the wretched folk struggled to get that boat into the sea! I -remonstrated at the women going into the water and working so hard on -my account, feeling particularly sympathetic when I thought of the -rough sea awaiting us outside, but all to no avail. I assured them I -should _not_ be disappointed if I could not catch the haddie to-day, -I could easily come again; but no, they would struggle on, a few feet -only at a time, always to be rebuffed again and again by the waves. - -At last Mr. Murray took off his cap, scratched his head, talked Gaelic -to everyone in turn, and, after his consultation, came over to me and -said, “I’m right sad, mem, but the haddie boatie can no’ go in the -water the dee; she’d jist go to pieces on the rocks, whatever.” - -“Oh, I am so sorry, but don’t mind me,” I replied as graciously as I -could, thankful for the deliverance. - -“Na, na, but the haddie for luck! We au wanted ye to catch the haddie -for luck yersel’, mem.” - -“Oh, I’ll come another day and catch the haddie for luck,” and I -inwardly thanked Heaven I had been saved the terrors of the deep. - -“To-morrow I will come again and catch the haddie, and paint the name -on the boat, if you like.” - -“Oi, oi, paint the name yersel’, that’ll be fine; but ye’ll do it nice, -now, won’t you? I want it weel done.” - -Who could be offended at such a remark, made without the slightest -idea of rudeness? A little such honest, straight-forward speaking is -a treat, not an offence, in these days of gilded sayings and leaden -thoughts. - -I never caught that haddie, but I took my palette and painted the name -in oils upon her sides, and happily the _Ethel Tweedie_ has proved one -of the luckiest boats in the herring fleet. - -What a contrast those two launches were—the wealth of the one ship, the -wealth of the onlookers, the wealth of the prospective passengers and -cargo, the power and strength and value of it all. - -On the other side—the simplicity of the humble little craft, the -simplicity of the fisher-folk, the simplicity of the life of the -fishing village. - -Both were ships to go down to the sea, and yet how different. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -LORD LI AND A CHINESE LUNCHEON - - -The “late” (or, as diplomacy ungraciously calls such, “ancient”) -Chinese Minister to London, Lord Li Ching Fong, did much to cement -a friendly feeling between the East and the West. He taught us to -appreciate the charm of manner and breadth of thought of a cultured -Chinese gentleman. No diplomat ever made himself more popular in London -Society than this cheery, kindly little representative of the East. -No matter where he went he always wore his hat indoors or out, with -its red bob on the top and his pig-tail below, and dark silk coats in -private, or embroidered robes at Court—but he walked about unattended -and lived the life of an ordinary English gentleman. In the Legation -he was one of the kindest and best hosts I have ever come across. He -entertained a great deal and handled large, important dinners of twenty -or thirty people with skilful ease. Lord Li never forgot a promise, -however trivial, and was never late for an engagement. - -One June day in 1909 the Chinese Minister was lunching with me, so -I asked him to write his name on the cloth opposite the Japanese -Ambassador. His neighbour on the other side was Lady Millais, the -daughter-in-law of the famous artist. She was so delighted with the -neat, small Chinese writing that she asked His Excellency if he would -put her name on the back of her card in Chinese. - -“Have you such a name as Mary or Maria,” I asked, “in Chinese?” - -“No,” he replied, “but I can do its equivalent phonetically,” and very -pretty it looked when done. - -On her other side sat Joseph Farquharson, R.A., and turning to him, -Lady Millais said: - -“‘Mary had a little lamb,’ but where is the _lamb_?” - -Farquharson being famous for painting snow and sheep quickly saw the -point, and taking her card, and a pencil from his pocket, exclaimed: - -“Here it is!” and below the Chinese writing he drew a little lamb. - -Mrs. Kendal, on his other side, leant over to hear what was going on, -and laughingly said: - -“I am jealous. Although not a ewe lamb, I think I deserve a sheep.” -Whereupon Farquharson picked up her card, and with wonderful rapidity -drew a sheep, and handing it back, said: - -“I am very sorry, Mrs. Kendal, it is only a black sheep.” - -It was all done so quickly it was quite a delightful incident. - -Then I asked the Minister to write his name in Latin characters above -the Chinese, and he did so; whereupon I proceeded to read the first -word as “Lie.” - -“No,” he said, “that is a bad word in English, but it is not my -name. My father, Li Hung Chang, went to Paris, and as the Frenchmen -pronounced his name “Lee” we have remained “Li” ever since. So I am now -known by that title, and go about in Europe as Lord Li, although it -sometimes causes my countrymen to smile when they hear it.” - -Lord Li (Lee) told me the only foreigner he had ever known who spoke -Chinese like a Chinaman was Sir Robert Hart; “And he speaks it as well -as I do.” - -Later I chaffed my Chinese friend about our English tea, and asked him -if he considered it poison. - -“Not poison,” he said, “but I do not like it.” - -“Is yours made very differently?” I asked. - -“Quite,” he replied. - -“Will you show me some day?” - -“With pleasure, but I must send you a Chinese cup, for I cannot make -Chinese tea in your cups. In our cups the saucer is on the top, not at -the bottom.” - -Accordingly, this was arranged, and the following day the teacup duly -arrived. It was about the size of a breakfast cup, with a ring of -china instead of a saucer; the cup itself fitted into the hole, and -was covered with a lid, which again fitted inside the bowl instead of -outside. - -Five o’clock was the hour named for our tea ceremony. I was sitting -in the drawing-room with my ordinary English tea arrangements, and a -special spirit lamp for His Excellency. At ten minutes past five he was -announced, laughing merrily. - -“What do you think I have done?” he said. “I have been so stupid. It -was fine, so I walked from Portland Place, and thinking I knew your -house well I did not look up at the number. I arrived and was shown -upstairs by the parlourmaid, who seemed quite pleased to see me. At the -door I gave my name as the ‘Chinese Minister,’ and was duly ushered -into a drawing-room, which I at once saw was not like your room. A -lady who was sitting there rose and said, ‘How do you do?’ I bowed and -repeated the remark, at once feeling I had made a mistake. - -“‘Do you speak English?’ she asked. - -“‘Yes, madam,’ I replied, with my best bow, now quite certain of my -mistake. - -“‘Shall I tell the lady?’ I thought. ‘It will make me look a fool, and -make her feel uncomfortable,’ and as she at once told me she had been -in China, and expressed pleasure at seeing me, we chatted for a few -minutes, and I waited for an opportunity which would allow me to get up -and go gracefully. The opportunity soon came, and I said good-bye. She -thanked me very much for calling, and I left.” Again the merry little -man chuckled at his intrusion. - -“Ah,” said I; “but it won’t end there. If you _will_ call upon a -strange lady, she will think she met you somewhere and return the call.” - -“I did not really know her, so I need not repeat my visit,” he said -quietly. “But I shall not forget I have done something stupid.” - -I thought it so nice of him not to tell her of his mistake, and thus -give a very diplomatic ending to an awkward situation. Then came the -tea. Our tea-party. - -He boiled the spirit lamp, and when I took off the lid, thinking it was -ready, he shook his head. - -“No, no,” he said, “the water must actually boil three minutes; that is -the main point.” Into the cup, really the size of a breakfast-cup, he -put a small half-teaspoonful of Chinese tea. - -“What a small amount,” I remarked; “we put one fat teaspoonful for each -person, and one for the pot.” - -“No wonder your tea is so bad, madam,” he laughed; “my arrangement is -tea, yours is stew,” he continued with a wicked little twinkle. - -On to these few scattered leaves Lord Li poured the boiling water, -which he immediately covered with the lid. In a few moments he removed -the latter, and taking the half-side of the lid instead of a spoon, -stirred the surface of the tea. This he did about three times in a -minute, by which time the water was slightly yellow and the leaves had -all sunk to the bottom. - -“Now it is ready,” he said; “remember, no sugar nor milk, _ever_!” - -“But it is too hot to drink,” I said. - -“Not too hot for a Chinaman, we drink it like that. But if it is too -hot for you, we will pour it out,” and putting the versatile lid on the -table so that it formed a saucer, he poured some tea into it. - -“Do you drink it from the saucer like that?” - -“Yes; those people who cannot take it so hot always do so. Otherwise, -or when it is cooler, we drink it so,” and he put the lid back in the -cup, but only half _on_ in a slanting way, and made me sip the tea -through the aperture at the side. - -“What is the idea of that?” I said. - -“To keep the tea hot and to hold back the leaves, because you see our -cup is also our teapot.” - -It really was both nice and refreshing. - -“How many cups does your Excellency drink in a day?” I enquired. - -“Always twenty, sometimes thirty.” - -“Good heavens! How do you do it?” - -“The better-class Chinaman gets up when it is light and goes to bed -when it is dark. I cannot do that in London because you keep me out so -late at night, but I am called at half-past seven, when I get a cup -of tea; with my bath I have another cup of tea. With my breakfast at -eight-thirty I have rice, vermicelli, fish, fruit, and more tea. Then I -go down to my office, and during all the hours from nine to half-past -twelve, when I am working with my secretaries, we all drink tea every -half-hour or so, and some smoke pipes, but not opium. That is rare in -China. Next comes lunch; but you must come and have a real Chinese -luncheon and see how we eat it with chopsticks. Not an official party -such as you have been to before at my house. Then it is the French -cook, but my own cook, when I am alone, is a Chinaman. - -“At four in the afternoon we have our third meal, and for the first -time no tea, but cakes and light things. At half-past seven we dine, a -dozen little dishes all at once. Then, if I were in China, I should go -to bed, but as I am in London, I do as London does.” - -“Last thing at night I still drink tea. The kettle is always boiling at -the Legation, the cup is always ready, and my servant puts in the tea -and pours on the water; then by the time it reaches me it is ready.” - -The Chinese Minister is a very interesting man, and having finished our -tea-party, during which he laughingly suggested that I should give him -a certificate as a good cook, he told me many interesting things by way -of exciting my interest and persuading me to write a book on China. - -The children of the high-class families in China are betrothed very -young, often when four or five years old, and never later than -fifteen. The parents get a third person to negotiate, and if a union -is considered desirable between the two families (they never marry out -of their own social position in China), the parents meet and more or -less settle the future line of education for their offspring, and sign -letters officially agreeing to the betrothal. Nothing more happens. The -wife, however, sometimes sees her future son or daughter-in-law. - -When these children reach fifteen or twenty years of age their final -marriage takes place. They never meet until the wedding-day, and the -property settled on the girl by her father is her own by the law of -China. After her marriage she belongs to her husband’s family, and goes -to live in the house of her father-in-law. - -If by the time a woman is thirty she has no son to continue the -traditions of the family—and family counts for everything in China—the -husband is legally allowed to take unto himself a mistress. She is -not well born. He chooses her from the people, and she is officially -accepted by the house, allowed to sit at the table, and if she bears -sons, the first belongs to the legal wife, the second to herself, and -if there is only one son, both wife and mistress share him, and, -strange as it may seem, they generally get on quite well. - -We had a long and interesting talk on the future of China. - -“We are going to be the greatest country in the world in the middle of -this century, but now there are troubled days ahead for us,” he said. -“We are far more conservative than Japan. It has taken us longer to -adopt Western civilisation, but when I went back from England some -years ago, after serving many years in this country, I was one of a -number of young men who tried, and in some cases succeeded, in making -reforms. Those were early days, but boys like my son, now at Cambridge, -are being educated in Europe in 1910; and they will go back with even -stronger and more modern ideas. Indeed, I can see perfectly well that -in the next twenty years there will be many reforms attempted in -diplomatic and other circles in China, before we settle down. Every -country must broaden and widen if it is to keep pace with the march of -civilisation, and China must not be behind. We have a great past, and -we must make a great future.” - -Then he spoke with the utmost enthusiasm of the late Empress. - -“She was old, she was not pretty, but she was wonderful. She had -the greatest charm of manner of any woman I have ever known. She -reigned for practically fifty years, and therefore her experience was -unbounded. Above all, she was a diplomat. For instance, one day in -1907, she sent for me. I went. She talked pleasantly for some time on -many subjects, and then she said, ‘We cannot always do what we like. -We have to remember our country. We must always work for its good. -You have been in England, and you like it. You are back in China, and -perhaps you like it better because your home is here.’ I bowed. ‘But,’ -she said, ‘London wants you. It is necessary to send a Minister to the -Court of St. James’s, and, moreover, to send someone who understands -the English people and is in sympathy with them, and who can be relied -upon in every way. It is not a matter of pay. I know money does not -tempt you. It is not a matter of position. You have that here, but your -country needs your services. You can do much for China in England, and -I am going to ask you to renounce your home life for several years and -go to England.’ - -“It was charmingly put, and I felt touched at the many kind things she -said, but still I hesitated. Then she looked straight at me. - -“‘Li, your father left China for the good of China. We owe him a great -debt for what he did in Paris. Will the son not follow the example of -so excellent a father?’ - -“That did it. I left my home, and here I am, very happy, for England is -to me a second home, and although I miss my wife and married daughters, -I have my son with me, and many friends. Yes, she was a wonderful -woman, our Empress. Her death was a great loss to China.” - -Then I asked him why this boy of three was put upon the throne. -“Because,” he said, “the late Emperor was a nephew of the Empress, and -it is a rule with us that these dignities cannot descend from brother -to brother, but must always come down one generation. When the Emperor -died childless, it was therefore not his brother, but his brother’s -son who succeeded him. As he is only three, his father has been made -Regent, and is virtually the Emperor of China till the child is grown -up. That little boy will be employed in learning to read and write four -Chinese languages fluently till he is twelve or thirteen. After that -his more general education will commence, but he has a difficult task -before him, because he will take up the reins as Emperor at the very -time when I think China will be having its greatest struggle. - -“We must never forget the teachings of Confucius, but we must model our -present Government according to the rules of modern civilisation.” - -(Barely two years later the Manchus were overthrown.) - -My own father had a great idea that everything in the world was good to -eat if only we knew how to cook it. - -Therefore, I was brought up to eat all sorts of queer things, a -training that proved very useful in after-life when my travels took me -from Iceland to Africa, from Lapland to Sicily, from Canada to Mexico. -Sometimes I have lived on _foie gras_ and champagne, at others been -glad of black bread—sometimes I have been amongst thousands of cattle -on a ranch without a drop of milk or a pat of butter within hundreds of -miles; often I have been far from butcher’s meat, and drunk milk from -the cocoanut, or eaten steak from the elk, turtle from the river, or -bear from the woods. - -Therefore, this paternal theory often held good and helped me over many -an awkward moment. Which philosophy, however, was by no means called -upon when the Chinese luncheon, to which I had been invited at my -little tea-party, became soon after an accepted fact. - -It was a hot July Sunday. The door of the Legation in Portland Place -was thrown wide open, and up the green-carpeted stairs I walked. We -were only a party of four, as Lord Li laughingly remarked that there -were not many people in London who would care for Chinese food. He need -not have been so modest about it, for the dishes were really excellent. - -We were waited upon by a Chinese servant and an English butler. -Needless to remark, the former was much the more picturesque. He was -dressed in black, with high black velvet boots on his little feet, and -though he looked about fourteen, the Minister assured me he was forty. -He was barber, tailor, and butler. - -“These men can do anything,” said His Excellency; “I could not keep a -man in London to shave my head once a week, nor would he have enough to -do to make my clothes. The important suits are sent direct from China. -The others are made and mended by this man. I have four Chinese in the -house, and they eat and live together, the English servants being quite -apart. But they do not quarrel; in fact, I believe they are very good -friends.” - -My earliest recollections being of strange foods from many lands, it -was not altogether a surprise to begin our repast with bird’s-nest -soup, which was served in similar cups to that brought by Lord Li to -my tea-party; the cup standing on a plate. At the bottom of the bowl -was a small quantity of white, gelatinous compound, which looked almost -like warm gelatine. Into this I was told to put a tablespoonful of -strawberry jam, the whole strawberries of which I stirred up with the -bird’s nest. Eaten with a spoon the two were very good. - -The Minister explained the delicacy thus. “There is a small sea-bird in -China which builds its nest on the sides of the rock with the little -fish it gets from the water. These nests become quite hard in the heat -of the sun, and it is these that are collected and used for this soup. -It is a delicacy, quite expensive, and never eaten by ordinary people, -but used more like your turtle soup on great occasions.” - -_Sharks’ fins_ made our next dish. These were also served in little -cups and eaten with chopsticks. The two chopsticks were about a foot -long and made of ivory, but it seems they are often made of bone, -silver, gold, or wood, and children, until they are six or seven -years of age, are rarely able to manipulate them. One is held between -the thumb and first finger, the second between the first and second -fingers, and so dexterous was Lord Li in their manipulation that he, -later, took the small bones out of a fish and put them on one side more -easily than one could have done with a knife and fork. - -The shark fins, when boiled in Chinese fashion, were almost like the -gelatinous part of calf’s head or the outside of a turbot. They were -cooked with cabbage and some ham, so, in a way, the taste reminded -me of German sauerkraut; but though also a delicacy, this was less -delicate in flavour than the bird’s nest and somewhat satisfying. - -Now came fish—mackerel, I think—likewise cooked in a Chinese way, for, -be it understood, the Chinese cook was doing the entire luncheon. A -thick brown sauce, with a curry flavour, and the tiniest of little -onions here and there, were added to the dish, which the guest simply -could not manipulate with chopsticks, so had recourse to an English -knife and fork. - -The next course was again served in covered cups, and was chicken, a -favourite and ordinary dish in China. Apparently the bird was chopped -fine, or had been passed through the mincing machine. Anyway, there -were no bones, yet it was solid. My private opinion was that it must -have been compressed under weights, because it adhered to its own -skin and looked substantial, although the ingredients fell apart when -attacked with the chopsticks. This tasted like boned capon, and with it -was something white, appearing to be fish, which Lord Li said was dried -oyster. It seems there is a particularly large oyster in China which -has a sort of bag protrusion. This bit is cut away and sun-dried, when -it makes the flavouring and decoration for the chicken. - -We had not finished yet. Duck was the next course. This came on a plate -and had its bones entire. It was also covered with thick brown sauce -and finely shredded vegetables. His Excellency told us there were many -more vegetables in China than in England, and that some of them were -prepared for export. These appeared to be shredded in the same way as -vegetables are cut for Julienne soup. With it was also served a great -dish of rice, and in ordinary Chinese households rice is served with -every course. - -“In the rich homes we eat much meat and little rice, and in the poor -homes much rice and little meat,” said the Minister. This dish I did -not care for at all, besides finding it next to impossible to detach -the meat from the bones with the chopsticks. - -Our next course was a very pretty one. On a plate sat a row of little -dumplings, into which lobster, finely shredded with ham, had been -daintily tucked. - -I was struck by the fact that with the exception of the duck everything -had been passed through the mincing machine or chopped. Beef, by the -way, is so bad in China that it is rarely eaten. - -Then followed the pudding, which was altogether a success, entitled -“Water lily.” The sweet was also served on plates. Lord Li maintained -that the foundation was rice; if so, it had been boiled so long that it -was more like tapioca. Round it were stewed pears and peaches, and all -over it little things that looked like white broad beans. These had a -delicate and delicious flavour, and I guessed a dozen times what they -could be, but in each case was wrong; and the Minister explained they -were the seeds of the lotus flower. - -No wonder His Excellency lives on Chinese food at home when it is so -good and so well cooked. The native wine or spirit I did not like; it -rather reminded me of vodka. - -Our meal finished we repaired to the drawing-room, where was set out a -silver tray of beautiful Chinese workmanship, with a silver teapot and -silver cups lined with white china and with ordinary handles. - -“You ladies must sit on the sofa,” said Lord Li, “for it is the fashion -in China for the host himself to dispense the tea.” - -Accordingly, he lifted the entire table and placed it before us, then -poured out what appeared to be the palest green liquid. - -“Surely that is not tea!” I exclaimed. - -“Oh yes, it is green tea. Not green tea made for the English market, -but real green tea, uncoloured, such as we drink in China without sugar -or milk.” And, putting the spoon in the pot, he produced the leaves, -very long and broad, each one separate from the other and absolutely -devoid of stalks and dust. - -“This I have sent over for me specially from my own estate,” he said, -“and this is the tea of which I drink thirty or forty cups a day.” - -It was refreshing, and reminded me of the orange leaves used so much in -tropical Southern Mexico in the same way. With this ended our quaint -Eastern meal. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -FROM STAGELAND TO SHAKESPEARE-LAND - - -How youth adores the stage! It ever has in all climes and ages, and -probably ever will. - -This was amusingly borne in on me just after my boy had gone to -Cambridge. A particular play with a particularly fascinating actress in -the principal part was announced for production there. - -Of course, all Cambridge went. - -A day or so later, when a lot of “men” were raving over the beauties of -the fascinating actress, buying her photographs, wanting her autograph, -and so on, one of them turned round to my son and said: - -“Isn’t she lovely? I’m just dying to be introduced to her. By Jove, she -is a ripping girl. What did you think of her, Tweedie?” - -“I did not go,” he replied. - -“Why not?” - -“Well, you see, I know her pretty well; she went to school with my -mother.” - -A bomb might have fallen. - -“Went to school with _your_ mother?” - -“Yes, and she has a girl nearly as old as I am.” - -Bomb number two. - -Charming and pretty as she is, a woman old enough to be their mother, -she stirs the hearts of the undergrads, who, across the footlights, -innocently think she is a girl of eighteen. - -So much for the delusions of the stage. - -Still, it is marvellous how some actresses seem blessed with perpetual -youth. - -There is no doubt about it that Miss Geneviève Ward is one of the most -remarkable women of the age. One morning in March, 1908, came a knock -at the door, and in she walked. - -“Out for my constitutional, my dear,” she exclaimed, “so I thought I -would just look you up. I have walked six miles this morning, and after -a little rest and chat with you I shall walk another mile home and -enjoy my luncheon all the better for it.” - -“You are a marvel!” I exclaimed. “Seven miles and over seventy. I saw -your ‘Volumnia’ was a great success the other day when you played it -with Benson.” For “Volumnia” is one of the grand old actress’s chief -parts. - -“Yes,” she said, “and the next day I started for Rome. I got a telegram -to say one of three old cousins, with whom I was staying in Rome a few -weeks previously, had died suddenly; so four hours after receiving the -message I set out.” - -“Were you very tired?” I asked. - -“No, not at all. I knitted nearly all the way and talked to my -fellow-passengers, and when I arrived, instead of resting, went at once -to see to some business, for these two old sisters, one of whom is -blind, were absolutely prostrate with grief, and had done nothing while -awaiting my arrival. I stayed a fortnight with them, settled them up, -and arrived back two days ago.” - -Miss Ward has one of the most remarkable faces I have ever known. Her -blue-grey eyes are electric. They seem to pierce one’s very soul. They -flash fire or indignation, and yet they literally melt with love. And -this great, majestic tragedienne is full of emotion and sentiment. -Geneviève Ward is the Sarah Siddons of the day. Her “Lady Macbeth,” -“Queen Eleanor,” “Queen Katherine,” and her other classic rôles, are -unrivalled. Her elocution is matchless. Her French is as perfect as her -English; anyone who ever heard her recite in French will never forget -it, and her Italian, for purity of diction, is not far behind. On the -stage her grand manner is superb. She is every inch a queen, and yet, -strange as it may appear, she is only a small woman, five feet three at -most; but so full of activity and courage that she impresses one with -immense power, height, and strength. - -I happened to tell her that I had again seen an account of her marriage -in a paper. - -“Some new invention,” she laughed. “And yet it is not necessary to -invent, for the romance and tragedy of my life were acute enough.” And -she then told me the following story: - -“I was travelling with my mother and brother on the Riviera in -1855, when we met a Russian, Count de Guerbel. He was very tall, -very handsome, very fascinating, very rich, and twenty-eight. I was -seventeen. - -“He fell in love with me, and it was settled I should be married at the -Consulate at Nice, which I was; but the Russian law required that the -marriage should be repeated in the Russian Church to make the ceremony -binding, otherwise I was his legal wife, but he was not my legal -husband. - -“It was arranged, therefore, that I should go to Paris with my mother, -the Count going on in advance to arrange everything, and we would be -remarried there in the Greek Church. When we arrived in Paris it was -Lent, when no marriage can take place in the Greek Church; and so time -passed on. - -“He must have been a thoroughly bad man, because he did his best at -that time to persuade me to run away with him, always reminding me -that I was his legal wife. The whole thing was merely a trick of this -handsome, fascinating rascal. He promised me that, if I would go -to him, he would take me to Russia at once, and there we should be -remarried according to the rules of the Greek Church. Being positively -frightened by his persistence, I told my mother. At the same time -rumours of de Guerbel’s amours and debts reached her ears, and she -wrote to a cousin of ours, then American Minister in Petersburg, for -confirmation of these reports. - -“My cousin replied, ‘Come at once.’ We went; I, of course, under my -name of Countess de Guerbel, which I had naturally assumed from the day -of our wedding at Nice, and we stayed at the Embassy in St. Petersburg. -The Count’s brother was charming to me. He told us my husband was -a villain, and I had better leave him alone. That was impossible, -however—I was married to him, but he was not married to me, and such a -state of affairs could not remain. It became an international matter, -and was arranged by the American Government and the Tzar that we -should be officially married at Warsaw. The Count refused to come. -The Tzar therefore sent sealed orders for his appearance. Wearing a -black dress, and feeling apprehensive and miserably sad, I went to the -church, and at the altar rails, supported by my father and mother, and -the Count’s brother, I met my husband. - -“It was a horrible crisis, for I knew my father was armed with a -loaded revolver, and, if de Guerbel refused to give me the last legal -right which was morally already mine, its contents would put an end to -the adventurer’s life. There we stood, husband and wife, knowing the -service was a mere form; but the marriage was lawfully effected. He had -completed his part of the bargain and we had learned his villainy. - -“At the door of the church we parted, and I never saw him again. We -called a cab and drove direct to the railway station, and thence -travelled to Milan.” - -Romance, comedy, tragedy! As I sat looking at that beautiful woman, -still beautiful at seventy, it was easy to see how lovely she must have -been at seventeen, and to picture that perfect figure in her black -frock on her bridal morning—a pathetic sight indeed! - -She was continuing her story: - -“Determined to do something, I at once began studying singing for the -stage on our arrival in Italy, and in a year or two made my appearance -in Paris, London, and New York. - -“I made a success in opera; but in Cuba I strained my voice by -continually singing in three octaves, and one fine day discovered -it had gone. Then I took to teaching singing in New York. But, -unfortunately, I hated it; most of my pupils had neither voice nor -talent; it was like beating my head against a stone wall. - -“In my operatic days critics had always mentioned my capacity for -acting. Then why not go on the stage? Thus it was at the age of -thirty-five I appeared at Manchester, under my maiden name of Geneviève -Ward, and in the end, having played _Forget-me-not_ some thousand -times, all over the world, I retired from the profession when I was -about sixty. I have occasionally appeared since.” - -This gifted tragedienne was going to Stratford to play in the -Shakespeare week in 1908. - -She came to have tea with me, and as she sat beside me looking the -picture of strength and dignity, I asked if it took her long to get up -her part. - -“Good heavens, no!” she replied. “I have never forgotten a -Shakespearian character in my life. Every word means something. All I -do is to read it through once or twice—perhaps three times—before the -night.” - -“I own,” she said, “that sitting here now I do not recall a word of -_Forget-me-not_, and yet I played that several thousand times. But -then, there is nothing to grip hold of in the modern drama; however, I -could undertake to go on the stage letter-perfect even in that after -a day’s work. I am sure, after reading it through, it would all come -back to me. In Shakespeare I not only know my own part, but most of the -other people’s, and I can both remember things I learnt in my youth and -have played at intervals during my life, and memorise now more easily -than my pupils. I did so last year when I got up those classical plays -for Vedrenne and Barker.” - -One cold February day Benson’s Company played _Coriolanus_ at the -“Coronet.” - -As Miss Ward had sent me the following note, I was amongst the pleased -spectators. - - “DEAR MEPHISTO, - - “Here is the Box for Saturday. I hope you will enjoy ‘Volumnia.’ - I love her. Come on the stage after the play, and let me take you - home. - - “Yours cordially, - - “GENEVIÈVE WARD.” - -Her performance was simply amazing. Well rouged, with a cheerful smile -and sprightly manner, this dear lady of over seventy looked young, -handsome, animated, indeed beautiful, and buoyant in the first act. -As the play proceeded her complexion paled, her eyes dimmed, the deep -black robe and nun-like head-gear helped the tragedy of the scene, -until in the mad scene she was cringing and yet magnificent; in the -last act—thrilling. - -Her clear enunciation, magnificent diction, and great repose are indeed -a contrast to the modern young woman of the stage, who speaks so badly -that one cannot hear what she says, and has often not learnt even the -first rules of walking gracefully. - -After the play I went behind the scenes, as arranged. Benson was there -standing at Miss Ward’s door thanking her for her performance. - -What a splendid athlete he is in appearance, and though I am not -particularly fond of his performance, _Coriolanus_ is by far his best. -I congratulated him upon it, and his simplicity and almost shyness were -amusing. - -“But I am so much below my ideal of the part,” he said; “although it -is strengthening and broadening, I cannot even now get it,” and then, -turning to Miss Ward, added, “However, our ‘Volumnia’ is all she should -be.” - -There was Miss Ward, dressed ready to return home, smiling cheerfully -and not in the least tired. As we were driving back to my house, she -told me, in answer to a friendly enquiry, what her day had been. - -“I went for a long walk this morning, had my lunch at a quarter to one, -got to the theatre at two, began at two-thirty, and, as you know, did -not end till five-thirty.” - -“I hope you had some tea,” I said. - -“Tea, my dear! Certainly not. I shall have a glass of hot milk at six, -when I get in, and then my dinner as usual, a little later.” - -Over seventy years of age, she thus had played a strong rôle for -three hours, yet did not even need to be refreshed with a cup of tea. -Geneviève Ward certainly is a great woman. - -The three greatest English actresses I have ever seen are Ellen Terry, -Geneviève Ward, and Mrs. Kendal. The latter two are among the most -brilliant women and most charming conversationalists I know—outside -their stage life I mean. - -One February day in 1909, Mrs. Kendal walked up Portland Place to fetch -me _en route_ for luncheon with Geneviève Ward. - -“Why have you suddenly left the stage like this?” I asked in banter. - -In a serious voice she replied: - -“Because we want no farewells. I went on the stage when I was four, -and no one knew I was there. I go off the stage when I am fifty-five, -and I do not see why people should be asked to contribute to my -well-advertised disappearance as to a charity. I’ve worked hard for -fifty years, and have retired to enjoy myself while I can. Actors have -long-drawn-out ‘farewells’ lasting for two or three years. I don’t wish -to do likewise. We’ve worked hard, and we’ve been thrifty and saved, -and now we can retire from a kindly public—as their friends, I hope. -I don’t want to write to the papers, or make speeches, or call myself -their ‘humble servant.’ I’ve given them of my best, and they’ve paid me -for it, as they pay for their hats and gloves. No gratuities, nothing -more than I have rightly earned. Don’t you think I’m right?” - -“Well, it is certainly more dignified, but we should have liked to give -you a farewell cheer.” Then, reverting to others, I asked why Irving -was so poor. - -“Ah, because he was so generous. I remember an instance; when he -heard the Duchess of Manchester (afterwards Duchess of Devonshire) -had taken two stalls, he at once sent off to offer her a private box. -She accepted, and then he ordered a two-guinea bouquet to be placed -therein, and invited her to supper. Again she accepted. He at once -asked a party to meet her; that cost him over twenty-six pounds. He -told me so, and he returned the Duchess her guinea. - -“Now do you call that business? Would a dressmaker give material gratis -and entertain a customer to supper? We have never given free seats. Why -should one? If the house does not fill, change the piece, but don’t -pretend it’s a success by paper. Yes—I’m retiring; the public doesn’t -want an actress to-day. It wants a pretty girl. If I was beginning now, -instead of ending, I should be a failure. I was never really pretty. -“Men and women who have never studied acting as an art are wanted now, -young, pretty, well built. But as to acting!—the old school of acting -is a thing of the past, my dear.” - -From Stageland to Shakespeare-land is a natural transit. Besides, there -is no space left in this book to describe afresh the many valued and -gifted theatrical friends to whom I devoted an entire volume in 1904, -for which a second edition was called two months after publication. - -This book was _Behind the Footlights_, and it occurred to me to write -in it that “Mrs. Kendal was the most loved and most hated woman on the -stage.” These words might apply almost to Marie Corelli in literature. - -Who could help loving her who saw her as I did on October 6th, 1909, at -the opening of Harvard House in Stratford-on-Avon? - -It was a wonderful day. - -A private train with bowls of flowers on every table, and smilax -hanging in long tendrils from the roof (all this being the offering -of the Railway Company), took us to Stratford at sixty-eight miles an -hour. Our engine was also gaily decked with flags and flowers and had -“HARVARD” painted across its front in big letters. - -The sun shone brilliantly on that early autumn day, bestowing, as it -were, his blessing on this scholarly alliance of the Union Jack with -the Stars and Stripes. - -A gracious little lady bade us welcome; short and “comely,” with -fluffy brown hair above a round face. As a girl our hostess must have -been a pretty little blonde English type—she owns the sweetest voice -imaginable, a voice to love, to coo a child to sleep, the most gracious -manners, and a delightful smile. - -This was Marie Corelli, to whom the work of restoration of Harvard -House had been entrusted; and her guests that day saw it just as -John Harvard himself saw it as a child. In that house where this -most modern of twentieth-century novelists awaited her guests, the -sixteenth-century maiden Katherine Rogers, passed her early days, and -in 1605 went thence as the bride of Robert Harvard the merchant, to -his home in Southwark. Between that place and the small country town -on the Avon their little son spent his childish years. And just as the -river deepened and widened as it joined the infinity of the ocean, -so John Harvard’s youthful intelligence deepened and widened in the -great ocean of learning. Far, far away it bore fruit—not only in his -own generation, but the waves of scholarly influence have rippled down -through successive decades to the present day, when the College he -founded in America—the first established in the New World—sends forth -her men in thousands to all parts of the globe, and the name of Harvard -is an honoured household word through the length and breadth of the -world. - -Although I had been twice to America and knew that the best of the -culture and learning in the United States emanated from Boston and -Harvard, I had not then realised that the famous University was three -hundred years old—contemporaneous with our own Will Shakespeare—nor -that its founder had been christened in our little old English Mecca. - -Miss Marie Corelli had a bright word for everyone; flitted hither and -thither like a bee, made speeches charmingly, and yet it must have been -a day of great nervous strain for this little lady. A woman of taste -and refinement, a woman of organisation—as the occasion revealed, with -all its details of a luncheon for a hundred and fifty people, as well -as an opening ceremony—and withal, what a strangely imaginative mind! -Almost a seer, a mystic, a religious dreamer, a hard worker, a strange -but lovable personality—such is Marie Corelli. - -Many men and women who attain great ends are egotistical—and why not? -What others admire they may surely be allowed to appreciate also. - -It is the conceit of ignorance that is so detestable. The assurance of -untutored youth that annoys. - -The American Ambassador was, as ever, gentle, persuasive, eloquent, -delightful. We had a long conversation on Harvard, whose virtues he -extolled; but then Mr. Whitelaw Reid is at heart a literary man and -would-be scholar, besides having enough brains to appreciate brains in -others. - -Mason Croft is Miss Marie Corelli’s home. Probably no writer of -fiction—not plays, mind you, but pure fiction—ever made so much money, -or has been so widely read, as Marie Corelli. The little girl without -fortune—by pen, ink, and paper and her own imaginative mind—has won -a lovely home. It is a fine old house, charmingly furnished, and -possesses a large meadow (the “croft“) and an enticing winter garden. -The châtelaine keeps four or five horses and is a Lady Bountiful. Yes, -and all this is done by a woman with a tiny weapon of magic power. - -So came the end of a delightful gathering— - -But stop! - -As Marie Corelli wrote the story of that day in a few pithy words, let -me be allowed to repeat her message to the _Evening News_: - - “To-day, October 6th, America owns for the first time in history a - property of its own in Shakespeare’s native town. - - “The ‘Harvard House,’ the gift of Mr. Edward Morris, of Chicago, to - Harvard University, was opened to-day by the American Ambassador in - the presence of a large and representative gathering of American - social magnates amid the greatest enthusiasm. - - “I am proud and glad to know that my dream of uniting the oldest - university in the States to the birth town of the Immortal - Shakespeare has been carried to a successful issue.—MARIE CORELLI.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -ON WOMAN NOWADAYS - - -Woman nowadays. Poor dear! How she is abused, derided, called this, -that, and the other—but she goes steadily on her own way, and she is -forging ahead. This will be woman’s century. - -Everything that is new, old age dubs “deterioration.” Because the -modern girl is not early Victorian, does not wear low dresses and satin -slippers by day, shriek at a mouse or faint, she is called “unwomanly.” -Surely this is ridiculous. She is stronger mentally and physically, -she is beginning to take her place in the world; and because in the -transition stage she has forgotten how to make cordials—which she -can buy so much cheaper at any Co-operative Stores—she is styled -“undomesticated.” Every age has its own manners, and customs and ideals. - -No, no, you dear old people, don’t think her unsexed. Woman’s sphere -should be the home; but her horizon must be the world. - -In one sense there is nothing new under the sun. In another everything -changes, is renewed continually, and should be new. Therefore, to call -re-arrangement deterioration is absurd. It is more often advancement. -We can no more go back than we can do without the telephone, telegraph, -or taxi-cab. We are all progressing, improving; the world is improving. -Read Society books of a couple of centuries back, and note the change. -Note the coarseness of Fielding or Smollett, and see the refinement of -to-day. - -It is a very good world that we live in, but youth must not be -sacrificed to old age, any more than old age must be sacrificed to -youth. Both must stand alone. - -All this hue and cry about women’s work is very ridiculous. Since the -world began women have worked. They have borne the greatest of all -burdens—child-bearing; and they have cooked and washed and mended and -made. They have ministered to the wants of man and home. - -Worked? Why, of course they have worked, but they have not always -been paid. Now is their day. They are strong enough to demand the -recognition the world has been ungenerous enough to withhold. - -Equality in all things for the sexes will make happier men and women, -happier homes, and a more prosperous nation. - -All women cannot be bread-winners any more than all men can be -soldiers. Women are marching onward in every land, their advancement -and the progress of civilisation are synonymous terms to-day. - -The greater the women, the greater the country. - -It is ridiculous to say that women workers oust men. This is hardly -ever the case. In these days of endless change, when a machine is -frequently introduced that does the work of four or five men, labour is -constantly re-arranged. Then again, with increase of work, so there is -incessant all-round shifting of the distribution of employment. Women -do not take the place of men. They merely find their own footing in the -general change. There is a niche for everyone ready to fill it. - -Yes, women do work, and women must work, although a vast amount of -misery might be, and ought to be, alleviated by their men-folk. The -present disastrous state of things is largely due to men not providing -for their wives or equipping their daughters to be wage-earners. - -There are, of course, a few enthusiastic women who work for work’s -sake, but they take the bread out of no man’s mouth. These are the -writers of deep and profound books, who make as many shillings as they -spend pounds in collecting their material—women who love research work -in science; women who labour among the poor, organise clubs and homes, -and devote their lives to charity and good deeds; but the cases are -rare, almost _nil_, where women work for salary who do not need the -money. Those who do certainly take the bread from the mouths of men and -women alike; but the rich workers who accept pay are so few they do not -count. - -Many women with small incomes seek to increase those incomes in order -to clothe their children, pay the butcher, or have more to spend -on little luxuries, but these, again, are a small class. The large -multitude of women who work are those who must do so, and they are the -ones who require help, for theirs is an uphill fight against great -odds. They have to contend with want of general education, want of -special training, want of physical strength, want of positions open to -women, when they enter the already overcrowded field of labour. - -Women must work until men realise the responsibility of thrusting them -unequipped into the sea of life to sink or swim on the tide of chance. - -How bravely women do it too. Aching hearts and throbbing brows are -forgotten in the fight for daily existence. Poor souls, how hard many -of them toil, how lonely are their lives, and what a struggle it is for -them to keep their heads above water. Many of them do so, however; and -to them all honour is due. - -Men and women should never be pitted as rivals in anything. Each sex -has its own place to fill; but when the exigencies of fighting for -existence occur, men should nobly help the courageous woman worker over -the difficulties her men-folk have thoughtlessly placed before her. - -I hate sex. Surely, in working, thinking, human beings—it does not -matter whether one wears petticoats or trousers—there should be no sex -as regards bread-earning. There are a million and a quarter too many -women in England, and the gates of independence and occupation must not -be shut in their faces. Personally, I should like boys and girls to be -equal in everything. Forget sex, bring them up together, educate them -together. Send them to public schools and Universities together, open -all the trades and professions to women the same as to men. Let them -stand shoulder to shoulder. - -Many people thought that the heavens would descend if a woman became a -doctor. They were wrong. Women are doing well in medicine and surgery, -though they are still excluded from the Bar and the Church. - -Yes, give girls just the same advantages as boys. Divide your incomes -equally amongst all your children when you die, irrespective of sex. -Give them equality in divorce. The world will be all the happier. - -Women will find their own level—just as men do; they will make or mar -their own lives—just as men do. But let men cease shutting gates of -employment in their faces. - -A nation’s power depends on the physical strength and character of its -women, and not on its army of men, or its statesmen. - -How I envy men with professions. They come down to comfortable -breakfasts, without the least idea of what will be laid before them. -They enjoy it, have a look at the papers, perhaps a pipe, and then -they get into boots and top-coat, go off to their chambers, offices, -studios, or their consulting-rooms, as the case may be. They throw -themselves into their work, knowing that no interruptions will occur -during the whole course of the morning. - -They enjoy their luncheon, which they have not had the worry of -ordering beforehand, and so by the time four, or five, or six o’clock -arrives they have done a good day’s work without annoyance from -outside. They have earned so much money, and not far off they see a -tangible reward. Lucky men! - -How differently things go with a woman like myself, with a small -income, a house, servants, children, all as important as the daily -round of wage-earning. By the time one gets settled down to one’s desk -at nine-thirty or ten o’clock one has gone through the drudgery of it -all. The orders and wants of cook, housemaid, parlourmaid, and nurse -have all been attended to. The cheques for washing bills and grocers’ -books have to be written, orders sent for coals, the soda-water -telephoned for, with all the endless round of wearying details which -every housekeeper knows. In the midst of one’s morning work, curtains -return from the cleaners, and have to be paid for at the door, or a man -comes to mend the bell, and one has to leave one’s desk to show him -exactly what is wrong. In fact, the interruptions are incessant even in -the best regulated households, and one has to bring one’s distracted -mind back from domestic details to write important letters or articles -for the Press. - -A working woman’s life would be endurable were it not for the -interruptions. - -Yes! I have lived the ordinary woman’s life and the professional -woman’s life as well, and I always say to myself that the professional -part is a mere bagatelle, because of the larger rewards, in comparison -with the ceaseless worries and endless interruptions that fall at the -feet of every housekeeper. - -Men do not half enough appreciate the amount of work (becoming every -year more difficult), the extraordinary number of little details, -necessary to run even the simplest home. - -When one covers one’s own furniture, embroiders one’s own cloths, -and trims one’s own hats into the bargain, the daily round becomes -complicated indeed. - -I believe in clubs for women. It is so heavenly to get away from an -ordinary dinner. It is really a holiday to have a chop or a fried -sole, that one has not ordered hours beforehand. Besides, at the club -one sometimes learns new dishes, and certainly new ideas from the -newspapers and magazines, all of which one could not afford to take in -at home independently. - -For the unmarried woman the club is absolutely indispensable. It gives -her a place where she can receive her friends, and let it be known -that women are more hospitable than men. They are poorer, but are more -generous in giving invitations to tea or a meal. Men’s clubs are full -of old women, and women’s clubs full of young men, nowadays. - -A club is also a boon to the married woman, for there are days when -country relations arrive in town, when, for instance, the sweep has -been ordered at home; then the country or foreign friends can be taken -to the club, and need not know that their hostess’s small household -cannot tackle a luncheon because of the advent of the sweep. - -I believe clubs encourage women to read, and I am sure that expands -their ideas and opens their minds. Women’s clubs are certainly an -advantage, and though I have been an original member of several, I -always float back to my first love, the Albemarle, where our marble -halls, once the Palace of the Bishop of Ely, receive both men and women -members. - -I love my own sex. They are the guiding stars of the Universe, and the -modern girl tends to make the world much more interesting than it used -to be. Youth must spread its wings, and if it is sound youth it will be -gently guided by experience. Let the bird fly, or it will fret at the -bars of its cage, break its wings, and languish. - -No one ever profited by the experience of another, any more than any -person inherited the learning of an ancestor. Alas and alack, we must -acquire both for ourselves. - -To our mothers and grandmothers, with their sweet but secluded and -often sequestered lives, it would have seemed a deed of daring for -a woman to lecture the public. Would they have thought it—would our -grandfathers rather have held it “ladylike”? - -It is curious how one acquires a reputation without the least -foundation. For instance, I am always being asked to lecture; sometimes -it is at a People’s Palace, sometimes before a learned society, or -on behalf of various charities, or to address the blind, or deliver -educational discourses; and even the famous Major Pond of America once -tried to persuade me to go on a lecturing tour in the States. - -Tempting as his money offer was, I dared not face that vast public. - -This reputation is a chimera, for I have only lectured a few times in -my life; and these occasions have chiefly been at the People’s Palace -at Vauxhall, where an audience of two or three thousand persons, -paying from one penny to sixpence, eat oranges, smoke pipes, and -otherwise enjoy themselves after their manner, while the lecturer is -doing his (or her) best to amuse them. To keep these people out of the -public-houses and well occupied for an evening seems worth even the -pain and nervousness of standing alone on a stage, nearly as big as -that of Drury Lane, with footlights before, and a huge white curtain -for one’s slides behind. - -The first time I ever spoke in public was at a large meeting (seven or -eight hundred) held in the St. Martin’s Town Hall, when at an hour or -two’s notice I took the place of the late Earl of Winchilsea, and, in -reply to his bidding by telegram, discoursed for fifteen minutes on -the position of women in Agriculture, a subject in which I was much -interested at the time. I spoke from notes only, having a horror of a -read paper, which is always exasperating or inaudible. Most speeches -are too low and too long. The fifteen minutes appeared to be nothing, -but the moments of waiting were torture until the first words had come -forth. When one’s knees shake, and one’s tongue seems to cleave to the -roof of the mouth, when the audience dances like myriads of fireflies -before one’s eyes, the misery is so awful that the result is not worth -the effort. - -Women are often excellent speakers, both in matter and style, and those -who have an equal amount of practice are quite as good as the best men. -Nevertheless, after-dinner speaking is, alas, far more often boring -than entertaining, and one regrets a bell does not ring after five -minutes, as a gentle hint to sit down. The poor speaker seldom knows -when the right moment to end has arrived. - -Everyone is shy about something. The rough-edged shyness of youth -wears away, but we each remain tender somewhere. Shyness overpowers me -when making a speech, or on hearing my name roared into a room full -of people. The first makes me sick, in spite of having addressed an -audience of three thousand people, which I find easier than thirty; the -second makes me wish to run away. - -“I’m shy,” is the excuse of youth to cover rudeness. Gauche, awkward, -ill-mannered boys and girls call these delinquencies shyness. Being -shy, however, is no extenuation of being discourteous. It is merely -selfish self-conceit allowed to run rampant instead of being checked. -How much easier it is to form a bad impression than to destroy one. - -We are all imperfect, but the only chance of bettering ourselves is to -realise the fact early and try self-reform. - -I have been fighting faults all my life, and although I have overcome -some of them—and I shan’t tell you what they are—a vast crop still -remain to be mowed down by the scythe of Time. - -The question of women and the suffrage is now so important that it is -impossible for any thinking man or woman not to have an opinion on -the subject. What a curious thing it is that Liberals who stand for -Progress fear this onward movement. Is it because they think women in -the main are conservative? - -On the 6th of February, 1907, at the time when the Women Suffragists -were being marched in scores to prison, and big processions were -being organised, and endless fusses and excitements were in the air, -_Punch_ wrote an amusing article, sweeping away the House of Lords, and -substituting for it a _House of Ladies_. - -My name happened to be among the half-dozen elected Peeresses, and a -funny crew we were. Miss Christabel Pankhurst was chosen because she -was then considered the only good-looking suffragette. Madame Zansig -because of her thought-reading propensities. Clara Butt because she -could reduce chaos to harmony, and so on. - -Anyway, the article was commented on tremendously in the Press, and -was the subject of much amusement among my friends. It brought me many -quibs, telegrams, and telephones of congratulation on my elevation to -the Peerage. - -The following letter is from a notable woman, written about two years -later: - - “EDINBURGH, - - “_November 26th, 1909_. - - “MY DEAR MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE, - - “I am very pleased to hear that you are disposed to take a more - active part than heretofore in demonstrating your support of - Women’s Suffrage. The London Society, of which Lady Frances Balfour - is the President, is non-party in character and is opposed to - stone-throwing, whip-lashing, and other methods of violence. The - London Society is one of more than a hundred Societies, which - together form the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies of - which I am President. I have asked Miss Strachey, the Secretary - of the London Society, to send you a membership form, and if you - approve of our methods and policy, we shall be most grateful if you - will join us. I am away here in Scotland for a round of meetings, - therefore please excuse a hasty line. - - “Yours sincerely, - - “M. G. FAWCETT.” - -Later I wrote a long article in the _Fortnightly Review_, entitled -“Women and Work,” on the strength of which I received the following -note from the pioneer of the movement: - - “_June 1st, 1911._ - - “MY DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “I am quite delighted by your article, and thank you very much for - sending it to me. It is a very valuable armoury of facts, which - will be of great value to our speakers and workers. - - “Yours sincerely, - - “M. G. FAWCETT.” - -Every youthful person is a revolutionary at heart; anyway, I was, but -as years have mounted up, even my radical tendencies have diminished. -The real guides of a nation are the thinkers. Democracy must obey -leadership, and leadership is the outcome of brains and learning. -Here and there a great man rises from the millions; but the larger -percentage of great men are to be found in the aristocracy and upper -middle classes, not in the lower tenth, or even the lower middle class. -I am becoming more conservative with years. It seems so much more easy -to pull down than to build, and all this Socialistic cry is towards -pulling down, upsetting, upheaving, without the slightest idea how to -draw up a programme of reform or produce a single leader of worth. - -It requires brains to appreciate brains. It requires talent to -understand talent. It requires knowledge and experience to value the -beautiful, and vast capacity to build, to organise, to make or to -govern. - -Many women nowadays have the full courage of their opinions. They say -things and write things; lecture on them. But for myself—well, no!—not -yet quite. - -Something awful would happen to me if I wrote _all_ the things I -think. To suggest one finds it actually sinful to incubate miserable -seedlings—the offspring of poverty, children conceived in drink, -immorality, insanity, epilepsy, children doomed from birth—brings -down denunciation. One hardly dare espouse such views, while it is -considered more good, more noble, more moral to foster a population -of degenerates than to prevent it. Our prisons are largely filled by -drink or insanity, but we feed and keep the creatures and send them -out to propagate their species, who in their turn fall upon the rates. -Degenerates should never be allowed to marry. - -We court adultery by our Separation Acts, tie unfortunate men and -women to lunatics, instead of clearing the air by cheap divorce. We -positively suggest infidelity by not making equal laws for men and -women. We force women to work or starve, and then abuse them for -entering men’s professions; but we hardly dare speak or write openly on -these subjects, oh dear, no! - -We see women neglecting their homes for bridge or men scattering their -wits by wrongful indulgences, and yet Society does not revolt. Still -we are waking up, and why? Simply because women are beginning to take -an interest in the big questions of life; and once they take a thing up -they generally manage to sift it to the bottom. - -This is woman’s century. She is playing a bold game for the equality of -the sexes, but she will win; and the world will be the purer and better -for the part she plays. - -Women don’t faint nowadays, and have vapours and migraine. They no -longer make jams or weep. They are up and doing. They do things instead -of talking of them. They are becoming the comrades of men. It is the -women of the twentieth century who are going to revise Society. - -Lord Emmott, the late Deputy Speaker, was one day pretending to me that -all evil came through women. - -“Look at the apple,” he cited. - -“Oh, come now, that chestnut is _too_ old,” I replied. - -“Old but nevertheless evergreen,” he answered promptly. - -If men are creating unrest and Socialism, women are spurring their -sons to work and instilling into them morality. The immoral man will -find every decent door shut in his face before another century dawns, -just as the drunkard has been hounded from Society. Who would tolerate -drunkenness at a dinner-party to-day? Men and women both shrink from -it, and the same will be felt towards loose living. Women are free, no -longer the slaves of men, and they are exercising their freedom in the -purification of all things, ably helped by their comrades. - -Women don’t grow old nowadays, they no longer put on caps when they -marry, or leave the nursery to become matrons. They develop younger, -marry later, are independent and self-respecting, and never grow old. - -Old ladies and bonnets have gone out of fashion. - -Dress—especially women’s dress—has in all ages and climes, so far back -as we can trace by rifling tombs, and studying picture-writings and -prehistoric carvings, formed subject of comment and satire, but also of -invariable interest. - -What of the dress of womanhood in this opening century? On one point -all mankind cry out and many women join in the loud appeal. Here, so -please you, is an exordium that—one woman unit—fain would publish. - - WOMEN OF ENGLAND, - - Unselfishness is the keynote of the female race—at least men say - so—but what must they think of us to-day? They take a ticket for a - theatre, and a woman sits in front of them whose hat is so enormous - that they cannot see above it, and her feather or tulle boa is so - huge, they cannot see round it. That “lady” ought to have paid for - a dozen seats, for she impedes the view of a dozen longsuffering - beings. Many women take their hats off (how we bless them!), - others wear dainty little caps or small (not large) Alsatian bows; - but in shame be it said, there are still women at theatres and - concerts, or at such functions as the giving of the Freedom of the - City of London to Mr. Roosevelt, whose presence is the essence of - selfishness. Where is their unselfishness? Where their kindness of - heart? Where their sympathy for the rights of others, whether male - or female? - - Women of England! when your head-gear inconveniences others, bare - your heads, I pray, before an Act of Parliament is passed like the - Sumptuary Laws of old, insisting that women shall not be a “public - nuisance.” - - Concede to the wishes and convenience of others before you are - humiliated and made to do so by the law. - - There is no doubt a woman should dress according to her station. If - she is the wife of an artisan, she should dress suitably; if the - daughter of a professional man, she should dress with care; and if - the wife of a millionaire, she might gown herself in such material - as will give the greatest amount of employment to the greatest - number of people. - - Here is where French women excel. They are taught from childhood - to regard what is _convénable_, that is, suitable, not whether - velvet pleases their eyes better than serge. For years and years - every garment I put on was made at home. I did not actually make - it. I drew the design and did the trimming, while a dear old body - who worked for me for fifteen years did the sewing. We were rather - proud of ourselves, she and I, and when I saw a description of - one of her “creations” in some paper, I sent it to her, and she - chortled with joy. An occasional tailor-made from Bond Street did - the rest. Hats! Well, I can honestly say that it was twelve years - after my husband’s death that I bought my first ready-made hat. Up - to then I trimmed them myself. - -This is not boasting. It is no credit to me that _le bon Dieu_ endowed -me with a few capabilities which circumstances allowed to be developed. - -Few realise the necessity of thrift at home, and yet to women it should -be one of the first cares of life. There is often more waste in the -homes of the humble than in the mansions of the rich. - -Nothing is more important than the subject of thrift. “Look after the -pence, the pounds will look after themselves” is an old truism, too -often neglected. How do people grow rich? There is only one way, and -that is to be thrifty and save. Never spend all your income, be it -big or little. The rainy day will come, the loss of money, or loss of -health, and its blow is softened immeasurably for those who have been -thrifty and have saved their little nest-egg. - -Order and economy are absolutely necessary to a thrifty home. It is in -the class of establishment where things are done anyhow, and at any -time, that the most money is spent, and with the least result. - -Thrift, be it understood, does not mean cheapness, far from it. It is -adaptability, carefulness over little things, the personal supervision -of details that make a thrifty home; and these are the things that -are so often neglected, and considered by the careless “not worth -troubling about.” They _are_ worth troubling about; everything is worth -troubling about, be it great or be it small, be it in the household, in -personal dress, in amusements, or the kitchen. All trifles are worth -considering, and are considered by the wise. - -The only way to do housekeeping really well is to pay ready money for -everything. It is satisfactory in two ways. In the first place the -housekeeper knows exactly where she stands, what she has, and what she -can afford to spend. In the second place, it is very much cheaper—for -all articles, which are paid for by cash, are sold at a lower rate than -those for which the date of payment is problematical, and the risk of -non-payment sometimes great. - -Happiness means possessing about double what you think you will spend. -Then, and then only, will you have a margin. For instance, -imagine a trip abroad will cost fifty pounds. Believe you have put down -every possible item for tickets, hotel bills, tips, and all the rest -of it; then _remember_ that you have forgotten extra cabs, theatres, -exhibitions, little presents, stamps, and all the thousand-and-one -things that come under “odds” or “petty cash,” and allow fifty pounds -for them; you will then be happy. - -Ditto with a house or a dress. With all care work it out at -so-and-so, but these “_oddses_” will always creep in and double the -estimate—“_oddses_” are always more than items. - -A twin to Thrift is Tidiness. And here we are not always equal to the -standard of our foremothers. “Oh, but life was so much more leisurely -then,” it may be replied. “They had heaps more time and less to do; -nowadays life is an everlasting rush.” - -It is a rush; but more haste, less speed, is still true. And tidiness -is a kind of book-keeping. - -The economics of housekeeping mean everything in its place, and a -right place for everything, and that is the only possible method for -a busy woman. The more busy we become, the more methodical we must -be; professional women have no time to waste in looking for things. -Organisation saves hours of misery. Tidiness in the home and tidiness -in the person bring joy wherever found. Muddle is lack of organisation. - -Trifles make up life, and a busy woman’s trifles keep her straight. She -can lay her hand on anything in the dark, or send someone to find it, -because she knows where she put it. The more engagements we have, the -more punctual we must be. - -“You are always so busy, I wonder you find time to do things,” -exclaimed a friend who wanted a recipe for some Russian soup she had -just had at my table. - -“It is because I am busy that I have time.” - -“That is a paradox,” she replied. - -“Paradoxes are often true,” was my rejoinder. “Busy people have method.” - -Success is the result of grasping opportunities—being busy is the -achievement of method—being idle is the courtship of unhappiness and -the seducer of attainment. Time is a tremendously valuable -asset. In my busy life I have never allowed more than twenty minutes -to dress for a dinner, or ball, or for riding, and fifteen usually -suffice. When one changes dresses three or four times a day, as London -often necessitates, even that runs away with precious moments. - -It is the duty of every married man to go carefully into his income, -see exactly how much he has, and after putting by a certain proportion -for the rainy day, decide how much he has to spend. Having decided -that, the best thing he can possibly do is to divide his income in -half. The first half let him keep for himself: he can pay the rent, -taxes, the children’s school bills, pay for the family outings, the -wine bill, the doctor and druggist, clothe himself, and have enough for -his personal expenses, and pay all outside things, such as gardeners -and chauffeurs. The other half of his income he should hand over to his -wife. She can keep the house, feed the family, pay the servants, and -the thousand-and-one little things that are ever necessary to run a -household, and pay her personal expenses. Everything, in fact, inside -the house. Once having definitely tackled the subject of money, and -arranged who is to pay for each particular item, the man should never -be asked what he has done with his money; neither should the woman be -teased, nagged at, worried, and harassed as to what she has done with -every penny of her share, how she expended it, and so on. Each should -trust the other implicitly in detail. Haggling over money has upset -more homes than infidelity. - -The way to make a woman careful, methodical, and business-like is -to trust her. She may at first make a few mistakes over her banking -account, but she will buy her experience, and will be very foolish -if she does not make her pounds go as far as they should, and keep a -reserve in her pocket. - -If more men only continued the little courtesies of the lover to the -wife, those sweet attentions that went so far to win the woman, then -all would go smoothly. Married life should be one long courtship. -Women appreciate appreciation. Alas, instead, matrimony is too often -a ceaseless wrangle. Men scold and women nag. Foolish both. I am no -man-hater, far, far from it. Men are delightful; but one inconsiderate -or cruel man can so easily wreck a home and bring misery on his wife -and family, and men are sometimes a little selfish. Aren’t they? - -Hobbies are delightful—they make existence so much more interesting—a -collection of teapots or buttons, miniatures or pewter. It really -doesn’t much matter what it is, but it gives one pleasure to poke about -in old shops, in odd towns, and secure an occasional prize. Hobbying is -like fly-fishing. It takes a deal of patience; but it is worth the play -for the joy of landing the fish. - -Hobbies, Max Nordau tells us, are a sign of weakness and degeneration, -even of madness. Our nicknacks, our love of red and yellow, and things -artistic, tend to show mental lowering. - -All this applies to me. I must be far gone, and yet I am happier than -the hobbiless being, who to my mind is as depressing as a dose of -calomel. - -Any collection of facts or fancies, while in itself an occupation, -eventually leads to something tangible. Life is so much more -entertaining and engrossing if we take the trouble to interest -ourselves in something or someone. - -Surely, it is a good thing to encourage children from their earliest -days to be interested outside their own wee sphere; to teach them to -work and sew, make scrap-books for the hospitals, baskets or toys -for poorer and less fortunate children, even to learn geography from -stamps. It is in the nursery we acquire our first knowledge of life. -Occupations and hobbies should be fostered in the earliest years; -carpentry, wood-carving, metal-work all being taken up in turn by boys; -cooking, sewing, painting, by girls, as well as the thousand-and-one -useful works they can do in their own homes. - -The business of idleness is appalling—the overwork of attainment is -worth the trouble. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -AMERICAN NOTES - - -America is a vast country, likewise a vast subject to tackle. -Everything there is vast, its mercantile projects, its successes, -its catastrophes—but, above all, it possesses a vast wealth in the -warm hearts of its kindly people. I have so many friends on the other -side of the “herring pond,” that my memory lingers with pleasure and -interest in the United States. - -I wonder how many times since I returned from my last delightful visit -in 1904 people have asked me what I thought of Roosevelt (Rosie-felt). - -Those last weeks of the year had been spent in Mexico—my second visit -to that remarkable and enchanting land—as the guest of President -Diaz and his charming wife. Their great kindness, together with the -interesting phase of life unfolded to me day by day, as I made notes -for the _Diaz Life_, brought a desire to make the acquaintance of His -Excellency’s neighbour-President of the United States—Mr. Roosevelt. - -It was about as difficult to see Mr. Roosevelt as to see the King of -England, perhaps even more so, for a good introduction would produce -a presentation to our sovereign, whereas in America even a good -introduction is looked upon with suspicion. President Roosevelt was -surrounded by a perfect cordon of officials. - -The White House is one of the best things in America. It is a low, -rambling building, quite attractive in style, and like the homes of a -great many noblemen in England. There is nothing of the palace about -it; it does not seem big enough for the President of the United States, -although standing on rising ground, amid beautiful surroundings. It -is in a way more handsome externally—and decidedly more imposing—than -Buckingham Palace, and a great deal cleaner. The decorations of the -interior I thought appalling, but that may be my bad taste. They were -so horribly new, and American. - -The day on which I was received at the White House happened to be the -eighteenth anniversary of the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt. They -had been the recipients of congratulatory messages from all parts of -the country, but the President was busy as ever. Except his annual -recess, he knew no holiday. - -I presented myself at the portico. Policemen were everywhere; at each -corner was a blue coat. - -“Pass on, if you please,” was the order of proceedings, until I arrived -at a sort of conservatory door, where another policeman bade me enter. -Horrors! a gaunt, square room with a small, empty writing-table in the -middle, and chairs standing all round close against the four walls. It -was enough to chill one’s enthusiasm. Worse than all! on nearly every -chair sat a man who stared obtrusively at the entrance of a woman. -Had I known the sort of ordeal to be passed through, in spite of my -excellent introductions, I doubt if I should have ventured at all. - -Not daring to run away, I sat on a chair like the rest, and felt that, -instead of my best, my worst frock would have been the most appropriate -for the occasion. One man was summoned to a particular door, and his -neighbour to another, and then an old gentleman came forward to me and -bowed. - -“Mrs. Alec Tweedie, I believe? Would you please to step this way? The -President will see you immediately.” - -“A haven of refuge at last,” thought I, “anyway a carpet and a -cushioned seat.” But even here three men were sitting and waiting in -solemn silence, and all the staring had to be gone through again. - -Ten minutes or a quarter of an hour of this awful tension passed, and -then two more individuals were ushered in, and sat down, not one—of all -the five staring beings—uttering a word. I was getting quite nervous, -and wondering how best to slip away, when the door opened again. - -Merely expecting a sixth sitter, I did not even take the trouble to -look up. A vision stopped before me. - -“Mrs. Tweedie, I am delighted to meet you,” it said. But somehow it -was so short and round and smiling, that I did not grasp the fact that -President Roosevelt himself was addressing me. A few pleasant words and -he added, “If you will go in there, I will be with you in a moment.” - -I went in. This was his own private room, large, plain, and neat, with -an enormous, highly polished table reflecting a few roses in a vase. It -was just a nice sort of office and nothing more. The only interesting -personal thing appeared to be a business-like gun standing in a corner. - -I sat and waited, but as the door was wide open I could see and hear -the following: - -“How do you do? Delighted to see you. Am very busy at the moment, but -if there is anything I could do for you quickly, well——” Hesitancy, and -a few murmured remarks. - -“Well, I’m afraid I can’t spare any time for that this morning. -Good-bye!” So in five minutes the President got rid of all those five -long-suffering, long-waiting mortals. - -That was enough to make one run away without even waiting to say -Good-bye. But feeling how foolish that kind of thing would be, I braced -myself for the effort, and murmured: - -“I’ve not come to ask you to make me a Bishop, or my uncle a Senator, -or my nephew an Ambassador, so perhaps I’ve no business here at all. In -fact, I’ve not come to ask for anything.” - -The President laughed heartily, and, throwing himself back into a -capacious arm-chair, soon proved himself to be a very human specimen of -mankind. - -There is no doubt about it, Roosevelt is an extraordinary man, and a -strong one. There may be a little of the ungoverned schoolboy about -him, but he is right at heart. His energy and enthusiasm prompted him -to do things which, in his position, may not always have been discreet, -but he accomplished a vast deal more for America than folk in his own -country yet realise. - -It was all the more interesting to see and talk to this amazing -personality as I had just come direct from Mexico. No greater contrast -was possible than that between the two then Presidents of those -neighbouring countries. - -Diaz—calm, quiet, reserved, strong, determined, thoughtful, and -far-seeing. - -Roosevelt—impetuous, outspoken, fearless, hasty in action, and hurried -in forming opinions. - -Both remarkable men, very remarkable men, and utterly dissimilar in -character as in physiognomy; each admiring the other in a perfectly -delightful way. Roosevelt writes a hand like a schoolboy’s, and, with -all his business rush and appetite for work, it somehow seemed to me -that he would love quiet sentimental songs and pretty poems. No doubt -there may be more clever men in America, more learned men, more suave -and polished diplomatists, but this man is a judicious mixture that -makes him great. In truth he is a gigantic personality. He is not in -the least American except in his unrestrained enthusiasm and rough -exterior. He gesticulates like a foreigner, his mind works quickly. -Withal he was the right man in the right place, and the United States -had every cause to be proud of him. - -Once more I met, or rather saw and heard, America’s greatest living -President. But how this chanced was at a sad time for our country. - -As told elsewhere, I was doing a cure at Woodhall Spa at the time -of King Edward VII.’s death. It happened that on my return to town -I tumbled across my old friend the late Sir Joseph Dimsdale, in the -railway dining-car, when the conversation turned on Mr. Roosevelt and -his visit to England. - -I regretted the circumstances that had saddened his reception; also -that he should see nothing of our Court and alas! of the Monarch whom -he had so much admired. And then we talked of the Freedom of the City, -which was to be conferred on the ex-President in a few days’ time. - -“Although my Cambridge boy was made a Freeman of the City of London the -other day, I have never witnessed the ceremony,” I said. - -“Would you like to see one of these public ones?” asked the ex-Lord -Mayor. - -“Immensely,” I replied. - -“If it is possible to manage it, you shall have a seat,” he replied, -and accordingly I was invited to see Mr. Roosevelt made free of the -Ancient City of London, and enjoyed the privilege of hearing one of the -most memorable speeches ever made within the Guildhall walls: certainly -one of the most abused, admired, discussed. - -Was Roosevelt playing to the gallery? - -Was he angling for the Presidency of the United States? Or was he -really trying to do England a good turn in correcting her stupidity in -Egypt? - -Anyway, it was a bold stroke, but done so skilfully that it did not -seem so rude as it looked in cold print. - -I had been much struck with Roosevelt’s personality when I spent that -hour _tête-à-tête_ with him in Washington—his rough-and-ready manner, -his fearless, overflowing geniality—but I had never heard him speak in -public. - -The giving of the Freedom of the City of London is a great event, very -old, very historic, very interesting, surrounded by ancient ritual. - -As the Guildhall only holds about twelve hundred people, and that -twelve hundred is mainly composed of Aldermen and aldermanic wives, -sheriffs, ex-Lord Mayors, Masters of City Companies and burgesses, and -a very business element, with a very business-like class of femininity, -ordinary outsiders like myself are rare. - -Owing to the death of Edward VII. everyone wore black. This made the -Hall look its best, for the red robes, or dark blue and fur of the -officials, contrasted well with the sombre hue of the audience. - -Roosevelt was the personification of quiet dignity as he walked up the -central aisle, subdued possibly by nervousness, and he was very still -on the platform seated on the right of the Lord Mayor, with the Mace -and other Insignia of Pomp on the table before him. - -Sir Joseph Dimsdale’s speech as Chamberlain of the City was excellent. -Well delivered by a far-reaching voice, with the manners of a -gentleman, the learning of a scholar, and the tact of a diplomat. It -was all that a speech of the kind ought to be. - -Then rose Roosevelt the Democrat. - -He bowed to everybody. To the right, to the left, behind and before, -and while doing so, walked about the platform, as he did at intervals -during the whole of his speech. - -Speech? It was no address, no oration. He is not an orator. He merely -had a friendly chat with an audience he hoped was friendly disposed. -Although no speaker, he is convincing. He continually stretched out his -right arm and pointed his finger at some particular person and spoke -directly to him, as he thundered forth: - -“You won’t like it. You won’t like what I am going to say! but I am -going to say it, and it is this!” Then glancing at the papers in his -left hand, he read all the important parts. He had evidently prepared -it with great care, and he said exactly so much and no more. He never -gave more than three or four words without a pause; in a staccato way -he hurled his ideas at his audience in the simplest language possible, -but with a real American accent. - -He was grave and weighty. He was very deliberate as he addressed -different people by gesture, but he named no one, although Lord Cromer, -Sir Edward Grey, and Mr. Balfour, were all at his elbow. One could -not help feeling the earnestness of the man, and his claim to be an -idealist when he spoke of the future of nations, and begged the public -to throw aside the question, “Will it pay?” “Great nations must do -great work,” he said, “such work as Panama, or Egypt, and not ask that -eternal question, ‘Will it pay?’” - -Personally, I think he did it extremely well, and feel also that, -coming from a stranger, his words may probably have the desired effect, -and make us strengthen our government in Egypt and India before we lose -these two grand possessions. - -While I was in Washington I again saw my old friend Secretary John Hay, -who gave me his photograph taken in December, 1904, and consequently -his last. He looked ill then, but was so keenly interested in Mexican -affairs, and spoke so eulogistically of General Diaz, that on my return -to England I ventured to ask him if he would write a few lines for the -Biography of the Mexican President, on which I was by that time working. - -He had already started for Europe when the letter arrived, but he -wrote the following hurried lines, penned a week after his return to -Washington from his last trip in search of health, when he must have -been very busy: - - “DEPARTMENT OF STATE, WASHINGTON, - - “_June 20th, 1905_. - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “I have received your letter of the 14th of March, asking me to - contribute something to your _Life of Diaz_. - - “It would be a very great pleasure to me to have my name associated - with yours in what I am sure will be a very interesting work, but - I am obliged to decline all such requests, however agreeable and - flattering they may be. - - “I am, with many thanks, - - “Sincerely yours, - - (Signed) “JOHN HAY.” - -The letter was delivered in London the day following his death. - -America has always sent us of her best in Ambassadors, but none was -more popular or more respected than Colonel John Hay. The most shy and -retiring of men, he abhorred ovations; public speaking was torture to -him, yet he was the constant recipient of the first, and was excellent -at the second. One of the most cultured of American Ambassadors, he was -really a man of letters. He had not the acute legal knowledge of Mr. -Choate, nor the diplomatic manner of Mr. Whitelaw Reid, but the world -knew him and admired him as a man who was honest to the core. - -No Secretary of State ever did more to bring his country to the front -than John Hay. A number of most difficult foreign questions requiring -prompt decision—Cuba and the Philippines, Japan and China—came to the -forefront during his term of office; and the position, maintained in -the world of diplomacy by the United States, was, at the time of his -death, totally different from that existing when he first entered her -service in the Senate at Washington. - -Napoleon may have merely boasted when he declared that every French -soldier carried a field-marshal’s baton in his knapsack. The saying -would be literally true if applied to those who march in the ranks of -industry and politics in America. There is no office in the State which -is not open to the man of brains and grit. - -If asked for a type of the go-ahead American who is making his mark, -I should be inclined to name John Barrett. I have run across him in -several quarters of the globe. - -Keen and shrewd, with a Gargantuan appetite for work, Barrett, at the -age of some forty years, had already been United States Minister to -Siam, Argentina, Panama, and Colombia; he was Commissioner General -to Foreign Nations of the St. Louis World’s Fair, and a year or -two later held the important post of Director of the International -Bureau of American Republics, towards the establishment of which in -Washington, Carnegie gave a million sterling. One of his most marked -characteristics is his readiness to act in sudden emergency. - -An open-air gathering in a very small New England town was being held -in support of Mr. Roosevelt. From the platform a man with a high -forehead and intellectual features was making a speech; clearly and -logically he dealt with the manner in which his country was fulfilling -its obligations in the Philippines and Panama. The speaker showed -remarkable personal familiarity with America’s Far Eastern possessions, -and with Central American affairs. Many farmers were in the audience. -Seeing this, the orator emphasised one of his points with a homely -illustration from farm life, adding: - -“I know what it is to work on a farm myself.” - -That was too much for a stalwart young Democratic rustic, who, with -others of the same party, had been attracted to the meeting by -curiosity. He eyed the speaker’s faultless frock coat, immaculate shirt -front and grey striped trousers, likewise the shining hat on the table -behind him. Then he arose in his place and blustered out: - -“What bluff are you giving us? _You_ never worked on a farm! Bet yer -never milked a cow in your life!” - -“Not only have I milked cows,” replied the orator quietly, “but, what -is more, I will put up a hundred dollars against the same amount -to be put up by you and your party friends—the sum to go to local -charity—that I can milk a cow faster than you can. Appoint a committee -and produce the cows.” - -The challenge was taken up. By the time the speech was brought to -its close a committee was selected. It consisted of a Democrat, a -Republican, and a woman. Two Jersey cows, procured from a neighbouring -farm, were driven on to the platform. In full view of the electors each -of the contestants seated himself on a milking stool and took a pail -between his legs, the orator—“spell-binder” is the Americanism—still in -his frock coat, with silk hat tilted on the back of his head. - -“Are you ready?” came the words. - -“Go!” - -The milk rattled in the bottoms of the pails. It was still rattling -in the young farmer’s pail when it already had begun to swash in the -“spell-binder’s,” and the latter had his cow milked dry before his -opponent was half through. The meeting wound up in a blaze of glory for -the victor. - -That was Mr. John Barrett, the diplomatic representative of his country -in Panama, who was spending his leave in electioneering. He paid his -way in part through college with money he earned as a day labourer on -farms during the summer. First a schoolmaster, he drifted early into -journalism, with its wider opportunities, and working on San Francisco -newspapers, he divined what had remained hidden from people who had -spent all their lives on the Pacific coast—the opportunity that was -awaiting America across that vast body of water. - -I first met Mr. Barrett when he was brought to call on me in London. - -Later, on an October day in 1904, I was sitting in the “Waldorf” in New -York, talking to Colonel John Wier, when a man passed. He paused and -whisked round. - -“Mrs. Alec Tweedie,” he exclaimed. “Why, where have you come from?” - -“London; and you, Mr. Barrett?” - -“Panama.” - -We had both travelled far over the world since he had dined with me -in London a couple of years before, and yet our paths crossed in that -great meeting-place, the “Waldorf.” It was during his leave from duty -which I have just mentioned, and he was very busy. Unfortunately I was -leaving the same day for Chicago, but we met again in that city. His -enthusiasm for Roosevelt was delightful; “the greatest man on earth,” -according to him, “delightful to work under.” They had just been having -an hour’s conversation on the telephone, though Washington lies nearly -a thousand miles away. - -“Won’t you come to Panama and write a book?” he said. “The Canal is to -be the revolution of the world’s traffic, and one of the finest spokes -in the American wheel.” - -Poor old Lesseps; adored over Suez, damned over Panama, and then, -thirty years later, to have his dearest scheme realised by America, -through the aid of hygienic science. But more of my Lesseps friends in -a later volume. - -Early in 1908 came a charming letter from Mr. Barrett, then at -Washington, part of which may be quoted here: - - “... Now I want to tell you something I am sure will delight you. - When Mr. Elihu Root, whom I regard as the greatest Secretary of - State we have had in fifty years, made his recent trip to Mexico, - I placed in his hands your two books relating to that country - and President Diaz. Both of these he read with exceeding care, - and I heard him say that he found the one on President Diaz most - interesting and instructive. He has recommended many men to read - them both. We have the two volumes in the Library, and they are - consulted with much frequency. - - “With kind personal regards, I remain, - - “Yours very cordially, - - (Signed) “JOHN BARRETT.” - -John Barrett is now the head of the Great Pan-American Union of -American Republics in Washington. - -Clara Morris, another personality of the West, was one of the greatest -actresses America has produced, and her book was one of the most -realistic presentations of stage life. On going to the States in 1900 I -wanted to see her, but she had retired. However, when I returned on my -second visit, she was back on the stage—the usual story of reverses. - -It so chanced I was in Chicago that October, paying a visit to those -delightful people the Francis Walkers. _Behind the Footlights_ was -selling well in an American edition, and on learning that I was in -the city, the managers of the different theatres most kindly sent me -boxes. Success cannot adequately be gauged by gold, it brings friends -and opportunities beyond mere dross. One night we went to the Illinois -Theatre (since destroyed by fire, with frightful loss of life), and -occupied Mr. William Davis’s own box, to see _The Two Orphans_. There -was an “all-star” cast. - -I had never seen that play since I was a little girl. It had been -almost my first theatrical experience; and, as the first act proceeded, -the story came back with more force than in any production seen for -the second time nowadays, after even only a week or two’s interval. -These childish impressions had sunk deep in the memory. In Chicago this -inferior drama was well acted, and again I noticed how many English -people were upon the boards. More than half the actors and actresses of -America are English, or of British parentage. - -Clara Morris played the nun. She received a perfect ovation, and needed -to bow again and again before she was allowed to proceed with her small -part. There was a quiet dignity about her, and when she told the lie to -save the girl, she rose to a high level of dramatic power. After that -Mr. Davis came and took me to her dressing-room. - -We did not get into the wings through an iron door direct from the -boxes, as in London, but had to go right to the back of the theatre, -down some stairs, under the stalls (there never is a pit), below the -stage, and upstairs again to the stage, where Clara Morris had a small -dressing-room almost on the footlights, it was so far in front. This -was _the_ star dressing-room, but it was certainly smaller than those -in our theatres, and one cannot imagine how three or four dresses and a -dresser ever squeezed into it. - -She welcomed us at the door. “Mam, I am delighted to see you,” she -said, with a true American “Mam.” Her hand trembled, for she had just -left the stage after her big scene, and she was an elderly woman. I -told her how keen had been my wish to see her, and how I had quoted her -in my book. She knew that, and thanked me, saying many pretty things, -and added: - -“No, I never dared play in England, although I have been there, and -loved it.” - -“Why not?” I asked. - -“Because of my ac-cent. You see, I was born in the West, where from -the age of thirteen I toiled at this profession. I starved and cried, -worked and struggled, and when success did come and I moved up East the -critics always rubbed in two things—my intonation and my accent. My -voice was criticised up hill and down dale. ‘A great actress, _but_——’ -Then came down the hail. Mam, if my accent grated in America, among -all our awful accents here, what would it have done in Britain, with -your soft, beautiful voices? So I refused to go again and again. Then -also when success had come I felt, ‘This public likes me, my bed and -bread depend upon them; if I go to England and fail they will turn -their back upon me, and I shall starve again.’ And so, Mam, regretfully -I refused.” - -She spoke dramatically, fire shot from those large, wonderful grey -eyes. I noticed she was not painted. Only the tiniest amount of -make-up I have ever seen on any actress was upon her face, and then I -remembered her words of warning upon the subject. In all those years -she had not changed her mind. - -Her husband, an elderly man with white hair, stood or sat while we -talked in the tiny room, and as the last curtain came down I rose to -leave. - -“Will you give me your photograph, please?” - -“My dear, I haven’t one. My ugliness has caused me so much pain in life -that I have almost never let a camera be turned upon me. That was my -second horror: ‘She is a great actress, _but_——’ And then down came the -bricks upon my looks. God made me this way, but my critics have found -it a personal sin.” - -And she waxed warm on the subject. Her grey eyes were beautiful, -however, they were so expressive; still her mouth was large, and her -features heavy and bad. Her voice certainly _had_ grated upon me when -I first heard it. With those who found fault with her voice I had -sympathy, but none with the beauty-seekers, for expression comes before -everything, and Clara Morris’s expression was wonderful. - -She wore her wedding ring upon her little finger, for whatever part she -played through life she had never taken it off. - -“You see how sentimental I have been,” she laughed. - -In reply to a question, I replied that I had to be back in England for -my boys’ holidays. Only once was I absent at holiday time, and on that -occasion they were with my mother. - -“Happy woman!” she exclaimed. “How I have always longed for children; -though such happiness never came to me. But I have an old mother who -still lives, thank God; and as long as a woman has a mother she can -never grow old or feel lonely.” - -Another remarkable figure in America, when I was over there in 1904, -was Dowie the prophet, or as some on this side of the Atlantic more -correctly termed him—the “Profit”; perhaps the biggest humbug that even -his own vast country of adoption has produced. - -Of course I went to see Dowie and Zion City; everybody did. The place -lay within an hour’s railway journey of Chicago. Four years before it -had been waste land. In the interval there had sprung up a railway -station, an hotel called Elijah House, a whole town of residences, -a huge tabernacle capable of holding seven thousand people, and a -population of over ten thousand souls. - -Knowing his gross life, the horrible language he used, knowing also -that he was hounded out of England for his vituperation against King -Edward—his King, for Dowie was born in Edinburgh and had lived only -sixteen years in the States—I was surprised to find such a charming, -kindly old gentleman. A man nearly seventy years of age, short and -stout like Ibsen, with a large strong head and a grey beard; such was -“Elijah,” as he pleased to call himself. - -Dowie received me in a most magnificent, book-lined library; thousands -of well-bound volumes—for which I have since heard he never paid—filled -the shelves. Beside him on the table stood a machine that was clicking. - -“What is that?” I asked, having visions of dynamite. - -He solemnly handed me a telegram which read: - -“Tom and Mary Bateson” (or some such names) “are seriously ill; pray -for them.” - -Looking me full in the face, he remarked: - -“Tom and Mary Bateson were cured at 2.55.” - -It was then 3.30. - -“How?” I asked. - -“Through my prayers,” he replied, “by faith.” And taking up a little -piece of paper, he clicked on it through the machine. - -“A duplicate of this,” he explained, “has been posted to the sick man’s -friends so that they may have the record, but of course they felt the -benefit of the prayer the moment I gave it.” - -He spoke so solemnly, so impressively, and with such apparent belief in -his own infallibility, that he greatly impressed me. I kept the piece -of paper as a memento of the occasion. It is short and business-like, -and is here reproduced: - - PRAYED - - NOV 2 2-55 PM 1904 - - JOHN ALEX. DOWIE. - -The man was a charlatan. One felt it in his eyes and in the grasp of -his hand; and yet at the same time there was so much enthusiasm about -him, it was easy to understand how people came under his sway. - -Not one of those ten thousand persons, who then filled Zion City, drank -alcohol, smoked tobacco, swore, gambled, or ate swine’s flesh. - -The people, whether from fear or love I know not, certainly worshipped -the prophet. Unlike the Christian Scientists, he believed in illness, -and said it was punishment for sin and would be cured by prayer. - -When I saw him he was revelling in every imaginable luxury, decked his -wife in diamonds and fine gowns, ate off superb mahogany and handsome -silver. Dowie was rich and prosperous, for every one of his followers -was forced to give him a tenth of all he earned. Yet such were his -extravagances that the largest shop in Chicago took possession of one -of his summer residences, and let it, so that the rent might pay their -bill. - -Prophet or no prophet, Dowie had a keen eye to business. Everything -stood in his own name: land, houses, furniture, and, as his son showed -no spiritual desires, he educated him as a lawyer, with a view that he -should continue in the town, in a business-like way presumably. - -Dowie owned also factories of lace, sweets, biscuits, soap, harness, -brooms, tailoring, even sewing machines and pianos. His disciples -generally came to him with a knowledge of various trades, and he made -use of that knowledge in a profitable way. - -Dowie was a prodigious humbug, and died a beggar. - -After many happy weeks spent in the States I am not in the least -surprised that Englishmen should marry American women. They show their -good taste—I should do the same were I a man. Nor am I surprised that -American women should prefer Englishmen—for the same remark applies. -There is a delightful freedom, an air of comradeship coupled with -pleasant manners and pretty looks in the American woman which are most -attractive. Her hospitality is unbounded, her generosity thoughtful, -and she is an all-round good sort. - -The American woman is an excellent speaker. It is surprising to hear -her oratory at one of her large club luncheons, such as the Sorosis -in New York. I was honoured with an invitation as their special guest -(1900), and for the first time in my life saw two hundred women sit -down together for a meal. The club woman is young and handsome, well -dressed and pleasing, and she stands up and addresses a couple of -hundred women just as easily as she would begin a _tête-à-tête_ across -a luncheon table. She is not shy, or if she is she hides it cleverly. - -Americans entertain royally; they almost overpower the stranger with -hospitality. They are generous in a high degree, not only in big -things, but in constantly thinking of “little gifts or kindnesses” -to shower upon their guests. They become the warmest and truest of -friends, in spite of their sensitiveness and hatred of criticism. -Never were any people so sensitive about their country or themselves, -or so ready to take offence at the slightest critical word. But we -all have our weaknesses, and while we are too terribly thick-skinned -and self-satisfied, Americans are perhaps too sensitive for their own -happiness. They are not only warm friends amongst themselves both in -sunshine and in shade, but they are equally staunch to their English -visitors. They may in the main be a tiny bit jealous of England, but -individually they seem to love British people, and welcome them so -warmly one can only regret that more English do not travel in America -where they would see her people at their best, for, alas! many of the -Americans who come over here leave a wrong impression altogether of the -charms of our brothers and sisters across the Atlantic. - -The more the inhabitants of these two countries see of one another, -the better they understand and appreciate each other’s feelings, the -stronger are forged the links of the chain of brotherhood. And the -stronger this chain is made, the better for the whole world. - -America! It is impossible to mention here all the delightful people I -met in America, from Mark Twain to Thompson Seton; from Kate Douglas -Wiggin to Gertrude Atherton; from Agnes Lant to Julia Marlowe; from -Jane Addams to Louise Chandler Moulton; from Dana Gibson to Roosevelt. -Their names are legion, and in grateful remembrance they lie until I -can visit their shores again, and shake them by the hand. I simply -loved the American women. - -The following delightful Christmas note from Dr. Horace Howard Furness, -the great Shakespearian writer of America, and one of her foremost -sons, is an instance of the kindly remembrance and loyal friendliness -the American people keep green for their English friends, bridging not -only the billowy Atlantic but the swift stream of Time. - - “WALLINGFORD, - - DELAWARE COUNTY, - - PENNSYLVANIA, - - _December 12, 1910_. - - “MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE, - - London, England. - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “’Tis very pleasant to know that you still hold me in remembrance, - whether it be in the bright days of Christmas-tide or in the grey - days of the rest of the year. - - “It is good to know that you have been journeying with your boys. - What happy fellows they must have been, and what a proud, proud - mother you! - - “Politics in England, at present, are intensely interesting, and - it is certainly pleasanter to look on from afar than to be in the - turmoil itself. Having lived through that horrible nightmare, our - own Civil War, I have learned that it is far from pleasant to live - in times which the Germans call ‘epoch-machende.’ - - “One thing seems certain, that after this fierce struggle, England - will never again be in such a waveless bay as in the Victorian - period. England must grow, and a growing boy’s clothes must be - either made larger or they will rip. - - “I had a delightful, affectionate letter from your Uncle a week - or two ago. He tells me that your mother is staying with him, and - suffers from rheumatism, a terrible ailment, which is so widespread - that it never receives half the deep sympathy to which it is - entitled. Do give my kindest remembrances to her when you write. - - “With every friendly wish for the happiness of you and yours at - Christmas time and throughout the coming year, - - “I remain, dear Mrs. Tweedie, - - “Yours cordially and affectionately, - - “HORACE HOWARD FURNESS.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -CANADIAN PEEPS - - -Canada is the land of possibilities. - -On September 1st, 1900, I landed at Quebec, with introductions from the -late Governor-General of Canada (the Earl of Aberdeen), to be warmly -welcomed by the great historian of that country, Sir James Le Moine. He -had written endless volumes on the Dominion, among the best known being -_The Legends of the St. Lawrence_ and _Picturesque Quebec_. - -As to the writings of this Canadian “worthy,” to quote the word fitly -describing him, the following extract from an article dealing with them -will best explain to some who may not know what a work of filial love -was his in chronicling the history of his native province. - -“Nearly half a century ago James Macpherson Le Moine, advocate, and -inspector of inland revenue for the district of Quebec, published a -modest little volume of historical and legendary lore relating to the -city and environs of Quebec, under the title of _Maple Leaves_. Little -had been accomplished, prior to that time, in the way of collecting -the scattered wealth of Lower Canadian legends and folklore, and -English-speaking Canadians knew scarcely anything of the extremely -valuable collections of manuscript sources of early Canadian history, -scattered through the vaults of various public buildings in Quebec. To -Le Moine, whose maternal grandfather was a Macpherson, though on his -father’s side the young author was a French-Canadian, belongs much of -the credit, through his English books, in interesting English-speaking -Canadians in the history, the traditions, and the archæology of -French Canada. It was at his initiative and under his presidency that -the Quebec Literary and Historical Society, founded by the Earl of -Dalhousie in 1824, undertook the publication of some of the most -important existing manuscripts concerning the early history of the -country.” - -The morning after my arrival in Montreal, a week later, various people -presented themselves before me—they had seen long notices in the two -papers that morning, and came on errands of friendship, or through -introductions. One was announced as “Dr. Drummond.” - -I looked up; the name conveyed nothing to me; and as I was not ill, I -wondered at the visit. - -“If I can be of any service to you,” he said, “you have but to -command me. I knew your father, his profession is my profession, your -profession is mine too.” - -“You write? Are you any connection of _the_ Dr. Drummond who wrote the -_Habitant_?” I asked. - -“I am he.” - -“Oh, then, you can indeed do something for me.” - -“And that is?” - -“Take me to see the Habitants in their own homes.” - -Accordingly I spent several days among the farms and cottages of the -old French-Canadians with this large-hearted man. I shall never forget -his recitation of his own poems. They brought tears to my eyes and -lumps to my throat, they were so simple and so real. And these poor -folk loved him. It was a treat to see a man so respected and adored by -the people whom he had been at such pains to make understood. Drummond -was the Kipling—the Bret Harte of Canada. He was not much of a French -scholar. His accent was horrible, but he comprehended. He had that -human understanding and perception that count for more than mere words. -He would sit and smoke in the corner with an old man, and draw him out -to tell me stories while the wife made cakes for our tea. - -Complimenting me on my French, he said: - -“I can’t speak like you; often I can’t even say or ask what I want.” - -“Perhaps if you knew more, you would not be able to make your poems so -quaint,” I replied. - -“I believe you are right. I jot down the English or French words just -as I use them, as the Habitants use them, and perhaps if I knew more I -should not do that.” - -He was so human, so lovable, and at that time so poor. Half a dozen -years afterwards Fortune smiled. His books were selling well; his -cobalt mines had begun to pay. Then he heard disease (smallpox I think -it was) had broken out at the far-away mines. - -“I must go,” he said. “I cannot take the money these men are bringing -me, without going to their help.” - -He went; but almost before he had had time to make his medical -knowledge of value to them, he was himself stricken and died. - -Poor Drummond, a lovable character, and a genial comrade. The following -verses are a good specimen of his style. They are taken from “The -Habitant’s Jubilee Ode,” written at the time of the celebration of the -sixtieth year of Queen Victoria’s rule. Why, the Habitant is asking -himself, are the “children of Queen Victoriaw comin’ from far away? For -tole Madame w’at dey t’ink of her, an’ wishin’ her bonne santé.” The -answer is good French-Canadian and good sense: - - If de moder come dead w’en you’re small garçon, leavin’ you dere - alone, - Wit’ nobody watchin’ for fear you fall, and hurt youse’f on de - stone, - An’ ’noder good woman she tak’ your han’ de sam’ your own moder do, - Is it right you don’t call her moder, is it right you don’t love - her too? - - Bâ non, an’ dat was de way we feel, w’en de old Regime’s no more, - An’ de new wan come, but don’t change moche, w’y it’s jus’ lak’ it - be before, - Spikin’ Français lak’ we alway do, an’ de English dey mak’ no fuss, - An’ our law de sam’, wall, I don’t know me, ’twas better mebbe for - us. - - So de sam’ as two broder we settle down, leevin’ dere han’ in han’, - Knowin’ each oder, we lak’ each oder, de French an’ de Englishman, - For it’s curi’s t’ing on dis worl’, I’m sure you see it agen an’ agen, - Dat offen de mos’ worse ennemi, he’s comin’ de bes’, bes’ frien’. - -Drummond spent part of his boyhood among the woods and rivers of -Eastern Canada. His own record of these early days was graphic. He -said: “I lived in a typical mixed-up village—Bord à Plouffe—composed -of French and English-speaking raftsmen, or ‘voyageurs,’ as we call -them—the class of men who went with Wolseley to the Red River, and -later accompanied the same general up the Nile—men with rings in their -ears, dare-devils, Indians, half-breeds, French-Canadians, Scotch -and Irish-Canadians—a motley crew, but great ‘river men’ who ran the -rapids, sang their quaint old songs—‘En Roulant,’ ‘Par Derrière chez -ma Tante,’ and ‘Dans le prison de Nantes,’ songs forgotten in France, -but preserved in French Canada. Running the rapids with these men, I -learned to love them and their rough ways.” - -At the poet’s funeral a poor countrywoman of Drummond—he was an -Irishman by birth—was heard to say: - -“Shure, he was the doctor that come into yer sickroom like an -archangel.” - -The amount of French still spoken in Canada is surprising to a -stranger. One hardly expects to find French policemen on English soil, -or the law courts conducted in the French tongue. - -Some of the old French title-deeds in Canada are very amusing. A friend -wanted to buy a small piece of property a few years ago, adjoining some -he already possessed on the shores of the St. Lawrence. Apart from -acquiring the land itself, there were “certain obligations which formed -a charge upon the property,” and these were so wonderful they are worth -repeating. - - “EXTRACT FROM DEED OF CESSION BETWEEN CERTAIN PARTIES. - - “To pay, furnish, and deliver to the said transferor during his - life an annual rent and donation for life as follows: Six quintals - of good fine flour at All Saints, one fat pig of three hundred - pounds in December, thirty pounds of good butcher’s meat in - December, twenty pounds of sugar, one pound of coffee, two pounds - of good green teas on demand, twelve pounds of candles, fifteen - pounds of soap, four pounds of rice on demand, twenty bushels of - good fine potatoes on St. Michael’s Day, one bushel of cooking peas - in December, one measure of good rum at Christmas, four dozen eggs - as required. - - “These articles every year, and the sum of thirty dollars in money - (about £7), payable half at St. Michael’s Day and half in April, - during his life, commencing on next St. Michael’s Day. - - “And, further, they oblige themselves to furnish annually to the - transferor during his life a milch cow, to be fed, pastured, and - wintered by the transferees with their own, and renewed in case of - death, infirmity, or age; and the profits or increase shall belong - to the transferor; this cow to be delivered on the 15th of May and - retaken in the autumn when she ceases to give milk. - - “The transferees also oblige themselves to furnish to the - transferor, their father, during his life and at his need a horse, - harnessed to a vehicle suitable to the season (carriage or sledge) - brought to his door at his demand, and unharnessed at his return, - also to go and bring the priest and the doctor in case of illness - and at the need of the transferor, and to take them back and to pay - the doctor. - - “In case of the death of the transferor, the transferees will cause - him to be buried in the churchyard of the parish of St. L—— with - a service of the value of twenty dollars, the body being present - or on the nearest possible day, and the second of the value of ten - dollars at the end of the year, and they will have said for him as - soon as possible the number of twenty-five Low Masses or Requiems - for the repose of his soul. - - “The transferees will be obliged to take care of their sisters, - Josephte and Esther, as long as they are unmarried; to lodge, - light, and feed them at their own tables, and have to keep them - in clothing, footgear, and headgear at need; and as they have - always been at the house of their father, and in case they be not - satisfied with the board of the transferees and decide to live - apart, the transferees shall pay them annually at the rate of ten - bushels of good corn, one hundred pounds of good pork, twenty - bushels of potatoes, twenty pounds of butcher’s beef, six pounds of - rice, three pounds of tea, three pounds of coffee, twelve pounds of - sugar, twelve pounds of soap—these articles every year. - - “The transferees will also take them to and from church on Sundays - and on feast days.” - -This extraordinary deed was only drawn in 1866. The old man is now -dead, also one of the girls; the other is in a convent out West, and -my friend managed to compromise with her for a small sum instead of -letting her sit at his table, keep her in clothing, or provide her with -potatoes. - -In Ottawa I was the guest of the man who was probably doing more than -anyone else for the agricultural development of Canada. The great -strides with which in this Department she has surprised the world -were primarily due to the enterprise of a Scotchman, Professor James -Robertson, who held the post of Agricultural Commissioner from 1895 -to 1904. He has written volumes on the subject, as well as being -successful practically. It will be remembered that this able man had -come to speak for me in London at the International Council of Women -earlier in the year. After writing London, I ought to have put _Eng._, -as no Canadian thinks of _our_ London unless it has “Eng.” after it. - -As a boy he left his father’s farm in the Lowlands of Scotland, where -he had been working, and, full of enthusiasm and enterprise, sailed -for Canada. He had much practical knowledge at his back, and many -theoretical ideas in his mind, that he found difficult to work out in -the narrow limits of a Scotch homestead. That lad’s name is probably -one of the best known and most respected in Canada to-day, and yet it -is not so many years since he landed, for he is still in the prime of -life. - -Professor James Robertson is a wonderful man; he retains his Scotch -accent, has made practical use of his shrewd, hard-headed, far-sighted -upbringing, and has about the most extraordinary capacity for work of -almost any man I know. His energy is unbounded, and his physical powers -of endurance marvellous. - -Since I was in Canada in 1900, the increase of population and the -output of the land is simply amazing. Roughly speaking, the population -was then six millions; to-day it numbers over seven millions. - -Growth! Growth! Growth! Wherever one turns there is growth in Canada; -her cultured lands; her enormous crops; her untold mineral and -forest wealth; her wonderful fisheries and water power; her gigantic -railroads; her large cities—one knows not where they end. The Dominion -Government with its experimental farms, and agricultural colleges, with -its free grants of land which in 1910 equalled half of Scotland in -area, affords, to Canadian and immigrant alike, facilities unparalleled -in history. With such bountiful natural resources, such able statesmen -at the helm, and such advantages from modern discoveries; when the -rapidity of locomotion binds the ends of the earth together, and -nations from divers continents hold daily converse with each other, -rendering the world’s contemporary history an open book, the young -country of the twentieth century has advantages never even dreamt of by -the pioneers of past ages. - -Surely Canada should be the nursery of Empire builders, and her sons -the makers of history, and she will continue so, unless too much -laudation turns her head, and she ceases to strive. - -Professor Robertson took me to see Dr. Parkin, of Upper Canada College, -Toronto, another of the best-known writers of the Dominion; his most -widely read work being _The Life of Edward Thring_, the great reformer -of boys’ schools, whose devoted admirer the Doctor is. Upper Canada -College is like Eton, Harrow, or Charterhouse. It is a magnificent -building, and everything seemed charmingly arranged. - -Dr. Parkin is a delightful personality, a great scholar, a kindly -teacher, and a staunch friend; he now lives in England, having been -appointed—about two years after my visit—the organising representative -of the Rhodes Scholarship Trust. - -At his house I met Colonel George Denison, who had just written -_Soldiering in Canada_, a book as well known on this side of the -Atlantic as on the other. It was his grandfather, a Yorkshireman, -who went out to Canada and founded “York,” now known as Toronto. The -Colonel is an interesting companion and a good _raconteur_. - -Sir William Macdonald may perhaps be said to have been the chief mover -of education in Canada for many years. He was justly proud of McGill -University in Montreal, and must have been gratified at the success -of the manual training schools in different parts of Canada, which -owed so much to his generosity. To him also Canada is indebted for -the Macdonald Agricultural College at Ste. Anne de Bellevue, which he -established and endowed at enormous cost. - -No word on Canada, however brief, would be right without reference to -Goldwin Smith. - -Born in 1823, he died at a ripe age a few weeks after King Edward, to -whom he had once been tutor in English history, and of whom the teacher -said admiringly: - -“He never once let me see he was bored, therefore I gathered he would -successfully fulfil the arduous duties of royalty.” - -After leaving England for the United States in 1864, Goldwin Smith saw -something of the great Civil War. Later he came to Toronto, and there -lived out his days in a charming old house called “The Grange.” - -He told me emphatically in 1900 that “within ten years Canada would be -annexed by the United States.” Goldwin Smith died just a decade later, -and Canada seemed then more Imperial, more British, more loyal than -ever. But a few months later came this wheat business in Washington, -and up sprang the old cry of annexation. - -There are a number of interesting writers in Canada. Most of them were -born in England, and went there as children; there are others who were -born there and have migrated back to England. Of the latter class Dr. -Beattie Crozier is, at the present time, most before the public. He -describes his early days in Canada vividly in _My Inner Life_, but -_Intellectual Development_ is one of the most readable philosophies -ever written. He has a knack of putting the most abstruse subjects in -the clearest possible light. Dr. Crozier lives in London, where he -practises medicine. A few years ago a terrible affliction threatened -to befall him. He went nearly blind. His eyes are now better, but to -save them as much as possible, his wife writes everything for him -to his dictation, looks up his data, translates French and German -philosophies; in fact, is his helpmate in the true sense of the word. -They are a devoted couple. One of those pretty ideal homes one loves -to see, and which are often found in the busiest lives. The doctor -resembles a smart officer in appearance; no one would ever take him for -one of the profoundest thinkers of the day. - -Sir Gilbert Parker is a Canadian; but he, like Dr. Crozier, now lives -in London. - -Lord Strathcona is another of the wonderful men of Canada. He is indeed -their “Grand Old Man.” - -One of the things that most struck Ibsen about the English-speaking -race was their capacity for strenuous work at an advanced age. -“Britishers often take up important positions in that span of life in -which men of other nations are laying down their arms,” he once said to -me. - -It was at a dinner given to Sir Henniker Heaton, of Post Office fame, -on his retirement from Parliament (1910) by the Men of Kent, that I -was particularly struck by Lord Strathcona. I was sitting next the old -gentleman with Sir George Reid, the High Commissioner for Australia, on -my other side. It was really most remarkable to find a man of ninety -years of age so clear and concise, and practical and sensible in every -way. With the rather weak voice of an old man, he spoke well and to -the point, referring to the blessings of penny postage, which Henniker -Heaton had made possible to all the English-speaking world, comparing -it with the days when he first went to Canada seventy years before, and -each letter cost four shillings, and eight shillings for a double page, -and no envelopes were used, as they increased the weight. - -A fine well-chiselled head, Lord Strathcona has become a greater old -man than he was a young man. His life has been remarkable for its -steady Scotch perseverance and extraordinary luck, which, through -the Hudson Bay Company and the Canadian Pacific Railway, gave him -affluence. It was not brilliancy or genius that brought him to the -position he attained, but just that hard-headed Scotch capacity for -plodding. Luck leads to nothing without pluck. - -He talked quite cheerily of his next visit to Canada, the ocean holding -no terrors for him, and he explained that his house in Montreal was -always kept open and ready to step into. The same with his place at -Glencoe, where he had only been able to spend four days in the year, -much to his regret. - -It was midnight before that old gentleman went home, to begin an early -and hard day the next morning, for he is indefatigable at his work for -Canada as High Commissioner, and is to be found every day and all day -in his office in Victoria Street at the age of ninety-two. - -“Yes,” he said, “Canada has a great future, though we must send out -the right people. Ne’er-do-weels will do no good anywhere, and hard -workers will always get on. Hard workers will get a hundred per cent -greater reward in Canada than in Great Britain, while ne’er-do-weels -will do worse, as there are no philanthropic institutions to bolster -them up, or pamper them, as there are here.” - -He is modest—almost shy and retiring. Very courtly in manner, in spite -of his humble origin; but, then, he is one of Nature’s gentlemen. - -Short in stature—the red hair almost white, but still peeping through -the beard—his stoop and tottering, dragging gait denote age—also his -slowness of speech; but his mind is all there—alive and active and full -of thought and force. - -Men may rise to great power in a new country if they only have the grit. - -The life of another such in Canada, merely as known to the public by -newspaper notices, reads like a romance. - - “The Hon. William S. Fielding, the Budget-maker of Canada, - has never forgotten that he was an office-boy in the _Halifax - Chronicle_. His loyalty to the people from whom he sprang is a - secret of his popularity. The finest proof of that popularity was - when last year (1910) anonymous friends contributed a purse of - £24,000 to become a trust fund for the Minister and his family. For - though he handles millions he is a poor man and latterly his health - has been indifferent, and Canadian Ministers on retirement receive - no pension. - - “Mr. Fielding was born in 1848, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. At the age - of sixteen he entered the office of the _Halifax Chronicle_. Four - years later he was a leader writer; at twenty-seven he was editor. - He entered Nova Scotian politics in 1882. In 1884 he was Premier. - In 1896 he was called by Sir Wilfrid Laurier to be Dominion - Minister of Finance.” - -His last night before leaving England in February, 1909, Mr. Fielding -wished to see the popular play _An Englishman’s Home_. There was -not a seat in the house; but by a little judicious management, with -some difficulty I secured two tickets at the last moment. I dined -with him at the “Savoy,” and then we went on to the theatre. Being -short-sighted, I was holding up my glasses. The theatre was darkened -during the act. Suddenly I found something warm and soft deposited in -my lap. Dropping the glasses, I felt, and, lo! to my amazement, it was -a head. A human, curly head. Naturally surprised, I wondered where it -came from, and whether the man—for man it was—had had a fit, or was -dying. I saw Mr. Fielding pushing him up from the other side. Then the -head, murmuring apologies _sotto voce_, rose, but it was too dark, and -the house too silent to find out what had really happened. - -When the curtain came down and the lights went up, behold the poor -owner of the head, who was sitting on the floor, covered with confusion. - -“I am very sorry, madam,” he said. “It was most unfortunate, but my -seat gave way.” In fact, the stall on which this good gentleman had -been sitting had collapsed, sending his head into my lap, and his legs -into the lap of the lady on the other side. A pretty predicament. - -The rush on the play was so great that extra stalls had been added, -until we had barely room for our knees. These had evidently not been -properly coupled together: when at some exciting moment in the play, -the gentleman had presumably laughed or coughed, and his downfall -ensued. - -There lay the blue plush seat on the ground, and under it, his top-hat -squashed flat. - -What a furore that play made, and yet there was little or nothing in -it. But success came from the fact that it struck the right note, and -struck it at the moment when the nation was ready for the awakening. -How it was boomed! Men rushed to join the Territorials, and even I was -one of the first women to send in my name for the First Aid Nursing -Yeomanry Corps. But, as they asked me to go to a riding-school to -_learn_ to ride—I, who had ridden all my life—I really could not go -further in the matter. - -Mr. Fielding is a most interesting personality and character. - -“We are so apt to forget the good things of life,” he said that -evening. “I wanted a motor-bus just now. There was none at the corner, -and I had to walk. I felt annoyed. Then I pulled myself up, and -thought—How many dozen times have I caught this bus just at the moment -I wanted it! Did I ever feel or express gratitude? Yet when I miss it -I growl—now is this fair?—and I shook myself and felt ashamed.” - -“Very noble of you,” I said. - -“Not at all. But I am always saying to myself I have no right to -grumble, no right to be annoyed while I omit to be thankful and -grateful for the manifold blessings around me.” - -Speaking of nervousness being the cause of my refusal to go to Leeds -that week to address five thousand people, Mr. Fielding laughed. - -“How I sympathise with you! For twenty years I have been before the -public, and yet have never made a speech without a little twinge.” - -Of his chief, Laurier, he remarked: “It is an astonishing thing how -much more English than French he has become. Forty years of constant -communication with, and work amongst, British-speaking people has -moulded him along British lines, and although the French manner and -charm remain, British determination, doggedness, clear sight, and broad -views are dominant. In fact, I far more often find him reading an -English book than a French one, when I enter his library.” - -Then briefly touching on his own doings: - -“I’ve been in England two months, and sail to-morrow morning—came for -two things, and accomplished both. First, the trade treaty with France -begun eighteen months ago. Secondly, to raise six million sterling in -London. I’ve also done that this week; and am now going home with the -money, chiefly for our trans-continental railway. - -“Treaty? Well, as a rule, only kings can make treaties, but in Canada -we are given a good deal of power. This is the second time I have been -made a Plenipotentiary in a way—a one-man affair when ready, signed by -Sir Francis Bertie.” - -“A treaty with France, and you don’t know French.” - -“Ah, but I know my subject, Mam. Don’t scorn me for my want of French. -In the province where I was born it was not wanted, and when it was -needed I was too busy to learn; telephone bells or messengers were -going all the time, so I had to give it up, but I’ll learn it yet, I -hope.” - -“Do you require French in the Canadian House?” - -“No, we are mostly English members, and although some of the Frenchmen -speak in French, and all things by law are read in both languages, the -Frenchmen generally stop the reading and consent to take it as read. -Laurier for twenty years has always spoken in English; perfect English. -Lemieux speaks in English. In fact, to get the ear of the House one -must speak in English.” - -“Are the French-Canadians as loyal as the English-Canadians?” - -“Yes, but in a different way. We are loyal because it is born in the -blood; they are loyal from gratitude, and because they know England -gave them freedom. They are more loyal than we should have been to -France if that fight on the Plains of Abraham had been won by the -French.” - -Sir Wilfrid Laurier I do not know as I know Mr. Fielding or Mr. -Lemieux, but Sir Wilfrid Laurier is a great personality. He struck me -as a wonderful type when I first went up in a lift with him at the -Windsor Hotel in Montreal, although I did not then know who he was. -There is a rugged strength about his face that impresses. He is a -scholar and a gentleman, speaks perfect English, and has great charm of -manner. - -He said in the Dominion House of Commons: - -“I would say to Great Britain, ‘If you want us to help you, call us to -your councils.’” - -Another time, when talking of Lloyd George’s Budget, W. S. Fielding -remarked: - -“I have made thirteen Budgets, the only man who ever did such a thing, -I should imagine; and I know from experience people always grumble. -They grumble at everything and anything. To-day at Ascot (1910) a man -was abusing Lloyd George’s Budget. ‘There are a few thousand people -in the Royal Enclosure,’ I said, ‘and I should think every one of -them disapproves. They are rich, and it hits them. There are tens of -thousands of people over there on the race-course. They are poor, and -they are glad. Was not Lloyd George right, therefore, to consider the -millions?’” - -Mr. Fielding possesses an enormous power for work. On one occasion, -after a _tête-à-tête_ dinner with me, he went home about eleven, and -finding letters and documents awaiting him, sat up till five a.m. and -finished them, also deciphering long Government telegrams in code. -Next morning he began work at ten again. - -Quiet, gentle, reserved, Fielding strikes one as a delightful, -grey-headed old gentleman of honest, homely kindliness. He never -says an unkind thing of anyone. Toleration is his dominant note, and -yet with all that calm exterior he has proved himself the greatest -treaty-maker of his age, as well as the most successful handler of -budgets and manœuvrer of great Government loans; but he failed over -Reciprocity. - -This chapter would be incomplete without mention of the late Canadian -“Ministre des postes,” M. Lemieux, of whom Fielding said: “He is one of -the cleverest men in Canada.” - -“Your King, my King, our King, is the most perfect gentleman I have -ever met. _Il est tout à fait gentilhomme_,” so remarked the Hon. -Rodolphe Lemieux, K.C., when Postmaster-General of Canada, to me in -my little library, immediately on his return from Windsor, when King -Edward was still our Sovereign. - -Then one of the most prominent politicians in Canada, for he was not -only P.M.G., but Minister of Labour for the Dominion, M. Lemieux -is another man still in his prime. He was born about 1860. A -French-Canadian by birth, he speaks English almost faultlessly, an -accomplishment learnt by habit and ear during the last few years, and -not from a lesson-book. - -When I first met M. Lemieux in Canada about 1900, he hardly knew any -English. Six or seven years later he could get up and address a large -audience in our tongue with ease and fluency. Yet this art has been -acquired during the most strenuous years of his life. - -“I’m in London,” he replied to a question one day, “to try to settle -the All Red Route cable between Britain and her Colony.” - -Lemieux is an extraordinarily strong character. Of medium height, -inclined to be stout, sallow of skin, clean-shaven, with slightly grey -hair, standing up straight like a Frenchman’s; great charm of manner, -not fulsome, but gracious, and at times commanding. He gets excited and -marches about the room, waving his hands—nice hands, broad, but small -for his sex—and pursing his mouth. A man of strength, and a gentle, -kindly being. Very ambitious, and yet, as he says truly, “What is -success, when once attained?” - -One night I was to dine with him. Nothing would do but he must fetch -me in a taxi. We went to the “Ritz,” where he had ordered an excellent -little dinner, and where a lovely bunch of roses and lilies was beside -my plate. When he went at five to order the dinner, he had ordered the -flowers and a pin! - -The day after his arrival at his London hotel his little jewel-case was -stolen. He told me almost in tears. “Recollections, souvenirs, gone, -my wife’s first present to me—a scarf-pin. Her great-grandmother’s -earring. My ring as Professor of Law, gone. I feel I have lost real -friends—friends of years and friends I valued. Their worth was little, -their sentiment untold.” - -A treaty between Canada and Japan allowed free emigration. At once -ten thousand Japanese descended on Canada. Yellow peril was imminent. -Lemieux was sent to Japan. After delicate manipulation he got the -treaty altered, so that only four hundred Japanese should land in a -year, a regulation that brought him much renown. - -Then the Lemieux Act, which means amicable discussion between parties -before arbitration, was brought in. One representative from each side -and one representative of the Minister of Labour meet; everything is -sifted to the bottom and published, with the result that few cases -ever go to arbitration, but are generally settled by this intermediate -body. It works so successfully that Roosevelt sent people from the -United States to study its working, and the sooner Great Britain does -something to settle her strikes along the same lines the better. - -Yes, Canada impressed me, charmed me, and as I am proud to reckon, -after ten years, two of the late Cabinet Ministers among my best -friends, not forgetting one of the leading spirits in agriculture, -I have followed the remarkable development of Canada with interest. -She will expand even more in the next ten years. Canada is a land to -reckon with. She can produce wealth, and as long as the Socialist does -not enter to destroy that wealth, and distribute it, Canada will forge -ahead. No one was more surprised than the Liberal Cabinet at their -overthrow in 1911; they were more surprised even than Borden at his -great victory. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -PUBLIC DINNERS - - -At a public dinner the photographer said, “The people at the bottom -tables buy the photos, the people at the top table steal the pencils.” - -Half the public dinners are attended by women nowadays, and yet women -did not even dine at the tables of their lords and masters in the -eighteenth century. They then took a back seat. Now in the twentieth -century women with common interests bind themselves together into -societies, recognising that “union is strength,” and they too follow -the tradition of ages, and preserve the sacred English habit of -organising dinners. - -Is there any more thoroughly British custom, institution, or act of -national feeling, than a dinner? Heroes, potentates, benefactors to -mankind, are given a mighty Guildhall feast by the Chief Representative -of our great capital—the mightiest in the world. Other nations hold -banquets, but with them wreaths and ribbons are more to the fore than -turtle soup and barons of beef. - -One public dinner that afforded me personally special pleasure was -given by the New Vagabond Club, on my return from my first visit to -Mexico, when a great compliment was paid me. Following their custom, -the Vagabonds had singled out two writers of recent books to be -honoured. The one, Sir Gilbert Parker, as author of his great novel -_The Right of Way_, as their guest, and myself in the chair, because -_Mexico as I saw It_ was kindly considered (to quote the cards of -invitation) “one of the best travel-books of the year.” We numbered -three hundred. Modesty forbids repetition of the speeches. Obituary -notices and speeches are always laudatory. - -At another New Vagabond Dinner held at the Hotel Cecil, I remember -being much amused by a young officer of the Königin Augusta Garde in -Berlin, who was my guest. We had barely taken our seats when a deep -sonorous voice roared forth: - -“Pray, silence for his Lordship the Bishop of ——.” - -“What a splendid voice that gentleman has,” exclaimed my German friend. - -“It is the toast-master,” I replied. - -“Toast?” he said, “but that is something to eat,” and before further -explanation was possible the Bishop began to say grace, and everyone -stood up. - -“Is this the King’s health?” asked the Baron, lifting his empty glass. - -“No, it’s grace,” I answered. - -“What is grace? It seems like a prayer.” - -“So it is, for your good behaviour,” I said. - -“Do you always have it?” - -“Yes, when we go out to dinner.” - -“And not at home?” - -“Oh no, we are only good like that and enjoy all that official ceremony -at public dinners.” - -He was much tickled at the idea, and likewise relieved that the King’s -health was not being toasted with empty glasses. - -Another public feast—the Dinner of the Society of Authors, in 1907—gave -me still more food for mirth, besides intellectual and other enjoyment. - -My seat at the top table placed me between Mr. Bernard Shaw and Lord -Dunsany. Exactly opposite was one of the fork tables that filled the -room, and gave accommodation to about two hundred and fifty guests. In -the corner facing us sat a nice little old lady. Somehow she reminded -me of a cock-sparrow. She was _petite_ and fragile, with a perky little -way, and her iron-grey hair was cut short. She looked at my neighbour -on my left, consulted her programme, on which she read the name of -Bernard Shaw, smiled with apparent delight, preened herself, and then -the following conversation began: - -Old Lady (beaming across table): “I do love your writing.” - -Grey-bearded Gentleman (bowing): “Thank you very much.” - -Old Lady: “One sees the whole scene so vividly before one.” - -The grey-bearded gentleman bowed again. - -Old Lady (bending a little nearer): “They live and move. The characters -almost dance before one.” - -Grey-bearded Gentleman (evidently rather pleased): “It’s good of you to -say so. So few people read my sort of stuff as a rule.” - -Old Lady: “They are works of inspiration! By the by, how does -inspiration come to you?” - -Grey-bearded Gentleman: “Well, it’s rather difficult to say. Anywhere, -I think. An idea often flashes through my mind in a crowd, or even when -someone is talking to me.” - -Old Lady (flapping her wings with delight, and evidently hoping _she_ -was an inspiration): “Would you be so very kind as to sign my autograph -book?” - -“With pleasure,” was the reply. And thereupon she produced a tiny -little almanac from her pocket and a stylographic pen, and with a -beaming smile remarked: - -“Under your name, please write _Man and Superman_!” - -He turned to her with a puzzled look, and then this is what ensued: - -“That is my favourite play.” - -“Is it?” - -“Don’t you love it the best?” - -“Never read it in my life.” - -“What! never read your own masterpiece!” - -“No, madam. I am afraid you have made a mistake.” - -“What! You do not mean to say that you are not Bernard Shaw?” - -“No. I’m only Lewis Morris, the poet.” - -Momentary collapse of the old lady, and amusement of my neighbour. By -this time I was in fits. Shaw having telegraphed he would not come in -till the meat course was over, Sir Lewis Morris had asked me if he -might take his place. - -Old Lady (collecting herself): “Never mind. You had better sign your -autograph, all the same.” - -And, not knowing whether to laugh or scowl, Sir Lewis Morris put on his -glasses and wrote his name, then turning to me, said: - -“Well, that was a funny adventure.” - -Bernard Shaw himself arrived a little later, and sitting near us, -waited for the moment when he was to get up and reply for the drama. -Being a vegetarian, he had avoided the first part of the dinner. - -A merry twinkle hung round his eye all the time he talked, and with -true Irish brogue he duly pronounced all his _wh_’s as such, and mixed -up _will_ and _shall_! His red beard was almost grey, and his face has -become older and more worn since success weighed him down, and wealth -oppressed him so deeply. - -I could not agree with Lewis Morris’s self-depreciatory remark that -few people “read my sort of stuff,” for I learnt on very excellent -authority that publishers have sold more than forty-five thousand -copies of his _Epic of Hades_—not bad for poetic circulation—and that -this and the _Songs of Two Worlds_ shared between them sixty editions. - -Poor Lewis Morris died a few months after this little comedy occurred. - -To continue with G. B. S., here may be given the recollection of a -luncheon at his home one day. - -From dinners to a luncheon!—well, that is no great digression. Longer, -certainly, than from luncheon to dinner, with five o’clock tea thrown -in. To part from Bernard Shaw is too impossible. - -“_Mrs. Bernard Shaw_” is the name upon the little oak gate across the -stairway leading to the second-floor flat near the Strand. - -Below are a club, offices, and other odds and ends, above and beyond -the gate the great G. B. S. is to be found. “Bring your man to lunch -here,” was the amusing reply I received to a note asking the Shaws to -dine and meet “George Birmingham” (the Rev. James Hannay), the famous -Irish novelist. - -Accordingly, to lunch “my man” and I repaired. Everything about George -Bernard Shaw is new. The large drawing-room overlooking the Thames -is furnished in new art—a modern carpet, hard, straight-lined, white -enamelled bookcases, a greeny yellow wall—a few old prints, ’tis -true—and over the writing-table, his own bust by Rodin, so thin and -aristocratic in conception, that it far more closely resembles our -mutual friend Robert Cunninghame Graham. No curtains; open windows; -sanitation; hygiene; vegetarianism; modernism on every side. Bernard -Shaw has no reverence for age or custom, antiquity or habit—a modern -man, his is a modern home, only rendered homelike by the touch of a -charming woman. It is wonderful how loud-talking Socialism succumbs to -calm, peaceful, respectable comfort. Since his marriage the Socialist -has given up much of the practice of his theories, and is accepting the -daily use of fine linen and silver, the pleasures of flowers and dainty -things; he politely owns himself the happier for them; but then Mrs. -Bernard Shaw is a refined and delightful woman. - -George Bernard Shaw comes from Dublin, his wife from far-away Cork. She -is well-connected, clever, and tactful, and the sheet-anchor of G. B. S. - -Shaw was at his best. He ate nuts and grapes while we enjoyed the -pleasures of the table. I told him I had first heard of him in Berlin, -in 1892, long before he had been talked of here. I had seen _Arms and -the Man_ in the German capital—that, eight years later, I was haunted -by _Candida_ in America, and then came back to find him creeping into -fame in England. That delighted him. - -“Yes, I insist on rehearsing every line of my own plays whenever it is -possible—if I can’t, well, they do as they like.” - -I told him I had seen Ibsen’s slow, deliberate way of rehearsing, and -W. S. Gilbert’s determined persuasion. What did he do? - -“I like them to read their parts the first time. Then I can stop them, -and give them _my_ interpretations, and when they are learning them at -home, my suggestions soak in. If they learn their words first, they -also get interpretations of their own, which I may have to make them -unlearn. I hate rehearsals; they bore me to death; sometimes I have -forty winks from sheer _ennui_; but still I stick there, and, like the -judge, wake up when wanted.” - -“Do you get cross?” - -“No. I don’t think so. I correct, explain why, and go ahead. I never -let them repeat; much better to give the correction, and let them think -it out at home; if one redoes the passage they merely become more and -more dazed, I find.” - -“Speaking of Ibsen, do you think his influence was so great?” I asked. - -“Undoubtedly. But the movement was in the air. I had written several -of my plays which, when they appeared, the critics said showed Ibsen’s -influence, and yet at that time I had never read a word of Ibsen. He -emphasised and brought out what everyone was feeling; but he never got -away from the old idea of a ‘grand ending,’ a climax—a final curtain.” - -“Plays are funny things,” he continued. “A few years ago I received a -letter from a young man in the country. He said his people were strict -Methodists, he had never been in a theatre in his life, he had not even -been allowed to read Shakespeare, but _Three Plays_ by Shaw had fallen -into his hands, and he had read them. He felt he must write a play. -He had written one. Would I read it? I did. It was crude, curious, -middle-aged, stinted, and yet the true dramatic element was there. He -had evolved a village drama from his own soul. I wrote and told him to -go on, and showed him his faults, but never heard any more of him. - -“Once a leading actor-manager of mine took to drink. I heard it; peril -seemed imminent. I wrote and told him I had met a journalist, named -Moriarty, who had found him drunk in the street; explained that under -the influence of alcohol he had divulged the most appalling things, -which, if true, would make it necessary for me to find someone else to -play the part. Terrible despair! Many letters at intervals. I continued -to cite Moriarty, and all went well. One fine day a letter came, saying -my manager had met the tale-bearer. He had happened to call at a lady’s -house, and there Moriarty stood. The furious manager nearly rushed at -his enemy’s throat to kill him; but being in a woman’s drawing-room, he -deferred his revenge. Nevertheless, he would, by Jove, he would do it -next time, if he heard any more tales. Vengeance, daggers! - -“Then I quaked. I had to write and say my ‘Moriarty’ was a myth, so -he had better leave the unoffending personage alone.” And G. B. S. -twinkled merrily through those sleepy grey eyes as he told the tale. - -Once I was inveigled into editing and arranging a souvenir book for -University College Hospital, of which more anon. I asked Mr. Shaw to -do something for the charity. This is his characteristic reply, written -on a post card: - -[Illustration: - - 10 ADELPHI TERRACE W.C. - - 15ᵗʰ. Feb. 1909. - -No, Mʳˢ. Alec. - -NO. - -NO. - -NO. - -I never do it, not even for my best friends. I loathe bazaars - - G. B. S.] - -Yet another public dinner stands out prominently in my memory. - -Quite a crowd attended the Women Journalists’ Dinner of November, -1907. Mrs. Humphry Ward was in the chair. Next to her was the Italian -Ambassador, the Marquis di San Giuliano, and then myself. My neighbour -was especially interesting as the descendant of an old Sicilian family, -Lords of Catania since the time of the Crusades, and also because he -himself had earned a considerable name in literature. Later he left -London for the Embassy in Paris, and is now in Rome, as Minister for -Foreign Affairs. - -Taking up my card, his Excellency exclaimed: - -“Why, are you the lady who wrote that charming book on Sicily?” - -I nodded. - -“I am a Sicilian, and I thank you, madam,” he said. In fact, in the -exuberance of his spirits, he shook and re-shook me by the hand. - -We became great friends, and he often came in to have a talk about his -native land. - -A Sicilian, he sat in the Italian Parliament for many years, and was -three years in the Ministry; then, in 1905, he was asked to come to -London as Ambassador. He had never been in the diplomatic service, -and had only visited Great Britain as a tourist; in fact, he feared -the climate, on account of rheumatism, which at fifty-two had nearly -crippled him. But pressure was brought to bear, so he came to St. -James’s. - -He declared England to be most hospitable, the people were so kind -and opened their doors so readily; and he loved the climate. He was -delighted he had come. - -“In Sicily,” he said, “you are right in saying that we are still in -the seventeenth century. We have much to learn. I believe in women -having equal rights with men in everything. I think they ought to have -the suffrage. Your women in England are far more advanced than in -Italy, and I admire them for it. I have the greatest respect and love -and admiration for women. My wife came from Tuscany. She was advanced -for an Italian, and she first opened my eyes to the capabilities of -women. I hope before I die to see them in a far better position than -they already hold. They have helped us men through centuries and they -deserve reward.” - -What a delight the Marquis di San Giuliano will be to the suffragists -among his own countrywomen if ever they attain to the advancement of -our own Parliament Square agitators. - -He lunched with me one day early in January, 1908, and afterwards drove -me down to the Pfeiffer Hall of Queen’s College, Harley Street, where, -with Sir Charles Holroyd as chairman, he had promised to deliver a -lecture to the Dante Society. Its subject was the twenty-sixth canto -of the _Inferno_, the whole of which the Ambassador read in Italian. -Then he went on to comment upon the text in English, and explained the -symbolical meaning of Ulysses’s voyage and wreck. - -I was struck by a theory which the lecturer advanced: that the canto -was possibly one of the factors that helped to produce the state of -mind in Christopher Columbus which prepared him for his immortal -discovery. In the inventory of the estate of a Spaniard who was a -comrade of Columbus, one of the items named was a copy of Dante’s poem. -It was probable that Columbus, an Italian, and much more educated than -this officer, was in the habit of reading the book. It was known that -a certain astronomer who was one of Columbus’s foremost inspirers, was -a keen Dante student. Probably Columbus’s track, as far as the Canary -Isles, varied but little from that of Ulysses. Certainly in Columbus’s -speech to his wavering crew is found an echo of Ulysses’s exhortation. - -On the drive to Queen’s College the Marquis wore a thick fur coat, and -it was a mild day; I remarked upon it. - -“I always _transpire_ so, when I speak, that I am afraid of catching -cold,” he replied. - -What a trouble all these oddities of our language must be to -foreigners. I remember a more amusing slip from the talented wife of -a very public man, who speaks the English tongue with perfect grace -and charm. I had asked if her husband wore his uniform when performing -annually a great historic ceremony. - -“Oh no, he wears his nightdress,” she replied, meaning his dress -clothes. - -Apropos of the Milton Centenary the Italian Ambassador was asked to -speak at the Mansion House on “Milton in connection with Dante.” He -motored down to my mother’s house in Buckinghamshire, where I was -staying, and together we explored Milton’s cottage, where the poet -wrote _Paradise Regained_ and corrected _Paradise Lost_. We spent -some time looking over manuscripts and photographs, in order that he -should be saturated with the subject, and the next night he went to the -Mansion House full of his theme. - -“I got up,” said His Excellency, “referred to Milton, then to -Dante, knowing that this was only my preliminary canter to personal -reminiscences to come. What were those reminiscences? I gazed at that -vast audience. I pondered. I knew there was something very important I -had to say. I returned to the dissimilarity of the two men’s work. I -wondered what my great point was, and finally with a graceful reference -to poetry, I sat down. - -“Then, and not till then, did I remember I had cracked the nut, and -left out a description of Milton’s home, the kernel of my speech.” - -This man is a brilliant speaker in Italian and French, and quite above -the average in English and German. Which of us who has made a speech -has not, on sitting down, remembered the prized sentence has been -forgotten? - -The Marquis gave some delightful dinners in Grosvenor Square. I met -Princes, Dukes, authors, artists, actors, and even Labour Members of -Parliament, at his table. He was interested in all sides of life, and -all the time he was in England he continued to take lessons in our -language. - -I first met Mr. Cecil Rhodes in December, 1894, at a dinner-party which -was notable for its Africans, Dr. Jameson and H. M. Stanley being there -as well. A woman’s impression of a much-talked-of man may not count -for much. He sat next me. I was fairly young and maybe attractive, -I suppose, so he talked to me as if I were a baby or a doll. To be -candid, I took a particular dislike to Rhodes from the moment I first -saw him. A tall, some might say a handsome, man, his face was round and -red, and not a bit clever so far as appearances went. He looked like an -overfed well-to-do farmer, who enjoyed the good things of this life. He -seemed self-opinionated, arrogant, petulant, and scheming—no doubt what -the world calls “a strong man.” There seemed no human or soft side to -his character at all. Self, self, ambition. And self again marked every -word he uttered. - -Of course he was masterful. Even his very Will denoted that. It was -hard, cool-headed, calculating, and less generous to his family than it -might have been. - -Still Rhodes did great things, and was it not he who said, “It is a -good thing to have a period of adversity”? Mighty true—but strangely -disagreeable. - -Although outwardly so indifferent to everyone and everything, Cecil -Rhodes was not above the vanities. He and a friend of mine had been -boys together, and Rhodes became godfather to one of the latter’s -children, a post which he considered held serious responsibilities. He -wished to make his godson a valuable present. It was the proud parent’s -idea to ask the great African to let the gift be his portrait. - -“Of course I will,” said Cecil Rhodes; “arrange the artist and terms, -and tell me when I am to sit, and I’ll go.” - -So matters were settled. An artist was asked to undertake the -commission, and one fine day my friend took Rhodes round to the studio -for the first sitting. - -The artist decided to paint him side face. Rhodes petulantly refused -to be depicted anything but full face. Discussion waxed warm, and, -naturally, my poor friend felt very uncomfortable. However, the artist, -claiming the doctor’s privilege of giving orders and expecting to be -obeyed, began his work on his own lines. - -Cecil Rhodes gave only the first sitting and one other. Then, finding -the picture was really being painted side face, like a child he -became furious. He refused ever to sit again, and on his return from -the studio wrote a cheque for the stipulated sum, and sent it to the -artist, asking him to forward the picture to him as it was. - -The brush-man guessed that his object was to destroy the canvas, so, -instead of sending the picture, he returned the cheque. Thus the -portrait—unfinished, indeed, hardly begun—remained hidden away in -the studio; and now that the sitter is dead, it should possess some -interest. - -A man who knew Cecil Rhodes very well once told me: - -“He was a muddler. I was one of his secretaries. When he went away -we sorted his correspondence, ‘One,’ ‘Two,’ ‘Three.’ ‘One’ included -the letters requiring first attention. ‘Two’ those not so important, -and so on. When he came back from Bulawayo, we gave him the letters. -Three months afterwards, he had never looked at one of them. ‘Leave -them alone, they will answer themselves,’ he said; but that was a most -dangerous doctrine, and sometimes nearly cost C. R. his position. -He made endless enemies through this extraordinary, selfish, lazy -indifference.” - -As stated above, Stanley was at this dinner of which I have been -writing, and I often met him later. He always appeared to me shy, -reticent, almost to moroseness on occasions. He was a small man with -white wavy hair, round face, and square jaw, dark of skin—probably more -dark in effect than reality, in contrast to the hair. He was broadly -made and inclined to be stout. His face was much lined, but a merry -smile spread over his countenance at times. - -At one of my earliest dinners with the Society of Authors I sat between -him and Mr. Hall Caine. No greater contrast than that between these -two men could be found, I am sure—the latter quick and sharp; Henry -Stanley, on the other hand, stolid in temperament and a person not -easily put out or disturbed. - -“I walk for two hours every day of my life,” said Stanley. “Unless I -get my six or seven miles’ stretch, I feel as if I would explode, or -something dreadful happen to me. So every afternoon after lunch I sally -forth, generally into Hyde Park, where, in the least-frequented parts, -I stretch my legs and air my thoughts. I live again in Africa, in the -solitude of those big trees, and I conjure up scenes of the dark forest -and recall incidents the remembrance of which has lain dormant for -years. Taking notes, going long walks, studying politics, compose the -routine of my daily life. - -“I am a Liberal-Unionist, and shocked that you should say you are a -Radical—no lady should ever hold such sentiments.” - -And he really appeared so terribly shocked I could not help telling him -a little story of how on one occasion an old gentleman was introduced -to take me down to dinner. Some remark on the staircase made me say, “I -am a Radical.” “Ma’am!” he replied, almost dropping my arm, and bending -right away from me. “Are you horrified? Do you think it dreadful to be -a Radical?” I asked. “Yes, ma’am, I am indeed shocked that any lady—and -let alone a young lady—should dare to hold such pernicious views!” -Really, the old gentleman was dreadfully distressed, seemed to think -me not even respectable, and, although I did my best to soothe him with -the soup, to chat to him on other topics with the fish, it was not -until dessert was reached that he was really happy or comfortable in -his mind that his young neighbour was fit society to be next to him at -a dinner-party.” - -Stanley laughed. - -I asked him if he had any desire to go back to Africa. - -“None,” he replied. “I may go some day, but not through any burning -desire; for, although I have been a great wanderer, I don’t mind much -if I never wander again.” - -During the evening he proposed the health of the late Mr. Moberly Bell, -our chairman, whom he had known for twenty-eight years. Stanley had a -tremendously strong voice, which filled the large hall, and seemed to -vibrate through my head with its queer accent. He spoke extremely well, -without the slightest nervousness or hesitation; his language was good -and his delivery excellent. - -It was not till I read his _Life_, when it first came out in 1909, -that I realised what a struggle his had been. Reared in a workhouse, -this maker of the Congo (which we muddled and allowed the Belgians to -take for their own) was indeed a remarkable man. He attained position, -wealth in a minor degree, a charming lady as a wife, and a title. His -self-education and magnificent strength of purpose secured all this -unaided, even by good fortune. His _Life_ reads like an excellent -novel. In these Socialistic days one receives with interest his remark, -“Individuals require to be protected from the rapacity of Communities. -Socialism is a return to primitive conditions.” - -Yes. Stanley was a great man. Seven thousand miles across unknown -Africa, amidst slave-traders, cannibals, and wild beasts, his -expedition “tottered its way to the Atlantic, a scattered column of -long and lean bodies; dysentery, ulcers, and scurvy fast absorbing the -remnant of life left by famine.” So he crossed from East to West, and -traversed hundreds of miles of the river Congo. - -My other neighbour at that dinner—Hall Caine—had much in common with -me, and we discussed Iceland, where, of course, we had both been; -Norway, which he knew in summer and I in winter; and then Nansen. - -The Manxman is an interesting companion, his nervous intensity throws -warmth and enthusiasm into all his sayings and makes his subjects -appear more interesting than they really are, perhaps. There is a -magnetic influence in him. Physically delicate, a perfect bundle of -nerves, there is an electric thrill in all he says, in spite of the -sad, soft intonation of his voice. - -He ponders again and again over his scenes, throws himself heart and -soul into his characters, himself lives all the tragic episodes and -terrible moments that the men and women undergo, with the result that -by the time the book is completed he is absolutely played out, mind and -body. - -Certainly, to sum up, my dinner neighbours have often been, and often -are, most interesting, and frequently delightful as well. - -Nothing in the world is more bracing than contact with brilliant minds. -Brilliancy begets brilliancy just as dullness makes thought barren. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -PRIVATE DINNERS - - -My dinner slips and their history would fill a volume, therefore -they must be laid aside just now. Suffice it to say that as a bride -I conceived the idea of asking celebrated men and women to sign my -tablecloths. Now after twenty years there are over four hundred names -upon these cloths, including the signatures of some of the most -prominent men and women in London at the end of the nineteenth and the -beginning of the twentieth centuries. All the men on _Punch_ have drawn -a little picture, twenty Academicians have done likewise. Specialists, -such as Marconi, Sir Hiram Maxim, Sir Joseph Swan, Sir William Crookes, -or Sir William Ramsay, have drawn designs showing their own inventions. -Others have made sketches or caricatures of themselves. Among them are -Sir A. Pinero, Harry Furniss, Solomon J. Solomons, William Orpen, John -Lavery, E. T. Reid, Weedon Grossmith, Forbes Robertson, Thompson Seton, -Max Beerbohm, W. K. Haselden. A possession truly, and a record of many -valued friendships. It has its comic side too, for sometimes when I am -out at dinner and my name is heard my partner turns to me and says: - -“Are you the lady who has the famous tablecloth?” - -I own I am, and try to forget the fact that I ever wrote a book. - -And—yes, that is the point—they have all been signed at my own table -and I have embroidered them myself. - -How did a “worker” manage to continue to give little dinners, may be -asked by other workers who find hospitality a difficult task rather -than a pleasure. Well, with a little forethought and care it can be -done. - -During all those thirteen years I don’t suppose I bought a first-class -ticket in Britain thirteen times. That was one of my many economies, -enabling me to save a few pounds here and there, just as bus fares -saved cab fares, and with these little savings I could enjoy the -privilege of having friends to tea or dinner. We appreciate most what -has caused us a little self-sacrifice, and I certainly appreciate my -friends far more than any personal inconvenience, besides I had a home -well filled with linen, glass, china, and silver. - -It is snobbish to offer what we can’t afford, and honest to give what -we can. Anyone can open a restaurant, and always have it filled with -diners, but it requires a little personality to make and keep a home. -When a woman is poor and friends rally round, she has the intense joy -of knowing it is for herself they come and not for what she can lavish -on her guests. The man or woman who only comes to one’s house to be fed -is no friend, merely a sponger on foolish good-nature. - -How hateful it is of people to be late. What a lot of temper and time -is wasted. Surely unpunctuality is a crime. People with nothing to do -seem to make a cult of being behind time, just as busy persons consider -punctuality a god. The folk, who sail into a dinner-party twenty -minutes after they were invited, ought to find their hosts at the first -entrée. One of the most beautiful and charming women who ever came to -London, the wife of a diplomat, took the town by storm; she was invited -everywhere, but by the end of the season her reign had ceased, and why? - -“Because,” explained a man well known for hospitality, “she has spoilt -more dinners in London during the last three months than anyone I know. -Personally, I shall never ask her inside my door again.” - -The punctuality of kings is proverbial. So is their punctilious way of -answering invitations, making calls, and keeping up _la politesse_ of -Society. ’Tis vulgar to be late, bourgeois not to answer invitations by -return of post, and casual to omit to leave a card when there is not -time for a visit. - -Some people seem too busy to think and too indifferent to care. Marcus -Aurelius maintained that life was not theory, but action. What a pity -we don’t have a little more action in the realms of politeness and -consideration. - -We owe our host everything. He gives, we take. Let us anyway accept -graciously, punctiliously, and considerately, not as if _we_ were -doing the favour; the boot is on the other foot. - -Only eight or nine weeks before her death, Miss Mary Kingsley had dined -with me on the eve of her departure from England, full of health and -spirits, laughingly saying that she did not quite know why she was -going out to South Africa, excepting that she felt she must. She wanted -to nurse soldiers; she wished to see war; and, above all, she desired -to collect specimens of fish from the Orange River. - -Armed with some introductions, which I was able to give her, she -departed, declaring with her merry laugh she would only be away a few -months, and would probably return to collect some more specimen-jars -and butterfly-nets before going on to West Africa to continue her -studies there. She had only been a few weeks at the Cape when she -was taken ill and died. She was a woman of strong character, great -determination, a hard worker in every sense of the word, one who had -struggled against opposition and some poverty, and the death of Mary -Kingsley was a loss to her country. - -The intrepid explorer was thirty before she had ever been away from our -shores. She had up to that time nursed her invalid mother at Cambridge. -But the spirit of adventure, the desire to travel, were burning within -her; and as soon as the opportunity came she went off by herself to the -wild, untrammelled regions of West Africa, and has left a record of her -experiences in some interesting volumes. - -Mary Kingsley made money as a lecturer, but the odd thing was that -she was by no means good at the art. She possessed a deep and almost -manly voice, but being far too nervous to trust to extemporaneous -words, she always read what she had to say, and in her desire to read -slowly and to be clear and distinct, she adopted an extraordinary -sing-song, something like the prayers of a Methodist parson. This was -all very well when she was telling a funny story, as it only heightened -its effect, but when one had to listen for an hour and a half to -this curious monotone, it became tiring. All who knew her, however, -recognised her as a brilliant conversationalist. Sir William Crookes -once truly said: - -“Mary Kingsley on the platform, and Mary Kingsley in the drawing-room, -are two entirely different personalities.” - -This woman who accomplished and dared so much, who braved the climate -and the blacks of Africa alone, whose views on West African politics -were strongly held and strongly expressed, was the very antithesis of -what one would expect from a strong-minded female. She was small and -thin, her light hair was parted in the middle, and she wore a hard -black velvet band across the head in quite a style of her own, never -seen nowadays on anyone except the little girl in the nursery. She had -all the angular ways, and much of the determination, of the male, when -put to the test, although to look at her one might think a puff of wind -would blow her away. - -Mary Kingsley was the niece of Charles Kingsley, and the daughter -of Dr. Henry Kingsley. The woman, who would face a whole tribe of -natives alone and unprotected, was in the society of her own people a -shrinking, nervous little creature. Indeed, one marvelled and wondered -however she kept the strength of will and the physical courage which -she displayed on so many notable occasions during her adventurous -travels. Once she wrote to me: - - “MY DEAR MRS. ALEC, - - “Thank you very much. I will come if I possibly can. I have an - uncle ill just now that uses up my time considerably and makes me - dull and stupid and unfit for society, but he is on the mend. - - “It is very good of you to have had me on Friday. I always feel I - have no right to go out to dinner. I cannot give dinners back, and - I am used only to the trader set connected with West Africa, so - that going into good society is going into a different world, whose - way of thinking and whose interests are so different that I do not - know how to deal with them. If I were only just allowed to listen - and look on it would be an immense treat to me. - - “Ever yours truly, - - “M. H. KINGSLEY.” - -An amusing little incident happened at dinner in my house, when I sent -her a message down the table, accompanied by a pencil, asking her to -sign her name on the tablecloth under that of Paul du Chaillu. She was -covered with confusion, and when my husband told her to write it big, -as it was difficult otherwise to work it in, she said, with a blush: - -“Please don’t look at me, for you will make me so nervous I shall not -be able to write it at all.” - -Maybe this nervousness was the result of a bad attack of influenza from -which she was just then recovering. “Oh yes, I get influenza here,” she -said, “though I never get fever in Africa, and I am only waiting for -my brother to go off on some expedition to pack up my bundles and do -likewise myself.” - -She found herself among several friends that evening, the great Sir -William Crookes was also one of the dinner guests, and she had read -a paper at the British Association a few months before, when he had -been President. Then she knew Mr. Bompas, the brother-in-law of Frank -Buckland, and by a stroke of good luck I was able to introduce her to -Sir Edwin Ray Lankester, who was afterwards appointed Director of the -Natural History Museum at Kensington. They had not met before, and -seemed to find in zoology many subjects of mutual interest. - -Mary Kingsley had a keen humour. In her case the spirit of fun did not -override the etiquette of good taste as it is so often inclined to do. - -Just before dinner one February night in 1907, I was expecting friends; -but when turning on the drawing-room lights a fuse went, and half of -the lamps were extinguished. - -It was an awkward moment. I telephoned to the electrician, who could -only send a boy. Visitors arrived, and my agitation was becoming rather -serious, for the fuse refused to be adjusted, when Sir William and Lady -Ramsay were announced. - -I rushed at the former. - -“Can you put in an electric fuse?” I asked. - -“Certainly,” was the reply. - -“For Heaven’s sake, go down to the kitchen,” I continued. “There is -a hopeless boy there who evidently cannot manage it, and we are in -comparative darkness.” - -Down the steps the great chemist bounded, followed by the parlourmaid, -and landed, much to the surprise of everybody, at the kitchen door. -There seemed to be barely time for him to have reached the electric -box, before the light sprang into being. Then he washed his hands and -came to dinner, smiling. - -What a contrast to the fumbling of the British workman was the -dexterity of the scientific man. - -Two evenings later, Sir Joseph Swan, the inventor of the incandescent -burner, was dining at my house and I told him the story. - -“I have no doubt Ramsay had often done it before,” he said; “for when -electric light first came in I never seemed to go to any house that I -wasn’t asked to attend to the light. In fact, I quite looked upon it as -part of the evening’s entertainment to put things in order before the -proceedings began. But I think _you_ have inherited your father’s gift -as a _raconteur_, and that is paying you a high compliment, for he was -one of the best I ever knew. Only the other day I was retailing some of -his stories about Ruskin.” And then he reminded me of the following: - -Ruskin and my father were great friends, and several times the latter -stayed at Brantwood. On his first visit he had been touring in the -English Lakes, and having a delightful invitation from Ruskin, -he gladly accepted; but there was no mention of my mother, and -consequently, rather than suggest that she should join him, it was -arranged that she and my small sister—then about eight—should go to the -neighbouring hotel. - -That night Ruskin asked my father whether he liked tea or coffee before -he got up. - -“A cup of tea,” he replied. - -“Why don’t you choose coffee?” - -“Well, to tell the truth, I have lived so much abroad that I don’t -fancy English coffee, it is generally so badly made.” - -His host said nothing. The next morning my father was awakened and a -strong smell of coffee permeated the room, and turning to the servant, -he asked, “Is that my cup of tea?” - -“No, sir, it is Mr. Ruskin’s coffee.” - -“Mr. Ruskin’s coffee! What do you mean?” - -“The master was up early, he roasted the coffee himself, he ground the -coffee himself, and he made the coffee himself, and he hopes you will -like it.” - -So much for Ruskin.... - -During the course of the day it slipped out that my mother was at the -hotel. Ruskin was furious. - -“How could you be so unfriendly?” he said. - -“Well, you see my little girl is also with her,” my father replied, -“and as we are on our way to Scotland they could not very well go back -to London, and I really could not ask you to house so many.” - -Ruskin did not answer, but rang the bell. When the servant arrived he -proceeded: - -“Get such-and-such a room ready, and see the sheets are properly aired, -for a lady and little girl are coming to stop. Tell the coachman I want -the carriage at such-and-such an hour.” - -Then turning to my father he remarked: - -“At that time, Dr. Harley, you can amuse yourself. I am going to fetch -your wife.” - -Ruskin loved children. He and my sister Olga became tremendous friends; -they used to walk out together hand in hand for hours and hours, while -he explained to her about beetles, flowers, and birds, and all things -in Nature which appealed to him. - -Sir Joseph Swan told me an incident in Carlyle’s life which will be -new to worshippers of the Sage. “So many stories,” he said, “are -told of Carlyle which show him as a terribly bearish person that I -take pleasure in finding in this incident that there was another and -kindlier side of his nature.” It related to a young friend some thirty -years before, now a middle-aged and distinguished man: - -The youth was a divinity student in a Birmingham College, preparing -himself for the duties of a dissenting minister. He used to make -occasional visits to London, and during one of these he haunted the -neighbourhood of Chelsea in the hope of meeting Carlyle, then the -subject of his hero-worship. Carlyle was “shadowed,” his goings out and -his comings in were watched for days together, in the far-off hope that -some moment would “turn up” which would bring them into contact. - -“One day he followed Carlyle from his house, and across the Bridge into -Battersea Park. Mr. Allingham was with him. Presently the two sat down -together on one of the Park seats. No one was about, and the couple of -old gentlemen were in no way occupied except with their own thoughts. -My young friend nervously watched them as they sat, wondering how near -he might venture. At last he mustered up courage enough to walk softly -behind Mr. Allingham, and to say to him almost in a whisper: - -“‘Mr. Allingham, do you think Mr. Carlyle would allow me to shake hands -with him?’ - -“‘Mr. Carlyle,’ said Mr. Allingham, ‘here is a young man who wishes to -speak to you.’ - -“Carlyle, roused from his reverie, stood up facing the young student -almost savagely, and said very sharply: - -“‘Who are you, and what do you want?’ - -“The brusqueness of the challenge drove the youth’s shyness away—he -answered jestingly: - -“‘I’m a Black Brunswicker from Birmingham.’ - -“Carlyle’s attitude completely changed. He laughed, and repeated: - -“‘A Black Brunswicker from Birmingham!’ Then he added: ‘Tell us who you -are, and all about you.’ - -“This led to my friend giving Carlyle his name and a good deal of his -history. The Sage asked him many questions with evident interest and -kindly intention, and they were about to part when Carlyle not only -shook hands with his admirer, but gave him his blessing, putting a hand -on his head and saying with solemn earnestness: - -“‘May the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac go with the lad!’“ - -We were sitting one evening under the electric light, steadily burning -in the Swan lamps. I asked Sir Joseph how he came to think of devising -the lamp which has made his name familiar all over the world. So -complicated a topic for the non-expert is the electric light that I am -glad not to have to rely upon memory. Sir Joseph kindly undertook to -put the matter in writing for me, and here is the narrative in his own -words: - - “The question you have put to me—although in itself simple—is not - easy to answer. The genesis of ideas is often a puzzling matter, - and it is so to a considerable extent in the case of my electric - lamp. The germ was, I believe, implanted by a lecture on electric - lighting that I heard when I was about seventeen. That was in 1845. - - “The lecturer was W. E. Staite, one of the first inventors of a - mechanically-regulated electric lamp. He illustrated his discourse - by brilliant experiments, and was confident in his prediction that - electric light would shortly be used for lighthouse illumination. - Mr. Staite in his lecture also slightly touched on the production - of small electric lights, suitable for house-lighting, and - he described and showed how much lighting could be done by - electrically heating a wire of Iridium. The experiment he showed - to illustrate this point was simply the heating to a white heat a - short piece of iridium wire stretched nakedly in the air between - two conducting pillars. - - “The lecturer was careful to explain that means would have to - be provided for regulating the current of electricity, so that - the temperature of the wire should not vary, for if too little, - the light would be dull, if too much, the wire would melt. I - quite clearly remember that while I admired the ingenuity of the - mechanism of Staite’s lighthouse lamp, I was not at all satisfied - with the too elementary device he proposed for small electric - lights. - - “As far as it is possible to ‘track suggestion to her inmost cell,’ - the train of thought which led, long years after, to the evolution - of my electric lamp had its beginning in seeing Mr. Staite’s very - simple and very inefficient attempt to produce electric light _on a - small scale_, for I then _saw_ how essential it was that _the unit - of light must be small_ and the means of producing it _simple_ for - electricity ever to become a widely used means of illumination. - - “That is my answer—a very restricted and imperfect answer—to your - kindly intended question. - - “I have always felt indebted to Mr. Staite for the inspiration he - gave me. Unfortunately he did not live to see any great development - of electric lighting; he was distinctly an inventor in advance of - his time. - - “It has always been a pleasure to me to think that Faraday had - the joy of seeing ripen some of the first-fruit of his great work - in his department of applied science. In his old age he had the - gratification of seeing the North Foreland Lighthouse lighted by - means of electricity generated in economical manner made possible - by his magneto-electrical discoveries. Would that he might have - seen their greater results that we see to-day! - - “Most sincerely yours, - - “JOSEPH SWAN.” - -At a charming dinner at Sir James Mackay’s,[7] I sat between Prince -d’Arenberg, an old friend (who is best known publicly as the Chairman -of the Suez Canal) and Lord Morley; both elderly gentlemen, both -scholars, leaders of men, both small, concise, and full of strength. - -Not long afterwards, I heard Lord Morley lecture on English Language -and Literature. He has a nervous manner, with thin, refined hands -and fidgety ways. It was no doubt an ordeal to face such an enormous -audience, but it was curious to see the nervousness of the accustomed -speaker. He took out his watch, unthreaded the long chain from the -buttonholes, and laid it on the table before him, drank three whole -tumblers of water by way of a preliminary canter, stood up, received a -perfect ovation, pulled at the lapels of his coat, and looked unhappy. - -In clear black writing on half-sheets of note-paper, the lecture was -apparently written. The light was good and the lecture desk high, and -he was practically able to read without appearing to do so. Sometimes -one could see he was interlarding his prepared material with impromptu -lines, but the bulk of the material was delivered as it was prepared. -And it was a brilliant achievement. A thin, small voice and yet so -accustomed to use, that it could be heard all over the hall. As a rule -he spoke quietly, but sometimes he became emphatic, and thumped his -right hand on his left. Sometimes he folded his hands on his chest, -at others he folded them behind his back. In fact, one would dub him -a thoroughly good speaker from habit rather than circumstance. He has -not got a sufficiently commanding presence, nor is his voice strong -enough for effect, but being an absolute master of his subject and from -the practice of fifty years of public life, he knows how to catch an -audience and keep it interested. - -Having referred to his nervousness, it is only fair to say it lasted -but a minute. Before he turned the first page of his manuscript it had -flown, and so accustomed was he to speak that he evidently prepared a -speech of one hour’s duration, and exactly as the clock pointed to the -hour he ceased. It was a scholarly production rendered in a masterly -way. - -In 1911 the late Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema and other friends were -dining with me in York Terrace, when Arthur Bourchier’s name turned up -in conversation. - -“How splendid he is as _Henry VIII._,” remarked the veteran -Academician, who had just celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday, and -who was still as hale, hearty, full of jokes as ever, and rattled off -new stories with every fresh course. - -Taking up his name card as he spoke, he drew a little square box, and -in another instant, a few more lines had turned the box into the figure -of Bourchier as _Henry VIII._ - -“Have you seen Bourchier’s beard off the stage?” I asked. - -“No, I do not think I have,” he replied, and then I told him of the -silly little remark I had made at a public dinner and which someone -must have overheard, as it appeared in endless newspapers the following -week. - -Here it is, headed: - - “MR. BOURCHIER’S REJOINDER - - “When Mrs. Alec Tweedie a few days ago met Mr. Arthur Bourchier, - who was wearing, of course, his fiery red dyed Henry VIII. beard, - she exclaimed: ‘Why, I thought you were Bernard Shaw, with a - swollen face!’ ‘What an impossible conception—Bernard Shaw with any - part of his head swollen,’ replied the Garrick manager.” - -Chaffing Mr. Bourchier about this a week or two later at a luncheon -given by Mr. Somerset Maugham at the Carlton, I said: - -“I really believe your beard is redder than ever.” - -“Quite so,” he replied; “to-day is dye-day, Monday.” - -“Oh, is it? I always thought it was wash-day?” - -“With me it is dye-day, and every Monday morning I am steeped in -henna,” he replied. - -“Why did you start that beard?” I asked. - -“Because, dear lady, when we began _Henry VIII._ it was winter, and I -had not the pluck to face gumming on a beard for eight performances a -week in the cold weather, tearing it off again, and shaving daily. I -should have had no face left by now. It would have been raw meat. The -only way was to grow a beard, and as the beard would come grey, the -only way to master it was to dip it in the dye-pot.” And he laughed -that merry chuckle which has become so familiar in his impersonation of -bluff King Hal. - -Everyone liked Tadema with his genial personality. It is a curious -thing that though of Dutch descent, he was really born in Wimpole -Street, London. He lived more or less in Holland until he was sixteen, -when he went to Belgium to study Art, but he never drew his pictures, -except in his mind’s eye; he painted straight on the canvas. He was the -first exponent of art and archæology in combination. When he returned -to Holland they assured him that he was no longer Dutch, and if he -wished to be considered so, he must be naturalised. “Ridiculous,” he -said, “I shall do nothing of the kind, and if your rules are so absurd, -I shall have nothing more to do with Holland.” “I was annoyed and I -left, and England has been my home ever since,” he continued as he was -relating this to me. “The funny part is, that when I wear my uniform -to go to a Levée, I am always taken for an English admiral. You see I -am short and fat, and have a beard, and the man in the street seems to -associate that with the commander of the sea. Anyway, I have so often -been taken for an admiral, that I sometimes forget I am a painter.” - -If Tadema looked like an admiral instead of a painter, Somerset Maugham -looks like a smart London young man rather than a medico who has taken -to the drama. - -What a strange career! A young doctor, in a small practice, he spent -his spare time writing plays. For eight years _Lady Frederick_ was -refused a hearing. Then one day he heard that Ethel Irving wanted a -comedy in a hurry—looked up his book, saw Mary Moore had had it for a -year, dashed off in a hansom (there weren’t many taxis in 1905), made -her unearth it, went on in the hansom, left it with Ethel Irving, and -within twenty-four hours it was accepted. She was great in the part. -Success followed. _Mrs. Dot_ had been refused by managers for five -years. Once accepted, it roped money in. Success number two. - -In 1910 he laughingly told me he had just used up the last of his -stock of plays, and would then (having made a fortune in the old ones) -have to begin something new. He owned he had altered and written them -all up a bit, but they were the same plays that all the managers had -previously refused. - -When an artist paints a portrait, he leaves out the disagreeable -traits, when a photographer takes a photo he rubs out the wrinkles, -and when an author writes a personal book he leaves out all the most -personal touches. - -The longer I live the more convinced I am that each tiny act has a -wider reaching result. For instance, I wrote _Iceland_ for fun. Ten -years afterwards that girlish diary was selling on the bookstalls at a -time when I badly wanted the money it brought in. Once I wrote a thing -I hated. I wavered, but finally published it, and that wretched article -has turned up again and again to annoy me and jeer at me. - -We make a friend of good social standing, perhaps a little way above -us intellectually and socially, that friendship leads to others of a -similar kind. By chance we become acquainted with someone below our -own sphere and usual standard. He is right enough in his way; but -his friends fasten upon us. Without being positively rude various -undesirable people are foisted upon us. We do a kind act. Years -afterwards that kindness is unexpectedly returned with interest. We -do a cruel deed and that deed haunts us along life’s path by its -consequences. Everything counts in the game of life, and yet nothing -counts but an easy conscience. - -A thick veil, therefore, covers many most striking episodes and -events. Diplomats have met at my house to discuss important world-wide -questions. Politicians have talked over knotty points in my -drawing-room hidden away from the eyes of the reporter. My little home -has witnessed striking interviews, and the walls have heard wondrous -tales of world-wide repute unfolded and discussed. I have often been of -use in this way, and am proud of the strange confidences that have been -placed in me, but such trust cannot be betrayed, and although I could -tell many wondrous facts, my readers must not be disappointed that they -should be withheld. Discretion is not a vice. - -Silence is often golden. - -Hence I may disappoint the many in these pages; but I hope to earn the -gratitude of the few, by respecting their important confidences. - -FOOTNOTES: - -[7] Lord Inchcape. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -FROM GAY TO GRAVE - - -A truce to work. Even adversity has its sweets. After tasks should -come whatever pleases best, the toiler has earned a play-hour. A lover -of pageant, I will now describe what to me is one of the interesting -sights in London, namely a reception at the Foreign Office. The -invitations are issued “by His Majesty and His Ministers,” for -ten-thirty, but before ten o’clock a line of carriages is slowly -wending its way to Whitehall, through Downing Street, into the -courtyard of the Foreign Office. - -It is the King’s Birthday, Parliament has risen, all the men of note in -the country are dining at official dinners. They have all donned their -best uniforms, Court dress, decorations, and ribbons, and presently are -making their way up the gaily decorated staircase. - -One must own to a feeling of disappointment on driving up, for the -entrance door is meagre and indifferent, and the downstairs cloak-rooms -are not imposing. Nevertheless, the dividing staircase once reached, -all is changed. At its foot is the famous marble statue of the late -Lord Salisbury by Herbert Hampton, the cast for which I had gazed on -so often when my own bust was being modelled. The well is not so large -as in Stafford House, nor so imposing as in Dorchester House, so the -spectators do not stand all round, but on one side only; besides, the -aspect is somewhat contracted. Still, half-way up the Foreign Minister, -with several officials and a sprinkling of ladies, stands and receives. -Those who have the entrée pass up the stairs on his left hand; those -without it pass up on his right. - -Masses of flowers festoon the marble balustrade; their scent is heavy -in the air. What a strange crowd it is! Some of the most renowned -men and women in Europe are present. Gorgeous ladies in magnificent -gowns, with sparkling tiaras, are escorted by gentlemen ablaze with -stars and orders. Then come a humble little Labour Member in a blue -serge coat, and his wife in an ill-fitting blouse. At the top of the -stairs the crowd disperses to the Great Hall, where the one and only -picture represents William III. Beyond this is the room used in the -last Administration for Cabinet meetings—for this particular reception -took place in 1907—and where also Sir Edward Grey, the Secretary of -State for Foreign Affairs, had just given his full-dress dinner. Here -refreshments were served, and here also the band of the Grenadier -Guards played during the evening. - -Among the visitors were Ambassadors from foreign States, besides -diplomats attached to the various Embassies, with their wives, -Ministers and Ladies of the Legations, Consuls and Consuls-General -of foreign countries, heads of Departments, and Chiefs of Government -Offices; representatives of the Army, Navy, Church, Art, Literature, -Drama, etc. - -The decorations worn by the men certainly improve their appearance -and add to the brilliancy of the scene, but stars own sharp, angular -points, which have a way of scratching bare arms, as the writer knows -to her cost. - -About eleven o’clock the strains of “God Save the King” were heard, and -shortly afterwards the Royal Procession was formed, and wended its way -through all the galleries, until it reached the room where supper was -arranged. Young men in official uniform preceded the procession, to -clear the way. Then followed the Prime Minister, with the Princess of -Wales (now Queen Mary), who has the gift of acquiring greater dignity -of manner as years roll on. - -The Prince of Wales (now King George V.) came next, and, with that -extraordinary genial gift of recognition, apparently inherited from his -father, he stopped as he passed through the suite of rooms to shake -hands with the people he knew. - -All the Ministers and their wives, the Duke of Norfolk, and a host -of other officials followed in his wake. It is the custom for the -gentlemen to bow low and the ladies to curtsey as the procession passes. - -By this time there was barely breathing room, for all the official -diners had arrived, and most of the three thousand invitations issued -found a representative in that gay throng. Supper over, the Royal -Procession returned through the State Galleries, and, descending the -staircase, went home shortly after midnight. - -Well, well! to think how many people declare they “would not thank you -for such a pretty sight; would rather sit at home with their book, or -smoke at their club; anything rather than see a fashionable gathering, -and be jostled by diplomats and peers.” - - “OPENING OF PARLIAMENT. - - An Impression of the Peers. - - (By a Woman Commoner.)” - -Thus my little article was headed in the front page of _The Pall Mall -Gazette_, 1902. - - “A little flutter of excitement passed through me as I opened a - certain envelope one morning, and took out its contents. Just a - little bit of cardboard, but oh, how precious! for it represented a - seat at the opening of Parliament by His Most Gracious Majesty King - Edward VII. ‘Admittance 12 o’clock. Doors close 1.30. Day dress.’ - - “These were the orders, and, not wishing to miss anything, I - started forth a little after noon, and drove to the Victoria Tower - entrance. I had been there before, when the House was sitting, and - knew those rows of five hundred pegs on which the noble lords hang - their coats and hats, each peg being ornamented with its owner’s - name. By the by, there is a curious rule that no peer standing on - the floor of the Upper House, or moving from one side to another, - may do so with his hat on; and if he rise from his comfortable red - seat with his head covered, he must doff his hat, and not replace - it until he is seated again. Such a strange formality is easily - forgotten, so wise folk leave their hats downstairs. - - “There is as great a charm about the interior of the House of Peers - as there is in the building architecturally; the moss-green carpets - and red-covered seats harmonise so well with the fine carvings - and passable pictures. The Robing Room is hung with canvases of - the Tudor period, and there are also some good carvings here, - which made a fitting setting to the day’s proceedings. Never has - there been such a demand for tickets as on this occasion, both - by Members of the Commons to hear the King’s Speech, and Society - generally to get into the Royal Gallery. - - “Forty-one guns fired from St. James’s Park announced the arrival - of the Royal party. It was at this point of overpowering excitement - that the heralds first made their appearance. They were gorgeous in - red and blue and gold, ornamented with lions, rose, shamrock, and - thistle, headed by the Rouge Croix and Rouge Dragon, and followed - by the officers of the Lord Chamberlain’s office, Gentlemen of - the Court, and the Ushers. After sundry officials had passed, - the Lord Privy Seal (the Marquis of Salisbury) appeared. He was - looking very, very old, his stoop more noticeable than ever, in - spite of his great height; and he was certainly one of the tallest - men present, with the exception of the magnificent Lifeguardsmen - who lined the staircase. The Prime Minister appeared somewhat - more bald, and the hair at each side of his head seemed longer - and whiter than usual. The Duke of Norfolk, on the other hand, - was looking quite smart, and so was His Grace of Devonshire, who - wore his red robes with white bands round the shoulders with manly - grace. The Duke of Portland, many years their junior, though - getting extremely stout, is still strikingly handsome. Then came - the exciting moment; the Sword of State appeared in view, carried - by the Marquis of Londonderry, followed by the King, on whose - left side walked the Queen. She looked perfectly lovely. Her - carriage, the majestic turn of her head, all denoted the bearing - of a young woman, instead of one on the wrong side of fifty, and a - grandmother. On her chestnut hair she wore a small diamond crown - with a point in front like a Marie Stuart cap, and a long cream - veil of Honiton lace. This was caught under the crown, and hung - down the back, showing to advantage over her red velvet robe, which - was borne by pages. She wore a high black dress, high probably - owing to her recent illness; but the front of the bodice was so - covered with diamonds, arranged in horizontal bands from her deep - diamond collarette, that but little of the bodice was seen. She - bowed most sweetly, and, as she passed, folk murmured, ‘Isn’t she - lovely, and every inch a Queen!’ Her black-gloved hand rested - lightly upon the King’s white one, as he led her through the Royal - Gallery to the House of Peers. She wore large pearls in her ears, - and lengthy chains of pearls round her neck; in fact, she was - literally ablaze with diamonds and pearls. - - “The King was looking better than formerly, only a little paler and - thinner. He wore a scarlet uniform, which rather clashed with the - dark red velvet of his robe, but his deep ermine cape with small - black tails broke the discordant tones. The Royal couple bowed - slightly as they moved slowly along, and a deathlike stillness - prevailed after the first blare of trumpets which heralded their - approach, when the doors were first thrown open, and they entered - the gallery. Immediately behind the Queen came the Countess of - Antrim, the Lady of the Bedchamber; the Duchess of Buccleuch, - as Mistress of the Robes; and Lady Alice Stanley, who bears the - strange title ‘Woman of the Bedchamber.’ They were all dressed - in black—their Court dresses cut low—and wore black feathers and - spotted black veils, with diamond pins in the hair. - - “One of the chief features of the procession was the Cap of - Maintenance, which was carried immediately before His Majesty - by the Marquis of Winchester. Then came the Duke of Devonshire, - bearing the State Crown, which resembled an extremely large - peer’s crown of red velvet with an ermine border. Then came Gold - Sticks and Silver Sticks, pages and officers in uniform, truly - a magnificent procession, as it wended its way along the Royal - Gallery. The Yeomen of the Guard lined the aisle, and looked - as delightfully picturesque as usual. Now came the moment of - disappointment. These much-prized tickets did not admit us into - the House of Peers to hear the Speech from the Throne. We had to - wait patiently for about a quarter of an hour for the return of the - procession, which—by the by—had been a quarter of an hour late in - starting, and then wend our way down the Royal staircase and out - through the funny little oak door towards home. Wonderful carriages - were waiting below, with hammercloths and wigged coachmen, and all - the glories of nobility. Truly a regal entertainment. - - “Now for a growl. That Royal Gallery is all very well, but it was - packed to suffocation, and there were no chairs at all, the three - raised tiers being impossible as seats, when the great crush came. - Would it not be better to issue less tickets, and provide narrow - benches for those present? Two to three hours’ standing for women - not accustomed to it is rather trying, especially when the space - is so crowded that it is hardly possible to breathe. Peeresses - married to commoners were there; peeresses by marriage whose - fathers-in-law are still living; sons who one day will succeed - noble fathers in the House of Lords; they were all there, crowds of - them; that was why the Hall was so full. There were some beautiful - women and handsome men in that Royal Gallery. Only peeresses, who - are the wives of the heads of noble families, were admitted to the - Peeresses’ Gallery itself, and even they could not all find room. - Standing in a crowd is a tedious performance; but a look at the - King and Queen was a grand recompense, and made us all forget our - aching feet and the want of luncheon.” - -A tea-party at the House of Commons is another London experience that -to me is always rather amusing. For this one drives to St. Stephen’s -Porch, and, passing up a wide stairway flanked here and there by -ponderous-looking policemen, is accosted at the top of the stairs by -another magnificent guardian of the law, who demands one’s business. - -“Tea with Dr. Farquharson,” was my humble reply on one occasion, -whereupon the functionary bowed graciously, and waved me through the -glass doors that led to the central hall. - -There is always a hubbub in that particular lobby; at least, I have -never been there when it has not been full of men discussing political -affairs. (Or dare we call it gossiping?) Between four and five o’clock -a small sprinkling of ladies, who have been invited to tea within the -sacred precincts, are dotted here and there. Members are generally very -good at meeting their guests, and on the alert, at the appointed place -and time. It is well this is so, for it would be an awful trial for a -lone woman to stand and wait there long. - -Having collected his chickens, the evergreen Member for Aberdeen led us -along the passage opposite our entrance to the Terrace. The way on the -left leads to the House of Commons, that on the right to the House of -Lords. It is all very imposing, as far as the end of the passage, but -having reached that one stumbles down a stone-flagged stairway which -would hardly do credit as the ordinary back-stairs of a private London -house, and would certainly be a poor specimen of the back-stairs of a -country mansion. Foreigners and Americans must be rather surprised at -the cellar-like and tortuous means by which they are led to the famous -river view; for back regions, consisting of kitchens, store-rooms, -pantries, and other like places, have to be passed by the dainty ladies -who trip their way to the Terrace overlooking the Thames. - -Having emerged from semi-darkness to the light, all is changed. From -the Terrace there is a magnificent view of St. Thomas’s Hospital -opposite, and the barges and river craft plying between. - -Neat maids in black dresses and white caps and aprons serve the -Commons. It is a charming place; still, although shaded from the sun, -wind on the Terrace is not unknown, and the cloths on the little tables -have to be carefully pegged down to keep them in their places. The -entertainment, however pleasant, is not exactly what one would call -smart. Plain white cups and brown earthenware teapots, hunks of cake -on plates, or strawberries and cream, form the fare. There are none of -those dainty little trays and mats, and pretty crockery, to which one -is accustomed at ladies’ clubs or in Bond Street tea-rooms. - -At one end of the Terrace, nearest the Bridge, is the Speaker’s -House, and that part of the walk is reserved for Members alone. On a -hot summer afternoon twenty, thirty, or forty men may be seen there -settling important business, or enjoying tea and cigarettes. Then comes -the portion set aside for Members with guests, and there the gaiety -of the dresses—for every woman puts on her best to go to tea at the -House of Commons—is delightful, but mingled with the smart company are -some queer folk. Members are always being asked to entertain their -constituents, and some of the political ladies from the provinces must -be rather a trial to their representatives at Westminster. - -We were a funny little party that afternoon. Miss Braddon (Mrs. -Maxwell) sat at the end of the table, then came Sir Gilbert Parker, -myself, Mr. and Mrs. (now Sir Henry and Lady) W. H. Lucy, Sir William -Wedderburn, and Mrs. John Murray. - -Since the Radical majority in 1906 the Terrace has become a very -different place. Smart ladies and pretty frocks, well-set-up and -well-groomed men, are not predominant; for Labour Members wear labour -clothes, and smoke pipes, while their families and friends look ill at -ease below those glorious towers of Westminster. - -A few days after that House of Commons tea with Dr. Farquharson I -chanced to have tea at the House of Lords with Viscount Templetown. -In this case, one drives up to the Peers’ Entrance, which is rather -farther from Parliament Street, and alights beneath the fine portico, -where officials in gorgeous uniform enquire one’s business, until the -kindly peer, who is waiting in the hall, steps forward to claim his -guest. - -Passing, as on my visit to the House of Commons, through sundry -cheerless passages and more horrible stone staircases, we stepped out -upon the Terrace, this time at the end furthest from the Speaker’s -House. The only difference in the arrangements is that at the Lords’ -teas, waitresses are superseded by waiters wearing gorgeous blue -ribbons and gold badges, so grand, indeed, that an American is said to -have innocently asked if that was the Order of the Garter. - -“Yes, my lud,” “No, my lud,” is the answer to every question. The tea -is just the same, the fare is just as frugal, the cups and tray just -as simple as for the House of Commons, but on every chair is painted -“House of Lords.” What would not an American give to possess one of -those chairs, iron-clamped and wooden-rimmed though they be? - -The less said about the Ladies’ Gallery the better. I have never -gone there without a feeling of disgust. One might as well be shut -up in a bathing-machine, so foul is the air; or behind the screen of -a cathedral, so little can one see; or in a separate room, so little -can one hear. For many months in 1910 women were forbidden even this -gruesome chamber as a punishment for militant disturbances. When -the rule of banishment was rescinded only relations of members were -admitted. Thus some curious relationships were invented. A story runs -that someone asked a prominent Irishman if he would pass a lady in as -his cousin. - -“Certainly,” he replied—but when he saw her, she came from South -Africa, and was black, and so he cooled off. - -“But the lady is official, and must get in.” - -“All right, I’ll manage it,” replied the genial member, so off he went -to a fellow-Nationalist. - -“I say, there is an official’s wife from South Africa wants a seat. -Will you pass her in as your cousin?” - -“By all means,” replied his colleague. - -Accordingly, the black lady took her seat complacently, and everyone -wondered whose “cousin” she was. - -Let me, “in half joke and whole earnest,” as the Irish say, give an -instance of myself as an ordinary woman with certain ideas on politics, -and show how one incident changed my mind on the Tariff. Let us call -the little tale “The Story of a Fur Coat”—only a little story about -my very own fur coat, a Conservative garment which nearly became -Socialistic atoms. - -In 1905 I was in Mexico. I had crossed the Atlantic in the warmth of -summer, had travelled in tropical heat beneath banana trees in the -South, and was to return to England in time for Christmas Day. I waited -in Mexico City until the last minute, because I wanted to see General -Diaz elected President for the seventh time. Then I remembered my big -sledging coat was in London, and three thousand miles of the Atlantic -had to be crossed in mid-winter, even after traversing as many more -miles by land to reach New York. - -I wired for the coat to meet me in New York. - -Seven feet of snow lay piled along the sides of the streets of that -city when I arrived, and chunks of ice floated down the Hudson, icicles -hung from the sky-scrapers; everyone shivered out of doors, and baked, -or rather stewed, inside the houses. - -“Where is my fur coat?” I asked. - -“It has not arrived,” was the answer. - -Distressed and surprised, I went off the next day to the Steamship -Office to demand the coat. From White Star to Cunard, from Cunard -to White Star, backwards and forwards I trudged. At last a package -securely sewn up and sealed was found. Was that it? - -Really I could not say, as I had never seen the parcel before; but, -as my name was on it, I presumed it was. Would the clerk kindly look -inside and see if it was a blue cloth coat with a fur lining and sable -collar? - -The clerk regretted, but he dared not open it, and suggested my filling -in a sheet of paper. - -“Certainly, I would fill in anything to get my coat.” - -So I began. They have a way in America of asking the most irrelevant -questions. Your age?—Parents?—Probable length of sojourn?—What -illnesses have you had?—If you are a cripple?—What languages you -speak?—and generally end up by enquiring of first-class passengers if -they have ever been in prison. - -I answered reams of such-like questions, as far as I can remember; -swore to all sorts of queer things, and against “Value” put forty or -fifty pounds, which was what the coat had originally cost. - -The clerk took the paper, read it slowly through, appeared to juggle -with figures, and then said calmly: - -“The duty will be twenty-three pounds!” ($115.) - -“The what?” I exclaimed. - -“The duty——” - -“What duty? It is a very old coat; it has been in Iceland, Lapland, -Russia, and other countries with me, and it is not for sale. It is my -own coat.” - -“I quite understand all that,” he replied, “but you said its value was -forty or fifty pounds, and we charge sixty per cent on the value.” - -I nearly had a fit. I was sailing next day; I had no twenty-three -pounds in cash to pay with, and I absolutely declined to disburse -anything. - -He simply refused to disgorge. Deadlock. - -Fuming and fretting, I left the office. Every influential friend I had -was appealed to in the next few hours, I maintaining stoutly that every -paper in America should hear of the injustice to my “old clo’,” if I -had to cross the Atlantic without it; and if I died from cold, my death -would be laid at the door of the American custom-house officials. - -Finally, the affair was arranged. At seven o’clock next morning a -friend fetched me in that rare commodity—in New York—a cab, and we -drove those weary miles to the docks. My luggage was on the vehicle, my -ticket in my hand. It was not the same dock as I was sailing from at -ten o’clock. More palaver, more signing of documents, more swearing to -the identity of the coat, more showing of frayed edges, to prove the -coveted garment was not new; and the precious thing was at last handed -over. An official helped me into it. Another official mounted on the -box of the cab and drove with me to the next dock; he actually conveyed -me—and the coat—“in bond” to my ship. He saw me up the gangway, and -then—but apparently not till then—did he believe I was not going to -sell the coat, and cheat the United States of a sixty per cent duty. - -Up to that time I had been somewhat large in my views, somewhat -of a Free Trader; but after that I realised how impossible it was -for England to stand out practically alone against all the other -protected countries, and that if Free Trade was right, Free Trade must -be universal or not at all. Why should we be the only people to be -philanthropic? - -When they wanted to take my fur coat from me I also realised I was not -really a Socialist. I did not wish to share it with anyone; and when -they wanted to charge me for my own wares, I felt the injustice of -England allowing tens and tens of thousands of new foreign clothes to -enter our ports unchallenged, while America and other countries charge -half the value of the goods received. - -From that moment I believed in Protection, and bade adieu to Free-Trade -notions and Socialistic dreams. - -_We_ do the _giving_, while others do the _taking_, and the odds work -against ourselves. - -As we can’t make the world Free Traders, let us enjoy Protection, like -the rest of the world. Conscription, more practical—and especially -technical—education, and the revival of apprenticeships, would do more -good to England than all the Socialistic tearing to pieces of manners -and customs, strikes, disorganisation, and all the rest of it. - -Cabinet Ministers, with their five thousand a year, and Members of -Parliament, with their four hundred pounds, can afford to go on keeping -the pot of discontent boiling—its very seething is what keeps them in -office. Paid agitators are ruining the land. - -“From gay to grave” this chapter is headed. Surely no misnomer, for -to pass from teacups on the Terrace of Lords’ and Commons’ Houses, -where women chat and smile, and show off their pretty frocks, to the -atmosphere of solid learning diffused by the _Encyclopædia Britannica_, -its huge staff, its editor, its hundreds of workers, this is a weighty -and serious enough ending. - -The _Encyclopædia Britannica_ celebrated its eleventh birthday—I mean -edition—on the 13th December, 1910; and all the great papers (and -the greater Dailies “include the lesser”) took notice of the really -noteworthy banquet. - -Four dinners had been already given by Mr. Hugh Chisholm, the editor, -to his masculine contributors, but the feminine element being less -numerous, it was thought inadvisable to distribute the women as scanty -plums in four large dough puddings. Therefore the fifth and last of the -series of _Encyclopædia_ dinners given at the Savoy Hotel was dedicated -to celebrating the share taken by women in the colossal work. We sat -down two hundred and fifty, and no more representative attendance of -light and learning was ever brought together. It was a triumph for -both sexes. A splendid gathering of men came to do those women workers -honour. - -_The Times_ said: - - “Perhaps, if looked at rightly and seriously, one of the most - remarkable events in the world of women for many years was the - dinner given on Tuesday last by the Editor of the _Encyclopædia - Britannica_, in celebration of the part taken by women in the - preparation of the 11th edition of that monument of learning. Among - the women present as contributors or guests were the following:—The - Mistress of Girton College and the Principal of Newnham College, - Cambridge, the Principal of Somerville College, Oxford, the - Principal of Bedford College, London, and the heads of many other - women’s colleges; H.M. Principal Lady Inspector of Factories (Miss - A. M. Anderson, M.A.), the Lady Superintendent of the Post Office - Savings Bank (Miss Maria Constance Smith, I.S.O.), Mrs. Fawcett, - Mrs. W. K. Clifford, Lady Strachey, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, Mrs. Sophie - Bryant, D.SC., Mrs. Hertha Ayrton, Mrs. Bedford Fenwick, Mrs. - Wilfrid Meynell, Miss Emily Davies, LL.D., etc. Truly an imposing - list of names, a standing testimony to the value of woman’s brain - power in the work of the humanities and sciences.” - -Twelve hundred contributors from all over the world. Among whom only -twenty-seven were women. Is it surprising that I was proud to be -numbered among those lucky few, and to have been one of the four asked -to speak at that great gathering? - -_The Morning Post_, after giving the names of the guests present, -added that the wide range of feminine activity, shown in the lives and -work of those ladies present, proved that into the last four decades -women had compressed the work of four centuries. That the interests, -work, and present place in the social scheme of women were entirely -on a level with that of men, this being the strongest testimony of -the enormous advance in civilisation made by all the English-speaking -peoples in the past forty years. - -Hurrah! All honour to women! Admiring my sex as I do, here let me -make my boast of them, and give a little list of the leading women -contributors that was kindly furnished me by Miss Janet Hogarth[8] -(head of the female staff of the _Encyclopædia Britannica_). If some -are omitted, I am sorry; for we should make the most of our few chances -of letting the blind, deaf outer world see and hear what women are -doing and have lately done. - - _Education._—Mrs. Henry Sidgwick. - - _Scholarship._—Mrs. Wilde (Miss A. M. Clay), Mrs. Alison Phillips, - Miss B. Philpotts. - - _Science._—Lady Huggins, Miss A. L. Smith, the late Miss Agnes - Clarke, and the late Miss Mary Bateson. - - _Travel._—Lady Lugard, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, Miss Gertrude Bell. - - _Sociology._—Miss A. Anderson. - - _Literature._—Mrs. Meynell, Miss Jessie Weston, Miss Margaret - Bryant, Miss A. Zimmern. - - _Church History._—Miss A. Panes, Mrs. O’Neill. - - _Music._—Miss Schlesinger. - - _Medicine._—Mrs. Hennessy and the late Miss Fisher. - - _Philosophy._—Lady Welby. - -Having myself, as usual, refused to speak, I was kindly reproached by -Mr. Chisholm for declining, and told “to be sure to be amusing.” - -But stop a moment! _Punch_ was so delightful in his next issue, that it -is to be hoped Toby will not yap at me for lifting the morsel wholesale. - - “THE END OF WOMAN - - “[Miss Fluffy Frou-Frou’s reply to Miss JANET HOGARTH, who, at a - recent Encyclopædia-Contributors’ Dinner, said the best answer she - had ever heard to the question, ‘What are women put into this world - for?’ was, ‘To keep the men’s heads straight.’] - - “WHEN you would settle woman’s place and aim - And duties on this planet, - I, and whole _heaps_ of girls who think the same, - Bid you shut up, Miss JANET! - - “Speak for the Few, if speak you must, but _pray_ - Don’t speak for _us_, the Many; - _We_ simply _scream_ with mirth at what you say; - _We_ are not taking any. - - “Your words, dear JANET, frankly are _si bête_ - That all we others spurn them; - _We_ (Heavens!) _we_, ‘to keep the men’s heads straight!’ - _We_ who just live to _turn them_!!” - -It seems that in the first edition of the _Encyclopædia_, published -in 1798, the editor defined woman as “the female of man. See _Homo_.” -Finally, Miss Hogarth, who began by telling what women had done for the -_Encyclopædia Britannica_, ended by saying what it had given them, viz. -the opportunity, hitherto unequalled, of showing what they could do to -help learning, the chance to demonstrate their rightful place in the -learned world. - -Afterwards Mrs. Fawcett, in an excellent speech, said that the wife of -a working-man (if she did her duty) was the hardest-worked creature on -the face of the globe. Pointing to the successes achieved by women in -various directions, she recalled the remark of a famous Cambridge coach -who reproached his idle students, asking how they would like to be -beaten by a woman. One replied, “I should much prefer it, sir, to being -beaten by a man.” - -To end up the notices of this memorable dinner, ever-delightful _Punch_ -helps one to leave off with a smile. This is a little scrap stolen—be -quiet, Toby!—from a column of quips and cranks honouring our gathering: - - “PERPETUAL EMOTION. - - “(_From ‘The Times’ of December 20, 1906._) - - “THE series of spritely dinners given by the proprietors of the - _Encyclopædia Britannica_ to the contributors to the eleventh - edition is still in full swing, the two hundred and fiftieth - being held last night. Sir HUGH CHISHOLM took the Chair as usual, - habit having become second nature with him; and he made, for a - nonagenarian, a singularly lucid speech, in which he once again - explained the genesis of the Encyclopædic idea and its progress - through the ages until it reached perfection under his own - fostering care. Sir HUGH, who spoke only for two hours instead of - his customary three, was at times but imperfectly heard by the - Press, but a formidable array of ear-trumpets absorbed his earlier - words at the table. - - “Sir THOMAS BEECHAM, Mus.Doc., responding for the toast of the - musical contributors, indulged in some interesting reminiscences of - his early career. In those days, as he reminded his hearers, he was - a paulo-post-Straussian. But it proved only a case of _sauter pour - mieux reculer_, and now he confessed that he found it impossible - to listen with any satisfaction to music later than that of - MENDELSSOHN. After all, melody, simple and unsophisticated, was the - basic factor in music, and an abiding fame could never be built up - on the calculated pursuit of eccentricity. - - “Lord GOSSE, who entered and dined in a wheeled chair, remarked - incidentally that he had missed only seven out of the two hundred - and fifty dinners, and then told some diverting if not too novel - anecdotes of his official connection with the Board of Trade and - recited a charming sonnet which he had composed in honour of the - Editor, the two last lines running as follows: - - Foe of excess, of anarchy and schism, - I lift my brimming glass to thee, HUGH CHISHOLM. - - “Few centenarians can ever have contributed a more exhilarating - addition to an evening’s excitement. - - “Dr. HOOPER, late Master of Trinity and ex-Vice-Chancellor of - Cambridge University, expressed his gratification that his _alma - mater_ was indissolubly associated with the great undertaking - which they were once more met to celebrate in convivial conclave. - Cambridge was famous for its ‘Backs,’ and it had put its back into - the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. He hoped that he might be spared to - attend their three hundredth meeting, with Sir HUGH CHISHOLM as - Autocrat of the Dinner-Table.” - -FOOTNOTES: - -[8] Now Mrs. W. L. Courtney. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -ON JOTTINGS - - -Do you ever jot? If not, pray allow me to introduce you to one of the -least expensive and most repaying domestic hobbies. I am myself a -most inveterate jotter, both by pen and brush, for I have cases full -of water-colour sketches, and bundles of maps, scraps, photos, and -oddments. Plenty of entertainment for future years can be laid up in -this way. Good stories; real plots too strange for fiction; bon-mots; -impressions of scenery; plays; programmes; events; menus; anything that -pleases one’s fancy is fish for the jotting net. - -In some receptacle—whether drawer, despatch-box, or tin case—fling in -your jottings, pencilled in haste while fresh. I have cupboards of -notes on Mexico, Iceland, Finland, Lapland, Sicily, Russia, Italy, -Morocco, America, Canada—pamphlets, prints, statistics, and other -heterogeneous matter. - -And to all would-be journalists and aspiring book-writers let me also -add: jot down your happy thoughts, smaller inspirations, appreciated -quotations, for all may be useful some day. - -To begin with, here is a “true fact”—as silly persons will sometimes -declare—concerning a banker. - -By way of title to my little tale, I will call it: - - “THE MILLIONAIRE’S FOUR POUNDS.” - -He was lunching with me on his return from Egypt, this quiet, -unassuming head of a great banking firm. - -“What have you written this year?” I asked. - -“Twenty-two stanzas on Egypt, a land of ancient tombs and modern -worries. They appeared, and I actually got four pounds for them.” - -The four pounds delighted him. That he spent more than four thousand -pounds in Egypt counted for naught, he had _earned_ four pounds. - -“Rather funny, I was motoring in Scotland lately, and I called on -the Editor,” continued my guest. “He was charming. We talked on many -subjects, and then I said, ‘You don’t pay your contributors very -highly, do you?’ - -“‘Yes, oh yes, we do.’ - -“‘You only paid me four pounds for twenty-two stanzas the other day.’ - -“‘Ah, well, you see, that was poetry, and no one reads poetry!’” - -He told me the joke with a merry little chuckle on his grave face, and -his blue eyes twinkled. - - * * * * * - -This story is equalised by one Herbert Hampton told me. He was at -Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, and wanted a couple of rooms for a -week to rest and do a little sketching; so seeing “Apartments” up at a -tiny cottage, he went in. It was a very simple place, clean and tidy, -but quite a workman’s home. - -The woman asked him two guineas a week. Considering the accommodation -offered, he thought the price ridiculous. - -“Come, come, I am not a millionaire,” he said. - -She looked at him, paused, and replied: - -“I thought you were a _gentleman_.” - - * * * * * - -Sometimes one has utterly unexpected annoyances. Here is an instance of -such in my own experience. One day quite lately I was rung up on the -telephone, and in the most rude and insulting terms was upbraided for -having knocked off a woman’s hat in Regent Street. As I had not been in -Regent Street that day, and never knocked off a woman’s hat in my life, -I was naturally annoyed. The telephone rang again and again with the -same impertinent remarks. - -This was only the beginning of much trouble. Then came letters, -blackmail, I suppose one might call them, and constant telephonic -communications and general annoyance. - -In fact, it became so bad that, after nearly six months, I had to apply -to a private detective. He took the matter in hand, and some time -later—for though there were addresses, most of them proved to be bogus -ones—he succeeded in unearthing the culprit, and the trouble ceased. -That was one of the minor annoyances of life. - - * * * * * - -Now for one of the minor pleasures; just to balance the worries. - -Some years ago I employed a gasfitter. The man interested me strangely. -He spoke like a gentleman. He had the most beautifully refined hands, -he was artistic in everything he did, and while attending to gas-fires, -kept excusing himself for making appreciative remarks on good bits of -furniture, or beautiful shades of colour. - -One day he brought me a very old bit of china. It was a little cream -jug, good in form, colour, and design. He hoped that I would accept -it, as I seemed to appreciate pretty things. This was a little -embarrassing, and became more so when his eyes filled with tears and he -told me it had belonged to his mother. - -“Yes, madam, to my mother. I was not born in the circumstances in which -you see me,” and then he owned that he was the son of a peer. - -Beyond that he would not reveal his identity, though he acknowledged -that drink was the primary cause that brought him down to where he was. - -Poor man. He was afterwards taken very ill, and I was able to do a -little for him, but he died. And so was buried a strange romance, for -the man was by birth a gentleman, in taste an artist, and in speech a -poet; and yet circumstances and weakness of character had brought him -to this low estate. - -One instance of the strange stories concerning secret skeletons, locked -up in our neighbours’ hearts, naturally leads to another. - -I once met a man at dinner at a friend’s house. He offered to drive -me home. He asked to call. After two or three chats he told me his -story—one of those heart-rending stories we hear sometimes. He had -married young and repented. - -There was no real ground for divorce; besides, he shunned the publicity -of it in connection with an honoured name. Our country—alas!—won’t give -people divorces for incompatibility. The usual result followed. - -Well—he thought his wealth, his name, his achievements would live down, -or, rather, drag up, the “woman of his choice.” Did they? - -No. Of course not. He thought also that this time he had found an -idol, a sympathiser, an inspiration. All went well for a time. Then -the chains became irksome. _She_ chafed at her position. She had -everything but that marriage ring which spells respectability. She -became discontented, irritable, the love grew less, the desire to be -made “an honest woman” grew more and more. He dare not face the world a -second time and own he had misjudged woman’s character. Therefore their -dog-and-cat life continued—because they hadn’t the pluck to break it. - -It was a tale of woe. Broken in health and in spirit, he owned he had -defied the world and yet—with all the odds of position and wealth in -his favour—had failed. - -One day he suddenly wrote: “I can’t come and see you again, you belong -to the world I have left, or that has left me. It only stirs up the -misery of my present life. I thank you for your help, your sympathy, -your much-prized friendship, but it is not fair on you to let you worry -over me, and being with you is making me more discontented than ever. -And so good-bye.” - -As he stepped suddenly across my path, he stepped as suddenly back into -the shadow. Poor man. His is the tale of many, but that does not make -it any the less sad. - -I lived in the world he had turned his back on—the world which finally -shut him out, and that proud heart, that big brain and scholarly man -literally laid down his arms, weary of heart, sick of soul, ambition -sapped—life gone. He merely dragged out his existence from day to day. -Chained to a loathsome sore. He did not complain. How could he? The -chain was of his own making, the sore its inevitable result. Why, we -ask, did he submit? Why? Because habit had become stronger than will. - -Success is made or marred by individuality. - - * * * * * - -Hostesses sometimes find themselves in very awkward positions. - -A man once came up the stairs and shook hands with his hostess, who -cheerfully said: - -“And where is your wife?” - -There was a great crowd at the time, and the man, somewhat briefly, -replied: - -“I have lost her.” - -“I hope you will soon find her,” said the lady; “but it is rather -difficult among so many people,” she added, with a merry laugh. - -He looked crestfallen, and, as if not knowing exactly what to say, bent -forward and murmured into the ear of his smiling hostess: - -“My wife is _dead_.” - -Collapse of the lady. - - * * * * * - -On Christmas cards. - -Some folk affect to dislike or despise Christmas cards, but I find them -most useful, often most welcome, always a kindly remembrance. - -People in strange lands have been good to me. They have taken me -about, invited me to their houses, have helped me in my work, and many -introductions, obtained originally for practical purposes, have ended -in real friendships. - -It is impossible to keep up a correspondence with all one’s friends, -however, and yet one likes them to know they are not forgotten. - -Hence the idea of my Christmas cards originated. For many years now -I have sent these cards of greeting to the furthermost corner of the -earth, and thanks to the talent of my friends, or the practical use of -my own camera, they have been somewhat original. - -Here is a delightful card Harry Furniss designed for me among my -earlier ones. I had just written _Behind the Footlights_, hence the -lady with comedy and tragedy on her cap, pulling aside the curtain to -reveal sketches of the different books. Needless to say, this clever -idea was his own. - -[Illustration: - - 30 YORK TERRACE - LONDON. N.W. - - With - Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s - Compliments of the - Season - - The Theatre - - Finland - - Morocco - - Norway - - Mexico - - Sicily - - Iceland - - Harry Furniss -] - -_Hustled History_, one of that series of clever little booklets that -have appeared annually for some time, was the talk of the town when -it came out in the spring of 1908. My publisher rang me up the next -morning to _congratulate me on_ the _advertisement_ of myself that it -contained. Rather a curious way of putting it, I thought. - -Everyone read it, everyone talked about it. It had dabs at everyone, -but only three women were included—Mrs. Humphry Ward, Marie Corelli, -and myself. This latter take-off on my style appeared under the title -of: - - In Romantic - Rouen - By - Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -The same sort of quip had appeared about me a year or two before in -_Wisdom While You Wait_, but I cannot lay my hands on it. - -Colonel Selfe, R.A., who wrote so many of the acrostics for _The -World_, one day sent me the following double acrostic on myself: - - Where now will this lady go - Greece, Japan, Fernando Po, - Honolulu, Mexico? - Whatsoe’er her goal, we look - For another charming book - Telling of the route she took. - Ere she starts for foreign climes - With this wish we send these rhymes - _Bon voyage_ and pleasant times. - - 1. Though Kalja the Finnish taste may suit, - For this it seems a sorry substitute. - 2. Those Finns who read their books most, dread the least - This long-named catechising by the priest. - 3. In Tellemachen, so her pages tell - One coachman spoke this, though not very well. - 4. Remember Nyslott, also where - The English ladies lodged while there. - 5. This we gather, for “to the” - Norse equivalent to be. - 6. In Finland the cow of this is the source, - Which is comparative only, of course. - 7. Weird poems of a bygone time - Written on parchment black with grime. - 8. We here must Fridtjof Nansen name - As this for ever known to fame. - 9. His hand it was that, rising from the wave, - Dragged Lopt the sinner to a wat’ry grave. - 10. With a terrific bang and mighty crash, - Full into this they felt the steamer smash. - 11. To study this Iceland is not the place, - No butterflies, few insects there you trace. - - CHAP. - 1. Al E. Through Finland in Carts 2 - 2. Lukukinkeri T. “ “ “ 16 - 3. Englis H. A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway 8 - 4. Castl E. Through Finland in Carts 11 - 5. Ti L. A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway 49 - 6. Wealt H. Through Finland in Carts 16 - 7. Edd A. A Girl’s Ride through Iceland 13 - 8. Explore R. A Winter Jaunt in Norway 12 - 9. Devi L. A Girl’s Ride in Iceland 6 - 10. Ice flo E. A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway 1 - 11. Entomolog Y. A Girl’s Ride Through Iceland 4 - -This is another, composed by the late Major Martin Hume, the historian: - - E astward bound to the Cuban coast - T hree tiny galleots ran - H omeward bearing a beaten host - E scaped from Yucatan. - - L eft behind in the sleep of death - A gallant half remain - L ured to doom, but with dying breath - E xalting Christ and Spain. - - C oarse and poor were the trophies gained, - T rinkets of tarnished dross, - W oe! for the land with blood they stained - E nslaved to greed and cross - - E ndowed with grace, from old New Spain - D o _you_ rich trophies bring - I n gentle words that friendship gain - E ntail no pain or sting. - -Most of us have known or heard of such a lesser tragedy as the -following, and thanked our stars it had not happened to one of our own -kin. - -“What are you crying for?” asked the manageress of an hotel. - -The girl she addressed was a fragile, pretty creature of nineteen or -twenty, looking more as if a puff of wind would blow her away than as -if she was capable of doing the dirty work of a kitchenmaid. - -“Oh, nothing, thank you,” replied the tearful voice. “I hurt my finger, -but it will be all right in a moment.” - -The manageress eyed her critically. The polite reply, the refined -speech and tone of voice, were all so unlike anything she was -accustomed to in the kitchen department that they struck her as strange. - -Then she noticed that, while the girl’s cotton sleeves were tucked up -above her elbow, her arms were round, white, and plump, the hands small -and pretty. Turning to the _chef_ standing behind her, she remarked: - -“Your kitchenmaid looks hardly up to her work, _chef_.” - -“Oh, she is all right,” he replied. “She has not been in a situation -just lately and she is a bit soft.” - -The reply was satisfactory, and, being a busy woman, the manageress -went on with her orders. - -Next morning she was again strongly attracted by her new little -kitchenmaid, who was busy in the scullery washing dishes. The girl was -so ladylike in appearance, so delightful in manner, so charming in -voice, her superior felt that there was something unusual, even wrong, -about the matter; so she searched for the original letter from the -_chef_ to see under what conditions the underling had been engaged. It -said that, as he preferred to work with his own kitchenmaid, he wished -to bring her with him, more especially as she was now his wife. - -Some days went on, and the little maid looked paler each morning, -sadder and more depressed. At last a tap came at the manageress’s door, -and the girl, in her cotton frock, white apron, neat hair and dainty -cap, was standing on the threshold. - -“May I come in, madam?” asked the plaintive voice. - -“Yes, certainly; come along. Are you not well?” - -“Oh yes, I am quite well, but I want to know if you will do me a -favour. I have got a cheque for ten pounds from a lady whose service I -used to be in, and I want to know if you will change it for me without -letting my husband know.” - -The manageress looked up, surprised. - -“Yes, I can change it; but how does this lady come to be sending you -such a big cheque?” (As she took it in her hand she saw a well-known -name upon it.) - -The girl made some excuse and told a long and rambling story, but -blushed to the roots of her hair when given the money. - -Imploringly she said, “You will never tell _him_, will you?” - -“No,” replied the kindly woman; “mind you keep the money safe. You may -want it some day.” - -Some hours went by. The manageress was pondering over the girl and -her reticence, over the cheque and its mystery, when a servant rushed -in asking her to come to the kitchen at once, as something dreadful -had happened. She flew. There on the floor, with blood streaming from -her head, lay the little kitchenmaid. Near her, sullen, stern, and -menacing, stood the _chef_. At once the manageress ordered that the -girl should be carried to her room and forbade the husband to enter. -Then she sent for him to the office and asked for an explanation. But -he gave none, except that his subordinate had cheeked him, so he hit -her rather harder than he meant to do and stunned her. A blow against -the oven door had caused the bleeding. Such was his story. Very -different was that of the girl. - -As she recovered consciousness, she moaned, “Save me!” and as her -senses became more acute, she begged, “Don’t let him come near me.” - -“Are you afraid of him?” asked her protectress. - -“Yes, madam, mortally afraid; he will kill me. Do not let him come near -me,” she implored in agony of mind. - -“What happened?” persisted the manageress. - -“Somehow he found out I had that cheque and wanted me to give it to -him, but I would not and came to you. For it was all I had in the -world, and I wanted it to get away and leave him.” - -“To leave him? But you have only been married a month.” - -“It seems like a hundred years of hell,” moaned the unhappy little -bride. “He has been so cruel to me.” And then she told her story. - -“I am not really a kitchenmaid. I am Lady Mary ——, but I liked -cooking, and mother wanted me to learn, so I used to go into the -kitchen in the morning and play about. The _chef_ was charming to me, -and—well, I think I must have been mad—I thought I had fallen in love -with him, and I ran away and married him a month ago. From the first -moment he has been bullying my family for money. He made me come away -with him as his kitchenmaid until he got enough money out of my family -to start a home of our own. But please do not let him come near me -again. He will kill me! That cheque was from my aunt, for I had to tell -her of my misery and disgrace. It was sent to enable me to get away and -go to her home, where I should be safe.” - -“Do not worry any more about that,” said her protectress determinedly. -“You shall come to my room now, and I will telegraph to your aunt and -put things right.” - -She did so, and the girl was restored to her family. Strange as the -story may sound, it is a true bill. - - * * * * * - -While on the subject of servants, the following is an interesting -sidelight. - -A mistress offered a servant girl a seat for a theatre. The girl beamed -with delight. Suddenly her face shadowed, and she asked: - -“Are there any countesses in it, ma’am?” - -“I don’t know. Why?” - -“Because I don’t think mother would like me to go and see a play with a -countess in it, ma’am.” - -“And why not?” - -“Oh, because they are all so dreadfully wicked.” - -“Who says so?” asked the lady, amazed. - -“The books, ma’am.” - -“What books?” - -“The penny books and Sunday papers.” - - * * * * * - -When looking back on my delightful American trips and to my real good -time there, one little crumpled rose-leaf returns to memory, which, at -the time, was a minor annoyance, but since has often caused me to smile -at its absurdity. - -Many and weird, truly, are the experiences and home truths one is -vouchsafed while travelling. - -The last time I went to the States I intended to pay some visits, and -as I was very overworked and tired I was persuaded to take a maid to -look after me. That maid cost me a small fortune in money, as well -as proving a constant anxiety, inasmuch as _I had to look after her_ -continually. A child of five years could not have been more trouble. - -Almost before we left the landing-stage of the Mersey she told me -she felt ill. The water at the time was perfectly calm; we were, in -fact, still in the river, but the wretched woman went to bed before we -crossed the bar and did not appear again until we reached New York; -therefore I had the pleasure of paying her first-class fare and the -extra steward’s tips for waiting on her—instead of her being a comfort -to me. - -Arrived on Yankee soil, I received a telegram from the President of -Mexico suggesting my revisiting his country. I told the good lady I was -going to Mexico. - -“Law! M’m.” - -“It is six days and nights in the train.” - -“Law! M’m.” - -By this time her eyes opened wider than ever. She still remembered the -six days and nights on the steamer. Alas and alack! she was even more -ill on the train than she had been on the boat. At Washington we had -rooms on the seventh floor; but that woman refused to go up or down -in the lift because it made her feel “so queer,” so she walked—and -grumbled. - -Oh, the joys of travelling with a servant! - -When we started from New York I took off my rings and watchchain, and, -as usual on such expeditions, packed them away. - -The maid was sitting opposite to me in the train when she discovered -they were missing. Suddenly she exclaimed: - -“Oh, what have you done with your rings?” knowing they were the only -articles of jewellery I always wore. - -“I put them away,” I replied. “I never travel off the beaten track -wearing jewellery of any kind.” - -“Oh dear, what a pity! They make you look such a lady.” - -(Collapse of poor Mrs. A. T. Did “ladyism” depend on diamond rings?) - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -MORE JOTTINGS: AND HYDE PARK - - -Geneviève Ward’s stories are endless and amusing. To mention only two -of these. - -“A man arrived to have a tooth out. - -“‘Will it hurt much, sir?’ - -“‘Rather.’ - -“‘Real hurt?’ - -“‘Rather.’ - -“‘Well, I don’t think,’ began the man in a dither.... - -“‘Sit down, sir, sit down right there, and bear it like a woman!’” - - * * * * * - -Story number two. - -“Another man asked the dentist his charge. - -“‘Fifty cents.’ - -“‘Fifty cents, eh?’ - -“‘Yes.’ - -“‘But with gas?’ - -“‘Guess that’s fifty cents more.’ - -“‘Wa’al, I won’t have gas then.’ - -“‘You’re a brave man!’ - -“‘’Tisn’t for me, it’s for my wife!’” - - * * * * * - -Now a couple of child stories. Surely, the workings of a child’s mind -are too strange to be imagined. - -My little nephew, aged four, was saying his prayers, kneeling on his -bed and resting against his nurse. Suddenly he stopped. - -Nurse: “Go on, dear.” - -Small Boy: “I can’t.” - -Nurse: “Go on, dear.” - -Small Boy: “I am switched off, Dod’s talking to someone else.” - -Naturally, nurse’s breath was somewhat taken away, and she did not know -what to answer, when suddenly reassurance came from the small boy. “It -is all right. We are connected again now,” and he began again. - -Here is another story about the same little man, though he was then -rather younger, to be exact. - -He was sent, one hot summer’s day, with his baby sister and two nurses, -to Kensington Gardens as a treat. When he came back his mother asked -him if he had enjoyed it. - -“Oh yes,” he replied. “And what did you do?” she asked, but instead of -replying in his usual bubbling fashion, he opened his eyes wide, and -looking at her, exclaimed: - -“Do you know?” - -“Know what?” - -“Do you know?” - -“Well, what?” - -“Do you know?” he again repeated, his eyes nearly dropping out of his -head by this time, “we saw a lady smoking!” - -Not being exactly sure what to reply to this remark, the fond mother -went on with her work. - -Seeing her unresponsive, the young gentleman trotted into the next room -where his father was smoking. - -“Dad, do you know?” - -“Yes, I know, you went to tea in Kensington Gardens.” - -“But DO YOU KNOW?” repeated the small boy, more earnestly than ever; -and then standing before his father with his hands behind his back, he -solemnly announced: - -“WE SAW A LADY SMOKING!” - -The father, like the mother, was a little nonplussed, and merely -exclaimed: - -“Oh, really!” But the small boy stood firm to his ground, and with eyes -still wider than before, exclaimed: - -“Dad, do you think _she was learning to be a gentleman_?” - -Occasionally my eyes light upon some jotting worthy of almost -pigeon-hole dignity—too prized for the society of mere scraps, yet -too small for the space of a chapter. Here is one concerning a famous -lawyer. - -Fate has often thrown me into the company of lawyers—the most excellent -of people when you don’t meet them in a professional, or fee-paying -sense. The really busy advocate is in most cases a delightful man, for -the very qualities which make him a social favourite go no little way -to establish his success at the Bar. - -I once asked Sir Edward Clarke, K.C., what was his recipe for producing -a good barrister, and was a little surprised at the importance he -attached to the study of oratory. - -“Every law student at the beginning of his work should study the art -of speaking, the most valuable and the most highly rewarded of all the -arts which can be acquired by man. - -“The counsel needs the power of fluent and correct expression and of -the rhetorical arrangement of his argument of speech. He should have -an easy, clear, and well-modulated elocution which compels attention, -makes it pleasant to listen to him, and so predisposes in his favour -the judgment of his hearers.” - -“Ah, but has everyone this gift?” I said. - -“Perhaps not, but all these things must be acquired. Each one of them -requires a special study. Some men are, no doubt, more highly gifted -by nature than others in strength of intellect, tenacity of memory, -and the graces of oratory, but no one was ever so highly gifted as to -be able to dispense with the labour by which the natural powers are -trained and strengthened. The best books for the young law student are -_Whately’s Logic_ and _Whately’s Rhetoric_. They should be read and -re-read until he knows them from cover to cover.” - -“You are a very warm advocate of speech,” I interposed. “Do you think -it a lost art, or an improving one?” - -“The ancients were the best teachers. Aristotle’s _Rhetoric_ (the best -of all), Cicero’s _De Oratore_, Quintilian’s _Institutes of Oratory_, -are the books of study; Blair and Campbell should be read, but are of -no great merit, while of Whately I have already spoken. But the study -of good models—and when I speak of study I do not mean simply reading a -speech, but the examination and analysis of it, applying the rules of -the art which these treatises contain: the attentive hearing of great -speeches in Parliament or the courts, or of great sermons, is the only -way by which the capacity for really good speaking can be acquired. - -“Then every man who wishes to speak well should study elocution as an -art. He should practise singing to give variety of tone to the voice. -He should habitually see and study the best actors of his time, and so -learn the ease and yet the moderation of gesture which helps so much -even the best-constructed and most clearly delivered speech. If any one -of these studies and exercises is neglected, the man who fails at the -Bar must put some part of the blame upon himself.” - -Sir Edward Clarke has fulfilled his own theories, even to witnessing -the drama. He is a well-known first-nighter, and is often to be seen in -the stalls of a theatre. - -He sat in Parliament and listened to great speeches. He has himself -built a church at Staines, wherein he has heard many sermons. And he -has climbed to the very top of his profession. - -It would be doing him an injustice to suggest that he places speech as -the first and most essential quality in the lawyer’s training. The most -brilliant speaker must have something to say. A capacity for logical -and scientific reasoning and knowledge of the principles and rules of -the law come before all. - -“All success in every calling comes from hard work; there is no better -secret,” he said decisively. - -For years Sir Edward Clarke journeyed up to town from his charming home -at Staines every morning, during the legal terms. His companion in the -nine o’clock train was invariably the famous Orientalist and brilliant -scholar, Dr. Ginsburg, who had made a home for himself and his unique -collection of Bibles, and marvellous assortment of prints and etchings, -at Virginia Water. Many and interesting were the conversations which -these two celebrated men enjoyed during their little railway journey -together. The one went off to the British Museum to work among the dead -languages, and the completion of his life-work, the _Massorah_, and -the other to the Law Courts, where, in wig and gown, he soon appeared -from out his private room in the building, to the consolation of his -own clients and the anxiety of his opponents. - -Sir Edward Clarke declares the best speech he ever made in his life was -addressed to one person—namely, the late Mr. Justice Kekewich. There -was no jury, and the judge was alone on the bench. It was the case -of Allcard and Skinner, a question of the plaintiff being allowed to -recover from an Anglican sisterhood the money she gave while herself a -member of it. Sir Edward managed to keep the money for the sisterhood, -and Lord Russell of Killowen always declared it was his friend’s -greatest stroke of oratory. - - * * * * * - -One of the events of the year at Leeds is the Lifeboat Celebration, -when some thousands of pounds are collected. In these days when women -are to the fore, the Committee decided to ask a woman to take the -chair, and I was chosen for that position. They have the biggest of -halls, which holds five thousand persons, with Members of Parliament, -Lord Mayors, and other dignitaries on the platform. - -The London editor of the _Yorkshire Post_ came personally to ask -me. I refused, funking the speech. Two days later, the Yorkshire -Editor-in-chief arrived, flattered me to the skies, and begged me to -go. But I persisted in excusing myself, and suggested his asking Sir -Ernest Shackleton, promising that if they could not get him, I would do -it. - -Thank Heaven! Shackleton accepted, in spite of all his engagements, -consequent on having just returned from the South Pole. - -What an escape, but still it was a great compliment. - - * * * * * - -Here is a jotting that was pencilled down warm from the heart. As it -stands, I give it, with its date, May 14th, 1909: - -I do not know when I have been so pleased as at a little episode which -happened yesterday. - -It chanced a couple of years ago that I was able to help, encourage, -and sympathise with a young man at a very trying time, and I -laughingly told him I should not be satisfied till he had started -again, and put by a thousand pounds. He scoffed at the idea of a -thousand pounds as impossible, and wondered if he ever could begin life -afresh. - -Yesterday he walked in and said, “I have come to tell you that through -your encouragement I have worked hard for the last two years, and have -done what I thought then impossible. I have not only lived, but saved a -thousand pounds, and in remembrance of this success, which is entirely -due to you, I have brought you a little souvenir. It has taken me -months to find anything quaint and old, such as I thought would really -give you pleasure.” - -Now, was not that perfectly delightful? He has, indeed, given me -pleasure, and added to that his gift is quite charming. It is an -old-fashioned pendant, set with beryls, that formerly prized pale blue -stone. - -Amongst the many disappointments one has in life, such success as this -inspires one to fresh efforts. - - * * * * * - -Here is a tiny stray wanderer in the jotting heap. Such a little one, -no one can object to it. Plainly it refers to some of my proof. Also -that a review in “T. P.’s” familiar weekly had unkindly referred to me -as an elderly sort of scribe, or something “previous” of the kind. - - “P.S.—Just looked over proof. Feeling very sad at the prospect of - settling down to contemplate middle age and anticipating senile - decay, ordered hansom, gave man address. - - “‘Yes, miss.’ - - “Hurrah! Nice man! Extra sixpence in prospect for the ‘miss’! - - “Went to shop, ‘young gentleman’ behind the counter enquired: - - “‘Your pleasure, miss?’ - - “Charming young man! Buy more than I really want. - - “‘T. P.’ may be wrong; senile decay may be further off than he so - ardently hopes!” - - With this farewell to jottings. - - * * * * * - -And now I come to the publication of a big and serious book, _Hyde -Park_, which made its appearance to the public in April, 1908, but -took me eighteen months to write and rewrite, while as to the works -consulted, seventy-three are duly acknowledged in the opening pages as -sources of help, besides which there were, of course, others. - -“What put it into your head to write about Hyde Park?” asked a friend -the other day. - -Well, partly because of my sons. When in search of data across an -ocean and thousands of miles of land besides, my endeavour to return -for the boys’ holidays entailed trying and often too rapid and arduous -travelling. Hyde Park was nearer my own door, so “homeward bound fancy -ran its barque ashore.” - -Besides in anticipation the task seemed invitingly easy. From early -childhood had I not ridden with my father every morning over the tan of -the old Park, under its trees, or past its sunlit or steel-grey water? -In later days, when friends whose hospitality had been warmly shown me -overseas, arrived in London, it had become usual with me to drive them -round “the ’Ide Park” until I felt a sort of London _Baedeker_. - -Once, however, the work begun, it proved serious and engrossing, and -meant study: study at the British Museum: study of many, many books: -search for pictures of old London. Three or four times the amount of -material actually used was assiduously gathered. Then began the task of -sorting out what was needful. The real difficulty of writing a book is -to know what to leave out. - -Well, it was a great subject, and deserved the toil spent upon it. -Reward came in the praise of the Press, and—this was specially sweet—at -once. Within three days, thirteen kind, warm, even enthusiastic -reviews! And yet how often the contrary has been the case, and will be -with many works which the public slowly learn to value only after their -writers have obscurely passed away, embittered, maybe, by the lack of -appreciation. - -Yes, I am grateful that my history of London’s great playground was -called one of “deep research” by the _Morning Post_, of “bright, cheery -entertainment” by the _Pall Mall_, a “thrilling and true romance which -Londoners will have to read” by the _Observer_. The _Westminster_ -_Gazette_ and the _Sunday Sun_ agreed that the book made universal -appeal to all lovers of London and lovers of England. - -[Illustration: - - WITH - Mʳˢ ALEC TWEEDIE’S - BEST - WISHES - - 30 YORK TERRACE - LONDON N.W. -] - -Perhaps not one among the many columns of flattering reviews, however, -gave me so much pleasure as the following letter, from an old friend, -well known to fame. - -Love and friendship are the finest assets in the Bank of Life. - - “_April, 1908._ - - “MY DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “I warmly congratulate you on what is certain to prove a most - successful book. I have read it through with great interest—and - old Londoner and old Hyde Parker as I am—for I can remember it - _seventy_ years ago! I find very many facts and stories new to me. - And yet I am a bit of a London antiquary and have written on London - and have helped to _make_ London (when I designed Kingsway for - L.C.C.). - - “The book will go, and has come to stay. - - “We are still very chilly down in the Weald, though daffodils and - hyacinths have begun to show and chestnuts are breaking. It is the - latest spring I ever knew. The only consolation is—there are hardly - any primroses this year to celebrate the Orgy of Evil. - - “Yours sincerely, - - “FREDERIC HARRISON.” - -From generation to generation, Hyde Park has been the wide theatre upon -which many tragedies and comedies of London have been enacted, the -forum where many liberties have been demanded, the scene where national -triumphs have been celebrated. - - * * * * * - -Yes, the book was a success; but every success in life brings a -would-be friend, and a dozen enemies. - -True friendship is not influenced by success or failure. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -BURIED IN PARCELS - - -“They can’t come in here—I tell you they simply can’t.” - -I was sitting eating my matutinal egg on a sleety January day in 1909, -when I heard this altercation at the door. - -“They can’t come in here,” repeated the cook, “they simply can’t.” - -Thinking I had better go and see what it was all about, I ventured -forth. On the doorstep stood two laughing postmen. - -“What is it?” I asked. - -“Parcels, mum, parcels; we have got a whole van full.” - -“A van full!” I exclaimed, seeing a large red parcels-delivery van in -the road. - -“Yes, a special van for you, mum, containing one hundred and ninety-six -parcels.” - -I nearly collapsed. - -“Where _are_ they to go?” I exclaimed. - -“I don’t know,” he replied. - -“They can’t come in here,” chirruped the cook, knowing the hall was -already packed. - -“You must leave them in the van,” I suggested helplessly, “until I have -time to think what is to be done with them.” - -“Can’t do that,” replied the smiling postman. “We have brought you a -’special delivery’ as it is, and I must go back for my ordinary rounds.” - -“Well, they can’t come in here,” I repeated in the cook’s words, as the -wind howled down the street and stray flakes of snow fell. - -“Let us stand them in the street,” brilliantly suggested the postman. - -This was an inspiration, and accordingly one hundred and ninety-six -parcels were packed up against the side of a London house. They stood -four or five feet high. Having told the cook to remain at the front -door and see that nothing happened to them, I returned to my half-cold -egg, but I had not even finished it before there were more altercations -at the door. - -The noise continuing, I again left the breakfast-table (8.45 a.m.) to -see what it meant. Another van. This time a Carter Paterson. - -“Have _you_ any parcels?” I asked in trepidation. - -“Yes, mum, seventy-eight; nearly a van-load of sacks and crates and -other huge things.” - -Into the street they also had to go, but before the men were finished -unpacking other carts were arriving, and depositing sixteen, -twenty-seven, thirty-six packages upon the pavement. - -By ten o’clock the house and the neighbours’ houses were barricaded -with parcels. Never, probably, was such a sight seen in a London -street. Five vans’ loads disgorged at one time. - -Messina was buried in ruins, I was buried in parcels. After eighteen -days I was being disinterred from bundles and packages in London. - -It all came about in this wise. The letter I sent to six important -London papers, expecting, perhaps, that one of them might kindly -print it, appeared in all of them. The evening Press reprinted it. -It was copied into the large provincial papers the next day. That -letter started a veritable snow-ball scheme. It was a Tuesday. I had a -luncheon engagement. - -On my return about four in the afternoon my parlourmaid met me with an -agonised face, and exclaimed: - -“We _have_ had a time since you went out, m’m!” - -“Why?” I asked, surprised. - -“By twelve o’clock that front door-bell began to ring,” she said, “and -it has never ceased. Ladies in motors, people in carriages, gentlemen -in hansoms, babies in perambulators—and they have all left parcels.” - -“Parcels!” I exclaimed in horror. - -“Yes, m’m, parcels. The cloak-room is stacked from floor to ceiling.” - -[Illustration: THE WRITER BURIED IN PARCELS FOR MESSINA - -_By Harry Furniss_] - -This rather took my breath away, and I wondered how on earth I should -ever get that number of things to Sicily. - -No chance to return to the breakfast-table. There was no time to finish -that egg as wildly I rushed to the telephone, begging one or two -intimate friends to come and help at once, while a servant went off to -neighbours to ask for immediate assistance. - -Between signing papers for quickly-arriving packages and struggling to -get helpers, a policeman appeared. - -“Very sorry, mum, but, you know, you are obstructing the roadway,” he -said. - -“I cannot help it,” I replied. “I am literally overpowered, and as it -is in the cause of charity, I suppose it does not matter.” - -“Well, I don’t know about that,” he answered; “but you must leave some -pathway, besides which you are blocking the road; you will be taken up -as a public nuisance.” - -This was really too much. Telephoning for assistance to a high official -at Scotland Yard, who chanced to be a personal friend, he soon sent me -a special constable. One was not enough. He had to send for another -policeman. But as every little butcher boy told every other little -butcher boy what was going on, and as every loafer told every other -loafer to come and see, an inspector had also to be requisitioned. For -four days we were guarded by three stalwart policemen, who kept an eye -on us for a further length of time. - -“Pass along, please. Pass along, please,” became a well-known cry in -the Terrace. Verily it was a blockade—especially after the papers -extolled the novelty of the scene. Then nurses and perambulators -came to have a look at us; ladies in grand motors drove round to see -the sight; Bath chairs added to the confusion; and, above all, the -unemployed at one time threatened serious trouble. - -But to go back in the history of events which led to the Siege of York -Terrace. - -It was Christmas, 1908. - -We were only a party of twelve, but amongst my guests was His -Excellency the Italian Ambassador, the Marquis di San Giuliano. We ate -turkey and plum-pudding, cracked crackers, and made merry in the usual -Christmas fashion. - -The Ambassador and I talked much of Sicily, of its sunshine, its people -and the happy months I had spent there, and then of his family who -lived in or near Catania, not far from Messina. - -Jovial, contented, and pleased we parted at midnight on that Friday. -Before daylight on the Monday following two hundred thousand people had -been killed, wounded, or rendered homeless in a few seconds in Messina. -Terrible indeed was the disaster. The earth opened and practically -swallowed Reggio on the opposite shore, while a huge wave overswept the -Sicilian coast. Houses fell like packs of cards, and the beautiful city -of Messina cracked to pieces like the smashing of glass. - -For hours—yes, for many hours—the Italian Ambassador in London did not -even know whether his entire family had been swept away or not. All -his relations felt the shock, though happily none succumbed. His son, -the late Marquis di Capizzi, wrote to me a couple of days after the -catastrophe, and said: - -“We are still suffering from the terrible impressions of the earthquake -that completely destroyed Messina, killing nearly 200,000 persons. It -lasted so long and so much that we were sure we should all be killed -here (Catania) and yet we escaped.” - -Then followed details of death, horror, and misery, of starvation and -naked humanity running about in torrential rain. Thus flashed across my -mind an idea which matured in the above-mentioned letter to the Press: - - “CLOTHING FOR SICILY - - “30, YORK TERRACE, LONDON, N.W. - - “SIR,—Nothing in the world’s history can compare with this disaster - which swept away 200,000 persons in a few seconds. - - “In view of the appalling want of clothing among the survivors - owing to this terrific earthquake, it seems to me that there may - be many who cannot afford to contribute to the Mansion House Fund, - but who would willingly give something to the sufferers in ‘kind.’ - The Italian Ambassador has promised that anything I collect shall - be rightly distributed by competent officials. I hope I may manage - to persuade some good folks to send the boxes out free, or to send - a small contribution in money to pay for their speedy transit. The - sooner we can land contributions the greater their value. The first - box of clothing, old and new, will, I hope, start on Friday. - - “The winter in Sicily is often exceedingly cold; moreover, the - rains have lately been very severe, so that added to all the - horrors of shock, loss of homes and destitution, thousands of - people are insufficiently clad. - - “All parcels (please prepay these, dear friends) sent to me shall - be properly and promptly attended to.—I am, etc., - - “(Mrs.) E. ALEC TWEEDIE.” - -An innocent enough little letter! Yet how far-reaching in its results. - -There stood the parcels, but what they were to go into was the next -problem. Each girl friend as she arrived was bundled into a cab, -and told to go to shops in the neighbourhood and collect all the -packing-cases she could and bring them back. They were brought, -but more and more were wanted. Each shop could only produce two or -three, and those they gave cheerfully, but as the stacks of packages -increased more rapidly than they decreased, it ended at last in our -requisitioning huge furniture cases, the sort of thing that holds a -cottage piano, a settee, or two or three arm-chairs. - -The first fifteen hundred articles were counted. They filled ten -crates. After that it was impossible to enumerate, or even to do more -than cursorily sort the things, but on the estimate of the first ten -cases, I appear to have sent away twenty-seven thousand garments in one -hundred and ninety-eight packing-cases. Some of them were so heavy they -took four men to lift. - -The first twenty thousand left in three days to catch the earliest mail -steamers to the stricken centres. - -How terrific was the pace may be judged by one incident. - -I telephoned on Wednesday morning to my friend Sir Thomas Sutherland, -asking that the weekly P. and O. boat might take out twenty cases for -delivery in Sicily. By lunch-time that number had swollen to forty, -so I telephoned again, and begged he would find room for forty in the -_Simla_. - -Still the pile did not decrease. Still we sent for packing-cases to the -large furniture emporiums. By tea-time the number was much augmented, -and I wired desperately to Sir Thomas, begging him to come and see me -on his way home. He did so. His motor could not get up the street, for -the newspapers had begun to mention the circumstance, and a crowd of -sightseers and idlers had come to look on. - -“I never saw such a sight,” he exclaimed; “the place is like a railway -emporium.” - -“I have a confession to make,” I said. “I asked you at luncheon-time -to take forty cases. Dare I tell you I now have altogether eighty-five -packages standing on the pavement, waiting to go somewhere?” - -“Eighty-five!” he exclaimed. “But the _Simla_ is full already.” - -“They can’t stop here,” I said, almost in tears, for really the thing -was becoming too serious. “The cases won’t even come inside the door. I -have nowhere to put them, and they can’t remain in the street in case -it rains, even if the police do guard them all night.” - -They went to the docks that night. Then I went to bed feeling that it -was over. - -But not a bit of it. The very same thing began again next day, and -another friend—Sir Frederick Green, chairman of the Orient—had to be -appealed to, to convey the next consignment to Naples, which he most -generously did. - -To give some idea of the enormous magnitude of this undertaking—twelve -dozen-dozen yards of rope were used to tie the cases, and twice I -sent out for four shillings and sixpence worth of nails for fastening -the lids. Two whole quart bottles of ink were used for painting on -the addresses; and three dust-carts—special dust-carts—were required -at the end of the first day to take away the refuse of string, -cardboard-boxes, and brown paper. Never can I thank my twenty-seven -willing helpers sufficiently. There were seldom less than fifteen at a -time unpacking, sorting, and repacking in the street in all that bitter -cold. They forgot personal suffering and backaches, working right -cheerily and generously all those anxious days. - -Buried in parcels did I call it? Swamped in parcels, drowned in -parcels! Probably about three thousand of them. - -Twenty thousand garments were got off by Friday night, when I had -already implored the public through the Press to stop sending any more. -Twenty thousand garments in reply to my appeal for a few things to send -in “a box”! - -On Saturday I had the following letter inserted in the Press, thinking -this would stop the flow: - - “SICILIAN CLOTHING - - “SIR,—I had no idea when my appeal for clothing for the sufferers - in Sicily appeared last Tuesday that the response would be so - magnificent and so overwhelming. In three days about 20,000 - articles were landed at my door. After the house was full they - stood in stacks in the street, as many as 196 parcels arriving - by one delivery. Thanks to the help of friends, all these were - repacked in three days. Carter Paterson generously conveyed the - crates and packing-cases to the docks. Forty cases went by the - Orient Line to Naples, addressed to the British Consul, ten cases - went by the Wilson Line from Hull, similarly addressed, whilst - the P. and O. kindly took no fewer than eighty-five packing-cases - of enormous size to Malta. They were addressed to Messina, to the - Duke of Bronte at Catania and the Marquis di Capizzi. Another - forty cases are being transported to-night by the Wilson Line for - distribution to the sufferers at Reggio. All these companies are - generously conveying these enormous consignments free of cost. - Unfortunately, it is impossible to reply personally to about 700 - letters or about 2000 parcels, so I hope all kind donors will - accept my gratitude by this public acknowledgment. Where money - was sent, work from the Ladies’ Needlework Guild was purchased - (thereby doing a double charity), or men’s suits. The work has been - colossal, and only accomplished by the kind co-operation of many - friends. I would beg that no more clothes be sent, as physical - strength cannot combat further strain.—Yours, etc., - - “(Mrs.) E. ALEC TWEEDIE.” - -But no, still they came. - -A week later the Italian Ambassador’s kindly thanks appeared in the -Press: - - “DEAR MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE,—I saw in the Press your acknowledgment of - nearly 25,000 articles of clothing which the public so generously - sent you for the sufferers from the earthquake. I wish to endorse - my thanks to that generous public, and I also wish to express my - gratitude to the Wilson Line, the P. and O., the Orient Line, and - Carter Paterson for conveying nearly 200 of those enormous crates - free of charge to the nearest ports to their destination. - - “As the writer of _Sunny Sicily_ my country owed you much. It now - owes you still more for the thought, speed, organisation, and - despatch which accomplished such a gigantic task in three days to - catch the steamers. I myself saw the bales of clothing being packed - in the street by your fifteen friends, guarded by the police and - helped by several stalwart men, four of whom were required to lift - some of the cases. I can only repeat the task was herculean for a - private individual, and its successful completion amazing. Please - make this letter public.—Sincerely yours, - - “SAN GIULIANO. - - “The Italian Embassy, 20 Grosvenor Square, - _January 11_.” - -Did that end it? Not at all. For another week packages dribbled in -from Ireland, from the North of Scotland, from Germany, and even from -Switzerland. - -The curious thing about these parcels was that more than half the -clothes were absolutely new. People had gone to shops and bought five -or ten pounds’ worth of goods in reply to my appeal “in kind.” A large -number came from gentlemen’s clubs or chambers. These usually arrived -anonymously, with a touching little bit of paper inside, “God bless -you,” or “An unknown admirer of your books,” or “My interest in Sicily -was first awakened by your book on that country.” - -A pair of baby’s socks came from a poor woman who wrote she was sorry -she could not send more, but still she wanted to send something. -Another workman’s wife offered a week’s time, as she had formerly been -a shirt-maker and could get through a lot in the time, and that right -willingly “for them poor things.” - -A poor old governess wrote from a seaside town: - - “DEAR MADAM,—When I read about your starting a Relief Fund for the - poor darlings—the sufferers in Messina—I prayed for God’s choicest - blessing to rest on you. Next came a wish to do something myself, - and a mournful inability presented itself unless _this_ attempt - may be of some use. I am an invalid—almost a martyr to bronchial - asthma, and I am oftener in bed than out of it. - - “I am 70 years of age and am being maintained by a sister or the - workhouse would be my portion. I am a Board School teacher, and at - different times I tried my hand at composition. In the year 1902—I - think it was—I tried for the £100 prize for a story. If you can - make any use of the MSS., please apply the money to your fund. - - “In conclusion, I pray again God will prosper you in all your way. - We want more of such _real_ Christians as you have proved yourself - to be. I wept when I first read of your grand work. - - “With kind regards, yours very sincerely, - - “(Mrs.) M. A. C.” - -The address was rather touching: - - “The Lady Authoress, - - “Sending garments, etc., - - “To MESSINA, - - “London.” - -Another was poor; but had a pair of old ear-rings valued about £2, -which she offered to send me for sale if I would apply the money -in buying clothes. Some of the parcels contained several hundred -things—often newly bought and beautiful—many were accompanied by -complete lists of the contents. - -Another letter came from a Home, and was signed by a row of Nurses on -the Staff, each sending a contribution. A charming lady sent an odd -shoe, and explained that the fellow shoe was in the parcel she had sent -off the day before! A man sent a coat, and the next day followed the -waistcoat which he had just found! - -One more practical gentleman sent twenty-four pairs of beautiful new -white blankets, done up in sacking; another thoughtful person sent six -dozen new hair-brushes. - -Numbers of people came to talk to me, shake hands with me, interview -me, until I had to beg my friends to say I was engaged and invisible. - -A lady brought a parcel and almost refused to leave it without seeing -me personally and handing me her half-crown. As she was one of a -number, the servant refused, whereupon she insisted on writing a -letter, and sat down to slowly compile four sheets for my benefit, -while the parlourmaid, who had been dragged from the packing, stood -beside her. Luckily, she left the parcel and the two-and-sixpence. - -Letters came from the grandest homes, from castles and courts, from -vicarages and schools, and from some of the very poorest dwellings, -carpenters’ wives and mill hands. They came from remote villages and -towns I had never heard of, and many consignments arrived from abroad, -the senders having written to large London emporiums and ordered -blankets or shirts to be sent for the refugees. - -Probably one-third came anonymously, a third more asked for -acknowledgment, while others sent money to buy clothes, or for me to -use at my discretion. - -“Please prepay the carriage, dear friends.” Innocent enough words—but -oh, the result of them almost swamped me—nearly nine hundred postal -orders, mostly for sixpence, was the result. They came in letters, they -came pinned to garments, they turned up anywhere and everywhere, and -also stamps; just three, or six, or nine, or a dozen odd stamps, to -help to pay carriage or buy clothes. - -Roughly, I received about twelve hundred epistles, followed, after it -was all over, by several hundred more begging letters from England and -Italy. Many of these specified exactly what the writer would like to -have: “A green dress, and my waist is 28 inches,” or “A pair of grey -flannel trousers, and my height is 5ft. 10in.” - -Among the strange addresses were: - - “Alla Nobile Dama, - - “Mrs. Alec Tweedie, - - “Cultrice di belle Lettere, - - “London.” - -Or again, - - “To the Right Honourable Lady - - “Alec Tweedie, - - “London.” - -They flattered and praised me, spoke “of my great merits and noble -heart,” and then proceeded to ask me “to pay for the education of a -young musician,” “adopt a baby,” “get the plays of a young dramatist -performed in London,” “send money to a Viscount who was too proud to -beg, so would I address it to his servant?” England and Italy honoured -me with some hundred of these begging letters. Old clothes men offered -to buy up what was left over. “Mrs. Harts” and “Mr. Abrahams” rang up -to know if I wished to _sell_ any of the surplus things. (What did they -take me for?) Men and women pulled the front-door bell and asked for -coats and skirts; in fact, my house was not my own for a month or more. - -As one hundred and twenty-six pounds eighteen shillings and eleven -pence came to me in money with the request that I would buy clothing -(which I did from poor guilds), as the donors lived in the country, or -do exactly as I liked with it, we tried to be businesslike, in spite -of the rush, and made most elaborate tables showing cases despatched, -dates, money received, expended, and so on. - -Nothing was omitted. Every conceivable article of clothing for men, -women, and children was there. Numberless blankets, sheets, needles, -cottons, pins, tapes, new stockings with the proper-coloured mending -pinned on, and boots and shoes galore. The things in themselves -depicted the thought and care with which they had been selected, -showing the sympathy of the people of Great Britain, from the poorest -to the richest, with the unfortunate sufferers. Amongst other things -were razors and pipes. There were even braces, slippers, fur coats, -hairpins, sleeping-socks, and amongst it all came a parcel of most -useful things, amongst which were hidden a dozen copies of the -_Christian World_. Did the dear old body who sent them imagine that the -Sicilian peasants could read an English tract? - -One lady wrote she “is sending a case weighing four hundredweight, and -as it contains seven hundred garments, she thinks it might go as it -stands.” It did; God bless her. - -Really it was a study in parcels. Some were so beautifully done up that -one marvelled at the dexterity of amateur hands which tied the string; -others were disgracefully bundled together; and in one or two cases -labels arrived saying they had been found without any parcels attached. - -Many people had carefully sorted the things into bundles and written -outside, “Complete outfit for a man,” “Complete outfit for a woman,” -“For a peasant child,” or “For a well-born little girl.” - -Several people in different parts of England offered to get up -working-parties, and asked for suggestions for making suitable garments. - -A Manchester manufacturer of flannel said he was willing to give all -that was required, and his workpeople would give the time if I let them -know what to make, but as his letter did not arrive until twenty-five -thousand things had gone, I did not feel able to begin over again. -Dressmakers and shops sent contributions. Several sent parcels in great -haste. Poor dears, they imagined there would be one crate—my “one box -on Friday” became a veritable joke. A lady sent a sack containing -clothes, and kindly requested that I would let her have the sack back. -I did return several portmanteaux, suit-cases, washing-baskets, and -even hold-alls, but when it came to a sack—— - -The crowd which collected in the street was both pathetic and humorous. -I remember two shabby little urchins of eight and ten looking with -longing eyes at the warm clothing, and the younger one remarked: “I -say, Bob, what a pity we wasn’t blowd up in that earthquake!” - -A friend noticed a couple of unusual parcels being handed in at the -door and quietly put into one of the cases. On rushing to investigate, -she found that one contained my best drawing-room curtains returned -from the cleaners, and the other a cake for afternoon tea. - -Warned not to leave her wraps about, one of my helpers put her muff and -stole on the staircase. An hour later she only rescued them in the nick -of time from a crate where a kindly man was packing them up, thinking -they “would be so comfortable for the poor people in Sicily.” - -Many of these crates stood four feet from the ground. It was therefore -impossible, even with the aid of friendly walking-sticks, to pack -the bottom, consequently a kitchen chair was fetched, and by its -aid various girls got inside and gradually packed the clothing and -themselves upwards. - -My rooms on the ground floor were full of parcels, letters, cheques, -postal orders, keys waiting to be returned with portmanteaux, labels -likewise to be affixed to returned empties, bills of lading, telegrams, -cards, accounts for clothing, etc. Personally, I never sat down for one -minute that somebody did not come to ask for a shilling, or sixpence, -or half-crown, to pay for some package delivered unpaid at the door. - -To complicate matters, reporters and photographers seemed to arrive -from everywhere. They snapshotted us as we worked, they gleaned bits -of information from any and every one, and one of them insisted on -penetrating my private den, where he found me busily writing. A friend, -hearing a crash and seeing a mysterious light, thought there was a -sudden earthquake in York Terrace. She rushed to the hall to ask what -had happened. “Oh, it is nothing, only Mrs. Tweedie being snapshotted.” - -And oh—what a photograph it was! But it was reproduced in France, -Germany, Italy, and Sicily. - -Some weeks afterwards I received the following letter from the Italian -Government through Sir Rennell Rodd, our Ambassador in Rome: - - “MINISTRY OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS, - - “_27th January, 1909_. - - “SIR, - - “By your note of 14th inst. your Excellency informed me that the - well-known authoress, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, had in the short time of - three days collected twenty thousand pieces of clothing, which in - 167 packages had been sent to Naples, Messina, and Catania, to - succour the sufferers in the recent disaster. - - “I shall be grateful if your Excellency will, in the name of the - Royal Government and myself, express to Mrs. Alec Tweedie the sense - of profound gratitude for the zeal and alacrity which she showed in - coming to the help of so many sufferers. - - “I have, etc., - - “(Signed) TITTONI. - - “H.E. Sir R. Rodd, - - “British Ambassador, Rome.” - -Most of the packages were distributed by my personal friends to the -real sufferers in Sicily fourteen days after the earthquake. - -Yes, it _was_ an experience. An extraordinary experience even in a life -not unknown to strange sights and circumstances, but it was not what -one would willingly undertake again. The strain of organising such a -performance in a few hours’ time was terrific. - -It cost me some weeks of my life, made a hole in my pocket, and did my -walls and house much damage, but I gained a vast amount of experience, -and _hundreds of half-sheets of note-paper_! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -WORK RELAXED: AND ORCHARDSON - - -A deal of ink had run from my pen in thirteen years—thirteen books -had been turned out, and thousands of odd articles, there was hardly -a paper or magazine in the country to which I had not contributed -something. Work had become much easier with practice, and a certain -amount of success—far, far more than I ever deserved—had come my way. - -During that busy time I wrote more words per week than I wrote in the -whole previous nine years. I never believe in people making money they -do not require, unless occasionally, and then they should pass their -little gains on to some charitable cause. Still less do I believe -in anyone writing anything to be printed just for the pleasure of -seeing their name in print. That is taking bread out of someone’s -mouth, and lowering the market standard. I never wrote a line in my -life that was not paid for. Always before me lay two roads, the one -grinding on to the bitter end as a writer and journalist, the second -string being much the more important as it meant more pay for less -risk; or the possibility that some day investments of my husband’s -might turn out better and the necessity to work might cease. It did -not cease—but after thirteen years I felt my feet sufficiently to bid -adieu to journalistic work. A few hundreds here, and a few hundreds -there carefully re-invested, three small legacies left because of the -“splendid fight I had made,” or “in appreciation of her pluck and hard -work,” lifted the cloud, and as the cloud rolled away I took my leave -of the journalist’s yoke which had so often galled a sensitive back: -the moment I could do without this source of income I left it alone, -thankful, grateful for its kindly aid through years of adversity. I -don’t suppose my editors missed me. They never knew me personally; -incognito I entered their pages except as a name, incognito as a -personality I left them. - -I was ill—over-work, over-strain, over-anxiety for thirteen years -bowled me over—I, who had never had “little ills,” seemed to be always -having colds and coughs, sleepless nights, aching temples, tonsilitis, -and other stupid little ailments; but in all reverence let me thank God -that the necessity that plied the lash so unceasingly for thirteen busy -years gradually relaxed. - -I suppose there is no loneliness so complete as the creative -brain-worker’s. He writes a book through weary months of thought and -probably not one member of his own household even knows what it is -about or looks at it when done. The painter is almost as bad, although -a cursory glance may be given occasionally at his picture. The same -with the inventor. The creator must be content to live in loneliness of -soul and lack of sympathy. The knowledge that he is doing his best is -his only reward. Even wealth is generally denied him. - -Often in those busy years I wondered if I had been too fond of -pleasure, too absorbed by amusement in those young married days, and -if the necessity to work was my punishment. Every little act counts in -life. Every good deed brings its reward, every silly action demands its -toll. - -The completion of my thirteenth year had ended my strenuous literary -work. I then had more time for my friends, social purposes, calls of -charity, committee work of all sorts and kinds, so although I remained -as busy as ever, I was no longer a money-making machine. - -It was then that I lost one of my oldest and dearest friends. I was -ill myself at the time of his death (April, 1910), but from my bed -I dictated, and corrected the proof on my sofa during the days of -convalescence of an article for the _Fortnightly Review_, July, 1910. - -“One of the men I should like to meet in England is William Quiller -Orchardson.” So spoke the great Shakespearian writer of America, Dr. -Horace Howard Furness, when I was staying with him on the Delaware -River near Philadelphia (1905). - -We were standing before a large engraving of the “Mariage de -Convenance,” one of this famous scholar’s dearest possessions. - -“The idea,” continued Dr. Furness, “the thought, the sense of design; -the space, the refinement, the art of the whole thing, are, to my mind, -perfect. The man who did that must be a charming man, and next time I -cross the Atlantic I shall hope to see him.” - -They will never meet now, but I told Orchardson the story when I came -home, and he looked quite shy with simple pleasure that any picture of -his was so much appreciated. - -Sir William Orchardson was one of Nature’s courtiers. He was refined in -manner, delicate in thought, artistic in temperament. - -England has lost one of her greatest painters. Orchardson is one of the -names that will be known centuries hence. He was one of the few men to -see his old work increase in value. He had a style of his own. “Thin,” -some called it, doubtless because of his means of work, whereby the -canvas remained exposed; but the talent was not thin. It was rich in -tone, and the work was strong. Probably no living artist painted with -less _impasto_, and yet produced such effect of solidity. - -He had great partiality for yellows and browns, madders and reds, and, -whenever he could introduce these tones, did so. He loved the warmth -of mahogany, the shade of rich wine in a glass, the subdued tones of a -scarlet robe, the russet brown of an old shooting-suit, and as his own -hair had a warm hue, he generally wore a shade of clothes which toned -in with it. As grey mingled with his locks, he took to grey tweeds, and -a very harmonious picture he made with his slouch hat to match. - -In these days, when it is the fashion to belittle modern artists, and -magnify a hundred-fold the value of so-called “ancient masters,” it was -delightful to come across one whose power was actually acknowledged -under the hammer in his own lifetime. One of Orchardson’s pictures, -“Hard Hit,” painted in 1879, fetched nearly £4000 at Christie’s thirty -years later for America. He had the gratification of seeing many of his -canvases double and treble in value, and yet he was always well paid -for his work on the easel. - -He saw his “Mariage de Convenance,” for which he originally received -£1200, increase enormously in value, and his picture of “Napoleon on -the Deck of the _Bellerophon_,” painted in 1880, double in value -before it went to the Tate Gallery. - -But the more success he achieved, the more modest he seemed to become. - -Simplicity was the keynote of the man. Simplicity of character, -simplicity of life, simplicity of style. There is masterful simplicity -in all his work. Look at the large, majestic rooms he depicted, with -one or two figures round which the interest lies. His work invariably -gives one a sense of space, elegance, and refinement. It is always -reserved in colour and design, with great harmony and unity of effect, -possibly helped by the use of a very limited range of colour. His -drawing was strong in construction, highly sensitive in line, and had -an entire absence of flashiness. - -His portraits were, perhaps, his greatest achievement, and were -extraordinary for their virility and power of characterisation; they -were hailed with enthusiasm by the artists both here and on the -Continent. He did not do a great number. Indeed, he was by no means -a prolific painter—from three to five canvases were the most he -accomplished in a single year. - -He elaborated his still-life as much as the old Dutch painters, but the -whole scheme of colour and design and his eighteenth-century costumes -were simple. - -As with his work, so with the man. He was moderate in all things. -Gentle, refined, sensitive, thorough, and painstaking, always striving -for better things. Never really satisfied with his work, never really -satisfied with himself. A deeply religious man, he never mentioned -religion, but somehow one felt he had profound convictions on this -subject. His moral standards were high, his sense of justice was -profound. - -Two antagonistic qualities were ever fighting in the painter. The -gentleness of the man, the determination of the character. - -Orchardson had been a veritable hero for years. He had really been -an invalid since the final years of the last century, sometimes -desperately ill. Often he could only do an hour’s work a day, and -during that time Lady Orchardson always read aloud to him. It -soothed and amused him at the same time, and volumes of memoirs and -travels were his delight. His wife was always beside him, and her -encouragement and criticism were of great value to his work. They were -a devoted couple. - -Even neuritis did not stop his work. The triumph of mind over matter! -There were days during those ten or twelve years when he looked as -if a puff of wind would blow him away. Yet the work lost none of its -brilliancy. Orchardson painted as well at seventy-five as he did forty -years before. Of how many men can that be said? - -Pluck is a wonderful quality. How few of the people, who admired -Orchardson’s marvellous picture of Lord Peel, realised the agonies the -artist endured during the time he was painting that and his following -canvases. It was about 1897 that he first began to fail. Some put -it down to heart trouble, others to an affection of the nerves, but -whatever it was he was told that nothing could be done, nothing, at -least, which could really cure the malady. With the most splendid -fortitude and pluck Orchardson realised the situation. He was still a -man of little over sixty. He was at the zenith of his glory, thousands -of pounds were paid for his pictures, and orders were far more numerous -than he could accomplish; he had a large family beside him, and for -years he painted on with this agonising pain, making light of the -matter. - -How ill he looked one day when I called. He appeared so much thinner -than even a month or two previously, and there seemed a depression -about the merry laugh and twinkling eyes. He wore his left arm in a -black silk sling, and the hands, always thin, seemed to show more blue -veins, and look more delicate and nervous than usual. His hands were -even more characteristic than his face. He was painting, and beside him -his palette was fixed on a music stand. - -“A very awkward arrangement,” he laughingly said; “but the best I can -do, for I can no longer hold the palette at all.” - -“But the stand is just the exact height, and looks all right,” I said. - -“Ah, my dear friend,” he replied, “a subtle difference in colour is -very slight, but when you are standing back from your canvas and decide -that a particular shade is wanted on a particular point of a particular -nose, if you have the palette on your hand you can mix it at once, -while if you have to walk back six or eight feet to the palette to -prepare the paint to complete this little alteration, you may just get -sufficiently off the shade to entirely alter the idea. I weigh every -tone. I am not an impressionist.” - -Seeing Orchardson working under such circumstances struck me as one of -the most sad and pitiful things I had ever known. Here was he, one of -the greatest painters of the day, still in the prime of life, working -against the most horrible odds, and yet sticking to it in a manner -everyone must admire and few realise, for he always tried to make light -of the situation. He painted his picture of Sir Peter Russell under -these circumstances, also the portrait of Miss Fairfax Rhodes. Among -his best-known portraits are those of Mrs. Pattison, Sir David Stewart, -and Sir Walter Gilbey. - -Orchardson’s famous picture of four royal generations (called “Windsor -Castle, 1897”) was finished in April, 1900, for that year’s Academy. I -went one afternoon a week before to have a look at it. The painter and -his wife were having tea in the splendid dining-room at Portland Place, -and he was thoroughly enjoying his buttered toast after a hard day. - -“I like sitting at a table for my tea,” he said, “especially since my -arm became troublesome, for even now I really cannot balance a cup. -Congratulate me, however, for I have discarded my sling to-day after -two years.” - -The man who could not hold a cup could paint a picture. - -The canvas was enormous—simple and striking. The quiet dignity of Queen -Victoria on the left, and the happy little family group of the Prince -of Wales, the Duke of York (our present King), and baby Prince, was -charming. - -“A difficult subject,” sighed Orchardson. “It took me months to make -up my mind how to tackle it at all. Two black frock-coats and a lady -in black seemed impossible, till I insisted on having the child and -his white frock to introduce the human interest. For days and days I -wandered about Windsor to find a suitable room to paint the group in, -and nothing took my fancy till I came to this long corridor. This is a -corner just as it stands. The dark cabinet throws out the Queen’s head. -The carpet gives warmth. The settee is good colour.” - -“How very like that chair, on which the Prince has his hand, is to one -of your old Empire chairs,” I exclaimed. The great painter laughed. - -“It is mine. I lent it, you see. They have nothing quite so suitable as -mine there, so I just painted in one of my own.” - -It was only five days before the picture was to go to Burlington House. -The Prince of Wales’s—alas, the only portrait he painted of Edward -VII—was unfinished; one of the three busts was not even touched, -besides many other minor details. - -“Will you ever be ready?” - -“Oh dear, yes! I once painted half my Academy picture in the last -week. I take a long while thinking and planning, but only a short time -actually painting. I shall be ready all right. At any time I rarely -paint more than four hours a day, often only two; so you see I can -accomplish a fair amount with an eight-hours day.” - -In 1887 the Orchardsons moved from Victoria to Portland Place. The new -house offered all the room required for his large family, but there was -no studio. Nothing daunted, the artist designed a studio, and made one -of the finest _ateliers_ in London, where stables and loose-boxes once -stood. He was not the first, for Turner, the great landscape painter, -who lived in Queen Anne Street, close by, had his studio in the stables -which later adjoined my father’s house in Harley Street. It was in that -stable-studio Turner painted some of his finest pictures, and it was in -a stable-studio almost a hundred years later that Orchardson painted -his most famous canvases. - -Rich tapestries hung upon the walls. Old chairs of the Directoire and -Empire periods stood about on parquet floors, on which was reflected -the red glow from a huge, blazing fire. - -The upstairs rooms, with their pillars and conservatory, formed the -background of such pictures as “Her Mother’s Voice,” “Reflections,” -“Music, when Soft Voices Die, Vibrates in the Memory,” and “A Tender -Chord,” and bits of the studio often served as backgrounds, just as -his Adams satin-wood chairs, his clocks and candelabra, glass and old -Sheffield plate, stood as models. - -Orchardson was a man of wide interests. He was always liberal in his -outlook. Anything new, no matter by whom, or what form it took, -interested him, and he was particularly good to young men. For -instance, the son of Professor Lorimer, of Edinburgh, sent a portrait -of his father to the Academy. No one had then heard of young Lorimer, -but the picture was accepted and hung on the line. Two or three years -after, when the artist was in London, he was introduced to Orchardson, -who at once exclaimed: - -“‘J. H. Lorimer’! Ah, yes! I remember. I hung a picture of yours on the -line at the Academy a few years ago, because it showed promise.” And -thus began a delightful friendship. That was his way. Whenever he could -do a young artist a good turn, he did so; whenever he could say a word -of encouragement, he was always willing; endless were the visits he -paid to the studios of youthful aspirants, and many the kindly words of -advice and encouragement he left behind. - -He thought it one of the crying shames of the day that more was not -done for living painters and sculptors. He considered our public -buildings and open spaces should be adorned by sculpture, that our -public libraries and edifices should be decorated by paintings. - -“There is just as good talent as ever there was,” he would say, “if -these millionaires would only encourage it, and not pay vast sums for -spurious old masters. You have only to call a thing _old_, and it will -be bought, but call the same thing _new_, and no one will even look at -it.” - -Speaking to him once about a fellow-artist’s death, I said what a pity -it was a man should live to over-paint himself, just as men lived to -over-write themselves—paint until their eye has lost all idea of form -and colour. - -He did not agree to this. “Once a painter, always a painter,” he -declared. “Our individual taste improves, our life becomes more -educated, until we look upon work as bad which, years before, we -thought good. In fact,” he maintained, “if the early pictures of -an artist were put with his later work, you would probably find he -had not deteriorated at all.” He gave as an illustration the works -in the Manchester Exhibition—where one man had, perhaps, twenty -pictures, painted in different years, hung side by side; and these, -he maintained, one and all reached a certain standard, and did not -deteriorate or improve very much with years. - -Once asked to paint a picture containing several portraits, he agreed, -although the subjects were not handsome—ugly, in fact. - -“What a trial that must be to you?” - -“Oh dear, no! I far prefer an ugly face to a beautiful one. It is -generally so much more interesting.” - -“Then you choose their dresses and surroundings, presumably?” - -“No; I do not. I like to paint them as they are, and in their own home. -Dressing them up and giving them strange surroundings takes away their -identity, and makes a picture, but not a portrait. Men paint with their -brain, and if they haven’t got brains, no amount of teaching will make -them artists. They must feel what they do with the mind. Colour is -in the artist himself, but he must learn for years and years, not to -paint, but to draw. Drawing can only be acquired, and is difficult at -first. No man can hope to be an artist until drawing is no longer a -difficulty. Then, but not till then, he may start to paint. Look how -beautifully Frenchmen draw. Art is poorly paid and a disheartening -affair. When I see and hear of the thousands of ‘artists’ barely -earning a living to keep body and soul together, it makes me positively -sick.” - -One day a friend brought a beautiful bunch of roses to Portland Place. -Mrs. Orchardson was so delighted with them, she took them into the -studio to show her husband. - -“Can’t you paint them?” she enquired. - -“Well, they are lovely,” he replied. And after thinking a moment, he -went and fetched a large canvas, on which he had drawn roughly his -scheme for the now famous picture of “The Young Duke.” Many feet of -white canvas and charcoal lines were there. The rest of the scheme and -the colour was only in the artist’s head. He fetched a bowl, placed -the roses in it, and there and then painted the flowers upon the great -white canvas. So began the picture, round the bowl of roses. - -Flowers and the country were always attractive to Orchardson, and -in 1897 he bought a house near Farningham. Once settled, they were -invited to a large county dinner-party to be introduced to their -neighbours. Just before it was time to dress for dinner, it was -discovered that Orchardson had not brought his dress-clothes from -London. Should they send a message that they could not go? No; they -decided that would be ridiculous. Had he a frock-coat? No; he had not -even that in the country, and a blue serge suit was all that could be -produced. Accordingly, the artist appeared at the formal county dinner -arranged in his special honour more like an English yachtsman than a -dinner-party guest; and, to add to their misery—it had taken so long to -hunt for the clothes, and it took much longer to drive than they had -anticipated—the guests had already sat down when they were ushered into -the dining-room. - -For many years before this, the Orchardsons lived off and on at -Westgate. It was there he built the tennis-court—real tennis, not lawn -tennis—that from first to last cost about £3000, and was finally pulled -down and sold as old bricks and mortar. That game was his recreation -and his amusement, and round him the painter collected tennis players -from all over the world. He called it the “king of games,” just as he -called fly-fishing the “king of sports.” - -Another hobby was old furniture. One of his most prized treasures was -an old piano. A Vienna Flügel of the seventeenth century, containing -peals, drums, and bells. It was shaped like an ordinary grand, with -rounded side-pieces of beautiful rich-coloured mahogany, and in tone -resembled a spinet. This he gave a year or two before his death with a -tall harp piano, to the South Kensington Museum. One day, walking down -Oxford Street, he had seen the end of this Flügel piano sticking out -of some straw outside an auctioneer’s. The wood and form struck him, -and he pulled aside the straw to examine it more closely. He had the -legs brought out to him, and found they were figures supporting worlds, -on which the piano rested. Charmed and delighted at the whole design, -he offered to bid for it—and as only two very old musicians, who -remembered the piano in their youth, bid against him, it was knocked -down to him. Afterwards he found the only other similar one in England -was owned by the Queen, and stood at Windsor. - -Funnily enough, he who had himself painted so many portraits, disliked -nothing in the world so much as sitting himself. - -“I am a fidget,” he said, “and it worries me to keep still. When -Charlie [his son] asked me to sit to him in the autumn of ’98, I -said, ‘My dear boy, I would rather do anything else in the world for -you.’ However, his mother persuaded me that it would be to Charlie’s -advantage, and therefore, like a weak man—for man is always weak in the -hands of woman—I gave in. The boy painted it very cleverly, and people -tell me it is a good portrait. Not that I know much about that, for no -one knows what he really looks like.” - -Orchardson was just twenty-nine when sitting in his little studio in -Edinburgh he read long accounts of the great Exhibition of 1862. “By -Jove, I’ll go and have a look at it,” he exclaimed. No sooner said than -done. With a small hand-bag he came to London. The die was cast. He -never returned to Edinburgh to live. - -Those early days in this great city were days of work and struggle -for John Pettie, Peter Graham, John MacWhirter, and William Quiller -Orchardson, who all came together, and lived together in Pimlico, and -then in Fitzroy Square. They all worked in black and white to keep -the pot boiling, and right merry they were in those long-ago days. -All attained success. Orchardson’s first stroke of luck came three -years after his arrival in London, when he won a £100 prize for “The -Challenge,” and for the next forty-five years he continued to work -steadily, and climbed the ladder of fame rung by rung. - -My last personal recollection of Sir William was when I was sitting -to Herbert Hampton, the sculptor. One day we were talking about -Orchardson, and Mr. Hampton was eulogistic in speaking of his work, and -regretted Sir William had never been to his studio. - -“I will ask him to come.” Below is his reply, written on March 12th, -1910, exactly a month before his death. - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “So sorry to be all day engaged! Give me another day—do—Yours ever - so much, - - “W. Q. ORCHARDSON. - - “Have sitter waiting.” - -It was his habit to go out daily for fresh air, and, when able for it, -for exercise, so I suggested fetching him in a taxi the next time I was -to sit. To this he replied a few days later: - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “So do I [this refers to a remark that I wished I were the sitter]. - I should have loved the taxi, and your presentment at the hands of - Herbert Hampton. It must be worth seeing—but that I have promised - to be at the meeting to-morrow of the Fine Art Section of the White - City, of which I am Chairman.—Horrid, is it not? With many thanks - and more regrets, - - “Yours, - “W. Q. ORCHARDSON.” - -The writing was very shaky, as it had been for some years. For years -he could paint firmly and yet only write badly. This was probably due -to his extraordinary power of concentration. Even ten days before his -death he was struggling daily to the studio, too weak to stand before -his canvas, callous to all outside matters, so determined to finish his -pictures that he could concentrate his mind on his work and make great -strides in a quarter of an hour. Then he would fall back exhausted. -Here was a case of indomitable pluck, and such determination and -concentration that he almost died with his brush in his hand. - -Orchardson was a delightful _raconteur_, and although I knew him -intimately for twenty years, I never heard him say an unkind word of -anyone, and often admired his refinement of thought and delightful -belief in everyone and in everything beautiful. He was by nature a -serious, thoughtful man, although a certain air of gaiety overspread -his speech, and a merry twinkle often sparkled in his eye. He told -stories dramatically, quickly turning from grave to gay. Although -casual in manner, unconventional in ideas, and remiss in answering -letters, he never seemed to give offence to anyone. That same slack, -casual way of acting on impulse that brought young Orchardson to London -in 1862, remained through life. He never could make plans; seldom knew -from week to week where he would be. He was, in fact, irresponsible -by nature, but so sweet in character that the gods smiled on him and -oblivion of time was excused, just as forgetfulness of appointments -was exonerated. That was the man; but when work was foremost, all was -changed. - -Orchardson was a great painter and a kindly man. The world is the -poorer for his death. Such men can ill be spared. - -When my article appeared it was pleasant to hear from the wife of the -painter: - - “Your article in the _Fortnightly_ is quite delightful, and I much - appreciate it. You have depicted his character so exactly, and I am - sure all who have ever known him will quite agree.” - -Or again from his old friend Mr. John MacWhirter, R.A., who followed -him so quickly to the grave: - - “I have just read Orchardson in the _Review_. It is admirable. I - did not know that you understood him so well. He was a delightful - character, and you have described him well. I feel I owe you real - thanks!” - -These few kindly words were a great reward for a very little work. Poor -MacWhirter himself died a few months later. - - * * * * * - -Some years ago the Society of Women Journalists did me the honour of -appointing me one of its Vice-Presidents, an unmerited honour, for I -was a bad journalist in the sense of ordinary journalism. I have never -written about fashions or Society functions, and did little of the -ordinary journalistic hack-work, such as reporting, though I wrote -yards of “copy” of all sorts and kinds. - -One day the idea came to me that it would be nice to invite my -fellow-journalists to tea before finally ringing down the curtain on my -journalistic life, and as a tea-party composed entirely of themselves -would be rather too much of a family affair, I decided to ask some -of my own friends as well. The card indicated on the next page was -accordingly sent out. - -There are three hundred members of the Society of Women Journalists, -not all of course living in London, so we reckoned that one hundred -might turn up during the afternoon. As it happened, the total number -of people who crossed my doorstep between 3.45 and 7.15 (for they came -before the appointed time and stayed after the allotted hour) was four -hundred—one hundred and sixty-four of whom were men! - -[Illustration: - - To Meet Society of Women Journalists. - - MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE - - AT HOME - - WEDNESDAY, APRIL 27, 4-7. - - 4.0. MRS. KENDAL. - 4.30. MISS GRAINGER KERR. - 5.0. MISS GENEVIÈVE WARD. - 5.30. MR. ADOLPH MANN. - 6.0. LADY TREE. - 6.30. MISS CHRISTIAN MUIR. - - 30, YORK TERRACE, - HARLEY STREET. -] - -Luckily, some days beforehand I had sorted out the glass and china, -been to the plate-chest, seen to the table-linen, ordered the -hat-stands and urns, and made everything in readiness, for on Monday -night before this memorable Wednesday I was taken ill. - -Internal chills are like influenza, they sound so little and may mean -so much. Tuesday found me worse, and when the doctor came late in the -day, my suffering was so intense that he insisted upon an injection of -morphia. I was too dull with pain, too stupefied from the drug to so -much as even think about putting off that party. It seemed to me an -absolutely impossible task. I had not tacked those tiresome letters -“R.S.V.P.” on the cards of invitation, and therefore had not the -slightest idea how many people would come, so as everything had been -arranged, it seemed best to let things take their course, and chance my -being up, clothed, and in my right mind. - -The Fates decided otherwise. By Tuesday night I was worse. The nurse -shook her head, still the doctor saw the impossibility of stopping the -party, and wisely begged me not to trouble myself about it. - -I knew my sister, Mrs. W. F. Goodbody, would be quite equal to the -task of receiving in my absence. Besides, I sent messages to one or -two intimate friends to come early and hand tea and coffee, and smile -and talk; in fact, turn themselves into public entertainers for the -afternoon. Everyone behaved splendidly. With so much brilliant talent -to amuse them, they could hardly be dull. Even to my bed there rose -the shouts of laughter and sounds of enthusiastic applause after the -recitations and music. - -The nurse stood over me like a dragon, refusing to let anyone cross the -threshold of the sick-room; as a kindly angel she trotted backwards -and forwards, telling me some of the names she heard announced. An -Ambassador, and several Ministers, Royal Academicians, inventors, -authors, Admirals, Generals, actors, and scientists, all came in turn. - -I shall never really know who all my guests were at that party, for -only in a haphazard way have I heard who came and who did not. But it -proved that _Hamlet_ without the Dane, or a wedding without the bride, -might almost be possible when a party without a hostess can be a “great -success.” Such is the comedy and tragedy of life. My guests were told -I was suffering from a “little chill,” and, though kindly or politely -regretful, they little guessed that their enjoyment was counterbalanced -by my agony. - -Many days passed before I was up again, and then I only crawled to -Woodhall Spa. _Crawled_ is a fairly correct expression, for the first -time I was able to leave my room was to go to the train, and then a -porter trundled me along the platform at King’s Cross in a Bath chair. -So lying on my back all the journey, I arrived there a human wreck; -but, thanks to Dr. Calthrop, and the efficacy of the waters, the -patient found herself on her feet a few weeks later. - -All praise to Woodhall Spa. - -A day or two after my arrival even that quiet, sleepy little village -was raised to the tiptoe of anxiety when a rumour came that King Edward -VII. was dangerously ill. On that Friday night—May 6th, 1910—we tried -to telephone to London for the latest bulletin, but no message could -be got through; and it was not till the early hours of Saturday morning -that the dreaded news which had already spanned the world in a flash, -reached the restful retreat of Woodhall Spa, by means of the mail cart. - -The King was dead. - -A strong contrast was the little English village, where I learnt -the sad tidings, to that wonderfully dramatic scene in the recesses -of a Mexican cave, in which news of the death of Queen Victoria was -announced to me. - -All of us in the hotel were wearing coloured clothes, and all with one -accord telegraphed home, or to the London shops or dressmakers, for -black things to be sent; and rich ladies sallied forth and bought pots -of paint to blacken their hats, or bits of ribbon of funereal hue. - -And those wonderful days following the death of King Edward VII. -showed forth not only spontaneous world-wide reverence for the Great -Peacemaker, and homage to his dignity and prestige as a monarch; they -bore witness to the sorrow of individuals numbered by multitudes and -nations—the sob of a grief-stricken Empire that had lost and was -mourning a valued friend. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -DIAZ - - -Does the hand lose its cunning? I had practically given up all forms of -rapid journalism, when, on November 24th, 1910, I was suffering from a -cold (which had, by the way, prevented my seeing my own tableaux got up -for a charity at the Court Theatre). The telephone buzzed and fumed. - -“Will you speak to the editor of the _Daily Mail_, please, ma’am, -at once?” asked the parlourmaid. Down I went to the ’phone in my -dressing-gown. - -“There is a report that Diaz is assassinated.” - -“Don’t believe it,” I replied. - -“But the telegram is lying before me,” he continued. - -“Sorry, but I don’t believe it. I know Diaz. I know his home, and I -know the Mexican people.” - -“Would I write fourteen hundred words at once?” - -After some persuasion I promised to write something for the next day’s -publication, although stoutly refusing to write an obituary. It so -chanced my secretary was not at hand, so without looking up anything, -I wrote those fourteen hundred words by hand in fifty minutes. The -boy came up from the _Daily Mail_ office to fetch it an hour after my -conversation with the editor, and bore it off, to be telegraphed to -Paris and Manchester. - -Then I had some Cambridge friends to luncheon, followed by my “At Home” -day. That night I dined at the “Criterion,” a Society of Authors’ -Dinner, went on to a reception, given by the Chairman of the County -Council, Mr. Whitaker Thompson, at the Hotel Cecil, and then to bed. - -Of course the cold was worse, but inhaling creosote (of all sweet -scents!) soon improved it again; and I slept peacefully until early tea -began another strenuous day, and brought the following column of type -to my bedside. - -Here it is, just as it was scribbled: - - PORFIRIO DIAZ. - - THE MAN WHO MADE MEXICO. - - _By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE, Author of “Seven Times President of Mexico.”_ - - That General Diaz was the greatest man the nineteenth century - produced is a bold assertion—and yet I have no hesitation in making - it. The statement is especially bold of a century that recognised - so many great men. But then Diaz rose from humble origin, and - became a dictator, a very Czar and Pope in one, and not only did he - attain such a position, but he has kept it. For over thirty years - he has governed the country he once roamed as a shoeless boy, and - now, as he announced yesterday in a special cable to the _Daily - Mail_, he has suppressed yet another revolt and has established his - rule yet more firmly. - - Diaz is a democratic ruler. Without a middle class a successful - democracy is impossible, and Diaz, alive to all such facts, set - himself the task, during the last ten or fifteen years, of building - up a middle class in Mexico. Diaz remains as firm a believer in a - democracy as ever, although his own Republic has practically become - an autocracy. He believes in an Opposition Party; but it is only - now an Opposition Party has actually risen against him. During long - and interesting visits to Mexico I was unceasingly impressed by - the love of the people for their ruler. They revered and esteemed - him as a man, they admired and appreciated his capacity to govern, - and even his political enemies threw party feelings aside and - realised that in him they had an ideal ruler. The Conservatives—who - naturally ought to have opposed him—were tranquilly content to let - the man who had held the helm for over thirty years continue to - steer their bark. - - -A YOUTHFUL VETERAN - -Old in years, Diaz has ever been young in spirit. Those nostrils quiver -and dilate as he speaks, those deep-set eyes seem to penetrate his -listener’s soul. In personality this short, thick-set Mexican appears a -giant of physical strength, while his broad brows denote the thinker. -He is a youthful veteran. - -Two months ago (Sept., 1910) this great President assisted at two -celebrations. He stood on the balcony of the Municipal Palace and -rang the bell that clanged forth the centenary of the Independence of -Mexico. Only two months ago he kept his eightieth birthday. Last night -I had the pleasure of sitting next Lord Strathcona, one of the most -remarkable men of his age, and some ten years older than General Diaz; -but then those ten years count for nought in a hardy Scotsman when -pitted against a man of Southern climes. Longevity is an asset of the -North. Diaz is of the South, and that he should still be strong and -vigorous and able to pull the ropes of public affairs after fourscore -years is a remarkable achievement for any man, and the more remarkable -for a man with Indian blood in his veins. Not only that, but one must -remember Diaz had an extraordinarily hard life until a few years ago. - -His father was a little innkeeper in a little town in Southern Mexico. -He died of cholera when the boy was only three years old. There were -five other children. The mother’s daily struggle to provide food and -clothing for them was great. Diaz went to the village school. At -fourteen he joined the Roman Catholic seminary with the intention of -entering the Church. It was his mother’s dearest wish. Education in -those early days was free in Mexico where even military students pay no -fees to-day, and education is on a high standard generally. - - -A LIFE OF ADVENTURE - -Then the boy earned a small sum by teaching, which he spent in -acquiring Latin grammar, logic, and philosophy. He found the tenets -of the Church unacceptable. Mexico was at that time seething with -revolution. Troops were continually passing through Oaxaca. The youth -used to slip off in the evening to join the camp fires and listen to -tales of valour and strife that made the blood tingle in his veins. -The call of the bugle fired his soul. One has only to look at the man -to see he was a born soldier beneath the guise of the politician of -to-day. His life is one long story of romance and adventure, of serious -difficulties ably overcome. - -In the course of fifty-five years there had been sixty-eight dictators, -presidents, and rulers in Mexico. This all ended in 1876, when General -Diaz, then but a rough soldier, rode up to the City of Mexico at the -head of the revolutionary army and declared himself President. - -With the exception of four years he has reigned ever since. He fought -hand to hand for Mexico and liberty. He saw the overthrow of the -Church. He lived to see his beloved country rise from the lowest to -one of the highest rungs of the world’s ladder. It is impossible here -even to hint at the narrow escapes from death he had as a soldier, to -mention the strange and sad story of the Emperor Maxmilian and his -misguided and beautiful wife Carlotta. It is not possible to dwell on -the courtly manners and charming grace of the elder Diaz as compared -with the rough soldier of sixty years ago. One cannot even mention his -ideally happy home life, his love of sport, or his interest in science -and the great questions of this great world. Diaz can only be summed up -here as a man of many parts and many interests. - - -AN ERA OF PROSPERITY - -What have been the results of General Diaz’s long administrations? That -terrible poverty which sapped the life’s blood from the country during -three-fourths of last century has turned to affluence. Peace is the -outcome of revolution. The country, jibed and jeered at abroad, now -holds a position among the leading nations. Lawlessness has given place -to wise jurisdiction. The Mexicans are better governed, they can afford -to pay the taxes imposed for the benefits they receive, and are yet -more wealthy. Instead of money pouring out to repay old debts, foreign -capital is pouring into the country, so secure has Mexican credit -become in the world’s markets. - -More important than all, Diaz has taught the Mexicans the benefit of -lasting peace, has set before them an ideal of honest public life which -will survive him as a great monument to a great man. Diaz made modern -Mexico. Roughly dividing his life into three parts, hunger and struggle -were dominant in the earlier years. During the next span he was helping -to make history in one of the wildest and most beautiful countries of -God’s earth. The latter part of his strenuous life he has devoted to -a desk and diplomacy, has thrown aside the soldier’s cloak for the -frock-coat and tall hat of civilisation. - -For thirty years President Diaz has been teaching men to govern. He -has made many men. He has modelled a nation. Diaz has always been a -patriot, whether old or young. He has established thirty years of -peace, and made a Presidency famous for its political rule. Not only -do Mexicans love him, but Europeans who have filled their purses with -Mexican gold must honour and respect so remarkable a man. It will be -an evil day when anything happens to General Diaz; but his work will -live. The nation he has moulded and made is too well impressed with the -benefits received to wander from the path of good government or throw -aside his able laws for long. Mexico is no longer a country in the -making. Mexico is made, and it was Porfirio Diaz who made it. - -Apropos of the book itself, the late Major Martin Hume wrote some -months before, in a review on the work of some other author: - - “Any book that truly and attractively sets forth the life-story - of such a man as Diaz should be worth reading. Mrs. Alec Tweedie, - a few years ago, produced in England an excellent biography and - appreciation of the President, and the book now before us will - certainly not displace it as the standard work in English on the - subject.” - -President Diaz himself selected it as his authentic biography. - -The following letter from my publisher is, perhaps, therefore, of -interest: - - “CRANES PARK, SURBITON, - - “_Feb. 25, ’09_. - - “DEAR MRS. TWEEDIE, - - “I am very glad to hear that the President of Mexico appreciates - your _Life_ of him so highly that he wishes the book brought up - to date, and that it should be translated into Spanish for sale - in Mexico. I remember the day I took the book for the first time - round the trade. No one seemed to take the slightest interest in - _Porfirio Diaz_, in fact, very few seemed to know that he existed, - and it was only when I mentioned the fact that you were the author, - and that the matter for the _Life_ had been supplied to you by the - President himself, and that they would be bound to use copies, as - they all know you have a public of your own, they gave me orders. - - “I was surprised myself at the interest the book created, as repeat - orders from both booksellers and libraries commenced almost at - once, and continued to come in. - - “I had always an idea that the book had something to do with the - tardy recognition of the President by the English Government. - - “Yours very truly, - - “HERBERT BLACKETT.” - -Diaz was hurled from power in his eighty-first year. It is one of the -saddest episodes in the history of great rulers, and at the same time -one of the most important in the history of a country. His remaining -in office for an eighth term was a fatal mistake, and shrouded in -gloom the close of a career of unexampled brilliancy, both in war and -statesmanship. - -Diaz left Mexico in May, 1911, and for fifteen months after that -country did not know one moment’s peace. - -His life was verily a moving spectacle of romance. - - * * * * * - -And so here end snatches of remembrance of thirteen busy years. - -No—not quite—see next page. - - - - -EPILOGUE - -QUITE WELL AGAIN - - -Just been elected to the Council of the Eugenic Society, and the only -woman to sit on the Council of the Cremation Society of England. - -And so ring down the curtain on the “Bakers’ Dozen,” and the -booksellers’ and authors’ thirteen. So ends my tale—no “Spy’s” tail. - - -AU REVOIR! - - P.S.—No woman ever wrote a letter—tradition says—without a P.S. - Above everything I am a woman, so let me hasten to add my P.S. - - These pages have been corrected for press during fourteen days of - great strain. - - Thousands of invitations were sent from my door between reading - the “galleys.” Thousands of letters and questions were answered - during the correction of the “page proof,” which turned up while - I was acting as Hospitality Honorary Secretary for the FIRST - INTERNATIONAL EUGENICS CONGRESS, held in London, July, 1912. - - For the Inaugural Banquet I sent out to all parts of the world - about a thousand invitations, nearly five hundred of which were - accepted. Major Leonard Darwin, son of the great Darwin and nephew - of Sir Francis Galton, presided at the dinner, and Mr. Arthur J. - Balfour and the Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Crosby) spoke. A Reception, - at which all members attending the Congress were present, followed. - - Amongst those who came forward and helped me, by giving delightful - entertainments and each receiving five or six hundred guests in - their beautiful homes, were H. E. the American Ambassador, the - Duchess of Marlborough, the Lord Mayor (the first medical man to - fill that post), Mr. Robert Mond, and Major Darwin. - - My part of the festivities ended by my taking a hundred of our - foreign and colonial visitors to tea on the Terrace of the House of - Commons, thanks to the generosity of ten Members of Parliament. The - Speaker kindly lent his gallery, and allowed his Private Secretary - to find seats for the whole number. - - All this was most enjoyable, but it was not good for careful - proof-reading. - -[Illustration: HERE ENDS THE TALE. SKETCH IN “SPY,” 1912] - - - - -INDEX - - - A - - Aberconway, Lord (John Brown & Co.), 19 - - Aberdeen, Earl of, 116, 241 - - — Countess of, 116 - - Africa, 194 - - Agnew, Sir William, 120 - - Alarcon, Colonel, 130 - - Albemarle, The, 213 - - Alexander, Mrs. (see Hector), 92 - - — Miss, 92 - - Algiers, 111 - - Allen, Grant, 111 - - Allingham, Mr., 276 - - America, 18, 100, 123, 125, 206, 292 - - Anderson, Miss A. M., M.A., 294, 295 - - — Mr. Percy, 47, 155 - - Andrews, St., 58 - - Angelo, Michael, 164 - - Antrim, Countess of, 287 - - Argentina, 231 - - “Arms and the Man,” 260 - - Arnold, Matthew, 19 - - Arts and Crafts Exhibition, 176 - - Ascot (Prologue, 5), 58, 253 - - _Assaye_, P. & O. steamer, 183 - - Atherton, Gertrude, 239 - - Aurelius, Marcus, 271 - - Austin, L. F., 69 - - Australia, 145 - - Avon, The, 206 - - Ayrton, Mrs. Hertha, 294 - - Aztec ruins, 125 - - - B - - _Bab Ballads_, 148 - - Balaclava, 40 - - Balfour, A. J. (Prime Minister), 87, 229 - - — Lady Frances, 216 - - Barlee, Miss Ellen, 42, 43 - - Barrett, John, 230, 233 - - Barry, J. M., 87 - - Bate, Percy, 158 - - Bateson, Mary, 236, 295 - - — Tom, 236 - - Battersea Park, 276 - - Bavaria, 28 - - Beale, Dorothea, 78 - - Bedford, Mr. Herbert, 153 - - Beecham, Sir Thomas, Mus. Doc., 297 - - Beerbohm, Max, 270 - - _Behind the Footlights_, 108, 205, 233 - - Belgium, 281 - - Bell, Mr. Moberly, 268 - - — Miss G., 295 - - Benson, 200, 203 - - Berkshire, 150 - - Berlin, 15, 113, 155, 257 - - Bertie, Sir Francis, 252 - - Besant, Sir Walter, 80 - - Biarritz, 114 - - Birmingham, George, 259, 277 - - Bismarck, 15, 16, 17, 18 - - Björnson, 51, 55 - - “— Björnstjerne,” 134 - - Blackett, Herbert, 354 - - Blackie, Professor, 44 - - Blake, Dr. Jex, 78 - - Bompas, Mr., 274 - - Bond, Sir Thomas, 20 - - Bonne, 114 - - Booth, General, 161 - - Bordon, 255 - - Borkum, 47 - - Boston, U.S., 206 - - Bothnia, Gulf of, 66 - - Boughton, George, 168 - - Bourchier, Arthur, 280 - - Boyce, Sir Rubert, 157 - - Braddon, Miss, 30, 289 (Mrs. Maxwell) - - Braille, 114 - - Brampton, Bryan, 12 - - Brandes, Georg, 52 - - Breitmann, Hans, 31 - - Bret Harte, 30, 242 - - Brewster, Sir David, 19 - - _Broken Hearts_, 151 - - Bruges, 167 - - Bryant, Mrs. Sophie, D.SC., 294 - - — Miss Margaret, 295 - - Buccleuch, Duchess of, 287 - - Buckingham Palace, 97, 101, 224 - - Buckinghamshire, 150, 264 - - Buckland, Frank, 32, 274 - - Burmah, 150 - - Burne-Jones, 120 - - Burns, 74 - - Buszard, 40 - - Butt, Clara, 216 - - Byron, 74 - - - C - - Cacahuimilpa, Caves of, 127-9 - - Caird, Mr. Patrick, 181. See Cunard - - Cairo, 150 - - Calthrop, Dr., 347 - - Cambridge, 111, 193, 199, 272, 296 - - Camden Society, 12 - - Campden Hill, 168 - - Canada, 117, 123, 194, 246, 255 - - Carlton, The, 280 - - Carlyle, 111. - See _Sartor Resartus_, 170, 276 - - Carnegie, 231 - - Castle, Edinburgh, 39 - - Catania, 263 - - Cellini, Benvenuto, 166 - - Chaillu, Paul du, 273 - - Charles V, 157 - - Charterhouse, 103, 247 - - Chelsea, 276 - - Chesterton (_Illustrated London News_), 69 - - Chicago, 125, 153, 208, 232 - - China, 190, 193, 230 - - Chisholm, Hugh. See _St. James’s Gazette_, 105, 294, 295 - - Choate, Mr., 230 - - Christian Scientists, 237 - - Christiania, 49, 153 - - Christison, Sir Alexander, 39 - - — Sir Robert, 40 - - _Chronicle, The Daily_, 74, 102 - - Clarence Memorial, The, 166 - - Clarke, Sir Edward, K.C., 312 - - — Sir Andrew, 21 - - — Miss Agnes (the late), 295 - - Clifford, Mrs. W. K., 294 - - Clodd, Mr. Edward, 152 - - Clyde, The, 180 - - College, Queen’s, Harley Street, 27, 264 - - — Bedford, 294 - - — Girton, 294 - - — Newnham, 294 - - — Somerville, 294 - - Colombia, 231 - - _Comedy and Tragedy_, 151 - - Congo River, 268 - - Connaught, Duke of, 100 - - — Duchess of, 100 - - Constable, 120 - - Copenhagen, 55 - - Corelli, Marie, 205, 207, 304 - - _Coriolanus_, 203 - - Corney Grain, 58 - - Coronet Theatre, 203 - - Courtney, W. L., 104, 105. - See _Fortnightly_ - - Crane, Walter, 174 - - Cremation Society of England, 356 - - Critchett, Sir Anderson, 44, 122 - - Cromer, Lord, 229 - - Crookes, Sir William, 270, 272, 274 - - Crozier, Dr. Beattie, 248 - - Cuba, 230 - - Cunard Company (see Caird), 183, 291 - - Cushmann, Charlotte (American tragedienne), 18, 19 - - - D - - _Daisy Chain, The_, 154 - - Dalhousie, Earl of, 241 - - _Daniel Druce_, 151 - - _Danish versus English Butter-making_, 108 - - Dante Society, The, 264 - - Darwin, Charles, 33 - - Davenport, Mr. Cyril, of the B.M., 147 - - Davies, Miss Emily, 294 - - Davis, Mr. William, 233 - - Delbruck, Professor Hans von, 28 - - Demos, 57 - - Denison, Colonel George, 247 - - Denmark, 50 - - Devonshire, Duke of, 165, 286 - - — Duchess of (see Manchester), 205 - - Diaz, Madame, 125, 131 - - — (President), General Porfirio, 125, 131, 224, 233, 291, 350 - - _Diaz, Porfirio, Seven Times President of Mexico_, 109, 114 - - Dickens, Charles, 18, 19, 178 - - Dimsdale, Sir Joseph, 227 - - Disraeli, 20 - - _Dot, Mrs._, 281 - - Drummond, Mr., 242 - - Drury Lane Theatre, 214 - - Dowie, John Alexander, the Prophet, 236 - - Dublin, 260 - - Dunsany, Lord, 257 - - Dürer, Albrecht, 166 - - - E - - Earl’s Court Exhibition, 135, 174 - - Edinburgh, 40, 44, 158, 170 - - Egypt, 150 - - Eliot, George, 19, 114 - - Ely, Bishop of, 213 - - Emerson, 31 - - Emmott, Lord, 218 - - _Encyclopædia Britannica_, 293, 297 - - _Engaged_, 151 - - England, 18 - - _English Review._ See Harrison, 105 - - _Epic of Hades_, 259. - See Lewis Morris - - Erichsen, John (Uncle John), later Sir John, 11, 71, 141 - - Eton, 247 - - Eugenic Society, 356 - - - F - - Faraday, 19 - - Farquharson, Dr., 288, 290 - - — Joseph, R.A., 188 - - Faucit, Helen, 19 - - Fawcett, M. G., 216 - - — Mrs., 294, 296 - - Fenwick, Mrs. Bedford, 294 - - Fergusson, William, 19 - - Fielding, 209, 251 - - — Hon. W. S., 250 - - Fildes, Sir Luke, 161 - - First Aid Yeomanry Corps, 251 - - _First College for Women, The_, 108 - - Finland, 21, 28, 65-7 - - Fisher, Miss (the late), 295 - - Foreign Office, The, 161, 283 - - _Forget-me-not_ (play), 203 - - _Fortnightly_ (see Courtney), 105 - - France, 40, 121 - - _Frederick, Lady_, 281 - - Furness, Dr. Horace Howard, 239, 334 - - Furniss, Harry, 117, 152, 178, 270, 302 - - - G - - Gainsborough, 120 - - Gallery, Grafton, 158 - - — Grosvenor, 42, 177 - - — Modern (Venice), 158 - - — National (Brussels), 158, - and Berlin, 158 - - — New, 158 - - Galton, Sir Francis, 33, 34 - - Garvin, J. L. (see _Pall Mall_), 105 - - Germany, 28, 40, 114 - - Gibson, Dana, 239 - - Gilbert, Alfred, 165, 167, 178 - - — Sir W. S., 88, 148-50, 152, 260 - - Ginsburg, Dr., 313 - - _Girl’s Ride in Iceland, A_, 108, 133 - - Giuliano, Marquis de San, 154 - - “Gladstone Dock,” 19 - - — Mr., 19-21 - - — Mrs., 19 - - Glasgow, 158, 180 - - Glencoe, 249 - - Godwin, Mrs. (Mme. Whistler), 173 - - Goodbody, Dr. Francis, 20 - - — Mrs. W. F., 347 - - Goodwood, 58 - - Gosse, Mr. Edmund, 152 - - — Lord, 297 - - Gossenass, 52 - - Graham, 19 - - — Cunninghame, Mr., 156, 157, 259 - - Grant, 67 - - — Sir Arthur, of Monymusk, 41 - - Gray (_Elegy_), 29 - - Green, Sir Frederick (see Orient), 183 - - Greenock, 180 - - Grey, Sir Edward, 229, 284 - - Grossmith, George, 58 - - — Weedon, 69, 152, 270 - - Grub Street, 101 - - Guerbel, Count de, 201 - - — Countess, 201 - - Guildhall, 228 - - - H - - _Habitant_, The, 242. - See Drummond - - Haddon, 184 - - Halifax, 250 - - _Halifax Chronicle_, 250 - - Halouan, 150 - - Hampton, Herbert, 161, 162, 283, 299, 343 - - Hangö, 66 - - Hannay, Rev. James, 259 - - _Harley, George, or the Life of a London Physician_, 108 - - Harley, Sir Robert, Knight of the Bath, 12 - - — Lady Brilliana, 12 (see note), 13, 42, 50 - - — Street, 11, 15, 19, 20, 21, 26, 27, 30, 40, 59, 264 - - Harmsworth, Mr. See Lord Northcliffe, 134 - - Harnack, Dr. Adolph, 28 - - Harris, W. B., 157 - - Harrison, Austin (see _English Review_), 105 - - — Frederic, 131, 318 - - Harrow, 103, 150, 247 - - Hart, Sir Robert, 189 - - Harvard House, 206 - - — John, 206 - - — Robert, 206 - - Haselden, W. K., 270 - - Hawkins, Anthony Hope, 88 - - Hay, John, 229 - - Hayes, Catherine, 19 - - Heaton, Sir Henniker, 249 - - Hekla, 38 - - Hector, Mrs. (see Alexander), 92 - - _Hedda Gabler_ (play), 93 - - Heinemann, Mr., 171 - - Hellqvist, Carl Gustav (Swedish artist), 28 - - Helsingfors, 66 - - _His Excellency the Governor_, 152 - - Hennessy, Mrs., 295 - - H.M. Theatre, 155 - - Hobbes, John Oliver (Mrs. Craigie), 83, 145 - - Hogarth, Miss Janet (now Mrs. W. L. Courtney), 295 - - Holl, Frank, 82 - - Holland, Sir Henry, 19 - - —, 281 - - Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 31 - - Holroyd, Sir Charles, 264 - - _Home_ (magazine), 68 - - Hook, Theodore, 19 - - Hooper, Dr., 297 - - Hornung, E. W., 88 - - Hospital, St. Thomas’s, 289 - - House of Lords, 215 - - Hudson Bay Company, 249 - - Huggins, Lady, 295 - - Humbert, Mlle., Editor of _L’Éclair_, 119 - - Hume, Major Martin, 108, 305 - - Hurlingham (Prologue, 5), 59 - - Hurst Park, 59 - - Hyde Park, 29, 107, 267 - - _Hyde Park, Its History and Romance_, 109 - - - I - - Ibsen, 51, 93, 176, 236, 249, 260 - - “Ibsen, Henrik,” 134 - - Iceland, 37, 38, 43, 194 - - _Ida, Princess_, 151 - - Illinois Theatre, 233 - - Inchcape, Lord (see Mackay), 279 - - India, 133, 150 - - _Inferno_, 264. - See Dante Society - - _Intellectual Development_ (see Crozier), 248 - - _Iolanthe_, 149, 151 - - Irving, Sir H., 149, 161 - - — Ethel, 281 - - Italy, 40, 202, 263 - - - J - - Jackson, General, 40 - - Jameson, Dr., 265 - - Japan, 230, 255 - - _John Glayde’s Honour_ (play), 112 - - Judas (Prologue, 6) - - - K - - Kekewich, Mr. Justice, 314 - - Kelvin, Lord, 161 - - Kemble, Mrs., 19 - - Kendal, Mrs., 189, 204 - - Killowen, Lord Russell of, 314 - - Kiel, 49 - - Kimberley (Relief of), 117 - - King Edward VII, 98, 121, 161, 227, 248, 254 - - — George V, 167, 284 - - Kingston, Miss Gertrude, 152 - - Kinloch, Sir John, 58 - - Kingsley, Charles, 273 - - — Miss Mary, 272, 273 - - — Dr. Henry, 273 - - Kipling, 242 - - Knowles, James Sheridan, 18 - - “Koh-i-noor” (diamond), 99 - - Königin Augusta Garde, The, 257 - - Korsör, 49 - - - L - - Labouchere, 173 - - Lady of Guadaloupe (Patron Saint of Mexico), 125 - - Ladysmith (Relief of), 117 - - Lankester, Sir E. Ray, 274 - - Lapland, 70, 194 - - Laurier, Sir Wilfrid, 250, 252 - - Lavery, John, 155, 156, 158, 270 - - Legation, 195 - - Lehmann, Liza, 153 - - Leighton, Sir Frederick, P.R.A., 145 - - Leith, 37 - - Leland, Charles Godfrey, 30, 31, 32 - - Lemieux, Hon. Rodolphe, K.C., 254 - - Le Moine, Sir James, 241 - - Lemmens-Sherrington, 58 - - Lemon, Mark, 19 - - Leslie, General K. H., 40 - - Lesseps, 233 - - Lewis, Thomas Taylor, M.A., 12 (see note) - - Leyland, Mr., 169 - - Leys, 51 - - Lichtenfelde, 113 - - Li Ching Fong, Lord (Chinese Minister), 188 - - Liebig, Baron Justus von, 18, 28 - - Li Hung Chang, 189 - - Lindsay, Sir Coutts, 156 - - — Violet, 177 - - Linton, Lynn, Mrs., 89 - - Liverpool, 18, 19, 125 - - _Liverpool Post_, 72 - - Lloyd George, 253 - - London, 150, 154, 202 - - Londonderry, Marquis of, 286 - - Lorimer, John, A.R.A., 147 - - — J. H., 340 - - Lourdes, 125, 135 - - Lover, Samuel, 18, 19 - - Low, Sydney, 31 - - Lowe, Miss, 44 - - Lowell, J. R., 31 - - Lucy (now Sir Henry), 289 - - Lugard, Lady, 295 - - _Lusitania_, The, 183 - - Luxembourg, The Paris, 158 - - - M - - Macbeth, Lady, 200 - - Macdonald, Sir W., 247 - - — College, The, 247 - - Mackay, Sir James (see Lord Inchcape), 279 - - Mackennall, Bertram, 167 - - MacWhirter, John, 345 - - Madrid, 157 - - _Mail, The Daily_, 102 - - _Man and Superman_, 258 - - Manchester, 177-202 - - — Duchess of (see Devonshire), 205 - - Mann, Adolph, 33 - - Mansion House, 118, 264 - - _Maple Leaves_, 241 - - Marconi, 270 - - Marshall, Captain Robert, 152 - - _Master Builder_, The, 176 - - Maud, Mr. Cyril, 153 - - Maugham, Mr. S., 280 - - Maurier, George du, 82 - - Maxim, Sir Hiram, 33, 270 - - Maxse, L. J. (see _National Review_), 105 - - Maxwell, Mrs. (see Braddon), 289 - - May, Phil, 167 - - McCarthy, J. H., 88 - - Mendelssohn, 297 - - Mexico, 15, 38, 123, 125, 194, 291 - - _Mexico as I Saw It_, 108, 131, 256 - - Meynell, Mrs. Wilfrid, 294 - - Milan, 202 - - Millais, Lady, 188 - - Miller, Mr. W. C., 51 - - Milton Centenary, The, 264 (_Paradise Lost_, 265) - - _Model Mothers_, 134 - - Mohammed, 146 - - Montaigne, 76 - - Montreal, 242, 247, 249, 253 - - Moore, Mary, 281 - - Moriarty, 261 - - Morley, Lord, 279 - - Morocco, 38, 159 - - Morris, Mr. Edward, 208 - - — Clara, 233 - - — Sir Lewis, 258 - - Mountains, Thüringian, 114 - - Mühlberg, Dr. von (German Ambassador), 15 - - Munich, 155, 158 - - Murchison, 40 - - Murray, Mrs., 184, 289 - - — Willie, 185 - - _Murray’s Magazine_, 103 - - Museum, British, 15, 134, 155, 179 - - — South Kensington, 156 - - Muspratt, James, of Seaforth Hall, 18, 19 - - — Emma (daughter), 19 - - Mussoorie (N.W. India), 133 - - Muttlebury, Colonel, C.B., K.W., 40 - - _My Inner Life_, 248. - See Crozier - - - N - - Nansen (Prologue, 6), 50, 54 - - _Nansen at Home_, 134 - - Napoleon, 67 - - _National Review_ (see Maxse), 105 - - National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, 216 - - Newton, Sir Alfred, Lord Mayor of London, 118 - - New Vagabond Club, 256 - - New York, 125, 202, 232, 291 - - Niagara, 125 - - Nice, Consulate at, 201 - - Nordeau, Max, 223 - - Norfolk, Duke of, 284 - - Northcliffe, Lord (see Harmsworth), 134 - - Norway, 49 - - — Queen of, 56 - - Nova Scotia, 250 - - - O - - _Oberammergau Passion Play, The_, 108 - - _Observer_, The, 102 - - O’Neil, Mrs., 295 - - Orchardson, Sir William Q., 147, 334 - - Orient Line, 183. - See Green - - Orpen, William, 270 - - Osborne, 130 - - Ottawa, 246 - - Oudin, Eugène, 58 - - - P - - _Palace of Truth, The_, 151 - - _Pall Mall Gazette_ (see Straight), 73, 95, 105, 150, 285 - - Panama, 231, 233 - - Panes, Miss, 295 - - Pankhurst, Miss Christabel, 216 - - _Paradise Lost._ See Milton, 265 - - _Paradise Regained_ “ “ - - Paris, 49, 58, 102, 153, 171, 202 - - Parker, Sir Gilbert, 248, 256, 289 - - Parkin, Dr., 247 - - Partridge, Mr. Bernard, 152 - - Pasteur, 49, 102 - - “Peacock Room,” 169 - - Pennell, Mrs. E. K., 30 - - Pennsylvania, 31 - - Petersburg, St., 66, 201 - - Petersen, Ilef, 51 - - Philadelphia, 125, 158 - - Philippines, The, 230 - - Phillips, Mrs. Alison, 295 - - — J. S. R. (see _Yorkshire Post_), 105 - - Philpotts, Miss B., 295 - - Physicians, Royal College of, 21 - - _Pinafore, H.M.S._ (play), 148 - - Pinakothek, The (Munich), 158 - - Pinero, Sir A. W., 152, 270 - - Pittsburg, 158 - - Plains of Abraham, 253 - - Polar Expedition (Prologue, 6) - - Pond, Major, 214 - - Portland, Duke of, 286 - - _Preussische Jahrbücher_ (Political magazine), 114 - - Prince Imperial, 42 - - Propert, Mr. Lumsden, 152 - - _Punch_ (see Owen Seaman), 105, 215, 295 - - _Pygmalion and Galatea_, 151 - - Pyhakoski, 67 - - - Q - - Quebec, 125, 241 - - — Literary and Historical Society, 241 - - _Queen_, The, 73, 102 - - Queen Alexandra, 98, 99 - - — Catherine, 200 - - — Eleanor, 200 - - — Elizabeth, 118 - - — Mary (present Queen), 284 - - — Victoria, 100, 117, 130, 161 - - Querétaro, 134 - - - R - - Raeburn, 120 - - Railway, Canadian Pacific, 249 - - Ramsay, Sir William, 270, 274 - - — Lady, 274 - - Ranelagh (Prologue, 5), 59 - - Red River, 244 - - Reid, E. T., 270 - - — Sir George, 249 - - — Sir Hugh Gilzean, 119 - - — Whitelaw, Mr., 207, 230 - - Rhodes Scholarship Trust, 247 - - — Cecil, 265 - - Riddell, Mrs. H. J. (novelist), 68, 81, 85, 88, 89 - - _Right of Way, The_, 256. - See Sir G. Parker. - - “Ring,” The, 155 - - Riviera, The, 201 - - Roberts, Lord, 152 - - — Mr. Russell, 157 - - Robertson, Mr. Forbes, 152, 270 - - — Professor James, 117, 246 - - Rodd, Sir Rennell, 331 - - Rodin, 259 - - Rogers, Catherine, 206 - - Rome, 154, 263 - - Roosevelt, Mr., 219, 224, 239 - - Root, Elihu, 233 - - Rothenstein, Will, 157 - - Rottenburg, Dr. von, 15, 16, 17, 18, 114 - - Royal Academy (London), 158 - - Royal Artillery, 149 - - Royal Geographical Society, 135 - - Rue du Bac, Paris, 171 - - Ruskin, 275 - - Russia, 66, 155 - - Russo-Turkish War, 20 - - - S - - Salisbury, Lord, 161, 283, 286 - - Sandown (Prologue, 5), 58 - - Sandwich, 58 - - San Francisco, 232 - - San Giuliano, Marquis di, 263, 326 - - Santley, Sir Charles, 33 - - _Sartor Resartus._ See Carlyle, 111 - - Saunders, Sir Edwin, 51 - - Savoy, The, 149 - - Schlesinger, Miss, 295 - - Schmalz, Herbert, 145 - - Schopenhauer, 65 - - Scotland, 45, 137, 157, 276 - - Seaman, Owen (see _Punch_), 105 - - _Second in Command_, 152 - - See, König, 28 - - Selfe, Colonel, R.A., 304 - - Semon, Sir Felix, 15 - - Seton, Thompson, 239, 270 - - Shackleton, Sir Ernest, 314 - - Shakespeare, 202, 261 - - Shaw, Mr. Bernard, 257, 260 - - — Mrs. Bernard, 259 - - — Mr. Norman, 168 - - Shelley, 4 - - Siam, 231 - - Sicily, 194, 263 - - Siddons, Sarah, 200 - - Sidgwick, Mrs. Henry, 295 - - _Silent Sisterhood_, The, 114 - - Smiles, Samuel, 74 - - Smith, Goldwin, 248 - - — Miss A. L., 295 - - — Miss Maria Constance, I.S.O., 294 - - Smollett, 209 - - Society for the Blind, 29 - - _Soldiering in Canada_ (see Denison), 247 - - Solomons, Solomon J., 270 - - Somers Town Club, 29 - - _Songs of Two Worlds_, 259 - - Southampton, 182 - - Southwark, 206 - - Spiers, Phené, 170 - - Staite, W. G., 277 - - Stanley, H. M., 265 - - Stanley, Lady Alice, 287 - - Starey, Mrs., 29 - - Stefansson, J., 52 - - Sterling, Madame Antoinette, 18, 58 - - — Mrs., 19 - - _St. James’s Gazette_ (see Chisholm), 105 - - St. James’s, Court of, 193, 263 - - — Theatre, 112 - - St. Lawrence, 241 - - St. Martin’s Town Hall, 214 - - Stockholm, 28 - - Strachey, Lady, 294 - - — Miss, 216 - - Straight, Sir Douglas, 105. - See _Pall Mall Gazette_ - - Stratford, 202, 206 - - Strathcona, Lord, 249 - - Suez, 233 - - — Canal, 279 - - Suffragists, Women, 215 - - _Sunny Sicily_, 109 - - Suomi, 65 - - Sutherland, Sir Thomas, 180 - - Sutro, 112 - - Swan, Sir Joseph, 270, 275, 278 - - Sweden, 50 - - _Sweethearts_, play by W. S. Gilbert, 68, 151 - - Switzerland, 40 - - - T - - Tadema, Sir L. Alma-, 279, 281 - - Talleyrand, 31 - - Tangier, 38, 111, 157 - - _Tatler_, The, 102 - - Tehuantepec, Isthmus of, 131 - - _Telegraph_, The, 74 - - _Temple Bar_, 132 - - Templetown, Viscount, 117, 290 - - Tennyson, 177 - - _Tents of Shem_, 112 - - Territorials, The, 251 - - Terry, Ellen, 177, 204 - - Thackeray, 19, 179 - - Thiersch, Julie, 28 - - — Maler, 28 - - Thompson, Mrs. W., 343 - - _Thring, Life of Edward_, 247. - See Dr. Parkin. - - _Through Finland in Carts_, 108 - - _Times, The_, 106 - - Tittoni, 331 - - Tolstoi, 59 - - Toronto, 247 - - Torop, Sophus, 49 - - Tower of London, 97 - - Trafford, George, 114 - - Tree, Sir Herbert, 27, 70, 93, 149 - - — Lady, 27, 78, 79 - - — Viola, 27 - - Treloar, Sir William, 119 - - Trübner, Nicholas (publisher), 30 - - Turner, 120 - - Twain, Mark, 239 - - Tweedie, Alec, 29, 37 - - _Tweedie, Ethel_ (fishing boat), 186 - - Tweedie, Mrs. Alec, 21, 54, 82, 92, 104, 114, 131, 138, 175, 180, - 216, 232, 280, 294, 295, 304, 322, 325 - - — Dr. Alexander, F.R.S., 39 - - — Sir John, 122 - - Twining, Louisa, 78 - - _Two Orphans, The_, 233 - - Tyndall, 19 - - - U - - _Ulysses_, 155, 264 - - United States, 124, 206, 224 - - University, London, 149 - - — College Hospital, 261 - - - V - - Vaughan, 49 - - Vauxhall (People’s Palace), 214 - - Vedrenne and Barker, 203 - - Velasquez, 156, 157 - - “Volumnia,” 200 - - - W - - Waldorf Theatre, The, 232 - - Wales, Prince of (Albert Edward), 146, 177 - - — — George (now George V), 284 - - — Princess of (now Queen Mary), 284 - - Walter, John (see _The Times_), 106 - - War, Crimean, 150 - - — Transvaal, 117 - - Ward, Miss Geneviève, 161, 199, 202, 310 - - — Mrs. Humphry, 88, 262, 304 - - Warsaw, 201 - - Washington, 125, 173, 229, 231 - - Watts, R.A., 85, 120, 174 - - Wedderburn, Sir William, 289 - - Welby, Miss, 295 - - Wellington, 67 - - West Indies, 150 - - Weston, Miss Jessie, 295 - - Whistler, James McNeill, 168, 170, 173, 175 - - — Mme., 172 - - Whitehall, 165, 283 - - White House, 224 - - Whiteing, Richard (Prologue, 6) - - White Star Line, 291 - - _Wicked World_, 151 - - Wier, Colonel John, 232 - - Wiggin, K. D., 239 - - Wilde, Mrs. (Miss A. M. Clay), 295 - - William III, 284 - - _Wilton, Q.C._, 108 - - Wimbledon, 58 - - Winchilsea, Earl of, 214 - - Winchester, Marquis of, 287 - - Windsor, 166 - - _Winter Jaunt to Norway, A_, 108 - - Wirgman, Blake, 146 - - Wolseley, General, 243 - - Woodhall Spa, 54, 227 - - - X - - Xochicalco, 130 - - - Y - - _Yorkshire Post_ (see Phillips), 105 - - - Z - - Zansig, Mme., 216 - - Zimmern, Miss A., 295 - - Zion City, 236 - - - - -Mexico as I Saw It - -By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE - -(_née_ HARLEY) - - -=Morning Post.=—“In her new volume, Mrs. Alec Tweedie has chosen -fresh subjects for her bright descriptive powers. Of the glorious -amphitheatre she writes like a true artist. The public will, we -believe, heartily welcome this fascinating work, which contributes to -our knowledge of one of the greatest men of the day, and supplies at -the same time the most agreeable reading.” - -=Punch.=—“She ‘saw it’ under exceedingly favourable circumstances. -Armed with an introduction to the President she was welcomed with more -than Mexican warmth.... A born traveller, ready when occasion compelled -to put up with hardships and short commons, Mrs. Alec Tweedie took -cheerfully to the private cars provided for her in the railways, to the -semi-official banquets, and to life in palaces. She travelled all over -Mexico with her eyes, as usual, wide open.” - -=Sunday Sun= (The book of the week).—“The reading public may -congratulate itself as well as Mrs. Alec Tweedie on the happy -inspiration which directed her to Mexico. For the antiquarian she -contributes information both new and valuable, as she had the good -fortune to be in Mexico at the time of important discoveries of Aztec -remains. We owe this book much gratitude, for there is a practical and -informing value in its crisp, vivid pages.... It shows to a public -curiously ignorant on the subject a great country.” - -=Pall Mall Gazette.=—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is famous for her spirited -‘relations of journeys’ to less get-at-able resorts. Mexico will fully -sustain the reputation which she acquired with ‘Through Finland in -Carts.’ There is no doubt it is just such a relation of a journey as -the general reader likes. It is light, it is long, it is chatty, it -is informing, and is profusely illustrated with really first-rate -photographs. The grave and the gay alternate in her pages, and her -touch is never ponderous. There has been no better book of travel ... -for a long time.” - -=Westminster Gazette.=—“That alert and experienced traveller, Mrs. -Alec Tweedie, gives a lively account of recent journeying. A good -deal of historical and archæological lore finds a natural place in -this variegated travel-book. Her vivid description of the Caves of -Cacahuamilpa justifies her rapturous comparison of these wonders of -nature with the mightiest buildings of the world.” - - -AMERICAN PAPERS - -=Philadelphia Public Ledger.=—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is one of the most -vivacious, accomplished and amiable of travellers. She writes with -unflagging spirit and humour, and is never weary. As a result we have -a narrative of incidents and observations from day to day, intimate -as a diary, full of entertainment, portraying scenes, customs and -experiences of unusual interest. Mrs. Tweedie’s progress was almost -royal in the hospitality and service she received from men of every -rank and position. It would be difficult among the books of travel -issued during the past twelve months to find one so amusing and -comprehensive as this.” - -=Boston Transcript.=—“A traveller born. Nothing worth seeing or hearing -escapes her. Her first experiences of life in Mexico were on a ranche, -where she had abundant opportunities of studying its various phases at -her leisure.” - -=New York Times.=—“The very name of Mexico bears with it a mysterious -breeze and charm. She is happy when she deals off-hand with what her -senses bring her; the ragged ugliness of the beggar, the funeral cars, -the cock and bull fights, the landscapes, and the riot of tropical -verdure, the sharp contrasts of society, the flood of religious -superstition, and happier still when she takes up the doings of high -society.” - -=Churchman.=—“The book is an _olla podrida_; social studies of the -aristocracy, labourers, beggars, politicians and the Indians elbow -archæological investigations, and besides these are all the adventures -of a venturesome traveller, told in brisk fashion with a breezy humour, -with enthusiasm for her subject, and yet with a practical common sense -quite as awake to the economic possibilities of Mexico in the future as -to the picturesque relics of Mexico in the past.” - - -Through Finland in Carts - -=Saturday Review= (Books of the week).—“There is something that is -almost, if not quite, fascinating about Mrs. Alec Tweedie and her -manner of making a book. A monument of discursive energy. A mass of -information both useful and entertaining.” - -=Daily Mail.=—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie has added to our stock of entertaining -books of travel in unfamiliar lands.” - -=Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News= (The book of the week).—“From -first to last there is not a dull page in the volume, which is -admirably written, well illustrated, and full of humour. It is one of -the best books of travel we have read for many a year.” - -=The Speaker.=—“There are many vivid pen-and-ink sketches in these -pages of peasant life, and Mrs. Tweedie shows that she possesses not -only a quick eye but ready powers of expression.” - -=Pall Mall Gazette.=—“She saw everything and everybody in Finland, -nothing—from the squalor of the peasants’ huts to the political -outlook—escaped her lively observation. Her book is full of information -and entertainment.” - -=Literary World.=—“A most valuable book. It is more than a book of -travel, it is the best study of Finland that has yet appeared; like -the Finlanders themselves, it is extremely up to date, indeed it is -difficult to imagine a better-balanced book of travel.” - -=Daily Telegraph.=—“A spirited story of adventure in Finland. The -account given of the women of Finland is very curious and instructive.” - -=Morning Post.=—“Containing information of a very varied sort imparted -in a very sprightly way. Sportsmen should read what Mrs. Alec Tweedie -has to say about fishing in Finland.” - -=The Queen= (The book of the week).—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie has written -several good books of travel, each better than the last. Finland -is really an excellent book—it is about the most entertaining and -instructive travel book of the year.” - - - - -“_A BOOK OF ABSORBING INTEREST._” - - Hyde Park: Its History - and Romance - -=The Academy.=—“In ‘Hyde Park’ Mrs. Tweedie is triumphantly encamped -and any attempt to dislodge her would be quite futile. Her study of -an extraordinarily interesting and attractive subject is thoroughly -complete, and from first to last most delightfully done. It is a wholly -delightful book, and what with the immense interest of the subject, the -pleasant writing, and the number of well-chosen pictures, should have a -really great success.” - -=Sunday Sun= (The book of the week).—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s book is -altogether delightful. She is frankly a gossip, and while she includes -in her book all that appertains to the Park itself, she can never -resist the temptation to tell a good story. No side of life escapes her -attention.... In short, a great subject is worthily treated. Lovers -of London and lovers of England should be grateful for this memorial -of their great playground. Hyde Park may be called a picture book of -history, and its history has been written with loving care and no -little skill.” - -=Pall Mall.=—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is a capital stage manager of this -wonderful play, bright, cheery, and always entertaining. She has -saturated herself with the atmosphere of each period, and each -character, good, bad, and indifferent, stands before us with wonderful -reality.... To watch them is to realise how important Hyde Park is -to our gregarious metropolis; and if distance intervenes and exiles -you, you may still be transported thither on the magic carpet of Mrs. -Tweedie’s most engrossing pages.” - -=The Nation.=—“As delectable to the sociable as it is puzzling to the -misanthropic, Hyde Park represents the same spirit of serious trifling -and enforced idleness as in the days when it first became a pleasure -ground for the High-World some three centuries ago. These are among -the ghosts raised by Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s ‘Hyde Park.’ She devotes -considerable space to the painful and gruesome chronicles of Tyburn, -and tells an entertaining account of the evolution of the carriage.” - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - -Behind the Footlights - -TWO EDITIONS - -=Morning Post.=—“It ought to have an unusually large circulation in -comparison with other books which describe the inner life of the stage. -Mrs. Alec Tweedie touches the moral aspect of the acting life with -delicacy and reticence.... Her pictures of rehearsals are realistic. -She has many delightful anecdotes.” - -=Daily Express.=—“A gossiping encyclopædia of the stage. If there is -anything about the stage that is not touched upon, it is because it is -not worth troubling about, and there is not a dull page in the book -from start to finish, and scarcely one which is not brightened by an -anecdote.” - -=Standard.=—“‘Behind the Footlights’ contains a greater amount of -direct personal information concerning leading contemporary actors, -actresses, managers, and dramatists than can be found in any number of -recently published books about the theatre in England.... She must be -thanked for a singularly clever and entertaining volume.” - -JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, W. - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ - - George Harley, - - F.R.S.; - -or, - -The Life of a Harley Street Physician - -By HIS DAUGHTER - -=The Times.=—“The authoress is well known by her pleasant and chatty -books of travel.... She has succeeded, by a judicious combination of -her father’s notes with her own recollections, in producing a readable -and interesting memoir.” - -=Morning Post.=—“The memoir contains much interesting reading, tracing -as it does the career of a distinguished man of science, who, though -he had to struggle for years against almost insuperable difficulties, -reached at last a high place in the professional tree and maintained -his position there.” - -=St. James’s Gazette.=—“Mrs. Tweedie is to be congratulated both on her -subject and on the way she has manipulated it.” - - -A Girl’s Ride in Iceland - -FOUR EDITIONS - -=Morning Post.=—“This account of an autumn trip to an unhackneyed land -is much better worth reading than many more pretentious volumes.... -The authoress has an eye for what is worth seeing, a happy knack of -graphic description, and a literary style which is commendably free -from adjectival exuberance.” - -=Manchester Guardian.=—“Mrs. A. Tweedie’s account of her trip is so -bright and lively that the novelty of her experience is rendered -additionally interesting by her manner of describing it.... The -authoress interests us from first to last, and her style is altogether -free from affectation of fine writing ... her book, indeed, is both -instructive and amusing.” - -=St. James’s Gazette.=—“... Many interesting details of the history and -social life of the Icelanders are set forth in a pleasant, chatty style -by the spirited and observant lady who rode 160 miles like a man.” - -=Saturday Review.=—“... people intent on new fields of travel; Mrs. -Tweedie’s lively account of a voyage to Iceland, and its agreeable and -entirely successful results, ought to inspire adventurous ladies to -follow her example.... Mrs. Tweedie describes the wonders of the land -with a keen appreciation, and has not forgotten to supply many useful -hints.” - - - LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD - - NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY - - TORONTO: BELL AND COCKBURN - - - - -NOTICE - - -_Those who possess old letters, documents, correspondence, MSS., scraps -of autobiography, and also miniatures and portraits, relating to -persons and matters historical, literary, political and social, should -communicate with Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street, London, -W., who will at all times be pleased to give his advice and assistance, -either as to their preservation or publication._ - - - - -LIVING MASTERS OF MUSIC. - -An Illustrated Series of Monographs dealing with Contemporary Musical -Life, and including Representatives of all Branches of the Art. - -Edited by ROSA NEWMARCH. - - Crown 8vo. Cloth. Price 2/6 net. - - - HENRY J. WOOD. By ROSA NEWMARCH. - SIR EDWARD ELGAR. By R. J. BUCKLEY. - JOSEPH JOACHIM. By J. A. FULLER MAITLAND. - EDWARD A. MACDOWELL. By LAWRENCE GILMAN. - THEODOR LESCHETIZKY. By ANNETTE HULLAH. - GIACOMO PUCCINI. By WAKELING DRY. - IGNAZ PADEREWSKI. By E. A. BAUGHAN. - CLAUDE DEBUSSY. By MRS. FRANZ LIEBICH. - RICHARD STRAUSS. By ERNEST NEWMAN. - - -STARS OF THE STAGE - -A SERIES OF ILLUSTRATED BIOGRAPHIES OF THE LEADING ACTORS, ACTRESSES, -AND DRAMATISTS. - -Edited by J. T. GREIN. - -Crown 8vo. Price 2/6 each net. - - ELLEN TERRY. By CHRISTOPHER ST. JOHN. - SIR HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. By MRS. GEORGE CRAN. - SIR W. S. GILBERT. By EDITH A. BROWNE. - SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM. By FLORENCE TEIGNMOUTH SHORE. - - - - -_A CATALOGUE OF MEMOIRS, BIOGRAPHIES, ETC._ - - - THE LAND OF TECK & ITS SURROUNDINGS. By Rev. S. BARING-GOULD. With - numerous Illustrations (including several in Colour) reproduced - from unique originals. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 10s. 6_d._ net. - - AN IRISH BEAUTY OF THE REGENCY: By MRS. WARRENNE BLAKE. Author of - “Memoirs of a Vanished Generation, 1813-1855.” With a Photogravure - Frontispiece and other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) - 16_s._ net. - - ⁂ The Irish Beauty is the Hon. Mrs. Calvert, daughter of Viscount - Pery, Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, and wife of Nicholson - Calvert, M. P., of Hunsdson. Born in 1767, Mrs. Calvert lived to - the age of ninety-two, and there are many people still living who - remember her. In the delightful journals, now for the first time - published, exciting events are described. - -NAPOLEON IN CARICATURE: 1795-1821. By A. M. BROADLEY. With an -Introductory Essay on Pictorial Satire as a Factor in Napoleonic -History, by J. HOLLAND ROSE, Litt. D. (Cantab.). With 24 full-page -Illustrations in Colour and upwards of 200 in Black and White from rare -and unique originals. 2 Vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 42_s._ net. - -_Also an Edition de Luxe._ 10 guineas net. - -MEMORIES OF SIXTY YEARS AT ETON, CAMBRIDGE AND ELSEWHERE. By ROBERT -BROWNING. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 14_s._ net. - -THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By STEWART HOUSTON -CHAMBERLAIN. A Translation from the German by JOHN LEES. With an -Introduction by LORD REDESDALE. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 2 vols. -25_s._ net. - -THE SPEAKERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS from the Earliest Times to the -Present Day, with a Topographical Account of Westminster at various -Epochs, Brief Notes on sittings of Parliament and a Retrospect of the -principal Constitutional Changes during Seven Centuries. By ARTHUR -IRWIN DASENT, Author of “The Life and Letters of JOHN DELANE,” “The -History of St. James’s Square,” etc. etc. With numerous Portraits, -including two in Photogravure and one in Colour. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 21_s._ net. - -WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH AND HIS FRIENDS. By S. M. ELLIS. With -upwards of 50 Illustrations, 4 in Photogravure. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 32_s._ net. - -NAPOLEON AND KING MURAT. 1808-1815: A Biography compiled from hitherto -Unknown and Unpublished Documents. By ALBERT ESPITALIER. Translated -from the French by J. LEWIS MAY. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and -16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -LADY CHARLOTTE SCHREIBER’S JOURNALS Confidences of a Collector of -Ceramics and Antiques throughout Britain, France, Germany, Italy, -Spain, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, and Turkey. From the Year 1869 to -1885. Edited MONTAGUE GUEST, with Annotations by EGAN MEW. With upwards -of 100 Illustrations, including 8 in colour and 2 in photogravure. -Royal 8vo. 2 Volumes. 42_s._ net. - -CHARLES DE BOURBON, CONSTABLE OF FRANCE: “THE GREAT CONDOTTIERE.” -By CHRISTOPHER HARE. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -THE NELSONS OF BURNHAM THORPE: A Record of a Norfolk Family compiled -from Unpublished Letters and Note Books, 1787-1843. Edited by M. EYRE -MATCHAM. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 16_s._ net. - - ⁂ This interesting contribution to Nelson literature is drawn from - the journals and correspondence of the Rev. Edmund Nelson. Rector - of Burnham Thorpe and his youngest daughter, the father and sister - of Lord Nelson. The Rector was evidently a man of broad views and - sympathies, for we find him maintaining friendly relations with his - son and daughter-in-law after their separation. What is even more - strange, he felt perfectly at liberty to go direct from the house - of Mrs. Horatio Nelson in Norfolk to that of Sir. William and Lady - Hamilton in London, where his son was staying. This book shows how - completely and without reserve the family received Lady Hamilton. - -A QUEEN OF SHREDS AND PATCHES: The Life of Madame Tallien Notre Dame -de Thermidor. From the last days of the French Revolution, until her -death as Princess Chimay in 1835. By L. GASTINE. Translated from the -French by J. LEWIS MAY. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -SOPHIE DAWES, QUEEN OF CHANTILLY. By VIOLETTE M. MONTAGU. Author of -“The Scottish College in Paris,” etc. With a Photogravure Frontispiece -and 16 other Illustrations and Three Plans. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ Among the many queens of France, queens by right of marriage - with the reigning sovereign, queens of beauty or of intrigue, the - name of Sophie Dawes, the daughter of humble fisherfolk in the - Isle of Wight, better known as “the notorious Mme. de Feucheres,” - “The Queen of Chantilly” and “The Montespan de Saint Leu” in the - land which she chose as a suitable sphere in which to exercise her - talents for money-making and for getting on in the world, stand - forth as a proof of what a women’s will can accomplish when that - will is accompanied with an uncommon share of intelligence. - -MARGARET OF FRANCE DUCHESS OF SAVOY. 1523-1574. A Biography with -Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations and Facsimile -Reproductions of Hitherto Unpublished Letters. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ A time when the Italians are celebrating the Jubilee of the - Italian Kingdom is perhaps no unfitting moment in which to glance - back over the annals of that royal House of Savoy which has - rendered Italian unity possible. Margaret of France may without - exaggeration be counted among the builders of modern Italy. She - married Emanuel Philibert, the founder of Savoyard greatness: - and from the day of her marriage until the day of her death she - laboured to advance the interests of her adopted land. - -MADAME DE BRINVILLIERS AND HER TIMES. 1630-1676. By HUGH STOKES. With a -Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ The name of Marie Marguerite d’Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, - is famous in the annals of crime, but the true history of her - career is little known. A woman of birth and rank, she was also a - remorseless poisoner, and her trial was one of the most sensational - episodes of the early reign of Louis XIV. The author was attracted - to this curious subject by Charles le Brun’s realistic sketch of - the unhappy Marquise as she appeared on her way to execution. This - _chef d’œuvre_ of misery and agony forms the frontispiece to the - volume, and strikes a fitting keynote to an absorbing story of - human passion and wrong-doing. - -THE VICISSITUDES OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 1735-1821. By EUGENE WELVERT. -Translated from the French by LILIAN O’NEILL. With a Photogravure -Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ The Duchesse de Narbonne-Lara was Lady-in-Waiting to Madame - Adelaide, the eldest daughter of Louis XV. Around the stately - figure of this Princess are gathered the most remarkable characters - of the days of the Old Regime, the Revolution and the fist Empire. - The great charm of the work is that it takes us over so much and - varied ground. Here, in the gay crowd of ladies and courtiers, in - the rustle of flowery silken paniers, in the clatter of high-heeled - shoes, move the figures of Louis XV., Louis XVI., Du Barri and - Marie-Antoinette. We catch picturesque glimpses of the great wits, - diplomatists and soldiers of the time, until, finally we encounter - Napoleon Bonaparte. - -ANNALS OF A YORKSHIRE HOUSE. From the Papers of a Macaroni and his -Kindred. By A. M. W. STIRLING, author of “Coke of Norfolk and his -Friends.” With 33 Illustrations, including 3 in Colour and 3 in -Photogravure. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 2 vols. 32_s._ net. - -MINIATURES: A Series of Reproductions in Photogravure of Eighty-Five -Miniatures of Distinguished Personages, including Queen Alexandra, the -Queen of Norway, the Princess Royal, and the Princess Victoria. Painted -by CHARLES TURRELL. (Folio.) The Edition is limited to One Hundred -Copies for sale in England and America, and Twenty-Five Copies for -Presentation, Review, and the Museums. Each will be Numbered and Signed -by the Artist. 15 guineas net. - -THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE. During the Reign of George III. -from 1771-1783. With Notes by Dr. DORAN. Edited with an Introduction -by A. FRANCIS STEUART, and containing numerous Portraits reproduced -from contemporary Pictures, Engravings, etc. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 25_s._ net. - -THE WAR IN WEXFORD. By H. F. B. WHEELER AND A. M. BROADLEY. An Account -of The Rebellion in South of Ireland in 1798, told from Original -Documents. With numerous Reproductions of contemporary Portraits and -Engravings. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT. By His Valet FRANÇOIS. Translated -from the French by MAURICE REYNOLD. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ -6_d._ net. - -FAMOUS AMERICANS IN PARIS. By JOHN JOSEPH CONWAY, M.A. With 32 -Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 10_s._ 6_d._ net. - -LIFE AND MEMOIRS OF JOHN CHURTON COLLINS. Written and Compiled by his -son, L. C. COLLINS. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ 6_d._ net. - -THE WIFE OF GENERAL BONAPARTE. By JOSEPH TURQUAN. Author of “The Love -Affairs of Napoleon,” etc. Translated from the French by Miss VIOLETTE -MONTAGU. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ Although much has been written concerning the Empress Josephine, - we know comparatively little about the _veuve_ Beauharnais and - the _citoyenne_ Bonaparte, whose inconsiderate conduct during - her husband’s absence caused him so much anguish. We are so - accustomed to consider Josephine as the innocent victim of a cold - and calculating tyrant who allowed nothing, neither human lives - nor natural affections, to stand in the way of his all-conquering - will, that this volume will come to us rather as a surprise. Modern - historians are over-fond of blaming Napoleon for having divorced - the companion of his early years; but after having read the above - work, the reader will be constrained to admire General Bonaparte’s - forbearance and will wonder how he ever came to allow her to play - the Queen at the Tuileries. - -A SISTER OF PRINCE RUPERT. ELIZABETH PRINCESS PALATINE, ABBESS OF -HERFORD. By ELIZABETH GODFREY. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -AUGUSTUS SAINT GAUDENS: an Appreciation. By C. LEWIS HIND. Illustrated -with 47 full-page Reproductions from his most famous works. With a -portrait of Keynon Cox. Large 4to. 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND HIS FAMILY. By Mrs. HERBERT ST. JOHN MILDMAY. -Further Letters and Records, edited by his Daughter and Herbert St. -John Mildmay, with numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -16_s._ net. - -SIMON BOLIVAR: El Libertador. A Life of the Leader of the Venezuelan -Revolt against Spain. By F. LORAINE PETRE. With a Map and -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -A LIFE OF SIR JOSEPH BANKS, PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY: With Some -Notices of His Friends and Contemporaries. By EDWARD SMITH, F.R.H.S., -Author of “WILLIAM COBBETT: a Biography,” “England and America after -the Independence,” etc. With a Portrait in Photogravure and 16 other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - ⁂ “The greatest living Englishman” was the tribute of his - Continental contemporaries to Sir. Joseph Banks. The author of his - “Life” has, with some enthusiasm, sketched the record of a man - who for a period of half a century filled a very prominent place - in society, but whose name is almost forgotten by the present - generation. - -NAPOLEON & THE INVASION OF ENGLAND: The Story of the Great Terror, -1797-1805. By H. F. B. WHEELER and A. M. BROADLEY. With upwards of 100 -Full-page Illustrations reproduced from Contemporary Portraits, Prints, -etc.; eight in Colour. 2 Volumes. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 32_s._ net. - - _Outlook._—“The book is not merely one to be ordered from the - library; it should be purchased, kept on an accessible shelf, and - constantly studied by all Englishmen who love England.” - -DUMOURIEZ AND THE DEFENCE OF ENGLAND AGAINST NAPOLEON. By J. HOLLAND -ROSE, Litt.D. (Cantab.), Author of “The Life of Napoleon,” and A. M. -BROADLEY, joint-author of “Napoleon and the Invasion of England.” -Illustrated with numerous Portraits, Maps, and Facsimiles. Demy 8vo. (9 -× 5¾ inches.) 21_s._ net. - -THE FALL OF NAPOLEON. By OSCAR BROWNING, M.A., Author of “The Boyhood -and Youth of Napoleon.” With numerous Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo -(9 × 5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Spectator._—“Without doubt Mr. Oscar Browning has produced a - book which should have its place in any library of Napoleonic - literature.” - - _Truth._—“Mr. Oscar Browning has made not the least, but the most - of the romantic material at his command for the story of the fall - of the greatest figure in history.” - -THE BOYHOOD & YOUTH OF NAPOLEON, 1769-1793. Some Chapters on the early -life of Bonaparte. By OSCAR BROWNING, M.A. With numerous Illustrations, -Portraits etc. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - - _Daily News._—“Mr. Browning has with patience, labour, careful - study, and excellent taste given us a very valuable work, which - will add materially to the literature on this most fascinating of - human personalities. - -THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF NAPOLEON. By JOSEPH TURQUAN. Translated from the -French by JAMES L. MAY. With 32 Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -THE DUKE OF REICHSTADT (NAPOLEON II.) By EDWARD DE WERTHEIMER. -Translated from the German. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 21_s._ net. (Second Edition.) - - _Times._—“A most careful and interesting work which presents the - first complete and authoritative account of this unfortunate - Prince.” - - _Westminster Gazette._—“This book, admirably produced, reinforced - by many additional portraits, is a solid contribution to history - and a monument of patient, well-applied research.” - -NAPOLEON’S CONQUEST OF PRUSSIA, 1806. By F. LORAINE PETRE. With an -Introduction by FIELD-MARSHAL EARL ROBERTS, V.C., K.G., etc. With Maps, -Battle Plans, Portraits, and 16 Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Scotsman._—“Neither too concise, nor too diffuse, the book is - eminently readable. It is the best work in English on a somewhat - circumscribed subject.” - - _Outlook._—“Mr. Petre has visited the battlefields and read - everything, and his monograph is a model of what military history, - handled with enthusiasm and literary ability, can be.” - -NAPOLEON’S CAMPAIGN IN POLAND, 1806-1807. A Military History of -Napoleon’s First War with Russia, verified from unpublished official -documents. By F. LORAINE PETRE. With 16 Full-page Illustrations, Maps, -and Plans. New Edition. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Army and Navy Chronicle._—“We welcome a second edition of this - valuable work.... Mr. Loraine Petre is an authority on the wars of - the great Napoleon, and has brought the greatest care and energy - into his studies of the subject.” - -NAPOLEON AND THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES. A History of the Franco-Austrian -Campaign in the Valley of the Danube in 1809. By F. LORAINE PETRE. -With 8 Illustrations and 6 sheets of Maps and Plans. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -RALPH HEATHCOTE. Letters of a Diplomatist During the Time of Napoleon, -Giving an Account of the Dispute between the Emperor and the Elector of -Hesse. By COUNTESS GUNTHER GRÖBEN. With Numerous Illustrations. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -MEMOIRS OF THE COUNT DE CARTRIE. A record of the extraordinary events -in the life of a French Royalist during the war in La Vendée, and of -his flight to Southampton, where he followed the humble occupation of -gardener. With an introduction by FRÉDÉRIC MASSON, Appendices and Notes -by PIERRE AMÉDÉE PICHOT, and other hands, and numerous Illustrations, -including a Photogravure Portrait of the Author. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Daily News._—“We have seldom met with a human document which has - interested us so much.” - -THE JOURNAL OF JOHN MAYNE DURING A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT UPON ITS -RE-OPENING AFTER THE FALL OF NAPOLEON, 1814. Edited by his Grandson, -JOHN MAYNE COLLES. With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). -12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -WOMEN OF THE SECOND EMPIRE. Chronicles of the Court of Napoleon III. -By FRÉDÉRIC LOLIÉE. With an introduction by RICHARD WHITEING, and 53 -full-page Illustrations, 3 in Photogravure. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -21_s._ net. - - _Standard._—“M. Frederic Loliee has written a remarkable book, - vivid and pitiless in its description of the intrigue and - dare-devil spirit which flourished unchecked at the French - Court.... Mr. Richard Whiteing’s introduction is written with - restraint and dignity.” - -MEMOIRS OF MADEMOISELLE DES ECHEROLLES. Translated from the French -by MARIE CLOTHILDE BALFOUR. With an introduction by G. K. FORTESCUE, -Portraits, etc. 5_s._ net. - - _Liverpool Mercury._—“... this absorbing book.... The work has a - very decided historical value. The translation is excellent, and - quite notable in the preservation of idiom.” - -GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO: A BIOGRAPHICAL STUDY. By EDWARD HUTTON. With a -Photogravure Frontispiece and numerous other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 16_s._ net. - -THE LIFE OF PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893). By his Brother, -MODESTE TCHAIKOVSKY. Edited and abridged from the Russian and German -Editions by ROSA NEWMARCH. With Numerous Illustrations and Facsimiles -and an Introduction by the Editor. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ -6_d._ net. Second edition. - - _The Times._—“A most illuminating commentary on Tchaikovsky’s - music.” - - _World._—“One of the most fascinating self-revelations by an artist - which has been given to the world. The translation is excellent, - and worth reading for its own sake.” - - _Contemporary Review._—“The book’s appeal is, of course, - primarily to the music-lover; but there is so much of human and - literary interest in it, such intimate revelation of a singularly - interesting personality, that many who have never come under the - spell of the Pathetic Symphony will be strongly attracted by what - is virtually the spiritual autobiography of its composer. High - praise is due to the translator and editor for the literary skill - with which she has prepared the English version of this fascinating - work.... There have been few collections of letters published - within recent years that give so vivid a portrait of the writer as - that presented to us in these pages.” - -THE LIFE OF SIR HALLIDAY MACARTNEY, K.C.M.G., Commander of Li Hung -Chang’s trained force in the Taeping Rebellion, founder of the first -Chinese Arsenal, Secretary to the first Chinese Embassy to Europe. -Secretary and Councillor to the Chinese Legation in London for thirty -years. By DEMETRIUS C. BOULGER, Author of the “History of China,” the -“Life of Gordon,” etc. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -Price 21_s._ net. - -DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS AND STRANGE EVENTS. By S. BARING-GOULD, M.A., -Author of “Yorkshire Oddities,” etc. With 58 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 21_s._ net. - - _Daily News._—“A fascinating series ... the whole book is rich in - human interest. It is by personal touches, drawn from traditions - and memories, that the dead men surrounded by the curious panoply - of their time, are made to live again in Mr. Baring-Gould’s pages.” - -THE HEART OF GAMBETTA. Translated from the French of FRANCIS LAUR by -VIOLETTE MONTAGU. With an Introduction by JOHN MACDONALD, Portraits and -other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Daily Telegraph._—“It is Gambetta pouring out his soul to Léonie - Leon, the strange, passionate, masterful demagogue, who wielded the - most persuasive oratory of modern times, acknowledging his idol, - his inspiration, his Egeria.” - -THE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARC. By ANATOLE FRANCE. A Translation by WINIFRED -STEPHENS. With 8 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 2 vols. -Price 25_s._ net. - -THE DAUGHTER OF LOUIS XVI. Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte of France, Duchesse -D’Angoulême. By G. LENOTRE. With 13 Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) Price 10_s._ 6_d._ net. - -WITS, BEAUX, AND BEAUTIES OF THE GEORGIAN ERA. By JOHN FYVIE, author -of “Some Famous Women of Wit and Beauty,” “Comedy Queens of the -Georgian Era,” etc. With a Photogravure Portrait and numerous other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -MADAME DE MAINTENON: Her Life and Times, 1655-1719. By C. C. DYSON. -With 1 Photogravure Plate and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 12_s._ 6_d._ net. - -DR. JOHNSON AND MRS. THRALE. By A. M. BROADLEY. With an Introductory -Chapter by THOMAS SECCOMBE. With 24 Illustrations from rare originals, -including a reproduction in colours of the Fellowes Miniature of Mrs. -Piozzi by Roche, and a Photogravure of Harding’s sepia drawing of Dr. -Johnson. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16_s._ net. - -THE DAYS OF THE DIRECTOIRE. By ALFRED ALLINSON, M.A. With 48 Full-page -Illustrations, including many illustrating the dress of the time. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16_s._ net. - -HUBERT AND JOHN VAN EYCK: Their Life and Work. By W. H. JAMES WEALE. -With 41 Photogravure and 95 Black and White Reproductions. Royal 4to. -£5 5_s._ net. - - SIR MARTIN CONWAY’S NOTE. - - Nearly half a century has passed since Mr. W. H. James Weale, - then resident at Bruges, began that long series of patient - investigations into the history of Netherlandish art which was - destined to earn so rich a harvest. When he began work Memlinc was - still called Hemling, and was fabled to have arrived at Bruges as - a wounded soldier. The van Eycks were little more than legendary - heroes. Roger Van der Weyden was little more than a name. Most of - the other great Netherlandish artists were either wholly forgotten - or named only in connection with paintings with which they had - nothing to do. Mr. Weale discovered Gerard David, and disentangled - his principal works from Memlinc’s, with which they were then - confused. - -VINCENZO FOPPA OF BRESCIA, FOUNDER OF THE LOMBARD SCHOOL, HIS LIFE AND -WORK. By CONSTANCE JOCELYN FFOULKES and MONSIGNOR RODOLFO MAJOCCHI, -D.D., Rector of the Collegio Borromeo, Pavia. Based on research in the -Archives of Milan, Pavia, Brescia, and Genoa and on the study of all -his known works. With over 100 Illustrations, many in Photogravure, and -100 Documents. Royal 4to. £5 5_s._ 0_d._ net. - -MEMOIRS OF THE DUKES OF URBINO. Illustrating the Arms, Art and -Literature of Italy from 1440 to 1630. By JAMES DENNISTOUN of -Dennistoun. A New Edition edited by EDWARD HUTTON, with upwards of 100 -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 3 vols. 42_s._ net. - -THE DIARY OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. By LADY CHARLOTTE BURY. Being the Diary -Illustrative of the Times of George the Fourth. Interspersed with -original Letters from the late Queen Caroline and from various other -distinguished persons. New edition. Edited, with an Introduction, by A. -FRANCIS STEUART. With numerous portraits. Two Vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 21_s._ net. - -THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE. During the Reign of George III. -from 1771 to 1783. With Notes by DR. DORAN. Edited with an Introduction -by A. FRANCIS STEUART, and containing numerous Portraits (2 in -Photogravure) reproduced from contemporary Pictures, Engravings, etc. 2 -vols. Uniform with “The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting.” Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 25_s._ net. - -JUNIPER HALL: Rendezvous of certain illustrious Personages during the -French Revolution, including Alexander D’Arblay and Fanny Burney. -Compiled by CONSTANCE HILL. With numerous Illustrations by ELLEN G. -HILL, and reproductions from various Contemporary Portraits. Crown 8vo. -5_s._ net. - -JANE AUSTEN: Her Homes and Her Friends. By CONSTANCE HILL. Numerous -Illustrations by ELLEN G. HILL, together with Reproductions from Old -Portraits, etc. Cr. 8vo. 5_s._ net. - -THE HOUSE IN ST. MARTIN’S STREET. Being Chronicles of the Burney -Family. By CONSTANCE HILL, Author of “Jane Austen, Her Home, and Her -Friends,” “Juniper Hall,” etc. With numerous Illustrations by ELLEN -G. HILL, and reproductions of Contemporary Portraits, etc. Demy 8vo. -21_s._ net. - -STORY OF THE PRINCESS DES URSINS IN SPAIN (Camarera-Mayor). By -CONSTANCE HILL. With 12 Illustrations and a Photogravure Frontispiece. -New Edition. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - -MARIA EDGEWORTH AND HER CIRCLE IN THE DAYS OF BONAPARTE AND BOURBON. -By CONSTANCE HILL. Author of “Jane Austen, Her Homes and Her Friends,” -“Juniper Hall,” “The House in St. Martin’s Street,” etc. With numerous -Illustrations by ELLEN G. HILL and Reproductions of Contemporary -Portraits, etc. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 21_s._ net. - -CESAR FRANCK: A Study. Translated from the French of Vincent d’Indy, -with an Introduction by ROSA NEWMARCH. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ -6_d._ net. - -MEN AND LETTERS. By HERBERT PAUL, M.P. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ -net. - -ROBERT BROWNING: Essays and Thoughts. By J. T. NETTLESHIP. With -Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ 6_d._ net. (Third Edition). - -NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE. Edited and Annotated by ALEXANDER -CARLYLE, with Notes and an Introduction and numerous Illustrations. In -Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 25_s._ net. - - _Pall Mall Gazette._—“To the portrait of the man, Thomas, these - letters do really add value; we can learn to respect and to like - him more for the genuine goodness of his personality.” - - _Literary World._—“It is then Carlyle, the nobly filial son, we see - in these letters; Carlyle, the generous and affectionate brother, - the loyal and warm-hearted friend, ... and above all, Carlyle as a - tender and faithful lover of his wife.” - - _Daily Telegraph._—“The letters are characteristic enough of - the Carlyle we know: very picturesque and entertaining, full of - extravagant emphasis, written, as a rule, at fever heat, eloquently - rabid and emotional.” - -NEW LETTERS AND MEMORIALS OF JANE WELSH CARLYLE. A Collection of -hitherto Unpublished Letters. Annotated by THOMAS CARLYLE, and -Edited by ALEXANDER CARLYLE, with an Introduction by SIR JAMES -CRICHTON BROWNE, M.D., LL.D., F.R.S., numerous Illustrations drawn in -Lithography by T. R. WAY, and Photogravure Portraits from hitherto -unreproduced Originals. In Two Vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 25_s._ -net. - - _Westminster Gazette._—“Few letters in the language have in such - perfection the qualities which good letters should possess. Frank, - gay, brilliant, indiscreet, immensely clever, whimsical, and - audacious, they reveal a character which, with whatever alloy of - human infirmity, must endear itself to any reader of understanding.” - - _World._—“Throws a deal of new light on the domestic relations - of the Sage of Chelsea. They also contain the full text of Mrs. - Carlyle’s fascinating journal, and her own ‘humorous and quaintly - candid’ narrative of her first love-affair.” - -THE LOVE LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND JANE WELSH. Edited by ALEXANDER -CARLYLE, Nephew of THOMAS CARLYLE, editor of “New Letters and Memorials -of Jane Welsh Carlyle,” “New Letters of Thomas Carlyle,” etc. With 2 -Portraits in colour and numerous other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 2 vols. 25_s._ net. - -CARLYLE’S FIRST LOVE. Margaret Gordon—Lady Bannerman. An account of her -Life, Ancestry and Homes; her Family and Friends. By R. C. ARCHIBALD. -With 20 Portraits and Illustrations, including a Frontispiece in -Colour. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 10_s._ 6_d._ net. - -EMILE ZOLA: NOVELIST AND REFORMER. An Account of his Life, Work, and -Influence. By E. A. VIZETELLY. With numerous Illustrations, Portraits, -etc. Demy 8vo. 21_s._ net. - -MEMOIRS OF THE MARTYR KING: being a detailed record of the last two -years of the Reign of His Most Sacred Majesty King Charles the First, -1646-1648-9. Compiled by ALAN FEA. With upwards of 100 Photogravure -Portraits and other Illustrations, including relics. Royal 4to. £5 -5_s._ 0_d._ net. - -MEMOIRS OF A VANISHED GENERATION 1811-1855. Edited by MRS. WARRENNE -BLAKE. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 16_s._ -net. - -THE KING’S GENERAL IN THE WEST, being the Life of Sir Richard -Granville, Baronet (1600-1659). By ROGER GRANVILLE, M.A., Sub-Dean of -Exeter Cathedral. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 10_s._ -6_d._ net. - -THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER, sometime Vicar of -Morwenstow in Cornwall. By C. E. BYLES. With numerous Illustrations by -J. LEY PETHYBRIDGE and others. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ 6_d._ -net. - -THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BLAKE. By ALEXANDER GILCHRIST, Edited with an -Introduction by W. GRAHAM ROBERTSON. Numerous Reproductions from -Blake’s most characteristic and remarkable designs. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 10_s._ 6_d._ net. New Edition. - -GEORGE MEREDITH: Some Characteristics. By RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. With a -Bibliography (much enlarged) by JOHN LANE. Portrait, etc. Crown 8vo. -5_s._ net. Fifth Edition. Revised. - -A QUEEN OF INDISCRETIONS. The Tragedy of Caroline of Brunswick, Queen -of England. From the Italian of G. P. CLERICI. Translated by FREDERIC -CHAPMAN. With numerous Illustrations reproduced from contemporary -Portraits and Prints. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21_s._ net. - -LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. Edited by his Daughter -LAURA E. RICHARDS. With Notes and a Preface by F. B. SANBORN, an -Introduction by Mrs. JOHN LANE, and a Portrait. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 16_s._ net. - -GRIEG AND HIS MUSIC. By H. T. FINCK, Author of “Wagner and his Works,” -etc. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7_s._ 6_d._ net. - -EDWARD A. MACDOWELL: a Biography. By LAWRENCE GILMAN, Author of “Phases -of Modern Music,” “Strauss’ ‘Salome,’” “The Music of To-morrow and -Other Studies,” “Edward Macdowell,” etc. Profusely illustrated. Crown -8vo. 5_s._ net. - -THE LIFE OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN. Translated from the Italian of an -unknown Fourteenth-Century Writer by VALENTINA HAWTREY. With an -Introductory Note by VERNON LEE, and 14 Full-page Reproductions from -the Old Masters. Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - -WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. A Biography by LEWIS MELVILLE. With 2 -Photogravures and numerous other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 25_s._ net. - -A LATER PEPYS. The Correspondence of Sir William Weller Pepys, Bart., -Master in Chancery, 1758-1825, with Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Hartley, -Mrs. Montague, Hannah More, William Franks, Sir James Macdonald, -Major Rennell, Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, and others. Edited, with -an Introduction and Notes, by ALICE C. C. GAUSSEN. With numerous -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) In Two Volumes. 32_s._ net. - -ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, AN ELEGY; AND OTHER POEMS, MAINLY PERSONAL. By -RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. Crown 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._ net. - -RUDYARD KIPLING: a Criticism. By RICHARD LE GALLIENNE. With a -Bibliography by JOHN LANE. Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ net. - -THE LIFE OF W. J. FOX, Public Teacher and Social Reformer, 1786-1864. -By the late RICHARD GARNETT, C.B., LL.D., concluded by EDWARD GARNETT. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16_s._ net. - - -JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. - - -Transcriber’s Notes: - -In Chapter VII the titles of John Oliver Hobbe’s books have been -amended thus: - - _The Gods, Some Mortals and Mr. Wickenham_ - Amended to read, - _The Gods, Some Mortals and Lord Wickenham_ - - _The Dream the Business_ - Amended to read, - _The Dream and the Business_ - -The date given for the quotation from _Punch_ in Chapter XXIV is given -as 1960 in the original and has been amended to read: - - “(_From ‘The Times’ of December 20, 1906._) - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life, by -Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY *** - -***** This file should be named 55263-0.txt or 55263-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/6/55263/ - -Produced by MWS, Brian Wilcox and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/55263-0.zip b/old/55263-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index fb89af2..0000000 --- a/old/55263-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h.zip b/old/55263-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9d8a359..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/55263-h.htm b/old/55263-h/55263-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 072afe1..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/55263-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,18440 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman’s Life, by Mrs Alec Tweedie. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1 {font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.6em; - text-align: center; - clear: both; - page-break-before: always; -} - - h2 {font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.3em; - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - - h2.nobreak - { - page-break-before: avoid; - padding-top: 0;} - - h3.nobreak - { - page-break-before: avoid; - padding-top: 0;} - - h3 {font-weight: normal; font-size: 1.1em; - text-align: center; - clear: both; - } - - -p { - margin-top: 0em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: 1.0em; -} - -p.indent { - margin-top: 0em; - text-align: left; - margin-bottom: 0em; - text-indent: -1em; margin-left: 1em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 0em; - text-indent: 2.0em;} - -p.drop-cap { - text-indent: 0em; -} -p.drop-cap:first-letter -{ - float: left; - margin: 0.0em 0em 0em 0em; - font-size: 250%; - line-height:0.85em; -} - -hr.tb {width: 20%; - margin-left: 40%; - margin-right: 40%; - clear: both; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em;} - -hr.chap {width: 40%; - margin-left: 30%; - margin-right: 30%; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em; - clear: both;} - -ul.index { list-style-type: none; } -li.ifrst { margin-top: 1em; } -li.indx { margin-top: .5em; } -li.isubi {text-indent: 1em;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -table.my90 {border-collapse: collapse; table-layout: auto; -margin-left: 1%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; -font-size: 90%;} - -table.my100 {border-collapse: collapse; table-layout: auto; -margin-left: 1%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; -font-size: 100%;} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.small {font-size: 90%;} -.smaller {font-size: 80%;} -.smallest {font-size: 70%;} -.large {font-size: 110%;} -.larger {font-size: 120%;} -.largest {font-size: 130%;} - -.add1em {margin-left: 1em;} -.add2em {margin-left: 2em;} -.add3em {margin-left: 3em;} -.add4em {margin-left: 4em;} -.add6em {margin-left: 6em;} -.add8em {margin-left: 8em;} -.add12em {margin-left: 12em;} - -.center table { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} - -.padt1 {padding-top: 1em;} - -.padt2 {padding-top: 2em;} - -.padb1 {padding-bottom: 1em;} - -.padb2 {padding-bottom: 2em;} - -.padr1 {padding-right: 1em;} - -.padl1 {padding-left: 1em;} - -.vertb {vertical-align: bottom;} - -.vertt {vertical-align: top;} - -.normal {font-weight: normal;} - -.noindent {text-indent: 0;} - -.blockquote { - margin-left: 1em; - margin-right: 1em; - font-size: 0.95em; -} - -.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} - -.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} - -.bbox {border: solid 2px;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.noindent {text-indent: 0;} - -.hangingindent4 {margin-left: 4em ; text-indent: -3em ; margin-right: 0em ;} - -.hangingindent1notopbotmargin {margin-left: 1em ; text-indent: -1em ; margin-right: 0em ; - margin-top: 0em ; margin-bottom: 0em ;} - - -.gesperrt -{ - letter-spacing: 0.2em; - margin-right: -0.2em; -} - -em.gesperrt -{ - font-style: normal; -} - -.caption {font-weight: normal; - text-align: center;} - -.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/*advertisements*/ -.advert {margin-left: 4em; font-size: 85%;} -.advert p {text-indent: -4em;} -.advert p:first-line {font-size: 130%;} - -/* Poetry */ - -.poetry-container {text-align: center; font-size: .9em;} - -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left;} - -.poetry .stanza {margin: 0em 0em 1em 0em;} - -.poetry .line {margin: 0; text-indent: -3em; padding-left: 3em;} - -.poetry .i1 {margin-left: 1em;} - -.poetry .i1p5 {margin-left: 1.5em;} - -.sans {font-family: sans-serif, serif;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - -#half-title -{ - text-align: center; - font-size: large; -} - -p.largeimg {text-align: right; font-size: .8em;} -@media handheld {p.largeimg {display: none;}} - -@media screen -{ - #half-title - { - margin: 6em 0; - } -} - -@media print, handheld -{ - #half-title - { - page-break-before: always; - page-break-after: always; - } -} - -@media handheld -{ - p.drop-cap:first-letter - { - float: none; - margin: 0; - font-size: 100%; - } -} - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life, by -Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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/license - - -Title: Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life - -Author: Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -Release Date: August 4, 2017 [EBook #55263] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY *** - - - - -Produced by MWS, Brian Wilcox and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p id="half-title"><span class="largest">THIRTEEN YEARS</span><br /> -OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE</p> - -<div class="bbox"> -<p class="center padt1"><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> - -<p class="hangingindent4"> -GEORGE HARLEY, F.R.S.; <span class="smcap">or, The Life of a London -Physician</span></p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -THROUGH FINLAND IN CARTS. (Several Editions)</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY „</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -DANISH VERSUS ENGLISH BUTTER-MAKING</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -THE OBER-AMMERGAU PASSION PLAY</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -WILTON, Q.C.; <span class="smcap">or, Life in a Highland Shooting-box</span></p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -A GIRL’S RIDE IN ICELAND. (Several Editions)</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -BEHIND THE FOOTLIGHTS „</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -MEXICO AS I SAW IT „</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -SUNNY SICILY „</p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -PORFIRIO DIAZ. <span class="smcap">The Maker of Modern Mexico</span></p> -<p class="hangingindent4"> -HYDE PARK. <span class="smcap">Its History and Romance</span></p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padb1"> -THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE</p></div> - -<div class="figcenter padt2" id="i_frontis"> -<img src="images/i_frontis.jpg" width="297" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="add8em small"><em>Photo by Hoppé, 1911</em></span><br /> -WRITING</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h1>THIRTEEN YEARS<br /> -<span class="smaller">OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE</span></h1> -<h2>By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE</h2></div> - -<p class="center padt2">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD<br /> -NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY<br /> -TORONTO: BELL & COCKBURN. MCMXII</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center smallest padt2 padb2"> -THIRD EDITION</p> - -<p class="center smallest padb2">WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD., PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">v</a></span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2></div> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my90" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="toc"> -<tr> -<th class="tdr normal smaller" colspan="3">PAGE</th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Prologue</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#PROLOGUE">3</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc large padt1 padb1" colspan="3">PART I</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc larger padb1" colspan="3">CHILDHOOD</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl smaller">CHAPTER</td> -<td colspan="2"> </td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">I.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Golden Age</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">11</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc large padt1 padb1" colspan="3">PART II</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc larger padb1" colspan="3">GIRLHOOD</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">II.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Girl is Mother to the Woman</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">25</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc large padt1 padb1" colspan="3">PART III</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc larger padb1" colspan="3">WOMANHOOD</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">III.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">“<span class="smcap">Wooed and Married, and a’</span>”</p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">37</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">IV.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">“<span class="smcap">A Winter Jaunt to Norway</span>”</p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">49</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">V.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">“<span class="smcap">The Tender Grace of a Day that is Dead</span>”</p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">58</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc large padt1 padb1" colspan="3">PART IV</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc larger padb1" colspan="3">WIDOWHOOD AND WORK</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">VI.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Widowhood and Work</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">65</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">VII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Writers: Sir Walter Besant, John Oliver -Hobbes, Mrs. Riddell, Mrs. Lynn Linton</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">80</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">vi</a></span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">VIII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Journalism</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">94</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">IX.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">On the Making of Books</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">107</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">X.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The End of a Century</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">116</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XI.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Mexico as I Saw It</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">123</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Contents of a Working-woman’s Letter-box</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">133</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc large padt1 padb1" colspan="3">PART V</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc larger padb1" colspan="3">THE SWEETS OF ADVERSITY</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XIII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Painters</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">145</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XIV.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Sculptors</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">161</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XV.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">More Painters, and Whistler in Particular</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">168</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XVI.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">“<span class="smcap">They that go down to the Sea in Ships</span>”</p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">180</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XVII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Lord Li and a Chinese Luncheon</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">188</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">From Stageland to Shakespeare-land</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">199</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XIX.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Woman Nowadays</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">209</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XX.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">American Notes</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">224</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXI.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Canadian Peeps</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">241</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">On Public Dinners</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">256</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXIII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Private Dinners</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">270</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXIV.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">From Gay to Grave</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">283</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXV.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Jottings</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">298</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXVI.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">More Jottings: and Hyde Park</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">310</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">vii</a></span> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXVII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Buried in Parcels</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">319</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXVIII.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Work Relaxed: and Orchardson</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">333</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1 vertt">XXIX.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Diaz—Farewell</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">349</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Epilogue</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#EPILOGUE">356</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td> </td> -<td class="tdl"><span class="smcap">Index</span></td> -<td class="tdr"><a href="#INDEX">359</a></td> -</tr></table></div> - - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">ix</a></span></p> - -<h2 id="ILLUSTRATIONS">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2></div> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my90" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="loi"> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Writing. Hoppé</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr smaller" colspan="2"><a href="#i_frontis"><em>Frontispiece</em></a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td colspan="2"> </td> -<td class="tdr smaller vertb" colspan="2">TO FACE PAGE</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Original Letter from Bismarck</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_016fp">16</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Hans Breitmann’s Ballad</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_031fp">31</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Author’s Hand</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_033fp">33</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Grapes growing on a London Balcony</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_042fp">42</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Borkum of Spy fame. (Sketch by Author)</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_047fp">47</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">When first a Widow</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_065fp">65</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s Writing-table</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_094fp">94</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Writer in Divided Riding-skirt in Southern Mexico</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_123fp">123</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">The Author, by Herbert Schmalz</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_145fp">145</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Half-hour Sketch of Author, by John Lavery</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_156fp">156</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Water-colour Sketch, by Percy Anderson</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_161fp">161</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Walter Crane’s most famous Book-plate</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr vertb" colspan="2"><a href="#i_175fp">175</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Characteristic Postcard, by Bernard Shaw</span></p></td> -<td class="tdc smaller vertb"><em>Page</em></td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#i_262">262</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Christmas Card, by Harry Furniss</span></p></td> -<td class="tdc smaller vertb">„</td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#i_303">303</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1" colspan="2"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Christmas Card, designed by John Hassall</span></p></td> -<td class="tdc smaller vertb">„</td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#i_316">316</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Buried in Parcels, by Harry Furniss</span></p></td> -<td class="tdc smaller vertb">(TO FACE)</td> -<td class="tdc vertb">„</td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#i_320fp">320</a></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl padt1"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Sketch by “Spy”</span></p></td> -<td class="tdc smaller vertb">„</td> -<td class="tdc vertb">„</td> -<td class="tdr vertb"><a href="#i_356fp">356</a></td> -</tr></table></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p class="center padt2 padb2"> -<span class="large">THIRTEEN YEARS</span><br /> -OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p class="center"><span class="largest">THIRTEEN YEARS</span><br />OF A BUSY WOMAN’S LIFE</p> -<h2 class="nobreak normal" id="PROLOGUE">PROLOGUE</h2></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">ONE day in the ’nineties I was quietly sitting in my library, when the -door opened and a gentleman was announced. Standing solemnly before me, -he said:</p> - -<p>“I have come to thank you for my life.” I looked at him. Was the man -sane? Was he suffering from hallucinations, or what on earth did he -mean?</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he repeated solemnly, “I have come to thank you for my life.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid I am at a loss to understand,” I replied, “perhaps you can -explain.”</p> - -<p>“Existence became utterly unendurable,” he continued, “worries heaped -upon one another until the strain was unbearable, and then, to crown -all, a terrible disease took possession of me. I knew I could not live. -It might be a matter drawn out in all its hideousness for two or three -years, but—the germ was there.”</p> - -<p>“We shall none of us live for ever,” I replied cheerily. “Death is -inevitable.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” he nodded, “death is inevitable; but we do not all have to -face it in this way. So unendurable was the strain that I determined -to end the matter in my own fashion, and a day or two ago I finally -decided to take my life.”</p> - -<p>The man talked in a perfectly rational manner, though at the same time -in an extremely impressive tone.</p> - -<p>“I did not come to the conclusion lightly,” he continued. “I weighed -all the <em>pros</em> and <em>cons</em>; faced all the circumstances of the case, and -I could not see that my life was of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">4</a></span> value; in fact, in many ways -my family would be better off without me. I had not much pluck left to -face the inevitable racks of pain and disease, so after hours and days -of mental torment I decided to end it all.</p> - -<p>“Night came.</p> - -<p>“Having determined to wait quietly until all the family were in bed, I -sat in my study and read. I read and thought, and planned and argued, -and the hours appeared to drag interminably. For some reason the -servants seemed later than usual in retiring, and I watched the hands -of the clock slowly move along. It was almost midnight. The lights -had been put out in the passages. I could no longer hear the tread of -people overhead; but for fear that it was still too early I returned -to the book I was reading. Strangely enough, my eye fell on the word -<em>suicide</em>. It seemed to rivet me with a weird and terrible fascination. -I looked again, and that word appeared to be written in letters of -blood. Was it a message, I wondered, to a man standing on the brink of -the grave, on the verge of cutting the knot of life? What did that word -<em>suicide</em> portend? I read on....</p> - -<p>“Gradually I became interested. Here was a strange case. A man battling -with blindness, a man whose circumstances seemed somewhat similar to -my own; and as I read, I discovered that he had thought deeply on the -same subject, he had disentangled the same problem. Yes, as I read -and re-read the words they seemed to burn into my brain. I realised -that this man decided that he was <em>not</em> justified in taking his own -life, that even though blindness threatened he still had a mission to -fulfil; and when I had learnt those words by heart, I banged down the -book, rose from the table, clenched my fist, and determined to go on -quietly and live my life to the bitter end. That page which altered -the course of events was in the ‘Life’ you wrote of your father.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">1</a> -Since that evening I have read the book from end to end. Clearly he was -right. He had a mission to fulfil and fulfilled it. I have, I hope, now -passed through the darkest hour of my life, but I could not rest until -I came to tell you personally that if you had not written the book, -which chance put into my hand that night, I should have been a dead man -to-day.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">5</a></span></p> -<p>Seizing both my hands, he uttered, “God bless you and thank you! God -bless you! Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>And he was gone.</p> - -<p>This incident set me thinking.</p> - -<p>My father’s life had helped many men who had never seen or met him. -Well if I, a woman, could in some lesser manner help some lone, -struggling women who, like myself, after being reared in wealth, -suddenly found themselves forced to toil for those “little luxuries” -which to a refined woman are verily the necessaries of life, I too -might be of use.</p> - -<p>The Society bride who went to Ascot on a drag; to Ranelagh, Hurlingham, -or Sandown in her husband’s buggy, or drove her own Park phaeton and -pair; the pampered, spoilt, well-dressed young wife, who only lived for -a “good time,” at one fell swoop lost all.</p> - -<p>A hard school—more kicks than halfpence—and yet now it is passed one -is almost thankful for the experience, thankful for each link in the -chain so often welded with fire and tears.</p> - -<p>Two things made life possible—ambition for one’s children and the -kindly hand of friendship—two most precious pearls in the diadem of -life. These, and a mother’s devotion and encouragement.</p> - -<p>That hard time of Egyptian slavery is over; my thirteen years’ task is -ended. The widow’s cruse may run low, but need not be empty if she has -health and courage to work; yes, work, work, and still keep on working.</p> - -<p>Only let me deplore the unfortunate circumstances that allow the -possibilities of widows and children left to battle with the world, -without sufficient means for a home and education after being born in -luxury.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I won’t attempt to write my memoirs, but just jot down a few odds and -ends before they slip my memory.</p> - -<p>Memory is an excellent institution, and often assertive until one -begins to write. Then nasty little doubts have a way of creeping in, -doubts about dates, spelling of names, the actual perpetrator of a -certain cute act, or the inception of a particular thought. Each year -fills memory’s slate more full, and the older markings become gradually -obliterated as new pencillings take their place.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">6</a></span></p> - -<p>Poor old slate, let me see if I cannot decipher a few stray -remembrances before they are all rubbed out—and recall how I began to -write.</p> - -<p>Thirteen years.</p> - -<p>What does the title mean? It does not refer to a prison sentence, to -supposed ill-luck as a fateful sign which a modern club of thirteen -members is said to have put to the test, nor to anything romantic. -Like Nansen, I am not superstitious. He was the head of twelve men on -his Polar expedition, and his was the most successful one ever carried -through, for he never lost a man. They started a party of thirteen and -they returned a party of thirteen—an antidote to the superstition -originated by the treachery of Judas.</p> - -<p>Thirteen years is a large lease of existence during which to hire one’s -self out a bond-slave. But that is what I did—perforce. Necessity is a -hard taskmaster; and necessity plied the lash.</p> - -<p>A great deal of water runs in thirteen years; water that turns the -mill-wheel to grind us mortals to finer—perchance more useful—issues. -The various incidents in my busy life during those years of toil all -doubtless had their effect on character and my outlook on the world. -“Nobody simply sees; nobody simply meets, and doing, simply does this -and that. Inevitably in seeing, meeting, and doing there is a certain -shaping of the mind and spirit of the person principally concerned.” So -Richard Whiteing wisely remarked, speaking of this—my hardest stage of -life’s journey.</p> - -<p>Certainly my outlook on the world has altered since the days of happy, -careless childhood, of joyous youth as girl and bride. How I resented -constraint at fifteen and appreciated it later. How the restlessness of -my teens mellowed and sobered and ripened.</p> - -<p>Although I did not experience it myself, I am sure that adversity is a -fine up-bringing for youth. It makes children think, which youth nursed -in luxury seldom does. Adversity only came to me in my twenties.</p> - -<p>Youth is often spent courting time,</p> - -<p>Middle age in chasing time,</p> - -<p>Old age, alas, in killing time.</p> - -<p>Reared in a soil of generous sufficiency, nourished by wisdom and -kindness in the warm sunshine of love, instead<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">7</a></span> of the human plant -being blighted when the winds blew and the rains fell, it grew stronger -and blossomed and bore the fruit of work.</p> - -<p>“Oh, poor So-and-so was not brought up to work,” people often say -despondingly when bad times overtake their friends; “theirs was such a -happy home.” But surely the home should be happy. At least, let there -be something of gladness to look back on, when one is struggling uphill -under a heavy load. The influence of parents is incalculable in effect -on children. The example of my father was powerful in helping me to -take up my burden as he had done his.</p> - -<p>If these pages, put together after thirteen years of constant work, -seem too scrappy—disconnected even—let me ask the sympathy of those -who know what it is to be interrupted again and again by illness in the -midst of a task. Illness that has laid me on my sofa, in bed, even sent -me to a “cure” in search of health, as often as six times in eighteen -months; that makes the grasshopper a burden.</p> - -<p>Without friendship and sympathy courage would have failed to go on -struggling with what seemed a veritable burden, and yet when well, how -little I thought of toil and stress when writing more important books. -The offer of a friend to undertake a little of the drudgery of the task -seemed to lift tons’ weight off my head. Still, though other hands may -pull a sofa and shake pillows into place, the invalid’s direction is -needful or her own room would not have her own individuality, and would -lose the personal touch that gives the clue.</p> - -<p>Ups and downs will come. Bolts will fall from the blue. The unexpected -is what always happens.</p> - -<p>Then, oh, why not be prudent, both young men and maidens? Don’t be -foolish, shy, or negligent to make provision against a possible wintry -time, by settlement, or insurance, and in every sound and legal way -hedge round your home against those desolating intruders—Poverty or -Illness.</p> - -<p>I do not intend to enter into all my ancestral chain between these -covers; and I do not mean to moralise. People don’t care a ha’penny -for other people’s philosophy, although everybody must have some kind -of working philosophy of his own after he has knocked about in the -crowd and scrimmage of life. I’ve got mine, like other folk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">8</a></span> and I’ve -learnt there are only two things worth living for—love and friendship. -The first is not passion, but the capacity to care for the welfare -of others more than for one’s own. Passion burns itself out, love is -ceaselessly unselfish.</p> - -<p>And friendship? Why, friendship is the handmaiden of sympathy, the art -of appreciation, the pleasant interchange of thought.</p> - -<p>This is a jumble of facts and fancies, wherein memory and pen run riot.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padt2 padb2"><h2 id="PART_I">PART I<br /> -<br /> -<span class="small">CHILDHOOD</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">11</a></span></p> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GOLDEN AGE</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">UNLESS a book starts with some interest it finds no readers. The first -page is often the key to the whole.</p> - -<p>But how is one to be interesting about such commonplace events as being -born and vaccinated, cutting one’s first tooth or having measles and -whooping-cough? They are all so uneventful, and while important to the -little “ego” are so dull to the public. Therefore I refuse to be either -“born” or even cut a wisdom tooth within these pages anent a busy -woman’s life, except to say that on the night of my birth my father and -his friend, the famous surgeon John Erichsen (later Sir John), walked -home from a meeting of the Royal Society together, and on reaching the -old house in Harley Street a servant greeted them with the announcement -that my mother was very ill.</p> - -<p>Up the stairs my father hurried, while his colleague went off for -the nurse. I was too small to be dressed, so my early days were -spent rolled up in cotton wool—which fact did not deter my further -development, as at fourteen years of age I stood five feet eight inches -high. On my second day of existence I was introduced in my cradle to -him who for nearly thirty years was as a second father to me—him whom -I always called “dear Uncle John.”</p> - -<p>What a horribly egotistical thing it is to write about one’s self!</p> - -<p>Until now I have generally managed to keep <em>I</em> out of books by using -that delightful editorial <em>WE</em>, but somehow this volume cannot be -written as WE, and the hunting of the snark never afforded more -trouble than the hunting out of <em>I</em>. There it is and there it remains. -It refuses to be removed. It glares upon the pages, and spurns all -attempts to be suppressed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">12</a></span></p> - -<p>Let me humbly apologise, once and for all, for</p> - -<p class="center padt1 padb1">“I.”</p> - -<p>Some people are born smart, just as others are born good—some are -born stupid—and some are born haunted by the first personal pronoun. -People believe they are relating the honest truth when they speak ill -of themselves, and yet it is so pleasant to relate appreciative little -stories of “ego.”</p> - -<p>Why mention my early youth in a book only meant to treat of working -years?—it may be asked. Well, for this friends are to blame. Folk have -constantly asked, “What first made you write? Was it an inherited gift?”</p> - -<p>Did my second baptismal name predestine my career? On this subject my -father wrote in a diary:</p> - -<p>“The next favours I received from Fortune were domestic ones—a boy -and a girl. The name of Ethel was given the little maid to please -her mother, that of Brilliana to please me. Brilliana, I called her, -out of respect for the only woman of the name of Harley who added by -her writings to the celebrity of the race. <cite>The Letters of the Lady -Brilliana Harley</cite>, 1625-43, wife of Sir Robert Harley, of Brampton -Bryan, Knight of the Bath, were reprinted by the Camden Society, with -introductions and notes by Thomas Taylor Lewis, <span class="smcap">M.A.</span>, Vicar of -Bridstow, Herefordshire.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">2</a></p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">13</a></span></p> -<p>“Of men authors we have had abundance: of women only one. No wonder, -then, I wished our daughter to perpetuate her name.”</p> - -<p>Thus it seems to have been my father’s wish to dedicate me to the -memory of the well-known Dame Brilliana who shone in both social and -literary circles in the seventeenth century. Did he, perhaps, remember -that the old Romans, at the birth of a child, used to choose for it the -name of some ancestor, whose career they wished to be its example, in -the belief that the deceased would protect and influence the infant to -follow in the same path?</p> - -<p>This second name of mine is queer enough, and seems to have suggested -penmanship, followed by a number of strange nicknames, chosen -promiscuously by my friends, but all tending in two directions:</p> - -<p>“Madame la Duchesse.”</p> - -<p>“Liege Lady.”</p> - -<p>“She who would be obeyed.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">14</a></span></p> - -<p>“Grande Dame.”</p> - -<p>“Esmeralda.”</p> - -<p>“Carmen.”</p> - -<p>“Vixen.”</p> - -<p>Do these denote character?—for they apparently run from the sublime to -the ridiculous.</p> - -<p>My parents seem to have been less careful about choosing me a nurse of -a literary turn, however otherwise excellent the woman was, for the -following quaint letter to my mother from my old attendant, who was for -nearly forty years in the family, is not exactly a model of epistolary -art:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="padt1">“I am wrighting to thank you for Papers you so kindly sent Mrs. -B—— she wished me to do so i told her i would do so but there was -plenty of time for doing it but on Monday morning she very quietly -took her long departyer not being any the worse the Delusions was -to much for her and she just went off hoping you are quite well -also your four Gran children and there parents the wether is very -cold for May i remain your Obident</p> -<p class="right">“S. D.”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Apart from the undoubted virtues of my illiterate old nurse, my -education proceeded on the usual infantile lines. My father taught us -children a great deal about natural history, which we loved, as most -children do, and many odds and ends of heterogeneous information picked -up from him in those early days proved a mine of “copy” in years to -come.</p> - -<p>A sage once said the child should choose its own parents. He might have -gone farther and said that the child should choose its own school, -because if school-fellows have often had as much influence as mine did -on me, then school companions are a matter of importance. Youth is the -time of selfishness and irresponsibility. How cruel we are through -thoughtlessness! How we stab and wound by quick, unmeditated words! The -journey onwards is a stony one, but we all have to pass along if we are -to attain either worldly success or, greatest of all blessings, mastery -of self. I often wonder why people are so horrid at home. We know it, -we deprecate it, but we don’t seem to have the pluck or the courage to -change it. We suffer the loneliness of soul we all endure at times, -even more than we need, because of our own foolish pride and want of -sympathy with our surroundings. We could be so much nicer and more -considerate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">15</a></span> if we really tried. We mean to be delightful, of course; -but we signally fail.</p> - -<p>In those far-away kindergarten days in Harley Street there were a -little boy and three grown-up gentlemen with whom I made friends. The -little boy grew up and went to Mexico, where I met him after a lapse -of twenty-five years, a merchant in a good position. He was able to do -a great deal for me during my stay there, and proved as a brother in -occasions of difficulty.</p> - -<p>Sir Felix Semon became a great physician, and Dr. von Mühlberg a German -Ambassador. The more elderly gentleman was studying at the British -Museum, and only lodged at the house. Dr. von Rottenburg was also a -German, and he used to pat my head every morning on the stairs and -talk to me about my playthings, calling me “leetle mees.” When I grew -up this famous philosopher, diplomat, and writer never forgot the -little black-eyed girl going to school with her doll, and was one of my -dearest and best friends in Germany.</p> - -<p>On his return to Berlin he published, in 1878, a book called <cite>Begriff -des Staates</cite>. It was a learned volume and created much sensation in -Germany. One day he was sitting in the Foreign Office when he received -an invitation to dine with the great Bismarck. He was amazed, but -naturally accepted. At the dinner were only two other men, the Imperial -Chancellor and his son Herbert. The former talked to von Rottenburg -about his book in most flattering terms. On his return home that night -his wife asked him how he had got on.</p> - -<p>“Not particularly well,” he replied. “I was so awe-stricken by the -wondrous capacity, the bulk of both body and mind of Bismarck, that I -seemed paralysed of speech and said practically nothing.</p> - -<p>“Why were you invited?” enquired his spouse.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the slightest idea,” was his reply. “Anyway, I am afraid I -made but a poor impression.”</p> - -<p>A week later von Rottenburg was again sitting in his room when Count -Wilhelm Bismarck was announced.</p> - -<p>“My father wishes to see you to-morrow,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, and may I ask what for?”</p> - -<p>“That is his business, not mine. Be pleased to call at such an hour<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">16</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Perplexed as to the repetition of the invitation the young diplomat -called as desired. Bismarck was sitting at his table writing. The man -who held the destiny of Europe in his hands looked up and nodded.</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” he said, and went on signing letters.</p> - -<p>When he had finished blotting the last bold signature, turning to von -Rottenburg, he said:</p> - -<p>“Do you wonder why I sent for you?”</p> - -<p>“To tell the truth, I do.”</p> - -<p>“I wish to make you Chief of the Chancellery.”</p> - -<p>Von Rottenburg was naturally amazed, but said nothing.</p> - -<p>“Do you understand what I say?” repeated Bismarck. “I wish to make you -Chief of the Chancellery.”</p> - -<p>“Well—er—but——”</p> - -<p>“There is no <em>well</em> or <em>but</em> about it.”</p> - -<p>“But, you see, I am rather ambitious.”</p> - -<p>“Are you? I am glad to hear it.”</p> - -<p>“And such being the case, perhaps——”</p> - -<p>“Man!” thundered Bismarck from his seat as he thumped the table; “Do -you understand the importance of what I am offering you?”</p> - -<p>“I quite realise the immense <em>honour</em>, but at the same time I am -interested in my present work, and am doing so well at the Foreign -Office that I should be sorry to relinquish——”</p> - -<p>“Are you married?” interrupted the Chancellor.</p> - -<p>“Yes, to an English lady.”</p> - -<p>“I congratulate you. I believe English women are the best wives and -companions in the world.”</p> - -<p>Here let it be remarked that Bismarck was a great English scholar. He -spoke the language fluently, he read <cite>Tom Jones</cite> from cover to cover -four times, and was never without his Shakespeare in the original, -whole pages from which he could quote.</p> - -<p>“Go home,” said the Prince; “tell your wife what I have offered you -and ask her advice. But mind, if you come to me you will have to be my -slave. Where I go you must go, and it is only fair that you should ask -her permission. Women should be more considered than they are. Go home, -I tell you, and ask your wife.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_016fp"> -<img src="images/i_016fp.jpg" width="426" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">ORIGINAL LETTER FROM BISMARCK WITH A TRANSLATION BY HIS -INTIMATE FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE DR. VON ROTTENBURG</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Still bewildered, flattered but faltering, von Rottenburg went home. He -told his wife of his extraordinary interview with the Chancellor, and -she at once exclaimed:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">17</a></span></p> - -<p>“Of course, you must accept.”</p> - -<p>“Must I?”</p> - -<p>“Why, of course you must. A chance comes once to every man; let him -accept it gladly when it does come.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly he accepted the post of Chief of the Chancellery, and began -his ten years’ service directly under the Iron Chancellor.</p> - -<p>This post is by appointment for three years, and, as a rule, men are -not reappointed, but von Rottenburg was enjoying his fourth term when -Bismarck went out of office. During all those ten years von Rottenburg -rarely left the side of his Chief—the greatest man of his day.</p> - -<p>Speaking of the storm and stress of those years, he once said:</p> - -<p>“No one can realise the strain of that time. Bismarck was the most -remarkable man in the world. His physical health was as wonderful as -his mental capacity. He had so much to do, so much to bear, so much to -arrange, that I naturally saved him in every way I could, therefore -nearly everything of importance went through me. That alone was a -great responsibility. I settled all I could, arranged what interviews -I thought necessary, and played buffer between him and the great world -outside. But I often felt he reposed too much confidence in me.”</p> - -<p>Bismarck objected to German being written or printed in Latin -characters, and never read a book not printed in German letters. Von -Rottenburg told me Bismarck had the greatest mathematical head he ever -knew and a colossal brain. A man of huge bulk, vast appetite, and -unending thirst, he was once at a supper-party in Berlin where six -hundred oysters were ordered for ten people. He ate the greater share.</p> - -<p>“Thank Heaven!” once exclaimed von Rottenburg; “during all those ten -years of constant attendance and companionship with Bismarck we hardly -ever had a disagreeable word, and instead of taking power from me, year -by year he placed more upon my shoulders.”</p> - -<p>“Practically nothing went to the Chancellor that did not pass through -my hands. I shiver to think of the times I was disturbed at night with -messages of importance, telegrams, special messengers, or letters -marked <em>Private</em>; all these things seemed to have a particularly -unhappy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">18</a></span> knack of arriving during the hours one should have had repose. -It was very seldom, however, that I went to Bismarck, as I never -disturbed him at night unless on a matter of urgent business, feeling -that his sleep was as important to him as his health was to the German -nation.”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t think I am tidy,” von Rottenburg once exclaimed. “I had -to be tidy for so many years that I fear I am a little lax nowadays, -although I can always find the papers I want myself, and generally know -where I have put everything. During those years with Bismarck I had to -be so careful, so exact and methodical. One of his little hobbies was -that when he was staying in an hotel, or anywhere away from home, he, -or I, would carefully search the waste-paper baskets to see no scrap -of paper that could in any way be made into political capital was left -therein.</p> - -<p>“Bismarck was most particular about this. He destroyed everything that -might, he thought, make mischief, or would do harm of any kind.”</p> - -<p>Did von Rottenburg destroy his wondrous diaries which I saw a few weeks -before he died? Of them I may have more to say in the future.</p> - -<p>Another of my very earliest recollections is of Madame Antoinette -Sterling. She came from America to sing in England, and often stayed -at the residence of my grandfather, James Muspratt, of Seaforth Hall, -near Liverpool. In this house in earlier years James Sheridan Knowles -wrote some of his plays, and in it also Baron Justus von Liebig—who -invented his famous soup to save my mother’s life—Charlotte Cushman -(the American tragedienne), Charles Dickens, and Samuel Lover had been -frequent and ever-welcome guests.</p> - -<p>At the time that Antoinette Sterling arrived in this country sundry -cousins, who were all quite little children, sat, open-mouthed and -entranced, before the fire in that beautifully panelled, well-filled -library at Seaforth Hall, while she squatted on the floor amongst us -and sang, “There was an old Nigger and his name was Uncle Ned,” or -“Baby Bye, here’s a fly.” How we loved it! Again and again we wildly -demanded another song, clapping our hands, and again and again that -good, kind soul sang to her juvenile admirers—maybe her first English -audience.</p> - -<p>Seaforth Hall was built by my grandfather about 1830,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">19</a></span> at which time -four miles of beach divided him from Liverpool. The docks of that -city are eleven miles long to-day, and the Gladstone Dock is now in -the field in which we children used to ride and play. It was named -“Gladstone Dock” because that great statesman was born at a house near -by. The next dock will probably be on the site of my grandfather’s -dining-room, and may berth the largest ship in the world, that monster -now being built by Lord Aberconway (John Brown and Co.).</p> - -<p>During his early years my father went a great deal into Society, being -presumably considered a clever, rising young physician who had seen a -good deal of the world, and was an excellent linguist: so by the time -he moved to the house now numbered “25, Harley Street,” in 1860—a step -followed later by his marriage with Emma, daughter of the above-named -James Muspratt—he was well established in the social world.</p> - -<p>I often heard him speak of the delightful gatherings he attended and -so much enjoyed in those early days before I had opened my eyes on -this wonderful world, when women like Charlotte Cushman, Catherine -Hayes, Helen Faucit, Mrs. Charles Kean, Mrs. Kemble, and Mrs. Sterling -added grace and charm to the company: when the scientific giants were -Faraday, Tyndall, Sir David Brewster, Graham, Sir Henry Holland, and -William Fergusson: and in the literary world he was brought into -contact with Thackeray, Dickens, George Eliot, Matthew Arnold, Samuel -Lover, Theodore Hook, and Mark Lemon.</p> - -<p>The people at whose houses he visited became his constant guests; so -later his children grew up in a delightful atmosphere, in a home of -culture, where art, science, and literature were amply represented.</p> - -<p>Meetings like these, even in earliest childhood, with bright souls, -persons of culture, intellect, polished manners, and brilliant gifts, -all leave strong impressions on a plastic youthful mind, and the memory -is undoubtedly an influence through life.</p> - -<p>But the commanding figure in Harley Street in my early years was -not to be found among the doctors: it was Mr. Gladstone, while Mrs. -Gladstone’s individuality was hardly second to that of her husband.</p> - -<p>When Mr. Gladstone first came to live there the mob<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">20</a></span> broke his windows, -and shouted and yelled outside his house because of his hostility to -Disraeli’s policy in the Russo-Turkish War (1876-8). The Jingo fever -was at its height. There was tremendous excitement, and ultimately -the street had to be cleared by mounted police. To the surprise of -everyone, in the full tide of the tumult, the Gladstones’ front door -opened, and out walked the old couple, arm-in-arm, and passed right -into the midst of the very people who had been hurling stones through -their windows. With the grand manner of an old courtier the statesman -took off his hat, made a profound bow to the populace, and before the -mob had recovered from its astonishment, he had walked away down the -street with his wife.</p> - -<p>It was a plucky act, and one which so surprised the boisterous assembly -that they utterly subsided, and soon dispersed quietly.</p> - -<p>Mr. Gladstone’s habit every morning was to leave home about half-past -nine or ten o’clock and walk down to his work. My sister Olga (wife of -Dr. Francis Goodbody), then a very little girl, used to go out with her -nurse about the same time to Regent’s Park for her airing in a “pram.” -Some twenty or thirty houses divided my father’s from Mr. Gladstone’s, -and therefore, as the elderly statesman and the little girl both left -home about the same time, they often met.</p> - -<p>“Well, how is dolly this morning?” he would say, and then he would -chaff the child on not having washed dolly’s face, or tell her that -the prized treasure wanted a new bonnet. In fact, he never passed her -without stopping to pat her on the head, and make some little joke such -as children love. She became very fond of her acquaintance and came -home quite disappointed if she had not seen “my friend Mr. Gladstone,” -as she always called him.</p> - -<p>Years afterwards, when Mr. Gladstone had ceased all association with -Harley Street, and was Prime Minister, I fell a victim to the desire to -possess his autograph. Few people now realise how difficult a thing it -was to secure, for the public imagined that the statesman showered post -cards, then a somewhat new invention, on his correspondents by hundreds -and thousands. I asked his friend Sir Thomas Bond what was best to do. -His advice was shrewdness itself. Mr. Gladstone, he assured me, had -great objections to giving his autograph. He could not himself ask him -point-blank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">21</a></span> for his signature. “But if,” said he, “you will send one -of your books as a presentation copy to him, with a little note on the -title page, ‘To Mr. Gladstone, from the Author,’ I will take it across -and ask him to write you an acknowledgment.”</p> - -<p>I did so, and Mr. Gladstone wrote me a charming little letter in his -own hand:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">10 Downing Street, Whitehall.</span></p> - -<p>“To convey his best thanks for Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s kindness in -sending him a book of so much interest.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">W. E. Gladstone.</span>”<br /> -</p></div> - -<p>Not long before his death I had another letter from him, short, as -all his communications were, but always long enough to include the -gracefully drawn compliment which, one fears, has died out of the art -of letter-writing as now practised:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I received your obliging gift and letter yesterday. I consider -Finland a singularly interesting country, singularly little known; -and I am reading your work in earnest and with great interest.</p> - -<p class="right">“Your very faithful </p> -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">W. E. Gladstone</span>.</p> -<p class="small">“Jul. 13, ’97.”</p></div> - -<p>The mention of Mr. Gladstone in connection with Harley Street brings to -mind his famous physician, Sir Andrew Clarke, who was a great personal -friend of my father.</p> - -<p>At one time Sir Andrew Clarke had the largest practice in London, -besides holding the proud position of President of the Royal College of -Physicians. Thanks chiefly to a charming personality, he was one of the -most successful and most beloved of all the London medical men, and to -him is doubtless due the widespread discovery that a careful diet is a -better means to health than promiscuous floods of medicine.</p> - -<p>These were some of the friendships and associations that surrounded -my childhood: such was the soil that nourished my infant roots in -kindliness and encouraged my green idea-buds to put forth into leaf.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padt2 padb2"> -<h2 id="PART_II">PART II<br /> -<br /> -<span class="small">GIRLHOOD</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">25</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE GIRL IS MOTHER TO THE WOMAN</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">AS the boy is proverbially father to the man, so is the girl mother to -the woman.</p> - -<p>Looking back, over thirteen years of exacting professional work, -beginning in 1896—the sad cause and necessity for which will be told -later—my destiny seems to have been that of a writer.</p> - -<p>True, on my first coming out the stage was my girlish ambition. -Elsewhere<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">3</a> I have told how, after the success and delirious delight -of the private theatricals given at home for me instead of a ball—at -my own request—there came a tempting offer to make my bow behind the -footlights. Breathless with excitement I rushed downstairs to tell my -father and receive his approval. He heard my story, looked very sad, -and declared it should never be with his consent: “Of all professions -for women he disliked most the stage, especially for one so young.”</p> - -<p>My dream was shattered, but the longing to work remained: <em>Je l’ai dans -le sang</em>. Looking back now, difficult though it is to see one’s own -growth, there was doubtless the worker dimly trying to struggle out of -the enveloping husk of protecting conventionalities: something within -me wanting to find an outlet, a means of <em>self-expression</em>.</p> - -<p>In girlhood one hates the conventionalities. For instance, how I chafed -at the care demanded in handling old family treasures and wished -the cut-glass decanters, the old Scotch silver salvers, the Italian -embroidered cushions, and all the other details of a refined home, at -the bottom of the sea. I used mentally to vow that when I had a home -of my own I would never have anything that cost more than sixpence, -and would wear it out and throw it away. I did not then realise that -little by little the love of beautiful <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">26</a></span>things, fine workmanship, rich -colours, coupled with reverence for ancient family gods, was being -fostered within me.</p> - -<p>Environment is of enormous importance in a child’s life. Heredity and -environment are three-fourths of character, the other fourth being left -to chance and circumstances; and character counts for more in the end -than any other asset in life. If we are born into a refined home, we -learn to hate vulgar things, we are not interested in vulgar people, -and, however poor we may become, that love of culture and good taste -never leaves us.</p> - -<p>In spite of the tales and explanations that my father gave us about -beautiful things of art, or curios, it must be owned these wearied me. -But when the day for work came, some of them formed the nucleus and -inspiration of the half-dozen articles the grown woman turned out every -week for the Press.</p> - -<p>The influence of that Harley-Street home was very strong. I left it -when young for a house of my own, but its atmosphere went with me.</p> - -<p>After all, it is the woman who makes the home. A man may be clever, -brilliant, hard-working, a good son, a good father, and a good master, -but without a wife the result is a poor thing. It is the woman who -keeps the home together. It is the woman who is the pivot of life. Most -men are like great big children, and have to be mothered to the end of -time.</p> - -<p>To my mother I really owe any success I may have had. Encouragement -goes a long way, just as human sympathy is the very backbone of life. -It was she who encouraged, cheered, and often censured, for she was -a severe critic. It was she who helped my father during those awful -years of blindness, who wrote his scientific books from dictation, -before the days of secretaries and shorthand. It was she who learnt to -work the microscope to save his eyes. Later, it was she who corrected -my spelling and read my proofs. Never an originator herself, she -was always an initiator. She ran her home perfectly and—whether as -daughter, wife, or mother—never failed. Her personality dominated, -and her personality made the home. Only two homes in life have been -mine, and, roughly speaking, half has been spent in each; and yet few -people have had so many addresses.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">27</a></span> I might have been running away from -creditors, so many strange places have given me shelter in different -lands.</p> - -<p>I was a lazy young beggar in those Harley-Street days. Books and -lessons had no particular fascination for me, and the only things -I cared about were riding daily in the Row with my father, hunting -occasionally, dancing, and painting. My education, after preparatory -schooling, was more earnestly taken in hand at Queen’s College, -Harley Street, but I was a very bad pupil, never did anything with -distinction, and the only lectures I really cared for were literature -and history, and the only occupations that appealed to me were drawing -and map-making; but I did actually win a prize for mathematics.</p> - -<p>Lady Tree, who was my mentor, can vouch for my mediocrity, judging by a -letter just found, written by her shortly after a serious accident.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right"> - -“<span class="smcap">Walpole House, The Mall</span>, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Chiswick</span>, <br /> -“<em>November 21st, 1906</em>.</p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dearest Ethel</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Thank you so much for your sweet letter. I am home and getting on -wonderfully well, though I dare say some weeks will go by before I -shall be fit to be seen. <em>You</em> are a wonder with all your work and -energy. What fun your <cite>Observer</cite> article was on Sunday. You clever -Ethel—and I used to think—how many years ago?—that you only -cared about the set of your lovely ‘pinafores’ over your black silk -dresses, with slim body and <em>tiny</em> waist. What were you?—14-16, I -think, and <em>the</em> most lovely figure I ever saw. <em>Most</em> naughty and -inattentive and <em>vain</em> (I feared), with very small feet in little -tiny smart shoes below the kilt of the black silk dress.</p> - -<p>“You will think my brain has gone the way of my jaw (indeed, -it <em>was</em> cracked a little as a matter of fact); but I am only -remembering. Tell me, if you have time, dear, to write to me again, -all sorts of <em>goodish</em> novels to read. I mean that I find I can -devour <em>now</em> what I called trash a month ago.</p> - -<p>“It is lovely to be at home here, with the babies and Viola, and -Herbert sparing as much time as he can from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">28</a></span> <cite>Anthony</cite> -rehearsals. He, like everybody else, has been an angel to me, and -my heart is <em>too</em> full of gratitude to everybody for all the love -and tenderness they have shown.</p> - -<p>“What a long letter, but it will show you how well I am, dear. Thank -you again and again for writing.</p> - -<p class="right">“With love always, <br /> -“Yours affectionately, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Maud Tree</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>Later on my school education was finished in Germany, where my mother -had many old friends, among whom was the great chemist, Baron von -Liebig, my godfather. How oddly, as years roll by, friends meet and -part and meet again, like coloured silks in a plaited skein. One of my -school-fellows in Germany, for instance, came from Finland, and, later -on, it was the fact of meeting her again that brought about my visit to -“Suomi,” described in <cite>Through Finland in Carts</cite>.</p> - -<p>Another of my companions became engaged to one of Sweden’s most famous -artists, Carl Gustav Hellqvist, though at that time he was not known -so well as later. He only spoke Swedish and French, and Julie Thiersch -spoke German and English. Therefore many little translations were done -by myself at that delightful country home of Maler Thiersch, on the -shores of the König See, in Bavaria. Many sweet little sentences had to -be deciphered by me, although the language of the eyes is so powerful -that the actual proposal was accomplished through music (of which they -were both passionately fond) and rapturous glances, in which he, at any -rate, excelled.</p> - -<p>What a delightful, fair, rough-and-tumble, jolly boyish man Hellqvist -then was. Later, gold medals were showered at his feet, and many -distinctions came to him while he painted those wonderful historical -pictures which are now in the Museum at Stockholm.</p> - -<p>But, alas! a few years of happy married life ended in an early death.</p> - -<p>Other German girl companions are now married to Dr. Adolf Harnack, the -famous theologian, and Professor Hans von Delbruck, Under-Secretary of -State for Germany.</p> - -<p>Of amusement there was no lack at home, for from the age<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">29</a></span> of seven, -I rode every morning with my father in Hyde Park, and kept up the -practice with my husband after my marriage. Then there was skating on -ice or rinks, croquet or tennis. There was also amusement of another -kind. A delightful old Scotch gentleman used to come and tune the piano -on Harley Street. One day he told me he was going on to tune one for an -entertainment for the blind in the East End.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you come and recite to them?” he asked.</p> - -<p>I was fifteen or sixteen at the time and bursting with pride over -having won a prize for repeating Gray’s <cite>Elegy</cite>. That is a long time -ago, but from then till now I have gone two or three times a year as -girl, wife, or widow, to entertain those poor afflicted people—the -blind.</p> - -<p>The Somers Town club, which began in a small way and now numbers over -eight hundred members, is the work of one woman. Mrs. Starey has -accomplished a great mission. Besides her clothing club, coal club, -and employment bureau, she provides an entertainment every Thursday -night for these sightless sufferers to whom she has devoted her life. -And as there are fifty-two Thursdays in a year, and it takes five or -six performers for each entertainment, one can glean some idea of the -labour entailed; but beyond all this, no outsider can realize what -her life and sympathy have done for these sufferers. As a girl my -interest was aroused in these people by the old piano tuner, and years -afterwards I went on to their work Committee—just one instance among -many, showing how first impressions and environment influence one’s -after-life.</p> - -<p>At “our shop” for the <em>Society for Promotion of the Welfare of the -Blind</em>, on Tottenham Court Road, they sell mats, brushes, chairs, -re-make mattresses, and even undertake shorthand notes and typewriting -with nimble fingers and blind eyes.</p> - -<p>I danced hard, painted, and accomplished a good deal of needlework -for my father’s hospitals, or my own person. One Bugaboo haunted me, -however, and that was music. I sang a little and played a little, both -very badly, but my parents insisted on me struggling on. When I first -met Alec Tweedie, shortly after my coming out, I heard him say, “There -is only one thing in the world that would induce me to marry, and that -is a thoroughly musical girl.” He had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">30</a></span> beautiful voice and sang a -great deal—but he married me!</p> - -<p>Perhaps those music lessons made me appreciative later, but they were -an awful waste of time and money.</p> - -<p>Again, painting was another likely channel for my energies, for at that -time I used to show my pictures at the women’s exhibitions; yes, and -sell them too. But writing must have been ordained for me by the stars.</p> - -<p>A year or two before my actual coming out my parents took me to supper -one Sunday night at the house of Nicholas Trübner (the publisher), in -Upper Hamilton Terrace, his only child being about my own age. Charles -Godfrey Leland, Bret Harte, Miss Braddon, and others were there.</p> - -<p>On this particular occasion I sat next that famous writer of gipsy -lore, Charles Godfrey Leland. He was an old friend of my father, and -often came to Harley Street, so I knew him well. He chaffed me about -being so grown up, and told me tales of some gipsy wanderings he had -just made, when suddenly he exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Let me see your hand.”</p> - -<p>Leland was a firm believer in palmistry, which lore he had picked up -from the gipsies. For a long time, as it seemed to me, he was silent.</p> - -<p>“Most remarkable, the most remarkable hand I have ever seen in anyone -so young. My dear, you must write, or paint, or sing, or do something -with that hand.”</p> - -<p>Up to that moment I had certainly never thought of doing anything but -lessons or enjoying myself.</p> - -<p>He took out his pocket-book and made some notes, then he insisted upon -the others looking at what he called “the character, originality, and -talent” depicted in my hand.</p> - -<p>He was so long about it that I grew tired, and at last exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“I shall charge you if you lecture them about me any more.”</p> - -<p>“And I’ll pay,” he said; “I’ll send you a Breitmann Ballad all to -yourself.”</p> - -<p>And he did. Naturally proud of being so honored in verse, its heroine -was nevertheless shy, and never, never showed her poetic trophy for -fear of being thought conceited.</p> - -<div class="figcenter padt1" id="i_030fp"> -<img src="images/i_030fp.jpg" width="469" height="600" alt="first page of ballad score" /> -<p class="largeimg"><a href="images/i_030fp_large.jpg">Larger image</a></p></div> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_031fp"> -<img src="images/i_031fp.jpg" width="469" height="600" alt="second page of ballad score" /> -<p class="caption">HANS BREITMANN’S BALLAD TO THE AUTHOR WHEN A GIRL—SET TO MUSIC BY ADOLPH MANN</p> -<p class="largeimg"><a href="images/i_031fp_large.jpg">Larger image</a></p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Years afterwards—in 1908—Mrs. E. K. Pennell wrote the <cite>Life</cite> of -her uncle, Charles Godfrey Leland, and there, to my <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">31</a></span>surprise, -reproduced my hidden ballad, a copy of which she had found amongst -the writer’s papers. Sydney Low, in his critique of the book in the -<cite>Standard</cite>, said this poem “was one of the best Leland ever wrote.” -Leland intended it to be his last Breitmann Ballad, but I believe he -wrote another later.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container padt1"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">I dink de sonn’ hafe perisht in all dis winter rain,</div> -<div class="line">I never dink der Breitmann vould efer sing again;</div> -<div class="line">De sonne vant no candle nor any Erdenlicht,</div> -<div class="line">Vot <em>you</em> vant mit a poem? bist selber ganz Gedicht.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">For like a Paar of Ballads are de augen in your head,</div> -<div class="line">(I petter call dem bullets vot shoot de Herzen dead).</div> -<div class="line">And ash like a ripplin’ rifer efery poem ought to pe,</div> -<div class="line">So all your form is flowin’ in perfect harmony.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">I hear de epigramme in your sehr piquant replies,</div> -<div class="line">I hear de sonnets soundin’ ven your accents fall and rise,</div> -<div class="line">And if I look upon you, vote’er I feel or see,</div> -<div class="line">De voice and form and motion is all one melody.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Du bist die Ideale of efery mortal ding,</div> -<div class="line">Ven poets reach de perfect—dey need no longer sing</div> -<div class="line">Das Beste sei das Letzte—de last is pest indeed!</div> -<div class="line">Brich Herz und Laut! zusammen—dies ist mein letztes Lied!</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Leland was an enormous man, with a long, shaggy beard. He came from -Pennsylvania, where he was born in 1824, but lived the greater part of -his life on this side of the water. He was full of good stories: knew -Oliver Wendell Holmes, Talleyrand, J. R. Lowell, Emerson, and others of -that ilk. Our sympathy lay, however, in his love of the gipsies (about -whom he wrote so much that to his friends he was known as “The Rye”), -also in his affection for and knowledge of Germany, so that when I came -back from that country a first-class chatterbox in the Teuton tongue, -and ready to shake school-days from my feet, he wrote me that I “looked -like a gipsy and talked German like a <em>backfish</em>.”</p> - -<p>Those were the days of his waning as a literary star in London life, -a firmament in which he had shone for long. His Breitmann Ballads -were an unexpected hit. They made the journalist famous. The author -became known as “H. B.” on both sides of the water. History relates -that cigars were called after them, they were the rage. Germany was -indignant; France ecstatic.</p> - -<p>Lying by me is a letter I received from “Hans Breitmann<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">32</a></span>.” It displays -his unvarying kindness and helpfulness towards younger people, always -wanting to be doing something to employ their energetic mind and body. -I had evidently made some proposal to him, and he says:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Friend</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Short biographical sketches, as they are almost invariably given, -are the veriest nutshells filled with ashes that literature yields. -As regards to accuracy, you cannot obtain it by interviewing. It -does not happen that once in twenty times—if ever—that the most -practiced reporter succeeds in getting and giving even an average -idea of a life. I have sat for this kind of portrait more than -once. I once gave a professional collector of anecdotes <em>six</em>—and -when they appeared in his book he had missed the point of <em>five</em>.</p> - -<p>“The best I can do for you will be to write you a brief sketch -of my rather varied and peculiar life—which I will do whenever -you want to go to work on me. It is rather characteristic of the -Briton that he or she does not invariably distinguish accurately in -conversation what is printable from what is not. Once in talking -with Frank Buckland about animals I mingled many Munchausenisms -and ‘awful crammers’ with true accounts of our American -fauna, etc. Fortunately he sent me a <em>proof</em> of his report! I -almost—gasped—to think that any mortal man <em>could</em> swallow and -digest such stories as he had put down as facts. Had they been -published he would have appeared as the greatest fool and I as the -grandest humbug—yea, as the ‘Champion Fraud’ of the age. I believe -that he was seriously angered. Now the American knows the scum from -the soup in conversation. I never dreamed that any human being out -of an idiot asylum or a theological seminary could have believed in -such ‘yarns’ as the great naturalist noted.</p> - -<p>“I will do myself, however, the pleasure of interviewing you when I -get a little relief from the work which at present prevents me from -interviewing even my tailor.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours faithfully, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Charles G. Leland</span>.”</p></div> - -<p class="padb1">Leland was a most talented man, if one may use the word, for talent -itself is generally undefinable even through a magnifying glass.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_033fp"> -<img src="images/i_033fp.jpg" width="475" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">AUTHOR’S HAND</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">33</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">Later, Adolph Mann, the composer, wished to set Leland’s charming words -to music, and the accompanying ballad in 1908 was the result.</p> - -<p>Sir Charles Santley thought so highly of it, “that he much regretted -that the public would not let him sing any new things or he would have -rendered it himself,” but, as he sadly remarked, “I am never allowed to -sing anything but the old songs,” and at seventy two, when he retired, -he was still “singing the old songs.”</p> - -<p>That is the worst part of being a celebrity. The moment a man makes -a name in any particular line, whether singing a song, acting a -particular style or part, painting a certain type of tree, scenes -of snow or what not—along that line he has to go for evermore, for -the public to consider anything else from that particular person an -imposition. People do not naturally become groovy. It is the public -that makes them so.</p> - -<p>The next development of Leland’s palmist theory, which begun in my -youth, took place some years later, when a man arrived one day asking -permission to make an impression of my hand. If I remember correctly, -it was for a series of magazine articles upon the resemblance between -the hands of persons occupied in the same professions. He showed -impressions of the hands of many well known folks, and it was strange -to see how inventive minds, like Sir Hiram Maxim, that delightful man -of leonine appearance, had blunted tips to their fingers. That artistic -and musical people should have long and tapering fingers was not -surprising, but he pointed out other characteristics. Smearing a sheet -of white paper with smoke, he pressed the palm of my hand on it, ran -round the fingers with a pencil, and the trick was done. Anything more -hideous or like a murderer’s fist one has seldom seen, but the lines -were there as distinctly as those of prisoners’ fingers when their -impressions are taken for purposes of identification.</p> - -<p>This discovery, that the lines of the human thumb do not change -from cradle to grave—was one of the brilliant achievements of Sir -Francis Galton (the founder of Eugenics). I remember the great kindly, -soft-voiced scientist in my father’s house speaking enthusiastically -of Darwin—who was his relative—and his work. He was as determined to -improve the race as Darwin was to prove its origin.</p> - -<p>Sir Francis Galton was one of the kindest old gentlemen.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">34</a></span> Benevolence, -goodness, and sympathy were written large all over his face. It was his -very sympathy with mankind that made him wish to better the lot of the -degenerate, while preventing their marriage, and improve the condition -of the unsound. He even went so far as to wish rich folk to gather -about them fine, sturdy young couples, to protect them and look after -their children for the good of the race. He saw that the human race is -deteriorating, while different breeds of animals are improving under -care.</p> - -<p>The tiny seeds of the environment of youth are what blossom and ripen -in later years. And here, again, my childish environment bore ultimate -fruit. As a child I met Galton, and as a woman I went on to the Council -of the Eugenic Society of England.</p> - -<p>Yes, I had a good time, a really lovely girlhood, and when the days of -worry came I could look back with pleasure to those happy years. The -remembrance helped me—but I missed the old life.</p> - -<p>It doesn’t matter being born poor, that is no crime, and we cannot miss -what we never had; but the poverty which robs of the luxuries—that use -has really made necessaries—of existence is a cruel, rasping kind of -poverty, that irritates like a gall on a horse’s back until one learns -the philosophy of life. Luxury is merely a little more self-indulgence -than one is accustomed to. Prolonged luxury becomes habit. The -well-born can do without cream, but they cannot do without clean linen.</p> - -<p>Those girlhood days were bright and happy. I had no cares, just a -rollicking time in a refined and cultured home, with lots of young men -ready to amuse me, and after all these years I am proud to say girl -friends of my school days, and even of the kindergarten, are still -constant visitors at my home. As I write a beautiful white azalea -stands before me, an offering from a woman, who sent it with a note, -saying, “It was so kind of you to let me come and see you after nearly -thirty years, and so charming to find you so little changed from my -school-playmate, in spite of all you have done since we met. Accept -this flower with gratitude and affection from a friend of your early -youth.”</p> - -<p>These are the pretty little things that make life pleasant.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padt2 padb2"> -<h2 id="PART_III">PART III<br /> -<br /> -<span class="small">WOMANHOOD</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">37</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">“WOOED AND MARRIED, AND A’”</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">ICELAND seems a strange place to go to, but it came about in this wise.</p> - -<p>My brother was ill after completing his medical education, and wanted -a holiday. Not having the slightest idea where to go, Iceland was -suggested. To Cook’s I then went. The young man behind the counter -shook his head. They had never been asked for a ticket to Iceland. -Indeed, they did not know how to get there. They knew nothing about the -place. That decided the matter, and to Iceland, in 1886, we young folk -went.</p> - -<p>Then it was that my father besought me to keep a diary. “There will -be no possibility of sending letters home,” he said, “because there -are only two or three posts a year, and there is no telegraphic -communication. So by the time you come back, you will have forgotten -many of the interesting details, all of which your mother and I would -like to know. Consequently I beg you will keep a diary.”</p> - -<p>Therefore I took with me some funny little black-backed shiny books -at a penny each, and scrawled down notes and impressions, sometimes -written from the back of a pony, sometimes in the darkness of a tent in -which one could not stand up; sometimes sitting beside a boiling geyser -while our meal bubbled in a little tin can on the edge of the pool, but -always beneath the gorgeous skies, the endless days and little-known -nights of the Arctic in summer.</p> - -<p>To that little trip romance is attached.</p> - -<p>Alec Tweedie, who had been proposing to me regularly since the day I -came out, was, to my amazement and disgust, standing on the quay at -Leith when we arrived there ready to start.</p> - -<p>We were a little party of four, and as he knew I particularly wished -him not to come, and that he would make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">38</a></span> an odd man in the party and -also render the situation uncomfortable for me, I was perfectly furious.</p> - -<p>I raged up and down that quay, I used every bad word I could think of. -But still he was firm to his ground. He would take his gun, he would -shoot. He would never say a word to cause me the least embarrassment -from the day we started till we returned, he would never refer to -the old sentimental charge of which I was heartily sick. In fact, he -promised to be on his “best behaviour,” but come he would.</p> - -<p>I nearly turned tail myself, even at the last moment, so furious was I -at the situation. However, as his word of honour was given, I accepted -the matter rather than upset the whole party at the eleventh hour or -let the others guess the secret.</p> - -<p>To his credit be it said, he entirely carried out his promise. He was -always there when I wanted him, never when I did not. He was just as -nice to my girl companion as to myself. He was good pals with the two -men, in fact, I do not think any of the others realised the situation -in the least.</p> - -<p>It was his behaviour during that time that made me begin to change my -mind. I saw the strain it was on him and admired him for carrying it -through. I saw him pull himself up many times and march off to light a -pipe for solace.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>If love is service, Alec loved.</p> - -<p>Riding astride over a lava bed near Hekla my pony fell, the girths -gave way, and saddle and I turned round together. It was a nasty fall -on my head and I was stunned. Alec appeared—from goodness knows -where—to pick me up. I have ridden since I was seven, generally on a -side-saddle, but in Iceland, Morocco, and Mexico astride, and only two -falls have been my lot, this and another from a side-saddle in Tangier, -when my horse, climbing a steep stony road, strained and broke the -girths and I fell on the off-side.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>It was not till we were coming into the Firth of Forth many weeks -later, just before landing on the quay where I had stormed and raged, -that Alec Tweedie said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">39</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is Edinburgh Castle, have I kept my word?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Have you any fault to find with anything I have said or done during -the trip?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I murmured.</p> - -<p>“Have I kept my promise in the letter and the law?”</p> - -<p>Again I had to answer “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Then you are satisfied?”</p> - -<p>“But you had no right to come,” I weakly said.</p> - -<p>“That has nothing to do with it. Are you satisfied?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I had to reply.</p> - -<p>“Then,” he continued, “remember that my bond is waste paper when we -land in a few minutes, and the proposals I have made before, I shall -repeat on <em>terra firma</em>.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Six weeks later we were engaged, and six weeks later still I married -one of the handsomest men in London.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When I was first engaged it was a constant subject of interest to -my friends that the man should have such an extraordinary name as -<span class="smcap">Alec</span>. In 1887 no one in England had apparently ever heard the -name of Alec. He was the fifth generation bearing the name himself, but -outside that family the abbreviation does not appear to have penetrated.</p> - -<p>Times change, and twenty years later the name had become so well -known that I had the honour and felicity of seeing it on a music-hall -programme, and placarded for a music-hall artist.</p> - -<p>In his diary my father states the following:</p> - -<p>“My daughter Ethel has just married (1887) Alec Tweedie, son of -an Indian Civil Servant and grandson of Dr. Alexander Tweedie, -<span class="smcap">F.R.S.</span>, formerly of 47, Brook Street, whose portrait hangs -in the Royal College of Physicians, London. Old Dr. Tweedie’s work on -fever was very well known, and the London Fever Hospital was built -under his auspices. Strangely enough, he examined me when I first came -to London to take the membership of the Royal College of Physicians.</p> - -<p>“But the connecting-link is even stronger, for Alec Tweedie is first -cousin to Sir Alexander Christison, my old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">40</a></span> Edinburgh chum, who took -his degree with Murchison and myself on the same day in Edinburgh. My -son-in-law is therefore a nephew of dear old Sir Robert Christison, -whose classes I attended as a student.</p> - -<p>“On his mother’s side, Alec is the grandson of General Leslie, -<span class="smcap">K.H.</span>, and great-grandson of Colonel Muttlebury, -<span class="smcap">C.B.K.W.</span>, a very distinguished soldier, who was in command of -the 69th at Quatre Bras.</p> - -<p>“My son-in-law is also a nephew of General Jackson, who was in the -famous charge of Balaclava, so that on his mother’s side he is as much -connected with the army as he is on his father’s with medicine.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Being a young person with a mind of her own, I rebelled against hideous -sugar flowers on my wedding-cake. I loved wedding-cake, and my father, -knowing this form of greed, laughingly said:</p> - -<p>“You had better get a wedding-cake as big as yourself and then you will -be happy.”</p> - -<p>I did, that is to say it weighed nine stone four pounds, my own weight, -which is barely a stone more when these pages go to press.</p> - -<p>Well, thereupon, I repaired to Mr. Buszard, junior—whose father, -attired in a large white apron and tall hat, I, as a baby, had known in -his then little shop in Oxford Street.</p> - -<p>“I want real flowers on my cake,” I announced.</p> - -<p>“Impossible, we never do such a thing,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Then you must do it now, do it for me.”</p> - -<p>Much palaver, and Mr. Buszard and I crossed the street together to -a little flower shop, with the result that those three tiers of -wedding-cake were decked with natural blooms and a tall vase of white -flowers as a central ornament.</p> - -<p>Everyone has natural flowers nowadays.</p> - -<p>I travelled away with the top tier of my cake, and ate bits of it in -France, Switzerland, Italy, and Germany, during our three months’ -honeymoon.</p> - -<p>We took one of the houses at the top of Harley Street, overlooking -Regent’s Park, where squirrels frolic and wood pigeons cry, and there, -in York Terrace, where the muffin man rings his bell on Sundays and -George IV lamp-posts hold our light, I still live.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">41</a></span></p> - -<p>Apropos of this street, Sir Arthur Grant of Monymusk once told me a -curious story.</p> - -<p>His grandfather owned many houses in the neighbourhood in the beginning -of the nineteenth century, and whenever one was empty he put an old -caretaker in who had once been a personal servant. On one occasion one -of the houses was to let. A lady and gentleman arrived in a carriage -and asked to see over it. The caretaker showed them round and they -seemed pleased with everything. They asked many questions and lingered -some time, and when they left, to the surprise of the caretaker, they -handed her a sovereign.</p> - -<p>As most people gave her nothing, and others a shilling, she was rather -taken aback with the sovereign, and explained how large a sum it was.</p> - -<p>“It is all right,” said the gentleman, “put it in your pocket and may -it bring you luck.”</p> - -<p>Not long after her return to the staircase, which she had been cleaning -before their arrival, she heard a child’s voice. It seemed to be -crying. She listened for some time, and as she was quite alone in the -house, she was unable to understand the cause. Finally, feeling sure it -came from a certain room, she went and opened the door, just to satisfy -herself it was an hallucination. What was her amazement to find a -sturdy little boy of two standing before her. She nearly had a fit, the -people had not mentioned a child, nor had she seen anything of it, and -she remembered that the lady and gentleman had left no address. Feeling -sure such kind people would come back, she took the small boy to the -kitchen and gave him some milk. He was too small to tell her who he was -or where he came from, though he sat and cried.</p> - -<p>When her husband came home she told him the strange story.</p> - -<p>“Oh, they will come and fetch him presently. Don’t you worry,” he said.</p> - -<p>But day wore on to evening, and evening wore on to night, and no one -came. The only thing she could do was to pacify him and put him to bed, -and when she undressed him golden sovereigns fell out of a bag tied -round his neck.</p> - -<p>The mystery thickened. Days went on; no one claimed the child. The -caretaker went to Sir Arthur’s grandfather and reported the matter, and -everything was done to try to trace the owners of the little boy, but -nothing was heard of them.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">42</a></span></p> - -<p>The woman’s husband was a nice old man, and instead of wishing to turn -the child out, he said:</p> - -<p>“No, God ordained to give us no children of our own. This little boy -has been left with us, and it is our duty to take care of him.” So -accordingly the little boy was brought up as their own son.</p> - -<p>He was sent to school, went out as a page-boy, and became a footman. He -made an excellent servant, clean, punctual, tidy, and efficient—but, -alas! he finally traced his pedigree to a family of very high degree; -from that moment he was ruined. He thought himself too grand for his -situation, became idle, took to drink, began blackmail, and generally -went to the dogs.</p> - -<p>The house we took was a few doors from this romance.</p> - -<p>Built about 1810, the house was strong and good, but old-fashioned, so -we had to put in a bath, have hot and cold water laid on upstairs; add -gas, after finally deciding it would be too much bother to work our own -electric dynamo in the cellar (the only possible source of electric -light in London in 1887 was at the Grosvenor Gallery in Bond Street); -reconstruct the drains from end to end; in fact, turn an ancient -dwelling into a modern one. A vine, probably as old as the house, bears -fruit on the drawing-room balcony every summer, and lilies of the -valley and jasmine flourish beneath the window.</p> - -<p>One year the vine bore one hundred and seventy bunches of little black -grapes. In the hot summer of 1911 the number of bunches was less; but -two weighed respectively one pound, and thirteen ounces.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Was it Chance? or did Dame Brilliana Harley hover as a guardian angel -round the path of her namesake, gently whispering suggestions shedding -her influence to draw me in her footsteps? Howe’er it was, after my -marriage and departure abroad, naturally nothing more was thought of -the shiny black cloth book of Iceland notes by its owner.</p> - -<p class="padb1">Meantime it happened that Miss Ellen Barlee, a fairly well-known -authoress in those days—she wrote a <cite>Life of the Prince Imperial</cite>—was -going blind, and my father lent them to her so that her secretary might -read my jottings aloud in the evening with a view to amusing the old -lady.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_042fp"> -<img src="images/i_042fp.jpg" width="380" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">GRAPES GROWING ON A LONDON BALCONY</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">43</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">One day she sent for me. “My dear, you must publish this,” she said as -soon as I arrived.</p> - -<p>At that time I had not long returned from my wedding tour. Needless -to say, therefore, I laughed at the idea. Miss Barlee was determined, -however, to carry her point.</p> - -<p>“If you do not believe in my opinion,” she said, “may I send the -manuscripts to my publisher, and if he approves of it, will you take -the matter into serious consideration, as you are almost the first -woman—girl, I should rather say—to have been across Iceland?”</p> - -<p>Naturally I assented to her proposal, thinking the whole thing absurd. -What was my surprise when, a little later, I received a letter from the -publisher to say that he liked the notes, and if I would divide them -into chapters he thought that they would make a nice little book. He -also asked whether I could let him have any illustrations for it.</p> - -<p>Feeling somewhat exalted, and yet very shy about the whole thing, I -sent him a number of the sketches that I had made. Lo and behold, they -were accepted for the illustrations, and the book appeared as <cite>A Girl’s -Ride in Iceland</cite>.</p> - -<p>How strange it seems to look back and remember the origin of the title -<cite>A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</cite>. It was the title I had put on the cover -of the little black book—but it seemed absurd and ridiculous to my -mind as a cover on a real book. I thought of all sorts of grand, -high-sounding delineations; but Miss Barlee would none of them. “I love -your title,” she said. “You were a girl, and it seems such an original -idea, you must stick to it.” I did, but the critics laughed at the idea -of a girl doing anything—nevertheless it was quickly followed with <cite>A -Girl in the Carpathians</cite>, and every sort and kind of “girl” has haunted -the public ever since, from the stage to the library.</p> - -<p>The book ran through four editions, finally appearing on the bookstalls -at one shilling.</p> - -<p>But, oh dear, how I struggled with those chapters! How I fought those -“Mondays,” “Tuesdays,” and “Wednesdays” of the diary-form and wrestled -to get the whole into consecutive line and possible chapters: but it -gave me amusement during long hours spent on a sofa before my eldest -child was born. I used to get into despair, the despair of the amateur -who does not know what is wanted, and which is just as bad as the -despair of the professional who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">44</a></span> really knows what is wanted and yet -cannot pull it off. And so <cite>A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</cite> appeared just for -the fun of the thing. It cost me nothing and amused me hugely at the -moment; but I soon forgot all about it and set to work to enjoy myself -again.</p> - -<p>Among the friends who came to our bridal dinners—alas! years have -rolled on and death has played havoc among them—was Professor John -Stuart Blackie, my husband’s cousin. In Edinburgh that remarkable head -of his, with the shaggy white locks, the incomparable black wide-awake -and the Scotsman’s plaid thrown around his shoulders, was really one of -the sights. In fact, no figure was better known north of the Tweed than -Professor Blackie in his day. The north was his “ain countree,” but he -was a delight to every social circle that he entered on those occasions -when he came south.</p> - -<p>Of course, he commanded the whole company. And why not? Who would be an -octogenarian as full of activity and high spirits as he was, a Greek -scholar, professor, and a wit, without the authority to bid others keep -silence while one’s self talks? His little foibles and vanities were -the man, and nobody who knew him would willingly have seen him part -with a single one of them.</p> - -<p>On such an evening, soon after my marriage, I was sitting between him -and Mr. (now Sir) Anderson Critchett. The Professor declared in his -emphatic way that no man who lacked a poetic soul ought to live, poetry -being one of the most refining and ennobling gifts; he had always been -a poet himself and hoped to continue so as long as he lived.</p> - -<p>The old scholar became quite excited on the theme and said he would -sing to us after dinner, which he did, half singing, half reciting -“Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled.”</p> - -<p>“I believe in singing, it does one good,” he professed, and so he sang.</p> - -<p>Eccentric as he was, Blackie’s courtesy was delightful. What a pity we -have not more of that sort of thing nowadays! We women do love pretty -little attentions.</p> - -<p>Blackie once wrote me a poem—it was in Greek:</p> - -<p class="center padt1"><em>Likeness to God.</em></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Those <em>things</em> are likest to God,</div> -<div class="line">The <em>heart</em> that fainteth never,</div> -<div class="line">The <em>love</em> that ever is warm,</div> -<div class="line">And the hand of the generous giver.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">45</a></span></p> -<p>When he gave it to me, he dropped on his knees on the floor before a -whole roomful of people, kissed my hand like a courtier of the Middle -Ages in humble obeisance, and handed me the little poem.</p> - -<p>About this time also dates my first essay in journalism. Chance so -often steps in to foreshadow the important events of our lives. -Everyone gets his chance; but many do not recognise it when it comes. -If we only accept small beginnings they often lead to big endings. My -chance notebook on Iceland and some sporting articles in the <cite>Queen</cite> -were the beginning of an income a few years later.</p> - -<p>I was going to Scotland to pay a round of shooting and golfing visits -with my husband, who was fond of all kinds of sport. It occurred to -me it would be an interesting thing to write some sporting articles, -for I invariably followed the guns. I therefore went down to the -office of the <cite>Queen</cite> and boldly sent my card in to the editor. Miss -Lowe received me. I explained my idea to her, but as it would be an -innovation for a lady’s paper to attempt to print anything in the -nature of sport she did not know how it would be received, so she sent -for a worthy captain, who was at that time the art editor of the paper, -and asked for his opinion. “Absurd!” he exclaimed, without a moment’s -hesitation; “perfectly absurd! A woman can’t write articles on sport.”</p> - -<p>As really I did not care very much about doing the articles except -for an amusement, I was turning to go away, when I noticed the editor -holding the lapels of the old gentleman’s coat and trying to bawl into -his ear.</p> - -<p>“Women don’t know anything about sport and don’t want to,” he -continued, still determined not to listen.</p> - -<p>Those were the early days of women in journalism, and men—or rather -most men—had a strong prejudice against us and a distinct disbelief in -our abilities. After this ultimatum there was nothing left for me to -do but to say good-bye and leave Miss Lowe’s room. I was going out a -little crestfallen that my plan had so completely fallen through, when, -as the captain opened the door for me, he suddenly noticed my gloves, -and said:</p> - -<p>“Why do you wear those white gauntlet gloves? They look like the Horse -Guards.”</p> - -<p>“They are my driving gloves,” I replied.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">46</a></span></p> - -<p>“Driving gloves!” he exclaimed. “What do you mean? You didn’t drive -here?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” I answered, “the phaeton is at the door.”</p> - -<p>“You drove down Holborn at this crowded hour of the day?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I mildly replied.</p> - -<p>He looked out of the window and saw the carriage and horses standing in -the street below. By this time I was in the passage. He called me back, -scanned me curiously, and, turning to Miss Lowe, said suddenly, and -without any preliminary canter:</p> - -<p>“Let her do the articles. A woman who can drive a pair along the -crowded London streets in the season ought to be able to write a -sporting article.”</p> - -<p>Perhaps his conclusion was as illogical as his previous opinion of -woman’s capability in the sporting line had been. Anyway, as it gave -me the opportunity I wanted, I was not disposed to question, much less -to quarrel, with it. So began the first series of sporting articles -to appear in a woman’s paper. The little set was a success. This was -my first essay in journalism, just done at the time for the fun of -the thing. I think I made about fifteen pounds over it, and promptly -distributed my earnings where most sadly required.</p> - -<p>Any little earnings then were devoted to charity, and I always called -them my “charity money.” It was the generousness of superfluity. Now, -when I can’t help giving away a great deal more than I ought to afford, -it is the “extravagance of generosity.”</p> - -<p class="padb1">Having tried my hand at journalism I was satisfied, just as I had tried -my hand as a girl in my teens at exhibiting oil-paintings at the Lady -Artists’ Exhibitions or china plaques elsewhere; or as later, when I -exhibited photographs and won a Kodak prize of five pounds for horses -galloping across the open prairie. It is nice to make an attempt at -anything and everything, and sometimes such experience becomes of -value. Truly, journalism did so to me when, six years after those first -half-dozen sporting articles appeared for “the fun of the thing,” I had -to look to my pen, or my brush.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_047fp"> -<img src="images/i_047fp.jpg" width="600" height="460" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">BORKUM OF SPY FAME—NOW A GREAT NAVAL STATION<br /> -<em>Water-colour sketch by the Author. Exhibited in London 1911</em></p></div> - -<p class="padt1">How strange, after such a span of time, to feel a little thrill of -pleasure at the announcement of acceptance of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">47</a></span>something I had done! -It shows that, after all, one is capable of new sensations along new -lines, even when parallel ones.</p> - -<p>Everyone was talking of Borkum in 1910. Two English officers had been -arrested as spies there and imprisoned in a German fortress.</p> - -<p>Mr. Percy Anderson, fresh from designing the dresses for <em>Kismet</em>, -chanced to see a sketch I had made at Borkum a few years before.</p> - -<p>“Why on earth don’t you send it to an exhibition?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I never show anything nowadays,” was my reply.</p> - -<p>“Send this for a change, then—just get a frame and send it in.”</p> - -<p>The frame was bought, and to the Lady Artists in Suffolk Street it -went. A little thrill of joy passed through me when I opened an -envelope with a bright red ticket:</p> - -<p class="center padt1"> -<em>Admit the artist to varnishing day.</em></p> - -<p class="padt1">A week later my little picture appeared in the <cite>Daily Graphic</cite>.</p> - -<p>Borkum, once famous “as the only spot on earth without a Jew,” is now -a great German naval base. In 1900 it was little more than a sandhill, -with a few lodging-houses and bathing-machines, and ourselves the -only English folk. Icebound in winter, it was the home of millions of -wild fowl in summer. Every evening before going to bed the visitors -and residents sang their anti-Jewish anthem. Though strong in -fortification, Borkum is not great in size, being only six miles long -and half a mile wide.</p> - -<p>Public charity is no doubt an excellent thing. The world could not -get on without it. But private charity seems to me of infinitely more -value. If every one of us always had some particular case in hand for -someone less blessed than ourselves, what a much happier place the -world would be. Individual charity means so much. There is nothing -easier than for a rich person to write a cheque and send it to some -institution, where a large percentage is swallowed up in paying rates, -rent, and taxes, clerks, and the rest of it, but it means a great deal -for a person to give up their private time, to expend their own energy, -in looking after some individual case. We all know people we can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">48</a></span> -help, not singly, but in multitudes, if we choose to take the trouble, -and for the greater part of my life I have found it a good thing to -have one big job in hand at a time and to work at it till completed. -Procuring public or private pensions for the genteel poor, getting -cripples into homes, invalids into hospitals, or people recovering -from illnesses into convalescent homes; starting young people in life; -enquiring into emigration cases and helping them; finding young women -places in bonnet shops, even securing employment in orchestras.</p> - -<p>In fact, there is generally a niche for every case if one only takes -the trouble to find it. The niche is not always procurable by the -persons themselves, as they have not the world-wide knowledge and -influence to secure it; but with a little capacity, a little work, -and a little thought one is often able to help young people to start, -to help to educate children, and do hundreds of little individual -kindnesses which may keep the whole family together, or mean the future -success of the individual.</p> - -<p>Poverty is always relative. It means possessing less than we have -been accustomed to. Having been both rich and poor, I am perhaps an -impartial critic.</p> - -<p>The domestic experiences of those married years were, later, as so much -garnered grain to the writer. My luxurious, happy home was—without my -knowledge—affording me training which afterwards proved invaluable in -my writing. The responsibilities of motherhood gave me insight into the -workings and imaginations of children’s minds. The household wisdom -learnt as mistress of a fairly large establishment has been of infinite -use in writing on practical subjects of domestic interest—especially -those of interest to women.</p> - -<p>Men must really cease to think women find fun in ordering cabbages.</p> - -<p>As every book we read leaves some sort of an impression, so every scene -or incident we live leaves its mark.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">49</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">“A WINTER JAUNT TO NORWAY”</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">ON a terribly cold day in January, 1893, my father received a wire from -Christiania, saying that my brother was dangerously ill there.</p> - -<p>After he took his degree, Vaughan had worked with Pasteur in Paris -for some time at the table next Professor Sophus Torop. They thus -became friends, and when my brother wished to complete some original -scientific work of his own, Professor Torop kindly offered him space in -his huge laboratories at Christiania if he cared to use them. Thither -he went. A cut on his hand ended in serious blood-poisoning, and a -terrifying telegram suggesting amputation of the right arm was the -first intimation we had of the illness.</p> - -<p>It was afternoon. Someone must go to Norway. Norway in winter! Yes, -Norway covered with snow and ice: its rivers, fjords, waterfalls, and -lakes all frozen: its mountains cloaked with purest snow: its people -swathed in fur.</p> - -<p>My father was too tied by his profession to leave. My mother was not -equal to so perilous a journey. My husband was away in Scotland on -business, so I undertook the expedition. It was considered too wild -an undertaking for me, a young woman, to do quite alone, so my people -insisted that my sister, then a little girl, should accompany me.</p> - -<p>Three hours later we started, not in the least knowing how we were ever -going to get to Christiania, as the winter was particularly severe, -and for months the great naval station at Kiel had been completely -ice-bound. We had the most exciting time crossing from Kiel to Korsör -in the first boat that had ventured through the ice for twelve weeks, -and so bad did the passage finally become that we were forced to get -out and walk.</p> - -<p>Crossing an ice-floe was somewhat interesting and certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">50</a></span> exciting, -and walking on one’s feet from Denmark to Sweden was a queer experience.</p> - -<p>Sometimes we stumbled through slush across ice-hummocks between two -and three feet thick. At other times we got into lumbersome ice-boats -and were pulled by sailors with feet properly swathed for the purpose. -Occasionally the boat would slide into an ice-crack, and, though the -passengers remained dry, the wretched men dragging the craft suffered -unexpected cold baths.</p> - -<p>We passed encampments on the ice, with people living calmly there, -from whom we learnt that various venturesome travellers, thinking they -could cross the frozen belt without proper guides, had started off on -foot. Then fog or mist overtook them and they lost their way, or, being -fatigued, they sat down to rest and were frozen into their eternal -sleep. Others slipped and lost their lives in the ice-cracks. Two or -three such deaths were matters of weekly occurrence that severe winter.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We were met in Christiania at six o’clock in the morning by Dr. Nansen, -who came to tell us that our brother’s hand had been saved, and though -he was still seriously ill, they hoped all immediate danger was past.</p> - -<p>We nursed him and finally took him away to the mountains, where there -was snow ten feet deep, to recoup after his illness.</p> - -<p>Our experiences were so delightful that we returned to Norway a -couple of years later for the fun of the thing, and I took a number -of photographs. The Lady Brilliana Harley must have been at my elbow, -I think, as I only did the thing as a joke and to amuse myself at the -time. I had found ski so exciting a sport, I wanted others to know -about its joys. Strange to say, however, no newspaper would take my -photographs of ski. “They had never heard of such a sport, they did not -wish to hear of such a sport—one which would never be the slightest -interest to English people,” and so on. Who would believe this, when, -only fifteen years later, the windows of London sporting outfitters are -filled with <em>ski</em> in the winter months, and great numbers of young men -and women have tried Skilübling themselves? Do not our English people -go out to Switzerland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">51</a></span> in thousands and tens of thousands every year -for this very purpose? While, after all, Norway is preferable in winter.</p> - -<p>When I took up my pen professionally, I pegged away, and I wrote and -wrote and wrote. Other people began to be interested, so I contributed -the first snow-shoe articles to the <cite>Encyclopædia of Sport</cite>, and -newspapers and magazines galore.</p> - -<p>At that time in Christiania, and later on when we returned for -snow-shoeing, Society was very simple, but very interesting. Night -after night at parties we met such men as Nansen, Ibsen, Björnson, -Leys the poet, and Ilef Petersen the artist. There were no grand -dinners, just simple little supper-parties, beer and milk being the -chief beverages, with one hot dish and many delicious cold compounds. -The daughter of the house, more or less, waited at table. Everything -was simplicity itself, but brains and talent, wit and humour were -omnipresent.</p> - -<p>The greatest personality of all this group was undoubtedly Björnson. He -was one of the finest men, both in appearance and brain, that I have -ever met, and I have met many great men.</p> - -<p>I made a few notes, remembered much more; and finally, when friends -begged me to write a volume of these travels, I wrote <cite>A Winter Jaunt -to Norway</cite>. It went into two or perhaps three editions, but that was -only as a <em>hors d’œuvre</em>. It contained personal chapters upon such -people as Nansen and the latter-day dramatists of Norway, Ibsen and -Björnson. Ibsen had not then the cult that he immediately afterwards -acquired, and it is curious now to read of the hostility which his -writings provoked. Sir Edwin Saunders wrote to me:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> -<p>“You have gone far to sweeten Ibsen, which is no ordinary -achievement.”</p></div> - -<p>Mr. W. C. Miller, the editor of the <cite>Educational Times</cite>, wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> -<p>“Some time I propose to try Ibsen again, when, I dare say, I shall -be reviled (once more) almost as if I were advocating robbery and -murder.”</p></div> - -<p>One appreciates most the compliments of one’s own fellow-countrymen. -But the foreigner is charming, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">52</a></span> frank and free, so naïve. How could -a young writer be otherwise than pleased to receive this letter from a -Norwegian?</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“How well you bring out the poetry of winter in your Norway book! -I think you are more of a poet than you know of yourself. I think, -too, that you are a born story-teller. I never knew anyone seize -so quickly and unerringly the spirit of those Icelandic tales. I -believe you could modernise one of the Sagas so as to make it as -interesting to a modern reader as a novel. I have an unbounded -belief in you.</p> - -<p class="right"> -“Yours truly, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">J. Stefansson</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>Even as I write, the vision of Ibsen’s simple home, his plebeian wife, -and the old man seated at his desk with his little dolls laid out -before him, comes floating over the space of years.</p> - -<p>A most unromantic figure, surely! though at the end of his life Ibsen -formed an attachment for a young girl which was tenfold returned -by her. He was, notwithstanding the rough exterior, an amorous old -gentleman, fond of squeezing ladies’ hands and whispering pretty things -into their ears, so I was not so surprised as some of his admirers on -this side seem to have been.</p> - -<p>He was hardly dead before a little book appeared in German, its title -being <cite>Ibsen. With Unpublished Letters to a Friend</cite>, by Georg Brandes. -The friend was the girl. There were twelve letters, including a set of -album verses and the dedication of a photograph. The romance came about -in this wise.</p> - -<p>In the late summer of 1889 Ibsen and his family spent a holiday in the -Tyrolese watering-place Gossensass, where they made the acquaintance -of a young Viennese girl who was also staying there. She was eighteen -years of age, the poet sixty-one; but that wide disparity did not -prevent a warm friendship springing up between them, which apparently -was cultivated more assiduously on her side than on his, and was -eventually brought to a close, as far as overt manifestations were -concerned at any rate, by his decision. On separating, the dramatist -gave her a copy of his photograph, on the back of which was written:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">53</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“To the May sun of a September life—in the Tyrol; -27-9-89.—<span class="smcap">Henrik Ibsen.</span>”</p></div> - -<p>By the following February Ibsen was already troubled in his mind over -the development which the friendship was taking. He wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Long, very long, have I let your last dear letter lie, read it -and read it again, without sending you an answer. Please accept my -most heartfelt thanks in a few words. And henceforward, till we see -one another personally, you will hear from me by letter little and -seldom. Believe me—it is better so. It is the only right thing -to do. I feel it a matter of conscience to put a stop to this -correspondence with you, or, at any rate, to restrict it.... You -will understand all this as I have meant it. And if we meet again -I will explain exactly. Till then and for ever you remain in my -thoughts. And that all the more if this troublesome letter-writing -causes no disturbance. A thousand greetings.</p> - -<p class="right">“Your <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Henrik Ibsen</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>In spite of Ibsen’s entreaties his young friend continued to send him -letters, and a little present accompanied one of them at the close of -1890. He replied:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“I have safely received your dear letter. Also the bell with the -lovely picture. I thank you for them from my heart. My wife, too, -thinks the picture is very well painted. Soon I will send you my -new play. Receive it in friendship—but in silence.</p> - -<p class="right"> -“Your ever devoted <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Henrik Ibsen</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>That was the end of the letter-writing. They never saw one another -again after the meeting in the Tyrol, and from then the Viennese girl -kept silence. Only once did she break it—on the poet’s seventieth -birthday, in 1898, when she sent him a congratulatory telegram. Three -days later she received from him a photograph, on the back of which was -written:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">54</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The summer in Gossensass was the happiest, the most beautiful in -my life. Hardly dare to think of it. And yet must always—always.”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">So Love came tapping at the window of the old gentleman who had -described Youth knocking at the door.</p> - -<p><cite>A Winter’s Jaunt to Norway</cite> the papers unanimously described as -“lively” and “breezy,” and its proud parent began to feel as if she had -discovered the home of the winds.</p> - -<p>A few years later the solid meal followed—the notes were served up as -soup, re-served as fish for the papers, and took more solid form as -meat for the magazines. Memory was called upon in all kinds of ways -and on all kinds of Scandinavian subjects as puddings for the Press, -so these little trips for pleasure became invested capital and bore -good interest. I became an authority on Northern lands, and for years -was written to, or telegraphed to, or ’phoned to for copy on like -subjects. I was asked to review somebody else’s Norway book; to join a -Norwegian Club; to supply someone with a teacher of Norsk literature, -and be interviewed for “galleries” of travellers or sportswomen. One -gentleman, whom I unfortunately did not see, but of whose industry I -remain an unceasing admirer, wrote an admirable four-column interview -with me, entirely from his own imagination.</p> - -<p>It always pays to master something well, and it is strange how one -comes across things again and again through life. When I had been very -ill in 1909, and was ordered to Woodhall Spa for a course of baths, the -delightful Bath-chair man who conveyed me to the pump-room, suddenly -exclaimed, “Excuse me, ma’am, but are you the Mrs. Alec Tweedie that -writes?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“I wondered if you were immediately I heard your name,” he said, -“because I owe you a lot, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“Owe me?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “seven or eight years ago there was a sale near here -and a lot of books were sold. I bought a dozen old copies of <cite>Murray’s -Magazine</cite> for a shilling, and a shilling meant a good deal to me in -those days, but reading meant more. In them I read articles by you on -Nansen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">55</a></span> Björnson, and those Norwegian fellows, and I got so interested -in Norwegian literature and the North Pole that I have read everything -about them I have been able to lay my hands on ever since. The Squire -has been awfully good in lending me his books on Arctic travel, and if -it had not been for you I should never have begun to take an interest -in such things.”</p> - -<p>It was really quite touching. How little one knows when one takes up -one’s pen what good or ill those inky scratches may do.</p> - -<p>On the heels of <cite>A Winter’s Jaunt to Norway</cite>, written for pleasure, -came <cite>Wilton, Q.C., or Life in a Highland Shooting-Box</cite>, written for -gain, which <cite>The Times</cite> was kind enough to praise for its <em>instruction</em> -as well as amusement, saying the author appeared to have a sound -knowledge of all varieties of the chase. This was the outcome of those -sporting articles in the <cite>Queen</cite> written when I used to follow the -guns with my husband. It was followed by a booklet on <cite>Danish versus -English Butter-making</cite>, reprinted from the <cite>Fortnightly Review</cite>. This -subject interested me so greatly that it was most cheering to find -the big “dailies” taking up with zest my lecture to our slack farmers -at home. A leading article in the <cite>Daily Telegraph</cite> said, “Those of -our readers who wish to learn how the thrifty, hardy, and industrious -Danes have grown rich during the last quarter of a century we refer to -Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s instructive exegesis.” And the <cite>Review of Reviews</cite> -affirmed, “It is a discourse much needed in the present day by our -agriculturists.” But I am running too far ahead. Life is often ruled by -chance, and that Danish subject which brought so much <em>kudos</em> at the -time was taken up by chance because of a stray remark at a big dinner -in Copenhagen.</p> - -<p>Apropos of the simplicity of life in Norway, it was rather amusing -to note the despair and worry caused over the dress allowance of the -maids-of-honour appointed to attend upon the young English Princess, -who had, in 1906, but recently taken her seat upon the throne of Norway.</p> - -<p>It was decided that a certain amount of Court etiquette must be kept -up. Accordingly, a high official from the Court of St. James’s went -over to Christiania to see what could be done. It is a rule that a -maid-of-honour should be paid a sum sufficient to dress upon, a sum -which in England<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">56</a></span> amounts to £300 a year, although a maid-of-honour -is no longer given a thousand pounds as a marriage portion; all she -carries away is her badge, with permission to wear it as a brooch since -it is no longer required as an Order.</p> - -<p>Being anxious to make all arrangements as satisfactorily as possible -the Englishman visited a well-known gentleman in the capital, who had -several daughters and went much into Society. Touching the subject, he -asked, “What would be a reasonable figure for a Norwegian girl to dress -upon?” and explained his reason for wishing to know.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said the likewise exalted Scandinavian official, “I have three -daughters, and as they go out a good deal, and I am particular that -they should always look nice, I am afraid I am a little extravagant in -their allowance and give them each twenty-five pounds a year.”</p> - -<p>“Twenty-five pounds a year!” exclaimed the Britisher, amazed.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see,” continued the Norwegian, evidently fearing that his -visitor was shocked at the magnitude of the amount, “an ordinary young -lady here would dress on fifteen or seventeen pounds a year, and, of -course, some people do think the allowance I give my daughters somewhat -excessive.”</p> - -<p>The Englishman, evidently more surprised, proceeded to explain that a -<em>dame-d’honneur</em> would have to dress more expensively than an ordinary -young lady; besides, there would be an occasional visit to London, or -some other capital, when new clothes would be required.</p> - -<p>So these two good, kind creatures put their heads together, and, -hovering between the hundred pounds offered by the Britisher and the -fifty suggested by the Norwegian, decided that seventy-five pounds a -year would be ample.</p> - -<p>Norway was amazed at the magnitude of the sum. For a young lady to have -seventy-five pounds a year to put upon her back was astounding. But -the young ladies soon discovered that they were expected to dress for -dinner every night, a social custom unknown in their experience; and -before the year had run out, they had learnt that their allowance was -as little as they could clothe themselves upon as maids-in-waiting to -the Queen of Norway.</p> - -<p>It was pleasant, when I paid my last visit to Norway in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">57</a></span> 1910, to -hear how popular our English Princess and her Danish husband had made -themselves.</p> - -<p>Norway is poor, but delightful.</p> - -<p>Life on lentils and beans can be quite pleasant; but perhaps the -proletariat may deny us even these luxuries.</p> - -<p>Demos may decree that all men and women not employed on manual labour -are “waste products,” and to work or to die will be demanded of them, -work being to Demos a purely physical action.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">58</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">“THE TENDER GRACE OF A DAY THAT IS DEAD”</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">THOSE early days of married life were very gay. We entertained -tremendously. We went out enormously. We lived in a perfect social -whirl. I enjoyed the privilege of wearing pretty frocks at luncheons, -dinners, and dances; of riding in the morning, and driving a Park -phaeton and pair of cobs in the afternoon, followed by two brown -collies, given me by Sir John Kinloch of Kinloch. One, “Ruby” by name, -went everywhere with me, and, clinging to her coat as she perambulated -round the dining-room, my babies learnt to walk. They were a pretty -sight, those two small boys in Lord Fauntleroy suits, tumbling about on -the hearth with the long-haired red collies.</p> - -<p>How I loved going to Ascot and Goodwood, taking people down, or being -taken down, always feeling I could help to make things “go” and amuse -people. Then the dinners; we had eight or ten to dine every Sunday -night, quite informally, but as we usually lunched out and were away -all day, we used to do this in the evenings. All sorts of charming -people came, and I never enjoyed myself more than in the capacity -of a hostess. Alec sang well, and we collected good musicians about -us; Madame Lemmens-Sherrington, Madame Antoinette Sterling, George -Grossmith, Corney Grain, Eugene Oudin, all went to the piano in turn.</p> - -<p>My husband was member of a dozen golf clubs, including St. Andrews, -Wimbledon, and Sandwich; and we took houses for odd months on different -links for the benefit of the children, who were looked after by two -excellent nurses, while we ran down to see them for week-ends or -slipped over to Paris for a few days.</p> - -<p>We went to shooting parties in the autumn, to race-meetings in the -spring, were members of Sandown and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">59</a></span> Hurst Park, were constantly at -Ranelagh or Hurlingham, kept a couple of boats on the river (the river -was the height of fashion in the ’nineties) and generally enjoyed -ourselves.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>As a rule, we always lunched at the old Harley-Street house on Sundays -when we were in town, went to all the theatres, and, in fact, lived a -thoroughly happy, gay, social life, with no thought for the morrow.</p> - -<p>I still kept up my painting, did a quantity of embroidery from my own -designs for bedspreads, sideboard cloths, babies’ bonnets, or lapels of -dresses; once and again wrote a little, but the business of existence -was more amusement, and fun and spending, rather than making money and -saving.</p> - -<p>Everything seemed gay and bright and I found life one continual joy.</p> - -<p>Let Youth be happy and gay. It is the time to be irresponsible and -light-hearted. Years bring soberness. Life makes us wonder if the game -is worth the struggle. I suppose it comes to all of us at times to wish -to run away and hide ourselves as Tolstoi did. The rebellion of youth -against home restraint returns again in later years as the rebellion of -age against life’s thraldom.</p> - -<p>And then, when the sky was blue, the bolt fell. We had been married -eight years.</p> - -<p>Suddenly all was changed. My husband had joined a syndicate. The -syndicate failed. He had lost—lost heavily. Lost his capital.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Immediately our household was reduced to modest limits. Our -drawing-room was shut up, three servants dismissed, the horses sold. -For the first time in my life I was without a carriage. But, as Alec -was sure of earning money again shortly, we did not part with anything -which this income would make possible to keep.</p> - -<p>Then a wonderful thing happened. A very dear old friend came to me.</p> - -<p>“Ethel,” he said, “I am more than sorry, my dear child, for all that -has happened, but your husband will go back to business and all will be -well; meantime put that in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">60</a></span> your bank to tide you over and keep things -going as a weapon to fight fate.”</p> - -<p>It was a cheque for two thousand pounds. Imagine my amazement, imagine -my pride at having a friend willing to make such a sacrifice; but, of -course, I did not take it. I could not take it, although I thanked him -from the bottom of my heart and promised if the necessity really came I -would go to him.</p> - -<p>To give in one’s lifetime is true generosity, to bequeath after death -is often merely convenience.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>But my husband never smiled again. Overpowered by grief at the position -in which he had placed his wife and children, he died six months later -in his sleep; died simply of a broken heart.</p> - -<p>He was followed on the same journey only a few weeks later by my -father, who passed away quite as suddenly, with the ink still wet on -the paper of an article he was writing for the <cite>Lancet</cite>. He never -finished his article, neither had he altered an old will as he had -intended.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Three shocks had thus each followed the other in quick succession -without time to recover from one before the next came, and so in little -more than half a brief year the once happy daughter, wife, and mother -stood alone, stunned, reduced to comparative poverty, with children -clinging to her skirts. The two breadwinners of the family had gone out -almost together.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There was not time to think and mourn and let precious moments go by. -Something must be done. There was I with about as much to live on as I -used to spend on my dress.</p> - -<p>Then my old dear friend came back to me.</p> - -<p>“I admired your pride and your pluck six months ago,” he said, “when -you had a husband beside you to fight for you. But now, my dear child, -you are alone and you have the children to think of. I wish you to go -to your bank and put that two thousand pounds to your credit; and, more -than that, I wish to adopt you as my daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">61</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>It was all so bewildering, so strange. I had known him all my life. -He was one of my father’s oldest friends. His wife had always been -charming to me and she had left me bits of jewellery when she died; -but again I had to refuse. He had relations. I could not claim that -privilege. Still he persisted.</p> - -<p>“You have always been like a daughter to me—to us—and now I want to -claim the right to provide for you and your children.”</p> - -<p>Still I refused. I promised again to go to him if ever I was in real -need; but I took nothing.</p> - -<p>When he died others inherited all he had.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>There are only two crimes in Society: one to be poor, the other to be -found out.</p> - -<p>It seems to me that everything in life is relative. If one is born -poor, one does not know what it is to be rich, and if one is rich, one -does not understand the responsibilities of strawberry leaves, and -strawberry leaves do not comprehend the difficulties of a throne.</p> - -<p>If things change, if one goes up in the world, one naturally -assimilates ideas and ways by merely taking on a little more of what -one already has; but if one slides back in life, one has to give up -what is part and parcel of one’s very existence. I was not born in a -back street or a country cottage or a suburban villa—in either of -these I might have lived in simple comfort on my small income—but that -would not have been <em>me</em>.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Bills came in on every side. Bills haunted me. Bills were nothing in my -old life when they were paid up every quarter; but even a few hundreds -meant sleepless nights of haunting fear to me now.</p> - -<p>I took up my pen feverishly. Nine years of married life were ended. All -was changed. Still, during those first few months of shock, my father -yet lived, and I knew I could rely on his help, so it was not until the -late autumn of 1896 that I realised my position in all its cruelty.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Pause, readers, not to give me your sympathy, not to shed tears on what -is past, but to think of the future;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">62</a></span> pause and think, and pave the -paths for your daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters by settlements.</p> - -<p>Yes, <em>settlements</em>. It is a cruel thing to let a girl leave a home -without a safeguard in proportion to the income of her family. It is a -crueller thing to bring boys and girls into the world with insufficient -provision for their education and maintenance.</p> - -<p>This little book of a woman’s work will have served a good end if one -father, husband, son, or brother, sees what opportunities were lost by -no adequate provision being made for its author, when this could so -easily have been done. Settlements of some sort are as necessary as the -marriage ring, a health certificate is as important as the marriage -lines.</p> - -<p>I feel strongly that every child born should have some kind of -provision made for its education and maintenance and to give it a start -in life. Both boys and girls should be treated exactly alike.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The unexpected change in my position showed me how kind the world can -be; how good and generous the bulk of humanity is. There are certainly -exceptions, and those generally where they should not be. But one -does not think of them: one turns to the geniality and little acts of -thoughtfulness that day by day come from friends in the truest sense of -the word, and I can only wish that mine could realise to what extent -they have greased the wheels of these working years. Little kindnesses -are like flowers by the roadside or sun-gleams on a rainy day.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padt2 padb2"><h2 id="PART_IV">PART IV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="small">WIDOWHOOD AND WORK</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_065fp"> -<img src="images/i_065fp.jpg" width="454" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption"><span class="small add8em"><em>From a photograph by Lombardi & Co.</em></span><br /> -WHEN FIRST A WIDOW</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">65</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">WIDOWHOOD AND WORK<br /> -<br /> -<em>Labor omnia vincit</em></span></h3> - -<p class="drop-cap">ALONE!</p> - -<p>’Tis often harder to live than to die.</p> - -<p>Schopenhauer says happiness is only a delusion of youth and childhood; -anyway, my work now began. Hard work; collar-work, uphill and -unceasing. The work of a professional woman, not the pleasant dipping -into the inkpot as amateur fancy led.</p> - -<p>Despite advice showered on me I refused to give up my “home.” Many -things were sold, the carriages and saddles among them, but I stuck to -the “home.” The old family silver was sent to the bank, the ancestors’ -china packed away; the house was let for two years until the worker -should feel her feet. But those two years were destined to be more than -doubled before I should sit down once more on my own hearth, among my -beloved household gods.</p> - -<p>Now that I had to face the world on my own and take up my pen -seriously, the few pounds that dilettante work had brought in -before—to be distributed in charity—must be doubled and quadrupled.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>A school-fellow—the native of Finland whom I have already -mentioned—was staying with us in England that spring. She had often -talked of her wonderful country—her beloved Suomi—with its eight -hundred miles of coastline, and literally thousands of islands, ranging -in size from tiny rocks to habitable portions of land. She had often -done her best to persuade us to go there, but it seemed a long way and -there was no particular reason for the journey. Now, when my husband -had passed away, she persuaded me anew to pack my trunk and accompany -her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">66</a></span> to Finland. Change of scene and thought would be good for me, and -I could gather material for a book. We started within a week, and thus, -on a brilliant morning early in June, in 1896, our vessel steamed into -Helsingfors.</p> - -<p>My friend was connected with some of the oldest families in Finland, -and great and wonderful was the hospitality we—my sister and -I—received upon her native shores. We were there for some months. We -wandered north, south, east, and west. We slept in a haunted, deserted -castle, which stood alone on a rocky island, round which the current -made endless whirlpools. We roved through districts where milk and -eggs and black bread were the only food procurable; we went to the -fashionable watering-place Hangö, and there were entertained on a -Russian man-of-war. We saw the Kokko fires lighted on Midsummer’s Eve; -we watched the process of emptying the salmon nets at five o’clock in -the morning and packing the fish for transport to St. Petersburg. We -heard the Runo singers, those weird folk who, by word of mouth, have -kept alive the Finnish legends from generation to generation. We saw -forests burnt; and I tried an ant-heap bath, which is a Finnish remedy -for rheumatism and such-like ills. We plodded along the stony path to -Russia. We stayed at a monastery at Lake Ladoga, and, above all, we -descended in tar-boats the famous rapids between Russia and the Gulf -of Bothnia, which was perhaps one of the most exciting events in my -life—a life which has not been altogether devoid of excitement.</p> - -<p>No one can dream of the pleasure and nervous strain of rushing through -curdling water for six miles at a stretch over huge waves, in a fragile -craft, at breakneck speed.</p> - -<p>Six miles, with a new experience every second. Six miles, when every -bend, every mile, may be the last. Turning and twisting between piles -of rocks, running down like precipices to the water’s side, from which -one could feel the drops of water as they splashed over our little -craft, or when a great wave struck it and threw a volume of water into -our laps. We felt almost inclined to shriek at the speed with which -we were flying those rapids. Wildly we tore past the banks, when, lo! -what was that? A broken tar-boat, now a scattered mass of beams, which -only a few short hours before had carried passengers like ourselves. -In spite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">67</a></span> of the wonderful dexterity of the pilots such accidents -sometimes happen. The steersman of that boat had ventured a little -too near a hidden rock and his frail craft was instantly shattered -to pieces, the tar barrels bubbling over the water like Indian corn -over a fire. The two occupants had luckily been saved, as they were -sufficiently near the water’s edge to allow a rope to be thrown.</p> - -<p>Yes, these rapids, of which there are several, the largest being -thirteen miles long at Pyhakoski, represent an enormous force of -nature, and, to descend them, shows a wonderful example of what great -skill and a cool head can do to steer a frail boat through such -turbulent waters and such cataracts.</p> - -<p>I tremble now when I think of those awful nights in Finland. Sleep had -deserted me. I used to steal from my bed in the small hours, when I -could toss about no more, and, throwing on a dressing-gown, slip out -on to the balcony. How perfect it all was, that great high dome of -sky so light that one could barely see a star, so warm that sun and -moon fought for pre-eminence. No one who has not really seen them can -know the glory of those Northern nights both in winter and in summer. -In winter the glory of the darkness and the aurora borealis (Northern -Lights), in summer the perfection of colour and light. I have seen them -on four or five different occasions. Beautiful as is the South, the -night of the Arctic is still more wondrous. It is so still, so calm, so -vast.</p> - -<p>There on the balcony, listening to the grasshoppers and watching the -reds and yellows of the midnight sun, I would dream waking dreams. -Could I really write professionally? Could I earn sufficient to send my -boys to school and keep a home, ought I to risk it, or should I decide, -as so many friends wished, to part myself from all my old ties and -treasures, and live in seclusion on my little income in a cottage or a -suburb? It was a great fight. Six months of anxiety and two terrible -shocks had weakened me and made me distrust myself.</p> - -<p>Yes, even now I shiver when I think of those nights. Nights of -wakefulness after a hard working day. Napoleon, Wellington, and Grant -could all sleep at a moment’s notice, even on the battlefield, the -result of will-power and habit. I wished I could acquire the gift.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">68</a></span></p> - -<p>Was it possible that I, a woman of no particular education, no -particular gift as far as I knew, could become one of the army of -workers?</p> - -<p>That an occupation was necessary, I resolved. I had no money to enjoy -my old world, not enough to keep up my old home. There were debts to -be paid. The children must be properly educated, something must be -done—Ah—but what?</p> - -<p>Should I turn to the stage? There I felt fairly sure of success. -I could walk, talk, move as a lady, knew how to recite and speak; -besides, had I not had that girlish offer when I was less capable than -now?</p> - -<p>In the early ’eighties Mrs. J. H. Riddell, the then fashionable -novelist, started a magazine called <cite>Home</cite>. Looking back, I fancy -she wrote a good deal of the copy herself, anyway, it was fairly -successful, and amongst other articles was one called “Here and There,” -by an Idle Man. This gives in a few words her impressions of my -performance as a girl in the schoolroom.</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1 padb1"><em>THEATRICALS</em></p> - -<p class="center noindent">“SWEETHEARTS.”<br /> -<span class="smaller">A Dramatic Contrast, by <span class="smcap">W. S. Gilbert</span>.</span></p> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my90" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="theatricals"> -<tr> -<th class="tdc normal padb1" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Act I</span></th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"><em>Garden Scene—Early Spring, 1849.</em></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Harry Spreadbrow (the Young Lover)</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Sir William Magnay, Bart.</span></p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Wilcox (the Old Gardener)</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">General Anderson.</span></p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Jenny Northcott</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Miss Ethel B. Harley.</span></p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc padt1 padb1" colspan="2"><span class="smcap">Act II</span></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"><em>The Fall of the Leaf, after a lapse of Thirty Years.</em></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Sir Henry Spreadbrow (an Old Indian Judge)</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Sir William Magnay, Bart.</span></p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Miss Northcott</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Miss Ethel B. Harley.</span></p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">Ruth (her maid-servant)</p></td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent"><span class="smcap">Miss Maud Holt</span> (afterwards -<span class="smcap">Lady Beerbohm Tree</span>).</p></td> -</tr></table></div> - - -<p class="small">Scenery painted by Miss Ethel B. Harley, Proscenium by General -Anderson.</p> - -<p class="padt1 small">Number 25, Harley Street, is the residence of Doctor George Harley, -<span class="smcap">F.R.S.</span>, the mention of whose name will at once recall -to the readers of <cite>Home</cite> “My Ghost Story”—so weird a narrative -that, to my thinking, it was a pity to mar its dramatic effect -by explanation. To the general public, he is better known by the -results of his labours in the field of medical science; but it is -only his friends who are aware of his large<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">69</a></span> experience, -his wide knowledge, and his untiring efforts to make the age in -which he lives wiser, happier, better. Though still, comparatively -speaking, young, he has been on terms of intimacy with most of -the men of the Victorian era, whose memories (alas! we live fast -now and the great die too soon) will never be forgotten while the -English language remains to tell of their achievements; and his -conversation teems with anecdotes concerning famous beauties, -authors, artists, statesmen, millionaires. No pleasanter hour could -be spent than in hearing his kindly appreciative talk concerning -“People I have known.”</p> - -<p class="small">His observation of the habits of animals also has been marvellous. I -never recollect reading anything which conveyed so vivid a picture to -my mind, as his verbal description of a lake haunted by wild swans in -Scotland.</p> - -<p class="small">At the door of his house, then, do we find ourselves.</p> - -<p class="small">Such a day! the rain pouring down in torrents, the sky leaden, the -earth soppy, all cabs engaged, all trains full, all omnibuses wretched.</p> - -<p class="small">But once across the hospitable threshold, life casts its cloud-tints, -and sunshine seems to reign.</p> - -<p class="small">We go upstairs. Can this possibly be the remembered drawing-room? It -is parted off from door to window, the side next the hearth being -converted into the stage, and the larger half admirably arranged for -the accommodation of the spectators.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="small">So, the lover comes to say farewell, and the young lady’s manner will -not let him say more. One does not quite like—at least an old fogey -like myself, with ideas as much out of fashion as his coat, hesitates, -even in such an exclusive publication as <cite>Home</cite>—to talk about the -charms of a living maiden in print; but yet in some future happy time -Miss Harley may like to show eyes still younger and brighter than her -own are now, the impression she produced upon one not too impressible. -Most fair, most sweet, most lovable. With respect as profound as our -admiration is deep we write this sentence. We look and wonder. So -young, so gifted!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="small">And now we all go downstairs again, to find Wilcox—who we had fancied -was dead—alive, and looking exactly as he did thirty years ago, -handling meringues and jellies to the ladies, and suggesting coffee, -sherry, claret-cup. It is all very pretty and very pleasant. Our last -memory, ere we go out into the rain again, is of Jenny Northcott’s -lovely face, and our hostess’s kindly farewell; and so we take our -leave, feeling—well, we scarcely know how we feel!</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">At one moment the stage flashed through my mind, but the stage had -serious disadvantages my friends at the top of the tree told me. Supers -can generally get work, stars can’t. Of course, I hoped to be a star, -we all do, and then those kind friends told me of the weary months, -perhaps years, without work of those who have reached the top and for -whom there are no suitable parts—years of long-drawn-out waiting, -ironically called “resting.”</p> - -<p>A very amusing account of some theatricals we had the following -year, for which Weedon Grossmith and I painted the scenery, appeared -in a little book by L. F. Austin, the predecessor of Chesterton on -the <cite>Illustrated London News</cite>—Beerbohm<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">70</a></span> Tree supervised the -performance, and his young wife took part.</p> - -<p>Should I take up painting seriously? My love of colour and form, the -fact that I had exhibited a little without lessons, seemed to point to -the possibility of my doing more if I studied.</p> - -<p>Then again, a hat shop was no impossible means of livelihood, with my -huge connection of friends.</p> - -<p>Or, should I give up everything, give up the battle, and just live -quietly in a small cottage somewhere and look after chickens?</p> - -<p>Weeks rolled on in Finland, the notes for the book were made; parts of -it were written in steamers or on railway trains, bundles of material -had been collected for subsequent articles, and, most important of all, -my mind was made up. <em>I was going to write.</em></p> - -<p>By the time we had knocked about Finland for three or four months I -was worn out, from worry, work, anxiety as to the future, and want of -sleep. Many people in England do not realise that the midnight sun -shines in Finland no less than in northern Norway, and the perpetual -sense of light is wearying, inexpressibly so sometimes, to the brain.</p> - -<p>However, the notes were taken. I was steeped in the customs, habits, -thoughts, and scenery of Finland, but, more important than all the -rest, I had entered Finland in deepest sorrow, my mind had now been -made up, flame-like—imagination had decided I would write—my spirit -emerged in the house of life.</p> - -<p>Artistic life is, after all, self-development, and self-development and -outward expression lay before me in my newly sought profession. Cruel -doubts crept in; but the flame of desire was burning, and again and -again I said to myself, “I <em>will</em> write.” <cite>Through Finland in Carts</cite> -appeared in 1897, the third edition came out three years later, and -others followed at intervals (now in Nelson’s 1/- library).</p> - -<p>On the borders of Lapland my resolution to become a scribe had -been made and my luck had turned. It was there I received the wire -containing an offer to take my house off my hands; and so began my -first “let.” Four years later, when strenuous effort had made it -possible, I went back to live in that same old home. It was a very -old-fashioned thing to do, because everybody lives in everybody -else<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">71</a></span>’s house nowadays. The snobbish rich luxuriate in the castles of -the aristocratic poor, and the aristocratic poor curl themselves up -in the abandoned cottages of the self-made. But I reached my first -goal when I stepped across the threshold of my old home again. The -accompanying illustration, taken just after my husband’s death, is from -a photograph for which a paper asked on the appearance of <cite>Finland</cite>. -The reason for its not showing the conventional widow’s weeds—no crêpe -and no veil—is that I never wore these social brands, and my severe, -unrelieved black—a terrible breach of custom in the opinion of Jay’s -forewoman—was impossible, for reasons connected with the camera. -Hence a dilemma! Suddenly remembering my grandmother’s lace scarf and -my sister’s new bridesmaid’s hat, I donned both and went off to be -“taken.” Hence this photograph.</p> - -<p>When I returned to England, late in September, and York Terrace was -in other hands, I took a tiny country cottage in Buckinghamshire, and -retired there alone with my little boys of six and seven years of age -to write my book.</p> - -<p>This had barely been started, and the notes were still scattered over -the table and piled on the sofa, and the chapters had not yet been -formulated, when another dreadful telegram was put into my hands: My -father had fallen dead of apoplexy in his study. The second breadwinner -in the family had gone out.</p> - -<p>This made the third death in my circle of loved ones within four -months: my husband, my father, my more or less adopted father, Sir John -Erichsen—“dear Uncle John”—and my mother was very ill.</p> - -<p>Life seemed full of sorrow.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p class="padt1 padb1">These were the sad circumstances under which <cite>Finland</cite> was written.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Curious. Whilst so often my feelings during those days of journeying -were of exhaustion from insomnia, heat, mosquitoes, jolting vehicles, -and impossible beds, the papers were full of compliment on my “spirited -sprightliness,” on “the liveliness of observation and the humour -displayed by the narrator” whose pages were “full of entertainment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">72</a></span> -and instruction.” It must often be so in the lives of those who are -servants of the public. A smile and grin from actress or mountebank: -the sigh and tear when the curtain drops.</p> - -<p>A leading article in the <cite>Liverpool Post</cite>, a column and a half in -length, kindly said:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Very few English people visit Finland. There is a far-away sound -in the name. Probably the general idea of Finland in this country -is associated with thoughts of Polar bears and barbarity and -reindeer sledges in use all the year round. The task of disabusing -the English mind on this subject has fallen to a well-known and -popular English lady—Mrs. Alec Tweedie—whose latest book, -entitled <cite>Through Finland in Carts</cite>, has recently been published. -In this, Finland is extremely fortunate. No country and no people -could find a more capable champion. Not only is Mrs. Tweedie an -experienced traveller, whose intrepidity might well put many of the -sterner sex to the blush: she is also possessed of a remarkably -keen faculty for minute observation of men and manners and scenery; -and a power of expression and a literary style which are as strong -and convincing as they are easy and graceful. Her book has all the -interest of a well-told story; the vivacious charm of a volume of -personal reminiscences; the excitement of a book of adventure, -and the exactness and studious attention to necessary detail of -an official Blue Book. From this time forth let no one complain -that a journey to Finland is almost the only means of becoming -intimately acquainted with the country and its inhabitants. Mrs. -Alec Tweedie’s book—which ought to become a standard work on the -subject—is a contradiction of that notion.</p> - -<p>“It is worth a thought that—some would say as a result of the free -and equal footing of the sexes—the morality and virtue of the -people reaches the highest possible level. Divorce is not often -heard of. When it does occur, it is oftener through incompatibility -of temper than immorality. ‘Surely,’ says Mrs. Alec Tweedie, ‘if -two people find they have made a mistake, and are irritants instead -of sedatives to one another, they should not be left to champ -and fret like horses at too severe a bit, for all their long, -sad lives—to mar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">73</a></span> one another’s happiness, to worry their -children and annoy their friends. Finland shows us an excellent -example. The very fact of being able to get free makes folk less -inclined to struggle at their chains. Life is intolerable to Mrs. -Jones in Finland, and away she goes; at the end of a year Mr. -Jones advertises three times in the paper for his wife, or for -information that will lead to his knowing her whereabouts; no one -responds, and Mr. Jones can sue for and obtain a divorce without -any of those scandalous details appearing in the Press which are -a disgrace to English journalism.’ Whatever may be thought of -Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s plain words as to the facilities for divorce, -her remarks about the English Press do not quite convince the -journalistic mind. The Press has a public duty to perform, and if -it can be proved that the conscientious publication of ’scandalous -details’ is more likely to act as a deterrent to vice and crime -than would be the case if those details were suppressed, one should -pause before describing the course adopted by the majority of -English journals as a disgrace to the profession....</p> - -<p>“We can only refer our readers to Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s pages, where the -inner life and the outer life of the Finns, their weaknesses and their -strong points, their advantages and their limitations, are all revealed -with the discreet thoroughness of an artist and the kindliness and -consideration and admiration and candour of a friend.”</p></div> - -<p>And now journalism in turn began and that seriously.</p> - -<p>I found a list of editors and papers, scanned it carefully, and to the -most likely addressed manuscripts. On every possible and impossible -subject—very often the latter, be it known—I scribbled. Often the -manuscripts were returned, but equally often they were accepted, and -gradually this came to mean regular engagement. Thus, for years, I -turned out four, five, and six articles every week, many of them -signed. The front page of the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> and the front page -of the <cite>Queen</cite> were a constant source of employment, to say nothing of -other work on nearly every important paper at some time or the other. -I have written serious stuff for the magazines, topical stuff for the -dailies, and rubbish for the frivolous papers.</p> - -<p>I never had an introduction in my life and have rarely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">74</a></span> been inside -a newspaper office. My work was done from my own writing-table and -entirely by correspondence; for, in my belief, if the material is -worth taking it will find its own market, and no amount of pushing or -introductions will be of the slightest avail.</p> - -<p>Penmanship means hard brain-fagging work with little gain in -proportion. A well-known writer once told me one of his big important -books brought him exactly thirteen pounds.</p> - -<p>I still remember with what joy I read a leader in the <cite>Daily Telegraph</cite> -on a magazine article of mine. It then seemed so great and wonderful to -be mentioned in a leader; next to which recollection comes my pride on -seeing book reviews with my own name above them in the literary page -of that literary paper, the <cite>Daily Chronicle</cite>. These little vanities -were the recompense for the dreary hours of work, when one’s head ached -and one’s eyes felt hot and swollen and one’s brain seemed on fire or -asleep.</p> - -<p>What years of anxiety some of those were, when the house would not -let and the bills would come in! Tenant succeeded tenant, and between -whiles I wandered.</p> - -<p>Later, when I returned to the old home, I took a boarder. In -polite society people talk of “paying guests.” I prefer the true -term—“lodger.” She was an old lady with a title, nearly blind, and -had her maid. They were with me for two years. I used to work all day, -and read aloud, trim her caps, or chat to her in the evening. She -very rarely had a meal outside the house, so there was a good deal to -arrange for her in my otherwise busy life.</p> - -<p>My old lady came into an unexpected fortune and left.</p> - -<p>Little boys home from school had to be fed at meals, amused between tea -and dinner during that precious “children’s hour,” and I often left my -bed in the morning, to begin another strenuous day, more tired than I -had entered it the previous night.</p> - -<p>But mediocrity and determination succeeded where genius and inspiration -might have failed.</p> - -<p>One rule, and a very good rule, for success is never to let one’s self -get out of hand. If anybody cannot rule himself, he cannot rule his -life.</p> - -<p>Age has nothing to do with success. Byron, Burns, and Shelley all wrote -priceless gems in youthful years, and, on the other hand, Samuel Smiles -never took up his pen until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">75</a></span> he was past forty, and was then read by -millions all over the world and translated into a dozen languages.</p> - -<p>Often in those days I longed for my old world. I was too proud to -tell people I could not afford a cab, and a bus fare was often -a consideration. My beautiful evening dresses were out of date. -Opera-cloaks and tea-gowns were laid aside in tissue paper—quite -inappropriate for a journalist living in a country cottage. I used to -long for a night at a theatre, a whirling dance, a day on the river. -But no, life was one round of work, work, work. Thoughtless friends, -out of the kindness of their heart, invited me to stay with them. -Wealth of gold often accompanies poverty of mind. They thought they -were helping me—they had not brains to see I could not afford the -ticket to Scotland, the clothes necessary for them and their guests, or -the stupendous tips required in large households—a life of pleasure -now seemed to me merely fierce misery. What time I could spare from my -work I spent resting, often in bed. Worn out mentally, bodily repose -seemed the only way of re-stoking the engine for a further pull uphill.</p> - -<p>Invitation after invitation had to be refused because I could not -afford the expense nor the time. A great barrier had arisen between -me and my old world. How I regretted I had not done even more than -I had done for people less dowered than myself in the past! And yet -Alec and I had often sent a bank-note in an envelope to a sick or poor -friend. Then, yes then, the reward came. The thoughtless rich, with -all their kindly but useless offers of hospitality, left me alone, and -the others—those who were really worth knowing—sought me out. Well I -remember a first-class return ticket to Scotland being pinned, as if by -chance, on the top of the letter which invited me to a shooting-box. -Another time some friends asked me to go abroad with them <em>as their -guest</em>, and treated me as their most honoured friend. Boxes came for -the theatres, and the note accompanying them asked at what hour I would -like the carriage to fetch me, or motors were lent me to shop or call. -It was all to save me expense, I knew; but done so nicely, and showing -so keenly the determination to give me a good time and save my slender -purse. These were the acts of true gentlefolk—the vaunted offers of -visits that meant hundreds of pounds’ worth of clothes and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">76</a></span> ten pounds’ -worth of tickets and tips were mere pretence, merely salves to the soul -of the sender of the invitation, that he or she was doing something -kind, knowing all the time they were but dangling a fly from the world -I had lost, to the woman not yet sure of her new world or of herself.</p> - -<p>The creative mind is like a sensitive plant. It feels sorrow or joy -more acutely than its neighbour or it could not take in or give out -impressions.</p> - -<p>Everyone with initiative in the Arts is receptive. They are like -sensitive plates in a camera. They conceive and receive impressions. -Genius suffers, or it cannot expand, and poverty to genius is often -cruelly crushing. It paralyses output, or is a wild incentive to work -at the cost of double brain force.</p> - -<p>It would be so nice if all really clever people, people whose work -benefits mankind, could be saved the gnawing pains of poverty.</p> - -<p>Genius is often emotional, and there are just as many emotional men as -emotional women. I have seen as many tears lurking in men’s eyes as in -women’s in my day. God bless them for it—a person who cannot feel is -not human.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I went to all sorts of queer old eating-houses, doss-houses, lunatic -asylums, gaols, docks, slums, Jews’ markets, and Billingsgate, in my -pursuit of “copy”; always seeking something new.</p> - -<p>I began to wonder if money was the only thing that counted, and then—a -thousand times no. I realised that money was the only thing that -counted in the world of snobs—but did the world of snobs count at all?</p> - -<p>The words of Montaigne came back to me: “We commend a horse for his -strength and sureness of foot and not for his rich caparison; a -greyhound for his share of heels, not for his fine collar; a hawk for -her wing, not for her jesses and bells. Why in like manner do we not -value a man for what is properly his own? He has a great train, a -beautiful palace, so much credit, so many thousand pounds a year, and -all these are <em>about</em> him, but not <em>in</em> him.”</p> - -<p>A millionaire was one day sitting having tea with me, when I exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“I wonder what it feels like to be so rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">77</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>He stared at me, as though puzzled that anyone should be in doubt. -“Often very disagreeable,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“Well, one never knows who are one’s friends, because of one’s money; -or who would cut one to-morrow if it were lost!”</p> - -<p>Then he told me an experience which must certainly have been mortifying.</p> - -<p>“At a ball my wife and I gave recently I felt tired, and slipped down -to the supper-room for a glass of champagne and a sandwich. I sat for a -moment at a little table where two young men were sitting, and this is -what I heard:</p> - -<p>“‘Whose house is this?’</p> - -<p>“‘Oh, one of those beastly rich African Jews, I’m told.’</p> - -<p>“‘Do you know them?’</p> - -<p>“‘Lord, no! I came with Lady M——.’</p> - -<p>“‘And I came with Lady N——. Not a bad house, though. Champagne might -have been better.’</p> - -<p>“Sick at heart, I looked at them, turned on my heel, and went upstairs. -A few minutes later they followed. I was standing talking to Lady M—— -as the pair sauntered up.</p> - -<p>“She caught one of them by the arm and said to him, ‘Oh, I must -introduce you to Mr. X——, our host.’</p> - -<p>“I pulled myself together. ‘Thanks, there is no need; we met in the -supper-room a moment ago, and I had the pleasure of hearing his opinion -of my champagne.’ And having said that, I put out my hand and hoped he -was enjoying himself. You should have seen that young man’s face.</p> - -<p>“Is it pleasant to be rich? No!”</p> - -<p>He spoke so bitterly, one could not help feeling how often accumulated -wealth is merely luck, when it comes from the yield of the earth -or is the product of invention; but yet how often it comes through -Stock-Exchange knowledge, which not infrequently is another name for -organised robbery!</p> - -<p>In an earlier chapter I have alluded to my school-days at Queen’s -College, Harley Street. This was the first college opened for women, -and when it had been in existence fifty years (started 1848), I—as -an “old girl”—volunteered to edit a booklet giving a short account -of its history; and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">78</a></span> also suggested that other “old girls,” as an -encouragement to the younger generation, should contribute articles -describing their own particular professions, all of which were more or -less the outcome of the education they received in Harley Street.</p> - -<p>If I gave an honest account of the editing of that volume people -would laugh. Up to that time no careful register of “old girls” -had been kept. These were the initial days of women learning to be -business-like, I suppose, and if the girls’ names were known their -addresses were not forthcoming, or else nobody had any idea whether or -not the said “girls” were married.</p> - -<p>Persistency and dogged determination is rewarded in most things, and in -the end the first page of the little volume entitled:</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1"> -“THE FIRST COLLEGE OPEN TO WOMEN,<br /> -QUEEN’S COLLEGE, LONDON,”</p> - -<p class="noindent">recorded the following contributions, among others (it appeared in -1898):</p> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my100" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="toc"> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt">Dorothea Beale,</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">“Recollections of the Early Days -of Queen’s College.”</p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt padr1">Sophia Jex Blake,</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">“The Medical Education of -Women.”</p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt padr1">Louisa Twining,</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">“Workhouses and Pauperism.”</p></td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdl vertt padr1">Lady Beerbohm Tree,</td> -<td class="tdl vertt"><p class="indent">“Quick, thy tablets, memory!”</p></td> -</tr></table></div> - -<p>Dr. Jex Blake was too busy to write her own articles, so I jotted down -the sort of thing I wanted and she filled in the facts and figures.</p> - -<p>Another good lady’s I entirely re-wrote; it was so impossible in the -form in which it was sent in.</p> - -<p>Some of the other contributors accepted the task gleefully, wrote to -the point, sent copy to date, returned their proofs the same day, and -otherwise showed the difference between an amateur and the professional -journalist.</p> - -<p>Several of my contributors seemed unaccustomed to writing for the -Press. One dear lady actually wrote to enquire how she would know when -she had written fifteen hundred words. She explained that a friend -had told her, that <em>she</em> had a friend, who had another friend, who -thought that a column of a daily paper contained about three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">79</a></span> thousand -words, etc. etc. I suggested her writing a page and counting it, and -multiplying by the number of pages, but when the manuscript came back -the first page had been counted, and at the top of the second page -appeared, “Carried forward 162 words,” at the top of the third page, -“Carried forward 314 words,” and so on, as if it were the butcher’s -book. She had succeeded in life, but not as a scribe.</p> - -<p>Another insisted on writing something quite different from the subject -arranged and asked for.</p> - -<p>I had to sit in Maud Tree’s dressing-room at the Haymarket Theatre -during a performance of <cite>Julius Cæsar</cite> to get her article out of her at -all. Not that she does not know how to write, for she is particularly -clever with her pen, as in many other things; but she has a little -trick of procrastination, so it was only by sitting beside her during -the “waits” and taking her ideas down on pieces of paper that we -managed the article. I know nothing of shorthand, unfortunately, so -the notes were somewhat scratchy and interlarded with remarks to her -dresser: “Give me my cloak,” “A little more rouge,” “Has the call-boy -been?” and so on.</p> - -<p>There are two classes of successful people: those who buy a reputation, -and those who make one.</p> - -<p>Each despises the other and nurses his own illusions. But, after all, -life would be deadly were it not for its illusions.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">80</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">WRITERS: SIR WALTER BESANT, JOHN OLIVER HOBBES, MRS. RIDDELL, MRS. LYNN -LINTON</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">NEW! Why, there is nothing new. The only luck is to pitch on something -old enough to be forgotten.</p> - -<p>The writing profession is a hard and often underpaid one, but one thing -may be said, that writers are ever ready and willing to help each other.</p> - -<p>We can most of us testify to this by kindnesses received.</p> - -<p>Sir Walter Besant was the very embodiment of this spirit of -helpfulness, not only to me personally, but also to the literary world -at large, and it was he who conceived the idea of bringing this same -friendliness into a common centre by establishing the Incorporated -Society of Authors.</p> - -<p>Having touched on the toil, sorrows, and worries of “work,” it is -pleasant to pass on to the silver lining to the cloud.</p> - -<p>I cannot remember when I first met Sir Walter Besant, although two -or three meetings stand forth distinctly in the tangled web of -recollection. One of the many kind things he did for me was soon after -my election to the Society of Authors. A dinner was announced. I had -never been to a public dinner in my life, but as a member of that -august body I had a right to be present.</p> - -<p>Naturally wishing to go, I wrote a little letter to Sir Walter, saying -that I simply dared not go alone; did he know any lady who would join -forces with me?</p> - -<p>“I quite understand,” he replied; “you are young and new at the game, -and may bring any guest you like. If you take my advice you will let -it be a man, and not a woman, because, I think, you will have a better -evening’s enjoyment.”</p> - -<p>From that moment women writers were allowed a guest.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">81</a></span></p> - -<p>Accordingly, with a man as my “chaperon,” I attended my first public -dinner.</p> - -<p>Afterwards, when I was in great anxiety as to ways and means of -obtaining a pension for the late Mrs. J. H. Riddell, I went one day -to see Besant at his office in Soho Square. He was surrounded—half -buried, in fact—by manuscripts, for he was then correcting his books -on London—the really joyful work of his literary life. Volumes strewed -the floor, volumes were stacked upon the writing-table, volumes lay -pell-mell on the chairs. In fact, there was nowhere to sit or stand; -London on paper filled the room.</p> - -<p>He quite sympathised with my difficult task, but said there was then no -fund available to which one could apply; and I asked if it would not be -possible to form, in connection with the Society of Authors, some sort -of Pension Fund for writers who had made fame but not fortune.</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know; it might be,” he said.</p> - -<p>As I poured forth a string of enthusiastic suggestions the dear -old gentleman listened calmly and quietly, gazing through his gold -spectacles in wonderment at my volubility.</p> - -<p>“Not a bad idea,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>Several interviews were the result, and not long afterwards the Pension -Fund of the Society of Authors was formed, under the able Chairmanship -of Mr. Anthony Hope. On the Original Committees of which I served, and -still serve.</p> - -<p>Besant was a real practical help to young writers. Quaint, -old-fashioned, and prim, he addressed even his best friends as “Madam.” -The following letter is in connection with a further pension for Mrs. -Riddell, which I was then endeavouring to procure from the Civil List, -and did afterwards succeed in obtaining from Mr. Balfour:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“The way to get a (Civil List) pension is to ask for it. You must -draw up a petition setting forth the exact circumstances of the -case, and get this signed by as many people of name and position as -you can, or—what is perhaps better—get it signed by a few whose -names command attention. If your friend is a member of our society, -I will undertake the petition and the signatures of a good many -known names. Remember that W. H. Smith, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">82</a></span> administering -these pensions, is under the fixed belief that novelists are an -extravagant race who spend in luxury the enormous sums their -publishers allow them. Word your petition, therefore, so as to show -that your friend was never in receipt of his imaginary fabulous -income.</p> - -<p class="right"> -“I remain, dear madam, <br /> - -“Very sincerely yours, <br /> - -“<span class="smcap">Walter Besant</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>No man did more for writers than Walter Besant. He raised their -status, he demanded more pay for their products, he attempted to make -a copyright with America; and the present-day position of authors, -unsatisfactory though it is, is a thousand times better than it was -before Sir Walter Besant took the matter up and maintained that -literary wares were property, and as such should be treated legally. I -merely quote this letter to show the kindness of heart of the man, and -how even the busiest people find time to do a good deed. He wrote:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Your little book looks very nice. I hope it will go. Publishers -work by a regular method. Their travellers offer the book to -booksellers, who take at first what they think they can sell. Then -reviews—nature of the subject—the reputation which a book quickly -gets—cause or do not cause—a demand, and so the book succeeds or -fails. I hate to discourage people, but I have always entreated you -not to expect too much. This only on the general principle that -most books fail.</p> - -<p>“Publishers, though very few would acknowledge this, can really do -very little for a book. What helps more than anything is for the -book to be talked about.”</p></div> - -<p>His death was a loss to the entire literary profession.</p> - -<p>He lived at Hampstead in a charming old house not far from George du -Maurier and Frank Holl; in fact, in the early days of my married life, -there was quite a little colony of interesting people living in that -neighbourhood, and we often drove up on Sundays for luncheon or to call -on those delightful folk.</p> - -<p>Are there any novelists to-day who make enormous sums? When Sir Walter -Besant himself died he left only £6000.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">83</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Looking back into the recesses of one’s memory two women writers, -who died within a few weeks of each other (1906), come to mind; two -women entirely distinct in their lives and in their deaths, in their -writings, in their purpose. One rich, popular, and brilliant; the other -poor, popular, and—less brilliant, perhaps, but so extraordinarily -brave and persevering, that if it be true that genius is the capacity -to take infinite pains, no one will deny the late Mrs. J. H. Riddell’s -genius.</p> - -<p>The first woman writer of these two was Mrs. Craigie (John Oliver -Hobbes).</p> - -<p>And Mrs. Craigie was herself a dual personality. As a girl she was full -of romance, sentiment, enthusiasm, and fire. Mrs. Craigie as a woman -renounced romance—of which she had but a sad experience—and sought -solace in religion. The dissection of love and the solace of religion -became the keynotes of her writings.</p> - -<p>“John Oliver Hobbes” was another person altogether. He was a cynic, -clever, brilliant, at times as hard as his name implied. He was the -mask, the curb by which the budding womanhood of Mrs. Craigie was -extinguished and held in check. The death of this duplex personality -was a real loss.</p> - -<p>A paradox often ends conversation, the listener is so busy trying to -unravel its meaning. But a paradox in a book often stimulates the -reader, and Mrs. Craigie was a master of paradoxes.</p> - -<p>No one could honestly wish her back. Her death was ideal. At the zenith -of her power, in the prime of her life and looks, with the happiness of -unfulfilled dreams still before her, she lay down quietly to rest and -passed away. She was a handsome woman, with wit and charm; her parents -were rich, she acquired position, and she commanded respect by her -work. She did not live to grow old or grey, she just slipped the cable -when all the world was rose-colour and the sun shone.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Craigie’s face when in repose had a melancholy aspect, her tongue -was often bitter. Like all Americans, she loved titles and craved -for social success; for, clever and brilliant writer as “John Oliver -Hobbes” was, Mrs. Craigie was undoubtedly a woman of the world.</p> - -<p>To a certain extent her life was dwarfed. An unhappy marriage, in -which she early divorced her husband, kept the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">84</a></span> woman in her nature -from expanding; she imposed restraint upon all her actions, all her -thoughts. She never—even in her writings—let herself go.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Craigie was of medium height, with a slight figure, piercing -eyes, and dark hair, which she wore very simply. She was an excellent -<em>raconteur</em>, and a delightful neighbour at a dinner-table. She -certainly showed to greater advantage in the company of men than of -women, in which characteristic she was somewhat un-American.</p> - -<p>Knowing this want of sympathy with her own sex, she rarely appeared at -women’s functions.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Craigie’s name appeared in many papers as attending dinners or -committees, and making speeches; but in reality Mrs. Craigie herself -came seldom, ill-health or retirement into a convent being a frequent -excuse at the last moment for her non-appearance. She spoke well when -she did speak, although it was not really a speech at all, but a -carefully prepared little treatise which she read word for word to her -audience. She delivered it well, the matter was always worth listening -to, and she was pleasing to look upon.</p> - -<p>“John Oliver Hobbes” was a weird pseudonym. The titles of her books -were equally incongruous. Imagine such anomalies as <cite>Some Emotions and -a Moral</cite>, <cite>The Gods, Some Mortals and Lord Wickenham</cite>, <cite>The Herb Moon</cite>, -or the latest—<cite>The Dream and the Business</cite>. Mrs. Craigie will be -remembered as a novelist, not as she aspired to be—a dramatist.</p> - -<p>None of her plays achieved any real success except <cite>The Ambassador</cite>, -which had a considerable run at the St. James’s Theatre, ably helped -by that excellent manager, Sir George Alexander. Smart epigrams, -pretty setting, and French frocks won’t make a play. Her characters -lacked blood and sinew; they meant well and generally began well, -but they were not healthy, living beings. In a novel that lack of -characterisation was not so obvious as on the stage, and her smart -lines, her epigrams, and ironic thoughts, or rather the irony of “John -Oliver Hobbes” (her double), covered the lack of plot and thinness of -character more satisfactorily.</p> - -<p>As years rolled on and the sentimental woman was lost in the thoughtful -religionist, swayed by the Romish Church, the philosopher found -satisfaction, and her later books became deeper in tone, stronger in -handling, and likely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">85</a></span> to be more lasting on the shelves of time. She -was a literary personality, with high aims where her art was concerned, -and had she lived she might some day have rivalled George Meredith, -whose style she so much admired. Much mystery surrounded her death; she -was barely forty when she suddenly and swiftly passed, as it were, like -a person going out of a house without a good-bye.</p> - -<p>People pray against sudden death. Let me pray for it. What more lovely -ending than to sleep away into the Unknown? It may be a selfish wish, -because the shock is greater for those left behind, but, after all, to -them the death of a dear one is always a shock, come quick, come slow, -and why should the parting be harrowed by tardiness? Yes, let me pray -for sudden death, and at an early age before one gets dependent on -others.</p> - -<p>And my body. Well, if I die of anything interesting—disease or -accident—that will make my body of any value whatever to medicine or -science, I bequeath it for dissection to University College, Gower -Street (or to any other hospital that may be nearer me at my decease). -It is only right we should help the living to the last, and interesting -cases should always be investigated; at least, my love and admiration -for science and medicine tell me so.</p> - -<p>Then the scraps can be cremated, because they will have fulfilled their -end. Putrefaction is disgusting and harmful to living things; so let my -remains be consumed by fire to clean white ash, and let that (in one of -those beautiful urns designed by Watts) rest inside Kingsbury Church, -or in the vault outside, beside my husband and father.</p> - -<p>None of this is morbid, it is only common sense. Death has no horrors -for me. I am content to die, and have even paid for and arranged my own -cremation to save my survivors time and expense.</p> - -<p>But let us return to Mrs. J. H. Riddell, who was the second of these -two well-known women writers. Of her one thinks and writes differently; -and for myself it is difficult not to hold her in memory more as the -woman than the writer, for she was an intimate friend of my earliest -years. Even then she was approaching middle life, and, unlike “John -Oliver Hobbes,” who passed away when so much of the best of life seemed -before her, Mrs. Riddell had reached the eve of her seventy-fifth -birthday before death at last—in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">86</a></span> September, 1906—released her from -her prolonged struggle.</p> - -<p>She was writing as early as 1858, when women writers were little known. -At one time she was among the most popular novelists of the day; but -she only declared her identity in 1865, after the enormous success of -<cite>George Geith of Fen Court</cite>.</p> - -<p>The death of her husband whom she adored, the failure of her -publishers, and her own constant ill-health, brought her much trouble, -but she bravely struggled on with her writing for nearly half a -century, producing some thirty or forty novels, many of which ran into -second and third editions and are now in sixpenny numbers. Her insight -into character was her strong point, and her people gradually unfolded -themselves with skill and thought as the stories proceeded. She reaped -little reward, however, as her best work was done before there was any -copyright with America, and, being poor, she sold her books out for an -average of about one hundred pounds each.</p> - -<p>Although born on the hill-side in Ireland, at Carrickfergus, the -daughter of a squire, and a lover of fresh air, fowls, flowers, and -country pursuits and produce, Mrs. Riddell settled in London. She hated -it at first, and then became an enthusiast over its charms. By day and -by night she wandered into its highways and peered into its alleys. She -learnt the City off by heart, and penetrated the mysteries of business -life so successfully that, woman though she was, she wrote <cite>The Senior -Partner</cite>, <cite>City and Suburb</cite>, etc. At that time business was not thought -a suitable subject for the novelist except in France, by men like -Balzac, so to Mrs. Riddell is due the honour of introducing the City -gentleman and making him known to the West End.</p> - -<p>Many of the tragedies, the failures, and mysteries of business routine -which she so often depicted in her books, she wrote from personal -knowledge. Misfortunes fell upon her family and, as she was the one -to try to put matters right, she naturally learnt many curious ins -and outs of speculation and failure. Had she not always had her hand -in her pocket for someone, she would not have been so miserably off -financially when old age and sickness overtook her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">87</a></span></p> - -<p>She wrote her first novel when only fifteen; but this she candidly -admitted never saw the light.</p> - -<p>In my early writing days I remember asking Mrs. Riddell for an -introduction.</p> - -<p>“What?” she replied. “Introductions are no good; the best and only -introduction to an editor is a good article.”</p> - -<p>How right she was!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Riddell once told me she collected the whole of a three-volume -novel in her head—all novels were then in three volumes—and for weeks -and months she worried out the story. When it was quite complete she -wrote the last, or the most telling chapter of the book, first. For -instance, Beryl’s death scene in <cite>George Geith</cite> was set down just as it -appeared in print three years subsequently.</p> - -<p>As I have said, it was my privilege to know Mrs. J. H. Riddell from my -childhood. She was an old and valued friend of my father, and in the -curious jumbling of early recollections I recall eating my first ice at -her house at Hampstead, and being obliged to confess, with a cold lump -of surprise on my tongue, “It isn’t as nice as I ’spected.” A remark -she recalled with amusement years afterwards.</p> - -<p>I do not suppose I was more than five years of age at that time, but -I can remember perfectly well the kindly and charming face of the -hostess, and her dark brown hair, which she wore in a loose curl -hanging behind each ear.</p> - -<p>Her Hampstead home existed in Mrs. Riddell’s palmy days; she went -through much subsequent trouble, backing a bill for a friend, paying -debts for her husband, keeping a paralysed brother whose health -necessitated constant care, and who was for many years a heavy drag -upon her purse, all of which brought incessant anxiety upon the -authoress. My father and my husband helped her substantially many -times—so when they both died so suddenly she was even more handicapped -by Fortune. She nobly struggled on until the year 1900, when, as -already mentioned, I made a personal application to Mr. Balfour, then -Prime Minister, for a sum of money towards purchasing an annuity for -her. Much correspondence ensued, and, thanks to the courtesy of Mr. -Balfour, a cheque for three hundred pounds was finally handed to me -from the Civil List. Through the help of Mr. J. M. Barrie, a further -couple of hundred pounds was obtained from the Royal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">88</a></span> Literary Fund. -This, with some kindly contributions from my own personal friends, -among whom may be mentioned Sir W. S. Gilbert, Mrs. Humphry Ward, -Justin Huntley McCarthy, E. W. Hornung, and Anthony Hope Hawkins, -was, however, found to be too small a sum to buy an annuity of real -value, and, accordingly, I made that bold suggestion to the Society of -Authors. It was finally agreed that I should hand over three hundred -pounds direct to them, in consideration of their granting her a pension -for life, the Society retaining the three hundred at her death.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Riddell thus became the first pensioner of the Society of Authors, -of which she was one of the original members; and time after time she -expressed to me her gratitude for that sixty pounds a year, her own -private income being practically <em>nil</em>. The Society conferred a great -benefit in bestowing this pension, and, at the same time, must feel -proud to know it was given to one so worthy to claim it in the world of -literature.</p> - -<p>Her struggles to work were magnificent, and she actually published -her last book after she was seventy years of age. Nearly fifty years -of penmanship is indeed a record. During the last months of her life -she suffered much pain from cancer, and was constantly in her bed, not -being able to write at all, and to read but little. I constantly went -to see her, and wondered at her patience and grieved at her poverty and -suffering.</p> - -<p>Then came her release; for such was the messenger of death to her tired -spirit. And the few friends who saw her laid in the grave, felt it was -so, and had the relief of knowing they had added to her comfort—and -even the necessaries of life—in her last darkened years.</p> - -<p>Since those days I have collected purses for a dozen or more folk. Men -and women whose names are known in every land—but who have fallen -on evil days—generally ill-health having been the cause. The Arts -are shockingly paid, the mental strain is great. Exponents of great -work live on their health capital, their brain-force, and sometimes -the chain snaps and the wheels refuse to go round. Then a few hundred -pounds, or a pension, or the kindly sympathy of friendship that backs -up their faltering strength, comes like a new fuse, inspiring the -recipient to take up the threads of work almost as well as before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">89</a></span></p> - -<p>Yes, I collected between seven and eight hundred pounds for Mrs. -Riddell, which I doled out weekly till her death. I paid her servant’s -wages, rent, the doctor, and all the necessities of years of illness. -Just as my little store was coming to an end her life flickered out. -There was enough left for a modest funeral and a stone slab above her -grave. That was the first time I undertook a big job of the kind; but -not long after I did the same for one of the most famous singers of the -day.</p> - -<p>Then again, the people who do things that will live have proverbially -bad business heads. Just as judges die without wills, and Chancellors -of the Exchequer leave their own affairs in a muddle, so artists, -writers, painters, scientists, reap little reward themselves when -weighed against the intense pleasure they give to others.</p> - -<p>Each little monetary collection or pension has necessitated dozens, -almost hundreds, of letters, all of which have come into extremely busy -days. I only wish I could have done twice as much, for well I know what -a few hundred pounds handed over to me by friends and sympathisers -would have been in those early days of widowhood.</p> - -<p>He who gives quickly gives twice. The generous people are those who -have been poor and suffered. The rich so seldom think of anyone but -themselves, although writing a cheque costs them no self-sacrifice.</p> - -<p>Then comes another notable woman; a power in her day. One who, herself -strong-minded and a pioneer without recognising it, bitterly denounced -other women for so-called strong-mindedness; but, while inflicting -the lash on imaginary victims, she poured balm on the wounds of real -sufferers. Unhappily deserted in her married life, she yet extolled the -virtues of mankind to the skies—a living paradox.</p> - -<p>Woman has advanced very far since Mrs. Lynn Linton invented the phrase -of “the shrieking sisterhood.”</p> - -<p>That was in the distant ’eighties, when the modern young woman, -who filled her with such holy horror, was, after all, but a poor, -shrinking creature compared with the amazons of 1907, who marched to -Hyde Park to demand votes for women. A desire for the development -of her own individuality, freed from the control of parents and the -enforced escort of brothers, a latch-key, a club, and a <em>mode</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">90</a></span> of -short hair, waistcoats, men’s coats, and even hard shirts, besides a -horse-shoe pin, were all that the “Girl of the Period” advanced; but, -in contemptuous condemnation of her, Mrs. Lynn Linton dipped her pen in -gall.</p> - -<p>Dear me! what an archaic type she already seems, that original “new -woman” whom one used to find at the Pioneer Club in its early days.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it is as well that Mrs. Lynn Linton did not live to see -suffragists concealed in pantechnicon vans for the purpose of raiding -Parliament, or shouting down Cabinet Ministers, assaulting policemen, -smashing windows, and going to prison in hundreds with as much -self-glorification as if they were notorious criminals and heroines -of a “Penny Dreadful.” The dictionary surely does not contain words -so scathing as the old lady would have required for such flagrant -revolters against her ideal of womanhood. That women suffragettes have -an ideal she would not have understood. The curt indifference of men -to their more peaceable demands has forced women to perpetrate these -antics to draw attention to their creed. She was herself a woman who -was greatly misunderstood. The conception formed by the public, who -knew Mrs. Lynn Linton only by her writings, was entirely different from -that of people who were privileged to know her personally. All her -venom was in her pen, all her heart in her home and her friends.</p> - -<p>I have reason to recall her name with gratitude, for she was one of the -first to assist me by helpful advice and example along the slippery -path of authorship. Indeed, her readiness to place her long experience -at the service of young writers, who were often entirely unknown to -her, even at the sacrifice of considerable time and convenience to -herself, was one of the most delightful points in her character.</p> - -<p>One day, late in the last century, I was chatting with her in her flat -eight stories up in Queen Anne’s Mansions, the windows of which looked -out high over the neighbouring chimney-pots and far away beyond the -grey mist of smoky London to the Surrey hills. Lying on the table was a -large bundle of manuscripts, upon which I naturally remarked, “What a -lot of work you have there on hand; surely that means two or three new -books<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">91</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“Not one page is my own,” she replied, peering at me through her -gold-rimmed spectacles. “Bundles of manuscripts like these have haunted -my later life. I receive large packets from men and women I have never -seen and know nothing whatever about. One asks for my advice; another -if I can find a publisher; a third enquires if the material is worth -spinning out into a three-volume novel; a fourth lives abroad and -places the MS. in my hands to do with it exactly as I think fit.</p> - -<p>“How fearful! But what do you do with them all?”</p> - -<p>“Once I returned one unread, for the writing was so bad I could not -decipher it. But only once; the rest I have always conscientiously -read through and corrected page by page, if I have thought there was -anything to be made of them. But to many of my unknown correspondents, -I have had to reply sadly that the work had not sufficient merit -for publication, and, as gently as I could, suggest their leaving -literature alone and trying something else.”</p> - -<p>“You are very good to bother yourself with them.”</p> - -<p>“No, not good exactly; but I feel very strongly the duty of the old -to the young, and how the established must help the striving. I am so -sorry for young people, and know how a little help or advice given at -the right moment may prove the making of a career; kindly words of -discouragement, given also at the right time, may save many a bitter -tear of disappointment in the future.”</p> - -<p>This was the “dragon” who, I do not doubt, existed in the minds of -thousands of readers of Mrs. Lynn Linton’s magazine essays—essays -which were full of fire; critical, analytical, clear-sighted and -written unflinchingly. Who would dream after reading one of her -splendidly forcible arguments, written in her trenchant style, that -the real author was one of the most domesticated, home-loving women -possible, full of kindness and sympathy, and keenly interested in the -welfare of all around her? How little a book reveals the true author. -How often the pen disguises the real person, as words disguise the -inmost thoughts.</p> - -<p>Indeed, one might go far to find another such lovable old lady.</p> - -<p>It is often supposed by the outside world that jealousies and rivalries -exist between authors, as is too often said to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">92</a></span> be the case in other -professions. Nonsense! Here is one example to the contrary. And many -another could easily be furnished.</p> - -<p>At the very time that Mrs. Lynn Linton was earning her living by -writing novels, Mrs. Alexander, in private life Mrs. Hector (another -dear memory), was doing the same. Rivalry there was none between these -two; more than that, they actually helped each other. And in the end, -when Mrs. Lynn Linton died, she left her most cherished cabinet of -china and many other souvenirs to her woman writer friend, who prized -them above rubies.</p> - -<p>The following is a characteristic letter from Mrs. Lynn Linton, anent -an article I had written about her:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Thank you so much for your kind letter. I am so glad you are busy -and successful in your work.</p> - -<p>“The She you painted in <em>T.B.</em> was a very nice old She indeed, a -quite superior She, and a little better than the original, I am -sorry to say! But, la, la, la, the heaps of begging letters and -manuscripts the paper has brought me. It has punished me for any -pride I might have had there-anent, and kept my comb cut down to -my head. To-day, again, comes a long eight-paged letter of sorrow, -distress, and nonsense, which I am asked to help. Well, I do what I -can, and, at all events, sympathy and kind words and thoughts have -their own value, if that is not of a productive or golden kind.</p> - -<p>“I was very sorry not to see that fine young fellow again. I was -charmed with him, if you like!<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">4</a> I should have liked to kiss his -hand for respect and hope and admiration. I should have liked to -whip him as an aged Sarah might have whipped her grandson! I hope -he will come back safe and with renown and success.</p> - -<p>“Good-bye, dear Mrs. Brightness.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I have partly recovered from Ibsen, who had a lurid kind of -light that fascinates yet repels, a lying spirit that enthusiates -yet revolts.</p> - -<p class="right">“Affectionately yours, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">E. Lynn Linton</span>.”</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">93</a></span></p> - -<p>I had sat between her and Beerbohm Tree at the first performance -in England of “Hedda Gabler,” which I had seen Ibsen rehearse in -Christiania shortly before in his slow pompous manner.</p> - -<p>To understand humanity is a work of intelligence, and Mrs. Lynn -Linton had that gift in a marked degree. She was a woman of strong -individuality.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">94</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">JOURNALISM</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">FROM other people’s work I must return to my own. As is Fleet Street -compared with Hyde Park, so is journalism with the authorship of more -lasting literature.</p> - -<p>To would-be scribblers I would say journalism is a bagatelle in -comparison with the production of a book. The main axiom for a book is -<em>Write what you know about</em>. If you live with dukes, don’t write about -the slums. If you live in the slums, don’t write of dukes.</p> - -<p>Don’t write unless you have something to say. For the papers, matter is -more important than style. Aim at telling something interesting in an -interesting way. Keep it short and crisp and to the point. Never mind -rejection. Introductions to editors are of no avail. They generally -retard. Work of merit always finds its niche, so peg away till you get -the right thing and fit it into the right corner.</p> - -<p>A journalist requires no equipment but a quick perception of men and -matters, a desire for information, and a belief that what interests her -may interest someone else. A journalist is obliged to look ahead:</p> - -<p>Someone is reported very ill—collect facts for an obituary notice.</p> - -<p>A picture promises to become successful—have an account of the artist -and his work ready for press.</p> - -<p>An actor is producing a new play—try to learn something about the -play, and any little incident of its production.</p> - -<p>One used to write of things that had been; but since all this Yankee -journalism has come in, one has to anticipate things that <em>are</em> to be. -Weddings are described to-day before the marriage ceremony even takes -place.</p> - -<div class="figcenter padt1 padb1" id="i_094fp"> -<img src="images/i_094fp.jpg" width="600" height="483" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE’S WRITING TABLE</p></div> - -<p>It is a bad sign of the times, but that is modern journalism. A -journalist’s is a hard and anxious life and often ill-paid; <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">95</a></span>but -here, at least, men and women can earn equal wages, and have equal -chances. Nearly all the papers except <cite>The Times</cite> now have women on -their staff.</p> - -<p>Just as an actor adopts various disguises, so it is amusing to remember -how many pseudonyms have been the different masks which have helped -me, as other journalists, to attract the attention of the public. The -public loves variety. It would never, never pay to appear always as the -same old stager.</p> - -<p>Journalists must turn their hand to anything, at any time, and in any -way. Sometimes I wrote as a man, sometimes as an old lady, comparing -the past with the present. For instance, the “Elderly Scribe” became -“A Girl at the Drawing-room,” under which heading a long article once -appeared in a leading paper, describing my imaginary thrills as an -American <em>débutante</em> at the first Court of King Edward VII.</p> - -<p>I think it was in the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite>:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Although I am an American, a Republican and all that sort of -thing, I must own I dearly love a ceremony, adore a title, and was -prepared for wild enthusiasm at a Court function. I crossed the -Atlantic all in a quiver of excitement to know whether I should -receive a card or not, because on that would depend our tearing off -to Paris to get a Court dress.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the joy and excitement on opening a big envelope, without a -stamp, with a purple die-mark in one corner, bearing the mysterious -words, ‘Lord Chamberlain’s Office’! There was nothing grand -whatever about the card, just a great, big, plain invitation:</p> - -<p>“‘The Lord Chamberlain is commanded by their Majesties to invite -Miss American to a Court to be held at Buckingham Palace on Friday, -June 6, 1902, at 10 o’clock p.m.’</p> - -<p>“‘Full dress, ladies with feathers and trains.’</p> - -<p>“Hugging the much-prized card to my heart, I skipped about the room -practising that bow, or curtsey, or bob, or whatever they like to -call it, that I had been rehearsing for weeks in my own mind, so as -to be ready for the great event.</p> - -<p>“We went to Paris and ordered the dress, which I dare say would -have been just as well made in England, only<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">96</a></span> somehow it -sounds smarter to cross the Channel for it. The four yards of -wonderful train of glistening, sheeny, silvery stuff was made and -ready, the three white plumes, the long tulle veil and white gloves -were all on my bed waiting, and I was just wild with excitement. -I wanted to get dressed at breakfast-time, but as the Court did -not begin until 10 p.m., the family decided that was rather too -early, although I really did have my head done soon after lunch, -as the hairdresser came then to perform upon it. He had so many -engagements for Court heads, he had to dress it then or not at all. -He did it up in the most wonderful manner, frizzed it and curled -it, the greater part of the coiffure being, however, low on my -neck, as that, he declared, was more becoming with the tulle veil. -When he had done he placed the three white feathers conspicuously -in front, and twisted the tulle in and out of the curls. A long -strand of tulle, which was finally to hang down my back, he folded -up and pinned in a bob on the top of my head, so that it might not -inconvenience me during the many hours that intervened before I -went to Buckingham Palace.</p> - -<p>“They say that seven thousand people are still waiting for invitations; -if they only knew how lovely it all was they would be more anxious -even than they now are, for it was a veritable dream of splendour, -gorgeousness, and magnificence, such as my youthful mind had never -conceived possible.</p> - -<p>“We left home early, and when we arrived at St. James’s Park about -half-past eight, a line of carriages was already before us, but as the -doors were not opened till nine we had to wait our turn. Gradually -that procession of carriages moved on; we did not draw up in front of -Buckingham Palace, which I know so well from the road, but drove right -into a courtyard at the back, a regular quadrangle, round the four -sides of which a brilliant row of gas-jets was shining. The Royal folk -wisely live in these more secluded portions of the Palace, and their -private rooms overlook the gardens, which are lovely and contain a -lake, instead of looking on to the public part of St. James’s Park.</p> - -<p>“There was a great wide stairway with red carpet, beyond which was -the cloakroom, and once having struggled through that, my chaperone -straightened me out and shook my train,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">97</a></span> telling me I looked -‘just sweet,’ a very consoling remark in my flutter of excitement. She -then gave me my train back over my arm, and we were ready. Four yards -of Court train were pretty heavy, I found; for although it was shining -silver outside, it was lined with white satin (<em>débutantes</em>’ dresses -are always white), and there was an interlining to make it stand out -as I passed before the King and Queen. Then I had a bouquet too, which -seemed to grow very heavy before the evening was over, and I envied -those ladies who had come without such floral adjuncts.</p> - -<p>“Continuing our journey up the staircase we gave up our cards of -invitation at the top, and I passed into a room at the left—my -chaperone passing on to the big ballroom at once.</p> - -<p>“The great State ballroom at Buckingham Palace is a magnificent -chamber; it is an immensely long saloon, probably about a hundred and -fifty feet, which looks out on the gardens. A friend we met there said -that the kitchens were underneath, and that this wing was only added in -1850, when more space was found necessary.</p> - -<p>“Our friend told us that all the rooms had been redecorated. They were -certainly perfectly beautiful—such lovely brocaded walls and wonderful -curtains, lots of pictures, many of which they said were priceless; -and one thing struck me as particularly strange: the magnificent glass -chandeliers and candelabra. We never have such things in America; but -they were simply gorgeous with incandescent lights shining behind their -prismatic colours. The Palace was literally banked with flowers and the -air scented with their perfume.</p> - -<p>“There were lots of gorgeous servants everywhere with red liveries -emblazoned with gold. Most of them wore white silk stockings and -black shoes with buckles. There were endless officials from the Lord -Chamberlain’s Office in dark blue uniforms with gold embroidery. There -were some of the most delightful old men possible, who, they said, -were Beefeaters, and had come from the Tower of London in all their -magnificence to assist at the Court at Buckingham Palace. Numbers -of men were there in black velvet or cloth, with steel buttons, -little white lace frills, silk stockings, and a sword, probably the -most becoming costume a modern man ever wore, and there were many -wonderful uniforms<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">98</a></span> with breasts ablaze with Orders and medals. -These gentlemen were specially favoured and allowed to go with their -women-folk, but, of course, they were not presented. A man is only -presented to the King at a Levée, and when at a Court and their ladies -pass the Royal Presence, the men disappear and join them in a later -room. Then there were beautiful men of the Body Guard, all gentlemen of -importance, who wore splendid uniforms and big brass helmets. There are -only forty-eight in this Royal guard, so most of them were present, and -I was sorry for them standing on show in their heavy clothes for hours -and hours. At the last Court one of them fainted twice, they say.</p> - -<p>“It was all so beautiful I hardly know how to describe it. At the top -of the staircase was the hall, which was lovely. Hundreds of ladies -were there before us, and nearly all of them had seats. Some of the -elderly ladies thought the seats were not comfortable, but there seemed -to be banks of long sofas with gilt legs and red cushions, which formed -a welcome resting-place and an opportunity for laying down the weight -of one’s train. That train made me feel awfully grand, ‘quite too -utterly too, too,’ in fact; but, oh dear, it was heavy.</p> - -<p>“King Edward and Queen Alexandra arrived exactly at twenty minutes -past ten. By this time we had been in the Palace about an hour. They -entered at the top end of the big hall or concert-hall, and stood on -a red velvet carpet—not on a dais—facing the organ-loft, where the -band played at intervals. Behind them were two thrones, but they stood -for one hour and a quarter while the <em>débutantes</em> and mothers passed, -and each bowed separately to each woman or Indian Prince who passed. -The Royal pair often talked to one another, and seemed to be enjoying -themselves. The Indian Princes over for the Coronation were wonderful. -One man in gold and cream brocade wore gorgeous jewels and a ruby as -big as a florin; another was dressed in a sort of dressing-gown with -diamond buttons of enormous size; another wore a wonderful green and -gold sash, which fastened in a big bow in front over his portly form. -They were certainly a great addition to a magnificent spectacle.</p> - -<p>“We <em>débutantes</em> passed through the bottom of the long hall—up the -corridor at the side, where I saw our Ambassador<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">99</a></span> (the only man -in plain clothes), where our trains were let down by someone belonging -to the Lord Chamberlain’s Office, before re-entering the ballroom; he -seemed to be quite accustomed to that sort of thing, and spread them -out most neatly over the highly polished floor. I was feeling all in -a flutter when an official asked me for my card, which had somehow -got mixed up with my handkerchief and my bouquet; but I managed to -extricate it for him, and he roared my name out very loudly as I -entered the Royal Presence. I felt I should like to catch hold of His -Majesty’s hand as I made my curtsey, but I pulled myself together and -just had time to realise what a nice kind face the King had, and how -pleasantly he smiled, before walking a couple of steps further and -repeating my low obeisance to that beautiful and lovely woman Queen -Alexandra.</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, how I wished I could stop and look at her for five minutes -instead of making my oft-rehearsed curtsey and getting out of the way -in five seconds. She looked perfectly charming, and it seemed quite -impossible to believe that those were her daughters beside her. She did -not seem to be any older than I am myself; her auburn hair she wears in -a fringe almost down to her eyebrows, and it is all very neat and tight -and well arranged. On her head she wore a little crown of diamonds, -encircled by a larger tiara. It was not a great big crown, such as -the peeresses are going to wear at the Coronation in a few days’ -time, but just a dear little shining circlet looking eminently regal. -Somebody said she was not going to wear the crown that all the Queen -Consorts have worn at former coronations, but is having one made all -for herself, and the Koh-i-noor, the famous diamond, is to be mounted -in it. The late Queen had this famous diamond cut and wore it as a -brooch. So, although it is only half its original size, it is much more -beautiful and valuable now. The Queen was dressed in white satin with -golden fleurs-de-lis embroidered all over it. Her train was of gold, -lined with Royal crimson velvet, and in the procession it was carried -by two pages.</p> - -<p>“What masses of jewels she wore. Round her neck she seemed to have -about a dozen necklaces of pearls and diamonds; great long strings of -pearls reaching down to her waist. They all suited her, and she has the -most delightful figure and most winning smile of anyone I ever saw—in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">100</a></span> -fact, it was worth while coming all the way from America just to look at England’s Queen.</p> - -<p>“The presentation was all too quick, the exciting moment had come -and gone, and when I found I was out of the room, another of those -grand gentlemen caught my train on his stick and in some wonderful -manner turned it over my arm, and I sailed away, my presentation -accomplished. The arrangements were excellent; of course, there had -been some difficulty about trains or no trains, but it had been decided -that everyone was to wear a train, although only <em>débutantes</em> passing -immediately before their Majesties were required to let them down at -this evening Court early after the death of Queen Victoria.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps the most beautiful part of the Court was the passing of the -Royal procession through the galleries on their way to supper. I was -not flurried then as I was on presentation, so I could just stand and -see the regal party pass without personal emotion. The King looks every -inch a King in his dark blue uniform, wearing, of course, that blue -ribbon which they call the Order of the Garter. First of all came the -King and Queen, followed by their daughters, the Duke and Duchess of -Connaught, the Mistress of the Robes, and a host of others. They walked -very slowly, and the Queen, who had no bouquet, bowed delightfully to -everyone, as she passed through those vast rooms. Oh dear! Oh dear! -It was lovely, and I am sorry it is over, for it was more lovely than -anything I could ever have conjured up in my wildest dreams.”</p></div> - -<p>Most useful proved my own experiences at such functions as -Drawing-rooms, and my favourite adage as to journalism came into play, -viz. Write of what you know.</p> - -<p>But how, some timid minds may object, can a working-woman still afford -to go to Court? Suffice it to say that one originally handsome gown of -wealthier days served me, its wearer, several times to make my curtseys -to Royalty.</p> - -<p>I should not have attended so often in the ordinary way, but going so -much abroad as I did, it was advisable. There one’s reception at Court -is of use, for, after all, foreigners are unable to judge one’s social -position from one’s appearance, some of the worst scamps seeming the -most ideal on the surface, therefore a pass-word, such as having “been -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">101</a></span> Court”—which means so little in England—counts for something -across the water. I always wore a train, that once belonged to my -great-grandmother. It ought to know its way to Buckingham Palace by -now. Strangely enough, that old <em>chiné</em> silk (it must be between one -hundred and a hundred and fifty years old) has a stripe of soft grey -between wider stripes of beautiful mellowed flowers. It is exactly -the same kind of thing that is so fashionable to-day. History repeats -itself even in silk, and those dull <em>chiné</em> ribbons and dull <em>chiné</em> -silks are but reproductions of those worn by our great-grandmothers.</p> - -<p>Royalty and really great folk—that is great-minded people in high -places—do not carp at the clothes of those whose work in life is -harder than showing off new and expensive dresses. Thank goodness, -the days are long dead when writers were supposed to exist on the -sufferance of publishers, to be always ragged, in debt, or to fawn on -patrons and live in Grub Street.</p> - -<p>Still, this is forestalling the account of my laborious, weary time -before achieving anything, so it must be put down in faithful warning -that “good times” have to be worked and waited for.</p> - -<p>I often wonder now how I lived through those first years of hardship, -paying off debts, working often ten hours a day with the constant goal -of making an income and achieving success.</p> - -<p>Poverty or ambition are the only stepping-stones to attainment. -Perseverance did it, and bed. On and on I pegged. Wrote and re-wrote -some things several times over, while others were not even corrected. -Worked with throbbing eyes and weary brain—I’ve always been more -or less a teetotaller, but it wasn’t that which helped me—it was -bed. Never a good sleeper at any time, I crept off to bed as early -as possible, and even if I did not sleep, I rested my back, closed -my eyes, and lay in the dark. Most of my work was planned then, all -my articles were thought out in that silent obscurity. My bed was my -salvation.</p> - -<p>Lots of people work best in the evening and the small hours of the -morning. I was never any good then, and if “copy” had to be ready, say, -by eleven at night, and I knew a “printer’s devil” would be standing in -my hall at that hour to bear it away to the machines, I always got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">102</a></span> hot -and cold, nervous and fussy; I never worked so well as directly after -breakfast.</p> - -<p>Work! Would anyone dare to say I have not worked? Why, in one fortnight -(November, 1906) I see I had long signed articles in the <cite>Queen</cite>, -<cite>Daily Chronicle</cite>, <cite>Observer</cite>, <cite>Daily Mail</cite>, and <cite>Tatler</cite>. Five -important papers, besides unsigned articles in others.</p> - -<p>“What does a signed article imply?” someone may wonder. It means -double, treble, quadruple pay—as compared with an unsigned one. It -means the writer’s name is of value, and sufficiently established to -say what he thinks and means right out, instead of sending his poisoned -darts unofficially in the disguise of anonymity. All articles and -reviews ought to be signed, I think. One takes more care, gives more -thought, attains a higher standard than for anonymous stuff. Leaders -and critiques would be of real value if one knew who had written them.</p> - -<p>Ease has come, facility of the pen. I believe I could write an article -on almost any sort of subject with five minutes’ notice, and twenty -minutes in which to dictate it. It is so easy to write on a theme which -you never really touch on at all, but just glide along the outside -edge. Things conceived like this cannot be of permanent value, but they -are the product of an active brain and serve their purpose for the -moment. That is journalism.</p> - -<p>It may be interesting to beginners to read here how I wrote my first -magazine article as a girl, in amateur days. This will illustrate how -wise it is to make use of one’s opportunities; how from one small -beginning a path may be opened in the wood of difficulty, at which, -except in rare instances, all but genius has to hew.</p> - -<p>I chanced to be in Paris in 1890, with my husband and mother who knew -Pasteur, and thus I saw a good deal of the delightful, grey-bearded old -gentleman whose work made such a stir at that time and revolutionised -science. He was then about seventy. Short in stature, he was in no way -a striking figure, but his clear eyes and thoughtful face arrested -attention. I shall never forget the charm of his manner, and the -courteous tolerance he displayed towards an unscientific young woman, -who had no excuse for poking about the place save that she was the -sister of one of his students and the daughter of a scientist. At that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">103</a></span> -time Pasteur did very little personal work or research himself, but he -most carefully superintended everything that was done under his roof.</p> - -<p>So anxious was he for others to benefit by his experience that he had -set apart fourteen tables in his large laboratory, at which were to be -found working students of all nationalities and ages, from twenty-five -to fifty—some of them men who had already won a name in science. No -charge was made to them beyond the price of the materials they used, -and every facility for scientific research was provided.</p> - -<p>The hydrophobia cure was then the subject of commanding interest in -the scientific world. It was a curious set of people who assembled in -the large outer hall of the Institute every morning. On one occasion -when I was there the patients numbered eighty-nine, amongst whom were -a little English girl (the first to be sent over by the Lord Mayor’s -Mansion-House Fund), a French soldier, a Belgian fisherman, a German, -and many more of different nationalities.</p> - -<p>On my return to England from that visit, with mental and scribbled -notes, I sat down to write a little article on “Pasteur and his -Institute,” which I sent addressed to the editor of <cite>Murray’s -Magazine</cite>, feeling quite proud of myself but absolutely certain of its -rejection. It was the first magazine article I had attempted. What was -my surprise on receiving a letter in the course of a few days, signed -“The Editor,” saying that he had been much interested in the article, -but it was far too short for a magazine, and if I could double its -length and write on one side of the paper only, he would have great -pleasure in inserting it.</p> - -<p>I actually jumped for joy. It seemed as if the whole literary world -were opening at my feet. Of course, I copied it all out carefully on -one side of the paper as ordered, and added a little bit here and a -little bit there, counting the words one by one as they crept from -tens into hundreds. The article duly appeared. It was wonderfully well -reviewed, for it was the first thing of the kind on Pasteur that had -been written in English, and therefore was quoted at some length in our -Press.</p> - -<p>A few years afterwards, when struggling to pay Charterhouse and Harrow -bills, I was dining out one night when a gentleman was introduced to -me. He said:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">104</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know you very well, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, far better than you know me. -I have printed several of your articles.”</p> - -<p>“Indeed,” I exclaimed, surprised, “but I have never seen you before.”</p> - -<p>“No, but you know the editor of <cite>Murray’s Magazine</cite> as a correspondent.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I do,” I laughed, “and love him very much, for he printed my -first magazine effort.”</p> - -<p>“I am the man,” he replied; “I am W. L. Courtney, under which name I -have since accepted several articles of yours for the <cite>Fortnightly -Review</cite>.”</p> - -<p>This was a pleasant means of introduction to one’s editor.</p> - -<p>Lending or borrowing money ends friendship, and in the same way I -feel shy of offering my wares to anyone I know. Mr. Courtney and I -are excellent friends; but the work is arranged by an agent nowadays. -Friendship and work have never gone together in my case. It is so much -better to be incognito, and for them to remain unknown. Writing is a -business, and can only be worked on a strictly business footing.</p> - -<p>On one of the few occasions I ever entered an editor’s room—certainly -in all those thirteen years of stress of work the occasions could be -counted on my fingers—the experience was not pleasant.</p> - -<p>Up dirty, dark stairs I stumbled, and after much waiting was shown into -the gentleman’s office. I informed him I was going abroad, that I could -take photographs, and suggested a somewhat new scheme of illustrated -articles.</p> - -<p>“What do you want for half a dozen?” he enquired.</p> - -<p>“Five guineas a column,” was my reply.</p> - -<p>“Five guineas a column. Tush! I’ll give you one guinea; and take six -articles.”</p> - -<p>I had only been a widow a short time, and was in deep, dull black, with -the little uniform muslin collar and cuffs. He looked me up and down. -Perhaps he thought I wanted the money badly, and repeated “A guinea a -column, no more.”</p> - -<p>“But I cannot take less than five. I am going abroad to get the -information, and six guineas would not pay the ticket one way.”</p> - -<p>“Ten guineas for the six, then<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">105</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied, sticking firmly to my guns; “I am sorry I cannot do -them for that. Good morning.”</p> - -<p>He barely raised his eyes from the paper. He did not even rise, nor -open the door. I stepped out, choking with humiliation and tears, but -with my head still high.</p> - -<p>I wrote several books in the following years and many magazine -articles, but for five long years my name never once appeared in that -gentleman’s paper. Probably the only paper in the country into which -some sort of notice of something of mine did not creep.</p> - -<p>He paid me out; but I survived.</p> - -<p>Another time, I was dining in Grosvenor Street. A charming young man -took me in to dinner. He asked a number of questions, spoke much of my -past work and future plans. Being surprised, I said:</p> - -<p>“You seem to know a great deal about me.”</p> - -<p>“I do.”</p> - -<p>“Would you mind telling me why? Are you a detective from Scotland Yard?”</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>“No, I am only one of your editors. You constantly write for me in the -<cite>St. James’s Gazette</cite>. My name is Hugh Chisholm.”</p> - -<p>The same thing happened with regard to the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> and Sir -Douglas Straight.</p> - -<p>Editors seldom or never write; many of them do not even know how. There -are, of course, one or two brilliant exceptions, as W. L. Courtney of -the <cite>Fortnightly</cite>, Owen Seaman of <cite>Punch</cite>, L. J. Maxse of the <cite>National -Review</cite>, Austin Harrison of the <cite>English Review</cite>. But there is hardly -a single daily paper where the editor is a writer, except J. L. Garvin -of the <cite>Pall Mall</cite>, and J. S. R. Phillips of the <cite>Yorkshire Post</cite>. -Many editors were once “reporters,” and on an occasion of stress were -put on to edit some subject. Having done it satisfactorily they came -in useful in times of pressure, and finally became one of the many -sub-editors necessary in a news office. From that apprenticeship they -have gradually climbed to the post of editor. An editor is therefore -not a literary man as a rule, but a business manager with a sound -judgment of the public pulse and what the public wants. If he is wise -he never goes into Society or knows people, because then his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">106</a></span> hand is -free, and he can be independent. He decides the policy and the attitude -of his paper, therefore he must read all the contemporary Press, and -about eleven o’clock in the morning he is so buried in other people’s -newspapers that he has to be dug out of the pulpy débris and printer’s -ink.</p> - -<p>It is a tremendous strain to be an editor, besides a terrible -responsibility. Poor men, I pity them. It is bad enough to be a topical -writer; to have a “printer’s devil” waiting on one’s door-mat for -articles on which the ink is hardly dry; but to have to read and pass -everything nightly at such a pace is enough to send the wretched editor -demented. He is responsible for libellous matter, so out it must go. He -must not offend his political party, so free-lance contributors must be -“edited,” and, above all, he has only so many columns to fill and ten -times the amount of stuff waiting to be inserted.</p> - -<p>Then again, <cite>The Times</cite>, that great bulwark of the British -Constitution, receives from fifty to a hundred letters a day for -insertion, out of which only six or eight of the most public interest -can be printed. <cite>The Times</cite> is a great asset of the country, and proud, -indeed, should be John Walter, the fifth generation. He is Chairman -of the journal founded and maintained by his family at such a high -standard for so many years. He ought to write the true history of <cite>The -Times</cite>, as he alone can.</p> - -<p>But there are many and puzzling questions as to the journalism of the -present day.</p> - -<p>Why are modern writers so destructive in their ideas? Why are they so -seldom constructive?</p> - -<p>Why in politics is everything for pulling down, and nothing for -building up?</p> - -<p>Is this the craze of the age? The hypercritical, hypersensitive desire -to destroy everybody and everything, and why, oh why, must we have -veiled advertisements in nearly every column of our minor newspapers?</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">107</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON THE MAKING OF BOOKS</span></h3> - -<p class="drop-cap">ONCE I thought the grandest thing in the world would be to write a -book. It appeared the acme of desire. To see one’s name on a cover, oh, -the joy of it! I trembled with fear and pride when that wondrous end -was attained. I almost took that first book to bed with me. I wasn’t -very old or very sedate, and so that little volume made me childish -with glee.</p> - -<p>Well, I thought to myself, “I’ll never give away a single copy. -If anyone wants it they must get it from a library or spend -three-and-sixpence on it themselves.” I kept to my resolve, because -honestly afraid that if an utterly unknown young writer made presents -of her little venture, kind folk (!) would say she could not sell the -work, so distributed it amongst friends. A year or two afterwards, when -<cite>A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</cite> had gone through two or three editions, and -appeared on the bookstalls at a shilling, then—but not till then—did -its author feel justified in sending presentation copies, with some -words and her name inscribed on the fly-leaf. This was not churlish, -but reasoned out. Cheap sales of goods mean deterioration; but cheap -editions of books denote the popularity of the originals. On that first -venture I received a ten per cent royalty.</p> - -<p>And now after years of labour and experience, so many and great to me -are the hardships, the struggles, the worries, the endless detail and -annoyances of producing a book, that I always feel inclined to take off -my hat figuratively, or drop a curtsey, to every fellow-author.</p> - -<p>Strange as it may seem, every volume of mine has caused me sleepless -nights of ever-increasing anxiety. <cite>Hyde Park</cite>, for instance, was -written twice over from cover to cover—a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">108</a></span> little matter of about a -hundred thousand words, re-arranged and practically rewritten.</p> - -<p>I have generally worked myself into a perfect fever of anxiety by the -day of publication, and even when those kindly, delightful reviews -have appeared, my misery has not abated. Treated more than generously -by both critic and public, I have naught to complain of. I have made -far more money by my pen than I ever deserved—three hundred pounds -advance on a twenty-five per cent royalty, is “nae so bad,” as our -Northern friends would say. Columns of excellent reviews have appeared -in the best papers of many lands. Yet I know the anxiety of it all, the -rejection of articles, the return of “copy” from magazines, the weary, -weary waiting when weeks seem years, after one has worked at break-neck -speed; and although literature—no, I must not call anything I have -done by such a stupendous name—although writing is a feverish joy, -it is generally ill-paid, and the greater the rubbish, the more money -it brings in. It certainly has done so in everything I have written. -Serious work receives the least remuneration.</p> - -<p>Major Martin Hume and other kind critics have told me I have “written -two books that will live.” All I can say is those books (the last two -on the list) have cost me ten times the work for less reward and much -less public acknowledgment than the others. Serious work may live, but -it seldom pays. Rubbish may pay, but it never lives.</p> - -<p>Here is the list of thirteen books—the children of my pen—and -various editions and translations of these have been published. But -the newspaper and magazine articles number thousands, they cannot be -counted.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"><p class="noindent"> -<cite>A Girl’s Ride in Iceland.</cite><br /> -<cite>The Oberammergau Passion Play.</cite> (Out of print.)<br /> -<cite>A Winter Jaunt to Norway.</cite><br /> -<cite>Wilton, Q.C., or Life in a Highland Shooting Box.</cite> (Out of print.)<br /> -<cite>Danish versus English Butter-making.</cite><br /> -<cite>Through Finland in Carts.</cite><br /> -<cite>The First College for Women.</cite> (Out of print.)<br /> -<cite>George Harley, or the Life of a London Physician.</cite><br /> -<cite>Mexico as I saw It.</cite><br /> -<cite>Behind the Footlights.</cite><br /> -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">109</a></span> -<cite>Sunny Sicily.</cite><br /> -<cite>Porfirio Diaz, Seven Times President of Mexico.</cite><br /> -<cite>Hyde Park, Its History and Romance.</cite></p></div> - -<p>So many people have asked me how a writer works or plans out a day, -that a sketch of an ordinary writer’s ordinary day may be of interest.</p> - -<p>For years I have been called with a cup of tea at seven o’clock. -Between then and getting up, thoughts have chased one another in quick -succession. As a composer composes without a piano, so a writer writes -without a pen. It is the thinking that does it. The arranging of facts -and settling the sequence of events. It is the length of a book that -wears one out, the necessity of keeping up the interest and working up -to some definite end.</p> - -<p>Breakfast at half-past eight, and a glance at the papers. To the -kitchen as the clock struck nine, and then, every order given for the -day, the flowers arranged, and so on. Nine-thirty heralded the arrival -of my secretary, and from then till luncheon I was a hard-working -woman. After luncheon, I could afford to be a “laidy,” not before.</p> - -<p>At one time I had three secretaries, one Spanish and two English, and -kept them all busy. On other occasions, I perforce worked ten hours a -day. But as a rule four to five hours’ steady grind accomplished all -that was necessary. One can do an immense amount in that time if one -sticks to it.</p> - -<p>It is fairly easy to give advice on how to write for the papers: -journalism can be taught as a school task to a great extent, but with -books it is different. We all have to serve our apprenticeship for -ourselves, to learn how to balance our subject, to work out our theme, -and finally to make a readable volume. It seems to me book-making is -more a gift than anything else. Artists learn to draw, but they never -learn to paint. Colour is an inspiration. Drawing requires work. The -same applies to a book. We can all learn the mechanical part; but I -don’t honestly think that anyone can write a book that people will -read, unless they have some special gift that way. Books must be -individual.</p> - -<p>All this perhaps sounds pedantic, but the dozens and dozens of young -men and women, who have written to me asking for advice, show how many, -from milk-maids to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">110</a></span> hotel-lift boys, are interested in the subject. -People, who can neither write nor spell, have strange ideas that God -has sent them special literary powers, and hope to sit on the top of -the ladder of fame without putting a foot on the bottom rung. ’Tis a -laborious ladder to climb in all the arts; but it has its rewards. -Public praise counts for little, the real pleasure is the knowledge -within ourselves that we have given of our best. It does not satisfy; -but it pleases.</p> - -<p>To produce a book or a picture is a stupendous effort. It claims all -the power of thought and of concentration that is in us. It demands -enthusiasm, determination, the conquest of idleness and self. We may -not produce a great book or a great picture, but it is our supremest -effort at that time, and when done, we feel like a squeezed lemon.</p> - -<p>“Writers are so dull,” is a frequent remark. So they may well be—at -times. So are artists, or musicians, or any creative workers. Their -life’s blood is given to their work.</p> - -<p>Another saddening result of giving one’s self wholly (as a worker -should) to a task until success crowns one’s efforts is that it often -arouses the envy of onlookers, and mostly of those who would not take -the least trouble to compete.</p> - -<p>Yes: it is fairly certain that the more one achieves in any walk of -life, the more jealousy one encounters. A pretty woman is called -hideous by some; a woman with charm—that indefinable attraction we all -love—is dubbed a minx. Brilliant wit calls forth much condemnation. -Success of work and brain is belittled by the envious. So while nothing -succeeds like success, no one makes more enemies than the one who wins.</p> - -<p>Every little victory brings a new enemy. When one hears the “catty” -things people say, one can but wonder what catty things are said about -one’s self. People say malicious things, suggest improprieties without -foundation, assert motives that have never been born. In fact, Society -is often cruel and hard. It eats and drinks too much, gets overwrought -and tired, and says nasty things it does not mean.</p> - -<p>The life of many an ordinary Society man or woman is despicable. They -are the people who are “too busy” to do anything useful, whose lives -are no good to anyone, and therefore boring to themselves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">111</a></span></p> - -<p>Better work and be busy with something tangible, than idle life away in -social dissipation. Yet how good and kind and generous most people are, -and how hard many of them work for the good of others!</p> - -<p>The vicissitudes of writers are many. I once suffered the loss in the -post of an entire chapter of a manuscript. That missing link never -turned up, and as I stupidly had kept no copy, while the rough notes -thereof were of the roughest order, it was considerably difficult to -rewrite the passages; indeed, impossible to remember the exact details -of what the missing fragment formerly contained. Oh, the exasperation -of it!—it was a thankless, dreary task.</p> - -<p>How on earth Carlyle ever wrote his <cite>French Revolution</cite> over again is -a marvel which fills me with admiration, whenever anything brings back -the memory of all that labour which the second edition of that silly -little chapter of an ordinary book cost me.</p> - -<p>Work, too, is often wasted. Full of enthusiasm, after a peep at the -gorgeous Eastern life on my return from Morocco in the ’nineties, I -started a novel, which was nearly completed when the agent discovered -there was already a somewhat similar book on the market. The appended -letters speak for themselves and show the generosity of a man like -Grant Allen in replying to a young and almost unknown author:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Grant Allen</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I am much distressed! I was in Morocco this spring, and took -copious notes, which I have since been busily writing up into a -story, now nearing completion.</p> - -<p>“Telling the plot to my host the other night, he exclaimed, ‘That -is very like Grant Allen’s <cite>Tents of Shem</cite>.’ He found the book, and -I have just read it, and put it down feeling very sad.</p> - -<p>“You make English characters play the drama in Algiers, I do the -same in Tangier.</p> - -<p>“You have a naturalist, F.R.S.; I have a Science Professor from -Cambridge.</p> - -<p>“A Moorish girl falls in love with an Englishman.</p> - -<p>“A Moorish man falls in love with my heroine.</p> - -<p>“Indeed, the similarity of idea is in many ways extraordinary. I -don’t see what to do unless I rewrite the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">112</a></span> thing, the -work of some months, and even then, your story is splendid and your -name famous; mine is simple and my name more or less obscure.</p> - -<p>“It is altogether very disquieting.</p> - -<p>“Being an author yourself, I felt I must tell you of my woes.”</p></div> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Madam</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I really don’t think you need trouble yourself excessively. Pretty -much the same thing has happened to most of us—myself included. -Besides, the number of people who have read <cite>The Tents of Shem</cite> is -not so very great; nor did the book make stir enough to be well -remembered by reviewers. My advice to you would be, go on and -publish, and you will probably find nobody else is struck by the -undesigned coincidence. Nor does it seem to me, from what you say, -to be particularly close. If you will kindly send me a copy of -your book when it appears, I will try to prevent any suggestions -by reviewing it myself (if editors will permit me) over my own -signature. If <em>I</em> am not struck by the supposed resemblance, nobody -else need be. One little hint: don’t say anything about it to the -publisher to whom you offer the book; never anticipate possible -objections; ten to one, if <em>you</em> don’t, nobody else will raise them.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours very faithful, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Grant Allen</span>.</p> - -<p>“Writers’ cramp, not discourtesy, compels typewriting. My right -hand is useless, and even this machine I work with my left only.”</p></div> - -<p>Still, that book was never finished. I had lost heart.</p> - -<p>The same thing happened again in regard to a play in 1907. Everyone -seemed to be making vast sums by writing plays and naturally an -energetic woman wished to have a shot, too. I sketched out a most -elaborate plot, laid partly in England and partly in America, and was -brimming over with enthusiasm about it. Then I went gaily to the first -night of Sutro’s play, <cite>John Glayde’s Honour</cite>, at the St. James’s -Theatre, and lo and behold, the whole of my story unfolded itself on -the stage.</p> - -<p>Sutro’s play ran for about a year. Mine was never completed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">113</a></span></p> - -<p>After one has passed the critical age of twenty—I say critical, as -many a man and woman have made or marred their future by that time—the -love of books, the real honest pleasure of reading, the insatiable -craving for knowledge takes fast hold of us, and we begin to realise, -as we study even one single subject, what a vast field lies open before -us. Unfortunately, the enormous number of cheap newspapers that have -appeared on every side within the last few years have done much to -interfere with more profound reading; but it is quite unnecessary for -this to be the case, for there ought to be time for both. Newspapers -are excellent amusement, and sometimes afford much information in odd -moments, such as on journeys by train, or long rides in omnibuses, and -at other periods of the day’s existence. But there are the evenings, -and unless people are professionally engaged during that time, there -is no greater pleasure or amusement than in the perusal of some sound -book. Literature is so cheap nowadays, that it is within the scope of -everyone.</p> - -<p>Besides, what a great field is Literature! A vast mass of education can -be gleaned from the pleasantest reading. It is a poor book, indeed, -from which we can obtain neither amusement nor instruction.</p> - -<p>It is strange how even a humble writer like myself gets quoted; more -often than not, without payment or acknowledgment. A certain well-known -author wrote a book which was literally a réchauffé of one of mine; -but beyond my name appearing in the preface as “one of the works -consulted,” no further acknowledgment was made. Whole articles have -appeared with new headlines. Pages and pages have been embodied in -other people’s work without any acknowledgment whatever.</p> - -<p>I remember two instances, however, where I was most graciously asked -for the right of reproduction. I say “graciously” advisedly, because -I should never have seen the publications, and never have known the -articles were used.</p> - -<p>One was a letter from the head teacher of the great Military College -near Berlin, Lichtenfelde, who asked if an article on Mexico might be -used in the new <cite>English Reading-book</cite>, then in preparation for the -students.</p> - -<p>The other was a request for permission to transcribe an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">114</a></span> article on the -<cite>Silent Sisterhood</cite> at Biarritz into Braille for the blind. That again -was a thing I should never have been likely to come across.</p> - -<p>Speaking of translations reminds me of the lack of emancipation of -Germany as recently as Christmas, 1906. <cite>Porfirio Diaz</cite> had just been -translated. It was being well advertised and well reviewed, all the -result, probably, of a long article that had appeared a few months -before in the <cite>Preussische Jahrbücher</cite>, the leading political magazine -of the Fatherland, which had suggested that the book was of such value -they hoped to see a German translation.</p> - -<p>Having many friends in Germany, I thought I would go over for a month, -let my boys join me for Christmas at Bonn, where we would visit Dr. von -Rottenburg (mentioned in an earlier chapter), and afterwards snow-shoe -and skate in the Thüringian Mountains.</p> - -<p>On my dressing-table when I arrived in Berlin was a copy of <cite>Diaz</cite>, -with the publisher’s compliments. It was charmingly and most -artistically got up, and what cost a guinea here was only twelve -shillings there.</p> - -<p>But I at once noticed the name attached was <em>Alec Tweedie</em>. There was -no “Mrs.” nor “Frau.” I peeped inside. Again the man’s name, without -the feminine prefix.</p> - -<p>Next morning my esteemed publisher, who represented one of the most -important houses in Germany, called to make my acquaintance.</p> - -<p>I congratulated him on the get-up of the book, and the excellent -translation. “But why,” I said, “did you put ‘Alec Tweedie’ on the -volume without a prefix?”</p> - -<p>He hummed and hawed.</p> - -<p>“That is a man’s name,” I continued, “my husband’s name, and I am a -woman.”</p> - -<p>“That is true, Gnädige Frau, we preferred to put a man’s name on the -cover. You see a big historical, biographical work like that with a -woman’s name upon it would be seriously handicapped in Germany. Fifty -years ago, aye, twenty years ago in England, you women were hiding -your identity under the manly names of George Eliot, George Trafford, -George anything. Well, we are still in that condition in Germany, not -as regards novels, but as regards more serious work.”</p> - -<p>True, O publisher, and yet with all this female emancipation,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">115</a></span> with all -the <em>Reform Kleider</em> which stand for advancement in Germany, it really -was amusing.</p> - -<p>Five years later the girls of the Fatherland were reading risky books -and taken to see risky plays, such was the rapidity with which the -pendulum of ultra-propriety swung the other way.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">116</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE END OF A CENTURY</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">THE close of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth -was the subject of much notice both in drawing-room talks and articles -in the papers. The latter recapitulated all that the march of science -and civilisation had effected. Private persons spoke gaily or piously -anent “turning over a new leaf.”</p> - -<p>For me? Well, it was much the same as with the rest of nature. My -life went on through 1900 with only this difference, that it had -grown—grown certainly in the past years of striving to put forth one’s -self.</p> - -<p>Personally the end of the old century marked a new departure, and was -the starting-point of much interesting public work—work, by the way, -that only a few short years before might not have seemed so enticing to -the then young Society woman as it was now to the thoroughly interested -worker.</p> - -<p>In 1899 the International Council of Women, under that brilliant worker -the Countess of Aberdeen, had met in London. It was a tremendous -undertaking, and I served on several of the committees. The one, -however, which took most of my time and thought was the Agricultural -Section, for which I was the Convener, and finally took the chair. -It seems a funny thing for a writer to have taken the chair at the -proceedings of an Agricultural Section, but this was the outcome of the -pamphlet on butter-making, and the endless articles I had then written -about women taking up dairy-work in this country.</p> - -<p>The Agricultural Section was a novelty, and, I am glad to say, proved -a success. I never felt more nervous in my life, although supported -on the platform by many able people, among them the Earl of Aberdeen. -Viscount<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">117</a></span> Templetown sat next to me, and primed me in what to say, rang -bells when the allotted space of time had been filled by some speaker, -and generally acted as call-boy and prompter combined. And Professor -James Robertson, Agricultural Commissioner of Canada, travelled to this -country purposely to speak for me. I felt terribly impressed by the -solemnity of the entertainment, the whole section being a new departure.</p> - -<p>I continually received little notes from the audience asking questions -or offering to speak. One of them ran, “Please pass me down that -beautiful hat.” Utterly amazed at such a thing, I read and re-read the -sentence. I seemed to know the writing. I looked again, and found a -little “Hy. F.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens!” I thought. “Harry Furniss is here making caricatures of -the proceedings.”</p> - -<p>Truly enough, the picture appeared in a paper the following week.</p> - -<p>One thing leads to another. At the Paris Exhibition of 1900 a Woman’s -Section was inaugurated, and a few people were invited by the Minister -of Commerce of the French Republic from England to go over and speak on -different subjects. Accordingly to Paris I went, and for twelve minutes -inflicted upon those poor, dear French people a speech which I read -in French, entitled “L’Agriculture et les femmes en Grande Bretagne.” -Since those days cultured women have energetically taken up dairying, -chicken-rearing, and egg-collecting, to say nothing of many branches of -horticulture in which they have proved themselves eminently successful.</p> - -<p>But while these international courtesies and gatherings were in process -the tragedies of war were being enacted in South Africa, and deep -anxiety and sorrow prevailed throughout the British Empire.</p> - -<p>Only a few weeks after the relief of Kimberley and Ladysmith Queen -Victoria came to London for a couple of days. She had a splendid -reception as she drove through the chief streets, a marvellous -demonstration of unorganised loyalty. After our sad reverses early in -the Transvaal War England went wild at the favourable turn of events, -and London continued its jubilation during Her Majesty’s stay.</p> - -<p>The Queen visited the City—it was on March 8th, 1900—and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">118</a></span> in -accordance with the ancient custom, the Lord Mayor awaited Her -Majesty’s arrival at the City boundaries. On this occasion the -Embankment was the route taken by the Royal procession, and the Lord -Mayor—Sir Alfred Newton—stood in the road by the Temple Gardens and -presented the Queen with the City sword in its pearl scabbard, offering -a welcome “on behalf of your ancient and most loyal City.” It was an -impressive scene. The great City dignitary is privileged to wear an -earl’s robe when receiving a crowned head, and he was surrounded by his -Sheriffs, the City Marshal, the Sword-bearer, and the members of the -Common Council.</p> - -<p>After taking the sword—which was presented to the Corporation by -Queen Elizabeth—in both hands, Queen Victoria returned it to the Lord -Mayor “for safe keeping,” adding in her beautiful voice and faultless -diction, “My Lord Mayor, I wish to thank you for all the City has -done.” This, of course, alluded to the formation of the City Imperial -Volunteer Corps, which had started some weeks before for South Africa.</p> - -<p>The next day, March 9th, 1900, a luncheon party was given at the -Mansion House by the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress to the members of the -Executive Committee of the International Associations of the Press. -Among others I received an invitation.</p> - -<p>When an alderman is elected Lord Mayor, he and his family take up their -residence at the Mansion House for a year. There is a charming suite of -apartments at the top of the house for their reception, and all they -have to take with them is their private house-linen; everything else is -found. The servants are supplied, but as the Lord Mayor <em>pro tem.</em> pays -their wages, he can dismiss them at his pleasure. This rarely occurs, -however, especially among the upper servants, who positively nurse the -Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress and steer them clear of shoals during -their year of office.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the state door of the Mansion House, where magnificent -servants in blue velvet and gold trappings, white silk, and powdered -heads, took our cloaks, the guests ascended the red-carpeted staircase -to the chief corridor. Here, at the far end, between two splendid -thrones, stood the Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress. The former wore a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">119</a></span> -black Court dress, with his chain of office, and a wonderful locket of -diamonds and enamel. On my name being announced, he most graciously -shook hands, and remarked, “I believe I am to have the pleasure of -sitting next you.” Evidently a Lord Mayor is not devoid of tact, -judging by this small incident.</p> - -<p>The City Marshal, resplendent in scarlet uniform, the Mace-bearer -in black robes with sable cap, many well-known City dignitaries, -and various officials stood around; among others being Mr. Sheriff -(afterwards Alderman Sir) William Treloar, who was later a most popular -Lord Mayor himself.</p> - -<p>Some hundred and fifty people had been received when luncheon was -announced. The Lord Mayor offered his arm to Mademoiselle Humbert, -the daughter of one of the French Deputies and editor of <cite>L’Éclair</cite>, -and the late Sir Hugh Gilzean Reid, one of the originators of evening -papers, was allotted to me. We formed into a procession and marched to -the big banqueting hall. A long table was arrayed down the room. At the -side centre sat the Lord Mayor, in a veritable throne of red velvet and -gilding. It was a magnificent setting, for behind him, along a large -part of the room, a sort of red-baize-covered sideboard was erected, -which literally groaned under gold plate. Tankards, cups, swords, and -bowls in number were here displayed, the collection of hundreds of -years of City wealth.</p> - -<p>We began with the renowned turtle soup, and I ventured to ask the Lord -Mayor if that were part of the City religion, at which he laughed.</p> - -<p>“Almost,” he said. “But I think to-day it has been given for luncheon, -a somewhat unusual affair, in honour of our foreign friends.” He -was both affable and charming. During the meal a perfect budget of -papers was brought in for his signature. He did not even look at their -contents—there were too many of them—but merely signed. Thereupon I -remarked:</p> - -<p>“You may be signing away your birthright.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he replied, “the Mansion House is a network of officialism, and -all these papers have gone through the proper office, been enquired -into, and passed; I have, therefore, nothing to do with them but sign -my name.” Gorgeous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">120</a></span> flunkeys placed the papers before him and gorgeous -flunkeys bore them away.</p> - -<p>The luncheon was not particularly good, except the turtle soup, -though it was well served. All the plates and silver bore the City -arms. Beautiful yellow tulips stood in golden vases down the table. -Certainly the foreign visitors ought to have been impressed by the -solid magnificence of a City banquet. The Lord Mayor made a happy, -though evidently unprepared speech, and regretted that he was not -master of each of the sixteen languages represented by the different -nationalities sitting round the table, but he did give a few phrases in -French and German, much to the delight of the foreigners.</p> - -<p>“What is the most difficult part of being Lord Mayor?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“The dinners,” was his surprising reply. “It is a case of dining out -practically every night, and as the Lord Mayor goes everywhere in his -official capacity, he is always expected to say something. How is it -possible to say anything with any sense in it six times a week?”</p> - -<p>He seemed delighted with the Queen’s visit and showed the sword which -had been used for the ceremony. The next day the announcement appeared -in the papers that Her Majesty, in recognition of her City reception, -had been pleased to confer a baronetcy upon him, and knighthood upon -the Sheriffs.</p> - -<p>I had a long talk after the luncheon with Sir William Agnew, who -said, “I have now collected all my pictures for the Paris Exhibition, -and flatter myself they are the finest collection of representative -English art that has ever been brought together, considering the -number—Gainsborough, Raeburn, Romney, Constable, Turner, Watts, -Burne-Jones are among them, and several are insured for from £10,000 -to £15,000 apiece. But I have never before found such difficulty in -obtaining the loan of pictures. In several cases I received an answer -in the affirmative until I mentioned Paris. ‘Oh no, my dear fellow! I -am not going to let my picture go <em>there</em>,’ has been the reply.</p> - -<p>“There is no doubt about it,” he continued, “that the attitude of -the French Press lately towards the Queen, and their comments on the -Transvaal War, have caused a very bitter feeling in this country, and -in several instances<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">121</a></span> I have had to make it a personal favour to myself -to get the pictures at all. Indeed, the fear has been so great that the -exhibition might be burnt down, or the canvases cut and destroyed, that -I almost gave up all idea of a representative English collection in -despair; and, although I have insured the pictures for a large sum from -their owner’s door till their ultimate return, I shall not be happy -in my mind until the exhibition is over and they are back again. The -present mistrust of the French people is extraordinary, and the sort -of feeling current that we may go to war with France has made it very -difficult.”</p> - -<p>A few years later the influence of King Edward did much to create a -better understanding with France.</p> - -<p>The Lord Mayor’s documents coming in for signature reminded me of a -millionaire, who has much to do with the issue of shares and can sign -his name fourteen or fifteen hundred times in an hour.</p> - -<p>“I often do that,” he said; “in fact, two or three times in a year. But -the greatest number of times I ever signed my name in a week was once -in Paris when we were bringing out a new company; then I signed my name -thirty-three thousand times in one week.”</p> - -<p>“How on earth do you manage it?” I exclaimed. “Does a secretary pass -the papers before you and blot them as you sign?”</p> - -<p>“I have no secretary and no one blots them,” he replied. “A book, -containing from one to three hundred documents, is put before me, and -I lift each one with my left hand while I sign with my right. I don’t -stop to blot them, they blot themselves—or smudge,” he laughed; “and -as each book is completed I throw it on the floor and take up another -from the table beside me. Every hour or so one of the clerks comes in, -and wheels the signed books away on a trolley and places another bundle -on the table. I sometimes sign my name for three hours straight off, -which means four thousand to four thousand five hundred signatures -without rising from my seat.”</p> - -<p>“I am going to assist at a bazaar,” I exclaimed, “and I really think -it would be a splendid idea to put you in a little room dressed up in -gorgeous Eastern attire, charge sixpence for admission, and write in -large letters on the outside: “‘The man who can sign his name fifteen -hundred<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">122</a></span> times in an hour!’ We should make quite a lot of money.”</p> - -<p>He laughed. Writer’s cramp never troubled him.</p> - -<p>When the day came that I really was overpowered with work, that my -table was strewn with commissions, that I had secretaries hard at it, -sorting, arranging, looking out photographs or figures; as I dictated -between whiles and they typed, a horrible pain, like hot sand, came in -my eyes. At first intermittently, then more frequently, till at last -a hideous dread of blindness—like my father’s—seized hold of me. -Off to Sir Anderson Critchett I went. “Overwork, overstrain; you must -give up your work for a time.” “I can’t,” I replied. “Then you must be -responsible for the consequences.” Lotions, blisters behind the ears, -brought improvement, but still that hot, burning sand was there.</p> - -<p>To Sir John Tweedy I then repaired. “Inflammation of the eyes from -overwork; you must rest the eyes. Never work at night, and always wear -a black shade when possible.”</p> - -<p>So I gained nothing fresh from him. Both gave me exactly the same -advice and warned me of danger.</p> - -<p>I wore that hideous shade for a year, tore it off the moment a stranger -appeared—never went out at night. The glaring lights of the theatre -had become positive torture; but, in spite of all, I managed somehow to -keep up my work and write another book.</p> - -<p>Gradually, by resting my eyes whenever possible, never reading unless -obliged, and sitting much in the dark, my eyes became better and remain -better.</p> - -<p>And thus the last days of the great Century of Progress sped into -the realm of past ages. But when the newcomer crossed the threshold -of Time, with all the new century’s opportunities and hopes, I was -far away under the Southern Cross amid the brilliant colouring and -luxuriant vegetation of the tropics.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_123fp"> -<img src="images/i_123fp.jpg" width="600" height="455" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">THE WRITER—IN DIVIDED RIDING SKIRT, SOUTHERN MEXICO, -1900-1</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">123</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">MEXICO AS I SAW IT</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">ONE day in July, 1900, I was explaining to my small boys that I was -going off through Canada and America to Mexico to write a new book, to -make some more money for bread and butter and school bills.</p> - -<p>One of them appeared distressed at the idea. At last, after a pause, he -said:</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you go and sit in that shop in Regent Street with your hair -hanging down, like those three girls do?”</p> - -<p>I looked surprised.</p> - -<p>“It would not be so tiring as travelling all that long way and writing -another big book,” he explained, “and you would make just as much -money, I am sure.”</p> - -<p>Lovely idea!</p> - -<p>But I dared not accept his suggestion, kindly meant though it was.</p> - -<p>A letter I wrote to a woman friend in 1900 has just come into my hands. -It says:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> -<p>“Your congratulations on my ‘success,’ as you are pleased to call -it, are very sweet. Public success seems to me to mean so little. -After a good dinner the playgoeer enjoys any foolery—and much the -same with books. A good temper makes a satisfied reader, and an -easy chair and shady lamp do the rest. I am not satisfied. Far from -it. Sheaves of reviews—and all good ones, strange to relate—lie -before me; but they mean nothing. I know inside my little <em>me</em> that -I ought to have done better.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps I should have been wise never to have commenced the -struggle. To have retired from London to a suburb or a cottage and -lived quietly on my small income. You will say I have a fit of the -blues—and doubtless I have—or liver, or something equally stupid; -but I’ve been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">124</a></span> pretty hard at it for four years now—three -books have been conceived and born and a fourth nearly done, and -I am still alive; but I’m tired. Shall I go to Mexico and write -another while I am young enough to rough it and stand the racket, -or shall I throw down the pen and cry vanquished? Work is a tough -job to a woman never brought up to the idea of working, and perhaps -I’m trying to carry more on my silly shoulders than those silly -sloping shoulders can bear. The table is covered with orders of all -sorts and kinds—work lies before me if only I had the pluck to do -it. The more ’success’ I gather, as you call it, the more incapable -I feel.</p> - -<p>“Two strings are tugging at me, one says <em>go on</em>, the other says -<em>stop</em>. The first may end in failure. The second begins in failure. -Mexico—and quite alone—mind you, is a long way, and a big job. -To-night I seem to funk it; but, then, to-night I seem to funk -everything, and even your letter of love and sympathy, dear friend, has -not quite dragged me back to my senses. I’m very lonely at times, and -that’s the truth. After that remark you will think I’m going to marry -again; but there you are wrong. You lost your hundred pounds bet that I -would re-marry in a year—so don’t be foolish and risk any more on this -silly, wayward, lonely, spoilt pen-woman.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours, etc.”</p></div> - -<p>N.B.—I went to Mexico shortly after—alone, quite alone, on a -twenty-five-thousand-mile journey.</p> - -<p>Why did I choose Mexico to visit and write about? Because with all the -world before me that land seemed to offer a more historic past than -almost any other country on God’s earth; and was there not a spice of -danger and romance lurking amongst its hills and valleys?</p> - -<p>I left London in July, and, after halting in Canada and the United -States, landed in Mexico on November 1st, 1900, and returned to England -in April, 1901. Between those dates I had travelled some twenty-five -thousand miles, had spent thirty-nine nights in moving trains, and many -more in private Pullman-cars in railway sidings. I had lived a life of -luxury and ease and had roughed it to nigh unendurable straits. Besides -which I was constantly sending home articles to the English Press.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">125</a></span></p> - -<p>It was a several months’ journey from Liverpool to Quebec, through -Canada to Niagara, then to New York, Chicago, Washington, and -Philadelphia; and onward, onward to Mexico. Before leaving America, -however, I turned aside when I found myself only fifty miles from -Galveston, which, about ten weeks previously, had been visited by its -historic and terrible storm. Heart-rending were the sights that met -my eyes and the tales that were poured into my ears. Eight thousand -people had perished in that terrible hurricane, their bodies were -even then being cremated on the shore. Rows of small houses literally -stood on their heads, while on the beach pianos, tramcars, saucepans, -sewing-machines, baths, and perambulators lay in wild confusion.</p> - -<p>Resuming my journey I soon passed the Mexican frontier, and there -had my first experience in ranch life; there, too, a “norther,” or -dust-storm, made me long for the comparative comfort of a London fog. -Eyes, nose, mouth, ears, were all choked with hard, sharp, cutting -sandy dust. My raven locks were grey and no longer suitable for -exhibition in the shop in Regent Street. Next came another long railway -journey to Mexico City, with the President of the line in his private -train, with various entertainments on the way, including a bull-fight -and a cock-fight, and much interested amusement at the customs of -the people. Mexico City was reached just in time for me to see the -celebrations of the Feast Day of the Lady of Guadaloupe, the patron -saint of Mexico. It was a wonderful sight, and the story reminded me of -Lourdes, though it is of much earlier origin and the pilgrimage of far -greater magnitude.</p> - -<p>The welcome tendered to me in the capital was delightful.</p> - -<p>The Christmas customs were, of course, of great interest; Madame Diaz, -the wife of that great President, invited me to her <em>posada</em>. A most -enjoyable and novel evening. One of my most valued treasures is the -little bonbonnière she gave me on that occasion.</p> - -<p>Many varied experiences followed; rides lasting two or three weeks -through that marvellous country to see old Aztec ruins; life at -tobacco, sugar, tea, or coffee <em>haciendas</em>; to say nothing of the -national customs, traditions, and superstitions on every side. The -President gave me a guard of forty <em>rurales</em> (soldiers), and, as -the opportunity of penetrating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">126</a></span> remote parts was great, twenty-two -gentlemen of all nationalities, from Cabinet Ministers to clerks, -joined us. We were sixty-three all told, and, though I rode astride -like a man, I was the only woman.</p> - -<p>Perhaps the most thrilling and exciting moment on my various travels -was that spent on a trolley-car in Southern Mexico. Along those distant -tracks barely two or three trains pass in a day, and hundreds, aye, -thousands, of miles of railway have to be kept in repair. It is usual -for the engineers to run along the line in a little open wagon, known -as a trolley-car, which is worked by hand by four or six men, and -covers the ground at a good pace. It can stop at any moment, and be -lifted bodily off the line should a train require to pass.</p> - -<p>Naturally, one sees the scenery magnificently from a car of this -kind, for there is nothing before one. I was sitting in front with an -engineer on each side of me. We had just come through one of the most -magnificent passes in the world of engineering, and had, indeed, at -that moment crossed a bridge, a slender, fragile thing. Some two or -three hundred feet below it the water gurgled in a rushing stream. -Parrots shrieked overhead, terrapins floated on the water, and monkeys -swung from tree to tree. There was a precipice on one side, a high, -rocky hill on the other, and just room for this mountainous line to -crawl round the rocks.</p> - -<p>We were all telling stories and chatting cheerfully: the next thing -I knew was that the man on my right seized me by the neck, as if he -suddenly wished to strangle me, and somehow he and I fell together a -tangled mass down the side of the precipice.</p> - -<p>When I looked up—luckily caught in the shrubs—an enormous engine was -towering over my head, the grid-like rails of the cow-catcher looking -ominous and weird above me. The splintered platform of the trolley-car -was rushing down the mountain-side, and our iron wheels were running -off in different directions. It was a marvel we were not all killed.</p> - -<p>It had happened in this wise.</p> - -<p>As we turned a sharp corner an engine suddenly bore down on us—one -of those great black, high American locomotives, neither varnished -nor painted. The engineers, accustomed to the ominous sound, luckily -heard it before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">127</a></span> it was quite upon us. Hence, I was violently dragged -from what, in another second, would have been instantaneous death. The -natives all jumped off in some wonderful manner, also being accustomed -to the sound; but our trolley-car was smashed to smithereens.</p> - -<p>It was a ghastly experience. By the time I regained my equilibrium, -and saw the horrible accident to our frail little carriage and learnt -the awful danger we had just come through, I realised that I had just -experienced one of the most perilous moments of my life.</p> - -<p>I should have sat there oblivious and literally courted death. We never -know life’s real dangers till they are past, hence the courage of the -battlefield or shipwreck. We only worry over what we but partially -understand, hence the anxiety so often experienced before sitting in -the dentist’s chair. Anticipation is so much sharper than realisation.</p> - -<p>This was not my only narrow escape, for I was blessed with the -proverbial three.</p> - -<p>While visiting at the <em>hacienda</em> of the Governor of one of the Southern -States we, one day after lunch, amused ourselves by shooting at bottles -with the rifles of the <em>rurales</em>. After a time my hostess and I had -wandered away for a stroll, and, as we returned, a ricochet bullet -slid off a bottle and buried itself in my womanly “Adam’s apple.” A -red streak ran down my collar, I opened my mouth and literally gasped, -choking; everybody thought I was dead. But it proved nothing, and in a -few minutes I could breathe and speak again and was washed clean.</p> - -<p>My third escape was a terrible illness, contracted when riding in the -tropics, and caused either by venomous bites or poisonous ivy. Never -shall I forget the awful loneliness of those days and nights fighting -with death in a Mexican hotel.</p> - -<p>Of all the marvellous sights, the magnificent scenery, the -many-coloured birds and flowers rivalling each other in gorgeousness, -I need not write here. But, far beyond everything, the scene that left -the deepest impression on my mind was in Southern Mexico. It was a -visit to the Caves of Cacahuimilpa, one of the greatest wonders of the -world, and the Governor of the State organised an expedition for me to -see them. Numberless Indians from far and wide had joined my party, -glad of the opportunity of going<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">128</a></span> inside the wondrous caves which they -hold in such superstitious dread. Candles were distributed to the -company, which by now must have been swelled to something like a couple -of hundred people. All was ready.</p> - -<p>The descent was easy, for a roadway had been made; but it was really -very impressive to see so many individuals solemnly marching two and -two into impenetrable blackness to the strain of martial music. Each -person carried a long lighted candle, but before we returned to our -starting-point, six and a half hours later, these candles had nearly -burnt out.</p> - -<p>The caves were originally formed by a river, the waterline of which -is distinctly visible, while in places the ground is marked with wave -ripples like the sand of a beach. Then, again, many stones are round -and polished, the result of constant rolling by water; and, still more -wonderful, two rivers flow beneath them, probably through caves just as -marvellous, which no man had then dared penetrate.</p> - -<p>I believe we went through seven caverns, and our numerous lights barely -made a flicker in the intense gloom—they were nothing in that vast -space. Rockets were sent up. Rockets which were known to ascend two -hundred and fifty feet, but which nowhere reached the roof; the height -is probably somewhere between five and six hundred feet. Think of a -stone roof at that altitude without any supports.</p> - -<p>The size alone appalled, but the stalactites and stalagmites almost -petrified one with amazement. Many of them have joined, making rude -pillars a couple of hundred feet high and perhaps a hundred feet in -diameter at the base. Others have formed grotesque shapes. A seal -upon the ground is positively life-like: a couple of monster Indian -idols: faces and forms innumerable; here an old woman bent nearly -double, there a man with a basket on his head, thrones fit for kings, -organs with every pipe visible, which, when tapped, send forth deep -tones. It was all so great, so wonderful, so marvellous; I felt all -the time as if I were in some strange cathedral, greater, grander, and -more impressive than any I had ever entered. Its aspect of power and -strength paralysed me, not with fear, but with admiration.</p> - -<p>At times it was terribly stiff climbing and several of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">129</a></span> party had -nasty falls in the uncertain light; at others it was a case of sitting -down and sliding, in order to get from one boulder to another; but it -was worth it all to see such a sight, to realise the Power that made -those caves, to bow before the Almighty Hand which had accomplished -such work, even in millions of years. There hung those great stone -roofs without support of any kind—what architect could have performed -such a miracle? There stood those majestic pillars embedded in rocks -above and below; there hung yards and yards of stalactites weighing -tons, and yet no stay or girder kept them in place. It was a lesson, -a chapter in religion, something solemn and soul-stirring, something -never to be forgotten; one of the Creator’s great mysteries, where -every few yards presented some fresh revelation.</p> - -<p>My knees were trembling, every rag of clothing I wore was as wet as -when first taken from the washerwoman’s tub, yet I struggled on, -fascinated, bewildered, awed, by the sights which met me at every step. -Think of it. Stumbling along for four and a half hours, even then not -reaching the end, and, though we returned by the easiest and quickest -way, it was two hours more before we found the exit.</p> - -<p>In one of the caves the Governor proposed my health, and the party -gave three cheers, which resounded again and again in that wonderful -subterranean chamber, deep down in the bowels of the earth, with a -mountain above and a couple of rivers below. The military band of -Cacahuimilpa accompanied us, and the effect produced by their music was -stupendous. No words can give any idea of the volume of sound, because -the largest band in the world could not succeed in producing the same -effect of resonance in the open air which ten performers caused in -those vast silent chambers.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to describe the immense grandeur of Cacahuimilpa.</p> - -<p>Man is speechless in such majestic surroundings; but in this -all-pervading silence surely the voice of God speaks.</p> - -<p>Hot, tired, and overpowered we were plodding homewards, when a letter -was handed to a member of the party by a mounted soldier, who, seeing -our lights approaching the entrance, had dared to venture into the -grottos to deliver his missive. We were all surprised at the man’s -arrival,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">130</a></span> and more surprised to find he carried an envelope. It turned -out to be a telegram which had followed our party from a village -forty miles distant, and had been sent on by special horseman with -instructions to overtake us at all speed. Was ever telegram delivered -amid stranger surroundings, to a more cosmopolitan collection of -humanity assembled in the bowels of the earth, far, far away from -civilisation?</p> - -<p>What news that telegram contained! It had travelled seven thousand -miles across land and sea; it had arrived at a moment when we were all -overawed by stupendous grandeur and thoroughly worn out with fatigue. -At the first glance it seemed impossible to read. Men, accustomed to -the vagaries of foreign telegraph clerks when dealing with the English -language, found, however, no difficulty in deciphering its meaning.</p> - -<p>Then the Governor spoke a word. Every Indian doffed his hat and bent -his eyes, as Colonel Alarcon walked solemnly towards me, and in deep -tone, with evident feeling, explained that the President of Mexico had -sent on the news to tell the English señora—</p> - -<p class="center padt1 padb1">“<span class="smcap">QUEEN VICTORIA IS DEAD</span>.”</p> - -<p>A historic telegram, truly, announcing a national calamity, and -received amidst the wildest possible surroundings in the strangest -possible way.</p> - -<p>The Queen was dead. The English-speaking people had lost her who had -been their figure-head for sixty-three years. The monarch, to whom the -whole world paid homage as a woman and respect as a Queen, had died at -Osborne on the previous day, while we, wandering over Aztec ruins at -Xochicalco, had not even heard of her illness.</p> - -<p>Impressed as we were by the mystic grandeur of the caves, amazed at the -wonders of nature, this solemn news seemed to fit the serious thoughts -of the day, thoughts which had grown in intensity with each succeeding -hour. Cacahuimilpa appeared a fitting spot in which to hear of a great -public loss. Time and place for once were in no wise “out of tune.”</p> - -<p>It was dark and the way steep as we rode back to the village in -silence.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">131</a></span></p> - -<p>Like the proverbial bad penny, I rolled home again with my pocket -full of notes on men, women, and things. I had collected my material, -written bits in railway trains, on steamboats, and almost in the -saddle, and as soon as I felt well enough, put together <cite>Mexico as I -saw It</cite>.</p> - -<p>The beginning of the manuscript was sent off to the publishers in -the June following, just two months after landing at home, and the -remainder was printed, chapter by chapter, as I managed to finish each: -a most terrible and anxious manner of proceeding and one certainly not -to be recommended. The first proof of <cite>Mexico as I saw It</cite> was returned -on July 10th; the slips, or galleys, finished on August 10th; the -whole was paged and passed for press on September 10th. It appeared in -October at a guinea net, the illustrations mostly from my own camera. -So I was just six months in Mexico, and just six more getting out the -book; in my own souvenir copy there is written on the fly-leaf: “It is -done, but it has nearly done for me.”</p> - -<p>Reviews were more than kind, but then the subject was new, so people -found it interesting. As Frederic Harrison wrote in the <cite>Positivist -Review</cite>: “The marvellous restoration of Mexico, from being a hot-bed -of anarchy and the victim of superstition to its present condition of -one of the best governed and most enlightened of modern countries, has -often attracted the attention of political observers. In Mrs. Alec -Tweedie’s most interesting volume we find suggestive sketches of the -institution of the Republic, and a personal character of the President, -General Porfirio Diaz, the noble statesman who has achieved such -triumphs.” How could one help being gratified that other influential -organs of public opinion felt with me the “fascinations of the Southern -<em>haciendas</em> and of the natives of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec,” and held -the information, that had been zealously collected, of practical and -informing value?</p> - -<p>On the hospitality of the President it is only necessary to say that, -looking back to those records of 1900-1, I find this expression—warm -from the heart—respecting General and Madame Diaz:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"><p>“Their kindness and courtesy, the extraordinary thoughtfulness and -consideration with which I was treated, will ever remain in my mind. -Without the personal aid of General Diaz I could not have written -<cite>Mexico as I saw It</cite>,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">132</a></span> and perhaps this peep into the life of the -people, over whom he rules so powerfully, may help to make that -wonderful country a little better understood.”<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">5</a></p></div> - -<p>Five years later I returned to Mexico and wrote the <cite>Life</cite> of the -President.</p> - -<p>The first time I left the country I was limping with pain after a -serious illness of blood-poisoning—the second time I left almost -limping again, but that was from the weight of the precious documents I -bore away.</p> - -<p>No one knew but the President, his wife, and three of his Ministers, -what important material I was taking with me, or that I was going to -write the <cite>Life</cite> of General Diaz from his diaries and notes. It was -published in England and America in February, 1906, and reprinted with -additions two months later. One kindly critic said: “It is a romance, -a history, a biography, one of the most thrilling stories of real life -ever written.” Later it was translated into German and Spanish. I was -so pressed with work at that time I had one Spanish and two English -secretaries constantly employed—I often sat at my desk for nine or -ten hours a day, and rarely went to any social entertainment except an -occasional public dinner.</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter" /> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">133</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE CONTENTS OF A WORKING-WOMAN’S LETTER-BOX</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">THE fact of having committed a book into printer’s ink lays one open -to curious correspondence. I am sure there are autograph hunters who -seek the appearance of each new writer, in order to mark her down, as -eagerly as ever angler watched for a trout rising to his fly. Some ask -directly and are unashamed; others wrap up their request by desiring -some piece of information. Happily it has not yet become a recognised -custom for a writer to be asked by people entirely unknown to her to -give them her books, but I have experienced even such modest requests. -One circumstance was perhaps a little unusual.</p> - -<p>From far-away Mussoorie, in the North-West Provinces of India, came -a letter one day. It was dated “January,” after the season at the -hill station was over, by some exile compelled to stay on through -the dreariness of a deserted health resort, to live through the -monotonously dull days and watch the successive falls of snow on the -mountains. My correspondent had been reading about myself and my books -in a popular monthly which had reached her, and became emboldened to -ask “if the writer would lend her a copy of <cite>A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</cite>, -which she would carefully return.” As she covered the thin pages of her -foreign note-paper her boldness grew, for next she “confessed” that she -would like to possess the book; and she wound up with a suggestion that -if my name “was written on the fly-leaf, signifying that the book was a -gift to her by the author, it would add to its value.”</p> - -<p>I believe in this instance I did weakly send the book, autographed -fly-leaf and all. One feels sympathetic towards a lonely woman -compatriot left stranded on an Indian hill-top, thinking perchance of -a friendly Christmas-time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">134</a></span> at home, with one’s own people, shops and -shows to amuse and cheer one.</p> - -<p>“A bibliophilic favour” was on another occasion requested. This time my -correspondent was nearer home:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Ever since boyhood I have been an ardent lover of books; but, -alas! owing to a paucity of pence (to say nothing of pounds), I am -only able to buy when I can, not when I would. So I am sorry to -have to confess that none of your volumes grace, as yet, my humble -shelves. But I am not wholly without examples of your pen. Some of -your articles, those on “Dr. Nansen at Home” and “Henrik Ibsen” and -“Björnstjerne Björnson,” I have had carefully excerpted from back -numbers of <cite>Temple Bar</cite> and neatly backed for preservation. Well, -I should very much like to adorn each of them by the insertion of -a line or two in your handwriting—will you graciously make it -possible for me to do so? The veriest trifle—or trifles—that -you might care to send me would, you may be sure, be gratefully -accepted and prized.”</p></div> - -<p>I am afraid those magazine excerpts, though neatly “backed” for -preservation, are still unadorned.</p> - -<p>What, one wonders, will become of pickers-up of bibliophilic trifles -in these days when everything committed to paper is typewritten? The -relics of dead authors of the twentieth century, when those of the -twenty-first come to collect them, will not be the manuscripts written -in ink in a neat (or otherwise) handwriting, such as the British Museum -purchases for hundreds of pounds and stores among its treasures to-day; -but lacerated engrimed sheets of typescript which can make but small -appeal to anyone’s emotions.</p> - -<p>At other times various correspondents have asked of me:</p> - -<p>If I would figure with my children in a series of articles entitled -“Model Mothers,” which Mr. Harmsworth’s (Lord Northcliffe’s) enterprise -was bringing out.</p> - -<p>Would I get somebody concert engagements?</p> - -<p>Did I approve of divorce?</p> - -<p>Had I any theory in the bringing up of babies?</p> - -<p>Would I permit my visiting-card to be reproduced in the illustration of -an article on “The Etiquette of Card-leaving”?</p> - -<p>Had I two or three good specimens of opals from Querétaro for a -correspondent who had <em>twice</em> read my Mexican book?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">135</a></span></p> - -<p>While another enterprising gleaner sought my help in gathering his -sheaf as follows:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“I am endeavouring to collect the opinions of prominent ladies -and gentlemen as to what is the ideal age for marriage. If you -would be so good as to write a few lines, giving your opinion -on this matter, from the lady’s point of view, and enclose them -in the accompanying stamped addressed envelope at your earliest -convenience, I assure you that I should esteem it a great favour. -Sincerely hoping that you may see your way to accede to my -request,” etc.</p></div> - -<p>Another enquired if I thought widows should remarry.</p> - -<p>Lastly, among begging letters that visit the working-woman’s desk -like so many buzzing flies, one covering many pages may be taken as a -specimen. A youth, a French polisher by trade, wrote that he had given -up his situation: taken to writing: failed and become a tramp. After -many hardships, having only one penny left, he bought a postage-stamp -and hoped to find a <cite>Who’s Who</cite> in his inn. He was unsuccessful, but -discovered a <cite>Literary Year-Book</cite>, which he opened by chance, and his -eyes fell on my name; therefore he sent me a most lengthy appeal for -help, adding a promise of repayment as he had a prospect of work.</p> - -<p>Truly strange epistles drift into the working-woman’s letter-box, and -each steals a little time from her busy day.</p> - -<p>Once an unknown person, chancing to read an article of mine on Lourdes, -sent me sixteen closely written pages in French, betraying a profound -anxiety on the writer’s part to convert me to Roman Catholicism.</p> - -<p>Then come letters of a different kind requesting loans. They may be -from the Royal Geographical Society, or the Earl’s Court Exhibition, or -a lace collection, or perhaps some clergyman in the East End, but the -letters come and the letters have to be answered.</p> - -<p>The writers generally require the loan of curios from Iceland, Finland, -Norway, Mexico, Morocco, Sicily; or any country, in fact, with which -one’s name is associated. Lists have to be made, the objects looked -out, packed, sent, placed, fetched, unpacked. Sometimes things get -damaged, or lost, and then no one seems responsible.</p> - -<p>People write asking for patronage; the loan of one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">136</a></span>’s name as a -patroness to soup kitchens, charity concerts, balls, clubs, hospital -bazaars, or collections by a friend for some charity. I was once asked -by an unknown man to be godmother to his child. Soaps have asked for -my patronage, and a motor-car was suggested as a free gift (it was the -early days of motoring) if I would drive it through the streets of -London.</p> - -<p>Letters from women and men aspiring to literature—and verily half the -world seems to think literary gifts are as common as pens and inkpots; -letters from the natives of all the countries about which I have ever -written, asking for help, or “for money to buy a ticket home because -they are stranded in London and destitute”; or a fond father wishing -to start his son in mining writes to ask my experience of mines in -Mexico; while perhaps a mother thinks my experience would solve a -question whether her daughter, who is a hospital nurse, would find a -good opening in Canada; and, again, a girl starting a dairy enquires -for hints on the Danish procedure.</p> - -<p>Letters modestly ask me if through my medical connection I can get -“a poor friend” seen by a doctor gratis; or if I can give someone an -introduction for the stage, or hear somebody else sing or recite, and -see what he or she had better do with their talent.</p> - -<p>Oh dear! Oh dear! Letters never end, they are like the taxes in their -persistency. Is there anything under the sun people will not bother a -busy woman to obtain? The following letter was as much underlined as -one of Queen Victoria’s epistles:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“I know your books so well, and have heard so much of <em>all</em> your -<em>great</em> kindness to people. I am a worker in one of ... and am -resting a time, and am anxious to get some help towards getting -a <em>Bath chair</em> for a poor crippled child. It is <em>such a sad, sad -case</em>, and if she had a chair she could get to church and Sunday -School. I have also been a missionary in poor needy India. Please -send a <em>little</em> help towards the Chair, and also if you can -<em>towards</em> the support of our Hospital for poor <em>Purdah women</em> in -India, where I hope to be able to return <em>some day</em>. I am Dean -...’s niece.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours very truly, <br /> -“O. P.”</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">137</a></span></p> - -<p>One effusion addressed to me begins:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“It is very many years since we met, but I am hoping you have not -quite forgotten me. I have been a widow for nearly two years, -and am now anxious to get some employment, as I am <em>absolutely -penniless</em>.”</p></div> - -<p>In the same strain the letter runs on for several pages. For a long -time the signature was a puzzle, and then gradually rose before me the -vision of a man with whom I used to dance twenty years before as a -girl; he was then a rich bachelor in Park Lane. A few years after this -he married, and I only saw his wife two or three times. Surely on such -a slight acquaintance the letter could not come from her. But it did.</p> - -<p>What is to become of the endless stream of charming but incapable -women, whose husbands, fathers, or brothers leave them in this -deplorable condition?</p> - -<p>Among the newspaper articles for which my pen has travelled over -reams of paper—articles responsible for much of my strange -correspondence—were some on hand-loom weaving.</p> - -<p>Far away in the wilds of Sutherlandshire, chance once drew my steps to -visit a little croft where homespuns were woven by the family, while -the hens laid their eggs in the corner, or cackled in the rafters. -Years went by and better days came to that household.</p> - -<p>Appreciation is always pleasant, and such kindly words as those in the -following simple letter are good to read. The excellent English used by -the writer is a testimony to education in the Highlands of Scotland.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I feel very much my inability to write as I feel in regard to -the very able and very earnest appeal you have made through the -columns of the <cite>Queen</cite>—on behalf of the British workman, but more -especially for your kind way of writing about our little Cottage -home.</p> - -<p>“Dear Lady, your visit had gladdened our hearts but your paper more -so, and I feel quite at a loss to thank you for your kindness. We -have an ‘heirloom’ in the family already (the one you saw), but if -this paper won’t be an ‘heirloom’ it will be a relic, in the family -of all about the loom.</p> - -<p>“My mother said while you were here you would soon come to -understand about it, but I can’t help complimenting you on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">138</a></span> -the retentiveness of your memory. I don’t think you have forgotten -anything I said, but certainly you haven’t forgot about the hen -laying her egg. “What a joke?” nor my kitten either.</p> - -<p>“Teazled ought to have been spelt <em class="gesperrt">Teazed</em>. Teazling is part of -the operation fine tweeds undergo in the finishing process after being -woven.</p> - -<p>“Teazed is an opening out of the wool.</p> - -<p>“That is the only error and probably a printer’s one, so that your -facts are perfectly correct, the prices of your wool are not my -quotations.</p> - -<p>“Sutherlandshire wools always get a higher price in the wool markets -than any other work. Wools under 9d. per lb. are of no great value.</p> - -<p>“I have been very successful in this Exhibition, sold out, some orders, -three prizes, for our own goods; woven the goods of seven others -(crofters), who have also obtained prizes. In the green wincy 1st -prize, the Black second; the travelling-rugs 1st prize, the shepherd’s -plaid commended.</p> - -<p>“Again thanking you for your kindness</p> - -<p class="right">“I am,<span class="add12em"> </span><br /> -“Dear Madam,<span class="add8em"> </span><br /> -“Your humble and obedient Servant,<br /> -“A. P.” </p></div> - -<p>If the weaver’s letter was pleasant, the following reversed the shield. -I have not often received abusive letters; but here is an example at -random:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Putney. </span></p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Madam</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I have read your article on ‘Beauty’ in <cite>The Daily Mail</cite> of -to-day’s date, regarding your idea of tall, slight figures (which -<em>you</em> describe as being leggy, lanky, etc.). I consider you a fool -and an idiot and certainly <em>low-bred</em>. You are evidently coarse and -fat yourself, therefore you do not understand refined breed. Kindly -insert this in your next article on ‘Beauty.’</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">A Judge of Refinement.</span>” </p></div> - -<p>Possibly my correspondent would claim that her judicial merits in the -matter of refinement extended to language.</p> - -<p>A total stranger sent me the following—among epistolary -curiosities—dated from a well-known ladies’ club:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I am doing a most unusual thing and I fear you will at once -say—impertinent! but please don’t. You travel so tremendously,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">139</a></span> -each of your works I seem to like better than the other. I suppose you always have a maid with you? or a companion? If only -you would take me with you (I would pay my own expenses) on one -of your fascinating journeys. I am just consumed with a desire to -travel in unfrequented country and would do anything if only I -could go with you sometime. Please do not consider me a most rude -and forward girl.”</p></div> - -<p>Being struck with this letter, I sent for the girl. She came; tall, -dark, handsome, and a lady. It appeared that she was not happy at -home, but had means of her own. She had been abroad with friends, who -invariably stayed in large hotels, all alike and all uninteresting, -whilst she wanted to see something of the real life of the foreign -lands she visited.</p> - -<p>“But what do you want to do with me?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Travel with you. I would go as your secretary, as your maid, as -anything if you would only take me. I would pay all my own expenses and -promise to be useful.”</p> - -<p>“Maids sew on buttons and lace up boots,” I replied, laughing.</p> - -<p>“I’ll do all that and more, if you will only take me. I have your -books, and I know I should love you, and I do so want to travel, to -really travel as you do.”</p> - -<p>She was delightfully enthusiastic; but, alas! I could not take her; the -responsibility of a headstrong girl was too great. It might have turned -out an ideal arrangement, but, again, it might have been a hideous -failure, and when travelling to write books one has no time to tackle -needless worries.</p> - -<p>To end this list of letter-samples that more often tease than gratify -the recipient are constant demands for subscriptions; appeals for gifts -of books to poor clubs; letters from comparative strangers asking if -they may bring a particular friend or a foreigner to call, as they wish -to have a talk with me, or see over my house. In fact, no one who does -not peep into a busy woman’s letter-box can have any idea of the amount -of correspondence on all conceivable subjects it contains.</p> - -<p>No doubt other workers have likewise helped—or are helping—the young -or shiftless beginners who have not yet found foothold on the lowest -rung of the ladder, round which so great a crowd is struggling. But -do all, one wonders,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">140</a></span> learn, as has been my experience, how quickly -eaten bread is sometimes forgotten by the eater: how often so-called -gratitude is only the hope of fresh favours to come?</p> - -<p>Does it ever strike people that it hurts?</p> - -<p>A girl of my acquaintance was once very, very poor. She wrote asking -my advice; saw me, and finally started in a small way as a manicurist. -No move was made without claiming my advice at all times and seasons. -She called and sat for hours asking this and that. She brought -agreements to be looked over, earnings to discuss, address-books for -suggestions; Heaven knows what she did not bring. At my persuasion she -saved shillings and put them into the Post Office Savings Bank. Then it -became pounds, and I arranged with a bank to open a little account for -her, and later asked my stockbroker to invest her first saved hundred -pounds in something <em>very</em> safe.</p> - -<p>That first hundred saved, in a year or two became a thousand, and -quickly doubled itself. She deserved it all, for she worked hard and -saved diligently, but—well! the protectress was wanted less and less, -the protestations of affection and admiration slowly ceased, and when -my help could no longer be of use they came to an end.</p> - -<p>Gratitude. Where is it? The people one helps most generously often turn -away the moment they are firmly established.</p> - -<p>Take another case. I started a certain girl in journalism. (I’ve -started so many.) She worried me day and night for help and advice. -I corrected MSS., suggested subjects, rewrote whole articles, and -all because of feeling really sorry for her plight. She is now a -flourishing journalist. We often meet, but she rarely takes the trouble -to call because she need no longer get anything out of me.</p> - -<p>Yes! after correcting four whole books, and that means hours and hours -of dreary work, only in one case, to my surprise and delight—for -such a small return gives one real pleasure—did I find a pretty -acknowledgment, in a preface, of my part of the work.</p> - -<p>People will come again and again, and a hundred times again, no matter -how inconvenient the hour; they will drop in at meal-time, and knowing -how poor they are, one feels forced to ask them to stop. But these very -folk,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">141</a></span> once on their feet, sometimes forget the friendly outstretched -hand of help by which they climbed.</p> - -<p>It hurts.</p> - -<p>On the other hand, some people are almost too grateful. A boy who was -alone in lodgings and spent his Sundays with us in Harley Street in the -long ago, went to China, where he has done splendidly; and every year -since I have had a home of my own—since 1887, in fact—he has sent -me a chest of tea, “because he never could forget the kindness of the -past.” And he sends a similar recognition to my mother for the same -reason. Such tokens of remembrance keep alive the friendships of those -bygone days.</p> - -<p>A woman who was with me for some years as secretary and left through -ill-health never forgets to send me a kindly note on my birthday, a -little thoughtfulness I greatly appreciate. One loves to be remembered. -A penny bunch of violets often gives a hundredfold its weight in -pleasure.</p> - -<p>Yes, remembrance is always pleasant. Dear old Sir John Erichsen left me -£300 in his will to buy a memento. I was too poor for mementoes when -it came, so I invested it, and the £12 a year became of real tangible -help. Or again, an old cousin in Scotland whom I only saw twice, left -me, when she died, my paternal grandmother’s engagement-ring, and her -delightful old tea-service of soft buff and white china ornamented with -the daintiest landscape medallions.</p> - -<p>Thank God, I have never been pursued in life by little ills, but three -or four times big collapses have overtaken me. Typhoid, rheumatic -fever, and blood-poisoning are no slight matters: but they are almost -worth the suffering and pain for the pleasure of receiving such -kindnesses from friends, letters of sympathy, flowers, fruit, wine, -jellies, all have been left at my door, and I blessed the kind donors -then as I bless them in remembrance now. Doubtless the severity of the -illnesses that overtook me was due to intense overwork coupled with -anxiety—overstrain invariably spells breakdown.</p> - -<p>A horrible distrust overcame me at one time.</p> - -<p>I used to go to bed worn out and weary, at last sleep would come. -Then I would wake up with a start, feeling some awful calamity had -overtaken me, that I had written something libellous or said something -scandalous, and the Court of Law was waiting to receive me. No one -would intentionally write a libel any more than they would cut a -friend. I would see paragraphs chasing paragraphs across the page, just -as the typed letters had turned red under my gaze when my eyes gave -out a few years before. I used to get horribly anxious over my proof. -Things I had rattled off when well were laborious now, and the anxiety -they entailed was wellnigh unendurable.</p> - -<p>It was merely a matter of health—a tonic and a rest put matters right.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter padt2 padb2"><h2 id="PART_V">PART V<br /> -<br /> -<span class="small">THE SWEETS OF ADVERSITY</span></h2></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_145fp"> -<img src="images/i_145fp.jpg" width="463" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE<br /> -<em>After a painting by Herbert Schmalz, 1894</em></p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">145</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ABOUT PAINTERS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">IT has been rather amusing to sit to various artists; they have such -different ways of working. When Herbert Schmalz did my portrait (1894) -he was busy upon those enormous religious canvases of his which -afterwards toured round England and Australia as a one-man show, and -which are so well known in reproductions.</p> - -<p>He was painting “John Oliver Hobbes” at the same time, and she and I -went to the studio on alternate days. Although we were hardly alike, -the names of <em>Craigie</em> and <em>Tweedie</em> had something of the same sound, -and quite confused the little servant, who always announced me as Mrs. -Craigie, and John Oliver Hobbes as Mrs. Tweedie. Those were pleasant -sittings, and perhaps I went ten or twelve times for the picture. -Herbert Schmalz is a careful, painstaking artist, who is prone to alter -scheme or colour, and do the work all over again unless it pleases him. -At that time Sir Frederick Leighton often came to the studio, which -almost adjoined his own.</p> - -<p>Leighton was one of the most courtly, charming men I ever knew. Short -of stature, he still had a magnificent presence, and his grey head -was grand. No President of the Royal Academy ever looked finer at the -top of the stairs on soirée night than this splendid draughtsman. -The Academy Soirée in his day was a grand function. His personality -attracted all that was best. I never liked his painting, but always -loved his drawing.</p> - -<p>The portrait painted by Mr. Schmalz<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">6</a> was one day standing in my hall -a year or two later, when a new servant—new servants are luxuries I do -not often indulge in—asked if the picture was going away.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">146</a></span></p> -<p>“Yes,” I replied, “it is going to an exhibition.”</p> - -<p>“I thought pictures only went to exhibitions when they were newly -painted,” she remarked.</p> - -<p>“So they do, as a rule,” I answered, “but this one is going to the -Exhibition of ‘Eminent Women’ at Earl’s Court.”</p> - -<p>“Lor’!” (in her surprise she nearly dropped what she was holding). “You -don’t mean to say <em>you</em> are going there?”</p> - -<p>Mohammed could not have been a prophet in his own household.</p> - -<p>After all, plain truths and trifling jokes are often the most -enjoyable, just as small ills are the least endurable.</p> - -<p>When I sat to Blake Wirgman in 1902 for my portrait shortly after my -visit to the West, he insisted on my being dressed in a dirty old -divided skirt, huge Mexican sombrero, high boots, and shirt. The -canvas is nearly life-size, and as I was foolish enough to submit to a -standing position, with one foot up on a stone, I used to get awfully -tired. Balancing on one leg in stiff riding-boots is apt to bring -on cramp, so at odd intervals I danced round the studio to relieve -my aching toes, and begged him to paint the boots without me. After -dressing one day I returned to the studio, having put the boots on -their trees, and placed them carefully beside the rocky stone where I -stood. “There,” I exclaimed, “there are the boots, now can you paint -them without torturing me.” Never shall I forget his peal of laughter -at the idea of painting a pair of boots with wooden insides! However, -he found a girl who took “threes” in boots, and she saved me a few -hours of torture. Blake Wirgman is a delightful man, and I thoroughly -enjoyed those sittings—all but the cramp.</p> - -<p>“All but” reminds me of a dear old Scotch minister who used to read -out the prayers for the Royal family, and to our amusement pronounced -“Albert Edward Prince of Wales,” “All-but Edward Prince of Wiles.” This -happened in a Highland kirk in Sutherlandshire, where the collie dogs -used to come into the church and get up and shake themselves at the -benediction, knowing that it was time to go home. A tuning-fork and a -precentor added simplicity to the service, while the shepherds from -the hills wore black coats and top-hats and pennies were collected on -a tray<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">147</a></span> at the door, just as represented in the play <cite>Bunty pulls the -Strings</cite>.</p> - -<p>The famous picture of “Scotch Elders” was painted by my husband’s -cousin John Lorimer, <span class="smcap">A.R.A.</span>; a very fine picture it is too. -The appreciation of pawky Scottish humour runs in our blood, on both -sides of the family, so my praise of a kinsman’s work will be readily -understood as needing no apology.</p> - -<p>Being with other workers amused and interested me, and made me forget -the everlasting grind of my usual working-day. Mr. Cyril Davenport, of -the British Museum, and author of many books on jewels, miniatures, -and heraldry, made a <em>vitreous</em> enamel of my head. This is not paint, -but powdered glass, shaken on the silver and then fired in a furnace. -Some of the effects produced by this process are lovely. It is an old -art revived, and a tricky one, as no workman knows the exact shade -the furnace will turn out, any more than they did in the days of the -manufacture of the famous <em>rose du Barry</em>.</p> - -<p>It is quite a mistaken idea to suppose that sitting for a portrait -necessitates sitting still. Far from it. Artists like one to talk and -be amused, otherwise the sitter gets bored and the picture reflects -the boredom. Few painters can work with a third person in the room, -although Sir William Orchardson always preferred to have his wife -reading aloud to him, or talking to his sitter while he was at the -easel.</p> - -<p>It may seem strange that so many people have painted my head, but -please do not think it was the outcome of vanity on my part. I did not -ask them; they asked me. Dozens have asked me to sit, and the baker’s -dozen to whom I have sat have started off full of enthusiasm, found me -difficult, and ended by thinking me horrid. Yes, horrid, I know. They -have not said so in so many words, they have been too polite for that, -but they have owned I was “very difficult, especially about the mouth.” -That is why I have thirteen different mouths in thirteen different -pictures. A mouth is the most expressive and the most characteristic -feature of a face, and therefore the most elusive for the artist’s -brush. When I am not talking, my face is as dull as London on a Bank -Holiday.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">148</a></span></p> - -<p>Some painters make too much of a portrait and too little of a picture. -Others, on the other hand, make too much of a picture and too little -of a portrait. Really, the picture is of most consequence, because -the good picture with its impression of the sitter remains, while the -fleeting expression of the face and age of the sitter passes away.</p> - -<p>Joy is only a flash, sorrow is an abiding pain. We women have lines of -figure when young, but we must all expect lines of wrinkles when old.</p> - -<p>Artists and writers are generally poor, but we are often happy. The -greater the artist, the less he seems to be able to push his wares. It -is the mediocre who ring the muffin-bell, or whose wives sell their -cakes. A certain clever woman is said never to stop in a country house -without returning home with an order for a new ship in her husband’s -wallet. Well, why not? If a woman is smart enough to find purchasers -for her husband’s pictures, his horses, or his ships, all honour to -her. We all want agents, even literary agents—poor, dear, abused -things—and if we can get our own flesh and blood to do the work -without demanding a commission, so much the better, but we might give -them a little acknowledgment sometimes.</p> - -<p>The poor want to be rich, and the rich want seats in the House of -Lords, while a Duchess wants to write books and be poor. The simple -want to be great, while the great know the futility of fame. It is a -world of struggle and discontent. The moment <em>any</em>body can get seats -for a first night, or tickets for a private view, <em>no</em>body wants them.</p> - -<p>That sounds rather Gilbertian.</p> - -<p>The late Sir William S. Gilbert was a dear and valued friend of mine -for many years. One of the most brilliant companions I ever knew when -he chose, and one of the dullest when something had put him out. He -talked as wittily as he wrote, and many of his letters are teeming with -quaint idiosyncrasies. He was a perennial boy with delicious quirk.</p> - -<p>So few people are as interesting as their work—they reserve their -wit or trenchant sarcasm for their books. W. S. Gilbert was an -exception—he was as amusing as his <cite>Bab Ballads</cite>, and as sarcastic as -“H.M.S. Pinafore.” A sparkling librettist, he was likewise a brilliant -talker.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">149</a></span></p> - -<p>How he loved a joke, even against himself! How well he told a story, -even if he invented it on the spot as “perfectly true.” His mind was -so quick he grasped the stage setting of a dinner-party at once, and -forthwith adapted his drama of the moment to exactly suit his audience.</p> - -<p>After a lapse of nearly twenty years “Iolanthe” was revived at the -Savoy. Not one line or one word of the original text had been altered. -“Pinafore,” when it was revived for the second time, just twenty-one -years after its first performance, ran for months. How few authors’ -work will stand such a test of excellence, yet Gilbert penned a dozen -light operas.</p> - -<p>The genesis of “Iolanthe” is referable, like many of Gilbert’s -libretti, to one of the <cite>Bab Ballads</cite>. The “primordial atomic globule” -from which it traces its descent is a ballad called “The Fairy Curate.”</p> - -<p>It is a well-known fact that almost every comedian wishes to be a -tragedian, and <em>vice versa</em>—look at Irving and Beerbohm Tree—and -Gilbert had a great and mighty sorrow all his life. He wanted to write -serious dramas, long five-act plays full of situations and thought; -but no, fate ordained otherwise, when having for a change started his -little bark as a librettist he had to persevere in penning what he -called “nonsense.”</p> - -<p>The public were right; they knew there was no other W. S. Gilbert, they -wanted to be amused. Some say the art of comedy-writing is dying out, -and certainly no second Gilbert seems to be rising among the younger -men, no humorist who can call tears or laughter at will, and can send -his audience away happy every night. The world owes a debt of gratitude -to this gifted scribe, for he never put an unclean line upon the stage -and yet provoked peals of laughter while slyly giving his little digs -at existing evils. His style has created a name of its own; to be -Gilbertian is all that is smart, brilliant, caustic, and clean.</p> - -<p>Mr. Gilbert proudly remarked when he was just sixty-five, that he -had cheated the doctors, and signed a new lease of life on the -twenty-one-year principle. During those sixty-five years he had turned -his hand to many trades. After a career at the London University, -where he took his B.A. degree, he read for the Royal Artillery; but on -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">150</a></span> Crimean War coming to an end and no more officers being wanted, -he became a clerk in the Privy Council Office, and was subsequently -called to the Bar. He was also a Militiaman, and at one time an -occasional contributor to <cite>Punch</cite>, becoming thus an artist as well -as a writer. His pictures are well known, for all the two or three -hundred illustrations in the <cite>Bab Ballads</cite> are from his clever pen. I -saw him make an excellent sketch in a few minutes at his home on Harrow -Weald; but photography cast its web about him and he disappeared into -some dark chamber for hours at a time, alone with his thoughts and his -photographic pigments. The results were charming.</p> - -<p>What a lovely home that is, standing in a hundred and ten acres -right at the top of Harrow Weald, with a glorious view over London, -Middlesex, Berkshire, and Buckinghamshire. He farmed the land himself, -and talked of crops and stock with a glib tongue, although the real -enthusiast was his delightful wife, who loves her chickens and her -roses.</p> - -<p>Sullivan always wrote the music after Gilbert had written the words. -Gilbert’s ear for time and rhythm was impeccable, but he freely -admitted that he had a very imperfect sense of tune.</p> - -<p>The Gilberts were tremendous travellers; for many years they wintered -in Egypt, India, the West Indies, Burma, or some other far-away -land, and it was on these wanderings that he conceived ideas for the -“Mikado.” When in Egypt for the third time, they nearly lost their -lives in the railway accident between Cairo and Halouan. Fortunately -they were only bruised from the concussion, but several of the -passengers were killed and many wounded. The expert photographer was -of course on the spot, and while waiting for a relief train W. S. -Gilbert was busy with his camera. Being physically incapacitated by a -long illness from being of any service to the sufferers, he contented -himself with sitting on a rock in the desert and taking snapshots at -the scene of the calamity.</p> - -<p>Apropos of an interview I was writing on himself for one of a set that -appeared in the front page of the <cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite>, he wrote the -following amusing reply to my chaff suggesting all sorts of dreadful -things that I would put in if he did not help me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">151</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Grim’s Dyke, Harrow Weald</span>, <br /> -“<em>3rd December, 1901</em>. </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Alec</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I have filled the gap to the best of my ability—but really I have -very little to tell, on the subject of <cite>Iolanthe</cite>.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t the least objection to be described as a ‘whipped -cur’ (indeed, I rather like it), but unfortunately the epithet -doesn’t in the least describe my attitude on a first night. The -‘embankment’ is purely mythical. I usually spend the evening in -the greenroom or in the wings of the theatre, and I fancy that few -authors accept failure or success more philosophically than I do. -When ‘Princess Ida’ was produced I was sitting in the greenroom as -usual, and, likewise sitting there, was an excitable Frenchman who -had supplied all the armour used in the piece. The piece was going -capitally, and he said to me, ‘Mais savez vous que vous avez là un -succès solide?’ I replied that the piece seemed to be all right, -and he exclaimed, with a gesture of amazement, ‘Mais vous êtes si -calme!’ And this, I fancy, would describe the frame of my mind on -every first night.</p> - -<p>“It is also a mistake to suppose that I have fruitlessly longed to -write more important plays. As a matter of fact, I have written -and produced four ambitious blank-verse plays, ‘The Palace of -Truth,’ ‘Pygmalion and Galatea,’ ‘The Wicked World,’ and ‘Broken -Hearts,’ all with conspicuous success—besides many serious and -humorous dramas and comedies—such as ‘Daniel Druce,’ ‘Engaged,’ -‘Sweethearts,’ ‘Comedy and Tragedy,’ and many others. It was when I -was tired of these that I tried my hand on a libretto, and I was so -successful that I had to go on writing them. If d——d nonsense is -wanted, I can write it as well as anybody.</p> - -<p>“I know I can be dismally dull—but I am sure that dinner-party at -which I never opened my mouth (except to eat) is apocryphal. If you -put that in, I shall never be invited to dinner again!</p> - -<p>“By the way, would you like to go to a rehearsal? There will be one -on Thursday at about 11.30, and the Dress Rehearsal on Friday at -2.30. The enclosed will pass you. If you don’t use it, tear it up.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">152</a></span></p> - -<p>“On Thursday the entrance will be by Stage Door—on Friday at the front -entrance.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours for ever and ever, Amen,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">W. S. Gilbert</span>.” </p></div> - -<p>Amongst the many people who made a sketch of my head was the late -Captain Robert Marshall, the author of “The Second in Command” and -other delightful plays.</p> - -<p>This came about a few days before the Coronation of Edward VII. We were -having tea together, when he took out a pencil, and in a few minutes -this soldier-playwright made a charming little sketch. What a strange -thing it is that people who succeed in one particular thing are often -so gifted in various other lines. And people who do not succeed at -anything seem to have no versatility of any sort or kind, except to -amplify the various forms of stupidity.</p> - -<p>I first met Captain Marshall at Sir W. S. Gilbert’s. The younger man -almost worshipped his host, and considered him a model playwright. On -his side, Sir William had been very kind and encouraging. His manner -was perfectly frank, and he never hesitated to say whether he thought a -piece of work good or bad, as it struck him.</p> - -<p>There are not many cases in which a man can earn an income in two -different professions. Lord Roberts is a soldier and a writer; Mr. -Forbes Robertson, Mr. Weedon Grossmith, and Mr. Bernard Partridge are -both actors and artists; Mr. Lumsden Propert, the author of a great -book on miniatures, was a doctor by profession; Mr. Edmund Gosse and -Mr. Edward Clodd have other occupations besides literature; Sir A. -W. Pinero is no mean draughtsman; Miss Gertrude Kingston writes and -illustrates as well as acts; and Mr. Harry Furniss is as clever with -his pen as with his brush.</p> - -<p>No one looking at Captain Marshall would have imagined that ill-health -pursued him; such, however, was the case, and but for the fact that a -delicate chest necessitated retiring from the army, he would probably -never have become a dramatist by profession. “After one gets up in -the service,” he amusingly said, “one receives a higher rate of pay, -and has proportionately less to do. Thus it was I found time for -scribbling, and it was actually while A.D.C. and living in a Government -House, that I wrote ‘His Excellency the Governor.’ Three days after -it came out I left the army<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">153</a></span>.” Many men on being told to relinquish -the profession they loved because of ill-health would have calmly sat -down and courted death. Not so Robert Marshall. He at once turned his -attention elsewhere; chose an occupation he could take about with -him when each winter drove him to warmer climes to live in fresh -air, doing as he was medically bidden, thus cheating the undertaker -for ten years. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to spend an -evening at the Opera. One night I happened to sit in a box between -him and Mr. Cyril Maude, and probably there were no more appreciative -listeners in the house than these two men, both intensely interested -in the representation of “Tannhäuser.” Poor Mr. Maude was suffering -from a sore throat, and had been forbidden to act that evening for -fear of losing the little voice that remained to him. As music is his -delight, and an evening at the Opera an almost unknown pleasure, he -enjoyed himself with the enthusiasm of a boy, feeling he was having a -“real holiday.” Since then he has appeared as a singer himself, in a -Christmas frolic.</p> - -<p>Herbert Bedford, the painter who married that delightful composer -Liza Lehmann, was another once desirous to do a miniature of me. -Accordingly, one terribly foggy morning in January, 1909, he arrived -with his little box and ivory. He started; but of all things for a -miniature a good light is the most necessary and fate was not kind. The -fog deepened and blackened, till we were thoroughly enveloped in one of -“London’s particulars.” I really think it was one of the worst fogs I -remember; and that is saying a good deal, for I have not only had much -experience in London, but have seen denser specimens in Chicago, and -almost as bad in Paris and Christiania.</p> - -<p>He waited an hour, but working was hopeless, so he departed. Next time -he came, the morning was beautifully bright, but ill-fate pursued us, -and we had no sooner settled down to work than Cimmerian darkness came -on again. A week later a third attempt was made, and incredible as -it may appear, the blackest of all smoky, yellow, carboniferous fogs -arrived that day also. Verily, it was a black month. Though the morning -was always fine when we started, the darkness arrived as soon as we -were well settled down to work, as if from very “cussedness.”</p> - -<p>November is named the month of fogs, but as a Londoner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">154</a></span> I should say -they rarely come before Christmas, generally in January; and three or -four during the entire winter is now our usual number. They seldom last -more than a few hours; but they are so awful when they do come, that -that is quite long enough, and the sooner science robs us of their -presence the better. They certainly are less frequent and less severe -than when I was a child. Poor old London climate! how we abuse it, -and yet we have much to be thankful for. We do not get prickly heat -or mosquitoes, sunstroke or ticks, neither do we have frost-bite or -leprosy. The Marquis de San Giuliano, late Italian Ambassador in London -and now Minister of Foreign Affairs in Rome, always maintained that -London possesses the best climate in the world, and wondered why people -ever left England with all its comforts in the winter, for the South -with its cheerless houses and treacherous winds.</p> - -<p>Madame Liza Lehmann has one of the most interesting faces I ever saw: -fragile, delicate, refined. Once a well-known singer, but always -shivering with nervousness, she left the public platform when she -married, about 1894, and began composing. No woman has had more success.</p> - -<p>“Liza doesn’t work, she conceives,” her husband once said as he -stippled in my head. “For instance, sitting over the fire after dinner, -I give her a poem that I think would make a song; she reads it through, -drops it idly on the floor, and takes up the nearest book. I know the -subject has not pleased. Another time she reads some verses, pauses, -puts them on her lap, looks into the flames, waits and then reads -them again. I say nothing; one word would spoil her thoughts. Again -and again she reads them. She gazes into the flames or plays with -her bracelet. Then, as in a dream, she gets up and fetches paper and -pencil. In feverish haste she writes. I have known her write a song -like that in ten minutes. I have known her go months and do nothing. -Words speak to her, thoughts come, she seems at times inspired—but she -can do nothing otherwise.</p> - -<p>“One day she was at a publisher’s and was running through <cite>The Daisy -Chain</cite>.</p> - -<p>“‘Too serious,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid it won’t sell.’ (He was wrong; it -did.) She was angry.</p> - -<p>“‘Nonsense,’ she said, ‘the public can’t only want rubbish like this.’ -And she rattled off something.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">155</a></span></p> - -<p>“‘Excellent, excellent,’ he cried; ‘just what they do want.’ That -became a popular song, and fifty thousand copies were sold in no time.”</p> - -<p>“I feel almost ashamed of that song,” she said to me one day. “It -is not music at all, but I am punished for my sins; it haunts me on -hurdy-gurdies and from boarding-houses, when the windows are open in -the summer.”</p> - -<p>Her husband is also an enthusiastic composer in a heavier line. His -orchestral pieces have been played in Berlin, Russia, and other -centres, but he cannot set a ballad to music, and has none of her -pretty touch. He is a charming miniaturist, and once painted an -interesting series of Meredith’s heroines.</p> - -<p>Next in my gallery of artists comes Mr. Percy Anderson, who is -almost better known by his designs for stage costumes than as a -portrait-painter, although he has done some delightful sketches of -women and children. His wonderful knowledge of human attire through -the world’s history is well known. He has every period at his fingers’ -ends, although sometimes, as in the case of “Ulysses” for His Majesty’s -Theatre, he spends days and weeks in the British Museum, hunting about -to find suggestions and designs for the required costumes; in fact, he -even went to Crete on one occasion to copy the mural decorations, in -order to be certain he was correct in his work.</p> - -<p>Mr. Anderson is really an artist, not only in colour and form, but -also in grouping and harmony. The greatest compliment he ever received -was when he was invited to design the dresses for the famous “Ring” at -Munich. That for an Englishman was indeed high praise from Germany. In -working for the stage he often does six or seven hundred costumes for -a single historical play. Each has to harmonise with its own tableaux -groups, be right in detail and singly, yet form part of a scheme for -the effect of the whole.</p> - -<p>The water-colour drawing of me was done in a couple of hours. (See <a href="#i_161fp">page -161</a>.)</p> - -<p>One summer day in 1903, I sat to John Lavery for a little sketch of my -head, which that brilliantly clever artist painted in thirty minutes. -I chanced to have sat next to him at dinner shortly before, and he had -then exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“I would like to paint your head!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">156</a></span></p> - -<p>“You know how I hate sitting,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“But could you not spare me half an hour one afternoon just for the -gratification of making a sketch of you? Once I have gained that -satisfaction I will give you the picture.”</p> - -<p>This put a different complexion upon the matter, and accordingly one -afternoon I went to his studio, near the South Kensington Museum, to be -decapitated. That studio is probably the best proportioned in London. -It was built by Sir Coutts Lindsay, and is almost square like a box. -The high walls are covered with a sort of dull brown paper, and a few -French chairs and bureaus are its only decoration. I sat down in one -of these special chairs waiting for him to arrange his easel, when he -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“That will do, just sit as you are, and if you don’t mind I should like -to take off my coat, as when I paint at high pressure it is hot work.” -To this I assented, and in a moment he was hard at it.</p> - -<p>“Talk as much as you like,” he said. “Forget you are sitting; move your -head or your arms as you wish, just simply think you are paying me a -little call; never mind the rest.”</p> - -<p>All this sounded delightful. Then in a few minutes the speaking-tube -whistled, and a message was called up to know if Mr. Cunninghame Graham -might come up.</p> - -<p>“Do you object?” asked Mr. Lavery, “Because he knows you are sitting to -me, and said he would like to come if he might.”</p> - -<p>“Not in the least,” I replied; “I should like it.”</p> - -<p>Cunninghame Graham in the capacity of chaperon was a novel experience.</p> - -<p>So up he came, and took a seat immediately behind the artist so that -my eyes should not wander from the right direction for the picture. -Was there ever a greater contrast than those two men? Lavery, short -and broad, with ruddy cheeks, dark hair, and little, round, twinkling -black eyes full of life and verve, and the calm aristocratic, artistic -Cunninghame Graham, who always looks exactly like a Velasquez picture, -so perfect is he in drawing and colouring.</p> - -<p class="padb1">Mr. Lavery has a curious arrangement for his palette. There is a -table at his right hand, upon which a palette slants as on a desk. It -is about three feet by two in size, and can hold a large number of -colours.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_156fp"> -<img src="images/i_156fp.jpg" width="417" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">HALF-HOUR SKETCH OF AUTHOR BY JOHN LAVERY, R. A. -EXHIBITED FAIR WOMEN EXHIBITION, LONDON, 1910</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">157</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">“I require lots of paint and lots of room to splash about, and I like -the table arrangement; it is, in fact, the only way I can work,” he -remarked.</p> - -<p>We chatted on about many subjects, and when the conversation turned on -Velasquez, whose wonderful pictures I had visited in Madrid only a few -months before, Cunninghame Graham waxed warm. Although descended from -a stock old as any in Scotland, his mother (or his grandmother) was -a Spaniard, and there is clearly some of the warm Southern blood in -his veins. He speaks Spanish with a charming accent, and has the true -Castilian lisp and pretty intonation.</p> - -<p>In the ’nineties I was riding along the shore in Tangier with W. B. -Harris, <cite>The Times</cite> correspondent, Sir Rubert Boyce, of the Liverpool -University, and the late Mr. Russell Roberts, a well-known barrister, -when we saw two men riding towards us. One of them was performing all -sorts of wild antics upon his steed, standing on the saddle and waving -his whip in the air. As he galloped towards us I thought he must be a -cowboy let loose, but as he came nearer he looked like a picture of -Charles V painted by Velasquez which had stepped out of its frame. The -tawny hue of his clothes, the brown leather of his boots, the loose -shirt, the large brown felt sombrero, and the pointed brown-grey beard -seemed familiar, and as the man drew nearer I discovered it was Mr. -Cunninghame Graham, with whom was Will Rothenstein.</p> - -<p>The next night I heard this descendant of old Scotland’s shores -expounding Socialism to a handful of Arabs in Spanish. Well, well, Mr. -Graham has his foibles; but he is doubtless the most brilliant short -story writer in our language; and as fine a rider as any I ever saw on -the open prairie catching wild bulls for the ring.</p> - -<p>Cunninghame Graham is a strange personality; he is an artistic being, -and Mr. Lavery’s portrait of him is inimitable. It has been exhibited -all over the world and is well known.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Cunninghame Graham exclaimed, “Twenty-seven minutes are up.”</p> - -<p>“All right!” replied the painter. “Let me know when the next three have -gone.”</p> - -<p>“Thirty minutes, my friend. Time is up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">158</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Lavery looked round at me, smiling.</p> - -<p>“Done. I shan’t touch it any more. You allowed me thirty minutes, but -you must let me have a moment over-time to add your name to the canvas, -and then you may take it home with you.”</p> - -<p>And I did so.</p> - -<p>In 1910, that canvas appeared at the Exhibition of Fair Women at the -Grafton Gallery, and a month or two later to my surprise I found it -reproduced in a large volume of works by Scottish artists published in -Edinburgh, under the title, <cite>Modern Scottish Portrait Painters</cite>, by -Percy Bate.</p> - -<p>So much is John Lavery appreciated abroad that his most famous pictures -hang in Pittsburg and Philadelphia in the United States; in the -Pinakothek, Munich; the National Gallery of Brussels, the Luxembourg in -Paris, the Modern Gallery of Venice, the National Gallery of Berlin, -although a few have luckily been gleaned by the public galleries of -Glasgow and Edinburgh.</p> - -<p>It is a curious fact that Mr. Lavery sent six or seven years -continuously to the Academy, and six or seven times his pictures were -refused. In 1888 the Committee accepted his “Tennis Party”—to his -amazement—and actually hung it on the line. It went to Paris, where it -gained a gold medal, was then “invited” to Munich, where it was finally -bought for the National Gallery. He continued to send to the Academy -for a few years, generally without success, but those rejected pictures -are now hanging in various National Galleries. Suddenly in 1910 he was -elected an Associate of the Royal Academy.</p> - -<p>Concerning John Lavery, he told two funny little stories about himself -one night when he was dining with me. The Exhibition of Fair Women, in -1908, had been attracting all London.</p> - -<p>“A picture of mine was lost there,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>“Lost? How?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I painted the portrait of a lady, and this picture went to the -New Gallery. It was three-quarter length. When its space was allotted -it was stood on the floor under the place where it was to hang, but -when the moment of hanging came the picture was gone, and what is more, -has never been heard of since.”</p> - -<p>“Who would take it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">159</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>“That is more than I can say.”</p> - -<p>“Why would they take it?”</p> - -<p>“For the sake of the frame.”</p> - -<p>“But was the frame anything very remarkable?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it was worth about ten pounds.”</p> - -<p>I laughed: “So they stole your valuable painting worth some hundreds of -pounds for the sake of a ten-pound frame. What have you done to get it -back?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” I repeated, amazed.</p> - -<p>“No, my only chance of ever seeing that picture again is to do nothing. -You see, it is this way. If a thief realised it was a valuable painting -which had attracted attention and was being searched for, he would -destroy it. Whereas, if he thinks it is of no value, he will sell it in -some back slum, and in course of time the picture will turn up again. -At least that is what we artists think. I have no replica, not even a -photograph, but the lady has kindly promised to sit again. Mercifully, -it was not an order, but my own picture; and in a year or two I shall -exhibit the second portrait and let it be photographed for different -papers, when, in all probability, someone will discover they have one -just like it, and we may be able to trace the picture back to the -original thief. The frame must have attracted his attention, for it was -not quite ordinary. I had it made in Morocco.”</p> - -<p>“Have you ever had any other queer episode with a picture?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he replied. “There is a certain well-known lady whose husband -has her painted every year by some artist. She is good-looking and -this is his hobby. My turn came. I painted the picture. It was barely -finished, and had to go to an exhibition while the paint was still -wet. When I went on varnishing day I was surprised to see a curious -green haze over the face just as when you stick your nose against a -window-pane, and the skin appears green in hue. I did nothing at the -time, but determined to make some little alteration when the exhibition -closed. The portrait came home. I looked at it. Yes, there was still -that strange green hue over it, so I began to take it out of the frame -in order to touch it up.</p> - -<p>“Imagine my horror when I found that the canvas had stuck to the glass! -and the more I lifted it, lumps of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">160</a></span> paint from the lady’s cheeks stuck -to it. I did everything I could think of to get the two apart, ending -by leaving the glass and losing my temper.</p> - -<p>“‘Oh,’ said an artist friend, ‘just break the glass, and you will find -it will be easier to get the portrait away.’</p> - -<p>“Accordingly, I broke the glass. Worse and worse! bits of the canvas -broke too, and anything more deplorable than my poor lady with her torn -canvas and bits of glass hanging to her nose cannot be imagined. The -issue was critical.</p> - -<p>“I dared not tell her, for her husband had liked the picture, so I -determined to copy it. For three solid months I painted every day at -that copy. I never can copy anything, and that was my last attempt. The -more I worked the worse it grew. I really was in despair. They kept -bothering me for the return of the picture. The lady was abroad and -could not sit again. They had paid me for a thing that was destroyed, -and I was at my wits’ end.</p> - -<p>“One day the lady was announced. I felt in an agony. Then I thought, -before confessing, I would have one desperate and final shot. I told -her I wanted to make a slight alteration—would she sit? She amiably -complied. I seized the copy; feverishly for a couple of hours I worked -upon it, and then—all at once the long-lost likeness returned. I had -got it.</p> - -<p>“The picture was sent home; her people were delighted with it, and it -was not till long afterwards that I told them the awful episode, by -which I had at least painted half a dozen portraits of that lady.”</p> - -<p class="padb1">Live and learn. Education is one constant enquiry, and knowledge is but -an assimilation of replies.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_161fp"> -<img src="images/i_161fp.jpg" width="438" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">WATER-COLOUR SKETCH BY PERCY ANDERSON</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">161</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON SCULPTORS AND MODELLING</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">FEW experiences are more interesting than sitting for a bust. There is -something enthralling in seeing great lumps of clay flung about in a -promiscuous manner, and then gently modelled with finger and thumb into -nose, eyes, and ears.</p> - -<p>I had the privilege of sitting, in 1910, to Herbert Hampton, verily a -privilege, for not only is he a sculptor of note, but also a charming -personality.</p> - -<p>Strangely enough, the first time we met, Hampton, without knowing -anything about previous performances, said he would like to model my -head.</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” came in answer, “never again. I have done with studios and -sitting on what you call a ‘throne,’ but what I look on as a chair -of torture.” And so we laughed the matter off, but, after a second -meeting, he wrote such a perfectly charming letter on the subject that -my resolve gave way, and, let it be acknowledged at once, I have never -regretted the weakness.</p> - -<p>Hampton has the finest sculptor’s studio in London.</p> - -<p>Here are casts of Lord Kelvin, Sir Henry Irving, Sir Luke Fildes, Miss -Geneviève Ward, General Booth, and dozens more, besides plaster models -of the colossal statue of the late Lord Salisbury, now erected on the -stairs at the Foreign Office, and that of the late King Edward, to say -nothing of five of Queen Victoria.</p> - -<p>We talked for about a quarter of an hour after my arrival, as he said, -“just to renew my first impressions,” and then, asking me to sit in a -revolving chair on that terrible dais, he went to work. In front, on a -moving table, stood the <em>armature</em>, or inside skeleton-support for my -future head. At the bottom was a block of wood, from which three narrow -lead pipes, tied together at the top, were designed to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">162</a></span> a support -for my neck and face. It was a simple, amateurish-looking thing, but, -as Mr. Hampton explained, “the lead pipe is pliable, so I can alter the -pose of the head as I go on, as you will see.” I did see.</p> - -<p>On the modelling stand were great lumps of dark grey mud, or shall -we call them bricks?—for they were about that size. This was the -modelling clay, known as <em>la terre</em>, because it is French. It is more -tenacious for working than our English clay. That is to say, it is -firmer, and is darker to look at. One great block was laid on top of -the pipes and squeezed till it might have been a melon; that was the -beginning of my head.</p> - -<p>Half another brick went on in front, and this gradually assumed the -shape of a fat banana, out of which a nose was shortly evolved, and a -chin. Another block was quickly divided and dumped on each side. Out of -this two ears and some neck were manipulated.</p> - -<p>Who shall say that such a performance was not fascinating? It reminded -me of the dear, dirty mud-pies of my youth, of the spade-and-bucket -days, and it was quite delicious to hear the “squeege” of the clay as -it was flung on the armature. This took but little longer to do than to -tell, for in a few minutes there was a sort of head and the beginning -of a neck, though it closely resembled a block in a barber’s shop. When -sufficient clay was in place, Mr. Hampton—who was talking all the -time, and kept declaring he did not want me to remain still, but that -the more I talked and amused him the better he should like it—really -set to work. Then one saw the capacity of the man.</p> - -<p>In two hours he had modelled my head. Eyes, nose, ears, chin, cheeks, -and hair were all there; what was more, he had got the likeness.</p> - -<p>It was a marvellous piece of work, not only as an exhibition of -modelling, for he is a master of his craft, but as a likeness. Also, -it was extremely pleasant to watch him work, to see him create order -out of chaos, and it seemed impossible that we could have been talking -for two hours, or that he could have done so much in two days, when the -time was ended.</p> - -<p>As to the manner of work, a few boxwood modelling tools lay upon the -stand. They were like flat wooden knives<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">163</a></span> with pointed ends, but except -to slice off a little extra neck or hair, or to draw a fine line round -eye or nostril, he did the whole thing with his hands.</p> - -<p>Covered with a wet cloth, a bust of this kind will remain for months in -a moist condition, fit for working on, but if kept too long, say a year -or two, the wood inside rots and the clay falls to pieces.</p> - -<p>On my next visit it was decided I should sit for the neck, and as a -good many solid pounds of clay go to form a modelled human neck and -shoulders, this had been prepared, so I did not have the pleasure of -seeing it lumped on in handfuls.</p> - -<p>Taking off my high bodice, I tied up my sleeves like a little girl -of olden days. He walked round me several times, looked at me from -different points of view, and then exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“I shall not turn your head quite so much.” Accordingly, he took my -clay face between his hands and twisted the whole physiognomy round. -This was where the pliable pipes proved of use. But I could not help -a little exclamation of horror when I saw a crack had come across the -neck of my second self.</p> - -<p>“I have cracked!” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“That does not matter, we will soon mend you again.” So, with my head -divided from my shoulders till he found the angle he wanted, he gave a -few more friendly pats, seized <em>la terre</em>, and in a moment my neck was -swan-like in form.</p> - -<p>There was a particular fascination in sitting for this bust. Two more -hours completed the neck and shoulders, and we had finished work -for that day. If it had never been touched again, it would not have -mattered. It was rough and impressionist in style, but I was there. I -could see my very image on the modelling stand.</p> - -<p>On my third visit the sculptor decided to add my hands and arms.</p> - -<p>“Hands being as expressive as a face,” he said.</p> - -<p>This meant more building up. Accordingly, bundle after bundle of -firewood was requisitioned, until nine whole faggots were piled up -inside me. A pretty little waist, truly, to require nine bundles of -firewood as a foundation. However, in they went, and on went the clay -in great dabs,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">164</a></span> with a nice greasy squish-squish each time it received -a pat from the sculptor’s hand.</p> - -<p>Simplicity is his ideal, and it is interesting to hear Herbert Hampton -discourse on this subject, as, indeed, on other matters connected with -his craft.</p> - -<p>The bust to the waist was completed in six sittings of about two -hours each, and a week later my image was placed in the Rotunda of -the Royal Academy, where it smiled on everyone passing the door. “The -impersonation of animation was my first impression of you,” said -Herbert Hampton, “and that is what I tried to get in the bust.” And he -certainly did. In spite of the usual placidity of white clay, the lady -looks as if she were speaking.</p> - -<p>One can know too much.</p> - -<p>I remember, for instance, Herbert Hampton saying one day to me:</p> - -<p>“Only the rudiments of anatomy are wanted for sculpture. If one knows -too much one is apt to emphasise every muscle, every vein, every sinew, -and the result is an anatomical specimen. Simplicity is the greatest -charm of art, suggestion its goal. Why! great and wonderful as Michael -Angelo was, I almost feel he knew too much anatomy.”</p> - -<p>Experiences such as this sitting are of the greatest help and value -to a writer, and give an insight into sister arts that widen one’s -mental horizon and ripen one’s judgment. All workers should leave -their own groove and see and know craftsmen in kindred branches of -endeavour. Outside interests and hobbies are the worker’s salvation and -inspiration.</p> - -<p>After a bust is modelled it has to be cast in plaster. As a rule, only -one cast can be taken, but there are various ways of getting a second, -or even a third reproduction. The original clay bust on which the -sculptor worked is now so damaged that it is destroyed, the clay often -being used again for a fresh subject, and the bundles of wood being -utilised for lighting the fire.</p> - -<p>A young Frenchman once begged me to let him cast a hand and foot for -some work he was doing, explaining that, though amongst the artists’ -models there were exquisite heads and forms, that class of woman seldom -had good hands, and a good foot never. Bad boots doubtless accounted -for the latter. He made a pudding of plaster<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">165</a></span> of Paris on a tin tray, -and into the cold, clammy stuff my well-vaselined extremity was -plunged. In a few minutes the cold, wet mud felt hot, almost burning, -and the foot was done; but, oh, the dirty mess and the nastiness of it -all.</p> - -<p>Although England possesses some of the finest marble carvers, much -of the work, unfortunately, is sent to Italy to be hewn, and even -finished, because labour is cheaper there. Herbert Hampton always -employs Englishmen, and does the actual finishing of the marble -himself. In that he is a thorough John Bull.</p> - -<p>It is an extraordinary thing to see how a bust is “mechanically -pointed” in a rough block. Three fixed points with needles attached to -each can copy the most accurate measurements, which, of course, are -purely mechanical, from the original cast. After it is roughly hewn the -sculptor begins carving and modelling with chisel and hammer. Thus the -process is done in three parts: modelled in clay, pointed in marble, -and then carved to its finished state of perfection.</p> - -<p>Figures that are cast in bronze are done differently. The bust or -figure is prepared in exactly the same manner in plaster of Paris, -an exact model of what is wanted, and this has to be sent to the art -foundry to be cast. That is not the work of the sculptor himself, but -of the bronze-workers, and as bronze fetches from seventy to ninety -pounds per ton, and it takes two or three tons to make a large figure, -it is easily seen that five hundred pounds is quite an ordinary bill -for casting a single figure at a foundry.</p> - -<p>The huge figure of the late Duke of Devonshire (now in Whitehall) and I -occupied the studio at the same time.</p> - -<p>The greatest sculptor England ever produced, to my mind, was -the versatile Alfred Gilbert. He was also one of the strangest -personalities. He was both a genius and wayward. A genius as a -sculptor, and wayward as regards the world. Never, never, in all my -experience, have I known a stranger personality. For years I saw a -good deal of him. He often came and dined, preferably alone, for -dress-clothes irritated him, and humanity in the aggregate bored him.</p> - -<p>I do not believe Gilbert knew what time or method meant. He slid -through life. Sometimes he slipped into the right niche, sometimes -he glided into the wrong one—but he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">166</a></span> a genius by temperament, -a genius oft-times in execution. He turned up on the wrong day to -dinner, or failed to come on the right one. In fact, he was the most -delightful, irresponsible, brilliant, irresistible human creature I -have ever come across. His life was full of trouble, yet all those -who really knew him loved him, and their hearts went out to him and -condoned his muddles as the escapades of a boy.</p> - -<p>Gilbert created the Clarence Memorial at Windsor, and if he had never -done anything else, that would have been enough to stamp him as a -genius. He designed the wonderful iron gates at Eaton Hall, and his -work in metals and precious stones was unsurpassed. He practically -revived the work of Albrecht Dürer and Benvenuto Cellini in this -country.</p> - -<p>When he dined with me he talked, he listened, he wept, he laughed by -turns; after dinner he walked about, or passed his hands over the piano -and played awhile, or would strike weird chords of wailing. He was a -bit of a musical genius as well as a master in his own line. How often -music and its sister art are thus twinned! But then, if I mistake not, -he was descended from musicians on both sides. Suddenly he would leave -the piano, attracted by a door-knob, a button, or an idea, and would -then plunge into a dissertation upon art or a lecture on philosophy. -How Gilbert loved art! Every bend and curve meant something to him. -His blue eyes would dilate with pleasure or his heavy jaw become set -and rigid in anger or contempt. When his work really pleased him he -could not bear to part with it; when it dissatisfied him he broke it -up—very honest of him, but hardly remunerative. He was never made for -this world. He was a dreamer, a poet, an idealist; perhaps this very -incongruity of temperament was the source of the beautiful ideals he -conceived and sometimes brought to birth.</p> - -<p>Down in that studio in the Fulham Road I spent many pleasant hours -watching him work. He would often forget I was there. Then, rousing -himself to my presence, he would offer me a cup of tea at odd intervals -of half an hour, entirely oblivious of the fact that it was nearing -dinner-time. A certain actor does this sort of thing as a pose—an -impudent pose—but Gilbert did it because he could not help himself. -He wanted to be hospitable, and hours became moments as he worked -and dreamed. There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">167</a></span> were days and weeks and months when he never did -anything, when hunger stared him in the face. But rather than part with -a work of his creation, or an unfinished dream, he preferred to starve -and, if needs be, die. London was no place for him. He was too utterly -an artist for a great, teeming, bustling city, and away in Bruges—dead -to the world, dead to his friends—the wreck of that great and charming -personality is dreaming his life away amongst his unfinished gods, -without the strength of will or purpose to complete his inspirations.</p> - -<p>The complexity of Gilbert was beyond comprehension. His very genius -was his curse. Truly a gifted, wayward child—lovable, but annoying; -exasperating, but delightful.</p> - -<p>Bertram MacKennall, an Australian by birth, was poor and unknown as a -student in Paris, when he met Alfred Gilbert. He adored Gilbert and -worshipped his work. One day the latter said to MacKennall:</p> - -<p>“Go to London, man, and start there.”</p> - -<p>“But I cannot afford it.”</p> - -<p>“Never mind, go and try, and you will become my rival. It will do us -both good, spur us both on to better things, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>To London he came. He succeeded, and finally stepped into Alfred -Gilbert’s place at the Academy. What irony of fate!</p> - -<p>One day I chanced to go to MacKennall’s studio when he was working on -a wax of the head of King George V for the coinage. On a school-slate, -standing up on a small easel, was a little grey wax head in relief, -measuring three or four inches across. Smaller he would not work -because of his eyes; from that plaque a machine would reduce the -silhouette exactly to the size required for the coin.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the bother of this work,” he exclaimed. “Stamping one side of the -coin often bumps out the other side in the wrong place, and all sorts -of little annoyances like that constantly occur.”</p> - -<p>His love of Gilbert was very touching—and his admiration of Phil May -was only equalled by his surprise at his becoming a Roman Catholic a -week before his death.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">168</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">MORE PAINTERS, AND WHISTLER IN PARTICULAR</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">JAMES McNEILL WHISTLER was a foremost figure in the artistic world, and -he always struck me as the most curiously satanic gentleman I ever saw. -He cultivated an upward turn of his dark eyebrows, he waved his long, -thin hands in a fantastic way, he shook his locks or passed his fingers -through them in a manner all his own, and appeared not only a <em>poseur</em> -in art, but a <em>poseur</em> in literature, and a <em>poseur</em> among men. This -probably added to his interest, for he certainly had a remarkable -personality, and a better half-hour could not be spent than in his -company.</p> - -<p>He was as cruel to his friends as to his enemies, as scathing in his -remarks, and yet at times almost maudlin in his sentimentalism. It -was quite delightful to hear him discuss his own work. His egotism -was—well, it was his own. His sweeping assertions were a revelation.</p> - -<p>On my return from America in 1900 he told me that, “although an -American himself, he should never visit that country again, as there -was not an artistic soul to be found there.” And yet the purchasers of -a host of his pictures and etchings were Americans, as were many of his -best friends.</p> - -<p>One hesitates to tell any Whistler stories, there has been such an -extraordinary output. Many are doubtless apocryphal. I recall one or -two that I have heard from his own lips, or from the persons (often the -victims) chiefly concerned in them.</p> - -<p>George Boughton, the painter, had a house on Campden Hill, designed by -Mr. Norman Shaw, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, and five or six steps lead to the hall, -as that eminent architect so often arranges. Whistler had been dining -with Boughton one evening, and, as he was leaving, he did not notice -the steps<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">169</a></span> and fell down head first. The host was distracted and ran to -pick him up.</p> - -<p>Whistler sat up on the bottom step.</p> - -<p>“What a d——d total abstainer you must have had for an architect, -Boughton!” was all he said.</p> - -<p>The famous “Peacock Room” at Prince’s Gate was a wonderful scheme -of decoration, peacocks’ eyes on a gold ground being its principal -<em>motif</em>. About the year 1880 the late Mr. Leyland, a wealthy shipowner -and patron of the arts, had taken this grand new mansion, and asked -Whistler to decorate a room. Jimmy, poor and out at elbows, as usual, -jumped at the idea, but no terms were fixed upon. The work began. It -was a prodigious undertaking, and the extraordinary and erratic little -man spent two years and a half over his grateful task.</p> - -<p>Being at Prince’s Gate all day, and having the run of Leyland’s house, -Whistler had a hospitable way of inviting his friends to come and see -the room, and then he would ask them to stop to luncheon. This sort -of thing, which began occasionally, ended in being an almost daily -occurrence, and Jimmy used to hold a little levée every morning, when -subsequently three, four, and five people remained to luncheon. This -became too much for Mr. Leyland, and his plan for putting an end to the -campaign was a somewhat ingenious one.</p> - -<p>Jimmy one day entertained four friends; the meal not being announced, -he rang the bell for the butler.</p> - -<p>“When is lunch?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“I have no orders for lunch,” replied the man with a stately air.</p> - -<p>“Oh no, of course,” replied Jimmy, not in the least disconcerted. -“We’ll go along to such and such an hotel. Stupid of me to forget it!”</p> - -<p>But it was enough, and though he pretended not to mind, and with that -delightful impudence for which he was famous turned it off, he never -forgave the incident, and determined to pay Leyland out. From that day -he took his own lunch in a little paper parcel, and sat and devoured it -when so inclined. On the next occasion Leyland came in to admire the -peacock decorations about the usual luncheon hour.</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> will have some lunch, won’t you?” Whistler said.</p> - -<p>Leyland looked surprised.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">170</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, please don’t refuse. It is always excellent, I assure you.”</p> - -<p>Leyland looked still more uncomfortable.</p> - -<p>Up jumped Jimmy, fetched his bag, and proceeded to untie his parcels, -saying:</p> - -<p>“It’s all right, old chap, have no anxiety; it is my lunch, not yours, -and you are heartily welcome to it.”</p> - -<p>When the work was accomplished which had taken so long Leyland wished -to pay the bill, and asked the artist what was his figure.</p> - -<p>“I have worked a whole year and more,” Whistler said. “I consider my -services are worth two thousand pounds a year, therefore the figure is -two thousand five hundred pounds, from which you can deduct the few -hundreds you have given me on account.”</p> - -<p>Leyland was horrified.</p> - -<p>“Preposterous!” he said, “perfectly preposterous!”</p> - -<p>Jimmy looked at him and drew himself up to his full height, which was -not great.</p> - -<p>“I beg, Mr. Leyland, that you will accept as a gift the entire work of -my life for the last year and a quarter. I can compromise nothing.”</p> - -<p>Once again Whistler scored and Leyland paid. His thanks to his patron -afterwards took the form of painting a life-size portrait of him as a -devil with horns and hoofs.</p> - -<p>The sale of the famous portrait of Carlyle gave Whistler one of -those opportunities in which he delighted. It was first exhibited in -Edinburgh, and the Edinburgh Corporation, wishing to possess this -masterful work, telegraphed to know what would be his lowest figure, to -which Jimmy replied by wire: “Terms a thousand guineas, to the tune of -the bagpipes.”</p> - -<p>This was pure cheek, for the picture stood at five hundred guineas in -the catalogue, and instead of replying how much less he would take for -it, as the canny city fathers desired, he had doubled the sum. Three or -four years later he sold that selfsame picture to Glasgow for the sum -of a thousand guineas.</p> - -<p>When painting his delightful picture of Miss Alexander, Whistler took -about seventy sittings—a fearful ordeal. She told Phené Spiers that -she thought he often rubbed out a whole day’s work after she had gone.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">171</a></span></p> - -<p>Near the close of his life Whistler withdrew from London for a period, -living permanently in his rooms in the Rue du Bac, in Paris. I had not -seen him for seven or eight years when I met him again in May, 1900, -at a dinner-party at Mr. Heinemann’s in Norfolk Street, Park Lane. -How altered Whistler was—he had changed from a somewhat sprightly -middle-aged man to one nearer seventy.</p> - -<p>His shaggy hair was grizzly grey, his round, beady, black eyes were as -clear and brilliant as ever, overhung by thick black brows. A bright -colour was upon his cheek, almost a hectic flush, if one may apply the -term to a man of his age, and there was the same vivacity about him -as of old. He was just as thin, and, needless to say, had not grown! -He was the same witty little person, with the same sharp, sarcastic -tongue. The artistic world had come to appreciate his work very -differently from of old, and already he was encountering what a rival -wit has pithily described as “the last insult—popularity.”</p> - -<p>He had practically given up living in England, he said, with that -strong American accent which he never lost: Paris he “found so much -more inspiring.”</p> - -<p>“There is not much wit in France now,” he remarked, “but there is -positively none in Britain. There is not much good literature in France -either, but there is less in England. People are all too busy trying to -fill their pockets with gold to have time to store their brains with -knowledge.”</p> - -<p>The conversation turned upon his studio. Speaking of students, he said:</p> - -<p>“Oh, I like women ever so much better than men. They are finer artists; -they are more delicate, more subtle, more sensitive and artistic; -indeed, it is the feminine side of a man that makes him an artist at -all. Art is refined, or it is not Art. Man is not refined, except when -he copies woman.”</p> - -<p>“That is all very well,” I answered, “but unfortunately there have been -so few great women artists.”</p> - -<p>“Have there been many great men artists?” he enquired, with a little -twinkle; “because I think not. In fact, there has been just as good -work done by women as has ever been done by men in that line, and now -that more of them are taking up Art, and are breaking the trammels by -which they have been surrounded for generations, I shall be surprised -if the world does not produce better women artists<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">172</a></span> than men. It is -in them; it is a born instinct. Love of refinement, beauty, poetry, -sentiment, and colour belong to woman. Cruelty, perhaps valour, -strength, and ruggedness, are on the man’s side.”</p> - -<p>Encouragement goes a long way, just as human sympathy is the very -backbone of life. Poor Jimmy Whistler got very little of either until -his last few years. To the philosophy of youth everything matters, to -the maturity of old age nothing matters.</p> - -<p>He was brilliant and vain. But then, all men are vain. It is the -prerogative of the male from the peacock upwards.</p> - -<p>For some years Whistler had a little Neapolitan model, with very dark -hair and beautiful black eyes. His wife took great interest in her. -After his bereavement Jimmy felt he ought to continue to minister to -the welfare of the girl, who by this time had grown into a magnificent -specimen of a Neapolitan woman. She married when still very young, -and, being tired of sitting as a model, she asked her patron one day -to allow her to use his name if she started an atelier. “Might it be -called the ‘Whistler Studio,’ and would he himself come and see after -it and give instruction once a week?” Whistler approved of the plan and -assented.</p> - -<p>The woman therefore took a studio in Paris, where the painter was -living, and at the end of the month, instead of having a dozen students -as she expected, something like a hundred had entered their names, all -eager to study under Whistler. On the strength of her success Madame -abandoned her simple clothes and appeared gorgeous in black, rustling -silk robes, in which she strutted about the studio and played the -<em>grande dame</em>. Whistler, as has been said, promised to attend, and -more or less he kept his word. The first day of his appearance the -great little man marched into the room occupied by the female students, -and, picking out one girl, sat down opposite her canvas, intending to -correct her work.</p> - -<p>“Give me your palette,” he said. “What is this? and this? and this?”</p> - -<p>She told him the different colours.</p> - -<p>“Hideous!” he replied, “and impossible! Where are so and so, and this -and that?”</p> - -<p>She had none of them. No one in the room was lucky<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">173</a></span> enough to possess -the colours he sought, so Whistler sent out for them and chatted -pleasantly until the messenger’s return, having told the maiden in the -meantime to clean her palette of all the vivid hues she had displayed -upon it. The paints and the clean palette arrived together. Jimmy -arranged them according to his taste.</p> - -<p>“Now,” he said, “that palette is fit to paint with, and so ends your -first lesson. Study it, and paint only with those colours until you see -me again.”</p> - -<p>Before the day was finished every girl had arranged her palette -according to the plan, and the men in the other room likewise followed -suit. When the artist paid his next visit to the studio, he found the -palette he had himself prepared fixed upon the wall and immortalised -with a wreath, while underneath was a label announcing, “This palette -has been arranged according to the regulation of James Whistler, the -artist.”</p> - -<p>Whistler’s marriage was the strangest affair in the world, for he was -probably about sixty at the time, and his bride, Mrs. Godwin, a widow, -although a pretty woman, was by no means young. Yet the romance and -enthusiasm they developed were delightful, and during the ten years -or so of his married life Whistler became infinitely more human and -contented in every way. They were very happy; indeed, his tender -solicitude for his wife’s welfare on every occasion, and his anxiety -and concern during her long illness, were a revelation to those who -only thought of Whistler as a quarrelsome egoist wrapped entirely in -himself. Hidden away, he had a kind heart, although he chose generally -to conceal it. His wife’s loss was the tragedy of his existence, and he -was never the same man afterwards.</p> - -<p class="padt1">Henry Labouchere wrote: “So my old friend Jemmy Whistler is dead. I -first knew him in 1854 at Washington. He had not then developed into -a painter, but was a young man who had recently left the West Point -Military College, and was considering what next he should do. He was -fond of balls, but he had not a dress-coat, so he attended them in -a frock-coat, the skirts of which were turned back to simulate an -evening-coat.</p> - -<p>“I believe that I was responsible for his marriage to the widow of Mr. -Godwin, the architect. She was a remarkably<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">174</a></span> pretty woman and very -agreeable, and both she and he were thorough Bohemians. I was dining -with them and some others one evening at Earl’s Court. They were -obviously greatly attracted to each other, and in a vague sort of way -they thought of marrying. So I took the matter in hand to bring things -to a practical point. ‘Jemmy,’ I said, ‘will you marry Mrs. Godwin?’ -‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘Mrs. Godwin,’ I said, ‘will you marry Jemmy?’ -‘Certainly,’ she replied. ‘When?’ I asked. ‘Oh, some day,’ said -Whistler. ‘That won’t do,’ I said; ‘we must have a date.’ So they both -agreed that I should choose the day, tell them what church to come to -for the ceremony, provide a clergyman, and give the bride away. I fixed -an early date, and got the then Chaplain of the House of Commons to -perform the ceremony. It took place a few days later.</p> - -<p>“After the ceremony was over we adjourned to Whistler’s studio, where -he had prepared a banquet. The banquet was on the table, but there were -no chairs. So we sat on packing-cases. The happy pair, when I left, had -not quite decided whether they would go that evening to Paris or remain -in the studio. How unpractical they were was shown when I happened -to meet the bride the day before the marriage in the street. ‘Don’t -forget to-morrow,’ I said. ‘No,’ she replied, ‘I am just going to buy -my trousseau.’ ‘A little late for that, is it not?’ I asked. ‘No,’ -she answered, ‘for I am only going to buy a new tooth-brush and a new -sponge, as one ought to have new ones when one marries.’ However, there -never was a more successful marriage. They adored each other, and lived -most happily together; and when she died he was broken-hearted.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter padt1" id="i_175fp"> -<img src="images/i_175fp.jpg" width="394" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">WALTER CRANE’S MOST FAMOUS BOOK PLATE</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">One day I asked Walter Crane, who knew both Watts and Whistler more -intimately than I did, whether he could tell me something of these two, -so different from one another, and yet each of whom needs a prominent -place—the one in the painter’s Valhalla; the other, well, let time -decide in what niche and where Jimmy’s little statue shall command -worship.</p> - -<p>Crane replied:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Watts was a most revered and generous friend of mine, I can -truly say, but as to Whistler, I never saw much of him, but I -always recognised his artistic qualities, though <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">175</a></span>I was not of -his school. I think he regarded me as necessarily in a hostile -camp, artistically speaking, but it was not so. I can appreciate -Impressionism without decrying pre-Raphaelitism. As regards -Whistler and the Peacock Room, there was a panel at the end with -two peacocks (one with a diamond eye and one with an emerald eye) -fighting. Whistler is reported to have said that the one who is -getting the worst of it was Leyland and the conqueror was himself. -(Of course.)</p> - -<p>“We were not intimate friends—only acquainted. Although I always -realised his distinction as an artist, I could not extend my -admiration to the man, and I think he only cared for worshippers -and even these he tired of.”</p></div> - -<p>One of my cherished possessions is the book-plate here shown which -Walter Crane designed for me. He is probably the best <em>Ex Libris</em> -draughtsman of the day, and he himself thinks this is the best -book-plate he ever drew. At his request it was reproduced on wood, and -while it has delighted its possessor, it will surely be admired by all -for its intrinsic merit.</p> - -<p>To explain the riddle of its symbolism.</p> - -<p>On the right-hand side is the crest of the Harleys; on the left, -the arms of the Tweedies. At the top the Medusa head and three legs -represent Sicily. At different corners are implements, trappings, -and odds and ends from various countries I have visited. The lamp -of learning is burning brightly, the wreaths of fame, the book of -knowledge are there, and a little ship is sailing away into the -unknown; while below—and surely this is brilliant imagination—lies -the world at my feet. This was sent to me with the following letter, -written in the neatest and most brush-like of caligraphy:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">13 Holland Street, Kensington.</span> <br /> -“<em>Nov. 12, ’05.</em> </p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Alec Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I have pleasure to send you my design for a book-plate in which -I have endeavoured to explain in symbolical way your literary -activities and your triumphs of travel.</p> - -<p>“Trusting it may not be unpleasing, believe me, with kind regards,</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours very truly, <br /> -“<span class="smcap">Walter Crane</span>.” </p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">176</a></span></p> - -<p>At a later date, on returning a book, the kind originator of my -treasure added some notes in pencil about this particular kind of work; -notes quaint and full of pith as the writer’s drawing.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“You have given me a handsome certificate as a book-plate designer -and I must live up to it, though, so far, book-plates have only -been a small part of my work. I am not always <em>Ex Libris</em>, but like -a rest inside the pages, you know, letting one’s fancy loose, both -as a writer and as a decorator and illustrator. All the same, there -are moments when one is inclined to shriek, with Hilda in Ibsen’s -<cite>Master Builder</cite>, ‘Books are so irrelevant,’ and, again, at other -times to say (with Disraeli, was it not?), ‘When I want a book, I -will write one.’”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Another note given below enclosed his own book-plate:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“I send you my own book-plate with the greatest pleasure. It has -been done some years, and I do not think it is as nice a one as -yours—though I say it! I am glad that yours not only pleases you, -but your friends. I don’t know whether you saw it in the <cite>Arts and -Crafts</cite>, but it was there.”</p></div> - -<p>As to book-plates, seeing that books are a particularly treasured -kind of personal property and cannot yet be considered as communal as -umbrellas; and because borrowers of books like long leases, but are -generally provided with short memories, the possibly harmless, but -certainly most necessary, book-plate has a distinct <em>raison d’être</em>.</p> - -<p>Furthermore, they afford an opportunity of embodying in a succinct, -symbolic, and decorative form the concentrated essence of the -character, performances, career, and descent of the book-owner or -lover. Thus book-plates acquire a certain historic interest in course -of time, and may from the first possess as well an artistic interest; -but this, naturally, depends on their design and treatment.</p> - -<p>Next appears a notable figure thrown upon my cinematograph stage by the -rapid process of setting free successive memories.</p> - -<p>Watts. For a lover of pictures, what recollections that name implies!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">177</a></span></p> - -<p>How many and varied the styles, how many and varied the subjects, that -in turn have found expression and thus sprung into life on the easel of -this great painter.</p> - -<p>It happened that on June 1st, 1886 (the anniversary of my birthday), a -friend took me to the studio of Mr. Watts to see him at work, a note of -which incident lies before me in a big, round, girlish hand.</p> - -<p>To begin with, the charming house in Melbury Road, Kensington, with its -large studio and spacious picture-gallery, seemed exactly the right -home for a great artist.</p> - -<p>At this time the master was working on what appeared, to my young -mind, a ghastly subject—“Vindictive Revenge,” depicting a vulture of -human form tearing to pieces a victim, whether man or woman escapes my -memory. Horrible, and in no way satisfying to my reason. On another -easel was a huge sulphur-coloured canvas showing a dying man sitting in -his chair with a majestic woman’s figure standing by his side. Lying on -a table near was a sketch (later exhibited in the Grosvenor Gallery) of -a most quaint and antiquated musical instrument that was used in the -larger picture. This instrument resembled a wooden bowl, its aperture -covered with a stretched skin, on which the shaggy hair was left, and -the strings were passed over a few holes in this skin.</p> - -<p>What it was called or whence its origin history does not relate. It had -probably been picked up as a curio for its quaint appearance, but Mr. -Watts disclaimed being a collector of such, telling me that his house -would have been long overfilled had he given rein to this hobby, unique -in the way it carries one on and on.</p> - -<p>In the gallery in Melbury Road hung all manner of pictures and numerous -portraits, amongst which I recognised those of Tennyson, the Prince -of Wales, his former wife Ellen Terry, and Violet Lindsay—one of his -favourite models—besides many more; but almost seventy were then being -exhibited at Manchester, which somewhat denuded the walls.</p> - -<p>In personal appearance Watts was a gracious, kindly old gentleman, with -white hair and a closely trimmed beard. He wore a tight tweed suit and -a scarlet ribbon loosely tied round his neck, besides a black velvet -skull-cap, head-gear of so many “old masters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">178</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Here it seems permissible to quote a message from that great artist, -when he was ill, delivered by Alfred Gilbert at an Art Congress.</p> - -<p>He urged “the importance of making the aims and principles of art -generally understood. The stumbling-block to the English was the -practical: all that did not present the idea of immediate advantage -seemed to them impractical. Till the love of beauty was once more alive -among us there could be little hope for art.... The art that existed -only in pictures and statues was like a religion kept only for Sundays.”</p> - -<p>Like all other first impressions, this visit to the studio stands out a -clear and vivid sketch in my mind. Everyone must have enjoyed meeting -Watts, but to those workers who use the pen there is always a kindred -interest, an alliance of aim with the brothers of the brush, besides -the inspiring pleasure derived from the presence and helpful words of a -master of his art.</p> - -<p>From 1886 to the year of grace 1910 is a leap indeed: all but a quarter -of a century! Likewise, from the awe-inspiring canvases of Watts, -the master, to the witty, delightful, crisp illustrations of that -past-craftsman of Art, Harry Furniss, is a change of subject well-nigh -as great. At the thought of him gravity forsakes one’s visage, gives -way to a smiling mien and expectation of wholesome fun, of delicate -enjoyment.</p> - -<p>What a worker, oh, but what a worker! as the French would phrase it, is -the well-known and popular <em>Hy. F.</em></p> - -<p>I think I can lay claim to being a fairly busy person, but I feel -ashamed, stunned, when I think of the stupendous amount of work -accomplished by Harry Furniss. Anyone who has seen those five hundred -illustrations to the eighteen volumes of Dickens must have admired -the delicate draughtsmanship, the characterisation, the comedy and -tragedy, and, above all, the penmanship of the artist. Five hundred -illustrations! Yes, nearly all full-page, most of them containing -several figures, and yet—but read in his letter below.</p> - -<p>No wonder he was up with the first streaks of dawn for months, no -wonder he became ill. Harry Furniss achieved a Herculean piece of work, -if ever artist did.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">179</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">The Mount, High Wickham</span>,<span class="add2em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Hastings</span>,<span class="add6em"> </span><br /> -“<em>May 7th, 1910</em>. </p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Just received yours. Nothing I could enjoy better than to enjoy -your hospitality for a few days—but alas! I have my nose to the -grindstone again. Another big work. I <em>must keep</em> at it until I -finish.</p> - -<p>“If I should find myself away from the British Museum print-rooms -(where I fly for references), I shall certainly walk in some -afternoon and have tea with you. At present I am here for the next -six weeks with models every day. I have to get them from London and -pay them whether I work or not.</p> - -<p>“Glad you like my Dickens. I shall go down on my knees when I see -you (you will have to help me up again, though, as I have the gout) -and <em>swear</em> the truth, which is, I illustrated the whole of Dickens -between the 1st of May last year and New Year’s Day. Eight months, -having it read and re-read as I worked, and yet I am alive!</p> - -<p>“You do not say how you are, but I do hope your eye trouble is over.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours very sincerely,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Harry Furniss</span>.” </p></div> - -<p>Later in the autumn, accompanying a brief note snatched out of the -over-busy worker’s day, is the expressive sentence, scribbled beside a -pen-and-ink sketch of Father Time bearing the artist’s easel upon his -back, as the patriarch squats and smokes, and H. F. breathlessly paints:</p> - -<p>“Still working <em>against</em> Time.”</p> - -<p>Doubtless he will go on doing so all his life, five hundred new -illustrations for Thackeray later being but an episode, and yet he -found time to illustrate many of his letters to friends: I have many I -prize.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">180</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">“THEY THAT GO DOWN TO THE SEA IN SHIPS”</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">A KNOCK came at the prison door.</p> - -<p>“Is Mrs. Alec Tweedie here?”</p> - -<p>Yes, Mrs. Alec Tweedie was having her tea, and heard the question. -Truly a nice situation! To be enquired for at a gaol.</p> - -<p>But even that is capable of explanation. The man on the doorstep held a -letter in his hand addressed to me by name, but only vaguely “Glasgow” -otherwise. With the usual brilliancy of the postal authorities, -they had found the rest of the address and pinned me to the prison, -for I was staying with the Governor, who had married a friend of my -kindergarten days.</p> - -<p>The letter was an invitation to christen a “P. & O.” steamer on the -Clyde at Greenock: to be godmother to an infant of twelve thousand -six hundred tons, that, lying in her cradle, was four hundred and -fifty feet long and fifty-four feet wide. When she sailed out to sea -on January 6th of 1900, this mighty goddaughter of mine carried two -thousand three hundred troops between her ample decks.</p> - -<p>Needless to say, the sponsorial honour thus offered—the responsibility -being light—was duly accepted.</p> - -<p>It was a most glorious day when the Governor of the prison escorted me -to Greenock. The P. & O. has become one of the most important factors -in the commerce of the nation, under Sir Thomas Sutherland, so the -christening was not only impressive to “those who go down to the sea -in ships,” but to all onlookers. Those great yards on the Clyde employ -several thousand men, all of whom, with their wives and children, were -spectators of the ceremony, to say nothing of an invited public.</p> - -<p>How enormous that ship looked, her great iron sides standing out from -what shipwrights are pleased to call the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">181</a></span> “permanent ways”. She owned -as yet no masts or funnels, or indeed any <em>et ceteras</em>, only there -loomed her enormous iron carcase. One felt a fly on the wall standing -beneath the shadow of her massive frame. She literally towered above -us, a monster of steel and bolts and rivets. At the stern a wooden -erection had been made, with a little staircase leading to a platform, -and on this the builder of the vessel, Mr. Patrick Caird, and I stood -alone.</p> - -<p>It was a most exciting moment. The sun shone, there resounded a dull -thud, thud, thud, for the men below were hammering her sides loose from -the wood in which she had been embedded for about two years. Then came -an almost breathless silence among the vast audience, when Mr. Caird -turned to me and said:</p> - -<p>“<em>Be sure and break the bottle.</em>”</p> - -<p>I had never thought of doing anything else, knowing the importance -to the superstitious sailor-man that the glass should be shattered -to atoms, but his serious tones sent a shiver through me, and I -recognised, as in a flash, the gravity of the moment.</p> - -<p>There was, as usual, a bottle of champagne, decked with ribbons and -flowers, hanging from the top of the vessel to a level with the place -on which we stood.</p> - -<p>“Remember,” he continued, in an undertone of adjuration, “that once -the ship starts to move, she will run; so you must waste no time in -throwing the wine.”</p> - -<p>I did not really feel nervous until this, but on being suddenly told -that the boat might be out of reach before one had time to execute the -critical deed, and also being reminded of the importance of scattering -the fluid, I felt a cold douche down my back.</p> - -<p>We waited breathless—it seemed ages of suspense, and yet it was -probably only a few minutes. Suddenly the vast bulk began to tremble, -next gave herself little shakes like a dog, then she appeared to pause -and shiver again. It was a breathless moment. Then the mighty carcase -started. What a grand sight! There was something awe-inspiring as that -vast thing slid slowly, majestically, and then more and more rapidly, -down to the sea. I seized the flagon, and with might and main flung it -against the side of the ship, determined that it should be broken more -completely than bottle had ever been broken before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">182</a></span></p> - -<p>“With this I wish all luck and prosperity to the <em>Assaye</em>,” I cried, -with a strange sensation of chokiness in my throat, while I flung the -ribbon-decked flagon towards her. Truly a thrilling scene.</p> - -<p>Whether the heat of the day or the strength of my fling was the cause, -I know not, but the amount of froth that came out of that bottle of -champagne was quite impossible to believe. I was drowned in it. The -quart bottle seemed to contain gallons of froth. It effervesced over -my hat, ran in rivers down my nose, and scattered white foam all over -my shoulders. Mr. Caird, having recovered from his bath, produced a -handkerchief, and kindly began to mop my dripping face and dry my -watery eyes. It was a funny scene, rendered all the more funny, as -it turned out, because some of the cinematograph people were behind -us (those were the early days of cinematographs), and that night in -the music-halls of Glasgow and Edinburgh the <cite>Launching of a P. & O. -Steamer</cite> caused much amusement to the audience. Only my back view -showed, I believe, but the black of my dress and the white champagne -froth made an interesting production.</p> - -<p>Having slid down the permanent ways, the ship’s pace became quicker -and quicker, she really did run, and then she appeared to literally -duck as if to make a bow when she entered the Clyde. For a moment, to -my uninitiated eyes, it seemed as if she would turn a somersault. Not -a bit of it. She righted herself, while the great chain anchors fixed -to her sides were dragging mother-earth along with them, holding her -sufficiently in check, or else she would have run up the opposite bank -before the tugs had time to make her fast and tow her down-stream.</p> - -<p>There was a rumour in the air that war was imminent in South Africa, -and Mr. Caird murmured in my ear that it was possible they would -receive a command to have her ready for transport as quickly as -possible. And although, as I have said, she had nothing whatever inside -her on October 7th, 1899, six weeks from that date the <em>Assaye</em> left -Southampton fully equipped for the seat of war, and during the next two -or three years she made so many voyages with troops, that she conveyed -more soldiers to and from the Cape than any other boat afloat.</p> - -<p>As a memento of the occasion, Mr. Caird gave me a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">183</a></span> charming brooch -representing the three crescents of the Orient in diamonds. It was a -pleasant, happy, and interesting experience.</p> - -<p>Some years later it was my good fortune to go for the trial trip, as -the guest of the Chairman of the Cunard Company, in the greatest ship -and wonder of her day, the <em>Lusitania</em> (July, 1907), and lastly, to -have been to the inaugural luncheon on one of the five new (1909) ships -of the Orient Line, fitted with all the latest modern improvements, -from electric plate-washers to electric potato-peelers and egg-boilers. -This last was truly a little history in shipping. Where will wondrous -labour-saving inventions end? It is these magnificent boats which do -so much to cement the friendship and foster family ties between us and -our Colonies, and when one sees that in an Orient steamer third-class -passengers can travel twenty-six thousand miles for eighteen pounds, -one opens one’s eyes at the comfort and marvels. These travellers have -even a third-class music-room, and never more than six people in a -cabin. Children can visit their parents, husbands their wives, in fact, -the East and West become as one. Sir Frederick Green, the Chairman of -the Orient Company, is not only a delightful man, but is extremely -enterprising, and has achieved wonderful things. Even the amateur band, -composed of stewards, has been abolished, and proper professional music -is provided for the passengers. Those terrible days when one packed up -sufficient underlinen for six weeks’ use have gone by, and everything -can now be sent to the laundry on board on Monday morning, as regularly -as it is done at home.</p> - -<p>The christening of the proud P. & O. <em>Assaye</em> amused me the more -at the time because of its sharp contrast with a humble Highland -“baptisement,” at which it had also been my lot to assist a few years -earlier. This last committal of a boat to the sea was the subject a -year or two after of one of my sketches in words, and may be here given -again, for who amongst us, on watching a fishing-smack going out from -harbour, does not feel a stir of interest, and wish that “weel may the -boatie row”?</p> - -<p>At that time we—my husband was alive—had a little house in -Sutherland, and became much interested in the simple fisher-folk near -by.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">184</a></span></p> - -<p>“Can you speak to Mrs. Murray, the fishwife, for a minute. Very -particular, she says, ma’am,” said the parlourmaid one morning.</p> - -<p>“All right,” and, leaving the steaming herrings on the breakfast-table, -I went to the door to see Mrs. Murray.</p> - -<p>“Good morning, Mrs. Murray. Did you want to see me?”</p> - -<p>“’Deed, mem, yes, mem,” and the old body in short serge skirt, so full -at the waist that her creel of fish literally rested on the pleats, -beamed all over inside her nice, clean, white “mutch” cap.</p> - -<p>“Maybe ye ken, mistress, we have got a new haddie boatie [haddock -boat], and we want to have the baptisement whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“And maybe, mem, ye would be sae guid as to humble yersel’, mistress, -and come down—the laddies want ye to come down and do the baptisement -yersel’.”</p> - -<p>“Me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mem, if we might make sae bold in the asking,” and the old body -looked quite shy at having asked, and actually the colour mounted to -her weather-worn cheeks.</p> - -<p>“But what do you want me to do?” I enquired, really interested in what -a baptisement could be.</p> - -<p>“Jist the baptisement, whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but how do you do it?” I persisted.</p> - -<p>“Law, mem, ye jist break the bottlie, whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh; all right, I know all about that, and I’ll do it with the greatest -possible pleasure; but which day?”</p> - -<p>“If ye’ll jist please to name the dee yersel’.”</p> - -<p>“High tide would be nicest, I think. It would not be so wet and sloppy, -would it?”</p> - -<p>“Weel, weel. I near forgot the laddies want ye to come pertikeler -Tuesday at three or Wednesday at four, for the tide be high then; and -they’ll bait some hooks, and ye can go out and catch the first haddie -yersel’ for luck, mem.”</p> - -<p>“All right, then, Tuesday, at three.”</p> - -<p>So on Tuesday we hurried over luncheon and drove in the dogcart to the -fishing village of Haddon, for the official ceremony, carefully armed -with a bottle of red wine to sprinkle the sides of the boat, and a -bottle of whisky for the family to drink the boat’s health; both being -suggestions<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">185</a></span> of the dear old fishwife herself—the one for the cold, -the other for the boat, as she wisely remarked.</p> - -<p>All our friends, the minister among them, refused to believe I—a -stranger—had actually been asked to perform such a ceremony: the -Haddon folk being usually so exclusive. They marry amongst themselves -and do everything amongst themselves, no outsider ever being asked to -partake in any of their functions.</p> - -<p>Arrived at the quaint little village, driving with difficulty between -the pigs, the babies, and the chickens, we sought the heather-thatched, -whitewashed house of the Murrays.</p> - -<p>“Good dee to ye, mem—good dee to ye au,” and out of the kitchen -tumbled the mother, father, sons, and daughters, pigs, chickens, and -grandchildren.</p> - -<p>Carefully carrying a bottle in each arm, I marched to the beach, -followed by the Murray family, our numbers being swelled by other -villagers at every step.</p> - -<p>There, on the sand, reposed the haddie boatie—a fine big boat, capable -of taking a dozen or twenty men to sea. She was lying on rollers, ready -to be put in the water—but, oh! what water. Great white horses lashed -the shore; Neptune truly was riding fiery steeds. We were admiring the -majestic crested waves breaking over the rocks when Mr. Murray said, -“The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck -yersel’, mem.”</p> - -<p>Should I, or should I not, disgrace myself on that turbulent water, -over which the seagulls screeched and whirled and flapped their wings?</p> - -<p>By this time fifty or sixty of the villagers had arrived to help launch -the boat, and my heart trembled when I remembered the one bottle of -whisky brought for the Murray family to drink to the boat’s success. -How far would it go amongst so many?</p> - -<p>But my cogitations were interrupted by Willie Murray exclaiming, “Will -ye please to gie the name?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; what do you want it called?”</p> - -<p>“Your own name, mem, if ye will please to humble yersel’ to gie it.”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Tweedie.”</p> - -<p>“Na, na, na, mistress, whatever, jist yer surname.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Tweedie is my surname.”</p> - -<p>“Na, na, no’ that surname. Yer other surname, mistress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">186</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean Ethel?”</p> - -<p>“Oi, oi, Essel—Essel.” (There is no “th” in Gaelic, and their tongues -cannot frame it.) “Oi, oi, that be it, mem—Essel Tweedie, whatever,” -and he took off his hat as though he hoped the wind would blow such an -extraordinary name into his cranium.</p> - -<p>By this time men and women had put their shoulders to the boat, and had -got her down to the water’s edge. Just as she touched the sea I threw -the bottle with all my might, nearly upsetting myself in the endeavour, -for, if the bottle should not shatter to atoms, these superstitious -fisher-folk would think that their new boat was cursed.</p> - -<p>As she touched the water the red wine ran down her side, and I cried, -“I name her Ethel Tweedie, and wish her all luck.”</p> - -<p>“May the evil eye ne’er take upon her,” called Mrs. Murray, as the red -wine mingled with the crested waves.</p> - -<p>Into the water with a cheer both men and women went, right up to their -waists, the waves breaking over their shoulders; but every time they -got the <em>Ethel Tweedie</em> launched, a huge wave brought her back again.</p> - -<p>“Come and drink her health before you put her into the sea,” I called. -“Has anyone a glass?”</p> - -<p>“Oi, oi,” replied Mrs. Murray; and unfastening the front of her blue -cotton blouse, she brought forth a wine-glass, evidently brought down -in anticipation. The chief members of the party drank the health of the -boat and her namesake in Gaelic, and then one lad replied, when the -glass was offered to him, “I’m no’ for the tasting the dee.”</p> - -<p>Had he a cold, or why couldn’t he taste? So I offered the glass to his -neighbour.</p> - -<p>“I’m no’ for the tasting the dee,” he likewise replied; and we -afterwards learnt they were teetotallers, and that was their way of -expressing the fact.</p> - -<p>“The hooks is baited, and ye shall catch the first haddie for luck -yersel’, mem,” resounded in our ears; and the roar of the sea kept -up a strange accompaniment, as a seagull shrieked in triumph at our -discomfiture.</p> - -<p>I dare not say no; I must risk disgracing myself, endure any agony of -mind or body, but I must for the honour of Old England go and catch -that first haddie.</p> - -<p>How the wretched folk struggled to get that boat into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">187</a></span> sea! I -remonstrated at the women going into the water and working so hard on -my account, feeling particularly sympathetic when I thought of the -rough sea awaiting us outside, but all to no avail. I assured them I -should <em>not</em> be disappointed if I could not catch the haddie to-day, -I could easily come again; but no, they would struggle on, a few feet -only at a time, always to be rebuffed again and again by the waves.</p> - -<p>At last Mr. Murray took off his cap, scratched his head, talked Gaelic -to everyone in turn, and, after his consultation, came over to me and -said, “I’m right sad, mem, but the haddie boatie can no’ go in the -water the dee; she’d jist go to pieces on the rocks, whatever.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I am so sorry, but don’t mind me,” I replied as graciously as I -could, thankful for the deliverance.</p> - -<p>“Na, na, but the haddie for luck! We au wanted ye to catch the haddie -for luck yersel’, mem.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll come another day and catch the haddie for luck,” and I -inwardly thanked Heaven I had been saved the terrors of the deep.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow I will come again and catch the haddie, and paint the name -on the boat, if you like.”</p> - -<p>“Oi, oi, paint the name yersel’, that’ll be fine; but ye’ll do it nice, -now, won’t you? I want it weel done.”</p> - -<p>Who could be offended at such a remark, made without the slightest -idea of rudeness? A little such honest, straight-forward speaking is -a treat, not an offence, in these days of gilded sayings and leaden -thoughts.</p> - -<p>I never caught that haddie, but I took my palette and painted the name -in oils upon her sides, and happily the <em>Ethel Tweedie</em> has proved one -of the luckiest boats in the herring fleet.</p> - -<p>What a contrast those two launches were—the wealth of the one ship, -the wealth of the onlookers, the wealth of the prospective passengers -and cargo, the power and strength and value of it all.</p> - -<p>On the other side—the simplicity of the humble little craft, the -simplicity of the fisher-folk, the simplicity of the life of the -fishing village.</p> - -<p>Both were ships to go down to the sea, and yet how different.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">188</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">LORD LI AND A CHINESE LUNCHEON</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">THE “late” (or, as diplomacy ungraciously calls such, “ancient”) -Chinese Minister to London, Lord Li Ching Fong, did much to cement -a friendly feeling between the East and the West. He taught us to -appreciate the charm of manner and breadth of thought of a cultured -Chinese gentleman. No diplomat ever made himself more popular in London -Society than this cheery, kindly little representative of the East. -No matter where he went he always wore his hat indoors or out, with -its red bob on the top and his pig-tail below, and dark silk coats in -private, or embroidered robes at Court—but he walked about unattended -and lived the life of an ordinary English gentleman. In the Legation -he was one of the kindest and best hosts I have ever come across. He -entertained a great deal and handled large, important dinners of twenty -or thirty people with skilful ease. Lord Li never forgot a promise, -however trivial, and was never late for an engagement.</p> - -<p>One June day in 1909 the Chinese Minister was lunching with me, so -I asked him to write his name on the cloth opposite the Japanese -Ambassador. His neighbour on the other side was Lady Millais, the -daughter-in-law of the famous artist. She was so delighted with the -neat, small Chinese writing that she asked His Excellency if he would -put her name on the back of her card in Chinese.</p> - -<p>“Have you such a name as Mary or Maria,” I asked, “in Chinese?”</p> - -<p>“No,” he replied, “but I can do its equivalent phonetically,” and very -pretty it looked when done.</p> - -<p>On her other side sat Joseph Farquharson, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, and turning to -him, Lady Millais said:</p> - -<p>“‘Mary had a little lamb,’ but where is the <em>lamb</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">189</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>Farquharson being famous for painting snow and sheep quickly saw the -point, and taking her card, and a pencil from his pocket, exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Here it is!” and below the Chinese writing he drew a little lamb.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Kendal, on his other side, leant over to hear what was going on, -and laughingly said:</p> - -<p>“I am jealous. Although not a ewe lamb, I think I deserve a sheep.” -Whereupon Farquharson picked up her card, and with wonderful rapidity -drew a sheep, and handing it back, said:</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, Mrs. Kendal, it is only a black sheep.”</p> - -<p>It was all done so quickly it was quite a delightful incident.</p> - -<p>Then I asked the Minister to write his name in Latin characters above -the Chinese, and he did so; whereupon I proceeded to read the first -word as “Lie.”</p> - -<p>“No,” he said, “that is a bad word in English, but it is not my -name. My father, Li Hung Chang, went to Paris, and as the Frenchmen -pronounced his name “Lee” we have remained “Li” ever since. So I am now -known by that title, and go about in Europe as Lord Li, although it -sometimes causes my countrymen to smile when they hear it.”</p> - -<p>Lord Li (Lee) told me the only foreigner he had ever known who spoke -Chinese like a Chinaman was Sir Robert Hart; “And he speaks it as well -as I do.”</p> - -<p>Later I chaffed my Chinese friend about our English tea, and asked him -if he considered it poison.</p> - -<p>“Not poison,” he said, “but I do not like it.”</p> - -<p>“Is yours made very differently?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Quite,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Will you show me some day?”</p> - -<p>“With pleasure, but I must send you a Chinese cup, for I cannot make -Chinese tea in your cups. In our cups the saucer is on the top, not at -the bottom.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly, this was arranged, and the following day the teacup duly -arrived. It was about the size of a breakfast cup, with a ring of -china instead of a saucer; the cup itself fitted into the hole, and -was covered with a lid, which again fitted inside the bowl instead of -outside.</p> - -<p>Five o’clock was the hour named for our tea ceremony.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">190</a></span> I was sitting -in the drawing-room with my ordinary English tea arrangements, and a -special spirit lamp for His Excellency. At ten minutes past five he was -announced, laughing merrily.</p> - -<p>“What do you think I have done?” he said. “I have been so stupid. It -was fine, so I walked from Portland Place, and thinking I knew your -house well I did not look up at the number. I arrived and was shown -upstairs by the parlourmaid, who seemed quite pleased to see me. At the -door I gave my name as the ‘Chinese Minister,’ and was duly ushered -into a drawing-room, which I at once saw was not like your room. A -lady who was sitting there rose and said, ‘How do you do?’ I bowed and -repeated the remark, at once feeling I had made a mistake.</p> - -<p>“‘Do you speak English?’ she asked.</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, madam,’ I replied, with my best bow, now quite certain of my -mistake.</p> - -<p>“‘Shall I tell the lady?’ I thought. ‘It will make me look a fool, and -make her feel uncomfortable,’ and as she at once told me she had been -in China, and expressed pleasure at seeing me, we chatted for a few -minutes, and I waited for an opportunity which would allow me to get up -and go gracefully. The opportunity soon came, and I said good-bye. She -thanked me very much for calling, and I left.” Again the merry little -man chuckled at his intrusion.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” said I; “but it won’t end there. If you <em>will</em> call upon a -strange lady, she will think she met you somewhere and return the call.”</p> - -<p>“I did not really know her, so I need not repeat my visit,” he said -quietly. “But I shall not forget I have done something stupid.”</p> - -<p>I thought it so nice of him not to tell her of his mistake, and thus -give a very diplomatic ending to an awkward situation. Then came the -tea. Our tea-party.</p> - -<p>He boiled the spirit lamp, and when I took off the lid, thinking it was -ready, he shook his head.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” he said, “the water must actually boil three minutes; that is -the main point.” Into the cup, really the size of a breakfast-cup, he -put a small half-teaspoonful of Chinese tea.</p> - -<p>“What a small amount,” I remarked; “we put one fat teaspoonful for each -person, and one for the pot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">191</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“No wonder your tea is so bad, madam,” he laughed; “my arrangement is -tea, yours is stew,” he continued with a wicked little twinkle.</p> - -<p>On to these few scattered leaves Lord Li poured the boiling water, -which he immediately covered with the lid. In a few moments he removed -the latter, and taking the half-side of the lid instead of a spoon, -stirred the surface of the tea. This he did about three times in a -minute, by which time the water was slightly yellow and the leaves had -all sunk to the bottom.</p> - -<p>“Now it is ready,” he said; “remember, no sugar nor milk, <em>ever</em>!”</p> - -<p>“But it is too hot to drink,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Not too hot for a Chinaman, we drink it like that. But if it is too -hot for you, we will pour it out,” and putting the versatile lid on the -table so that it formed a saucer, he poured some tea into it.</p> - -<p>“Do you drink it from the saucer like that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; those people who cannot take it so hot always do so. Otherwise, -or when it is cooler, we drink it so,” and he put the lid back in the -cup, but only half <em>on</em> in a slanting way, and made me sip the tea -through the aperture at the side.</p> - -<p>“What is the idea of that?” I said.</p> - -<p>“To keep the tea hot and to hold back the leaves, because you see our -cup is also our teapot.”</p> - -<p>It really was both nice and refreshing.</p> - -<p>“How many cups does your Excellency drink in a day?” I enquired.</p> - -<p>“Always twenty, sometimes thirty.”</p> - -<p>“Good heavens! How do you do it?”</p> - -<p>“The better-class Chinaman gets up when it is light and goes to bed -when it is dark. I cannot do that in London because you keep me out so -late at night, but I am called at half-past seven, when I get a cup -of tea; with my bath I have another cup of tea. With my breakfast at -eight-thirty I have rice, vermicelli, fish, fruit, and more tea. Then I -go down to my office, and during all the hours from nine to half-past -twelve, when I am working with my secretaries, we all drink tea every -half-hour or so, and some smoke pipes, but not opium. That is rare in -China. Next comes lunch; but you must come and have a real Chinese -luncheon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">192</a></span> and see how we eat it with chopsticks. Not an official party -such as you have been to before at my house. Then it is the French -cook, but my own cook, when I am alone, is a Chinaman.</p> - -<p>“At four in the afternoon we have our third meal, and for the first -time no tea, but cakes and light things. At half-past seven we dine, a -dozen little dishes all at once. Then, if I were in China, I should go -to bed, but as I am in London, I do as London does.”</p> - -<p>“Last thing at night I still drink tea. The kettle is always boiling at -the Legation, the cup is always ready, and my servant puts in the tea -and pours on the water; then by the time it reaches me it is ready.”</p> - -<p>The Chinese Minister is a very interesting man, and having finished our -tea-party, during which he laughingly suggested that I should give him -a certificate as a good cook, he told me many interesting things by way -of exciting my interest and persuading me to write a book on China.</p> - -<p>The children of the high-class families in China are betrothed very -young, often when four or five years old, and never later than -fifteen. The parents get a third person to negotiate, and if a union -is considered desirable between the two families (they never marry out -of their own social position in China), the parents meet and more or -less settle the future line of education for their offspring, and sign -letters officially agreeing to the betrothal. Nothing more happens. The -wife, however, sometimes sees her future son or daughter-in-law.</p> - -<p>When these children reach fifteen or twenty years of age their final -marriage takes place. They never meet until the wedding-day, and the -property settled on the girl by her father is her own by the law of -China. After her marriage she belongs to her husband’s family, and goes -to live in the house of her father-in-law.</p> - -<p>If by the time a woman is thirty she has no son to continue the -traditions of the family—and family counts for everything in -China—the husband is legally allowed to take unto himself a mistress. -She is not well born. He chooses her from the people, and she is -officially accepted by the house, allowed to sit at the table, and if -she bears sons, the first belongs to the legal wife, the second to -herself, and if there is only one son, both wife and mistress share<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">193</a></span> -him, and, strange as it may seem, they generally get on quite well.</p> - -<p>We had a long and interesting talk on the future of China.</p> - -<p>“We are going to be the greatest country in the world in the middle of -this century, but now there are troubled days ahead for us,” he said. -“We are far more conservative than Japan. It has taken us longer to -adopt Western civilisation, but when I went back from England some -years ago, after serving many years in this country, I was one of a -number of young men who tried, and in some cases succeeded, in making -reforms. Those were early days, but boys like my son, now at Cambridge, -are being educated in Europe in 1910; and they will go back with even -stronger and more modern ideas. Indeed, I can see perfectly well that -in the next twenty years there will be many reforms attempted in -diplomatic and other circles in China, before we settle down. Every -country must broaden and widen if it is to keep pace with the march of -civilisation, and China must not be behind. We have a great past, and -we must make a great future.”</p> - -<p>Then he spoke with the utmost enthusiasm of the late Empress.</p> - -<p>“She was old, she was not pretty, but she was wonderful. She had -the greatest charm of manner of any woman I have ever known. She -reigned for practically fifty years, and therefore her experience was -unbounded. Above all, she was a diplomat. For instance, one day in -1907, she sent for me. I went. She talked pleasantly for some time on -many subjects, and then she said, ‘We cannot always do what we like. -We have to remember our country. We must always work for its good. -You have been in England, and you like it. You are back in China, and -perhaps you like it better because your home is here.’ I bowed. ‘But,’ -she said, ‘London wants you. It is necessary to send a Minister to the -Court of St. James’s, and, moreover, to send someone who understands -the English people and is in sympathy with them, and who can be relied -upon in every way. It is not a matter of pay. I know money does not -tempt you. It is not a matter of position. You have that here, but your -country needs your services. You can do much for China in England, and -I am going to ask you to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">194</a></span> renounce your home life for several years and -go to England.’</p> - -<p>“It was charmingly put, and I felt touched at the many kind things she -said, but still I hesitated. Then she looked straight at me.</p> - -<p>“‘Li, your father left China for the good of China. We owe him a great -debt for what he did in Paris. Will the son not follow the example of -so excellent a father?’</p> - -<p>“That did it. I left my home, and here I am, very happy, for England is -to me a second home, and although I miss my wife and married daughters, -I have my son with me, and many friends. Yes, she was a wonderful -woman, our Empress. Her death was a great loss to China.”</p> - -<p>Then I asked him why this boy of three was put upon the throne. -“Because,” he said, “the late Emperor was a nephew of the Empress, and -it is a rule with us that these dignities cannot descend from brother -to brother, but must always come down one generation. When the Emperor -died childless, it was therefore not his brother, but his brother’s -son who succeeded him. As he is only three, his father has been made -Regent, and is virtually the Emperor of China till the child is grown -up. That little boy will be employed in learning to read and write four -Chinese languages fluently till he is twelve or thirteen. After that -his more general education will commence, but he has a difficult task -before him, because he will take up the reins as Emperor at the very -time when I think China will be having its greatest struggle.</p> - -<p>“We must never forget the teachings of Confucius, but we must model our -present Government according to the rules of modern civilisation.”</p> - -<p>(Barely two years later the Manchus were overthrown.)</p> - -<p>My own father had a great idea that everything in the world was good to -eat if only we knew how to cook it.</p> - -<p>Therefore, I was brought up to eat all sorts of queer things, a -training that proved very useful in after-life when my travels took me -from Iceland to Africa, from Lapland to Sicily, from Canada to Mexico. -Sometimes I have lived on <em>foie gras</em> and champagne, at others been -glad of black bread—sometimes I have been amongst thousands of cattle -on a ranch without a drop of milk or a pat of butter within hundreds of -miles; often I have been far from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">195</a></span> butcher’s meat, and drunk milk from -the cocoanut, or eaten steak from the elk, turtle from the river, or -bear from the woods.</p> - -<p>Therefore, this paternal theory often held good and helped me over many -an awkward moment. Which philosophy, however, was by no means called -upon when the Chinese luncheon, to which I had been invited at my -little tea-party, became soon after an accepted fact.</p> - -<p>It was a hot July Sunday. The door of the Legation in Portland Place -was thrown wide open, and up the green-carpeted stairs I walked. We -were only a party of four, as Lord Li laughingly remarked that there -were not many people in London who would care for Chinese food. He need -not have been so modest about it, for the dishes were really excellent.</p> - -<p>We were waited upon by a Chinese servant and an English butler. -Needless to remark, the former was much the more picturesque. He was -dressed in black, with high black velvet boots on his little feet, and -though he looked about fourteen, the Minister assured me he was forty. -He was barber, tailor, and butler.</p> - -<p>“These men can do anything,” said His Excellency; “I could not keep a -man in London to shave my head once a week, nor would he have enough to -do to make my clothes. The important suits are sent direct from China. -The others are made and mended by this man. I have four Chinese in the -house, and they eat and live together, the English servants being quite -apart. But they do not quarrel; in fact, I believe they are very good -friends.”</p> - -<p>My earliest recollections being of strange foods from many lands, it -was not altogether a surprise to begin our repast with bird’s-nest -soup, which was served in similar cups to that brought by Lord Li to -my tea-party; the cup standing on a plate. At the bottom of the bowl -was a small quantity of white, gelatinous compound, which looked almost -like warm gelatine. Into this I was told to put a tablespoonful of -strawberry jam, the whole strawberries of which I stirred up with the -bird’s nest. Eaten with a spoon the two were very good.</p> - -<p>The Minister explained the delicacy thus. “There is a small sea-bird in -China which builds its nest on the sides of the rock with the little -fish it gets from the water. These<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">196</a></span> nests become quite hard in the heat -of the sun, and it is these that are collected and used for this soup. -It is a delicacy, quite expensive, and never eaten by ordinary people, -but used more like your turtle soup on great occasions.”</p> - -<p><em>Sharks’ fins</em> made our next dish. These were also served in little -cups and eaten with chopsticks. The two chopsticks were about a foot -long and made of ivory, but it seems they are often made of bone, -silver, gold, or wood, and children, until they are six or seven -years of age, are rarely able to manipulate them. One is held between -the thumb and first finger, the second between the first and second -fingers, and so dexterous was Lord Li in their manipulation that he, -later, took the small bones out of a fish and put them on one side more -easily than one could have done with a knife and fork.</p> - -<p>The shark fins, when boiled in Chinese fashion, were almost like the -gelatinous part of calf’s head or the outside of a turbot. They were -cooked with cabbage and some ham, so, in a way, the taste reminded -me of German sauerkraut; but though also a delicacy, this was less -delicate in flavour than the bird’s nest and somewhat satisfying.</p> - -<p>Now came fish—mackerel, I think—likewise cooked in a Chinese way, -for, be it understood, the Chinese cook was doing the entire luncheon. -A thick brown sauce, with a curry flavour, and the tiniest of little -onions here and there, were added to the dish, which the guest simply -could not manipulate with chopsticks, so had recourse to an English -knife and fork.</p> - -<p>The next course was again served in covered cups, and was chicken, a -favourite and ordinary dish in China. Apparently the bird was chopped -fine, or had been passed through the mincing machine. Anyway, there -were no bones, yet it was solid. My private opinion was that it must -have been compressed under weights, because it adhered to its own -skin and looked substantial, although the ingredients fell apart when -attacked with the chopsticks. This tasted like boned capon, and with it -was something white, appearing to be fish, which Lord Li said was dried -oyster. It seems there is a particularly large oyster in China which -has a sort of bag protrusion. This bit is cut away and sun-dried, when -it makes the flavouring and decoration for the chicken.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">197</a></span></p> - -<p>We had not finished yet. Duck was the next course. This came on a plate -and had its bones entire. It was also covered with thick brown sauce -and finely shredded vegetables. His Excellency told us there were many -more vegetables in China than in England, and that some of them were -prepared for export. These appeared to be shredded in the same way as -vegetables are cut for Julienne soup. With it was also served a great -dish of rice, and in ordinary Chinese households rice is served with -every course.</p> - -<p>“In the rich homes we eat much meat and little rice, and in the poor -homes much rice and little meat,” said the Minister. This dish I did -not care for at all, besides finding it next to impossible to detach -the meat from the bones with the chopsticks.</p> - -<p>Our next course was a very pretty one. On a plate sat a row of little -dumplings, into which lobster, finely shredded with ham, had been -daintily tucked.</p> - -<p>I was struck by the fact that with the exception of the duck everything -had been passed through the mincing machine or chopped. Beef, by the -way, is so bad in China that it is rarely eaten.</p> - -<p>Then followed the pudding, which was altogether a success, entitled -“Water lily.” The sweet was also served on plates. Lord Li maintained -that the foundation was rice; if so, it had been boiled so long that it -was more like tapioca. Round it were stewed pears and peaches, and all -over it little things that looked like white broad beans. These had a -delicate and delicious flavour, and I guessed a dozen times what they -could be, but in each case was wrong; and the Minister explained they -were the seeds of the lotus flower.</p> - -<p>No wonder His Excellency lives on Chinese food at home when it is so -good and so well cooked. The native wine or spirit I did not like; it -rather reminded me of vodka.</p> - -<p>Our meal finished we repaired to the drawing-room, where was set out a -silver tray of beautiful Chinese workmanship, with a silver teapot and -silver cups lined with white china and with ordinary handles.</p> - -<p>“You ladies must sit on the sofa,” said Lord Li, “for it is the fashion -in China for the host himself to dispense the tea.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly, he lifted the entire table and placed it before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">198</a></span> us, then -poured out what appeared to be the palest green liquid.</p> - -<p>“Surely that is not tea!” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, it is green tea. Not green tea made for the English market, -but real green tea, uncoloured, such as we drink in China without sugar -or milk.” And, putting the spoon in the pot, he produced the leaves, -very long and broad, each one separate from the other and absolutely -devoid of stalks and dust.</p> - -<p>“This I have sent over for me specially from my own estate,” he said, -“and this is the tea of which I drink thirty or forty cups a day.”</p> - -<p>It was refreshing, and reminded me of the orange leaves used so much in -tropical Southern Mexico in the same way. With this ended our quaint -Eastern meal.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">199</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">FROM STAGELAND TO SHAKESPEARE-LAND</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">HOW youth adores the stage! It ever has in all climes and ages, and -probably ever will.</p> - -<p>This was amusingly borne in on me just after my boy had gone to -Cambridge. A particular play with a particularly fascinating actress in -the principal part was announced for production there.</p> - -<p>Of course, all Cambridge went.</p> - -<p>A day or so later, when a lot of “men” were raving over the beauties of -the fascinating actress, buying her photographs, wanting her autograph, -and so on, one of them turned round to my son and said:</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she lovely? I’m just dying to be introduced to her. By Jove, she -is a ripping girl. What did you think of her, Tweedie?”</p> - -<p>“I did not go,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Why not?”</p> - -<p>“Well, you see, I know her pretty well; she went to school with my -mother.”</p> - -<p>A bomb might have fallen.</p> - -<p>“Went to school with <em>your</em> mother?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and she has a girl nearly as old as I am.”</p> - -<p>Bomb number two.</p> - -<p>Charming and pretty as she is, a woman old enough to be their mother, -she stirs the hearts of the undergrads, who, across the footlights, -innocently think she is a girl of eighteen.</p> - -<p>So much for the delusions of the stage.</p> - -<p>Still, it is marvellous how some actresses seem blessed with perpetual -youth.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt about it that Miss Geneviève Ward is one of the most -remarkable women of the age. One morning in March, 1908, came a knock -at the door, and in she walked.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">200</a></span></p> - -<p>“Out for my constitutional, my dear,” she exclaimed, “so I thought I -would just look you up. I have walked six miles this morning, and after -a little rest and chat with you I shall walk another mile home and -enjoy my luncheon all the better for it.”</p> - -<p>“You are a marvel!” I exclaimed. “Seven miles and over seventy. I saw -your ‘Volumnia’ was a great success the other day when you played it -with Benson.” For “Volumnia” is one of the grand old actress’s chief -parts.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she said, “and the next day I started for Rome. I got a telegram -to say one of three old cousins, with whom I was staying in Rome a few -weeks previously, had died suddenly; so four hours after receiving the -message I set out.”</p> - -<p>“Were you very tired?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No, not at all. I knitted nearly all the way and talked to my -fellow-passengers, and when I arrived, instead of resting, went at once -to see to some business, for these two old sisters, one of whom is -blind, were absolutely prostrate with grief, and had done nothing while -awaiting my arrival. I stayed a fortnight with them, settled them up, -and arrived back two days ago.”</p> - -<p>Miss Ward has one of the most remarkable faces I have ever known. Her -blue-grey eyes are electric. They seem to pierce one’s very soul. They -flash fire or indignation, and yet they literally melt with love. And -this great, majestic tragedienne is full of emotion and sentiment. -Geneviève Ward is the Sarah Siddons of the day. Her “Lady Macbeth,” -“Queen Eleanor,” “Queen Katherine,” and her other classic rôles, are -unrivalled. Her elocution is matchless. Her French is as perfect as her -English; anyone who ever heard her recite in French will never forget -it, and her Italian, for purity of diction, is not far behind. On the -stage her grand manner is superb. She is every inch a queen, and yet, -strange as it may appear, she is only a small woman, five feet three at -most; but so full of activity and courage that she impresses one with -immense power, height, and strength.</p> - -<p>I happened to tell her that I had again seen an account of her marriage -in a paper.</p> - -<p>“Some new invention,” she laughed. “And yet it is not necessary to -invent, for the romance and tragedy of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">201</a></span> my life were acute enough.” And -she then told me the following story:</p> - -<p>“I was travelling with my mother and brother on the Riviera in -1855, when we met a Russian, Count de Guerbel. He was very tall, -very handsome, very fascinating, very rich, and twenty-eight. I was -seventeen.</p> - -<p>“He fell in love with me, and it was settled I should be married at the -Consulate at Nice, which I was; but the Russian law required that the -marriage should be repeated in the Russian Church to make the ceremony -binding, otherwise I was his legal wife, but he was not my legal -husband.</p> - -<p>“It was arranged, therefore, that I should go to Paris with my mother, -the Count going on in advance to arrange everything, and we would be -remarried there in the Greek Church. When we arrived in Paris it was -Lent, when no marriage can take place in the Greek Church; and so time -passed on.</p> - -<p>“He must have been a thoroughly bad man, because he did his best at -that time to persuade me to run away with him, always reminding me -that I was his legal wife. The whole thing was merely a trick of this -handsome, fascinating rascal. He promised me that, if I would go -to him, he would take me to Russia at once, and there we should be -remarried according to the rules of the Greek Church. Being positively -frightened by his persistence, I told my mother. At the same time -rumours of de Guerbel’s amours and debts reached her ears, and she -wrote to a cousin of ours, then American Minister in Petersburg, for -confirmation of these reports.</p> - -<p>“My cousin replied, ‘Come at once.’ We went; I, of course, under my -name of Countess de Guerbel, which I had naturally assumed from the day -of our wedding at Nice, and we stayed at the Embassy in St. Petersburg. -The Count’s brother was charming to me. He told us my husband was -a villain, and I had better leave him alone. That was impossible, -however—I was married to him, but he was not married to me, and -such a state of affairs could not remain. It became an international -matter, and was arranged by the American Government and the Tzar that -we should be officially married at Warsaw. The Count refused to come. -The Tzar therefore sent sealed orders for his appearance.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">202</a></span> Wearing a -black dress, and feeling apprehensive and miserably sad, I went to the -church, and at the altar rails, supported by my father and mother, and -the Count’s brother, I met my husband.</p> - -<p>“It was a horrible crisis, for I knew my father was armed with a -loaded revolver, and, if de Guerbel refused to give me the last legal -right which was morally already mine, its contents would put an end to -the adventurer’s life. There we stood, husband and wife, knowing the -service was a mere form; but the marriage was lawfully effected. He had -completed his part of the bargain and we had learned his villainy.</p> - -<p>“At the door of the church we parted, and I never saw him again. We -called a cab and drove direct to the railway station, and thence -travelled to Milan.”</p> - -<p>Romance, comedy, tragedy! As I sat looking at that beautiful woman, -still beautiful at seventy, it was easy to see how lovely she must have -been at seventeen, and to picture that perfect figure in her black -frock on her bridal morning—a pathetic sight indeed!</p> - -<p>She was continuing her story:</p> - -<p>“Determined to do something, I at once began studying singing for the -stage on our arrival in Italy, and in a year or two made my appearance -in Paris, London, and New York.</p> - -<p>“I made a success in opera; but in Cuba I strained my voice by -continually singing in three octaves, and one fine day discovered -it had gone. Then I took to teaching singing in New York. But, -unfortunately, I hated it; most of my pupils had neither voice nor -talent; it was like beating my head against a stone wall.</p> - -<p>“In my operatic days critics had always mentioned my capacity for -acting. Then why not go on the stage? Thus it was at the age of -thirty-five I appeared at Manchester, under my maiden name of Geneviève -Ward, and in the end, having played <cite>Forget-me-not</cite> some thousand -times, all over the world, I retired from the profession when I was -about sixty. I have occasionally appeared since.”</p> - -<p>This gifted tragedienne was going to Stratford to play in the -Shakespeare week in 1908.</p> - -<p>She came to have tea with me, and as she sat beside me looking the -picture of strength and dignity, I asked if it took her long to get up -her part.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">203</a></span></p> - -<p>“Good heavens, no!” she replied. “I have never forgotten a -Shakespearian character in my life. Every word means something. All I -do is to read it through once or twice—perhaps three times—before the -night.”</p> - -<p>“I own,” she said, “that sitting here now I do not recall a word of -<cite>Forget-me-not</cite>, and yet I played that several thousand times. But -then, there is nothing to grip hold of in the modern drama; however, I -could undertake to go on the stage letter-perfect even in that after -a day’s work. I am sure, after reading it through, it would all come -back to me. In Shakespeare I not only know my own part, but most of the -other people’s, and I can both remember things I learnt in my youth and -have played at intervals during my life, and memorise now more easily -than my pupils. I did so last year when I got up those classical plays -for Vedrenne and Barker.”</p> - -<p>One cold February day Benson’s Company played <cite>Coriolanus</cite> at the -“Coronet.”</p> - -<p>As Miss Ward had sent me the following note, I was amongst the pleased -spectators.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mephisto</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Here is the Box for Saturday. I hope you will enjoy ‘Volumnia.’ -I love her. Come on the stage after the play, and let me take you -home.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours cordially,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Geneviève Ward</span>.” </p></div> - -<p>Her performance was simply amazing. Well rouged, with a cheerful smile -and sprightly manner, this dear lady of over seventy looked young, -handsome, animated, indeed beautiful, and buoyant in the first act. -As the play proceeded her complexion paled, her eyes dimmed, the deep -black robe and nun-like head-gear helped the tragedy of the scene, -until in the mad scene she was cringing and yet magnificent; in the -last act—thrilling.</p> - -<p>Her clear enunciation, magnificent diction, and great repose are indeed -a contrast to the modern young woman of the stage, who speaks so badly -that one cannot hear what she says, and has often not learnt even the -first rules of walking gracefully.</p> - -<p>After the play I went behind the scenes, as arranged.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">204</a></span> Benson was there -standing at Miss Ward’s door thanking her for her performance.</p> - -<p>What a splendid athlete he is in appearance, and though I am not -particularly fond of his performance, <cite>Coriolanus</cite> is by far his best. -I congratulated him upon it, and his simplicity and almost shyness were -amusing.</p> - -<p>“But I am so much below my ideal of the part,” he said; “although it -is strengthening and broadening, I cannot even now get it,” and then, -turning to Miss Ward, added, “However, our ‘Volumnia’ is all she should -be.”</p> - -<p>There was Miss Ward, dressed ready to return home, smiling cheerfully -and not in the least tired. As we were driving back to my house, she -told me, in answer to a friendly enquiry, what her day had been.</p> - -<p>“I went for a long walk this morning, had my lunch at a quarter to one, -got to the theatre at two, began at two-thirty, and, as you know, did -not end till five-thirty.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you had some tea,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Tea, my dear! Certainly not. I shall have a glass of hot milk at six, -when I get in, and then my dinner as usual, a little later.”</p> - -<p>Over seventy years of age, she thus had played a strong rôle for -three hours, yet did not even need to be refreshed with a cup of tea. -Geneviève Ward certainly is a great woman.</p> - -<p>The three greatest English actresses I have ever seen are Ellen Terry, -Geneviève Ward, and Mrs. Kendal. The latter two are among the most -brilliant women and most charming conversationalists I know—outside -their stage life I mean.</p> - -<p>One February day in 1909, Mrs. Kendal walked up Portland Place to fetch -me <em>en route</em> for luncheon with Geneviève Ward.</p> - -<p>“Why have you suddenly left the stage like this?” I asked in banter.</p> - -<p>In a serious voice she replied:</p> - -<p>“Because we want no farewells. I went on the stage when I was four, -and no one knew I was there. I go off the stage when I am fifty-five, -and I do not see why people should be asked to contribute to my -well-advertised disappearance as to a charity. I’ve worked hard for -fifty years, and have retired to enjoy myself while I can.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">205</a></span> Actors have -long-drawn-out ‘farewells’ lasting for two or three years. I don’t wish -to do likewise. We’ve worked hard, and we’ve been thrifty and saved, -and now we can retire from a kindly public—as their friends, I hope. -I don’t want to write to the papers, or make speeches, or call myself -their ‘humble servant.’ I’ve given them of my best, and they’ve paid me -for it, as they pay for their hats and gloves. No gratuities, nothing -more than I have rightly earned. Don’t you think I’m right?”</p> - -<p>“Well, it is certainly more dignified, but we should have liked to give -you a farewell cheer.” Then, reverting to others, I asked why Irving -was so poor.</p> - -<p>“Ah, because he was so generous. I remember an instance; when he -heard the Duchess of Manchester (afterwards Duchess of Devonshire) -had taken two stalls, he at once sent off to offer her a private box. -She accepted, and then he ordered a two-guinea bouquet to be placed -therein, and invited her to supper. Again she accepted. He at once -asked a party to meet her; that cost him over twenty-six pounds. He -told me so, and he returned the Duchess her guinea.</p> - -<p>“Now do you call that business? Would a dressmaker give material gratis -and entertain a customer to supper? We have never given free seats. Why -should one? If the house does not fill, change the piece, but don’t -pretend it’s a success by paper. Yes—I’m retiring; the public doesn’t -want an actress to-day. It wants a pretty girl. If I was beginning now, -instead of ending, I should be a failure. I was never really pretty. -“Men and women who have never studied acting as an art are wanted now, -young, pretty, well built. But as to acting!—the old school of acting -is a thing of the past, my dear.”</p> - -<p>From Stageland to Shakespeare-land is a natural transit. Besides, there -is no space left in this book to describe afresh the many valued and -gifted theatrical friends to whom I devoted an entire volume in 1904, -for which a second edition was called two months after publication.</p> - -<p>This book was <cite>Behind the Footlights</cite>, and it occurred to me to write -in it that “Mrs. Kendal was the most loved and most hated woman on the -stage.” These words might apply almost to Marie Corelli in literature.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">206</a></span></p> - -<p>Who could help loving her who saw her as I did on October 6th, 1909, at -the opening of Harvard House in Stratford-on-Avon?</p> - -<p>It was a wonderful day.</p> - -<p>A private train with bowls of flowers on every table, and smilax -hanging in long tendrils from the roof (all this being the offering -of the Railway Company), took us to Stratford at sixty-eight miles an -hour. Our engine was also gaily decked with flags and flowers and had -“<span class="smcap">HARVARD</span>” painted across its front in big letters.</p> - -<p>The sun shone brilliantly on that early autumn day, bestowing, as it -were, his blessing on this scholarly alliance of the Union Jack with -the Stars and Stripes.</p> - -<p>A gracious little lady bade us welcome; short and “comely,” with -fluffy brown hair above a round face. As a girl our hostess must have -been a pretty little blonde English type—she owns the sweetest voice -imaginable, a voice to love, to coo a child to sleep, the most gracious -manners, and a delightful smile.</p> - -<p>This was Marie Corelli, to whom the work of restoration of Harvard -House had been entrusted; and her guests that day saw it just as -John Harvard himself saw it as a child. In that house where this -most modern of twentieth-century novelists awaited her guests, the -sixteenth-century maiden Katherine Rogers, passed her early days, and -in 1605 went thence as the bride of Robert Harvard the merchant, to -his home in Southwark. Between that place and the small country town -on the Avon their little son spent his childish years. And just as the -river deepened and widened as it joined the infinity of the ocean, so -John Harvard’s youthful intelligence deepened and widened in the great -ocean of learning. Far, far away it bore fruit—not only in his own -generation, but the waves of scholarly influence have rippled down -through successive decades to the present day, when the College he -founded in America—the first established in the New World—sends forth -her men in thousands to all parts of the globe, and the name of Harvard -is an honoured household word through the length and breadth of the -world.</p> - -<p>Although I had been twice to America and knew that the best of the -culture and learning in the United States emanated from Boston and -Harvard, I had not then realised<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">207</a></span> that the famous University was three -hundred years old—contemporaneous with our own Will Shakespeare—nor -that its founder had been christened in our little old English Mecca.</p> - -<p>Miss Marie Corelli had a bright word for everyone; flitted hither and -thither like a bee, made speeches charmingly, and yet it must have been -a day of great nervous strain for this little lady. A woman of taste -and refinement, a woman of organisation—as the occasion revealed, with -all its details of a luncheon for a hundred and fifty people, as well -as an opening ceremony—and withal, what a strangely imaginative mind! -Almost a seer, a mystic, a religious dreamer, a hard worker, a strange -but lovable personality—such is Marie Corelli.</p> - -<p>Many men and women who attain great ends are egotistical—and why not? -What others admire they may surely be allowed to appreciate also.</p> - -<p>It is the conceit of ignorance that is so detestable. The assurance of -untutored youth that annoys.</p> - -<p>The American Ambassador was, as ever, gentle, persuasive, eloquent, -delightful. We had a long conversation on Harvard, whose virtues he -extolled; but then Mr. Whitelaw Reid is at heart a literary man and -would-be scholar, besides having enough brains to appreciate brains in -others.</p> - -<p>Mason Croft is Miss Marie Corelli’s home. Probably no writer of -fiction—not plays, mind you, but pure fiction—ever made so much -money, or has been so widely read, as Marie Corelli. The little girl -without fortune—by pen, ink, and paper and her own imaginative -mind—has won a lovely home. It is a fine old house, charmingly -furnished, and possesses a large meadow (the “croft“) and an enticing -winter garden. The châtelaine keeps four or five horses and is a Lady -Bountiful. Yes, and all this is done by a woman with a tiny weapon of -magic power.</p> - -<p>So came the end of a delightful gathering—</p> - -<p>But stop!</p> - -<p>As Marie Corelli wrote the story of that day in a few pithy words, let -me be allowed to repeat her message to the <cite>Evening News</cite>:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“To-day, October 6th, America owns for the first time in history a -property of its own in Shakespeare’s native town.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">208</a></span></p> - -<p>“The ‘Harvard House,’ the gift of Mr. Edward Morris, of Chicago, to -Harvard University, was opened to-day by the American Ambassador in the -presence of a large and representative gathering of American social -magnates amid the greatest enthusiasm.</p> - -<p>“I am proud and glad to know that my dream of uniting the oldest -university in the States to the birth town of the Immortal Shakespeare -has been carried to a successful issue.—<span class="smcap">Marie Corelli.</span>”</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">209</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON WOMAN NOWADAYS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">WOMAN nowadays. Poor dear! How she is abused, derided, called this, -that, and the other—but she goes steadily on her own way, and she is -forging ahead. This will be woman’s century.</p> - -<p>Everything that is new, old age dubs “deterioration.” Because the -modern girl is not early Victorian, does not wear low dresses and satin -slippers by day, shriek at a mouse or faint, she is called “unwomanly.” -Surely this is ridiculous. She is stronger mentally and physically, -she is beginning to take her place in the world; and because in the -transition stage she has forgotten how to make cordials—which she -can buy so much cheaper at any Co-operative Stores—she is styled -“undomesticated.” Every age has its own manners, and customs and ideals.</p> - -<p>No, no, you dear old people, don’t think her unsexed. Woman’s sphere -should be the home; but her horizon must be the world.</p> - -<p>In one sense there is nothing new under the sun. In another everything -changes, is renewed continually, and should be new. Therefore, to call -re-arrangement deterioration is absurd. It is more often advancement. -We can no more go back than we can do without the telephone, telegraph, -or taxi-cab. We are all progressing, improving; the world is improving. -Read Society books of a couple of centuries back, and note the change. -Note the coarseness of Fielding or Smollett, and see the refinement of -to-day.</p> - -<p>It is a very good world that we live in, but youth must not be -sacrificed to old age, any more than old age must be sacrificed to -youth. Both must stand alone.</p> - -<p>All this hue and cry about women’s work is very ridiculous. Since the -world began women have worked. They have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">210</a></span> borne the greatest of all -burdens—child-bearing; and they have cooked and washed and mended and -made. They have ministered to the wants of man and home.</p> - -<p>Worked? Why, of course they have worked, but they have not always -been paid. Now is their day. They are strong enough to demand the -recognition the world has been ungenerous enough to withhold.</p> - -<p>Equality in all things for the sexes will make happier men and women, -happier homes, and a more prosperous nation.</p> - -<p>All women cannot be bread-winners any more than all men can be -soldiers. Women are marching onward in every land, their advancement -and the progress of civilisation are synonymous terms to-day.</p> - -<p>The greater the women, the greater the country.</p> - -<p>It is ridiculous to say that women workers oust men. This is hardly -ever the case. In these days of endless change, when a machine is -frequently introduced that does the work of four or five men, labour is -constantly re-arranged. Then again, with increase of work, so there is -incessant all-round shifting of the distribution of employment. Women -do not take the place of men. They merely find their own footing in the -general change. There is a niche for everyone ready to fill it.</p> - -<p>Yes, women do work, and women must work, although a vast amount of -misery might be, and ought to be, alleviated by their men-folk. The -present disastrous state of things is largely due to men not providing -for their wives or equipping their daughters to be wage-earners.</p> - -<p>There are, of course, a few enthusiastic women who work for work’s -sake, but they take the bread out of no man’s mouth. These are the -writers of deep and profound books, who make as many shillings as they -spend pounds in collecting their material—women who love research work -in science; women who labour among the poor, organise clubs and homes, -and devote their lives to charity and good deeds; but the cases are -rare, almost <em>nil</em>, where women work for salary who do not need the -money. Those who do certainly take the bread from the mouths of men and -women alike; but the rich workers who accept pay are so few they do not -count.</p> - -<p>Many women with small incomes seek to increase those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">211</a></span> incomes in order -to clothe their children, pay the butcher, or have more to spend -on little luxuries, but these, again, are a small class. The large -multitude of women who work are those who must do so, and they are the -ones who require help, for theirs is an uphill fight against great -odds. They have to contend with want of general education, want of -special training, want of physical strength, want of positions open to -women, when they enter the already overcrowded field of labour.</p> - -<p>Women must work until men realise the responsibility of thrusting them -unequipped into the sea of life to sink or swim on the tide of chance.</p> - -<p>How bravely women do it too. Aching hearts and throbbing brows are -forgotten in the fight for daily existence. Poor souls, how hard many -of them toil, how lonely are their lives, and what a struggle it is for -them to keep their heads above water. Many of them do so, however; and -to them all honour is due.</p> - -<p>Men and women should never be pitted as rivals in anything. Each sex -has its own place to fill; but when the exigencies of fighting for -existence occur, men should nobly help the courageous woman worker over -the difficulties her men-folk have thoughtlessly placed before her.</p> - -<p>I hate sex. Surely, in working, thinking, human beings—it does not -matter whether one wears petticoats or trousers—there should be no sex -as regards bread-earning. There are a million and a quarter too many -women in England, and the gates of independence and occupation must not -be shut in their faces. Personally, I should like boys and girls to be -equal in everything. Forget sex, bring them up together, educate them -together. Send them to public schools and Universities together, open -all the trades and professions to women the same as to men. Let them -stand shoulder to shoulder.</p> - -<p>Many people thought that the heavens would descend if a woman became a -doctor. They were wrong. Women are doing well in medicine and surgery, -though they are still excluded from the Bar and the Church.</p> - -<p>Yes, give girls just the same advantages as boys. Divide your incomes -equally amongst all your children when you die, irrespective of sex. -Give them equality in divorce. The world will be all the happier.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">212</a></span></p> - -<p>Women will find their own level—just as men do; they will make or mar -their own lives—just as men do. But let men cease shutting gates of -employment in their faces.</p> - -<p>A nation’s power depends on the physical strength and character of its -women, and not on its army of men, or its statesmen.</p> - -<p>How I envy men with professions. They come down to comfortable -breakfasts, without the least idea of what will be laid before them. -They enjoy it, have a look at the papers, perhaps a pipe, and then -they get into boots and top-coat, go off to their chambers, offices, -studios, or their consulting-rooms, as the case may be. They throw -themselves into their work, knowing that no interruptions will occur -during the whole course of the morning.</p> - -<p>They enjoy their luncheon, which they have not had the worry of -ordering beforehand, and so by the time four, or five, or six o’clock -arrives they have done a good day’s work without annoyance from -outside. They have earned so much money, and not far off they see a -tangible reward. Lucky men!</p> - -<p>How differently things go with a woman like myself, with a small -income, a house, servants, children, all as important as the daily -round of wage-earning. By the time one gets settled down to one’s desk -at nine-thirty or ten o’clock one has gone through the drudgery of it -all. The orders and wants of cook, housemaid, parlourmaid, and nurse -have all been attended to. The cheques for washing bills and grocers’ -books have to be written, orders sent for coals, the soda-water -telephoned for, with all the endless round of wearying details which -every housekeeper knows. In the midst of one’s morning work, curtains -return from the cleaners, and have to be paid for at the door, or a man -comes to mend the bell, and one has to leave one’s desk to show him -exactly what is wrong. In fact, the interruptions are incessant even in -the best regulated households, and one has to bring one’s distracted -mind back from domestic details to write important letters or articles -for the Press.</p> - -<p>A working woman’s life would be endurable were it not for the -interruptions.</p> - -<p>Yes! I have lived the ordinary woman’s life and the professional -woman’s life as well, and I always say to myself<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">213</a></span> that the professional -part is a mere bagatelle, because of the larger rewards, in comparison -with the ceaseless worries and endless interruptions that fall at the -feet of every housekeeper.</p> - -<p>Men do not half enough appreciate the amount of work (becoming every -year more difficult), the extraordinary number of little details, -necessary to run even the simplest home.</p> - -<p>When one covers one’s own furniture, embroiders one’s own cloths, -and trims one’s own hats into the bargain, the daily round becomes -complicated indeed.</p> - -<p>I believe in clubs for women. It is so heavenly to get away from an -ordinary dinner. It is really a holiday to have a chop or a fried -sole, that one has not ordered hours beforehand. Besides, at the club -one sometimes learns new dishes, and certainly new ideas from the -newspapers and magazines, all of which one could not afford to take in -at home independently.</p> - -<p>For the unmarried woman the club is absolutely indispensable. It gives -her a place where she can receive her friends, and let it be known -that women are more hospitable than men. They are poorer, but are more -generous in giving invitations to tea or a meal. Men’s clubs are full -of old women, and women’s clubs full of young men, nowadays.</p> - -<p>A club is also a boon to the married woman, for there are days when -country relations arrive in town, when, for instance, the sweep has -been ordered at home; then the country or foreign friends can be taken -to the club, and need not know that their hostess’s small household -cannot tackle a luncheon because of the advent of the sweep.</p> - -<p>I believe clubs encourage women to read, and I am sure that expands -their ideas and opens their minds. Women’s clubs are certainly an -advantage, and though I have been an original member of several, I -always float back to my first love, the Albemarle, where our marble -halls, once the Palace of the Bishop of Ely, receive both men and women -members.</p> - -<p>I love my own sex. They are the guiding stars of the Universe, and the -modern girl tends to make the world much more interesting than it used -to be. Youth must spread its wings, and if it is sound youth it will be -gently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">214</a></span> guided by experience. Let the bird fly, or it will fret at the -bars of its cage, break its wings, and languish.</p> - -<p>No one ever profited by the experience of another, any more than any -person inherited the learning of an ancestor. Alas and alack, we must -acquire both for ourselves.</p> - -<p>To our mothers and grandmothers, with their sweet but secluded and -often sequestered lives, it would have seemed a deed of daring for a -woman to lecture the public. Would they have thought it—would our -grandfathers rather have held it “ladylike”?</p> - -<p>It is curious how one acquires a reputation without the least -foundation. For instance, I am always being asked to lecture; sometimes -it is at a People’s Palace, sometimes before a learned society, or -on behalf of various charities, or to address the blind, or deliver -educational discourses; and even the famous Major Pond of America once -tried to persuade me to go on a lecturing tour in the States.</p> - -<p>Tempting as his money offer was, I dared not face that vast public.</p> - -<p>This reputation is a chimera, for I have only lectured a few times in -my life; and these occasions have chiefly been at the People’s Palace -at Vauxhall, where an audience of two or three thousand persons, -paying from one penny to sixpence, eat oranges, smoke pipes, and -otherwise enjoy themselves after their manner, while the lecturer is -doing his (or her) best to amuse them. To keep these people out of the -public-houses and well occupied for an evening seems worth even the -pain and nervousness of standing alone on a stage, nearly as big as -that of Drury Lane, with footlights before, and a huge white curtain -for one’s slides behind.</p> - -<p>The first time I ever spoke in public was at a large meeting (seven or -eight hundred) held in the St. Martin’s Town Hall, when at an hour or -two’s notice I took the place of the late Earl of Winchilsea, and, in -reply to his bidding by telegram, discoursed for fifteen minutes on -the position of women in Agriculture, a subject in which I was much -interested at the time. I spoke from notes only, having a horror of a -read paper, which is always exasperating or inaudible. Most speeches -are too low and too long. The fifteen minutes appeared to be nothing, -but the moments of waiting were torture until the first words had come -forth. When one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">215</a></span>’s knees shake, and one’s tongue seems to cleave to the -roof of the mouth, when the audience dances like myriads of fireflies -before one’s eyes, the misery is so awful that the result is not worth -the effort.</p> - -<p>Women are often excellent speakers, both in matter and style, and those -who have an equal amount of practice are quite as good as the best men. -Nevertheless, after-dinner speaking is, alas, far more often boring -than entertaining, and one regrets a bell does not ring after five -minutes, as a gentle hint to sit down. The poor speaker seldom knows -when the right moment to end has arrived.</p> - -<p>Everyone is shy about something. The rough-edged shyness of youth -wears away, but we each remain tender somewhere. Shyness overpowers me -when making a speech, or on hearing my name roared into a room full -of people. The first makes me sick, in spite of having addressed an -audience of three thousand people, which I find easier than thirty; the -second makes me wish to run away.</p> - -<p>“I’m shy,” is the excuse of youth to cover rudeness. Gauche, awkward, -ill-mannered boys and girls call these delinquencies shyness. Being -shy, however, is no extenuation of being discourteous. It is merely -selfish self-conceit allowed to run rampant instead of being checked. -How much easier it is to form a bad impression than to destroy one.</p> - -<p>We are all imperfect, but the only chance of bettering ourselves is to -realise the fact early and try self-reform.</p> - -<p>I have been fighting faults all my life, and although I have overcome -some of them—and I shan’t tell you what they are—a vast crop still -remain to be mowed down by the scythe of Time.</p> - -<p>The question of women and the suffrage is now so important that it is -impossible for any thinking man or woman not to have an opinion on -the subject. What a curious thing it is that Liberals who stand for -Progress fear this onward movement. Is it because they think women in -the main are conservative?</p> - -<p>On the 6th of February, 1907, at the time when the Women Suffragists -were being marched in scores to prison, and big processions were -being organised, and endless fusses and excitements were in the air, -<cite>Punch</cite> wrote an amusing article, sweeping away the House of Lords, and -substituting for it a <em>House of Ladies</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">216</a></span></p> - -<p>My name happened to be among the half-dozen elected Peeresses, and a -funny crew we were. Miss Christabel Pankhurst was chosen because she -was then considered the only good-looking suffragette. Madame Zansig -because of her thought-reading propensities. Clara Butt because she -could reduce chaos to harmony, and so on.</p> - -<p>Anyway, the article was commented on tremendously in the Press, and -was the subject of much amusement among my friends. It brought me many -quibs, telegrams, and telephones of congratulation on my elevation to -the Peerage.</p> - -<p>The following letter is from a notable woman, written about two years -later:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>,<span class="add6em"> </span><br /> - -“<em>November 26th, 1909</em>. </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Alec Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I am very pleased to hear that you are disposed to take a more -active part than heretofore in demonstrating your support of -Women’s Suffrage. The London Society, of which Lady Frances Balfour -is the President, is non-party in character and is opposed to -stone-throwing, whip-lashing, and other methods of violence. The -London Society is one of more than a hundred Societies, which -together form the National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies of -which I am President. I have asked Miss Strachey, the Secretary -of the London Society, to send you a membership form, and if you -approve of our methods and policy, we shall be most grateful if you -will join us. I am away here in Scotland for a round of meetings, -therefore please excuse a hasty line.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours sincerely,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">M. G. Fawcett</span>.”</p></div> - -<p>Later I wrote a long article in the <cite>Fortnightly Review</cite>, entitled -“Women and Work,” on the strength of which I received the following -note from the pioneer of the movement:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right padt1">“<em>June 1st, 1911.</em> </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I am quite delighted by your article, and thank you very much for -sending it to me. It is a very valuable armoury of facts, which -will be of great value to our speakers and workers.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours sincerely,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">M. G. Fawcett</span>.” </p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">217</a></span></p> - -<p>Every youthful person is a revolutionary at heart; anyway, I was, but -as years have mounted up, even my radical tendencies have diminished. -The real guides of a nation are the thinkers. Democracy must obey -leadership, and leadership is the outcome of brains and learning. -Here and there a great man rises from the millions; but the larger -percentage of great men are to be found in the aristocracy and upper -middle classes, not in the lower tenth, or even the lower middle class. -I am becoming more conservative with years. It seems so much more easy -to pull down than to build, and all this Socialistic cry is towards -pulling down, upsetting, upheaving, without the slightest idea how to -draw up a programme of reform or produce a single leader of worth.</p> - -<p>It requires brains to appreciate brains. It requires talent to -understand talent. It requires knowledge and experience to value the -beautiful, and vast capacity to build, to organise, to make or to -govern.</p> - -<p>Many women nowadays have the full courage of their opinions. They -say things and write things; lecture on them. But for myself—well, -no!—not yet quite.</p> - -<p>Something awful would happen to me if I wrote <em>all</em> the things I -think. To suggest one finds it actually sinful to incubate miserable -seedlings—the offspring of poverty, children conceived in drink, -immorality, insanity, epilepsy, children doomed from birth—brings -down denunciation. One hardly dare espouse such views, while it is -considered more good, more noble, more moral to foster a population -of degenerates than to prevent it. Our prisons are largely filled by -drink or insanity, but we feed and keep the creatures and send them -out to propagate their species, who in their turn fall upon the rates. -Degenerates should never be allowed to marry.</p> - -<p>We court adultery by our Separation Acts, tie unfortunate men and -women to lunatics, instead of clearing the air by cheap divorce. We -positively suggest infidelity by not making equal laws for men and -women. We force women to work or starve, and then abuse them for -entering men’s professions; but we hardly dare speak or write openly on -these subjects, oh dear, no!</p> - -<p>We see women neglecting their homes for bridge or men scattering their -wits by wrongful indulgences, and yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">218</a></span> Society does not revolt. Still -we are waking up, and why? Simply because women are beginning to take -an interest in the big questions of life; and once they take a thing up -they generally manage to sift it to the bottom.</p> - -<p>This is woman’s century. She is playing a bold game for the equality of -the sexes, but she will win; and the world will be the purer and better -for the part she plays.</p> - -<p>Women don’t faint nowadays, and have vapours and migraine. They no -longer make jams or weep. They are up and doing. They do things instead -of talking of them. They are becoming the comrades of men. It is the -women of the twentieth century who are going to revise Society.</p> - -<p>Lord Emmott, the late Deputy Speaker, was one day pretending to me that -all evil came through women.</p> - -<p>“Look at the apple,” he cited.</p> - -<p>“Oh, come now, that chestnut is <em>too</em> old,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Old but nevertheless evergreen,” he answered promptly.</p> - -<p>If men are creating unrest and Socialism, women are spurring their -sons to work and instilling into them morality. The immoral man will -find every decent door shut in his face before another century dawns, -just as the drunkard has been hounded from Society. Who would tolerate -drunkenness at a dinner-party to-day? Men and women both shrink from -it, and the same will be felt towards loose living. Women are free, no -longer the slaves of men, and they are exercising their freedom in the -purification of all things, ably helped by their comrades.</p> - -<p>Women don’t grow old nowadays, they no longer put on caps when they -marry, or leave the nursery to become matrons. They develop younger, -marry later, are independent and self-respecting, and never grow old.</p> - -<p>Old ladies and bonnets have gone out of fashion.</p> - -<p>Dress—especially women’s dress—has in all ages and climes, so far -back as we can trace by rifling tombs, and studying picture-writings -and prehistoric carvings, formed subject of comment and satire, but -also of invariable interest.</p> - -<p>What of the dress of womanhood in this opening century? On one point -all mankind cry out and many women join in the loud appeal. Here, so -please you, is an exordium that—one woman unit—fain would publish.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">219</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p> -<span class="smcap">Women of England</span>,<br /> -</p> - -<p>Unselfishness is the keynote of the female race—at least men say -so—but what must they think of us to-day? They take a ticket for a -theatre, and a woman sits in front of them whose hat is so enormous -that they cannot see above it, and her feather or tulle boa is so -huge, they cannot see round it. That “lady” ought to have paid for -a dozen seats, for she impedes the view of a dozen longsuffering -beings. Many women take their hats off (how we bless them!), -others wear dainty little caps or small (not large) Alsatian bows; -but in shame be it said, there are still women at theatres and -concerts, or at such functions as the giving of the Freedom of the -City of London to Mr. Roosevelt, whose presence is the essence of -selfishness. Where is their unselfishness? Where their kindness of -heart? Where their sympathy for the rights of others, whether male -or female?</p> - -<p>Women of England! when your head-gear inconveniences others, bare -your heads, I pray, before an Act of Parliament is passed like the -Sumptuary Laws of old, insisting that women shall not be a “public -nuisance.”</p> - -<p>Concede to the wishes and convenience of others before you are -humiliated and made to do so by the law.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt a woman should dress according to her station. If -she is the wife of an artisan, she should dress suitably; if the -daughter of a professional man, she should dress with care; and if -the wife of a millionaire, she might gown herself in such material -as will give the greatest amount of employment to the greatest -number of people.</p> - -<p>Here is where French women excel. They are taught from childhood -to regard what is <em>convénable</em>, that is, suitable, not whether -velvet pleases their eyes better than serge. For years and years -every garment I put on was made at home. I did not actually make -it. I drew the design and did the trimming, while a dear old body -who worked for me for fifteen years did the sewing. We were rather -proud of ourselves, she and I, and when I saw a description of -one of her “creations” in some paper, I sent it to her, and she -chortled with joy. An occasional tailor-made from Bond Street did -the rest. Hats! Well, I can honestly say that it was twelve years -after my husband’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">220</a></span> death that I bought my first ready-made -hat. Up to then I trimmed them myself.</p> - -<p>This is not boasting. It is no credit to me that <em>le bon Dieu</em> endowed -me with a few capabilities which circumstances allowed to be developed.</p> - -<p>Few realise the necessity of thrift at home, and yet to women it should -be one of the first cares of life. There is often more waste in the -homes of the humble than in the mansions of the rich.</p> - -<p>Nothing is more important than the subject of thrift. “Look after the -pence, the pounds will look after themselves” is an old truism, too -often neglected. How do people grow rich? There is only one way, and -that is to be thrifty and save. Never spend all your income, be it -big or little. The rainy day will come, the loss of money, or loss of -health, and its blow is softened immeasurably for those who have been -thrifty and have saved their little nest-egg.</p> - -<p>Order and economy are absolutely necessary to a thrifty home. It is in -the class of establishment where things are done anyhow, and at any -time, that the most money is spent, and with the least result.</p> - -<p>Thrift, be it understood, does not mean cheapness, far from it. It is -adaptability, carefulness over little things, the personal supervision -of details that make a thrifty home; and these are the things that -are so often neglected, and considered by the careless “not worth -troubling about.” They <em>are</em> worth troubling about; everything is worth -troubling about, be it great or be it small, be it in the household, in -personal dress, in amusements, or the kitchen. All trifles are worth -considering, and are considered by the wise.</p> - -<p>The only way to do housekeeping really well is to pay ready money for -everything. It is satisfactory in two ways. In the first place the -housekeeper knows exactly where she stands, what she has, and what she -can afford to spend. In the second place, it is very much cheaper—for -all articles, which are paid for by cash, are sold at a lower rate than -those for which the date of payment is problematical, and the risk of -non-payment sometimes great.</p> - -<p>Happiness means possessing about double what you think you will spend. -Then, and then only, will you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">221</a></span> a margin. For instance, -imagine a trip abroad will cost fifty pounds. Believe you have put down -every possible item for tickets, hotel bills, tips, and all the rest -of it; then <em>remember</em> that you have forgotten extra cabs, theatres, -exhibitions, little presents, stamps, and all the thousand-and-one -things that come under “odds” or “petty cash,” and allow fifty pounds -for them; you will then be happy.</p> - -<p>Ditto with a house or a dress. With all care work it out at -so-and-so, but these “<em>oddses</em>” will always creep in and double the -estimate—“<em>oddses</em>” are always more than items.</p> - -<p>A twin to Thrift is Tidiness. And here we are not always equal to the -standard of our foremothers. “Oh, but life was so much more leisurely -then,” it may be replied. “They had heaps more time and less to do; -nowadays life is an everlasting rush.”</p> - -<p>It is a rush; but more haste, less speed, is still true. And tidiness -is a kind of book-keeping.</p> - -<p>The economics of housekeeping mean everything in its place, and a -right place for everything, and that is the only possible method for -a busy woman. The more busy we become, the more methodical we must -be; professional women have no time to waste in looking for things. -Organisation saves hours of misery. Tidiness in the home and tidiness -in the person bring joy wherever found. Muddle is lack of organisation.</p> - -<p>Trifles make up life, and a busy woman’s trifles keep her straight. She -can lay her hand on anything in the dark, or send someone to find it, -because she knows where she put it. The more engagements we have, the -more punctual we must be.</p> - -<p>“You are always so busy, I wonder you find time to do things,” -exclaimed a friend who wanted a recipe for some Russian soup she had -just had at my table.</p> - -<p>“It is because I am busy that I have time.”</p> - -<p>“That is a paradox,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“Paradoxes are often true,” was my rejoinder. “Busy people have method.”</p> - -<p>Success is the result of grasping opportunities—being busy is the -achievement of method—being idle is the courtship of unhappiness and -the seducer of attainment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">222</a></span> Time is a tremendously valuable -asset. In my busy life I have never allowed more than twenty minutes -to dress for a dinner, or ball, or for riding, and fifteen usually -suffice. When one changes dresses three or four times a day, as London -often necessitates, even that runs away with precious moments.</p> - -<p>It is the duty of every married man to go carefully into his income, -see exactly how much he has, and after putting by a certain proportion -for the rainy day, decide how much he has to spend. Having decided -that, the best thing he can possibly do is to divide his income in -half. The first half let him keep for himself: he can pay the rent, -taxes, the children’s school bills, pay for the family outings, the -wine bill, the doctor and druggist, clothe himself, and have enough for -his personal expenses, and pay all outside things, such as gardeners -and chauffeurs. The other half of his income he should hand over to his -wife. She can keep the house, feed the family, pay the servants, and -the thousand-and-one little things that are ever necessary to run a -household, and pay her personal expenses. Everything, in fact, inside -the house. Once having definitely tackled the subject of money, and -arranged who is to pay for each particular item, the man should never -be asked what he has done with his money; neither should the woman be -teased, nagged at, worried, and harassed as to what she has done with -every penny of her share, how she expended it, and so on. Each should -trust the other implicitly in detail. Haggling over money has upset -more homes than infidelity.</p> - -<p>The way to make a woman careful, methodical, and business-like is -to trust her. She may at first make a few mistakes over her banking -account, but she will buy her experience, and will be very foolish -if she does not make her pounds go as far as they should, and keep a -reserve in her pocket.</p> - -<p>If more men only continued the little courtesies of the lover to the -wife, those sweet attentions that went so far to win the woman, then -all would go smoothly. Married life should be one long courtship. -Women appreciate appreciation. Alas, instead, matrimony is too often -a ceaseless wrangle. Men scold and women nag. Foolish both. I am -no man-hater, far, far from it. Men are delightful; but one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">223</a></span> -inconsiderate or cruel man can so easily wreck a home and bring misery -on his wife and family, and men are sometimes a little selfish. Aren’t -they?</p> - -<p>Hobbies are delightful—they make existence so much more interesting—a -collection of teapots or buttons, miniatures or pewter. It really -doesn’t much matter what it is, but it gives one pleasure to poke about -in old shops, in odd towns, and secure an occasional prize. Hobbying is -like fly-fishing. It takes a deal of patience; but it is worth the play -for the joy of landing the fish.</p> - -<p>Hobbies, Max Nordau tells us, are a sign of weakness and degeneration, -even of madness. Our nicknacks, our love of red and yellow, and things -artistic, tend to show mental lowering.</p> - -<p>All this applies to me. I must be far gone, and yet I am happier than -the hobbiless being, who to my mind is as depressing as a dose of -calomel.</p> - -<p>Any collection of facts or fancies, while in itself an occupation, -eventually leads to something tangible. Life is so much more -entertaining and engrossing if we take the trouble to interest -ourselves in something or someone.</p> - -<p>Surely, it is a good thing to encourage children from their earliest -days to be interested outside their own wee sphere; to teach them to -work and sew, make scrap-books for the hospitals, baskets or toys -for poorer and less fortunate children, even to learn geography from -stamps. It is in the nursery we acquire our first knowledge of life. -Occupations and hobbies should be fostered in the earliest years; -carpentry, wood-carving, metal-work all being taken up in turn by boys; -cooking, sewing, painting, by girls, as well as the thousand-and-one -useful works they can do in their own homes.</p> - -<p>The business of idleness is appalling—the overwork of attainment is -worth the trouble.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">224</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">AMERICAN NOTES</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">AMERICA is a vast country, likewise a vast subject to tackle. -Everything there is vast, its mercantile projects, its successes, -its catastrophes—but, above all, it possesses a vast wealth in the -warm hearts of its kindly people. I have so many friends on the other -side of the “herring pond,” that my memory lingers with pleasure and -interest in the United States.</p> - -<p>I wonder how many times since I returned from my last delightful visit -in 1904 people have asked me what I thought of Roosevelt (Rosie-felt).</p> - -<p>Those last weeks of the year had been spent in Mexico—my second visit -to that remarkable and enchanting land—as the guest of President -Diaz and his charming wife. Their great kindness, together with the -interesting phase of life unfolded to me day by day, as I made notes -for the <cite>Diaz Life</cite>, brought a desire to make the acquaintance of His -Excellency’s neighbour-President of the United States—Mr. Roosevelt.</p> - -<p>It was about as difficult to see Mr. Roosevelt as to see the King of -England, perhaps even more so, for a good introduction would produce -a presentation to our sovereign, whereas in America even a good -introduction is looked upon with suspicion. President Roosevelt was -surrounded by a perfect cordon of officials.</p> - -<p>The White House is one of the best things in America. It is a low, -rambling building, quite attractive in style, and like the homes of a -great many noblemen in England. There is nothing of the palace about -it; it does not seem big enough for the President of the United States, -although standing on rising ground, amid beautiful surroundings. It is -in a way more handsome externally—and decidedly more imposing—than -Buckingham Palace, and a great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">225</a></span> deal cleaner. The decorations of the -interior I thought appalling, but that may be my bad taste. They were -so horribly new, and American.</p> - -<p>The day on which I was received at the White House happened to be the -eighteenth anniversary of the wedding of Mr. and Mrs. Roosevelt. They -had been the recipients of congratulatory messages from all parts of -the country, but the President was busy as ever. Except his annual -recess, he knew no holiday.</p> - -<p>I presented myself at the portico. Policemen were everywhere; at each -corner was a blue coat.</p> - -<p>“Pass on, if you please,” was the order of proceedings, until I arrived -at a sort of conservatory door, where another policeman bade me enter. -Horrors! a gaunt, square room with a small, empty writing-table in the -middle, and chairs standing all round close against the four walls. It -was enough to chill one’s enthusiasm. Worse than all! on nearly every -chair sat a man who stared obtrusively at the entrance of a woman. -Had I known the sort of ordeal to be passed through, in spite of my -excellent introductions, I doubt if I should have ventured at all.</p> - -<p>Not daring to run away, I sat on a chair like the rest, and felt that, -instead of my best, my worst frock would have been the most appropriate -for the occasion. One man was summoned to a particular door, and his -neighbour to another, and then an old gentleman came forward to me and -bowed.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Alec Tweedie, I believe? Would you please to step this way? The -President will see you immediately.”</p> - -<p>“A haven of refuge at last,” thought I, “anyway a carpet and a -cushioned seat.” But even here three men were sitting and waiting in -solemn silence, and all the staring had to be gone through again.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes or a quarter of an hour of this awful tension passed, and -then two more individuals were ushered in, and sat down, not one—of -all the five staring beings—uttering a word. I was getting quite -nervous, and wondering how best to slip away, when the door opened -again.</p> - -<p>Merely expecting a sixth sitter, I did not even take the trouble to -look up. A vision stopped before me.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Tweedie, I am delighted to meet you,” it said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">226</a></span> But somehow it -was so short and round and smiling, that I did not grasp the fact that -President Roosevelt himself was addressing me. A few pleasant words and -he added, “If you will go in there, I will be with you in a moment.”</p> - -<p>I went in. This was his own private room, large, plain, and neat, with -an enormous, highly polished table reflecting a few roses in a vase. It -was just a nice sort of office and nothing more. The only interesting -personal thing appeared to be a business-like gun standing in a corner.</p> - -<p>I sat and waited, but as the door was wide open I could see and hear -the following:</p> - -<p>“How do you do? Delighted to see you. Am very busy at the moment, but -if there is anything I could do for you quickly, well——” Hesitancy, -and a few murmured remarks.</p> - -<p>“Well, I’m afraid I can’t spare any time for that this morning. -Good-bye!” So in five minutes the President got rid of all those five -long-suffering, long-waiting mortals.</p> - -<p>That was enough to make one run away without even waiting to say -Good-bye. But feeling how foolish that kind of thing would be, I braced -myself for the effort, and murmured:</p> - -<p>“I’ve not come to ask you to make me a Bishop, or my uncle a Senator, -or my nephew an Ambassador, so perhaps I’ve no business here at all. In -fact, I’ve not come to ask for anything.”</p> - -<p>The President laughed heartily, and, throwing himself back into a -capacious arm-chair, soon proved himself to be a very human specimen of -mankind.</p> - -<p>There is no doubt about it, Roosevelt is an extraordinary man, and a -strong one. There may be a little of the ungoverned schoolboy about -him, but he is right at heart. His energy and enthusiasm prompted him -to do things which, in his position, may not always have been discreet, -but he accomplished a vast deal more for America than folk in his own -country yet realise.</p> - -<p>It was all the more interesting to see and talk to this amazing -personality as I had just come direct from Mexico. No greater contrast -was possible than that between the two then Presidents of those -neighbouring countries.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">227</a></span></p> - -<p>Diaz—calm, quiet, reserved, strong, determined, thoughtful, and -far-seeing.</p> - -<p>Roosevelt—impetuous, outspoken, fearless, hasty in action, and hurried -in forming opinions.</p> - -<p>Both remarkable men, very remarkable men, and utterly dissimilar in -character as in physiognomy; each admiring the other in a perfectly -delightful way. Roosevelt writes a hand like a schoolboy’s, and, with -all his business rush and appetite for work, it somehow seemed to me -that he would love quiet sentimental songs and pretty poems. No doubt -there may be more clever men in America, more learned men, more suave -and polished diplomatists, but this man is a judicious mixture that -makes him great. In truth he is a gigantic personality. He is not in -the least American except in his unrestrained enthusiasm and rough -exterior. He gesticulates like a foreigner, his mind works quickly. -Withal he was the right man in the right place, and the United States -had every cause to be proud of him.</p> - -<p>Once more I met, or rather saw and heard, America’s greatest living -President. But how this chanced was at a sad time for our country.</p> - -<p>As told elsewhere, I was doing a cure at Woodhall Spa at the time -of King Edward VII.’s death. It happened that on my return to town -I tumbled across my old friend the late Sir Joseph Dimsdale, in the -railway dining-car, when the conversation turned on Mr. Roosevelt and -his visit to England.</p> - -<p>I regretted the circumstances that had saddened his reception; also -that he should see nothing of our Court and alas! of the Monarch whom -he had so much admired. And then we talked of the Freedom of the City, -which was to be conferred on the ex-President in a few days’ time.</p> - -<p>“Although my Cambridge boy was made a Freeman of the City of London the -other day, I have never witnessed the ceremony,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Would you like to see one of these public ones?” asked the ex-Lord -Mayor.</p> - -<p>“Immensely,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“If it is possible to manage it, you shall have a seat,” he replied, -and accordingly I was invited to see Mr. Roosevelt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">228</a></span> made free of the -Ancient City of London, and enjoyed the privilege of hearing one of the -most memorable speeches ever made within the Guildhall walls: certainly -one of the most abused, admired, discussed.</p> - -<p>Was Roosevelt playing to the gallery?</p> - -<p>Was he angling for the Presidency of the United States? Or was he -really trying to do England a good turn in correcting her stupidity in -Egypt?</p> - -<p>Anyway, it was a bold stroke, but done so skilfully that it did not -seem so rude as it looked in cold print.</p> - -<p>I had been much struck with Roosevelt’s personality when I spent that -hour <em>tête-à-tête</em> with him in Washington—his rough-and-ready manner, -his fearless, overflowing geniality—but I had never heard him speak in -public.</p> - -<p>The giving of the Freedom of the City of London is a great event, very -old, very historic, very interesting, surrounded by ancient ritual.</p> - -<p>As the Guildhall only holds about twelve hundred people, and that -twelve hundred is mainly composed of Aldermen and aldermanic wives, -sheriffs, ex-Lord Mayors, Masters of City Companies and burgesses, and -a very business element, with a very business-like class of femininity, -ordinary outsiders like myself are rare.</p> - -<p>Owing to the death of Edward VII. everyone wore black. This made the -Hall look its best, for the red robes, or dark blue and fur of the -officials, contrasted well with the sombre hue of the audience.</p> - -<p>Roosevelt was the personification of quiet dignity as he walked up the -central aisle, subdued possibly by nervousness, and he was very still -on the platform seated on the right of the Lord Mayor, with the Mace -and other Insignia of Pomp on the table before him.</p> - -<p>Sir Joseph Dimsdale’s speech as Chamberlain of the City was excellent. -Well delivered by a far-reaching voice, with the manners of a -gentleman, the learning of a scholar, and the tact of a diplomat. It -was all that a speech of the kind ought to be.</p> - -<p>Then rose Roosevelt the Democrat.</p> - -<p>He bowed to everybody. To the right, to the left, behind and before, -and while doing so, walked about the platform, as he did at intervals -during the whole of his speech.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">229</a></span></p> - -<p>Speech? It was no address, no oration. He is not an orator. He merely -had a friendly chat with an audience he hoped was friendly disposed. -Although no speaker, he is convincing. He continually stretched out his -right arm and pointed his finger at some particular person and spoke -directly to him, as he thundered forth:</p> - -<p>“You won’t like it. You won’t like what I am going to say! but I am -going to say it, and it is this!” Then glancing at the papers in his -left hand, he read all the important parts. He had evidently prepared -it with great care, and he said exactly so much and no more. He never -gave more than three or four words without a pause; in a staccato way -he hurled his ideas at his audience in the simplest language possible, -but with a real American accent.</p> - -<p>He was grave and weighty. He was very deliberate as he addressed -different people by gesture, but he named no one, although Lord Cromer, -Sir Edward Grey, and Mr. Balfour, were all at his elbow. One could -not help feeling the earnestness of the man, and his claim to be an -idealist when he spoke of the future of nations, and begged the public -to throw aside the question, “Will it pay?” “Great nations must do -great work,” he said, “such work as Panama, or Egypt, and not ask that -eternal question, ‘Will it pay?’”</p> - -<p>Personally, I think he did it extremely well, and feel also that, -coming from a stranger, his words may probably have the desired effect, -and make us strengthen our government in Egypt and India before we lose -these two grand possessions.</p> - -<p>While I was in Washington I again saw my old friend Secretary John Hay, -who gave me his photograph taken in December, 1904, and consequently -his last. He looked ill then, but was so keenly interested in Mexican -affairs, and spoke so eulogistically of General Diaz, that on my return -to England I ventured to ask him if he would write a few lines for the -Biography of the Mexican President, on which I was by that time working.</p> - -<p>He had already started for Europe when the letter arrived, but he -wrote the following hurried lines, penned a week after his return to -Washington from his last trip in search of health, when he must have -been very busy:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">230</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Department of State, Washington</span>, <br /> -“<em>June 20th, 1905</em>.<span class="add3em"> </span></p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I have received your letter of the 14th of March, asking me to -contribute something to your <cite>Life of Diaz</cite>.</p> - -<p>“It would be a very great pleasure to me to have my name associated -with yours in what I am sure will be a very interesting work, but -I am obliged to decline all such requests, however agreeable and -flattering they may be.</p> - -<p class="right">“I am, with many thanks,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“Sincerely yours,<span class="add2em"> </span><br /> -(Signed)<span class="add1em"> </span> “<span class="smcap">John Hay</span>.” </p></div> - -<p>The letter was delivered in London the day following his death.</p> - -<p>America has always sent us of her best in Ambassadors, but none was -more popular or more respected than Colonel John Hay. The most shy and -retiring of men, he abhorred ovations; public speaking was torture to -him, yet he was the constant recipient of the first, and was excellent -at the second. One of the most cultured of American Ambassadors, he was -really a man of letters. He had not the acute legal knowledge of Mr. -Choate, nor the diplomatic manner of Mr. Whitelaw Reid, but the world -knew him and admired him as a man who was honest to the core.</p> - -<p>No Secretary of State ever did more to bring his country to the front -than John Hay. A number of most difficult foreign questions requiring -prompt decision—Cuba and the Philippines, Japan and China—came to the -forefront during his term of office; and the position, maintained in -the world of diplomacy by the United States, was, at the time of his -death, totally different from that existing when he first entered her -service in the Senate at Washington.</p> - -<p>Napoleon may have merely boasted when he declared that every French -soldier carried a field-marshal’s baton in his knapsack. The saying -would be literally true if applied to those who march in the ranks of -industry and politics in America. There is no office in the State which -is not open to the man of brains and grit.</p> - -<p>If asked for a type of the go-ahead American who is making his mark, -I should be inclined to name John Barrett. I have run across him in -several quarters of the globe.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">231</a></span></p> - -<p>Keen and shrewd, with a Gargantuan appetite for work, Barrett, at the -age of some forty years, had already been United States Minister to -Siam, Argentina, Panama, and Colombia; he was Commissioner General -to Foreign Nations of the St. Louis World’s Fair, and a year or -two later held the important post of Director of the International -Bureau of American Republics, towards the establishment of which in -Washington, Carnegie gave a million sterling. One of his most marked -characteristics is his readiness to act in sudden emergency.</p> - -<p>An open-air gathering in a very small New England town was being held -in support of Mr. Roosevelt. From the platform a man with a high -forehead and intellectual features was making a speech; clearly and -logically he dealt with the manner in which his country was fulfilling -its obligations in the Philippines and Panama. The speaker showed -remarkable personal familiarity with America’s Far Eastern possessions, -and with Central American affairs. Many farmers were in the audience. -Seeing this, the orator emphasised one of his points with a homely -illustration from farm life, adding:</p> - -<p>“I know what it is to work on a farm myself.”</p> - -<p>That was too much for a stalwart young Democratic rustic, who, with -others of the same party, had been attracted to the meeting by -curiosity. He eyed the speaker’s faultless frock coat, immaculate shirt -front and grey striped trousers, likewise the shining hat on the table -behind him. Then he arose in his place and blustered out:</p> - -<p>“What bluff are you giving us? <em>You</em> never worked on a farm! Bet yer -never milked a cow in your life!”</p> - -<p>“Not only have I milked cows,” replied the orator quietly, “but, what -is more, I will put up a hundred dollars against the same amount -to be put up by you and your party friends—the sum to go to local -charity—that I can milk a cow faster than you can. Appoint a committee -and produce the cows.”</p> - -<p>The challenge was taken up. By the time the speech was brought to -its close a committee was selected. It consisted of a Democrat, a -Republican, and a woman. Two Jersey cows, procured from a neighbouring -farm, were driven on to the platform. In full view of the electors each -of the contestants seated himself on a milking stool<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">232</a></span> and took a pail -between his legs, the orator—“spell-binder” is the Americanism—still -in his frock coat, with silk hat tilted on the back of his head.</p> - -<p>“Are you ready?” came the words.</p> - -<p>“Go!”</p> - -<p>The milk rattled in the bottoms of the pails. It was still rattling -in the young farmer’s pail when it already had begun to swash in the -“spell-binder’s,” and the latter had his cow milked dry before his -opponent was half through. The meeting wound up in a blaze of glory for -the victor.</p> - -<p>That was Mr. John Barrett, the diplomatic representative of his country -in Panama, who was spending his leave in electioneering. He paid his -way in part through college with money he earned as a day labourer on -farms during the summer. First a schoolmaster, he drifted early into -journalism, with its wider opportunities, and working on San Francisco -newspapers, he divined what had remained hidden from people who had -spent all their lives on the Pacific coast—the opportunity that was -awaiting America across that vast body of water.</p> - -<p>I first met Mr. Barrett when he was brought to call on me in London.</p> - -<p>Later, on an October day in 1904, I was sitting in the “Waldorf” in New -York, talking to Colonel John Wier, when a man passed. He paused and -whisked round.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Alec Tweedie,” he exclaimed. “Why, where have you come from?”</p> - -<p>“London; and you, Mr. Barrett?”</p> - -<p>“Panama.”</p> - -<p>We had both travelled far over the world since he had dined with me -in London a couple of years before, and yet our paths crossed in that -great meeting-place, the “Waldorf.” It was during his leave from duty -which I have just mentioned, and he was very busy. Unfortunately I was -leaving the same day for Chicago, but we met again in that city. His -enthusiasm for Roosevelt was delightful; “the greatest man on earth,” -according to him, “delightful to work under.” They had just been having -an hour’s conversation on the telephone, though Washington lies nearly -a thousand miles away.</p> - -<p>“Won’t you come to Panama and write a book?” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">233</a></span> “The Canal is to -be the revolution of the world’s traffic, and one of the finest spokes -in the American wheel.”</p> - -<p>Poor old Lesseps; adored over Suez, damned over Panama, and then, -thirty years later, to have his dearest scheme realised by America, -through the aid of hygienic science. But more of my Lesseps friends in -a later volume.</p> - -<p>Early in 1908 came a charming letter from Mr. Barrett, then at -Washington, part of which may be quoted here:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“... Now I want to tell you something I am sure will delight you. -When Mr. Elihu Root, whom I regard as the greatest Secretary of -State we have had in fifty years, made his recent trip to Mexico, -I placed in his hands your two books relating to that country -and President Diaz. Both of these he read with exceeding care, -and I heard him say that he found the one on President Diaz most -interesting and instructive. He has recommended many men to read -them both. We have the two volumes in the Library, and they are -consulted with much frequency.</p> - -<p class="right">“With kind personal regards, I remain,<span class="add6em"> </span><br /> -“Yours very cordially,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -(Signed)<span class="add1em"> </span>“<span class="smcap">John Barrett</span>.” </p></div> - -<p>John Barrett is now the head of the Great Pan-American Union of -American Republics in Washington.</p> - -<p>Clara Morris, another personality of the West, was one of the greatest -actresses America has produced, and her book was one of the most -realistic presentations of stage life. On going to the States in 1900 I -wanted to see her, but she had retired. However, when I returned on my -second visit, she was back on the stage—the usual story of reverses.</p> - -<p>It so chanced I was in Chicago that October, paying a visit to those -delightful people the Francis Walkers. <cite>Behind the Footlights</cite> was -selling well in an American edition, and on learning that I was in -the city, the managers of the different theatres most kindly sent me -boxes. Success cannot adequately be gauged by gold, it brings friends -and opportunities beyond mere dross. One night we went to the Illinois -Theatre (since destroyed by fire, with frightful loss of life), and -occupied Mr. William Davis’s own box, to see <cite>The Two Orphans</cite>. There -was an “all-star” cast.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">234</a></span></p> - -<p>I had never seen that play since I was a little girl. It had been -almost my first theatrical experience; and, as the first act proceeded, -the story came back with more force than in any production seen for -the second time nowadays, after even only a week or two’s interval. -These childish impressions had sunk deep in the memory. In Chicago this -inferior drama was well acted, and again I noticed how many English -people were upon the boards. More than half the actors and actresses of -America are English, or of British parentage.</p> - -<p>Clara Morris played the nun. She received a perfect ovation, and needed -to bow again and again before she was allowed to proceed with her small -part. There was a quiet dignity about her, and when she told the lie to -save the girl, she rose to a high level of dramatic power. After that -Mr. Davis came and took me to her dressing-room.</p> - -<p>We did not get into the wings through an iron door direct from the -boxes, as in London, but had to go right to the back of the theatre, -down some stairs, under the stalls (there never is a pit), below the -stage, and upstairs again to the stage, where Clara Morris had a small -dressing-room almost on the footlights, it was so far in front. This -was <em>the</em> star dressing-room, but it was certainly smaller than those -in our theatres, and one cannot imagine how three or four dresses and a -dresser ever squeezed into it.</p> - -<p>She welcomed us at the door. “Mam, I am delighted to see you,” she -said, with a true American “Mam.” Her hand trembled, for she had just -left the stage after her big scene, and she was an elderly woman. I -told her how keen had been my wish to see her, and how I had quoted her -in my book. She knew that, and thanked me, saying many pretty things, -and added:</p> - -<p>“No, I never dared play in England, although I have been there, and -loved it.”</p> - -<p>“Why not?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Because of my ac-cent. You see, I was born in the West, where from -the age of thirteen I toiled at this profession. I starved and cried, -worked and struggled, and when success did come and I moved up East -the critics always rubbed in two things—my intonation and my accent. -My voice was criticised up hill and down dale. ‘A great actress, -<em>but</em>——’ Then came down the hail.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">235</a></span> Mam, if my accent grated in -America, among all our awful accents here, what would it have done in -Britain, with your soft, beautiful voices? So I refused to go again and -again. Then also when success had come I felt, ‘This public likes me, -my bed and bread depend upon them; if I go to England and fail they -will turn their back upon me, and I shall starve again.’ And so, Mam, -regretfully I refused.”</p> - -<p>She spoke dramatically, fire shot from those large, wonderful grey -eyes. I noticed she was not painted. Only the tiniest amount of -make-up I have ever seen on any actress was upon her face, and then I -remembered her words of warning upon the subject. In all those years -she had not changed her mind.</p> - -<p>Her husband, an elderly man with white hair, stood or sat while we -talked in the tiny room, and as the last curtain came down I rose to -leave.</p> - -<p>“Will you give me your photograph, please?”</p> - -<p>“My dear, I haven’t one. My ugliness has caused me so much pain in life -that I have almost never let a camera be turned upon me. That was my -second horror: ‘She is a great actress, <em>but</em>——’ And then down came -the bricks upon my looks. God made me this way, but my critics have -found it a personal sin.”</p> - -<p>And she waxed warm on the subject. Her grey eyes were beautiful, -however, they were so expressive; still her mouth was large, and her -features heavy and bad. Her voice certainly <em>had</em> grated upon me when -I first heard it. With those who found fault with her voice I had -sympathy, but none with the beauty-seekers, for expression comes before -everything, and Clara Morris’s expression was wonderful.</p> - -<p>She wore her wedding ring upon her little finger, for whatever part she -played through life she had never taken it off.</p> - -<p>“You see how sentimental I have been,” she laughed.</p> - -<p>In reply to a question, I replied that I had to be back in England for -my boys’ holidays. Only once was I absent at holiday time, and on that -occasion they were with my mother.</p> - -<p>“Happy woman!” she exclaimed. “How I have always longed for children; -though such happiness never came to me. But I have an old mother who -still lives, thank God;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">236</a></span> and as long as a woman has a mother she can -never grow old or feel lonely.”</p> - -<p>Another remarkable figure in America, when I was over there in 1904, -was Dowie the prophet, or as some on this side of the Atlantic more -correctly termed him—the “Profit”; perhaps the biggest humbug that -even his own vast country of adoption has produced.</p> - -<p>Of course I went to see Dowie and Zion City; everybody did. The place -lay within an hour’s railway journey of Chicago. Four years before it -had been waste land. In the interval there had sprung up a railway -station, an hotel called Elijah House, a whole town of residences, -a huge tabernacle capable of holding seven thousand people, and a -population of over ten thousand souls.</p> - -<p>Knowing his gross life, the horrible language he used, knowing also -that he was hounded out of England for his vituperation against King -Edward—his King, for Dowie was born in Edinburgh and had lived only -sixteen years in the States—I was surprised to find such a charming, -kindly old gentleman. A man nearly seventy years of age, short and -stout like Ibsen, with a large strong head and a grey beard; such was -“Elijah,” as he pleased to call himself.</p> - -<p>Dowie received me in a most magnificent, book-lined library; thousands -of well-bound volumes—for which I have since heard he never -paid—filled the shelves. Beside him on the table stood a machine that -was clicking.</p> - -<p>“What is that?” I asked, having visions of dynamite.</p> - -<p>He solemnly handed me a telegram which read:</p> - -<p>“Tom and Mary Bateson” (or some such names) “are seriously ill; pray -for them.”</p> - -<p>Looking me full in the face, he remarked:</p> - -<p>“Tom and Mary Bateson were cured at 2.55.”</p> - -<p>It was then 3.30.</p> - -<p>“How?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Through my prayers,” he replied, “by faith.” And taking up a little -piece of paper, he clicked on it through the machine.</p> - -<p>“A duplicate of this,” he explained, “has been posted to the sick man’s -friends so that they may have the record, but of course they felt the -benefit of the prayer the moment I gave it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">237</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>He spoke so solemnly, so impressively, and with such apparent belief in -his own infallibility, that he greatly impressed me. I kept the piece -of paper as a memento of the occasion. It is short and business-like, -and is here reproduced:</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1 padb1"> -PRAYED<br /> -<br /> -NOV 2 2-55 PM 1904<br /> -<br /> -JOHN ALEX. DOWIE.</p> - -<p>The man was a charlatan. One felt it in his eyes and in the grasp of -his hand; and yet at the same time there was so much enthusiasm about -him, it was easy to understand how people came under his sway.</p> - -<p>Not one of those ten thousand persons, who then filled Zion City, drank -alcohol, smoked tobacco, swore, gambled, or ate swine’s flesh.</p> - -<p>The people, whether from fear or love I know not, certainly worshipped -the prophet. Unlike the Christian Scientists, he believed in illness, -and said it was punishment for sin and would be cured by prayer.</p> - -<p>When I saw him he was revelling in every imaginable luxury, decked his -wife in diamonds and fine gowns, ate off superb mahogany and handsome -silver. Dowie was rich and prosperous, for every one of his followers -was forced to give him a tenth of all he earned. Yet such were his -extravagances that the largest shop in Chicago took possession of one -of his summer residences, and let it, so that the rent might pay their -bill.</p> - -<p>Prophet or no prophet, Dowie had a keen eye to business. Everything -stood in his own name: land, houses, furniture, and, as his son showed -no spiritual desires, he educated him as a lawyer, with a view that he -should continue in the town, in a business-like way presumably.</p> - -<p>Dowie owned also factories of lace, sweets, biscuits, soap, harness, -brooms, tailoring, even sewing machines and pianos. His disciples -generally came to him with a knowledge of various trades, and he made -use of that knowledge in a profitable way.</p> - -<p>Dowie was a prodigious humbug, and died a beggar.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">238</a></span></p> - -<p>After many happy weeks spent in the States I am not in the least -surprised that Englishmen should marry American women. They show their -good taste—I should do the same were I a man. Nor am I surprised that -American women should prefer Englishmen—for the same remark applies. -There is a delightful freedom, an air of comradeship coupled with -pleasant manners and pretty looks in the American woman which are most -attractive. Her hospitality is unbounded, her generosity thoughtful, -and she is an all-round good sort.</p> - -<p>The American woman is an excellent speaker. It is surprising to hear -her oratory at one of her large club luncheons, such as the Sorosis -in New York. I was honoured with an invitation as their special guest -(1900), and for the first time in my life saw two hundred women sit -down together for a meal. The club woman is young and handsome, well -dressed and pleasing, and she stands up and addresses a couple of -hundred women just as easily as she would begin a <em>tête-à-tête</em> across -a luncheon table. She is not shy, or if she is she hides it cleverly.</p> - -<p>Americans entertain royally; they almost overpower the stranger with -hospitality. They are generous in a high degree, not only in big -things, but in constantly thinking of “little gifts or kindnesses” -to shower upon their guests. They become the warmest and truest of -friends, in spite of their sensitiveness and hatred of criticism. -Never were any people so sensitive about their country or themselves, -or so ready to take offence at the slightest critical word. But we -all have our weaknesses, and while we are too terribly thick-skinned -and self-satisfied, Americans are perhaps too sensitive for their own -happiness. They are not only warm friends amongst themselves both in -sunshine and in shade, but they are equally staunch to their English -visitors. They may in the main be a tiny bit jealous of England, but -individually they seem to love British people, and welcome them so -warmly one can only regret that more English do not travel in America -where they would see her people at their best, for, alas! many of the -Americans who come over here leave a wrong impression altogether of the -charms of our brothers and sisters across the Atlantic.</p> - -<p>The more the inhabitants of these two countries see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">239</a></span> of one another, -the better they understand and appreciate each other’s feelings, the -stronger are forged the links of the chain of brotherhood. And the -stronger this chain is made, the better for the whole world.</p> - -<p>America! It is impossible to mention here all the delightful people I -met in America, from Mark Twain to Thompson Seton; from Kate Douglas -Wiggin to Gertrude Atherton; from Agnes Lant to Julia Marlowe; from -Jane Addams to Louise Chandler Moulton; from Dana Gibson to Roosevelt. -Their names are legion, and in grateful remembrance they lie until I -can visit their shores again, and shake them by the hand. I simply -loved the American women.</p> - -<p>The following delightful Christmas note from Dr. Horace Howard Furness, -the great Shakespearian writer of America, and one of her foremost -sons, is an instance of the kindly remembrance and loyal friendliness -the American people keep green for their English friends, bridging not -only the billowy Atlantic but the swift stream of Time.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Wallingford</span>,<span class="add8em"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Delaware County</span>,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -<span class="smcap">Pennsylvania</span>,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -<em>December 12, 1910</em>. </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">Mrs. Alec Tweedie</span>,<br /> -<span class="add4em">London, England.</span><br /> -<span class="add2em"> </span>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2"><span class="add1em"> </span>“’Tis very pleasant to know that you still hold me in remembrance, -whether it be in the bright days of Christmas-tide or in the grey -days of the rest of the year.</p> - -<p>“It is good to know that you have been journeying with your boys. -What happy fellows they must have been, and what a proud, proud -mother you!</p> - -<p>“Politics in England, at present, are intensely interesting, and -it is certainly pleasanter to look on from afar than to be in the -turmoil itself. Having lived through that horrible nightmare, our -own Civil War, I have learned that it is far from pleasant to live -in times which the Germans call ‘epoch-machende.’</p> - -<p>“One thing seems certain, that after this fierce struggle, England -will never again be in such a waveless bay as in the Victorian -period. England must grow, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">240</a></span> growing boy’s clothes must -be either made larger or they will rip.</p> - -<p>“I had a delightful, affectionate letter from your Uncle a week or two -ago. He tells me that your mother is staying with him, and suffers from -rheumatism, a terrible ailment, which is so widespread that it never -receives half the deep sympathy to which it is entitled. Do give my -kindest remembrances to her when you write.</p> - -<p>“With every friendly wish for the happiness of you and yours at -Christmas time and throughout the coming year,</p> - -<p class="right"> -“I remain, dear Mrs. Tweedie,<span class="add8em"> </span><br /> -“Yours cordially and affectionately,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Horace Howard Furness</span>.”</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">241</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">CANADIAN PEEPS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">CANADA is the land of possibilities.</p> - -<p>On September 1st, 1900, I landed at Quebec, with introductions from the -late Governor-General of Canada (the Earl of Aberdeen), to be warmly -welcomed by the great historian of that country, Sir James Le Moine. He -had written endless volumes on the Dominion, among the best known being -<cite>The Legends of the St. Lawrence</cite> and <cite>Picturesque Quebec</cite>.</p> - -<p>As to the writings of this Canadian “worthy,” to quote the word fitly -describing him, the following extract from an article dealing with them -will best explain to some who may not know what a work of filial love -was his in chronicling the history of his native province.</p> - -<p>“Nearly half a century ago James Macpherson Le Moine, advocate, and -inspector of inland revenue for the district of Quebec, published a -modest little volume of historical and legendary lore relating to the -city and environs of Quebec, under the title of <cite>Maple Leaves</cite>. Little -had been accomplished, prior to that time, in the way of collecting -the scattered wealth of Lower Canadian legends and folklore, and -English-speaking Canadians knew scarcely anything of the extremely -valuable collections of manuscript sources of early Canadian history, -scattered through the vaults of various public buildings in Quebec. To -Le Moine, whose maternal grandfather was a Macpherson, though on his -father’s side the young author was a French-Canadian, belongs much of -the credit, through his English books, in interesting English-speaking -Canadians in the history, the traditions, and the archæology of -French Canada. It was at his initiative and under his presidency that -the Quebec Literary and Historical Society, founded by the Earl of -Dalhousie in 1824, undertook the publication of some of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">242</a></span> the most -important existing manuscripts concerning the early history of the -country.”</p> - -<p>The morning after my arrival in Montreal, a week later, various people -presented themselves before me—they had seen long notices in the two -papers that morning, and came on errands of friendship, or through -introductions. One was announced as “Dr. Drummond.”</p> - -<p>I looked up; the name conveyed nothing to me; and as I was not ill, I -wondered at the visit.</p> - -<p>“If I can be of any service to you,” he said, “you have but to -command me. I knew your father, his profession is my profession, your -profession is mine too.”</p> - -<p>“You write? Are you any connection of <em>the</em> Dr. Drummond who wrote the -<cite>Habitant</cite>?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I am he.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, then, you can indeed do something for me.”</p> - -<p>“And that is?”</p> - -<p>“Take me to see the Habitants in their own homes.”</p> - -<p>Accordingly I spent several days among the farms and cottages of the -old French-Canadians with this large-hearted man. I shall never forget -his recitation of his own poems. They brought tears to my eyes and -lumps to my throat, they were so simple and so real. And these poor -folk loved him. It was a treat to see a man so respected and adored by -the people whom he had been at such pains to make understood. Drummond -was the Kipling—the Bret Harte of Canada. He was not much of a French -scholar. His accent was horrible, but he comprehended. He had that -human understanding and perception that count for more than mere words. -He would sit and smoke in the corner with an old man, and draw him out -to tell me stories while the wife made cakes for our tea.</p> - -<p>Complimenting me on my French, he said:</p> - -<p>“I can’t speak like you; often I can’t even say or ask what I want.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps if you knew more, you would not be able to make your poems so -quaint,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“I believe you are right. I jot down the English or French words just -as I use them, as the Habitants use them, and perhaps if I knew more I -should not do that.”</p> - -<p>He was so human, so lovable, and at that time so poor. Half a dozen -years afterwards Fortune smiled. His books<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">243</a></span> were selling well; his -cobalt mines had begun to pay. Then he heard disease (smallpox I think -it was) had broken out at the far-away mines.</p> - -<p>“I must go,” he said. “I cannot take the money these men are bringing -me, without going to their help.”</p> - -<p>He went; but almost before he had had time to make his medical -knowledge of value to them, he was himself stricken and died.</p> - -<p>Poor Drummond, a lovable character, and a genial comrade. The following -verses are a good specimen of his style. They are taken from “The -Habitant’s Jubilee Ode,” written at the time of the celebration of the -sixtieth year of Queen Victoria’s rule. Why, the Habitant is asking -himself, are the “children of Queen Victoriaw comin’ from far away? For -tole Madame w’at dey t’ink of her, an’ wishin’ her bonne santé.” The -answer is good French-Canadian and good sense:</p> - -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small padt1"> -If de moder come dead w’en you’re small garçon, leavin’ you dere alone,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">Wit’ nobody watchin’ for fear you fall, and hurt youse’f on de stone,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">An’ ’noder good woman she tak’ your han’ de sam’ your own moder do,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">Is it right you don’t call her moder, is it right you don’t love her too?</p> - -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small padt1">Bâ non, an’ dat was de way we feel, w’en de old Regime’s no more,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">An’ de new wan come, but don’t change moche, w’y it’s jus’ lak’ it be before,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">Spikin’ Français lak’ we alway do, an’ de English dey mak’ no fuss,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">An’ our law de sam’, wall, I don’t know me, ’twas better mebbe for us.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small padt1">So de sam’ as two broder we settle down, leevin’ dere han’ in han’,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">Knowin’ each oder, we lak’ each oder, de French an’ de Englishman,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small">For it’s curi’s t’ing on dis worl’, I’m sure you see it agen an’ agen,</p> -<p class="hangingindent1notopbotmargin small padb1">Dat offen de mos’ worse ennemi, he’s comin’ de bes’, bes’ frien’. -</p> - -<p>Drummond spent part of his boyhood among the woods and rivers of -Eastern Canada. His own record of these early days was graphic. He -said: “I lived in a typical mixed-up village—Bord à Plouffe—composed -of French and English-speaking raftsmen, or ‘voyageurs,’ as we call -them—the class of men who went with Wolseley to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">244</a></span> Red River, and -later accompanied the same general up the Nile—men with rings in their -ears, dare-devils, Indians, half-breeds, French-Canadians, Scotch and -Irish-Canadians—a motley crew, but great ‘river men’ who ran the -rapids, sang their quaint old songs—‘En Roulant,’ ‘Par Derrière chez -ma Tante,’ and ‘Dans le prison de Nantes,’ songs forgotten in France, -but preserved in French Canada. Running the rapids with these men, I -learned to love them and their rough ways.”</p> - -<p>At the poet’s funeral a poor countrywoman of Drummond—he was an -Irishman by birth—was heard to say:</p> - -<p>“Shure, he was the doctor that come into yer sickroom like an -archangel.”</p> - -<p>The amount of French still spoken in Canada is surprising to a -stranger. One hardly expects to find French policemen on English soil, -or the law courts conducted in the French tongue.</p> - -<p>Some of the old French title-deeds in Canada are very amusing. A friend -wanted to buy a small piece of property a few years ago, adjoining some -he already possessed on the shores of the St. Lawrence. Apart from -acquiring the land itself, there were “certain obligations which formed -a charge upon the property,” and these were so wonderful they are worth -repeating.</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1">“EXTRACT FROM DEED OF CESSION BETWEEN CERTAIN PARTIES.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> -<p>“To pay, furnish, and deliver to the said transferor during his -life an annual rent and donation for life as follows: Six quintals -of good fine flour at All Saints, one fat pig of three hundred -pounds in December, thirty pounds of good butcher’s meat in -December, twenty pounds of sugar, one pound of coffee, two pounds -of good green teas on demand, twelve pounds of candles, fifteen -pounds of soap, four pounds of rice on demand, twenty bushels of -good fine potatoes on St. Michael’s Day, one bushel of cooking peas -in December, one measure of good rum at Christmas, four dozen eggs -as required.</p> - -<p>“These articles every year, and the sum of thirty dollars in money -(about £7), payable half at St. Michael’s Day and half in April, -during his life, commencing on next St. Michael’s Day.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">245</a></span></p> - -<p>“And, further, they oblige themselves to furnish annually to the -transferor during his life a milch cow, to be fed, pastured, and -wintered by the transferees with their own, and renewed in case of -death, infirmity, or age; and the profits or increase shall belong to -the transferor; this cow to be delivered on the 15th of May and retaken -in the autumn when she ceases to give milk.</p> - -<p>“The transferees also oblige themselves to furnish to the transferor, -their father, during his life and at his need a horse, harnessed to -a vehicle suitable to the season (carriage or sledge) brought to his -door at his demand, and unharnessed at his return, also to go and bring -the priest and the doctor in case of illness and at the need of the -transferor, and to take them back and to pay the doctor.</p> - -<p>“In case of the death of the transferor, the transferees will cause -him to be buried in the churchyard of the parish of St. L—— with a -service of the value of twenty dollars, the body being present or on -the nearest possible day, and the second of the value of ten dollars -at the end of the year, and they will have said for him as soon as -possible the number of twenty-five Low Masses or Requiems for the -repose of his soul.</p> - -<p>“The transferees will be obliged to take care of their sisters, -Josephte and Esther, as long as they are unmarried; to lodge, light, -and feed them at their own tables, and have to keep them in clothing, -footgear, and headgear at need; and as they have always been at the -house of their father, and in case they be not satisfied with the -board of the transferees and decide to live apart, the transferees -shall pay them annually at the rate of ten bushels of good corn, one -hundred pounds of good pork, twenty bushels of potatoes, twenty pounds -of butcher’s beef, six pounds of rice, three pounds of tea, three -pounds of coffee, twelve pounds of sugar, twelve pounds of soap—these -articles every year.</p> - -<p>“The transferees will also take them to and from church on Sundays and -on feast days.”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">This extraordinary deed was only drawn in 1866. The old man is now -dead, also one of the girls; the other is in a convent out West, and -my friend managed to compromise<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">246</a></span> with her for a small sum instead of -letting her sit at his table, keep her in clothing, or provide her with -potatoes.</p> - -<p>In Ottawa I was the guest of the man who was probably doing more than -anyone else for the agricultural development of Canada. The great -strides with which in this Department she has surprised the world -were primarily due to the enterprise of a Scotchman, Professor James -Robertson, who held the post of Agricultural Commissioner from 1895 -to 1904. He has written volumes on the subject, as well as being -successful practically. It will be remembered that this able man had -come to speak for me in London at the International Council of Women -earlier in the year. After writing London, I ought to have put <em>Eng.</em>, -as no Canadian thinks of <em>our</em> London unless it has “Eng.” after it.</p> - -<p>As a boy he left his father’s farm in the Lowlands of Scotland, where -he had been working, and, full of enthusiasm and enterprise, sailed -for Canada. He had much practical knowledge at his back, and many -theoretical ideas in his mind, that he found difficult to work out in -the narrow limits of a Scotch homestead. That lad’s name is probably -one of the best known and most respected in Canada to-day, and yet it -is not so many years since he landed, for he is still in the prime of -life.</p> - -<p>Professor James Robertson is a wonderful man; he retains his Scotch -accent, has made practical use of his shrewd, hard-headed, far-sighted -upbringing, and has about the most extraordinary capacity for work of -almost any man I know. His energy is unbounded, and his physical powers -of endurance marvellous.</p> - -<p>Since I was in Canada in 1900, the increase of population and the -output of the land is simply amazing. Roughly speaking, the population -was then six millions; to-day it numbers over seven millions.</p> - -<p>Growth! Growth! Growth! Wherever one turns there is growth in Canada; -her cultured lands; her enormous crops; her untold mineral and -forest wealth; her wonderful fisheries and water power; her gigantic -railroads; her large cities—one knows not where they end. The Dominion -Government with its experimental farms, and agricultural colleges, with -its free grants of land which in 1910 equalled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">247</a></span> half of Scotland in -area, affords, to Canadian and immigrant alike, facilities unparalleled -in history. With such bountiful natural resources, such able statesmen -at the helm, and such advantages from modern discoveries; when the -rapidity of locomotion binds the ends of the earth together, and -nations from divers continents hold daily converse with each other, -rendering the world’s contemporary history an open book, the young -country of the twentieth century has advantages never even dreamt of by -the pioneers of past ages.</p> - -<p>Surely Canada should be the nursery of Empire builders, and her sons -the makers of history, and she will continue so, unless too much -laudation turns her head, and she ceases to strive.</p> - -<p>Professor Robertson took me to see Dr. Parkin, of Upper Canada College, -Toronto, another of the best-known writers of the Dominion; his most -widely read work being <cite>The Life of Edward Thring</cite>, the great reformer -of boys’ schools, whose devoted admirer the Doctor is. Upper Canada -College is like Eton, Harrow, or Charterhouse. It is a magnificent -building, and everything seemed charmingly arranged.</p> - -<p>Dr. Parkin is a delightful personality, a great scholar, a kindly -teacher, and a staunch friend; he now lives in England, having -been appointed—about two years after my visit—the organising -representative of the Rhodes Scholarship Trust.</p> - -<p>At his house I met Colonel George Denison, who had just written -<cite>Soldiering in Canada</cite>, a book as well known on this side of the -Atlantic as on the other. It was his grandfather, a Yorkshireman, -who went out to Canada and founded “York,” now known as Toronto. The -Colonel is an interesting companion and a good <em>raconteur</em>.</p> - -<p>Sir William Macdonald may perhaps be said to have been the chief mover -of education in Canada for many years. He was justly proud of McGill -University in Montreal, and must have been gratified at the success -of the manual training schools in different parts of Canada, which -owed so much to his generosity. To him also Canada is indebted for -the Macdonald Agricultural College at Ste. Anne de Bellevue, which he -established and endowed at enormous cost.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">248</a></span></p> - -<p>No word on Canada, however brief, would be right without reference to -Goldwin Smith.</p> - -<p>Born in 1823, he died at a ripe age a few weeks after King Edward, to -whom he had once been tutor in English history, and of whom the teacher -said admiringly:</p> - -<p>“He never once let me see he was bored, therefore I gathered he would -successfully fulfil the arduous duties of royalty.”</p> - -<p>After leaving England for the United States in 1864, Goldwin Smith saw -something of the great Civil War. Later he came to Toronto, and there -lived out his days in a charming old house called “The Grange.”</p> - -<p>He told me emphatically in 1900 that “within ten years Canada would be -annexed by the United States.” Goldwin Smith died just a decade later, -and Canada seemed then more Imperial, more British, more loyal than -ever. But a few months later came this wheat business in Washington, -and up sprang the old cry of annexation.</p> - -<p>There are a number of interesting writers in Canada. Most of them were -born in England, and went there as children; there are others who were -born there and have migrated back to England. Of the latter class Dr. -Beattie Crozier is, at the present time, most before the public. He -describes his early days in Canada vividly in <cite>My Inner Life</cite>, but -<cite>Intellectual Development</cite> is one of the most readable philosophies -ever written. He has a knack of putting the most abstruse subjects in -the clearest possible light. Dr. Crozier lives in London, where he -practises medicine. A few years ago a terrible affliction threatened -to befall him. He went nearly blind. His eyes are now better, but to -save them as much as possible, his wife writes everything for him -to his dictation, looks up his data, translates French and German -philosophies; in fact, is his helpmate in the true sense of the word. -They are a devoted couple. One of those pretty ideal homes one loves -to see, and which are often found in the busiest lives. The doctor -resembles a smart officer in appearance; no one would ever take him for -one of the profoundest thinkers of the day.</p> - -<p>Sir Gilbert Parker is a Canadian; but he, like Dr. Crozier, now lives -in London.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">249</a></span></p> - -<p>Lord Strathcona is another of the wonderful men of Canada. He is indeed -their “Grand Old Man.”</p> - -<p>One of the things that most struck Ibsen about the English-speaking -race was their capacity for strenuous work at an advanced age. -“Britishers often take up important positions in that span of life in -which men of other nations are laying down their arms,” he once said to -me.</p> - -<p>It was at a dinner given to Sir Henniker Heaton, of Post Office fame, -on his retirement from Parliament (1910) by the Men of Kent, that I -was particularly struck by Lord Strathcona. I was sitting next the old -gentleman with Sir George Reid, the High Commissioner for Australia, on -my other side. It was really most remarkable to find a man of ninety -years of age so clear and concise, and practical and sensible in every -way. With the rather weak voice of an old man, he spoke well and to -the point, referring to the blessings of penny postage, which Henniker -Heaton had made possible to all the English-speaking world, comparing -it with the days when he first went to Canada seventy years before, and -each letter cost four shillings, and eight shillings for a double page, -and no envelopes were used, as they increased the weight.</p> - -<p>A fine well-chiselled head, Lord Strathcona has become a greater old -man than he was a young man. His life has been remarkable for its -steady Scotch perseverance and extraordinary luck, which, through -the Hudson Bay Company and the Canadian Pacific Railway, gave him -affluence. It was not brilliancy or genius that brought him to the -position he attained, but just that hard-headed Scotch capacity for -plodding. Luck leads to nothing without pluck.</p> - -<p>He talked quite cheerily of his next visit to Canada, the ocean holding -no terrors for him, and he explained that his house in Montreal was -always kept open and ready to step into. The same with his place at -Glencoe, where he had only been able to spend four days in the year, -much to his regret.</p> - -<p>It was midnight before that old gentleman went home, to begin an early -and hard day the next morning, for he is indefatigable at his work for -Canada as High Commissioner, and is to be found every day and all day -in his office in Victoria Street at the age of ninety-two.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he said, “Canada has a great future, though we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">250</a></span> must send out -the right people. Ne’er-do-weels will do no good anywhere, and hard -workers will always get on. Hard workers will get a hundred per cent -greater reward in Canada than in Great Britain, while ne’er-do-weels -will do worse, as there are no philanthropic institutions to bolster -them up, or pamper them, as there are here.”</p> - -<p>He is modest—almost shy and retiring. Very courtly in manner, in spite -of his humble origin; but, then, he is one of Nature’s gentlemen.</p> - -<p>Short in stature—the red hair almost white, but still peeping through -the beard—his stoop and tottering, dragging gait denote age—also his -slowness of speech; but his mind is all there—alive and active and -full of thought and force.</p> - -<p>Men may rise to great power in a new country if they only have the grit.</p> - -<p>The life of another such in Canada, merely as known to the public by -newspaper notices, reads like a romance.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“The Hon. William S. Fielding, the Budget-maker of Canada, -has never forgotten that he was an office-boy in the <cite>Halifax -Chronicle</cite>. His loyalty to the people from whom he sprang is a -secret of his popularity. The finest proof of that popularity was -when last year (1910) anonymous friends contributed a purse of -£24,000 to become a trust fund for the Minister and his family. For -though he handles millions he is a poor man and latterly his health -has been indifferent, and Canadian Ministers on retirement receive -no pension.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Fielding was born in 1848, in Halifax, Nova Scotia. At the age -of sixteen he entered the office of the <cite>Halifax Chronicle</cite>. Four -years later he was a leader writer; at twenty-seven he was editor. -He entered Nova Scotian politics in 1882. In 1884 he was Premier. -In 1896 he was called by Sir Wilfrid Laurier to be Dominion -Minister of Finance.”</p></div> - -<p>His last night before leaving England in February, 1909, Mr. Fielding -wished to see the popular play <cite>An Englishman’s Home</cite>. There was -not a seat in the house; but by a little judicious management, with -some difficulty I secured two tickets at the last moment. I dined -with him at the “Savoy,” and then we went on to the theatre. Being -short-sighted, I was holding up my glasses. The theatre was darkened -during the act. Suddenly I found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">251</a></span> something warm and soft deposited in -my lap. Dropping the glasses, I felt, and, lo! to my amazement, it was -a head. A human, curly head. Naturally surprised, I wondered where it -came from, and whether the man—for man it was—had had a fit, or was -dying. I saw Mr. Fielding pushing him up from the other side. Then the -head, murmuring apologies <em>sotto voce</em>, rose, but it was too dark, and -the house too silent to find out what had really happened.</p> - -<p>When the curtain came down and the lights went up, behold the poor -owner of the head, who was sitting on the floor, covered with confusion.</p> - -<p>“I am very sorry, madam,” he said. “It was most unfortunate, but my -seat gave way.” In fact, the stall on which this good gentleman had -been sitting had collapsed, sending his head into my lap, and his legs -into the lap of the lady on the other side. A pretty predicament.</p> - -<p>The rush on the play was so great that extra stalls had been added, -until we had barely room for our knees. These had evidently not been -properly coupled together: when at some exciting moment in the play, -the gentleman had presumably laughed or coughed, and his downfall -ensued.</p> - -<p>There lay the blue plush seat on the ground, and under it, his top-hat -squashed flat.</p> - -<p>What a furore that play made, and yet there was little or nothing in -it. But success came from the fact that it struck the right note, and -struck it at the moment when the nation was ready for the awakening. -How it was boomed! Men rushed to join the Territorials, and even I was -one of the first women to send in my name for the First Aid Nursing -Yeomanry Corps. But, as they asked me to go to a riding-school to -<em>learn</em> to ride—I, who had ridden all my life—I really could not go -further in the matter.</p> - -<p>Mr. Fielding is a most interesting personality and character.</p> - -<p>“We are so apt to forget the good things of life,” he said that -evening. “I wanted a motor-bus just now. There was none at the corner, -and I had to walk. I felt annoyed. Then I pulled myself up, and -thought—How many dozen times have I caught this bus just at the moment -I wanted it! Did I ever feel or express gratitude?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">252</a></span> Yet when I miss it -I growl—now is this fair?—and I shook myself and felt ashamed.”</p> - -<p>“Very noble of you,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Not at all. But I am always saying to myself I have no right to -grumble, no right to be annoyed while I omit to be thankful and -grateful for the manifold blessings around me.”</p> - -<p>Speaking of nervousness being the cause of my refusal to go to Leeds -that week to address five thousand people, Mr. Fielding laughed.</p> - -<p>“How I sympathise with you! For twenty years I have been before the -public, and yet have never made a speech without a little twinge.”</p> - -<p>Of his chief, Laurier, he remarked: “It is an astonishing thing how -much more English than French he has become. Forty years of constant -communication with, and work amongst, British-speaking people has -moulded him along British lines, and although the French manner and -charm remain, British determination, doggedness, clear sight, and broad -views are dominant. In fact, I far more often find him reading an -English book than a French one, when I enter his library.”</p> - -<p>Then briefly touching on his own doings:</p> - -<p>“I’ve been in England two months, and sail to-morrow morning—came for -two things, and accomplished both. First, the trade treaty with France -begun eighteen months ago. Secondly, to raise six million sterling in -London. I’ve also done that this week; and am now going home with the -money, chiefly for our trans-continental railway.</p> - -<p>“Treaty? Well, as a rule, only kings can make treaties, but in Canada -we are given a good deal of power. This is the second time I have been -made a Plenipotentiary in a way—a one-man affair when ready, signed by -Sir Francis Bertie.”</p> - -<p>“A treaty with France, and you don’t know French.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but I know my subject, Mam. Don’t scorn me for my want of French. -In the province where I was born it was not wanted, and when it was -needed I was too busy to learn; telephone bells or messengers were -going all the time, so I had to give it up, but I’ll learn it yet, I -hope.”</p> - -<p>“Do you require French in the Canadian House?”</p> - -<p>“No, we are mostly English members, and although<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">253</a></span> some of the Frenchmen -speak in French, and all things by law are read in both languages, the -Frenchmen generally stop the reading and consent to take it as read. -Laurier for twenty years has always spoken in English; perfect English. -Lemieux speaks in English. In fact, to get the ear of the House one -must speak in English.”</p> - -<p>“Are the French-Canadians as loyal as the English-Canadians?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but in a different way. We are loyal because it is born in the -blood; they are loyal from gratitude, and because they know England -gave them freedom. They are more loyal than we should have been to -France if that fight on the Plains of Abraham had been won by the -French.”</p> - -<p>Sir Wilfrid Laurier I do not know as I know Mr. Fielding or Mr. -Lemieux, but Sir Wilfrid Laurier is a great personality. He struck me -as a wonderful type when I first went up in a lift with him at the -Windsor Hotel in Montreal, although I did not then know who he was. -There is a rugged strength about his face that impresses. He is a -scholar and a gentleman, speaks perfect English, and has great charm of -manner.</p> - -<p>He said in the Dominion House of Commons:</p> - -<p>“I would say to Great Britain, ‘If you want us to help you, call us to -your councils.’”</p> - -<p>Another time, when talking of Lloyd George’s Budget, W. S. Fielding -remarked:</p> - -<p>“I have made thirteen Budgets, the only man who ever did such a thing, -I should imagine; and I know from experience people always grumble. -They grumble at everything and anything. To-day at Ascot (1910) a man -was abusing Lloyd George’s Budget. ‘There are a few thousand people -in the Royal Enclosure,’ I said, ‘and I should think every one of -them disapproves. They are rich, and it hits them. There are tens of -thousands of people over there on the race-course. They are poor, and -they are glad. Was not Lloyd George right, therefore, to consider the -millions?’”</p> - -<p>Mr. Fielding possesses an enormous power for work. On one occasion, -after a <em>tête-à-tête</em> dinner with me, he went home about eleven, and -finding letters and documents awaiting him, sat up till five a.m. and -finished them, also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">254</a></span> deciphering long Government telegrams in code. -Next morning he began work at ten again.</p> - -<p>Quiet, gentle, reserved, Fielding strikes one as a delightful, -grey-headed old gentleman of honest, homely kindliness. He never -says an unkind thing of anyone. Toleration is his dominant note, and -yet with all that calm exterior he has proved himself the greatest -treaty-maker of his age, as well as the most successful handler of -budgets and manœuvrer of great Government loans; but he failed over -Reciprocity.</p> - -<p>This chapter would be incomplete without mention of the late Canadian -“Ministre des postes,” M. Lemieux, of whom Fielding said: “He is one of -the cleverest men in Canada.”</p> - -<p>“Your King, my King, our King, is the most perfect gentleman I have -ever met. <em>Il est tout à fait gentilhomme</em>,” so remarked the Hon. -Rodolphe Lemieux, <span class="smcap">K.C.</span>, when Postmaster-General of Canada, to -me in my little library, immediately on his return from Windsor, when -King Edward was still our Sovereign.</p> - -<p>Then one of the most prominent politicians in Canada, for he was not -only P.M.G., but Minister of Labour for the Dominion, M. Lemieux -is another man still in his prime. He was born about 1860. A -French-Canadian by birth, he speaks English almost faultlessly, an -accomplishment learnt by habit and ear during the last few years, and -not from a lesson-book.</p> - -<p>When I first met M. Lemieux in Canada about 1900, he hardly knew any -English. Six or seven years later he could get up and address a large -audience in our tongue with ease and fluency. Yet this art has been -acquired during the most strenuous years of his life.</p> - -<p>“I’m in London,” he replied to a question one day, “to try to settle -the All Red Route cable between Britain and her Colony.”</p> - -<p>Lemieux is an extraordinarily strong character. Of medium height, -inclined to be stout, sallow of skin, clean-shaven, with slightly grey -hair, standing up straight like a Frenchman’s; great charm of manner, -not fulsome, but gracious, and at times commanding. He gets excited and -marches about the room, waving his hands—nice hands, broad, but small -for his sex—and pursing his mouth. A man of strength, and a gentle, -kindly being. Very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">255</a></span> ambitious, and yet, as he says truly, “What is -success, when once attained?”</p> - -<p>One night I was to dine with him. Nothing would do but he must fetch -me in a taxi. We went to the “Ritz,” where he had ordered an excellent -little dinner, and where a lovely bunch of roses and lilies was beside -my plate. When he went at five to order the dinner, he had ordered the -flowers and a pin!</p> - -<p>The day after his arrival at his London hotel his little jewel-case was -stolen. He told me almost in tears. “Recollections, souvenirs, gone, -my wife’s first present to me—a scarf-pin. Her great-grandmother’s -earring. My ring as Professor of Law, gone. I feel I have lost real -friends—friends of years and friends I valued. Their worth was little, -their sentiment untold.”</p> - -<p>A treaty between Canada and Japan allowed free emigration. At once -ten thousand Japanese descended on Canada. Yellow peril was imminent. -Lemieux was sent to Japan. After delicate manipulation he got the -treaty altered, so that only four hundred Japanese should land in a -year, a regulation that brought him much renown.</p> - -<p>Then the Lemieux Act, which means amicable discussion between parties -before arbitration, was brought in. One representative from each side -and one representative of the Minister of Labour meet; everything is -sifted to the bottom and published, with the result that few cases -ever go to arbitration, but are generally settled by this intermediate -body. It works so successfully that Roosevelt sent people from the -United States to study its working, and the sooner Great Britain does -something to settle her strikes along the same lines the better.</p> - -<p>Yes, Canada impressed me, charmed me, and as I am proud to reckon, -after ten years, two of the late Cabinet Ministers among my best -friends, not forgetting one of the leading spirits in agriculture, -I have followed the remarkable development of Canada with interest. -She will expand even more in the next ten years. Canada is a land to -reckon with. She can produce wealth, and as long as the Socialist does -not enter to destroy that wealth, and distribute it, Canada will forge -ahead. No one was more surprised than the Liberal Cabinet at their -overthrow in 1911; they were more surprised even than Borden at his -great victory.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">256</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">PUBLIC DINNERS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">AT a public dinner the photographer said, “The people at the bottom -tables buy the photos, the people at the top table steal the pencils.”</p> - -<p>Half the public dinners are attended by women nowadays, and yet women -did not even dine at the tables of their lords and masters in the -eighteenth century. They then took a back seat. Now in the twentieth -century women with common interests bind themselves together into -societies, recognising that “union is strength,” and they too follow -the tradition of ages, and preserve the sacred English habit of -organising dinners.</p> - -<p>Is there any more thoroughly British custom, institution, or act of -national feeling, than a dinner? Heroes, potentates, benefactors to -mankind, are given a mighty Guildhall feast by the Chief Representative -of our great capital—the mightiest in the world. Other nations hold -banquets, but with them wreaths and ribbons are more to the fore than -turtle soup and barons of beef.</p> - -<p>One public dinner that afforded me personally special pleasure was -given by the New Vagabond Club, on my return from my first visit to -Mexico, when a great compliment was paid me. Following their custom, -the Vagabonds had singled out two writers of recent books to be -honoured. The one, Sir Gilbert Parker, as author of his great novel -<cite>The Right of Way</cite>, as their guest, and myself in the chair, because -<cite>Mexico as I saw It</cite> was kindly considered (to quote the cards of -invitation) “one of the best travel-books of the year.” We numbered -three hundred. Modesty forbids repetition of the speeches. Obituary -notices and speeches are always laudatory.</p> - -<p>At another New Vagabond Dinner held at the Hotel Cecil, I remember -being much amused by a young officer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">257</a></span> of the Königin Augusta Garde in -Berlin, who was my guest. We had barely taken our seats when a deep -sonorous voice roared forth:</p> - -<p>“Pray, silence for his Lordship the Bishop of ——.”</p> - -<p>“What a splendid voice that gentleman has,” exclaimed my German friend.</p> - -<p>“It is the toast-master,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Toast?” he said, “but that is something to eat,” and before further -explanation was possible the Bishop began to say grace, and everyone -stood up.</p> - -<p>“Is this the King’s health?” asked the Baron, lifting his empty glass.</p> - -<p>“No, it’s grace,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“What is grace? It seems like a prayer.”</p> - -<p>“So it is, for your good behaviour,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Do you always have it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, when we go out to dinner.”</p> - -<p>“And not at home?”</p> - -<p>“Oh no, we are only good like that and enjoy all that official ceremony -at public dinners.”</p> - -<p>He was much tickled at the idea, and likewise relieved that the King’s -health was not being toasted with empty glasses.</p> - -<p>Another public feast—the Dinner of the Society of Authors, in -1907—gave me still more food for mirth, besides intellectual and other -enjoyment.</p> - -<p>My seat at the top table placed me between Mr. Bernard Shaw and Lord -Dunsany. Exactly opposite was one of the fork tables that filled the -room, and gave accommodation to about two hundred and fifty guests. In -the corner facing us sat a nice little old lady. Somehow she reminded -me of a cock-sparrow. She was <em>petite</em> and fragile, with a perky little -way, and her iron-grey hair was cut short. She looked at my neighbour -on my left, consulted her programme, on which she read the name of -Bernard Shaw, smiled with apparent delight, preened herself, and then -the following conversation began:</p> - -<p>Old Lady (beaming across table): “I do love your writing.”</p> - -<p>Grey-bearded Gentleman (bowing): “Thank you very much.”</p> - -<p>Old Lady: “One sees the whole scene so vividly before one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">258</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>The grey-bearded gentleman bowed again.</p> - -<p>Old Lady (bending a little nearer): “They live and move. The characters -almost dance before one.”</p> - -<p>Grey-bearded Gentleman (evidently rather pleased): “It’s good of you to -say so. So few people read my sort of stuff as a rule.”</p> - -<p>Old Lady: “They are works of inspiration! By the by, how does -inspiration come to you?”</p> - -<p>Grey-bearded Gentleman: “Well, it’s rather difficult to say. Anywhere, -I think. An idea often flashes through my mind in a crowd, or even when -someone is talking to me.”</p> - -<p>Old Lady (flapping her wings with delight, and evidently hoping <em>she</em> -was an inspiration): “Would you be so very kind as to sign my autograph -book?”</p> - -<p>“With pleasure,” was the reply. And thereupon she produced a tiny -little almanac from her pocket and a stylographic pen, and with a -beaming smile remarked:</p> - -<p>“Under your name, please write <em>Man and Superman</em>!”</p> - -<p>He turned to her with a puzzled look, and then this is what ensued:</p> - -<p>“That is my favourite play.”</p> - -<p>“Is it?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t you love it the best?”</p> - -<p>“Never read it in my life.”</p> - -<p>“What! never read your own masterpiece!”</p> - -<p>“No, madam. I am afraid you have made a mistake.”</p> - -<p>“What! You do not mean to say that you are not Bernard Shaw?”</p> - -<p>“No. I’m only Lewis Morris, the poet.”</p> - -<p>Momentary collapse of the old lady, and amusement of my neighbour. By -this time I was in fits. Shaw having telegraphed he would not come in -till the meat course was over, Sir Lewis Morris had asked me if he -might take his place.</p> - -<p>Old Lady (collecting herself): “Never mind. You had better sign your -autograph, all the same.”</p> - -<p>And, not knowing whether to laugh or scowl, Sir Lewis Morris put on his -glasses and wrote his name, then turning to me, said:</p> - -<p>“Well, that was a funny adventure.”</p> - -<p>Bernard Shaw himself arrived a little later, and sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">259</a></span> near us, -waited for the moment when he was to get up and reply for the drama. -Being a vegetarian, he had avoided the first part of the dinner.</p> - -<p>A merry twinkle hung round his eye all the time he talked, and with -true Irish brogue he duly pronounced all his <em>wh</em>’s as such, and mixed -up <em>will</em> and <em>shall</em>! His red beard was almost grey, and his face has -become older and more worn since success weighed him down, and wealth -oppressed him so deeply.</p> - -<p>I could not agree with Lewis Morris’s self-depreciatory remark that -few people “read my sort of stuff,” for I learnt on very excellent -authority that publishers have sold more than forty-five thousand -copies of his <cite>Epic of Hades</cite>—not bad for poetic circulation—and that -this and the <cite>Songs of Two Worlds</cite> shared between them sixty editions.</p> - -<p>Poor Lewis Morris died a few months after this little comedy occurred.</p> - -<p>To continue with G. B. S., here may be given the recollection of a -luncheon at his home one day.</p> - -<p>From dinners to a luncheon!—well, that is no great digression. Longer, -certainly, than from luncheon to dinner, with five o’clock tea thrown -in. To part from Bernard Shaw is too impossible.</p> - -<p>“<em>Mrs. Bernard Shaw</em>” is the name upon the little oak gate across the -stairway leading to the second-floor flat near the Strand.</p> - -<p>Below are a club, offices, and other odds and ends, above and beyond -the gate the great G. B. S. is to be found. “Bring your man to lunch -here,” was the amusing reply I received to a note asking the Shaws to -dine and meet “George Birmingham” (the Rev. James Hannay), the famous -Irish novelist.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, to lunch “my man” and I repaired. Everything about George -Bernard Shaw is new. The large drawing-room overlooking the Thames is -furnished in new art—a modern carpet, hard, straight-lined, white -enamelled bookcases, a greeny yellow wall—a few old prints, ’tis -true—and over the writing-table, his own bust by Rodin, so thin and -aristocratic in conception, that it far more closely resembles our -mutual friend Robert Cunninghame Graham. No curtains; open windows;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">260</a></span> -sanitation; hygiene; vegetarianism; modernism on every side. Bernard -Shaw has no reverence for age or custom, antiquity or habit—a modern -man, his is a modern home, only rendered homelike by the touch of a -charming woman. It is wonderful how loud-talking Socialism succumbs to -calm, peaceful, respectable comfort. Since his marriage the Socialist -has given up much of the practice of his theories, and is accepting the -daily use of fine linen and silver, the pleasures of flowers and dainty -things; he politely owns himself the happier for them; but then Mrs. -Bernard Shaw is a refined and delightful woman.</p> - -<p>George Bernard Shaw comes from Dublin, his wife from far-away Cork. She -is well-connected, clever, and tactful, and the sheet-anchor of G. B. S.</p> - -<p>Shaw was at his best. He ate nuts and grapes while we enjoyed the -pleasures of the table. I told him I had first heard of him in Berlin, -in 1892, long before he had been talked of here. I had seen <cite>Arms and -the Man</cite> in the German capital—that, eight years later, I was haunted -by <cite>Candida</cite> in America, and then came back to find him creeping into -fame in England. That delighted him.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I insist on rehearsing every line of my own plays whenever it is -possible—if I can’t, well, they do as they like.”</p> - -<p>I told him I had seen Ibsen’s slow, deliberate way of rehearsing, and -W. S. Gilbert’s determined persuasion. What did he do?</p> - -<p>“I like them to read their parts the first time. Then I can stop them, -and give them <em>my</em> interpretations, and when they are learning them at -home, my suggestions soak in. If they learn their words first, they -also get interpretations of their own, which I may have to make them -unlearn. I hate rehearsals; they bore me to death; sometimes I have -forty winks from sheer <em>ennui</em>; but still I stick there, and, like the -judge, wake up when wanted.”</p> - -<p>“Do you get cross?”</p> - -<p>“No. I don’t think so. I correct, explain why, and go ahead. I never -let them repeat; much better to give the correction, and let them think -it out at home; if one redoes the passage they merely become more and -more dazed, I find<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">261</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>“Speaking of Ibsen, do you think his influence was so great?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Undoubtedly. But the movement was in the air. I had written several -of my plays which, when they appeared, the critics said showed Ibsen’s -influence, and yet at that time I had never read a word of Ibsen. He -emphasised and brought out what everyone was feeling; but he never got -away from the old idea of a ‘grand ending,’ a climax—a final curtain.”</p> - -<p>“Plays are funny things,” he continued. “A few years ago I received a -letter from a young man in the country. He said his people were strict -Methodists, he had never been in a theatre in his life, he had not even -been allowed to read Shakespeare, but <cite>Three Plays</cite> by Shaw had fallen -into his hands, and he had read them. He felt he must write a play. -He had written one. Would I read it? I did. It was crude, curious, -middle-aged, stinted, and yet the true dramatic element was there. He -had evolved a village drama from his own soul. I wrote and told him to -go on, and showed him his faults, but never heard any more of him.</p> - -<p>“Once a leading actor-manager of mine took to drink. I heard it; peril -seemed imminent. I wrote and told him I had met a journalist, named -Moriarty, who had found him drunk in the street; explained that under -the influence of alcohol he had divulged the most appalling things, -which, if true, would make it necessary for me to find someone else to -play the part. Terrible despair! Many letters at intervals. I continued -to cite Moriarty, and all went well. One fine day a letter came, saying -my manager had met the tale-bearer. He had happened to call at a lady’s -house, and there Moriarty stood. The furious manager nearly rushed at -his enemy’s throat to kill him; but being in a woman’s drawing-room, he -deferred his revenge. Nevertheless, he would, by Jove, he would do it -next time, if he heard any more tales. Vengeance, daggers!</p> - -<p>“Then I quaked. I had to write and say my ‘Moriarty’ was a myth, so -he had better leave the unoffending personage alone.” And G. B. S. -twinkled merrily through those sleepy grey eyes as he told the tale.</p> - -<p class="padb1">Once I was inveigled into editing and arranging a souvenir book for -University College Hospital, of which more anon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">262</a></span> I asked Mr. Shaw to -do something for the charity. This is his characteristic reply, written -on a post card:</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_262"> -<img src="images/i_262.jpg" width="438" height="600" alt="10 adelphi terrace w c 15th feb 1909 -no mrs alec no no no i never do it not even for my best friends i loath bazaars gbs" /> -</div> - -<p class="padt1">Yet another public dinner stands out prominently in my memory.</p> - -<p>Quite a crowd attended the Women Journalists’ Dinner of November, -1907. Mrs. Humphry Ward was in the chair. Next to her was the Italian -Ambassador, the Marquis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">263</a></span> di San Giuliano, and then myself. My neighbour -was especially interesting as the descendant of an old Sicilian family, -Lords of Catania since the time of the Crusades, and also because he -himself had earned a considerable name in literature. Later he left -London for the Embassy in Paris, and is now in Rome, as Minister for -Foreign Affairs.</p> - -<p>Taking up my card, his Excellency exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Why, are you the lady who wrote that charming book on Sicily?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“I am a Sicilian, and I thank you, madam,” he said. In fact, in the -exuberance of his spirits, he shook and re-shook me by the hand.</p> - -<p>We became great friends, and he often came in to have a talk about his -native land.</p> - -<p>A Sicilian, he sat in the Italian Parliament for many years, and was -three years in the Ministry; then, in 1905, he was asked to come to -London as Ambassador. He had never been in the diplomatic service, -and had only visited Great Britain as a tourist; in fact, he feared -the climate, on account of rheumatism, which at fifty-two had nearly -crippled him. But pressure was brought to bear, so he came to St. -James’s.</p> - -<p>He declared England to be most hospitable, the people were so kind -and opened their doors so readily; and he loved the climate. He was -delighted he had come.</p> - -<p>“In Sicily,” he said, “you are right in saying that we are still in -the seventeenth century. We have much to learn. I believe in women -having equal rights with men in everything. I think they ought to have -the suffrage. Your women in England are far more advanced than in -Italy, and I admire them for it. I have the greatest respect and love -and admiration for women. My wife came from Tuscany. She was advanced -for an Italian, and she first opened my eyes to the capabilities of -women. I hope before I die to see them in a far better position than -they already hold. They have helped us men through centuries and they -deserve reward.”</p> - -<p>What a delight the Marquis di San Giuliano will be to the suffragists -among his own countrywomen if ever they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">264</a></span> attain to the advancement of -our own Parliament Square agitators.</p> - -<p>He lunched with me one day early in January, 1908, and afterwards drove -me down to the Pfeiffer Hall of Queen’s College, Harley Street, where, -with Sir Charles Holroyd as chairman, he had promised to deliver a -lecture to the Dante Society. Its subject was the twenty-sixth canto -of the <cite>Inferno</cite>, the whole of which the Ambassador read in Italian. -Then he went on to comment upon the text in English, and explained the -symbolical meaning of Ulysses’s voyage and wreck.</p> - -<p>I was struck by a theory which the lecturer advanced: that the canto -was possibly one of the factors that helped to produce the state of -mind in Christopher Columbus which prepared him for his immortal -discovery. In the inventory of the estate of a Spaniard who was a -comrade of Columbus, one of the items named was a copy of Dante’s poem. -It was probable that Columbus, an Italian, and much more educated than -this officer, was in the habit of reading the book. It was known that -a certain astronomer who was one of Columbus’s foremost inspirers, was -a keen Dante student. Probably Columbus’s track, as far as the Canary -Isles, varied but little from that of Ulysses. Certainly in Columbus’s -speech to his wavering crew is found an echo of Ulysses’s exhortation.</p> - -<p>On the drive to Queen’s College the Marquis wore a thick fur coat, and -it was a mild day; I remarked upon it.</p> - -<p>“I always <em>transpire</em> so, when I speak, that I am afraid of catching -cold,” he replied.</p> - -<p>What a trouble all these oddities of our language must be to -foreigners. I remember a more amusing slip from the talented wife of -a very public man, who speaks the English tongue with perfect grace -and charm. I had asked if her husband wore his uniform when performing -annually a great historic ceremony.</p> - -<p>“Oh no, he wears his nightdress,” she replied, meaning his dress -clothes.</p> - -<p>Apropos of the Milton Centenary the Italian Ambassador was asked to -speak at the Mansion House on “Milton in connection with Dante.” He -motored down to my mother’s house in Buckinghamshire, where I was -staying, and together we explored Milton’s cottage, where the poet -wrote<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">265</a></span> <cite>Paradise Regained</cite> and corrected <cite>Paradise Lost</cite>. We spent -some time looking over manuscripts and photographs, in order that he -should be saturated with the subject, and the next night he went to the -Mansion House full of his theme.</p> - -<p>“I got up,” said His Excellency, “referred to Milton, then to -Dante, knowing that this was only my preliminary canter to personal -reminiscences to come. What were those reminiscences? I gazed at that -vast audience. I pondered. I knew there was something very important I -had to say. I returned to the dissimilarity of the two men’s work. I -wondered what my great point was, and finally with a graceful reference -to poetry, I sat down.</p> - -<p>“Then, and not till then, did I remember I had cracked the nut, and -left out a description of Milton’s home, the kernel of my speech.”</p> - -<p>This man is a brilliant speaker in Italian and French, and quite above -the average in English and German. Which of us who has made a speech -has not, on sitting down, remembered the prized sentence has been -forgotten?</p> - -<p>The Marquis gave some delightful dinners in Grosvenor Square. I met -Princes, Dukes, authors, artists, actors, and even Labour Members of -Parliament, at his table. He was interested in all sides of life, and -all the time he was in England he continued to take lessons in our -language.</p> - -<p>I first met Mr. Cecil Rhodes in December, 1894, at a dinner-party which -was notable for its Africans, Dr. Jameson and H. M. Stanley being there -as well. A woman’s impression of a much-talked-of man may not count -for much. He sat next me. I was fairly young and maybe attractive, -I suppose, so he talked to me as if I were a baby or a doll. To be -candid, I took a particular dislike to Rhodes from the moment I first -saw him. A tall, some might say a handsome, man, his face was round and -red, and not a bit clever so far as appearances went. He looked like an -overfed well-to-do farmer, who enjoyed the good things of this life. -He seemed self-opinionated, arrogant, petulant, and scheming—no doubt -what the world calls “a strong man.” There seemed no human or soft side -to his character at all. Self, self, ambition. And self again marked -every word he uttered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">266</a></span></p> - -<p>Of course he was masterful. Even his very Will denoted that. It was -hard, cool-headed, calculating, and less generous to his family than it -might have been.</p> - -<p>Still Rhodes did great things, and was it not he who said, “It is a -good thing to have a period of adversity”? Mighty true—but strangely -disagreeable.</p> - -<p>Although outwardly so indifferent to everyone and everything, Cecil -Rhodes was not above the vanities. He and a friend of mine had been -boys together, and Rhodes became godfather to one of the latter’s -children, a post which he considered held serious responsibilities. He -wished to make his godson a valuable present. It was the proud parent’s -idea to ask the great African to let the gift be his portrait.</p> - -<p>“Of course I will,” said Cecil Rhodes; “arrange the artist and terms, -and tell me when I am to sit, and I’ll go.”</p> - -<p>So matters were settled. An artist was asked to undertake the -commission, and one fine day my friend took Rhodes round to the studio -for the first sitting.</p> - -<p>The artist decided to paint him side face. Rhodes petulantly refused -to be depicted anything but full face. Discussion waxed warm, and, -naturally, my poor friend felt very uncomfortable. However, the artist, -claiming the doctor’s privilege of giving orders and expecting to be -obeyed, began his work on his own lines.</p> - -<p>Cecil Rhodes gave only the first sitting and one other. Then, finding -the picture was really being painted side face, like a child he -became furious. He refused ever to sit again, and on his return from -the studio wrote a cheque for the stipulated sum, and sent it to the -artist, asking him to forward the picture to him as it was.</p> - -<p>The brush-man guessed that his object was to destroy the canvas, so, -instead of sending the picture, he returned the cheque. Thus the -portrait—unfinished, indeed, hardly begun—remained hidden away in -the studio; and now that the sitter is dead, it should possess some -interest.</p> - -<p>A man who knew Cecil Rhodes very well once told me:</p> - -<p>“He was a muddler. I was one of his secretaries. When he went away -we sorted his correspondence, ‘One,’ ‘Two,’ ‘Three.’ ‘One’ included -the letters requiring first attention. ‘Two’ those not so important, -and so on. When he came back from Bulawayo, we gave him the letters. -Three months afterwards, he had never looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">267</a></span> at one of them. ‘Leave -them alone, they will answer themselves,’ he said; but that was a most -dangerous doctrine, and sometimes nearly cost C. R. his position. -He made endless enemies through this extraordinary, selfish, lazy -indifference.”</p> - -<p>As stated above, Stanley was at this dinner of which I have been -writing, and I often met him later. He always appeared to me shy, -reticent, almost to moroseness on occasions. He was a small man with -white wavy hair, round face, and square jaw, dark of skin—probably -more dark in effect than reality, in contrast to the hair. He was -broadly made and inclined to be stout. His face was much lined, but a -merry smile spread over his countenance at times.</p> - -<p>At one of my earliest dinners with the Society of Authors I sat between -him and Mr. Hall Caine. No greater contrast than that between these -two men could be found, I am sure—the latter quick and sharp; Henry -Stanley, on the other hand, stolid in temperament and a person not -easily put out or disturbed.</p> - -<p>“I walk for two hours every day of my life,” said Stanley. “Unless I -get my six or seven miles’ stretch, I feel as if I would explode, or -something dreadful happen to me. So every afternoon after lunch I sally -forth, generally into Hyde Park, where, in the least-frequented parts, -I stretch my legs and air my thoughts. I live again in Africa, in the -solitude of those big trees, and I conjure up scenes of the dark forest -and recall incidents the remembrance of which has lain dormant for -years. Taking notes, going long walks, studying politics, compose the -routine of my daily life.</p> - -<p>“I am a Liberal-Unionist, and shocked that you should say you are a -Radical—no lady should ever hold such sentiments.”</p> - -<p>And he really appeared so terribly shocked I could not help telling him -a little story of how on one occasion an old gentleman was introduced -to take me down to dinner. Some remark on the staircase made me say, “I -am a Radical.” “Ma’am!” he replied, almost dropping my arm, and bending -right away from me. “Are you horrified? Do you think it dreadful to -be a Radical?” I asked. “Yes, ma’am, I am indeed shocked that any -lady—and let alone a young lady—should dare to hold such pernicious -views!” Really, the old gentleman was dreadfully distressed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">268</a></span> seemed to -think me not even respectable, and, although I did my best to soothe -him with the soup, to chat to him on other topics with the fish, it was -not until dessert was reached that he was really happy or comfortable -in his mind that his young neighbour was fit society to be next to him -at a dinner-party.”</p> - -<p>Stanley laughed.</p> - -<p>I asked him if he had any desire to go back to Africa.</p> - -<p>“None,” he replied. “I may go some day, but not through any burning -desire; for, although I have been a great wanderer, I don’t mind much -if I never wander again.”</p> - -<p>During the evening he proposed the health of the late Mr. Moberly Bell, -our chairman, whom he had known for twenty-eight years. Stanley had a -tremendously strong voice, which filled the large hall, and seemed to -vibrate through my head with its queer accent. He spoke extremely well, -without the slightest nervousness or hesitation; his language was good -and his delivery excellent.</p> - -<p>It was not till I read his <cite>Life</cite>, when it first came out in 1909, -that I realised what a struggle his had been. Reared in a workhouse, -this maker of the Congo (which we muddled and allowed the Belgians to -take for their own) was indeed a remarkable man. He attained position, -wealth in a minor degree, a charming lady as a wife, and a title. His -self-education and magnificent strength of purpose secured all this -unaided, even by good fortune. His <cite>Life</cite> reads like an excellent -novel. In these Socialistic days one receives with interest his remark, -“Individuals require to be protected from the rapacity of Communities. -Socialism is a return to primitive conditions.”</p> - -<p>Yes. Stanley was a great man. Seven thousand miles across unknown -Africa, amidst slave-traders, cannibals, and wild beasts, his -expedition “tottered its way to the Atlantic, a scattered column of -long and lean bodies; dysentery, ulcers, and scurvy fast absorbing the -remnant of life left by famine.” So he crossed from East to West, and -traversed hundreds of miles of the river Congo.</p> - -<p>My other neighbour at that dinner—Hall Caine—had much in common with -me, and we discussed Iceland, where, of course, we had both been; -Norway, which he knew in summer and I in winter; and then Nansen.</p> - -<p>The Manxman is an interesting companion, his nervous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">269</a></span> intensity throws -warmth and enthusiasm into all his sayings and makes his subjects -appear more interesting than they really are, perhaps. There is a -magnetic influence in him. Physically delicate, a perfect bundle of -nerves, there is an electric thrill in all he says, in spite of the -sad, soft intonation of his voice.</p> - -<p>He ponders again and again over his scenes, throws himself heart and -soul into his characters, himself lives all the tragic episodes and -terrible moments that the men and women undergo, with the result that -by the time the book is completed he is absolutely played out, mind and -body.</p> - -<p>Certainly, to sum up, my dinner neighbours have often been, and often -are, most interesting, and frequently delightful as well.</p> - -<p>Nothing in the world is more bracing than contact with brilliant minds. -Brilliancy begets brilliancy just as dullness makes thought barren.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">270</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">PRIVATE DINNERS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">MY dinner slips and their history would fill a volume, therefore -they must be laid aside just now. Suffice it to say that as a bride -I conceived the idea of asking celebrated men and women to sign my -tablecloths. Now after twenty years there are over four hundred names -upon these cloths, including the signatures of some of the most -prominent men and women in London at the end of the nineteenth and the -beginning of the twentieth centuries. All the men on <cite>Punch</cite> have drawn -a little picture, twenty Academicians have done likewise. Specialists, -such as Marconi, Sir Hiram Maxim, Sir Joseph Swan, Sir William Crookes, -or Sir William Ramsay, have drawn designs showing their own inventions. -Others have made sketches or caricatures of themselves. Among them are -Sir A. Pinero, Harry Furniss, Solomon J. Solomons, William Orpen, John -Lavery, E. T. Reid, Weedon Grossmith, Forbes Robertson, Thompson Seton, -Max Beerbohm, W. K. Haselden. A possession truly, and a record of many -valued friendships. It has its comic side too, for sometimes when I am -out at dinner and my name is heard my partner turns to me and says:</p> - -<p>“Are you the lady who has the famous tablecloth?”</p> - -<p>I own I am, and try to forget the fact that I ever wrote a book.</p> - -<p>And—yes, that is the point—they have all been signed at my own table -and I have embroidered them myself.</p> - -<p>How did a “worker” manage to continue to give little dinners, may be -asked by other workers who find hospitality a difficult task rather -than a pleasure. Well, with a little forethought and care it can be -done.</p> - -<p>During all those thirteen years I don’t suppose I bought a first-class -ticket in Britain thirteen times. That was one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">271</a></span> of my many economies, -enabling me to save a few pounds here and there, just as bus fares -saved cab fares, and with these little savings I could enjoy the -privilege of having friends to tea or dinner. We appreciate most what -has caused us a little self-sacrifice, and I certainly appreciate my -friends far more than any personal inconvenience, besides I had a home -well filled with linen, glass, china, and silver.</p> - -<p>It is snobbish to offer what we can’t afford, and honest to give what -we can. Anyone can open a restaurant, and always have it filled with -diners, but it requires a little personality to make and keep a home. -When a woman is poor and friends rally round, she has the intense joy -of knowing it is for herself they come and not for what she can lavish -on her guests. The man or woman who only comes to one’s house to be fed -is no friend, merely a sponger on foolish good-nature.</p> - -<p>How hateful it is of people to be late. What a lot of temper and time -is wasted. Surely unpunctuality is a crime. People with nothing to do -seem to make a cult of being behind time, just as busy persons consider -punctuality a god. The folk, who sail into a dinner-party twenty -minutes after they were invited, ought to find their hosts at the first -entrée. One of the most beautiful and charming women who ever came to -London, the wife of a diplomat, took the town by storm; she was invited -everywhere, but by the end of the season her reign had ceased, and why?</p> - -<p>“Because,” explained a man well known for hospitality, “she has spoilt -more dinners in London during the last three months than anyone I know. -Personally, I shall never ask her inside my door again.”</p> - -<p>The punctuality of kings is proverbial. So is their punctilious way of -answering invitations, making calls, and keeping up <em>la politesse</em> of -Society. ’Tis vulgar to be late, bourgeois not to answer invitations by -return of post, and casual to omit to leave a card when there is not -time for a visit.</p> - -<p>Some people seem too busy to think and too indifferent to care. Marcus -Aurelius maintained that life was not theory, but action. What a pity -we don’t have a little more action in the realms of politeness and -consideration.</p> - -<p>We owe our host everything. He gives, we take. Let us anyway accept -graciously, punctiliously, and considerately,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">272</a></span> not as if <em>we</em> were -doing the favour; the boot is on the other foot.</p> - -<p>Only eight or nine weeks before her death, Miss Mary Kingsley had dined -with me on the eve of her departure from England, full of health and -spirits, laughingly saying that she did not quite know why she was -going out to South Africa, excepting that she felt she must. She wanted -to nurse soldiers; she wished to see war; and, above all, she desired -to collect specimens of fish from the Orange River.</p> - -<p>Armed with some introductions, which I was able to give her, she -departed, declaring with her merry laugh she would only be away a few -months, and would probably return to collect some more specimen-jars -and butterfly-nets before going on to West Africa to continue her -studies there. She had only been a few weeks at the Cape when she -was taken ill and died. She was a woman of strong character, great -determination, a hard worker in every sense of the word, one who had -struggled against opposition and some poverty, and the death of Mary -Kingsley was a loss to her country.</p> - -<p>The intrepid explorer was thirty before she had ever been away from our -shores. She had up to that time nursed her invalid mother at Cambridge. -But the spirit of adventure, the desire to travel, were burning within -her; and as soon as the opportunity came she went off by herself to the -wild, untrammelled regions of West Africa, and has left a record of her -experiences in some interesting volumes.</p> - -<p>Mary Kingsley made money as a lecturer, but the odd thing was that -she was by no means good at the art. She possessed a deep and almost -manly voice, but being far too nervous to trust to extemporaneous -words, she always read what she had to say, and in her desire to read -slowly and to be clear and distinct, she adopted an extraordinary -sing-song, something like the prayers of a Methodist parson. This was -all very well when she was telling a funny story, as it only heightened -its effect, but when one had to listen for an hour and a half to -this curious monotone, it became tiring. All who knew her, however, -recognised her as a brilliant conversationalist. Sir William Crookes -once truly said:</p> - -<p>“Mary Kingsley on the platform, and Mary Kingsley in the drawing-room, -are two entirely different personalities<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">273</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>This woman who accomplished and dared so much, who braved the climate -and the blacks of Africa alone, whose views on West African politics -were strongly held and strongly expressed, was the very antithesis of -what one would expect from a strong-minded female. She was small and -thin, her light hair was parted in the middle, and she wore a hard -black velvet band across the head in quite a style of her own, never -seen nowadays on anyone except the little girl in the nursery. She had -all the angular ways, and much of the determination, of the male, when -put to the test, although to look at her one might think a puff of wind -would blow her away.</p> - -<p>Mary Kingsley was the niece of Charles Kingsley, and the daughter -of Dr. Henry Kingsley. The woman, who would face a whole tribe of -natives alone and unprotected, was in the society of her own people a -shrinking, nervous little creature. Indeed, one marvelled and wondered -however she kept the strength of will and the physical courage which -she displayed on so many notable occasions during her adventurous -travels. Once she wrote to me:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p><span class="smcap">“My dear Mrs. Alec</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“Thank you very much. I will come if I possibly can. I have an -uncle ill just now that uses up my time considerably and makes me -dull and stupid and unfit for society, but he is on the mend.</p> - -<p>“It is very good of you to have had me on Friday. I always feel I -have no right to go out to dinner. I cannot give dinners back, and -I am used only to the trader set connected with West Africa, so -that going into good society is going into a different world, whose -way of thinking and whose interests are so different that I do not -know how to deal with them. If I were only just allowed to listen -and look on it would be an immense treat to me.</p> - -<p class="right">“Ever yours truly,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">M. H. Kingsley </span>.”</p></div> - -<p>An amusing little incident happened at dinner in my house, when I sent -her a message down the table, accompanied by a pencil, asking her to -sign her name on the tablecloth under that of Paul du Chaillu. She was -covered with confusion, and when my husband told her to write it big, -as it was difficult otherwise to work it in, she said, with a blush:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">274</a></span></p> - -<p>“Please don’t look at me, for you will make me so nervous I shall not -be able to write it at all.”</p> - -<p>Maybe this nervousness was the result of a bad attack of influenza from -which she was just then recovering. “Oh yes, I get influenza here,” she -said, “though I never get fever in Africa, and I am only waiting for -my brother to go off on some expedition to pack up my bundles and do -likewise myself.”</p> - -<p>She found herself among several friends that evening, the great Sir -William Crookes was also one of the dinner guests, and she had read -a paper at the British Association a few months before, when he had -been President. Then she knew Mr. Bompas, the brother-in-law of Frank -Buckland, and by a stroke of good luck I was able to introduce her to -Sir Edwin Ray Lankester, who was afterwards appointed Director of the -Natural History Museum at Kensington. They had not met before, and -seemed to find in zoology many subjects of mutual interest.</p> - -<p>Mary Kingsley had a keen humour. In her case the spirit of fun did not -override the etiquette of good taste as it is so often inclined to do.</p> - -<p>Just before dinner one February night in 1907, I was expecting friends; -but when turning on the drawing-room lights a fuse went, and half of -the lamps were extinguished.</p> - -<p>It was an awkward moment. I telephoned to the electrician, who could -only send a boy. Visitors arrived, and my agitation was becoming rather -serious, for the fuse refused to be adjusted, when Sir William and Lady -Ramsay were announced.</p> - -<p>I rushed at the former.</p> - -<p>“Can you put in an electric fuse?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“For Heaven’s sake, go down to the kitchen,” I continued. “There is -a hopeless boy there who evidently cannot manage it, and we are in -comparative darkness.”</p> - -<p>Down the steps the great chemist bounded, followed by the parlourmaid, -and landed, much to the surprise of everybody, at the kitchen door. -There seemed to be barely time for him to have reached the electric -box, before the light sprang into being. Then he washed his hands and -came to dinner, smiling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">275</a></span></p> - -<p>What a contrast to the fumbling of the British workman was the -dexterity of the scientific man.</p> - -<p>Two evenings later, Sir Joseph Swan, the inventor of the incandescent -burner, was dining at my house and I told him the story.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt Ramsay had often done it before,” he said; “for when -electric light first came in I never seemed to go to any house that I -wasn’t asked to attend to the light. In fact, I quite looked upon it as -part of the evening’s entertainment to put things in order before the -proceedings began. But I think <em>you</em> have inherited your father’s gift -as a <em>raconteur</em>, and that is paying you a high compliment, for he was -one of the best I ever knew. Only the other day I was retailing some of -his stories about Ruskin.” And then he reminded me of the following:</p> - -<p>Ruskin and my father were great friends, and several times the latter -stayed at Brantwood. On his first visit he had been touring in the -English Lakes, and having a delightful invitation from Ruskin, -he gladly accepted; but there was no mention of my mother, and -consequently, rather than suggest that she should join him, it was -arranged that she and my small sister—then about eight—should go to -the neighbouring hotel.</p> - -<p>That night Ruskin asked my father whether he liked tea or coffee before -he got up.</p> - -<p>“A cup of tea,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Why don’t you choose coffee?”</p> - -<p>“Well, to tell the truth, I have lived so much abroad that I don’t -fancy English coffee, it is generally so badly made.”</p> - -<p>His host said nothing. The next morning my father was awakened and a -strong smell of coffee permeated the room, and turning to the servant, -he asked, “Is that my cup of tea?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir, it is Mr. Ruskin’s coffee.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Ruskin’s coffee! What do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“The master was up early, he roasted the coffee himself, he ground the -coffee himself, and he made the coffee himself, and he hopes you will -like it.”</p> - -<p>So much for Ruskin....</p> - -<p>During the course of the day it slipped out that my mother was at the -hotel. Ruskin was furious.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">276</a></span></p> - -<p>“How could you be so unfriendly?” he said.</p> - -<p>“Well, you see my little girl is also with her,” my father replied, -“and as we are on our way to Scotland they could not very well go back -to London, and I really could not ask you to house so many.”</p> - -<p>Ruskin did not answer, but rang the bell. When the servant arrived he -proceeded:</p> - -<p>“Get such-and-such a room ready, and see the sheets are properly aired, -for a lady and little girl are coming to stop. Tell the coachman I want -the carriage at such-and-such an hour.”</p> - -<p>Then turning to my father he remarked:</p> - -<p>“At that time, Dr. Harley, you can amuse yourself. I am going to fetch -your wife.”</p> - -<p>Ruskin loved children. He and my sister Olga became tremendous friends; -they used to walk out together hand in hand for hours and hours, while -he explained to her about beetles, flowers, and birds, and all things -in Nature which appealed to him.</p> - -<p>Sir Joseph Swan told me an incident in Carlyle’s life which will be -new to worshippers of the Sage. “So many stories,” he said, “are -told of Carlyle which show him as a terribly bearish person that I -take pleasure in finding in this incident that there was another and -kindlier side of his nature.” It related to a young friend some thirty -years before, now a middle-aged and distinguished man:</p> - -<p>The youth was a divinity student in a Birmingham College, preparing -himself for the duties of a dissenting minister. He used to make -occasional visits to London, and during one of these he haunted the -neighbourhood of Chelsea in the hope of meeting Carlyle, then the -subject of his hero-worship. Carlyle was “shadowed,” his goings out and -his comings in were watched for days together, in the far-off hope that -some moment would “turn up” which would bring them into contact.</p> - -<p>“One day he followed Carlyle from his house, and across the Bridge into -Battersea Park. Mr. Allingham was with him. Presently the two sat down -together on one of the Park seats. No one was about, and the couple of -old gentlemen were in no way occupied except with their own thoughts. -My young friend nervously watched them as they sat, wondering how near -he might venture. At<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">277</a></span> last he mustered up courage enough to walk softly -behind Mr. Allingham, and to say to him almost in a whisper:</p> - -<p>“‘Mr. Allingham, do you think Mr. Carlyle would allow me to shake hands -with him?’</p> - -<p>“‘Mr. Carlyle,’ said Mr. Allingham, ‘here is a young man who wishes to -speak to you.’</p> - -<p>“Carlyle, roused from his reverie, stood up facing the young student -almost savagely, and said very sharply:</p> - -<p>“‘Who are you, and what do you want?’</p> - -<p>“The brusqueness of the challenge drove the youth’s shyness away—he -answered jestingly:</p> - -<p>“‘I’m a Black Brunswicker from Birmingham.’</p> - -<p>“Carlyle’s attitude completely changed. He laughed, and repeated:</p> - -<p>“‘A Black Brunswicker from Birmingham!’ Then he added: ‘Tell us who you -are, and all about you.’</p> - -<p>“This led to my friend giving Carlyle his name and a good deal of his -history. The Sage asked him many questions with evident interest and -kindly intention, and they were about to part when Carlyle not only -shook hands with his admirer, but gave him his blessing, putting a hand -on his head and saying with solemn earnestness:</p> - -<p>“‘May the God of Abraham and the God of Isaac go with the lad!’“</p> - -<p class="padt1">We were sitting one evening under the electric light, steadily burning -in the Swan lamps. I asked Sir Joseph how he came to think of devising -the lamp which has made his name familiar all over the world. So -complicated a topic for the non-expert is the electric light that I am -glad not to have to rely upon memory. Sir Joseph kindly undertook to -put the matter in writing for me, and here is the narrative in his own -words:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> -<p>“The question you have put to me—although in itself simple—is not -easy to answer. The genesis of ideas is often a puzzling matter, -and it is so to a considerable extent in the case of my electric -lamp. The germ was, I believe, implanted by a lecture on electric -lighting that I heard when I was about seventeen. That was in 1845.</p> - -<p>“The lecturer was W. E. Staite, one of the first inventors of -a mechanically-regulated electric lamp. He illustrated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">278</a></span> -his discourse by brilliant experiments, and was confident in -his prediction that electric light would shortly be used for -lighthouse illumination. Mr. Staite in his lecture also slightly -touched on the production of small electric lights, suitable for -house-lighting, and he described and showed how much lighting could -be done by electrically heating a wire of Iridium. The experiment -he showed to illustrate this point was simply the heating to a -white heat a short piece of iridium wire stretched nakedly in the -air between two conducting pillars.</p> - -<p>“The lecturer was careful to explain that means would have to be -provided for regulating the current of electricity, so that the -temperature of the wire should not vary, for if too little, the light -would be dull, if too much, the wire would melt. I quite clearly -remember that while I admired the ingenuity of the mechanism of -Staite’s lighthouse lamp, I was not at all satisfied with the too -elementary device he proposed for small electric lights.</p> - -<p>“As far as it is possible to ‘track suggestion to her inmost cell,’ the -train of thought which led, long years after, to the evolution of my -electric lamp had its beginning in seeing Mr. Staite’s very simple and -very inefficient attempt to produce electric light <em>on a small scale</em>, -for I then <em>saw</em> how essential it was that <em>the unit of light must be -small</em> and the means of producing it <em>simple</em> for electricity ever to -become a widely used means of illumination.</p> - -<p>“That is my answer—a very restricted and imperfect answer—to your -kindly intended question.</p> - -<p>“I have always felt indebted to Mr. Staite for the inspiration he gave -me. Unfortunately he did not live to see any great development of -electric lighting; he was distinctly an inventor in advance of his time.</p> - -<p>“It has always been a pleasure to me to think that Faraday had the -joy of seeing ripen some of the first-fruit of his great work in his -department of applied science. In his old age he had the gratification -of seeing the North Foreland Lighthouse lighted by means of electricity -generated in economical manner made possible by his magneto-electrical -discoveries. Would that he might have seen their greater results that -we see to-day!</p> - -<p class="right">“Most sincerely yours,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Joseph Swan</span>.” </p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">279</a></span></p> - -<p>At a charming dinner at Sir James Mackay’s,<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">7</a> I sat between Prince -d’Arenberg, an old friend (who is best known publicly as the Chairman -of the Suez Canal) and Lord Morley; both elderly gentlemen, both -scholars, leaders of men, both small, concise, and full of strength.</p> - -<p>Not long afterwards, I heard Lord Morley lecture on English Language -and Literature. He has a nervous manner, with thin, refined hands -and fidgety ways. It was no doubt an ordeal to face such an enormous -audience, but it was curious to see the nervousness of the accustomed -speaker. He took out his watch, unthreaded the long chain from the -buttonholes, and laid it on the table before him, drank three whole -tumblers of water by way of a preliminary canter, stood up, received a -perfect ovation, pulled at the lapels of his coat, and looked unhappy.</p> - -<p>In clear black writing on half-sheets of note-paper, the lecture was -apparently written. The light was good and the lecture desk high, and -he was practically able to read without appearing to do so. Sometimes -one could see he was interlarding his prepared material with impromptu -lines, but the bulk of the material was delivered as it was prepared. -And it was a brilliant achievement. A thin, small voice and yet so -accustomed to use, that it could be heard all over the hall. As a rule -he spoke quietly, but sometimes he became emphatic, and thumped his -right hand on his left. Sometimes he folded his hands on his chest, -at others he folded them behind his back. In fact, one would dub him -a thoroughly good speaker from habit rather than circumstance. He has -not got a sufficiently commanding presence, nor is his voice strong -enough for effect, but being an absolute master of his subject and from -the practice of fifty years of public life, he knows how to catch an -audience and keep it interested.</p> - -<p>Having referred to his nervousness, it is only fair to say it lasted -but a minute. Before he turned the first page of his manuscript it had -flown, and so accustomed was he to speak that he evidently prepared a -speech of one hour’s duration, and exactly as the clock pointed to the -hour he ceased. It was a scholarly production rendered in a masterly -way.</p> - -<p>In 1911 the late Sir Lawrence Alma-Tadema and other <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">280</a></span>friends were -dining with me in York Terrace, when Arthur Bourchier’s name turned up -in conversation.</p> - -<p>“How splendid he is as <em>Henry VIII.</em>,” remarked the veteran -Academician, who had just celebrated his seventy-fifth birthday, and -who was still as hale, hearty, full of jokes as ever, and rattled off -new stories with every fresh course.</p> - -<p>Taking up his name card as he spoke, he drew a little square box, and -in another instant, a few more lines had turned the box into the figure -of Bourchier as <em>Henry VIII.</em></p> - -<p>“Have you seen Bourchier’s beard off the stage?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“No, I do not think I have,” he replied, and then I told him of the -silly little remark I had made at a public dinner and which someone -must have overheard, as it appeared in endless newspapers the following -week.</p> - -<p>Here it is, headed:</p> - -<p class="center padt1">“MR. BOURCHIER’S REJOINDER</p> - -<div class="blockquote padb1"> - -<p>“When Mrs. Alec Tweedie a few days ago met Mr. Arthur Bourchier, -who was wearing, of course, his fiery red dyed Henry VIII. beard, -she exclaimed: ‘Why, I thought you were Bernard Shaw, with a -swollen face!’ ‘What an impossible conception—Bernard Shaw with -any part of his head swollen,’ replied the Garrick manager.”</p></div> - -<p>Chaffing Mr. Bourchier about this a week or two later at a luncheon -given by Mr. Somerset Maugham at the Carlton, I said:</p> - -<p>“I really believe your beard is redder than ever.”</p> - -<p>“Quite so,” he replied; “to-day is dye-day, Monday.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, is it? I always thought it was wash-day?”</p> - -<p>“With me it is dye-day, and every Monday morning I am steeped in -henna,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“Why did you start that beard?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Because, dear lady, when we began <cite>Henry VIII.</cite> it was winter, and I -had not the pluck to face gumming on a beard for eight performances a -week in the cold weather, tearing it off again, and shaving daily. I -should have had no face left by now. It would have been raw meat. The -only way was to grow a beard, and as the beard would come grey, the -only way to master it was to dip it in the dye-pot.” And he laughed -that merry chuckle which has become so familiar in his impersonation of -bluff King Hal.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">281</a></span></p> - -<p>Everyone liked Tadema with his genial personality. It is a curious -thing that though of Dutch descent, he was really born in Wimpole -Street, London. He lived more or less in Holland until he was sixteen, -when he went to Belgium to study Art, but he never drew his pictures, -except in his mind’s eye; he painted straight on the canvas. He was the -first exponent of art and archæology in combination. When he returned -to Holland they assured him that he was no longer Dutch, and if he -wished to be considered so, he must be naturalised. “Ridiculous,” he -said, “I shall do nothing of the kind, and if your rules are so absurd, -I shall have nothing more to do with Holland.” “I was annoyed and I -left, and England has been my home ever since,” he continued as he was -relating this to me. “The funny part is, that when I wear my uniform -to go to a Levée, I am always taken for an English admiral. You see I -am short and fat, and have a beard, and the man in the street seems to -associate that with the commander of the sea. Anyway, I have so often -been taken for an admiral, that I sometimes forget I am a painter.”</p> - -<p>If Tadema looked like an admiral instead of a painter, Somerset Maugham -looks like a smart London young man rather than a medico who has taken -to the drama.</p> - -<p>What a strange career! A young doctor, in a small practice, he spent -his spare time writing plays. For eight years <cite>Lady Frederick</cite> was -refused a hearing. Then one day he heard that Ethel Irving wanted a -comedy in a hurry—looked up his book, saw Mary Moore had had it for a -year, dashed off in a hansom (there weren’t many taxis in 1905), made -her unearth it, went on in the hansom, left it with Ethel Irving, and -within twenty-four hours it was accepted. She was great in the part. -Success followed. <cite>Mrs. Dot</cite> had been refused by managers for five -years. Once accepted, it roped money in. Success number two.</p> - -<p>In 1910 he laughingly told me he had just used up the last of his -stock of plays, and would then (having made a fortune in the old ones) -have to begin something new. He owned he had altered and written them -all up a bit, but they were the same plays that all the managers had -previously refused.</p> - -<p>When an artist paints a portrait, he leaves out the disagreeable -traits, when a photographer takes a photo he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">282</a></span> rubs out the wrinkles, -and when an author writes a personal book he leaves out all the most -personal touches.</p> - -<p>The longer I live the more convinced I am that each tiny act has a -wider reaching result. For instance, I wrote <cite>Iceland</cite> for fun. Ten -years afterwards that girlish diary was selling on the bookstalls at a -time when I badly wanted the money it brought in. Once I wrote a thing -I hated. I wavered, but finally published it, and that wretched article -has turned up again and again to annoy me and jeer at me.</p> - -<p>We make a friend of good social standing, perhaps a little way above -us intellectually and socially, that friendship leads to others of a -similar kind. By chance we become acquainted with someone below our -own sphere and usual standard. He is right enough in his way; but -his friends fasten upon us. Without being positively rude various -undesirable people are foisted upon us. We do a kind act. Years -afterwards that kindness is unexpectedly returned with interest. We -do a cruel deed and that deed haunts us along life’s path by its -consequences. Everything counts in the game of life, and yet nothing -counts but an easy conscience.</p> - -<p>A thick veil, therefore, covers many most striking episodes and -events. Diplomats have met at my house to discuss important world-wide -questions. Politicians have talked over knotty points in my -drawing-room hidden away from the eyes of the reporter. My little home -has witnessed striking interviews, and the walls have heard wondrous -tales of world-wide repute unfolded and discussed. I have often been of -use in this way, and am proud of the strange confidences that have been -placed in me, but such trust cannot be betrayed, and although I could -tell many wondrous facts, my readers must not be disappointed that they -should be withheld. Discretion is not a vice.</p> - -<p>Silence is often golden.</p> - -<p>Hence I may disappoint the many in these pages; but I hope to earn the -gratitude of the few, by respecting their important confidences.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">283</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">FROM GAY TO GRAVE</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">A TRUCE to work. Even adversity has its sweets. After tasks should -come whatever pleases best, the toiler has earned a play-hour. A lover -of pageant, I will now describe what to me is one of the interesting -sights in London, namely a reception at the Foreign Office. The -invitations are issued “by His Majesty and His Ministers,” for -ten-thirty, but before ten o’clock a line of carriages is slowly -wending its way to Whitehall, through Downing Street, into the -courtyard of the Foreign Office.</p> - -<p>It is the King’s Birthday, Parliament has risen, all the men of note in -the country are dining at official dinners. They have all donned their -best uniforms, Court dress, decorations, and ribbons, and presently are -making their way up the gaily decorated staircase.</p> - -<p>One must own to a feeling of disappointment on driving up, for the -entrance door is meagre and indifferent, and the downstairs cloak-rooms -are not imposing. Nevertheless, the dividing staircase once reached, -all is changed. At its foot is the famous marble statue of the late -Lord Salisbury by Herbert Hampton, the cast for which I had gazed on -so often when my own bust was being modelled. The well is not so large -as in Stafford House, nor so imposing as in Dorchester House, so the -spectators do not stand all round, but on one side only; besides, the -aspect is somewhat contracted. Still, half-way up the Foreign Minister, -with several officials and a sprinkling of ladies, stands and receives. -Those who have the entrée pass up the stairs on his left hand; those -without it pass up on his right.</p> - -<p>Masses of flowers festoon the marble balustrade; their scent is heavy -in the air. What a strange crowd it is! Some of the most renowned -men and women in Europe are present. Gorgeous ladies in magnificent -gowns, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">284</a></span> sparkling tiaras, are escorted by gentlemen ablaze with -stars and orders. Then come a humble little Labour Member in a blue -serge coat, and his wife in an ill-fitting blouse. At the top of the -stairs the crowd disperses to the Great Hall, where the one and only -picture represents William III. Beyond this is the room used in the -last Administration for Cabinet meetings—for this particular reception -took place in 1907—and where also Sir Edward Grey, the Secretary of -State for Foreign Affairs, had just given his full-dress dinner. Here -refreshments were served, and here also the band of the Grenadier -Guards played during the evening.</p> - -<p>Among the visitors were Ambassadors from foreign States, besides -diplomats attached to the various Embassies, with their wives, -Ministers and Ladies of the Legations, Consuls and Consuls-General -of foreign countries, heads of Departments, and Chiefs of Government -Offices; representatives of the Army, Navy, Church, Art, Literature, -Drama, etc.</p> - -<p>The decorations worn by the men certainly improve their appearance -and add to the brilliancy of the scene, but stars own sharp, angular -points, which have a way of scratching bare arms, as the writer knows -to her cost.</p> - -<p>About eleven o’clock the strains of “God Save the King” were heard, and -shortly afterwards the Royal Procession was formed, and wended its way -through all the galleries, until it reached the room where supper was -arranged. Young men in official uniform preceded the procession, to -clear the way. Then followed the Prime Minister, with the Princess of -Wales (now Queen Mary), who has the gift of acquiring greater dignity -of manner as years roll on.</p> - -<p>The Prince of Wales (now King George V.) came next, and, with that -extraordinary genial gift of recognition, apparently inherited from his -father, he stopped as he passed through the suite of rooms to shake -hands with the people he knew.</p> - -<p>All the Ministers and their wives, the Duke of Norfolk, and a host -of other officials followed in his wake. It is the custom for the -gentlemen to bow low and the ladies to curtsey as the procession passes.</p> - -<p>By this time there was barely breathing room, for all the official -diners had arrived, and most of the three thousand<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">285</a></span> invitations issued -found a representative in that gay throng. Supper over, the Royal -Procession returned through the State Galleries, and, descending the -staircase, went home shortly after midnight.</p> - -<p>Well, well! to think how many people declare they “would not thank you -for such a pretty sight; would rather sit at home with their book, or -smoke at their club; anything rather than see a fashionable gathering, -and be jostled by diplomats and peers.”</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1 padb1"> -“OPENING OF PARLIAMENT. -<br /> -An Impression of the Peers. -<br /> -(By a Woman Commoner.)” -</p> - -<p>Thus my little article was headed in the front page of <cite>The Pall Mall -Gazette</cite>, 1902.</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“A little flutter of excitement passed through me as I opened a -certain envelope one morning, and took out its contents. Just a -little bit of cardboard, but oh, how precious! for it represented a -seat at the opening of Parliament by His Most Gracious Majesty King -Edward VII. ‘Admittance 12 o’clock. Doors close 1.30. Day dress.’</p> - -<p>“These were the orders, and, not wishing to miss anything, I -started forth a little after noon, and drove to the Victoria Tower -entrance. I had been there before, when the House was sitting, and -knew those rows of five hundred pegs on which the noble lords hang -their coats and hats, each peg being ornamented with its owner’s -name. By the by, there is a curious rule that no peer standing on -the floor of the Upper House, or moving from one side to another, -may do so with his hat on; and if he rise from his comfortable red -seat with his head covered, he must doff his hat, and not replace -it until he is seated again. Such a strange formality is easily -forgotten, so wise folk leave their hats downstairs.</p> - -<p>“There is as great a charm about the interior of the House of Peers -as there is in the building architecturally; the moss-green carpets -and red-covered seats harmonise so well with the fine carvings and -passable pictures. The Robing Room is hung with canvases of the -Tudor period, and there are also some good carvings here, which -made a fitting setting to the day’s proceedings. Never has there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">286</a></span> -been such a demand for tickets as on this occasion, both -by Members of the Commons to hear the King’s Speech, and Society -generally to get into the Royal Gallery.</p> - -<p>“Forty-one guns fired from St. James’s Park announced the arrival -of the Royal party. It was at this point of overpowering excitement -that the heralds first made their appearance. They were gorgeous in -red and blue and gold, ornamented with lions, rose, shamrock, and -thistle, headed by the Rouge Croix and Rouge Dragon, and followed by -the officers of the Lord Chamberlain’s office, Gentlemen of the Court, -and the Ushers. After sundry officials had passed, the Lord Privy Seal -(the Marquis of Salisbury) appeared. He was looking very, very old, his -stoop more noticeable than ever, in spite of his great height; and he -was certainly one of the tallest men present, with the exception of the -magnificent Lifeguardsmen who lined the staircase. The Prime Minister -appeared somewhat more bald, and the hair at each side of his head -seemed longer and whiter than usual. The Duke of Norfolk, on the other -hand, was looking quite smart, and so was His Grace of Devonshire, who -wore his red robes with white bands round the shoulders with manly -grace. The Duke of Portland, many years their junior, though getting -extremely stout, is still strikingly handsome. Then came the exciting -moment; the Sword of State appeared in view, carried by the Marquis -of Londonderry, followed by the King, on whose left side walked the -Queen. She looked perfectly lovely. Her carriage, the majestic turn of -her head, all denoted the bearing of a young woman, instead of one on -the wrong side of fifty, and a grandmother. On her chestnut hair she -wore a small diamond crown with a point in front like a Marie Stuart -cap, and a long cream veil of Honiton lace. This was caught under the -crown, and hung down the back, showing to advantage over her red velvet -robe, which was borne by pages. She wore a high black dress, high -probably owing to her recent illness; but the front of the bodice was -so covered with diamonds, arranged in horizontal bands from her deep -diamond collarette, that but little of the bodice was seen. She bowed -most sweetly, and, as she passed, folk murmured, ‘Isn’t she lovely, -and every inch a Queen!’ Her black-gloved hand rested lightly upon -the King’s white one, as he led her through the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">287</a></span> Royal Gallery -to the House of Peers. She wore large pearls in her ears, and lengthy -chains of pearls round her neck; in fact, she was literally ablaze with -diamonds and pearls.</p> - -<p>“The King was looking better than formerly, only a little paler and -thinner. He wore a scarlet uniform, which rather clashed with the dark -red velvet of his robe, but his deep ermine cape with small black tails -broke the discordant tones. The Royal couple bowed slightly as they -moved slowly along, and a deathlike stillness prevailed after the first -blare of trumpets which heralded their approach, when the doors were -first thrown open, and they entered the gallery. Immediately behind -the Queen came the Countess of Antrim, the Lady of the Bedchamber; the -Duchess of Buccleuch, as Mistress of the Robes; and Lady Alice Stanley, -who bears the strange title ‘Woman of the Bedchamber.’ They were all -dressed in black—their Court dresses cut low—and wore black feathers -and spotted black veils, with diamond pins in the hair.</p> - -<p>“One of the chief features of the procession was the Cap of -Maintenance, which was carried immediately before His Majesty by the -Marquis of Winchester. Then came the Duke of Devonshire, bearing the -State Crown, which resembled an extremely large peer’s crown of red -velvet with an ermine border. Then came Gold Sticks and Silver Sticks, -pages and officers in uniform, truly a magnificent procession, as it -wended its way along the Royal Gallery. The Yeomen of the Guard lined -the aisle, and looked as delightfully picturesque as usual. Now came -the moment of disappointment. These much-prized tickets did not admit -us into the House of Peers to hear the Speech from the Throne. We had -to wait patiently for about a quarter of an hour for the return of -the procession, which—by the by—had been a quarter of an hour late -in starting, and then wend our way down the Royal staircase and out -through the funny little oak door towards home. Wonderful carriages -were waiting below, with hammercloths and wigged coachmen, and all the -glories of nobility. Truly a regal entertainment.</p> - -<p>“Now for a growl. That Royal Gallery is all very well, but it was -packed to suffocation, and there were no chairs at all, the three -raised tiers being impossible as seats, when the great crush came. -Would it not be better to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">288</a></span> issue less tickets, and provide narrow -benches for those present? Two to three hours’ standing for women not -accustomed to it is rather trying, especially when the space is so -crowded that it is hardly possible to breathe. Peeresses married to -commoners were there; peeresses by marriage whose fathers-in-law are -still living; sons who one day will succeed noble fathers in the House -of Lords; they were all there, crowds of them; that was why the Hall -was so full. There were some beautiful women and handsome men in that -Royal Gallery. Only peeresses, who are the wives of the heads of noble -families, were admitted to the Peeresses’ Gallery itself, and even they -could not all find room. Standing in a crowd is a tedious performance; -but a look at the King and Queen was a grand recompense, and made us -all forget our aching feet and the want of luncheon.”</p></div> - -<p>A tea-party at the House of Commons is another London experience that -to me is always rather amusing. For this one drives to St. Stephen’s -Porch, and, passing up a wide stairway flanked here and there by -ponderous-looking policemen, is accosted at the top of the stairs by -another magnificent guardian of the law, who demands one’s business.</p> - -<p>“Tea with Dr. Farquharson,” was my humble reply on one occasion, -whereupon the functionary bowed graciously, and waved me through the -glass doors that led to the central hall.</p> - -<p>There is always a hubbub in that particular lobby; at least, I have -never been there when it has not been full of men discussing political -affairs. (Or dare we call it gossiping?) Between four and five o’clock -a small sprinkling of ladies, who have been invited to tea within the -sacred precincts, are dotted here and there. Members are generally very -good at meeting their guests, and on the alert, at the appointed place -and time. It is well this is so, for it would be an awful trial for a -lone woman to stand and wait there long.</p> - -<p>Having collected his chickens, the evergreen Member for Aberdeen led us -along the passage opposite our entrance to the Terrace. The way on the -left leads to the House of Commons, that on the right to the House of -Lords. It is all very imposing, as far as the end of the passage, but -having<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">289</a></span> reached that one stumbles down a stone-flagged stairway which -would hardly do credit as the ordinary back-stairs of a private London -house, and would certainly be a poor specimen of the back-stairs of a -country mansion. Foreigners and Americans must be rather surprised at -the cellar-like and tortuous means by which they are led to the famous -river view; for back regions, consisting of kitchens, store-rooms, -pantries, and other like places, have to be passed by the dainty ladies -who trip their way to the Terrace overlooking the Thames.</p> - -<p>Having emerged from semi-darkness to the light, all is changed. From -the Terrace there is a magnificent view of St. Thomas’s Hospital -opposite, and the barges and river craft plying between.</p> - -<p>Neat maids in black dresses and white caps and aprons serve the -Commons. It is a charming place; still, although shaded from the sun, -wind on the Terrace is not unknown, and the cloths on the little tables -have to be carefully pegged down to keep them in their places. The -entertainment, however pleasant, is not exactly what one would call -smart. Plain white cups and brown earthenware teapots, hunks of cake -on plates, or strawberries and cream, form the fare. There are none of -those dainty little trays and mats, and pretty crockery, to which one -is accustomed at ladies’ clubs or in Bond Street tea-rooms.</p> - -<p>At one end of the Terrace, nearest the Bridge, is the Speaker’s -House, and that part of the walk is reserved for Members alone. On a -hot summer afternoon twenty, thirty, or forty men may be seen there -settling important business, or enjoying tea and cigarettes. Then comes -the portion set aside for Members with guests, and there the gaiety -of the dresses—for every woman puts on her best to go to tea at the -House of Commons—is delightful, but mingled with the smart company -are some queer folk. Members are always being asked to entertain their -constituents, and some of the political ladies from the provinces must -be rather a trial to their representatives at Westminster.</p> - -<p>We were a funny little party that afternoon. Miss Braddon (Mrs. -Maxwell) sat at the end of the table, then came Sir Gilbert Parker, -myself, Mr. and Mrs. (now Sir Henry and Lady) W. H. Lucy, Sir William -Wedderburn, and Mrs. John Murray.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">290</a></span></p> - -<p>Since the Radical majority in 1906 the Terrace has become a very -different place. Smart ladies and pretty frocks, well-set-up and -well-groomed men, are not predominant; for Labour Members wear labour -clothes, and smoke pipes, while their families and friends look ill at -ease below those glorious towers of Westminster.</p> - -<p>A few days after that House of Commons tea with Dr. Farquharson I -chanced to have tea at the House of Lords with Viscount Templetown. -In this case, one drives up to the Peers’ Entrance, which is rather -farther from Parliament Street, and alights beneath the fine portico, -where officials in gorgeous uniform enquire one’s business, until the -kindly peer, who is waiting in the hall, steps forward to claim his -guest.</p> - -<p>Passing, as on my visit to the House of Commons, through sundry -cheerless passages and more horrible stone staircases, we stepped out -upon the Terrace, this time at the end furthest from the Speaker’s -House. The only difference in the arrangements is that at the Lords’ -teas, waitresses are superseded by waiters wearing gorgeous blue -ribbons and gold badges, so grand, indeed, that an American is said to -have innocently asked if that was the Order of the Garter.</p> - -<p>“Yes, my lud,” “No, my lud,” is the answer to every question. The tea -is just the same, the fare is just as frugal, the cups and tray just -as simple as for the House of Commons, but on every chair is painted -“House of Lords.” What would not an American give to possess one of -those chairs, iron-clamped and wooden-rimmed though they be?</p> - -<p>The less said about the Ladies’ Gallery the better. I have never -gone there without a feeling of disgust. One might as well be shut -up in a bathing-machine, so foul is the air; or behind the screen of -a cathedral, so little can one see; or in a separate room, so little -can one hear. For many months in 1910 women were forbidden even this -gruesome chamber as a punishment for militant disturbances. When -the rule of banishment was rescinded only relations of members were -admitted. Thus some curious relationships were invented. A story runs -that someone asked a prominent Irishman if he would pass a lady in as -his cousin.</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” he replied—but when he saw her, she came from South -Africa, and was black, and so he cooled off.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">291</a></span></p> - -<p>“But the lady is official, and must get in.”</p> - -<p>“All right, I’ll manage it,” replied the genial member, so off he went -to a fellow-Nationalist.</p> - -<p>“I say, there is an official’s wife from South Africa wants a seat. -Will you pass her in as your cousin?”</p> - -<p>“By all means,” replied his colleague.</p> - -<p>Accordingly, the black lady took her seat complacently, and everyone -wondered whose “cousin” she was.</p> - -<p>Let me, “in half joke and whole earnest,” as the Irish say, give an -instance of myself as an ordinary woman with certain ideas on politics, -and show how one incident changed my mind on the Tariff. Let us call -the little tale “The Story of a Fur Coat”—only a little story about -my very own fur coat, a Conservative garment which nearly became -Socialistic atoms.</p> - -<p>In 1905 I was in Mexico. I had crossed the Atlantic in the warmth of -summer, had travelled in tropical heat beneath banana trees in the -South, and was to return to England in time for Christmas Day. I waited -in Mexico City until the last minute, because I wanted to see General -Diaz elected President for the seventh time. Then I remembered my big -sledging coat was in London, and three thousand miles of the Atlantic -had to be crossed in mid-winter, even after traversing as many more -miles by land to reach New York.</p> - -<p>I wired for the coat to meet me in New York.</p> - -<p>Seven feet of snow lay piled along the sides of the streets of that -city when I arrived, and chunks of ice floated down the Hudson, icicles -hung from the sky-scrapers; everyone shivered out of doors, and baked, -or rather stewed, inside the houses.</p> - -<p>“Where is my fur coat?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“It has not arrived,” was the answer.</p> - -<p>Distressed and surprised, I went off the next day to the Steamship -Office to demand the coat. From White Star to Cunard, from Cunard -to White Star, backwards and forwards I trudged. At last a package -securely sewn up and sealed was found. Was that it?</p> - -<p>Really I could not say, as I had never seen the parcel before; but, -as my name was on it, I presumed it was. Would the clerk kindly look -inside and see if it was a blue cloth coat with a fur lining and sable -collar?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">292</a></span></p> - -<p>The clerk regretted, but he dared not open it, and suggested my filling -in a sheet of paper.</p> - -<p>“Certainly, I would fill in anything to get my coat.”</p> - -<p>So I began. They have a way in America of asking the most irrelevant -questions. Your age?—Parents?—Probable length of sojourn?—What -illnesses have you had?—If you are a cripple?—What languages you -speak?—and generally end up by enquiring of first-class passengers if -they have ever been in prison.</p> - -<p>I answered reams of such-like questions, as far as I can remember; -swore to all sorts of queer things, and against “Value” put forty or -fifty pounds, which was what the coat had originally cost.</p> - -<p>The clerk took the paper, read it slowly through, appeared to juggle -with figures, and then said calmly:</p> - -<p>“The duty will be twenty-three pounds!” ($115.)</p> - -<p>“The what?” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“The duty——”</p> - -<p>“What duty? It is a very old coat; it has been in Iceland, Lapland, -Russia, and other countries with me, and it is not for sale. It is my -own coat.”</p> - -<p>“I quite understand all that,” he replied, “but you said its value was -forty or fifty pounds, and we charge sixty per cent on the value.”</p> - -<p>I nearly had a fit. I was sailing next day; I had no twenty-three -pounds in cash to pay with, and I absolutely declined to disburse -anything.</p> - -<p>He simply refused to disgorge. Deadlock.</p> - -<p>Fuming and fretting, I left the office. Every influential friend I had -was appealed to in the next few hours, I maintaining stoutly that every -paper in America should hear of the injustice to my “old clo’,” if I -had to cross the Atlantic without it; and if I died from cold, my death -would be laid at the door of the American custom-house officials.</p> - -<p>Finally, the affair was arranged. At seven o’clock next morning a -friend fetched me in that rare commodity—in New York—a cab, and we -drove those weary miles to the docks. My luggage was on the vehicle, my -ticket in my hand. It was not the same dock as I was sailing from at -ten o’clock. More palaver, more signing of documents, more swearing to -the identity of the coat, more showing of frayed edges, to prove the -coveted garment was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">293</a></span> not new; and the precious thing was at last handed -over. An official helped me into it. Another official mounted on the -box of the cab and drove with me to the next dock; he actually conveyed -me—and the coat—“in bond” to my ship. He saw me up the gangway, and -then—but apparently not till then—did he believe I was not going to -sell the coat, and cheat the United States of a sixty per cent duty.</p> - -<p>Up to that time I had been somewhat large in my views, somewhat -of a Free Trader; but after that I realised how impossible it was -for England to stand out practically alone against all the other -protected countries, and that if Free Trade was right, Free Trade must -be universal or not at all. Why should we be the only people to be -philanthropic?</p> - -<p>When they wanted to take my fur coat from me I also realised I was not -really a Socialist. I did not wish to share it with anyone; and when -they wanted to charge me for my own wares, I felt the injustice of -England allowing tens and tens of thousands of new foreign clothes to -enter our ports unchallenged, while America and other countries charge -half the value of the goods received.</p> - -<p>From that moment I believed in Protection, and bade adieu to Free-Trade -notions and Socialistic dreams.</p> - -<p><em>We</em> do the <em>giving</em>, while others do the <em>taking</em>, and the odds work -against ourselves.</p> - -<p>As we can’t make the world Free Traders, let us enjoy Protection, like -the rest of the world. Conscription, more practical—and especially -technical—education, and the revival of apprenticeships, would do more -good to England than all the Socialistic tearing to pieces of manners -and customs, strikes, disorganisation, and all the rest of it.</p> - -<p>Cabinet Ministers, with their five thousand a year, and Members of -Parliament, with their four hundred pounds, can afford to go on keeping -the pot of discontent boiling—its very seething is what keeps them in -office. Paid agitators are ruining the land.</p> - -<p>“From gay to grave” this chapter is headed. Surely no misnomer, for -to pass from teacups on the Terrace of Lords’ and Commons’ Houses, -where women chat and smile, and show off their pretty frocks, to the -atmosphere of solid learning diffused by the <cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite>, -its huge staff, its editor, its hundreds of workers, this is a weighty -and serious enough ending.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">294</a></span></p> - -<p>The <cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite> celebrated its eleventh birthday—I mean -edition—on the 13th December, 1910; and all the great papers (and -the greater Dailies “include the lesser”) took notice of the really -noteworthy banquet.</p> - -<p>Four dinners had been already given by Mr. Hugh Chisholm, the editor, -to his masculine contributors, but the feminine element being less -numerous, it was thought inadvisable to distribute the women as scanty -plums in four large dough puddings. Therefore the fifth and last of the -series of <cite>Encyclopædia</cite> dinners given at the Savoy Hotel was dedicated -to celebrating the share taken by women in the colossal work. We sat -down two hundred and fifty, and no more representative attendance of -light and learning was ever brought together. It was a triumph for -both sexes. A splendid gathering of men came to do those women workers -honour.</p> - -<p><cite>The Times</cite> said:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1 padb1"> - -<p>“Perhaps, if looked at rightly and seriously, one of the most -remarkable events in the world of women for many years was the -dinner given on Tuesday last by the Editor of the <cite>Encyclopædia -Britannica</cite>, in celebration of the part taken by women in the -preparation of the 11th edition of that monument of learning. -Among the women present as contributors or guests were the -following:—The Mistress of Girton College and the Principal -of Newnham College, Cambridge, the Principal of Somerville -College, Oxford, the Principal of Bedford College, London, and -the heads of many other women’s colleges; H.M. Principal Lady -Inspector of Factories (Miss A. M. Anderson, <span class="smcap">M.A.</span>), the -Lady Superintendent of the Post Office Savings Bank (Miss Maria -Constance Smith, <span class="smcap">I.S.O.</span>), Mrs. Fawcett, Mrs. W. K. -Clifford, Lady Strachey, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, Mrs. Sophie Bryant, -<span class="smcap">D.SC.</span>, Mrs. Hertha Ayrton, Mrs. Bedford Fenwick, Mrs. -Wilfrid Meynell, Miss Emily Davies, <span class="smcap">LL.D.</span>, etc. Truly -an imposing list of names, a standing testimony to the value of -woman’s brain power in the work of the humanities and sciences.”</p></div> - -<p>Twelve hundred contributors from all over the world. Among whom only -twenty-seven were women. Is it surprising that I was proud to be -numbered among those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">295</a></span> lucky few, and to have been one of the four asked -to speak at that great gathering?</p> - -<p><cite>The Morning Post</cite>, after giving the names of the guests present, -added that the wide range of feminine activity, shown in the lives and -work of those ladies present, proved that into the last four decades -women had compressed the work of four centuries. That the interests, -work, and present place in the social scheme of women were entirely -on a level with that of men, this being the strongest testimony of -the enormous advance in civilisation made by all the English-speaking -peoples in the past forty years.</p> - -<p>Hurrah! All honour to women! Admiring my sex as I do, here let me -make my boast of them, and give a little list of the leading women -contributors that was kindly furnished me by Miss Janet Hogarth<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">8</a> -(head of the female staff of the <cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite>). If some -are omitted, I am sorry; for we should make the most of our few chances -of letting the blind, deaf outer world see and hear what women are -doing and have lately done.</p> - -<p class="padt1"><em>Education.</em>—Mrs. Henry Sidgwick.</p> - -<p><em>Scholarship.</em>—Mrs. Wilde (Miss A. M. Clay), Mrs. Alison Phillips, -Miss B. Philpotts.</p> - -<p><em>Science.</em>—Lady Huggins, Miss A. L. Smith, the late Miss Agnes -Clarke, and the late Miss Mary Bateson.</p> - -<p><em>Travel.</em>—Lady Lugard, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, Miss Gertrude Bell.</p> - -<p><em>Sociology.</em>—Miss A. Anderson.</p> - -<p><em>Literature.</em>—Mrs. Meynell, Miss Jessie Weston, Miss Margaret -Bryant, Miss A. Zimmern.</p> - -<p><em>Church History.</em>—Miss A. Panes, Mrs. O’Neill.</p> - -<p><em>Music.</em>—Miss Schlesinger.</p> - -<p><em>Medicine.</em>—Mrs. Hennessy and the late Miss Fisher.</p> - -<p><em>Philosophy.</em>—Lady Welby.</p> - -<p class="padt1">Having myself, as usual, refused to speak, I was kindly reproached by -Mr. Chisholm for declining, and told “to be sure to be amusing.”</p> - -<p>But stop a moment! <cite>Punch</cite> was so delightful in his next issue, that it -is to be hoped Toby will not yap at me for lifting the morsel wholesale.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">296</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1 center">“THE END OF WOMAN</p> - -<p>“[Miss Fluffy Frou-Frou’s reply to Miss <span class="smcap">Janet Hogarth</span>, -who, at a recent Encyclopædia-Contributors’ Dinner, said the best -answer she had ever heard to the question, ‘What are women put into -this world for?’ was, ‘To keep the men’s heads straight.’]</p> - -<div class="poetry-container padt1"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“<span class="smcap">When</span> you would settle woman’s place and aim</div> -<div class="i1">And duties on this planet,</div> -<div class="line">I, and whole <em>heaps</em> of girls who think the same,</div> -<div class="i1">Bid you shut up, Miss <span class="smcap">Janet</span>!</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“Speak for the Few, if speak you must, but <em>pray</em></div> -<div class="i1">Don’t speak for <em>us</em>, the Many;</div> -<div class="line"><em>We</em> simply <em>scream</em> with mirth at what you say;</div> -<div class="i1"><em>We</em> are not taking any.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">“Your words, dear <span class="smcap">Janet</span>, frankly are <em>si bête</em></div> -<div class="i1">That all we others spurn them;</div> -<div class="line"><em>We</em> (Heavens!) <em>we</em>, ‘to keep the men’s heads straight!’</div> -<div class="i1"><em>We</em> who just live to <em>turn them</em>!!”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It seems that in the first edition of the <cite>Encyclopædia</cite>, published -in 1798, the editor defined woman as “the female of man. See <cite>Homo</cite>.” -Finally, Miss Hogarth, who began by telling what women had done for the -<cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite>, ended by saying what it had given them, viz. -the opportunity, hitherto unequalled, of showing what they could do to -help learning, the chance to demonstrate their rightful place in the -learned world.</p> - -<p>Afterwards Mrs. Fawcett, in an excellent speech, said that the wife of -a working-man (if she did her duty) was the hardest-worked creature on -the face of the globe. Pointing to the successes achieved by women in -various directions, she recalled the remark of a famous Cambridge coach -who reproached his idle students, asking how they would like to be -beaten by a woman. One replied, “I should much prefer it, sir, to being -beaten by a man.”</p> - -<p>To end up the notices of this memorable dinner, ever-delightful <cite>Punch</cite> -helps one to leave off with a smile. This is a little scrap stolen—be -quiet, Toby!—from a column of quips and cranks honouring our gathering:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1"> - -<p class="center">“PERPETUAL EMOTION.</p> - -<p class="center">“(<em>From ‘The Times’ of December 20, 1906.</em>)</p> - -<p class="padt1">“<span class="smcap">The</span> series of spritely dinners given by the proprietors -of the <cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite> to the contributors to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">297</a></span> -eleventh edition is still in full swing, the two hundred and -fiftieth being held last night. Sir <span class="smcap">Hugh Chisholm</span> took the -Chair as usual, habit having become second nature with him; and he -made, for a nonagenarian, a singularly lucid speech, in which he -once again explained the genesis of the Encyclopædic idea and its -progress through the ages until it reached perfection under his own -fostering care. Sir <span class="smcap">Hugh</span>, who spoke only for two hours -instead of his customary three, was at times but imperfectly heard -by the Press, but a formidable array of ear-trumpets absorbed his -earlier words at the table.</p> - -<p>“Sir <span class="smcap">Thomas Beecham</span>, Mus.Doc., responding for the toast of the -musical contributors, indulged in some interesting reminiscences of -his early career. In those days, as he reminded his hearers, he was a -paulo-post-Straussian. But it proved only a case of <em>sauter pour mieux -reculer</em>, and now he confessed that he found it impossible to listen -with any satisfaction to music later than that of <span class="smcap">Mendelssohn</span>. -After all, melody, simple and unsophisticated, was the basic factor in -music, and an abiding fame could never be built up on the calculated -pursuit of eccentricity.</p> - -<p>“Lord <span class="smcap">Gosse</span>, who entered and dined in a wheeled chair, -remarked incidentally that he had missed only seven out of the two -hundred and fifty dinners, and then told some diverting if not too -novel anecdotes of his official connection with the Board of Trade -and recited a charming sonnet which he had composed in honour of the -Editor, the two last lines running as follows:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container padt1"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Foe of excess, of anarchy and schism,</div> -<div class="line">I lift my brimming glass to thee, <span class="smcap">Hugh Chisholm</span>.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>“Few centenarians can ever have contributed a more exhilarating -addition to an evening’s excitement.</p> - -<p>“Dr. <span class="smcap">Hooper</span>, late Master of Trinity and ex-Vice-Chancellor of -Cambridge University, expressed his gratification that his <em>alma mater</em> -was indissolubly associated with the great undertaking which they -were once more met to celebrate in convivial conclave. Cambridge was -famous for its ‘Backs,’ and it had put its back into the <cite>Encyclopædia -Britannica</cite>. He hoped that he might be spared to attend their three -hundredth meeting, with Sir <span class="smcap">Hugh Chisholm</span> as Autocrat of the -Dinner-Table.”</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">298</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">ON JOTTINGS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">DO you ever jot? If not, pray allow me to introduce you to one of the -least expensive and most repaying domestic hobbies. I am myself a -most inveterate jotter, both by pen and brush, for I have cases full -of water-colour sketches, and bundles of maps, scraps, photos, and -oddments. Plenty of entertainment for future years can be laid up in -this way. Good stories; real plots too strange for fiction; bon-mots; -impressions of scenery; plays; programmes; events; menus; anything that -pleases one’s fancy is fish for the jotting net.</p> - -<p>In some receptacle—whether drawer, despatch-box, or tin case—fling -in your jottings, pencilled in haste while fresh. I have cupboards of -notes on Mexico, Iceland, Finland, Lapland, Sicily, Russia, Italy, -Morocco, America, Canada—pamphlets, prints, statistics, and other -heterogeneous matter.</p> - -<p>And to all would-be journalists and aspiring book-writers let me also -add: jot down your happy thoughts, smaller inspirations, appreciated -quotations, for all may be useful some day.</p> - -<p>To begin with, here is a “true fact”—as silly persons will sometimes -declare—concerning a banker.</p> - -<p>By way of title to my little tale, I will call it:</p> - -<p class="center padt1">“THE MILLIONAIRE’S FOUR POUNDS.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">He was lunching with me on his return from Egypt, this quiet, -unassuming head of a great banking firm.</p> - -<p>“What have you written this year?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-two stanzas on Egypt, a land of ancient tombs and modern -worries. They appeared, and I actually got four pounds for them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">299</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>The four pounds delighted him. That he spent more than four thousand -pounds in Egypt counted for naught, he had <em>earned</em> four pounds.</p> - -<p>“Rather funny, I was motoring in Scotland lately, and I called on -the Editor,” continued my guest. “He was charming. We talked on many -subjects, and then I said, ‘You don’t pay your contributors very -highly, do you?’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, oh yes, we do.’</p> - -<p>“‘You only paid me four pounds for twenty-two stanzas the other day.’</p> - -<p>“‘Ah, well, you see, that was poetry, and no one reads poetry!’”</p> - -<p>He told me the joke with a merry little chuckle on his grave face, and -his blue eyes twinkled.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This story is equalised by one Herbert Hampton told me. He was at -Beaconsfield, in Buckinghamshire, and wanted a couple of rooms for a -week to rest and do a little sketching; so seeing “Apartments” up at a -tiny cottage, he went in. It was a very simple place, clean and tidy, -but quite a workman’s home.</p> - -<p>The woman asked him two guineas a week. Considering the accommodation -offered, he thought the price ridiculous.</p> - -<p>“Come, come, I am not a millionaire,” he said.</p> - -<p>She looked at him, paused, and replied:</p> - -<p>“I thought you were a <em>gentleman</em>.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Sometimes one has utterly unexpected annoyances. Here is an instance of -such in my own experience. One day quite lately I was rung up on the -telephone, and in the most rude and insulting terms was upbraided for -having knocked off a woman’s hat in Regent Street. As I had not been in -Regent Street that day, and never knocked off a woman’s hat in my life, -I was naturally annoyed. The telephone rang again and again with the -same impertinent remarks.</p> - -<p>This was only the beginning of much trouble. Then came letters, -blackmail, I suppose one might call them, and constant telephonic -communications and general annoyance.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">300</a></span></p> - -<p>In fact, it became so bad that, after nearly six months, I had to apply -to a private detective. He took the matter in hand, and some time -later—for though there were addresses, most of them proved to be bogus -ones—he succeeded in unearthing the culprit, and the trouble ceased. -That was one of the minor annoyances of life.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Now for one of the minor pleasures; just to balance the worries.</p> - -<p>Some years ago I employed a gasfitter. The man interested me strangely. -He spoke like a gentleman. He had the most beautifully refined hands, -he was artistic in everything he did, and while attending to gas-fires, -kept excusing himself for making appreciative remarks on good bits of -furniture, or beautiful shades of colour.</p> - -<p>One day he brought me a very old bit of china. It was a little cream -jug, good in form, colour, and design. He hoped that I would accept -it, as I seemed to appreciate pretty things. This was a little -embarrassing, and became more so when his eyes filled with tears and he -told me it had belonged to his mother.</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam, to my mother. I was not born in the circumstances in which -you see me,” and then he owned that he was the son of a peer.</p> - -<p>Beyond that he would not reveal his identity, though he acknowledged -that drink was the primary cause that brought him down to where he was.</p> - -<p>Poor man. He was afterwards taken very ill, and I was able to do a -little for him, but he died. And so was buried a strange romance, for -the man was by birth a gentleman, in taste an artist, and in speech a -poet; and yet circumstances and weakness of character had brought him -to this low estate.</p> - -<p>One instance of the strange stories concerning secret skeletons, locked -up in our neighbours’ hearts, naturally leads to another.</p> - -<p>I once met a man at dinner at a friend’s house. He offered to drive -me home. He asked to call. After two or three chats he told me his -story—one of those heart-rending stories we hear sometimes. He had -married young and repented.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">301</a></span></p> - -<p>There was no real ground for divorce; besides, he shunned the publicity -of it in connection with an honoured name. Our country—alas!—won’t -give people divorces for incompatibility. The usual result followed.</p> - -<p>Well—he thought his wealth, his name, his achievements would live -down, or, rather, drag up, the “woman of his choice.” Did they?</p> - -<p>No. Of course not. He thought also that this time he had found an -idol, a sympathiser, an inspiration. All went well for a time. Then -the chains became irksome. <em>She</em> chafed at her position. She had -everything but that marriage ring which spells respectability. She -became discontented, irritable, the love grew less, the desire to be -made “an honest woman” grew more and more. He dare not face the world a -second time and own he had misjudged woman’s character. Therefore their -dog-and-cat life continued—because they hadn’t the pluck to break it.</p> - -<p>It was a tale of woe. Broken in health and in spirit, he owned he had -defied the world and yet—with all the odds of position and wealth in -his favour—had failed.</p> - -<p>One day he suddenly wrote: “I can’t come and see you again, you belong -to the world I have left, or that has left me. It only stirs up the -misery of my present life. I thank you for your help, your sympathy, -your much-prized friendship, but it is not fair on you to let you worry -over me, and being with you is making me more discontented than ever. -And so good-bye.”</p> - -<p>As he stepped suddenly across my path, he stepped as suddenly back into -the shadow. Poor man. His is the tale of many, but that does not make -it any the less sad.</p> - -<p>I lived in the world he had turned his back on—the world which finally -shut him out, and that proud heart, that big brain and scholarly man -literally laid down his arms, weary of heart, sick of soul, ambition -sapped—life gone. He merely dragged out his existence from day to day. -Chained to a loathsome sore. He did not complain. How could he? The -chain was of his own making, the sore its inevitable result. Why, we -ask, did he submit? Why? Because habit had become stronger than will.</p> - -<p>Success is made or marred by individuality.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">302</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Hostesses sometimes find themselves in very awkward positions.</p> - -<p>A man once came up the stairs and shook hands with his hostess, who -cheerfully said:</p> - -<p>“And where is your wife?”</p> - -<p>There was a great crowd at the time, and the man, somewhat briefly, -replied:</p> - -<p>“I have lost her.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you will soon find her,” said the lady; “but it is rather -difficult among so many people,” she added, with a merry laugh.</p> - -<p>He looked crestfallen, and, as if not knowing exactly what to say, bent -forward and murmured into the ear of his smiling hostess:</p> - -<p>“My wife is <em>dead</em>.”</p> - -<p>Collapse of the lady.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On Christmas cards.</p> - -<p>Some folk affect to dislike or despise Christmas cards, but I find them -most useful, often most welcome, always a kindly remembrance.</p> - -<p>People in strange lands have been good to me. They have taken me -about, invited me to their houses, have helped me in my work, and many -introductions, obtained originally for practical purposes, have ended -in real friendships.</p> - -<p>It is impossible to keep up a correspondence with all one’s friends, -however, and yet one likes them to know they are not forgotten.</p> - -<p>Hence the idea of my Christmas cards originated. For many years now -I have sent these cards of greeting to the furthermost corner of the -earth, and thanks to the talent of my friends, or the practical use of -my own camera, they have been somewhat original.</p> - -<p>Here is a delightful card Harry Furniss designed for me among my -earlier ones. I had just written <cite>Behind the Footlights</cite>, hence the -lady with comedy and tragedy on her cap, pulling aside the curtain to -reveal sketches of the different books. Needless to say, this clever -idea was his own.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_303"> -<img src="images/i_303.jpg" width="414" height="600" alt="30 york terrace -london. n.w. with -mrs. alec tweedie’s -compliments of the -season -the theatre -finland -morocco -norway -mexico -sicily -iceland -harry furniss" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">304</a></span></p> - -<p><cite>Hustled History</cite>, one of that series of clever little booklets that -have appeared annually for some time, was the talk of the town when -it came out in the spring of 1908. My publisher rang me up the next -morning to <em>congratulate me on</em> the <em>advertisement</em> of myself that it -contained. Rather a curious way of putting it, I thought.</p> - -<p>Everyone read it, everyone talked about it. It had dabs at everyone, -but only three women were included—Mrs. Humphry Ward, Marie Corelli, -and myself. This latter take-off on my style appeared under the title -of:</p> - -<p class="center noindent padt1"> -<span class="larger"><b>In Romantic</b></span><br /> -<span class="larger"><b>Rouen</b></span><br /> -<b>By</b><br /> -<b>Mrs. Alec Tweedie</b></p> - -<p class="padt1">The same sort of quip had appeared about me a year or two before in -<cite>Wisdom While You Wait</cite>, but I cannot lay my hands on it.</p> - -<p>Colonel Selfe, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, who wrote so many of the acrostics for -<cite>The World</cite>, one day sent me the following double acrostic on myself:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container padt1"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">Where now will this lady go</div> -<div class="line">Greece, Japan, Fernando Po,</div> -<div class="line">Honolulu, Mexico?</div> -<div class="line">Whatsoe’er her goal, we look</div> -<div class="line">For another charming book</div> -<div class="line">Telling of the route she took.</div> -<div class="line">Ere she starts for foreign climes</div> -<div class="line">With this wish we send these rhymes</div> -<div class="line"><em>Bon voyage</em> and pleasant times.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line"> 1. Though Kalja the Finnish taste may suit,</div> -<div class="i1p5">For this it seems a sorry substitute.</div> -<div class="line"> 2. Those Finns who read their books most, dread the least</div> -<div class="i1p5">This long-named catechising by the priest.</div> -<div class="line"> 3. In Tellemachen, so her pages tell</div> -<div class="i1p5">One coachman spoke this, though not very well.</div> -<div class="line"> 4. Remember Nyslott, also where</div> -<div class="i1p5">The English ladies lodged while there.</div> -<div class="line"> 5. This we gather, for “to the”</div> -<div class="i1p5">Norse equivalent to be.</div> -<div class="line"> 6. In Finland the cow of this is the source,</div> -<div class="i1p5">Which is comparative only, of course.</div> -<div class="line"> 7. Weird poems of a bygone time</div> -<div class="i1p5">Written on parchment black with grime.</div> -<div class="line"> 8. We here must Fridtjof Nansen name -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">305</a></span></div> -<div class="i1p5">As this for ever known to fame.</div> -<div class="line"> 9. His hand it was that, rising from the wave,</div> -<div class="i1p5">Dragged Lopt the sinner to a wat’ry grave.</div> -<div class="line">10. With a terrific bang and mighty crash,</div> -<div class="i1p5">Full into this they felt the steamer smash.</div> -<div class="line">11. To study this Iceland is not the place,</div> -<div class="i1p5">No butterflies, few insects there you trace.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<div class="center"> -<table class="my90" border="0" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="1" summary="acrostic"> -<tr> -<th class="tdr normal" colspan="5"><span class="smcap">Chap.</span></th> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">1.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Al</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">E.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">Through Finland in Carts</p></td> -<td class="tdr">2</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">2.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Lukukinkeri</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">T.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent"><span class="add2em">“</span><span class="add2em">“</span><span class="add2em">“</span></p></td> -<td class="tdr">16</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">3.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Englis</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">H.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway</p></td> -<td class="tdr">8</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">4.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Castl</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">E.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">Through Finland in Carts</p></td> -<td class="tdr">11</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">5.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Ti</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">L.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway</p></td> -<td class="tdr">49</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">6.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Wealt</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">H.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">Through Finland in Carts</p></td> -<td class="tdr">16</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">7.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Edd</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">A.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Girl’s Ride through Iceland</p></td> -<td class="tdr">13</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">8.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Explore</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">R.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Winter Jaunt in Norway</p></td> -<td class="tdr">12</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">9.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Devi</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">L.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</p></td> -<td class="tdr">6</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">10.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Ice flo</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">E.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Winter’s Jaunt in Norway</p></td> -<td class="tdr">1</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td class="tdr padr1">11.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Entomolog</td> -<td class="tdl padr1">Y.</td> -<td class="tdl padr1"><p class="indent">A Girl’s Ride Through Iceland</p></td> -<td class="tdr">4</td> -</tr></table></div> - -<p>This is another, composed by the late Major Martin Hume, the historian:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container padt1"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">E astward bound to the Cuban coast</div> -<div class="line">T hree tiny galleots ran</div> -<div class="line">H omeward bearing a beaten host</div> -<div class="line">E scaped from Yucatan.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">L eft behind in the sleep of death</div> -<div class="line">A gallant half remain</div> -<div class="line">L ured to doom, but with dying breath</div> -<div class="line">E xalting Christ and Spain.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">C oarse and poor were the trophies gained,</div> -<div class="line">T rinkets of tarnished dross,</div> -<div class="line">W oe! for the land with blood they stained</div> -<div class="line">E nslaved to greed and cross</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="line">E ndowed with grace, from old New Spain</div> -<div class="line">D o <em>you</em> rich trophies bring</div> -<div class="line">I n gentle words that friendship gain</div> -<div class="line">E ntail no pain or sting.</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>Most of us have known or heard of such a lesser tragedy as the -following, and thanked our stars it had not happened to one of our own -kin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">306</a></span></p> - -<p>“What are you crying for?” asked the manageress of an hotel.</p> - -<p>The girl she addressed was a fragile, pretty creature of nineteen or -twenty, looking more as if a puff of wind would blow her away than as -if she was capable of doing the dirty work of a kitchenmaid.</p> - -<p>“Oh, nothing, thank you,” replied the tearful voice. “I hurt my finger, -but it will be all right in a moment.”</p> - -<p>The manageress eyed her critically. The polite reply, the refined -speech and tone of voice, were all so unlike anything she was -accustomed to in the kitchen department that they struck her as strange.</p> - -<p>Then she noticed that, while the girl’s cotton sleeves were tucked up -above her elbow, her arms were round, white, and plump, the hands small -and pretty. Turning to the <em>chef</em> standing behind her, she remarked:</p> - -<p>“Your kitchenmaid looks hardly up to her work, <em>chef</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, she is all right,” he replied. “She has not been in a situation -just lately and she is a bit soft.”</p> - -<p>The reply was satisfactory, and, being a busy woman, the manageress -went on with her orders.</p> - -<p>Next morning she was again strongly attracted by her new little -kitchenmaid, who was busy in the scullery washing dishes. The girl was -so ladylike in appearance, so delightful in manner, so charming in -voice, her superior felt that there was something unusual, even wrong, -about the matter; so she searched for the original letter from the -<em>chef</em> to see under what conditions the underling had been engaged. It -said that, as he preferred to work with his own kitchenmaid, he wished -to bring her with him, more especially as she was now his wife.</p> - -<p>Some days went on, and the little maid looked paler each morning, -sadder and more depressed. At last a tap came at the manageress’s door, -and the girl, in her cotton frock, white apron, neat hair and dainty -cap, was standing on the threshold.</p> - -<p>“May I come in, madam?” asked the plaintive voice.</p> - -<p>“Yes, certainly; come along. Are you not well?”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, I am quite well, but I want to know if you will do me a -favour. I have got a cheque for ten pounds from a lady whose service I -used to be in, and I want to know if you will change it for me without -letting my husband know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">307</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>The manageress looked up, surprised.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I can change it; but how does this lady come to be sending you -such a big cheque?” (As she took it in her hand she saw a well-known -name upon it.)</p> - -<p>The girl made some excuse and told a long and rambling story, but -blushed to the roots of her hair when given the money.</p> - -<p>Imploringly she said, “You will never tell <em>him</em>, will you?”</p> - -<p>“No,” replied the kindly woman; “mind you keep the money safe. You may -want it some day.”</p> - -<p>Some hours went by. The manageress was pondering over the girl and -her reticence, over the cheque and its mystery, when a servant rushed -in asking her to come to the kitchen at once, as something dreadful -had happened. She flew. There on the floor, with blood streaming from -her head, lay the little kitchenmaid. Near her, sullen, stern, and -menacing, stood the <em>chef</em>. At once the manageress ordered that the -girl should be carried to her room and forbade the husband to enter. -Then she sent for him to the office and asked for an explanation. But -he gave none, except that his subordinate had cheeked him, so he hit -her rather harder than he meant to do and stunned her. A blow against -the oven door had caused the bleeding. Such was his story. Very -different was that of the girl.</p> - -<p>As she recovered consciousness, she moaned, “Save me!” and as her -senses became more acute, she begged, “Don’t let him come near me.”</p> - -<p>“Are you afraid of him?” asked her protectress.</p> - -<p>“Yes, madam, mortally afraid; he will kill me. Do not let him come near -me,” she implored in agony of mind.</p> - -<p>“What happened?” persisted the manageress.</p> - -<p>“Somehow he found out I had that cheque and wanted me to give it to -him, but I would not and came to you. For it was all I had in the -world, and I wanted it to get away and leave him.”</p> - -<p>“To leave him? But you have only been married a month.”</p> - -<p>“It seems like a hundred years of hell,” moaned the unhappy little -bride. “He has been so cruel to me.” And then she told her story.</p> - -<p>“I am not really a kitchenmaid. I am Lady Mary ——,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">308</a></span> but I liked -cooking, and mother wanted me to learn, so I used to go into the -kitchen in the morning and play about. The <em>chef</em> was charming to me, -and—well, I think I must have been mad—I thought I had fallen in love -with him, and I ran away and married him a month ago. From the first -moment he has been bullying my family for money. He made me come away -with him as his kitchenmaid until he got enough money out of my family -to start a home of our own. But please do not let him come near me -again. He will kill me! That cheque was from my aunt, for I had to tell -her of my misery and disgrace. It was sent to enable me to get away and -go to her home, where I should be safe.”</p> - -<p>“Do not worry any more about that,” said her protectress determinedly. -“You shall come to my room now, and I will telegraph to your aunt and -put things right.”</p> - -<p>She did so, and the girl was restored to her family. Strange as the -story may sound, it is a true bill.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>While on the subject of servants, the following is an interesting -sidelight.</p> - -<p>A mistress offered a servant girl a seat for a theatre. The girl beamed -with delight. Suddenly her face shadowed, and she asked:</p> - -<p>“Are there any countesses in it, ma’am?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know. Why?”</p> - -<p>“Because I don’t think mother would like me to go and see a play with a -countess in it, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“And why not?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, because they are all so dreadfully wicked.”</p> - -<p>“Who says so?” asked the lady, amazed.</p> - -<p>“The books, ma’am.”</p> - -<p>“What books?”</p> - -<p>“The penny books and Sunday papers.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>When looking back on my delightful American trips and to my real good -time there, one little crumpled rose-leaf returns to memory, which, at -the time, was a minor annoyance, but since has often caused me to smile -at its absurdity.</p> - -<p>Many and weird, truly, are the experiences and home truths one is -vouchsafed while travelling.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">309</a></span></p> - -<p>The last time I went to the States I intended to pay some visits, and -as I was very overworked and tired I was persuaded to take a maid to -look after me. That maid cost me a small fortune in money, as well -as proving a constant anxiety, inasmuch as <em>I had to look after her</em> -continually. A child of five years could not have been more trouble.</p> - -<p>Almost before we left the landing-stage of the Mersey she told me -she felt ill. The water at the time was perfectly calm; we were, in -fact, still in the river, but the wretched woman went to bed before we -crossed the bar and did not appear again until we reached New York; -therefore I had the pleasure of paying her first-class fare and the -extra steward’s tips for waiting on her—instead of her being a comfort -to me.</p> - -<p>Arrived on Yankee soil, I received a telegram from the President of -Mexico suggesting my revisiting his country. I told the good lady I was -going to Mexico.</p> - -<p>“Law! M’m.”</p> - -<p>“It is six days and nights in the train.”</p> - -<p>“Law! M’m.”</p> - -<p>By this time her eyes opened wider than ever. She still remembered the -six days and nights on the steamer. Alas and alack! she was even more -ill on the train than she had been on the boat. At Washington we had -rooms on the seventh floor; but that woman refused to go up or down -in the lift because it made her feel “so queer,” so she walked—and -grumbled.</p> - -<p>Oh, the joys of travelling with a servant!</p> - -<p>When we started from New York I took off my rings and watchchain, and, -as usual on such expeditions, packed them away.</p> - -<p>The maid was sitting opposite to me in the train when she discovered -they were missing. Suddenly she exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Oh, what have you done with your rings?” knowing they were the only -articles of jewellery I always wore.</p> - -<p>“I put them away,” I replied. “I never travel off the beaten track -wearing jewellery of any kind.”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, what a pity! They make you look such a lady.”</p> - -<p>(Collapse of poor Mrs. A. T. Did “ladyism” depend on diamond rings?)</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">310</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">MORE JOTTINGS: AND HYDE PARK</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">GENEVIÈVE WARD’S stories are endless and amusing. To mention only two -of these.</p> - -<p>“A man arrived to have a tooth out.</p> - -<p>“‘Will it hurt much, sir?’</p> - -<p>“‘Rather.’</p> - -<p>“‘Real hurt?’</p> - -<p>“‘Rather.’</p> - -<p>“‘Well, I don’t think,’ began the man in a dither....</p> - -<p>“‘Sit down, sir, sit down right there, and bear it like a woman!’”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Story number two.</p> - -<p>“Another man asked the dentist his charge.</p> - -<p>“‘Fifty cents.’</p> - -<p>“‘Fifty cents, eh?’</p> - -<p>“‘Yes.’</p> - -<p>“‘But with gas?’</p> - -<p>“‘Guess that’s fifty cents more.’</p> - -<p>“‘Wa’al, I won’t have gas then.’</p> - -<p>“‘You’re a brave man!’</p> - -<p>“‘’Tisn’t for me, it’s for my wife!’”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Now a couple of child stories. Surely, the workings of a child’s mind -are too strange to be imagined.</p> - -<p>My little nephew, aged four, was saying his prayers, kneeling on his -bed and resting against his nurse. Suddenly he stopped.</p> - -<p>Nurse: “Go on, dear.”</p> - -<p>Small Boy: “I can’t.”</p> - -<p>Nurse: “Go on, dear<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">311</a></span>.”</p> - -<p>Small Boy: “I am switched off, Dod’s talking to someone else.”</p> - -<p>Naturally, nurse’s breath was somewhat taken away, and she did not know -what to answer, when suddenly reassurance came from the small boy. “It -is all right. We are connected again now,” and he began again.</p> - -<p>Here is another story about the same little man, though he was then -rather younger, to be exact.</p> - -<p>He was sent, one hot summer’s day, with his baby sister and two nurses, -to Kensington Gardens as a treat. When he came back his mother asked -him if he had enjoyed it.</p> - -<p>“Oh yes,” he replied. “And what did you do?” she asked, but instead of -replying in his usual bubbling fashion, he opened his eyes wide, and -looking at her, exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Do you know?”</p> - -<p>“Know what?”</p> - -<p>“Do you know?”</p> - -<p>“Well, what?”</p> - -<p>“Do you know?” he again repeated, his eyes nearly dropping out of his -head by this time, “we saw a lady smoking!”</p> - -<p>Not being exactly sure what to reply to this remark, the fond mother -went on with her work.</p> - -<p>Seeing her unresponsive, the young gentleman trotted into the next room -where his father was smoking.</p> - -<p>“Dad, do you know?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I know, you went to tea in Kensington Gardens.”</p> - -<p>“But <span class="smcap">DO YOU KNOW</span>?” repeated the small boy, more earnestly than -ever; and then standing before his father with his hands behind his -back, he solemnly announced:</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">We saw a lady smoking!</span>”</p> - -<p>The father, like the mother, was a little nonplussed, and merely -exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Oh, really!” But the small boy stood firm to his ground, and with eyes -still wider than before, exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Dad, do you think <em>she was learning to be a gentleman</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">312</a></span>?”</p> - -<p>Occasionally my eyes light upon some jotting worthy of almost -pigeon-hole dignity—too prized for the society of mere scraps, yet -too small for the space of a chapter. Here is one concerning a famous -lawyer.</p> - -<p>Fate has often thrown me into the company of lawyers—the most -excellent of people when you don’t meet them in a professional, -or fee-paying sense. The really busy advocate is in most cases a -delightful man, for the very qualities which make him a social -favourite go no little way to establish his success at the Bar.</p> - -<p>I once asked Sir Edward Clarke, <span class="smcap">K.C.</span>, what was his recipe -for producing a good barrister, and was a little surprised at the -importance he attached to the study of oratory.</p> - -<p>“Every law student at the beginning of his work should study the art -of speaking, the most valuable and the most highly rewarded of all the -arts which can be acquired by man.</p> - -<p>“The counsel needs the power of fluent and correct expression and of -the rhetorical arrangement of his argument of speech. He should have -an easy, clear, and well-modulated elocution which compels attention, -makes it pleasant to listen to him, and so predisposes in his favour -the judgment of his hearers.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but has everyone this gift?” I said.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not, but all these things must be acquired. Each one of them -requires a special study. Some men are, no doubt, more highly gifted -by nature than others in strength of intellect, tenacity of memory, -and the graces of oratory, but no one was ever so highly gifted as to -be able to dispense with the labour by which the natural powers are -trained and strengthened. The best books for the young law student are -<cite>Whately’s Logic</cite> and <cite>Whately’s Rhetoric</cite>. They should be read and -re-read until he knows them from cover to cover.”</p> - -<p>“You are a very warm advocate of speech,” I interposed. “Do you think -it a lost art, or an improving one?”</p> - -<p>“The ancients were the best teachers. Aristotle’s <cite>Rhetoric</cite> (the best -of all), Cicero’s <cite>De Oratore</cite>, Quintilian’s <cite>Institutes of Oratory</cite>, -are the books of study; Blair and Campbell should be read, but are of -no great merit, while<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">313</a></span> of Whately I have already spoken. But the study -of good models—and when I speak of study I do not mean simply reading -a speech, but the examination and analysis of it, applying the rules of -the art which these treatises contain: the attentive hearing of great -speeches in Parliament or the courts, or of great sermons, is the only -way by which the capacity for really good speaking can be acquired.</p> - -<p>“Then every man who wishes to speak well should study elocution as an -art. He should practise singing to give variety of tone to the voice. -He should habitually see and study the best actors of his time, and so -learn the ease and yet the moderation of gesture which helps so much -even the best-constructed and most clearly delivered speech. If any one -of these studies and exercises is neglected, the man who fails at the -Bar must put some part of the blame upon himself.”</p> - -<p>Sir Edward Clarke has fulfilled his own theories, even to witnessing -the drama. He is a well-known first-nighter, and is often to be seen in -the stalls of a theatre.</p> - -<p>He sat in Parliament and listened to great speeches. He has himself -built a church at Staines, wherein he has heard many sermons. And he -has climbed to the very top of his profession.</p> - -<p>It would be doing him an injustice to suggest that he places speech as -the first and most essential quality in the lawyer’s training. The most -brilliant speaker must have something to say. A capacity for logical -and scientific reasoning and knowledge of the principles and rules of -the law come before all.</p> - -<p>“All success in every calling comes from hard work; there is no better -secret,” he said decisively.</p> - -<p>For years Sir Edward Clarke journeyed up to town from his charming home -at Staines every morning, during the legal terms. His companion in the -nine o’clock train was invariably the famous Orientalist and brilliant -scholar, Dr. Ginsburg, who had made a home for himself and his unique -collection of Bibles, and marvellous assortment of prints and etchings, -at Virginia Water. Many and interesting were the conversations which -these two celebrated men enjoyed during their little railway journey -together. The one went off to the British Museum to work among the dead -languages, and the completion of his life-work,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">314</a></span> the <cite>Massorah</cite>, and -the other to the Law Courts, where, in wig and gown, he soon appeared -from out his private room in the building, to the consolation of his -own clients and the anxiety of his opponents.</p> - -<p>Sir Edward Clarke declares the best speech he ever made in his life was -addressed to one person—namely, the late Mr. Justice Kekewich. There -was no jury, and the judge was alone on the bench. It was the case -of Allcard and Skinner, a question of the plaintiff being allowed to -recover from an Anglican sisterhood the money she gave while herself a -member of it. Sir Edward managed to keep the money for the sisterhood, -and Lord Russell of Killowen always declared it was his friend’s -greatest stroke of oratory.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>One of the events of the year at Leeds is the Lifeboat Celebration, -when some thousands of pounds are collected. In these days when women -are to the fore, the Committee decided to ask a woman to take the -chair, and I was chosen for that position. They have the biggest of -halls, which holds five thousand persons, with Members of Parliament, -Lord Mayors, and other dignitaries on the platform.</p> - -<p>The London editor of the <cite>Yorkshire Post</cite> came personally to ask -me. I refused, funking the speech. Two days later, the Yorkshire -Editor-in-chief arrived, flattered me to the skies, and begged me to -go. But I persisted in excusing myself, and suggested his asking Sir -Ernest Shackleton, promising that if they could not get him, I would do -it.</p> - -<p>Thank Heaven! Shackleton accepted, in spite of all his engagements, -consequent on having just returned from the South Pole.</p> - -<p>What an escape, but still it was a great compliment.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here is a jotting that was pencilled down warm from the heart. As it -stands, I give it, with its date, May 14th, 1909:</p> - -<p>I do not know when I have been so pleased as at a little episode which -happened yesterday.</p> - -<p>It chanced a couple of years ago that I was able to help, encourage, -and sympathise with a young man at a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">315</a></span> trying time, and I -laughingly told him I should not be satisfied till he had started -again, and put by a thousand pounds. He scoffed at the idea of a -thousand pounds as impossible, and wondered if he ever could begin life -afresh.</p> - -<p>Yesterday he walked in and said, “I have come to tell you that through -your encouragement I have worked hard for the last two years, and have -done what I thought then impossible. I have not only lived, but saved a -thousand pounds, and in remembrance of this success, which is entirely -due to you, I have brought you a little souvenir. It has taken me -months to find anything quaint and old, such as I thought would really -give you pleasure.”</p> - -<p>Now, was not that perfectly delightful? He has, indeed, given me -pleasure, and added to that his gift is quite charming. It is an -old-fashioned pendant, set with beryls, that formerly prized pale blue -stone.</p> - -<p>Amongst the many disappointments one has in life, such success as this -inspires one to fresh efforts.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Here is a tiny stray wanderer in the jotting heap. Such a little one, -no one can object to it. Plainly it refers to some of my proof. Also -that a review in “T. P.’s” familiar weekly had unkindly referred to me -as an elderly sort of scribe, or something “previous” of the kind.</p> - -<p class="padt1">“P.S.—Just looked over proof. Feeling very sad at the prospect of -settling down to contemplate middle age and anticipating senile -decay, ordered hansom, gave man address.</p> - -<p>“‘Yes, miss.’</p> - -<p>“Hurrah! Nice man! Extra sixpence in prospect for the ‘miss’!</p> - -<p>“Went to shop, ‘young gentleman’ behind the counter enquired:</p> - -<p>“‘Your pleasure, miss?’</p> - -<p>“Charming young man! Buy more than I really want.</p> - -<p>“‘T. P.’ may be wrong; senile decay may be further off than he so -ardently hopes!”</p> - -<p>With this farewell to jottings.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">316</a></span></p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And now I come to the publication of a big and serious book, <cite>Hyde -Park</cite>, which made its appearance to the public in April, 1908, but -took me eighteen months to write and rewrite, while as to the works -consulted, seventy-three are duly acknowledged in the opening pages as -sources of help, besides which there were, of course, others.</p> - -<p>“What put it into your head to write about Hyde Park?” asked a friend -the other day.</p> - -<p>Well, partly because of my sons. When in search of data across an -ocean and thousands of miles of land besides, my endeavour to return -for the boys’ holidays entailed trying and often too rapid and arduous -travelling. Hyde Park was nearer my own door, so “homeward bound fancy -ran its barque ashore.”</p> - -<p>Besides in anticipation the task seemed invitingly easy. From early -childhood had I not ridden with my father every morning over the tan of -the old Park, under its trees, or past its sunlit or steel-grey water? -In later days, when friends whose hospitality had been warmly shown me -overseas, arrived in London, it had become usual with me to drive them -round “the ’Ide Park” until I felt a sort of London <cite>Baedeker</cite>.</p> - -<p>Once, however, the work begun, it proved serious and engrossing, and -meant study: study at the British Museum: study of many, many books: -search for pictures of old London. Three or four times the amount of -material actually used was assiduously gathered. Then began the task of -sorting out what was needful. The real difficulty of writing a book is -to know what to leave out.</p> - -<p>Well, it was a great subject, and deserved the toil spent upon it. -Reward came in the praise of the Press, and—this was specially -sweet—at once. Within three days, thirteen kind, warm, even -enthusiastic reviews! And yet how often the contrary has been the case, -and will be with many works which the public slowly learn to value only -after their writers have obscurely passed away, embittered, maybe, by -the lack of appreciation.</p> - -<p class="padb1">Yes, I am grateful that my history of London’s great playground was -called one of “deep research” by the <cite>Morning Post</cite>, of “bright, cheery -entertainment” by the <cite>Pall Mall</cite>, a “thrilling and true romance which -Londoners will have to read” by the <cite>Observer</cite>. The <cite>Westminster</cite><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">317</a></span> -<cite>Gazette</cite> and the <cite>Sunday Sun</cite> agreed that the book made universal -appeal to all lovers of London and lovers of England.</p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_316"> -<img src="images/i_317.jpg" width="423" height="600" alt="with mrs alec tweedies best wishes 30 york terrace london n w" /> -</div> - -<p class="padt1">Perhaps not one among the many columns of flattering reviews, however, -gave me so much pleasure as the following letter, from an old friend, -well known to fame.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">318</a></span></p> - -<p class="padb1">Love and friendship are the finest assets in the Bank of Life.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“<em>April, 1908.</em> </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I warmly congratulate you on what is certain to prove a most -successful book. I have read it through with great interest—and -old Londoner and old Hyde Parker as I am—for I can remember it -<em>seventy</em> years ago! I find very many facts and stories new to me. -And yet I am a bit of a London antiquary and have written on London -and have helped to <em>make</em> London (when I designed Kingsway for -L.C.C.).</p> - -<p>“The book will go, and has come to stay.</p> - -<p>“We are still very chilly down in the Weald, though daffodils and -hyacinths have begun to show and chestnuts are breaking. It is -the latest spring I ever knew. The only consolation is—there are -hardly any primroses this year to celebrate the Orgy of Evil.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours sincerely,<span class="add6em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Frederic Harrison</span>.” </p></div> - -<p class="padt1">From generation to generation, Hyde Park has been the wide theatre upon -which many tragedies and comedies of London have been enacted, the -forum where many liberties have been demanded, the scene where national -triumphs have been celebrated.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yes, the book was a success; but every success in life brings a -would-be friend, and a dozen enemies.</p> - -<p>True friendship is not influenced by success or failure.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">319</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">BURIED IN PARCELS</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">“THEY can’t come in here—I tell you they simply can’t.”</p> - -<p>I was sitting eating my matutinal egg on a sleety January day in 1909, -when I heard this altercation at the door.</p> - -<p>“They can’t come in here,” repeated the cook, “they simply can’t.”</p> - -<p>Thinking I had better go and see what it was all about, I ventured -forth. On the doorstep stood two laughing postmen.</p> - -<p>“What is it?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Parcels, mum, parcels; we have got a whole van full.”</p> - -<p>“A van full!” I exclaimed, seeing a large red parcels-delivery van in -the road.</p> - -<p>“Yes, a special van for you, mum, containing one hundred and ninety-six -parcels.”</p> - -<p>I nearly collapsed.</p> - -<p>“Where <em>are</em> they to go?” I exclaimed.</p> - -<p>“I don’t know,” he replied.</p> - -<p>“They can’t come in here,” chirruped the cook, knowing the hall was -already packed.</p> - -<p>“You must leave them in the van,” I suggested helplessly, “until I have -time to think what is to be done with them.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t do that,” replied the smiling postman. “We have brought you a -’special delivery’ as it is, and I must go back for my ordinary rounds.”</p> - -<p>“Well, they can’t come in here,” I repeated in the cook’s words, as the -wind howled down the street and stray flakes of snow fell.</p> - -<p>“Let us stand them in the street,” brilliantly suggested the postman.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">320</a></span></p> - -<p>This was an inspiration, and accordingly one hundred and ninety-six -parcels were packed up against the side of a London house. They stood -four or five feet high. Having told the cook to remain at the front -door and see that nothing happened to them, I returned to my half-cold -egg, but I had not even finished it before there were more altercations -at the door.</p> - -<p>The noise continuing, I again left the breakfast-table (8.45 a.m.) to -see what it meant. Another van. This time a Carter Paterson.</p> - -<p>“Have <em>you</em> any parcels?” I asked in trepidation.</p> - -<p>“Yes, mum, seventy-eight; nearly a van-load of sacks and crates and -other huge things.”</p> - -<p>Into the street they also had to go, but before the men were finished -unpacking other carts were arriving, and depositing sixteen, -twenty-seven, thirty-six packages upon the pavement.</p> - -<p>By ten o’clock the house and the neighbours’ houses were barricaded -with parcels. Never, probably, was such a sight seen in a London -street. Five vans’ loads disgorged at one time.</p> - -<p>Messina was buried in ruins, I was buried in parcels. After eighteen -days I was being disinterred from bundles and packages in London.</p> - -<p>It all came about in this wise. The letter I sent to six important -London papers, expecting, perhaps, that one of them might kindly -print it, appeared in all of them. The evening Press reprinted it. -It was copied into the large provincial papers the next day. That -letter started a veritable snow-ball scheme. It was a Tuesday. I had a -luncheon engagement.</p> - -<p>On my return about four in the afternoon my parlourmaid met me with an -agonised face, and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“We <em>have</em> had a time since you went out, m’m!”</p> - -<p>“Why?” I asked, surprised.</p> - -<p>“By twelve o’clock that front door-bell began to ring,” she said, “and -it has never ceased. Ladies in motors, people in carriages, gentlemen -in hansoms, babies in perambulators—and they have all left parcels.”</p> - -<p>“Parcels!” I exclaimed in horror.</p> - -<p>“Yes, m’m, parcels. The cloak-room is stacked from floor to ceiling.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter padt1" id="i_320fp"> -<img src="images/i_320fp.jpg" width="436" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">THE WRITER BURIED IN PARCELS FOR MESSINA<br /> -<em>By Harry Furniss</em></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">321</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">This rather took my breath away, and I wondered how on earth I should -ever get that number of things to Sicily.</p> - -<p>No chance to return to the breakfast-table. There was no time to finish -that egg as wildly I rushed to the telephone, begging one or two -intimate friends to come and help at once, while a servant went off to -neighbours to ask for immediate assistance.</p> - -<p>Between signing papers for quickly-arriving packages and struggling to -get helpers, a policeman appeared.</p> - -<p>“Very sorry, mum, but, you know, you are obstructing the roadway,” he -said.</p> - -<p>“I cannot help it,” I replied. “I am literally overpowered, and as it -is in the cause of charity, I suppose it does not matter.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t know about that,” he answered; “but you must leave some -pathway, besides which you are blocking the road; you will be taken up -as a public nuisance.”</p> - -<p>This was really too much. Telephoning for assistance to a high official -at Scotland Yard, who chanced to be a personal friend, he soon sent me -a special constable. One was not enough. He had to send for another -policeman. But as every little butcher boy told every other little -butcher boy what was going on, and as every loafer told every other -loafer to come and see, an inspector had also to be requisitioned. For -four days we were guarded by three stalwart policemen, who kept an eye -on us for a further length of time.</p> - -<p>“Pass along, please. Pass along, please,” became a well-known cry in -the Terrace. Verily it was a blockade—especially after the papers -extolled the novelty of the scene. Then nurses and perambulators -came to have a look at us; ladies in grand motors drove round to see -the sight; Bath chairs added to the confusion; and, above all, the -unemployed at one time threatened serious trouble.</p> - -<p>But to go back in the history of events which led to the Siege of York -Terrace.</p> - -<p>It was Christmas, 1908.</p> - -<p>We were only a party of twelve, but amongst my guests was His -Excellency the Italian Ambassador, the Marquis di San Giuliano. We ate -turkey and plum-pudding, cracked crackers, and made merry in the usual -Christmas fashion.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">322</a></span></p> - -<p>The Ambassador and I talked much of Sicily, of its sunshine, its people -and the happy months I had spent there, and then of his family who -lived in or near Catania, not far from Messina.</p> - -<p>Jovial, contented, and pleased we parted at midnight on that Friday. -Before daylight on the Monday following two hundred thousand people had -been killed, wounded, or rendered homeless in a few seconds in Messina. -Terrible indeed was the disaster. The earth opened and practically -swallowed Reggio on the opposite shore, while a huge wave overswept the -Sicilian coast. Houses fell like packs of cards, and the beautiful city -of Messina cracked to pieces like the smashing of glass.</p> - -<p>For hours—yes, for many hours—the Italian Ambassador in London did -not even know whether his entire family had been swept away or not. All -his relations felt the shock, though happily none succumbed. His son, -the late Marquis di Capizzi, wrote to me a couple of days after the -catastrophe, and said:</p> - -<p>“We are still suffering from the terrible impressions of the earthquake -that completely destroyed Messina, killing nearly 200,000 persons. It -lasted so long and so much that we were sure we should all be killed -here (Catania) and yet we escaped.”</p> - -<p class="padb1">Then followed details of death, horror, and misery, of starvation and -naked humanity running about in torrential rain. Thus flashed across my -mind an idea which matured in the above-mentioned letter to the Press:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center padb1">“CLOTHING FOR SICILY</p> -<p class="right">“30, <span class="smcap">York Terrace, London, N.W.</span> </p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—Nothing in the world’s history can compare with -this disaster which swept away 200,000 persons in a few seconds.</p> - -<p>“In view of the appalling want of clothing among the survivors -owing to this terrific earthquake, it seems to me that there may -be many who cannot afford to contribute to the Mansion House Fund, -but who would willingly give something to the sufferers in ‘kind.’ -The Italian Ambassador has promised that anything I collect shall -be rightly distributed by competent officials. I hope I may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">323</a></span> -manage to persuade some good folks to send the boxes out free, -or to send a small contribution in money to pay for their speedy -transit. The sooner we can land contributions the greater their -value. The first box of clothing, old and new, will, I hope, start -on Friday.</p> - -<p>“The winter in Sicily is often exceedingly cold; moreover, the rains -have lately been very severe, so that added to all the horrors -of shock, loss of homes and destitution, thousands of people are -insufficiently clad.</p> - -<p>“All parcels (please prepay these, dear friends) sent to me shall be -properly and promptly attended to.—I am, etc.,</p> - -<p class="right">“(Mrs.) <span class="smcap">E. Alec Tweedie</span>.” </p></div> - -<p class="padt1">An innocent enough little letter! Yet how far-reaching in its results.</p> - -<p>There stood the parcels, but what they were to go into was the next -problem. Each girl friend as she arrived was bundled into a cab, -and told to go to shops in the neighbourhood and collect all the -packing-cases she could and bring them back. They were brought, -but more and more were wanted. Each shop could only produce two or -three, and those they gave cheerfully, but as the stacks of packages -increased more rapidly than they decreased, it ended at last in our -requisitioning huge furniture cases, the sort of thing that holds a -cottage piano, a settee, or two or three arm-chairs.</p> - -<p>The first fifteen hundred articles were counted. They filled ten -crates. After that it was impossible to enumerate, or even to do more -than cursorily sort the things, but on the estimate of the first ten -cases, I appear to have sent away twenty-seven thousand garments in one -hundred and ninety-eight packing-cases. Some of them were so heavy they -took four men to lift.</p> - -<p>The first twenty thousand left in three days to catch the earliest mail -steamers to the stricken centres.</p> - -<p>How terrific was the pace may be judged by one incident.</p> - -<p>I telephoned on Wednesday morning to my friend Sir Thomas Sutherland, -asking that the weekly P. and O. boat might take out twenty cases for -delivery in Sicily. By lunch-time that number had swollen to forty, -so I telephoned again, and begged he would find room for forty in the -<em>Simla</em>.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">324</a></span></p> - -<p>Still the pile did not decrease. Still we sent for packing-cases to the -large furniture emporiums. By tea-time the number was much augmented, -and I wired desperately to Sir Thomas, begging him to come and see me -on his way home. He did so. His motor could not get up the street, for -the newspapers had begun to mention the circumstance, and a crowd of -sightseers and idlers had come to look on.</p> - -<p>“I never saw such a sight,” he exclaimed; “the place is like a railway -emporium.”</p> - -<p>“I have a confession to make,” I said. “I asked you at luncheon-time -to take forty cases. Dare I tell you I now have altogether eighty-five -packages standing on the pavement, waiting to go somewhere?”</p> - -<p>“Eighty-five!” he exclaimed. “But the <em>Simla</em> is full already.”</p> - -<p>“They can’t stop here,” I said, almost in tears, for really the thing -was becoming too serious. “The cases won’t even come inside the door. I -have nowhere to put them, and they can’t remain in the street in case -it rains, even if the police do guard them all night.”</p> - -<p>They went to the docks that night. Then I went to bed feeling that it -was over.</p> - -<p>But not a bit of it. The very same thing began again next day, and -another friend—Sir Frederick Green, chairman of the Orient—had to be -appealed to, to convey the next consignment to Naples, which he most -generously did.</p> - -<p>To give some idea of the enormous magnitude of this undertaking—twelve -dozen-dozen yards of rope were used to tie the cases, and twice I sent -out for four shillings and sixpence worth of nails for fastening the -lids. Two whole quart bottles of ink were used for painting on the -addresses; and three dust-carts—special dust-carts—were required -at the end of the first day to take away the refuse of string, -cardboard-boxes, and brown paper. Never can I thank my twenty-seven -willing helpers sufficiently. There were seldom less than fifteen at a -time unpacking, sorting, and repacking in the street in all that bitter -cold. They forgot personal suffering and backaches, working right -cheerily and generously all those anxious days.</p> - -<p>Buried in parcels did I call it? Swamped in parcels,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">325</a></span> drowned in -parcels! Probably about three thousand of them.</p> - -<p>Twenty thousand garments were got off by Friday night, when I had -already implored the public through the Press to stop sending any more. -Twenty thousand garments in reply to my appeal for a few things to send -in “a box”!</p> - -<p class="padb1">On Saturday I had the following letter inserted in the Press, thinking -this would stop the flow:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center padb1">“SICILIAN CLOTHING</p> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,—I had no idea when my appeal for clothing for the -sufferers in Sicily appeared last Tuesday that the response would -be so magnificent and so overwhelming. In three days about 20,000 -articles were landed at my door. After the house was full they -stood in stacks in the street, as many as 196 parcels arriving -by one delivery. Thanks to the help of friends, all these were -repacked in three days. Carter Paterson generously conveyed the -crates and packing-cases to the docks. Forty cases went by the -Orient Line to Naples, addressed to the British Consul, ten cases -went by the Wilson Line from Hull, similarly addressed, whilst -the P. and O. kindly took no fewer than eighty-five packing-cases -of enormous size to Malta. They were addressed to Messina, to the -Duke of Bronte at Catania and the Marquis di Capizzi. Another -forty cases are being transported to-night by the Wilson Line for -distribution to the sufferers at Reggio. All these companies are -generously conveying these enormous consignments free of cost. -Unfortunately, it is impossible to reply personally to about 700 -letters or about 2000 parcels, so I hope all kind donors will -accept my gratitude by this public acknowledgment. Where money -was sent, work from the Ladies’ Needlework Guild was purchased -(thereby doing a double charity), or men’s suits. The work has been -colossal, and only accomplished by the kind co-operation of many -friends. I would beg that no more clothes be sent, as physical -strength cannot combat further strain.—Yours, etc.,</p> - -<p class="right">“(Mrs.) <span class="smcap">E. Alec Tweedie</span>.” </p></div> - -<p class="padt1">But no, still they came.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">326</a></span></p> - -<p class="padb1">A week later the Italian Ambassador’s kindly thanks appeared in the -Press:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Alec Tweedie</span>,—I saw in the Press your -acknowledgment of nearly 25,000 articles of clothing which -the public so generously sent you for the sufferers from the -earthquake. I wish to endorse my thanks to that generous public, -and I also wish to express my gratitude to the Wilson Line, the P. -and O., the Orient Line, and Carter Paterson for conveying nearly -200 of those enormous crates free of charge to the nearest ports to -their destination.</p> - -<p>“As the writer of <cite>Sunny Sicily</cite> my country owed you much. It now -owes you still more for the thought, speed, organisation, and -despatch which accomplished such a gigantic task in three days to -catch the steamers. I myself saw the bales of clothing being packed -in the street by your fifteen friends, guarded by the police and -helped by several stalwart men, four of whom were required to lift -some of the cases. I can only repeat the task was herculean for a -private individual, and its successful completion amazing. Please -make this letter public.—Sincerely yours,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">San Giuliano</span>.</p> -<p> -“The Italian Embassy, 20 Grosvenor Square,<br /> -<span class="add3em"><em>January 11</em>.”</span></p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Did that end it? Not at all. For another week packages dribbled in -from Ireland, from the North of Scotland, from Germany, and even from -Switzerland.</p> - -<p>The curious thing about these parcels was that more than half the -clothes were absolutely new. People had gone to shops and bought five -or ten pounds’ worth of goods in reply to my appeal “in kind.” A large -number came from gentlemen’s clubs or chambers. These usually arrived -anonymously, with a touching little bit of paper inside, “God bless -you,” or “An unknown admirer of your books,” or “My interest in Sicily -was first awakened by your book on that country.”</p> - -<p>A pair of baby’s socks came from a poor woman who wrote she was sorry -she could not send more, but still she wanted to send something. -Another workman’s wife offered a week’s time, as she had formerly been -a shirt-maker and could get through a lot in the time, and that right -willingly “for them poor things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">327</a></span>.”</p> - -<p class="padb1">A poor old governess wrote from a seaside town:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—When I read about your starting a Relief -Fund for the poor darlings—the sufferers in Messina—I prayed for -God’s choicest blessing to rest on you. Next came a wish to do -something myself, and a mournful inability presented itself unless -<em>this</em> attempt may be of some use. I am an invalid—almost a martyr -to bronchial asthma, and I am oftener in bed than out of it.</p> - -<p>“I am 70 years of age and am being maintained by a sister or the -workhouse would be my portion. I am a Board School teacher, and at -different times I tried my hand at composition. In the year 1902—I -think it was—I tried for the £100 prize for a story. If you can -make any use of the MSS., please apply the money to your fund.</p> - -<p>“In conclusion, I pray again God will prosper you in all your way. -We want more of such <em>real</em> Christians as you have proved yourself -to be. I wept when I first read of your grand work.</p> - -<p class="right">“With kind regards, yours very sincerely,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> - -“(Mrs.) M. A. C.” </p></div> - -<p class="padt1">The address was rather touching:</p> - -<p class="padt1"> -<span class="add2em">“The Lady Authoress,</span><br /> -<span class="add4em">“Sending garments, etc.,</span><br /> -<span class="add6em">“To MESSINA,</span><br /> -<span class="add8em">“London.”</span></p> - -<p class="padt1">Another was poor; but had a pair of old ear-rings valued about £2, -which she offered to send me for sale if I would apply the money -in buying clothes. Some of the parcels contained several hundred -things—often newly bought and beautiful—many were accompanied by -complete lists of the contents.</p> - -<p>Another letter came from a Home, and was signed by a row of Nurses on -the Staff, each sending a contribution. A charming lady sent an odd -shoe, and explained that the fellow shoe was in the parcel she had sent -off the day before! A man sent a coat, and the next day followed the -waistcoat which he had just found!</p> - -<p>One more practical gentleman sent twenty-four pairs of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">328</a></span> beautiful new -white blankets, done up in sacking; another thoughtful person sent six -dozen new hair-brushes.</p> - -<p>Numbers of people came to talk to me, shake hands with me, interview -me, until I had to beg my friends to say I was engaged and invisible.</p> - -<p>A lady brought a parcel and almost refused to leave it without seeing -me personally and handing me her half-crown. As she was one of a -number, the servant refused, whereupon she insisted on writing a -letter, and sat down to slowly compile four sheets for my benefit, -while the parlourmaid, who had been dragged from the packing, stood -beside her. Luckily, she left the parcel and the two-and-sixpence.</p> - -<p>Letters came from the grandest homes, from castles and courts, from -vicarages and schools, and from some of the very poorest dwellings, -carpenters’ wives and mill hands. They came from remote villages and -towns I had never heard of, and many consignments arrived from abroad, -the senders having written to large London emporiums and ordered -blankets or shirts to be sent for the refugees.</p> - -<p>Probably one-third came anonymously, a third more asked for -acknowledgment, while others sent money to buy clothes, or for me to -use at my discretion.</p> - -<p>“Please prepay the carriage, dear friends.” Innocent enough words—but -oh, the result of them almost swamped me—nearly nine hundred postal -orders, mostly for sixpence, was the result. They came in letters, they -came pinned to garments, they turned up anywhere and everywhere, and -also stamps; just three, or six, or nine, or a dozen odd stamps, to -help to pay carriage or buy clothes.</p> - -<p>Roughly, I received about twelve hundred epistles, followed, after it -was all over, by several hundred more begging letters from England and -Italy. Many of these specified exactly what the writer would like to -have: “A green dress, and my waist is 28 inches,” or “A pair of grey -flannel trousers, and my height is 5ft. 10in.”</p> - -<p>Among the strange addresses were:</p> - -<p class="padt1"> -<span class="add2em">“Alla Nobile Dama,</span><br /> -<span class="add4em">“Mrs. Alec Tweedie,</span><br /> -<span class="add6em">“Cultrice di belle Lettere,</span><br /> -<span class="add8em">“London.”</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">329</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">Or again,</p> - -<p> -<span class="add2em">“To the Right Honourable Lady</span><br /> -<span class="add4em">“Alec Tweedie,</span><br /> -<span class="add6em">“London.”</span></p> - -<p class="padt1">They flattered and praised me, spoke “of my great merits and noble -heart,” and then proceeded to ask me “to pay for the education of a -young musician,” “adopt a baby,” “get the plays of a young dramatist -performed in London,” “send money to a Viscount who was too proud to -beg, so would I address it to his servant?” England and Italy honoured -me with some hundred of these begging letters. Old clothes men offered -to buy up what was left over. “Mrs. Harts” and “Mr. Abrahams” rang up -to know if I wished to <em>sell</em> any of the surplus things. (What did they -take me for?) Men and women pulled the front-door bell and asked for -coats and skirts; in fact, my house was not my own for a month or more.</p> - -<p>As one hundred and twenty-six pounds eighteen shillings and eleven -pence came to me in money with the request that I would buy clothing -(which I did from poor guilds), as the donors lived in the country, or -do exactly as I liked with it, we tried to be businesslike, in spite -of the rush, and made most elaborate tables showing cases despatched, -dates, money received, expended, and so on.</p> - -<p>Nothing was omitted. Every conceivable article of clothing for men, -women, and children was there. Numberless blankets, sheets, needles, -cottons, pins, tapes, new stockings with the proper-coloured mending -pinned on, and boots and shoes galore. The things in themselves -depicted the thought and care with which they had been selected, -showing the sympathy of the people of Great Britain, from the poorest -to the richest, with the unfortunate sufferers. Amongst other things -were razors and pipes. There were even braces, slippers, fur coats, -hairpins, sleeping-socks, and amongst it all came a parcel of most -useful things, amongst which were hidden a dozen copies of the -<cite>Christian World</cite>. Did the dear old body who sent them imagine that the -Sicilian peasants could read an English tract?</p> - -<p>One lady wrote she “is sending a case weighing four hundredweight, and -as it contains seven hundred garments, she thinks it might go as it -stands.” It did; God bless her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">330</a></span></p> - -<p>Really it was a study in parcels. Some were so beautifully done up that -one marvelled at the dexterity of amateur hands which tied the string; -others were disgracefully bundled together; and in one or two cases -labels arrived saying they had been found without any parcels attached.</p> - -<p>Many people had carefully sorted the things into bundles and written -outside, “Complete outfit for a man,” “Complete outfit for a woman,” -“For a peasant child,” or “For a well-born little girl.”</p> - -<p>Several people in different parts of England offered to get up -working-parties, and asked for suggestions for making suitable garments.</p> - -<p>A Manchester manufacturer of flannel said he was willing to give all -that was required, and his workpeople would give the time if I let them -know what to make, but as his letter did not arrive until twenty-five -thousand things had gone, I did not feel able to begin over again. -Dressmakers and shops sent contributions. Several sent parcels in great -haste. Poor dears, they imagined there would be one crate—my “one -box on Friday” became a veritable joke. A lady sent a sack containing -clothes, and kindly requested that I would let her have the sack back. -I did return several portmanteaux, suit-cases, washing-baskets, and -even hold-alls, but when it came to a sack——</p> - -<p>The crowd which collected in the street was both pathetic and humorous. -I remember two shabby little urchins of eight and ten looking with -longing eyes at the warm clothing, and the younger one remarked: “I -say, Bob, what a pity we wasn’t blowd up in that earthquake!”</p> - -<p>A friend noticed a couple of unusual parcels being handed in at the -door and quietly put into one of the cases. On rushing to investigate, -she found that one contained my best drawing-room curtains returned -from the cleaners, and the other a cake for afternoon tea.</p> - -<p>Warned not to leave her wraps about, one of my helpers put her muff and -stole on the staircase. An hour later she only rescued them in the nick -of time from a crate where a kindly man was packing them up, thinking -they “would be so comfortable for the poor people in Sicily.”</p> - -<p>Many of these crates stood four feet from the ground. It was therefore -impossible, even with the aid of friendly walking-sticks, to pack -the bottom, consequently a kitchen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">331</a></span> chair was fetched, and by its -aid various girls got inside and gradually packed the clothing and -themselves upwards.</p> - -<p>My rooms on the ground floor were full of parcels, letters, cheques, -postal orders, keys waiting to be returned with portmanteaux, labels -likewise to be affixed to returned empties, bills of lading, telegrams, -cards, accounts for clothing, etc. Personally, I never sat down for one -minute that somebody did not come to ask for a shilling, or sixpence, -or half-crown, to pay for some package delivered unpaid at the door.</p> - -<p>To complicate matters, reporters and photographers seemed to arrive -from everywhere. They snapshotted us as we worked, they gleaned bits -of information from any and every one, and one of them insisted on -penetrating my private den, where he found me busily writing. A friend, -hearing a crash and seeing a mysterious light, thought there was a -sudden earthquake in York Terrace. She rushed to the hall to ask what -had happened. “Oh, it is nothing, only Mrs. Tweedie being snapshotted.”</p> - -<p>And oh—what a photograph it was! But it was reproduced in France, -Germany, Italy, and Sicily.</p> - -<p>Some weeks afterwards I received the following letter from the Italian -Government through Sir Rennell Rodd, our Ambassador in Rome:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Ministry of Foreign Affairs</span>,<br /> -“<em>27th January, 1909</em>. </p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</p> -<p class="p2">“By your note of 14th inst. your Excellency informed me that the -well-known authoress, Mrs. Alec Tweedie, had in the short time of -three days collected twenty thousand pieces of clothing, which in -167 packages had been sent to Naples, Messina, and Catania, to -succour the sufferers in the recent disaster.</p> - -<p>“I shall be grateful if your Excellency will, in the name of the -Royal Government and myself, express to Mrs. Alec Tweedie the sense -of profound gratitude for the zeal and alacrity which she showed in -coming to the help of so many sufferers.</p> - -<p class="right">“I have, etc.,<span class="add6em"> </span><br /> -“(Signed) <span class="smcap">Tittoni</span>. </p> -<p> -“H.E. Sir R. Rodd,</p> -<p class="p2">“British Ambassador, Rome.”</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">332</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">Most of the packages were distributed by my personal friends to the -real sufferers in Sicily fourteen days after the earthquake.</p> - -<p>Yes, it <em>was</em> an experience. An extraordinary experience even in a life -not unknown to strange sights and circumstances, but it was not what -one would willingly undertake again. The strain of organising such a -performance in a few hours’ time was terrific.</p> - -<p>It cost me some weeks of my life, made a hole in my pocket, and did my -walls and house much damage, but I gained a vast amount of experience, -and <em>hundreds of half-sheets of note-paper</em>!</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">333</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">WORK RELAXED: AND ORCHARDSON</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">A DEAL of ink had run from my pen in thirteen years—thirteen books -had been turned out, and thousands of odd articles, there was hardly -a paper or magazine in the country to which I had not contributed -something. Work had become much easier with practice, and a certain -amount of success—far, far more than I ever deserved—had come my way.</p> - -<p>During that busy time I wrote more words per week than I wrote in the -whole previous nine years. I never believe in people making money they -do not require, unless occasionally, and then they should pass their -little gains on to some charitable cause. Still less do I believe in -anyone writing anything to be printed just for the pleasure of seeing -their name in print. That is taking bread out of someone’s mouth, and -lowering the market standard. I never wrote a line in my life that -was not paid for. Always before me lay two roads, the one grinding -on to the bitter end as a writer and journalist, the second string -being much the more important as it meant more pay for less risk; -or the possibility that some day investments of my husband’s might -turn out better and the necessity to work might cease. It did not -cease—but after thirteen years I felt my feet sufficiently to bid -adieu to journalistic work. A few hundreds here, and a few hundreds -there carefully re-invested, three small legacies left because of the -“splendid fight I had made,” or “in appreciation of her pluck and hard -work,” lifted the cloud, and as the cloud rolled away I took my leave -of the journalist’s yoke which had so often galled a sensitive back: -the moment I could do without this source of income I left it alone, -thankful, grateful for its kindly aid through years of adversity. I -don’t suppose my editors missed me. They never knew me personally;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">334</a></span> -incognito I entered their pages except as a name, incognito as a -personality I left them.</p> - -<p>I was ill—over-work, over-strain, over-anxiety for thirteen years -bowled me over—I, who had never had “little ills,” seemed to be always -having colds and coughs, sleepless nights, aching temples, tonsilitis, -and other stupid little ailments; but in all reverence let me thank God -that the necessity that plied the lash so unceasingly for thirteen busy -years gradually relaxed.</p> - -<p>I suppose there is no loneliness so complete as the creative -brain-worker’s. He writes a book through weary months of thought and -probably not one member of his own household even knows what it is -about or looks at it when done. The painter is almost as bad, although -a cursory glance may be given occasionally at his picture. The same -with the inventor. The creator must be content to live in loneliness of -soul and lack of sympathy. The knowledge that he is doing his best is -his only reward. Even wealth is generally denied him.</p> - -<p>Often in those busy years I wondered if I had been too fond of -pleasure, too absorbed by amusement in those young married days, and -if the necessity to work was my punishment. Every little act counts in -life. Every good deed brings its reward, every silly action demands its -toll.</p> - -<p>The completion of my thirteenth year had ended my strenuous literary -work. I then had more time for my friends, social purposes, calls of -charity, committee work of all sorts and kinds, so although I remained -as busy as ever, I was no longer a money-making machine.</p> - -<p>It was then that I lost one of my oldest and dearest friends. I was -ill myself at the time of his death (April, 1910), but from my bed -I dictated, and corrected the proof on my sofa during the days of -convalescence of an article for the <cite>Fortnightly Review</cite>, July, 1910.</p> - -<p>“One of the men I should like to meet in England is William Quiller -Orchardson.” So spoke the great Shakespearian writer of America, Dr. -Horace Howard Furness, when I was staying with him on the Delaware -River near Philadelphia (1905).</p> - -<p>We were standing before a large engraving of the “Mariage de -Convenance,” one of this famous scholar’s dearest possessions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">335</a></span></p> - -<p>“The idea,” continued Dr. Furness, “the thought, the sense of design; -the space, the refinement, the art of the whole thing, are, to my mind, -perfect. The man who did that must be a charming man, and next time I -cross the Atlantic I shall hope to see him.”</p> - -<p>They will never meet now, but I told Orchardson the story when I came -home, and he looked quite shy with simple pleasure that any picture of -his was so much appreciated.</p> - -<p>Sir William Orchardson was one of Nature’s courtiers. He was refined in -manner, delicate in thought, artistic in temperament.</p> - -<p>England has lost one of her greatest painters. Orchardson is one of the -names that will be known centuries hence. He was one of the few men to -see his old work increase in value. He had a style of his own. “Thin,” -some called it, doubtless because of his means of work, whereby the -canvas remained exposed; but the talent was not thin. It was rich in -tone, and the work was strong. Probably no living artist painted with -less <em>impasto</em>, and yet produced such effect of solidity.</p> - -<p>He had great partiality for yellows and browns, madders and reds, and, -whenever he could introduce these tones, did so. He loved the warmth -of mahogany, the shade of rich wine in a glass, the subdued tones of a -scarlet robe, the russet brown of an old shooting-suit, and as his own -hair had a warm hue, he generally wore a shade of clothes which toned -in with it. As grey mingled with his locks, he took to grey tweeds, and -a very harmonious picture he made with his slouch hat to match.</p> - -<p>In these days, when it is the fashion to belittle modern artists, and -magnify a hundred-fold the value of so-called “ancient masters,” it was -delightful to come across one whose power was actually acknowledged -under the hammer in his own lifetime. One of Orchardson’s pictures, -“Hard Hit,” painted in 1879, fetched nearly £4000 at Christie’s thirty -years later for America. He had the gratification of seeing many of his -canvases double and treble in value, and yet he was always well paid -for his work on the easel.</p> - -<p>He saw his “Mariage de Convenance,” for which he originally received -£1200, increase enormously in value, and his picture of “Napoleon on -the Deck of the <em>Bellerophon</em><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">336</a></span>,” painted in 1880, double in value -before it went to the Tate Gallery.</p> - -<p>But the more success he achieved, the more modest he seemed to become.</p> - -<p>Simplicity was the keynote of the man. Simplicity of character, -simplicity of life, simplicity of style. There is masterful simplicity -in all his work. Look at the large, majestic rooms he depicted, with -one or two figures round which the interest lies. His work invariably -gives one a sense of space, elegance, and refinement. It is always -reserved in colour and design, with great harmony and unity of effect, -possibly helped by the use of a very limited range of colour. His -drawing was strong in construction, highly sensitive in line, and had -an entire absence of flashiness.</p> - -<p>His portraits were, perhaps, his greatest achievement, and were -extraordinary for their virility and power of characterisation; they -were hailed with enthusiasm by the artists both here and on the -Continent. He did not do a great number. Indeed, he was by no means -a prolific painter—from three to five canvases were the most he -accomplished in a single year.</p> - -<p>He elaborated his still-life as much as the old Dutch painters, but the -whole scheme of colour and design and his eighteenth-century costumes -were simple.</p> - -<p>As with his work, so with the man. He was moderate in all things. -Gentle, refined, sensitive, thorough, and painstaking, always striving -for better things. Never really satisfied with his work, never really -satisfied with himself. A deeply religious man, he never mentioned -religion, but somehow one felt he had profound convictions on this -subject. His moral standards were high, his sense of justice was -profound.</p> - -<p>Two antagonistic qualities were ever fighting in the painter. The -gentleness of the man, the determination of the character.</p> - -<p>Orchardson had been a veritable hero for years. He had really been -an invalid since the final years of the last century, sometimes -desperately ill. Often he could only do an hour’s work a day, and -during that time Lady Orchardson always read aloud to him. It -soothed and amused him at the same time, and volumes of memoirs and -travels were his delight. His wife was always beside him, and her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">337</a></span> -encouragement and criticism were of great value to his work. They were -a devoted couple.</p> - -<p>Even neuritis did not stop his work. The triumph of mind over matter! -There were days during those ten or twelve years when he looked as -if a puff of wind would blow him away. Yet the work lost none of its -brilliancy. Orchardson painted as well at seventy-five as he did forty -years before. Of how many men can that be said?</p> - -<p>Pluck is a wonderful quality. How few of the people, who admired -Orchardson’s marvellous picture of Lord Peel, realised the agonies the -artist endured during the time he was painting that and his following -canvases. It was about 1897 that he first began to fail. Some put -it down to heart trouble, others to an affection of the nerves, but -whatever it was he was told that nothing could be done, nothing, at -least, which could really cure the malady. With the most splendid -fortitude and pluck Orchardson realised the situation. He was still a -man of little over sixty. He was at the zenith of his glory, thousands -of pounds were paid for his pictures, and orders were far more numerous -than he could accomplish; he had a large family beside him, and for -years he painted on with this agonising pain, making light of the -matter.</p> - -<p>How ill he looked one day when I called. He appeared so much thinner -than even a month or two previously, and there seemed a depression -about the merry laugh and twinkling eyes. He wore his left arm in a -black silk sling, and the hands, always thin, seemed to show more blue -veins, and look more delicate and nervous than usual. His hands were -even more characteristic than his face. He was painting, and beside him -his palette was fixed on a music stand.</p> - -<p>“A very awkward arrangement,” he laughingly said; “but the best I can -do, for I can no longer hold the palette at all.”</p> - -<p>“But the stand is just the exact height, and looks all right,” I said.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my dear friend,” he replied, “a subtle difference in colour is -very slight, but when you are standing back from your canvas and decide -that a particular shade is wanted on a particular point of a particular -nose, if you have the palette on your hand you can mix it at once, -while if you have to walk back six or eight feet to the palette to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">338</a></span> -prepare the paint to complete this little alteration, you may just get -sufficiently off the shade to entirely alter the idea. I weigh every -tone. I am not an impressionist.”</p> - -<p>Seeing Orchardson working under such circumstances struck me as one of -the most sad and pitiful things I had ever known. Here was he, one of -the greatest painters of the day, still in the prime of life, working -against the most horrible odds, and yet sticking to it in a manner -everyone must admire and few realise, for he always tried to make light -of the situation. He painted his picture of Sir Peter Russell under -these circumstances, also the portrait of Miss Fairfax Rhodes. Among -his best-known portraits are those of Mrs. Pattison, Sir David Stewart, -and Sir Walter Gilbey.</p> - -<p>Orchardson’s famous picture of four royal generations (called “Windsor -Castle, 1897”) was finished in April, 1900, for that year’s Academy. I -went one afternoon a week before to have a look at it. The painter and -his wife were having tea in the splendid dining-room at Portland Place, -and he was thoroughly enjoying his buttered toast after a hard day.</p> - -<p>“I like sitting at a table for my tea,” he said, “especially since my -arm became troublesome, for even now I really cannot balance a cup. -Congratulate me, however, for I have discarded my sling to-day after -two years.”</p> - -<p>The man who could not hold a cup could paint a picture.</p> - -<p>The canvas was enormous—simple and striking. The quiet dignity of -Queen Victoria on the left, and the happy little family group of the -Prince of Wales, the Duke of York (our present King), and baby Prince, -was charming.</p> - -<p>“A difficult subject,” sighed Orchardson. “It took me months to make -up my mind how to tackle it at all. Two black frock-coats and a lady -in black seemed impossible, till I insisted on having the child and -his white frock to introduce the human interest. For days and days I -wandered about Windsor to find a suitable room to paint the group in, -and nothing took my fancy till I came to this long corridor. This is a -corner just as it stands. The dark cabinet throws out the Queen’s head. -The carpet gives warmth. The settee is good colour.”</p> - -<p>“How very like that chair, on which the Prince has his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">339</a></span> hand, is to one -of your old Empire chairs,” I exclaimed. The great painter laughed.</p> - -<p>“It is mine. I lent it, you see. They have nothing quite so suitable as -mine there, so I just painted in one of my own.”</p> - -<p>It was only five days before the picture was to go to Burlington House. -The Prince of Wales’s—alas, the only portrait he painted of Edward -VII—was unfinished; one of the three busts was not even touched, -besides many other minor details.</p> - -<p>“Will you ever be ready?”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, yes! I once painted half my Academy picture in the last -week. I take a long while thinking and planning, but only a short time -actually painting. I shall be ready all right. At any time I rarely -paint more than four hours a day, often only two; so you see I can -accomplish a fair amount with an eight-hours day.”</p> - -<p>In 1887 the Orchardsons moved from Victoria to Portland Place. The new -house offered all the room required for his large family, but there was -no studio. Nothing daunted, the artist designed a studio, and made one -of the finest <em>ateliers</em> in London, where stables and loose-boxes once -stood. He was not the first, for Turner, the great landscape painter, -who lived in Queen Anne Street, close by, had his studio in the stables -which later adjoined my father’s house in Harley Street. It was in that -stable-studio Turner painted some of his finest pictures, and it was in -a stable-studio almost a hundred years later that Orchardson painted -his most famous canvases.</p> - -<p>Rich tapestries hung upon the walls. Old chairs of the Directoire and -Empire periods stood about on parquet floors, on which was reflected -the red glow from a huge, blazing fire.</p> - -<p>The upstairs rooms, with their pillars and conservatory, formed the -background of such pictures as “Her Mother’s Voice,” “Reflections,” -“Music, when Soft Voices Die, Vibrates in the Memory,” and “A Tender -Chord,” and bits of the studio often served as backgrounds, just as -his Adams satin-wood chairs, his clocks and candelabra, glass and old -Sheffield plate, stood as models.</p> - -<p>Orchardson was a man of wide interests. He was always liberal in his -outlook. Anything new, no matter by whom,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">340</a></span> or what form it took, -interested him, and he was particularly good to young men. For -instance, the son of Professor Lorimer, of Edinburgh, sent a portrait -of his father to the Academy. No one had then heard of young Lorimer, -but the picture was accepted and hung on the line. Two or three years -after, when the artist was in London, he was introduced to Orchardson, -who at once exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“‘J. H. Lorimer’! Ah, yes! I remember. I hung a picture of yours on the -line at the Academy a few years ago, because it showed promise.” And -thus began a delightful friendship. That was his way. Whenever he could -do a young artist a good turn, he did so; whenever he could say a word -of encouragement, he was always willing; endless were the visits he -paid to the studios of youthful aspirants, and many the kindly words of -advice and encouragement he left behind.</p> - -<p>He thought it one of the crying shames of the day that more was not -done for living painters and sculptors. He considered our public -buildings and open spaces should be adorned by sculpture, that our -public libraries and edifices should be decorated by paintings.</p> - -<p>“There is just as good talent as ever there was,” he would say, “if -these millionaires would only encourage it, and not pay vast sums for -spurious old masters. You have only to call a thing <em>old</em>, and it will -be bought, but call the same thing <em>new</em>, and no one will even look at -it.”</p> - -<p>Speaking to him once about a fellow-artist’s death, I said what a pity -it was a man should live to over-paint himself, just as men lived to -over-write themselves—paint until their eye has lost all idea of form -and colour.</p> - -<p>He did not agree to this. “Once a painter, always a painter,” he -declared. “Our individual taste improves, our life becomes more -educated, until we look upon work as bad which, years before, we -thought good. In fact,” he maintained, “if the early pictures of -an artist were put with his later work, you would probably find he -had not deteriorated at all.” He gave as an illustration the works -in the Manchester Exhibition—where one man had, perhaps, twenty -pictures, painted in different years, hung side by side; and these, -he maintained, one and all reached a certain standard, and did not -deteriorate or improve very much with years.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">341</a></span></p> - -<p>Once asked to paint a picture containing several portraits, he agreed, -although the subjects were not handsome—ugly, in fact.</p> - -<p>“What a trial that must be to you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh dear, no! I far prefer an ugly face to a beautiful one. It is -generally so much more interesting.”</p> - -<p>“Then you choose their dresses and surroundings, presumably?”</p> - -<p>“No; I do not. I like to paint them as they are, and in their own home. -Dressing them up and giving them strange surroundings takes away their -identity, and makes a picture, but not a portrait. Men paint with their -brain, and if they haven’t got brains, no amount of teaching will make -them artists. They must feel what they do with the mind. Colour is -in the artist himself, but he must learn for years and years, not to -paint, but to draw. Drawing can only be acquired, and is difficult at -first. No man can hope to be an artist until drawing is no longer a -difficulty. Then, but not till then, he may start to paint. Look how -beautifully Frenchmen draw. Art is poorly paid and a disheartening -affair. When I see and hear of the thousands of ‘artists’ barely -earning a living to keep body and soul together, it makes me positively -sick.”</p> - -<p>One day a friend brought a beautiful bunch of roses to Portland Place. -Mrs. Orchardson was so delighted with them, she took them into the -studio to show her husband.</p> - -<p>“Can’t you paint them?” she enquired.</p> - -<p>“Well, they are lovely,” he replied. And after thinking a moment, he -went and fetched a large canvas, on which he had drawn roughly his -scheme for the now famous picture of “The Young Duke.” Many feet of -white canvas and charcoal lines were there. The rest of the scheme and -the colour was only in the artist’s head. He fetched a bowl, placed -the roses in it, and there and then painted the flowers upon the great -white canvas. So began the picture, round the bowl of roses.</p> - -<p>Flowers and the country were always attractive to Orchardson, and -in 1897 he bought a house near Farningham. Once settled, they were -invited to a large county dinner-party to be introduced to their -neighbours. Just before it was time to dress for dinner, it was -discovered that Orchardson had not brought his dress-clothes from -London. Should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">342</a></span> they send a message that they could not go? No; they -decided that would be ridiculous. Had he a frock-coat? No; he had not -even that in the country, and a blue serge suit was all that could be -produced. Accordingly, the artist appeared at the formal county dinner -arranged in his special honour more like an English yachtsman than a -dinner-party guest; and, to add to their misery—it had taken so long -to hunt for the clothes, and it took much longer to drive than they had -anticipated—the guests had already sat down when they were ushered -into the dining-room.</p> - -<p>For many years before this, the Orchardsons lived off and on at -Westgate. It was there he built the tennis-court—real tennis, not -lawn tennis—that from first to last cost about £3000, and was finally -pulled down and sold as old bricks and mortar. That game was his -recreation and his amusement, and round him the painter collected -tennis players from all over the world. He called it the “king of -games,” just as he called fly-fishing the “king of sports.”</p> - -<p>Another hobby was old furniture. One of his most prized treasures was -an old piano. A Vienna Flügel of the seventeenth century, containing -peals, drums, and bells. It was shaped like an ordinary grand, with -rounded side-pieces of beautiful rich-coloured mahogany, and in tone -resembled a spinet. This he gave a year or two before his death with a -tall harp piano, to the South Kensington Museum. One day, walking down -Oxford Street, he had seen the end of this Flügel piano sticking out -of some straw outside an auctioneer’s. The wood and form struck him, -and he pulled aside the straw to examine it more closely. He had the -legs brought out to him, and found they were figures supporting worlds, -on which the piano rested. Charmed and delighted at the whole design, -he offered to bid for it—and as only two very old musicians, who -remembered the piano in their youth, bid against him, it was knocked -down to him. Afterwards he found the only other similar one in England -was owned by the Queen, and stood at Windsor.</p> - -<p>Funnily enough, he who had himself painted so many portraits, disliked -nothing in the world so much as sitting himself.</p> - -<p>“I am a fidget,” he said, “and it worries me to keep still. When -Charlie [his son] asked me to sit to him in the autumn of ’98, I -said, ‘My dear boy, I would rather do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">343</a></span> anything else in the world for -you.’ However, his mother persuaded me that it would be to Charlie’s -advantage, and therefore, like a weak man—for man is always weak in -the hands of woman—I gave in. The boy painted it very cleverly, and -people tell me it is a good portrait. Not that I know much about that, -for no one knows what he really looks like.”</p> - -<p>Orchardson was just twenty-nine when sitting in his little studio in -Edinburgh he read long accounts of the great Exhibition of 1862. “By -Jove, I’ll go and have a look at it,” he exclaimed. No sooner said than -done. With a small hand-bag he came to London. The die was cast. He -never returned to Edinburgh to live.</p> - -<p>Those early days in this great city were days of work and struggle -for John Pettie, Peter Graham, John MacWhirter, and William Quiller -Orchardson, who all came together, and lived together in Pimlico, and -then in Fitzroy Square. They all worked in black and white to keep -the pot boiling, and right merry they were in those long-ago days. -All attained success. Orchardson’s first stroke of luck came three -years after his arrival in London, when he won a £100 prize for “The -Challenge,” and for the next forty-five years he continued to work -steadily, and climbed the ladder of fame rung by rung.</p> - -<p>My last personal recollection of Sir William was when I was sitting -to Herbert Hampton, the sculptor. One day we were talking about -Orchardson, and Mr. Hampton was eulogistic in speaking of his work, and -regretted Sir William had never been to his studio.</p> - -<p class="padb1">“I will ask him to come.” Below is his reply, written on March 12th, -1910, exactly a month before his death.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p> - -“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“So sorry to be all day engaged! Give me another day—do—Yours -ever so much,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">“W. Q. Orchardson</span>. </p> - -<p>“Have sitter waiting.”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">It was his habit to go out daily for fresh air, and, when able for it, -for exercise, so I suggested fetching him in a taxi the next time I was -to sit. To this he replied a few days later:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">344</a></span></p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1"> - -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“So do I [this refers to a remark that I wished I were the sitter]. -I should have loved the taxi, and your presentment at the hands of -Herbert Hampton. It must be worth seeing—but that I have promised -to be at the meeting to-morrow of the Fine Art Section of the White -City, of which I am Chairman.—Horrid, is it not? With many thanks -and more regrets,</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours,<span class="add8em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">W. Q. Orchardson</span>.” </p></div> - -<p class="padt1">The writing was very shaky, as it had been for some years. For years -he could paint firmly and yet only write badly. This was probably due -to his extraordinary power of concentration. Even ten days before his -death he was struggling daily to the studio, too weak to stand before -his canvas, callous to all outside matters, so determined to finish his -pictures that he could concentrate his mind on his work and make great -strides in a quarter of an hour. Then he would fall back exhausted. -Here was a case of indomitable pluck, and such determination and -concentration that he almost died with his brush in his hand.</p> - -<p>Orchardson was a delightful <em>raconteur</em>, and although I knew him -intimately for twenty years, I never heard him say an unkind word of -anyone, and often admired his refinement of thought and delightful -belief in everyone and in everything beautiful. He was by nature a -serious, thoughtful man, although a certain air of gaiety overspread -his speech, and a merry twinkle often sparkled in his eye. He told -stories dramatically, quickly turning from grave to gay. Although -casual in manner, unconventional in ideas, and remiss in answering -letters, he never seemed to give offence to anyone. That same slack, -casual way of acting on impulse that brought young Orchardson to London -in 1862, remained through life. He never could make plans; seldom knew -from week to week where he would be. He was, in fact, irresponsible -by nature, but so sweet in character that the gods smiled on him and -oblivion of time was excused, just as forgetfulness of appointments -was exonerated. That was the man; but when work was foremost, all was -changed.</p> - -<p>Orchardson was a great painter and a kindly man. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">345</a></span> world is the -poorer for his death. Such men can ill be spared.</p> - -<p class="padb1">When my article appeared it was pleasant to hear from the wife of the -painter:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Your article in the <cite>Fortnightly</cite> is quite delightful, and I much -appreciate it. You have depicted his character so exactly, and I am -sure all who have ever known him will quite agree.”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Or again from his old friend Mr. John MacWhirter, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, who -followed him so quickly to the grave:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I have just read Orchardson in the <cite>Review</cite>. It is admirable. I -did not know that you understood him so well. He was a delightful -character, and you have described him well. I feel I owe you real -thanks!”</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">These few kindly words were a great reward for a very little work. Poor -MacWhirter himself died a few months later.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Some years ago the Society of Women Journalists did me the honour of -appointing me one of its Vice-Presidents, an unmerited honour, for I -was a bad journalist in the sense of ordinary journalism. I have never -written about fashions or Society functions, and did little of the -ordinary journalistic hack-work, such as reporting, though I wrote -yards of “copy” of all sorts and kinds.</p> - -<p>One day the idea came to me that it would be nice to invite my -fellow-journalists to tea before finally ringing down the curtain on my -journalistic life, and as a tea-party composed entirely of themselves -would be rather too much of a family affair, I decided to ask some -of my own friends as well. The card indicated on the next page was -accordingly sent out.</p> - -<p class="padb1">There are three hundred members of the Society of Women Journalists, -not all of course living in London, so we reckoned that one hundred -might turn up during the afternoon. As it happened, the total number -of people who crossed my doorstep between 3.45 and 7.15 (for they came -before the appointed time and stayed after the allotted hour) was four -hundred—one hundred and sixty-four of whom were men! -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">346</a></span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" id="i_346"> -<img src="images/i_346.jpg" width="550" height="464" alt="to meet society of women journalists mrs alec tweedie at home wednesday april 27 47 4 0 mrs kendal 4 30 miss grainger kerr 5 0 miss genevieve ward 5 30 mr adolph mann 6 0 lady tree 6 30 miss christian muir 30 york terrace harley street" /> -</div> - -<p class="padt1">Luckily, some days beforehand I had sorted out the glass and china, -been to the plate-chest, seen to the table-linen, ordered the -hat-stands and urns, and made everything in readiness, for on Monday -night before this memorable Wednesday I was taken ill.</p> - -<p>Internal chills are like influenza, they sound so little and may mean -so much. Tuesday found me worse, and when the doctor came late in the -day, my suffering was so intense that he insisted upon an injection of -morphia. I was too dull with pain, too stupefied from the drug to so -much as even think about putting off that party. It seemed to me an -absolutely impossible task. I had not tacked those tiresome letters -“R.S.V.P.” on the cards of invitation, and therefore had not the -slightest idea how many people would come, so as everything had been -arranged, it seemed best to let things take their course, and chance my -being up, clothed, and in my right mind.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">347</a></span></p> - -<p>The Fates decided otherwise. By Tuesday night I was worse. The nurse -shook her head, still the doctor saw the impossibility of stopping the -party, and wisely begged me not to trouble myself about it.</p> - -<p>I knew my sister, Mrs. W. F. Goodbody, would be quite equal to the -task of receiving in my absence. Besides, I sent messages to one or -two intimate friends to come early and hand tea and coffee, and smile -and talk; in fact, turn themselves into public entertainers for the -afternoon. Everyone behaved splendidly. With so much brilliant talent -to amuse them, they could hardly be dull. Even to my bed there rose -the shouts of laughter and sounds of enthusiastic applause after the -recitations and music.</p> - -<p>The nurse stood over me like a dragon, refusing to let anyone cross the -threshold of the sick-room; as a kindly angel she trotted backwards -and forwards, telling me some of the names she heard announced. An -Ambassador, and several Ministers, Royal Academicians, inventors, -authors, Admirals, Generals, actors, and scientists, all came in turn.</p> - -<p>I shall never really know who all my guests were at that party, for -only in a haphazard way have I heard who came and who did not. But it -proved that <cite>Hamlet</cite> without the Dane, or a wedding without the bride, -might almost be possible when a party without a hostess can be a “great -success.” Such is the comedy and tragedy of life. My guests were told -I was suffering from a “little chill,” and, though kindly or politely -regretful, they little guessed that their enjoyment was counterbalanced -by my agony.</p> - -<p>Many days passed before I was up again, and then I only crawled to -Woodhall Spa. <em>Crawled</em> is a fairly correct expression, for the first -time I was able to leave my room was to go to the train, and then a -porter trundled me along the platform at King’s Cross in a Bath chair. -So lying on my back all the journey, I arrived there a human wreck; -but, thanks to Dr. Calthrop, and the efficacy of the waters, the -patient found herself on her feet a few weeks later.</p> - -<p>All praise to Woodhall Spa.</p> - -<p>A day or two after my arrival even that quiet, sleepy little village -was raised to the tiptoe of anxiety when a rumour came that King Edward -VII. was dangerously ill. On that Friday night—May 6th, 1910—we tried -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">348</a></span> telephone to London for the latest bulletin, but no message could -be got through; and it was not till the early hours of Saturday morning -that the dreaded news which had already spanned the world in a flash, -reached the restful retreat of Woodhall Spa, by means of the mail cart.</p> - -<p>The King was dead.</p> - -<p>A strong contrast was the little English village, where I learnt -the sad tidings, to that wonderfully dramatic scene in the recesses -of a Mexican cave, in which news of the death of Queen Victoria was -announced to me.</p> - -<p>All of us in the hotel were wearing coloured clothes, and all with one -accord telegraphed home, or to the London shops or dressmakers, for -black things to be sent; and rich ladies sallied forth and bought pots -of paint to blacken their hats, or bits of ribbon of funereal hue.</p> - -<p>And those wonderful days following the death of King Edward VII. -showed forth not only spontaneous world-wide reverence for the Great -Peacemaker, and homage to his dignity and prestige as a monarch; they -bore witness to the sorrow of individuals numbered by multitudes and -nations—the sob of a grief-stricken Empire that had lost and was -mourning a valued friend.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">349</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">DIAZ</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">DOES the hand lose its cunning? I had practically given up all forms of -rapid journalism, when, on November 24th, 1910, I was suffering from a -cold (which had, by the way, prevented my seeing my own tableaux got up -for a charity at the Court Theatre). The telephone buzzed and fumed.</p> - -<p>“Will you speak to the editor of the <cite>Daily Mail</cite>, please, ma’am, -at once?” asked the parlourmaid. Down I went to the ’phone in my -dressing-gown.</p> - -<p>“There is a report that Diaz is assassinated.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t believe it,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“But the telegram is lying before me,” he continued.</p> - -<p>“Sorry, but I don’t believe it. I know Diaz. I know his home, and I -know the Mexican people.”</p> - -<p>“Would I write fourteen hundred words at once?”</p> - -<p>After some persuasion I promised to write something for the next day’s -publication, although stoutly refusing to write an obituary. It so -chanced my secretary was not at hand, so without looking up anything, -I wrote those fourteen hundred words by hand in fifty minutes. The -boy came up from the <cite>Daily Mail</cite> office to fetch it an hour after my -conversation with the editor, and bore it off, to be telegraphed to -Paris and Manchester.</p> - -<p>Then I had some Cambridge friends to luncheon, followed by my “At Home” -day. That night I dined at the “Criterion,” a Society of Authors’ -Dinner, went on to a reception, given by the Chairman of the County -Council, Mr. Whitaker Thompson, at the Hotel Cecil, and then to bed.</p> - -<p>Of course the cold was worse, but inhaling creosote (of all sweet -scents!) soon improved it again; and I slept peacefully until early tea -began another strenuous day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">350</a></span> and brought the following column of type -to my bedside.</p> - -<p class="padb1">Here it is, just as it was scribbled:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center largest"><b>PORFIRIO DIAZ.</b></p> - -<p class="padt1 center larger"><b>THE MAN WHO MADE MEXICO.</b></p> - -<p class="padt1 center small"><em><b>By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE,<br /> -Author of “Seven Times President of Mexico.”</b></em></p> - -<p class="padt1">That General Diaz was the greatest man the nineteenth century -produced is a bold assertion—and yet I have no hesitation in -making it. The statement is especially bold of a century that -recognised so many great men. But then Diaz rose from humble -origin, and became a dictator, a very Czar and Pope in one, and -not only did he attain such a position, but he has kept it. For -over thirty years he has governed the country he once roamed as a -shoeless boy, and now, as he announced yesterday in a special cable -to the <cite>Daily Mail</cite>, he has suppressed yet another revolt and has -established his rule yet more firmly.</p> - -<p>Diaz is a democratic ruler. Without a middle class a successful -democracy is impossible, and Diaz, alive to all such facts, set -himself the task, during the last ten or fifteen years, of building -up a middle class in Mexico. Diaz remains as firm a believer in a -democracy as ever, although his own Republic has practically become -an autocracy. He believes in an Opposition Party; but it is only -now an Opposition Party has actually risen against him. During long -and interesting visits to Mexico I was unceasingly impressed by the -love of the people for their ruler. They revered and esteemed him -as a man, they admired and appreciated his capacity to govern, and -even his political enemies threw party feelings aside and realised -that in him they had an ideal ruler. The Conservatives—who -naturally ought to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">351</a></span> have opposed him—were tranquilly content -to let the man who had held the helm for over thirty years continue -to steer their bark.</p> - -<p class="padt1 smaller noindent sans"><b>A YOUTHFUL VETERAN</b></p> - -<p>Old in years, Diaz has ever been young in spirit. Those nostrils quiver -and dilate as he speaks, those deep-set eyes seem to penetrate his -listener’s soul. In personality this short, thick-set Mexican appears a -giant of physical strength, while his broad brows denote the thinker. -He is a youthful veteran.</p> - -<p>Two months ago (Sept., 1910) this great President assisted at two -celebrations. He stood on the balcony of the Municipal Palace and -rang the bell that clanged forth the centenary of the Independence of -Mexico. Only two months ago he kept his eightieth birthday. Last night -I had the pleasure of sitting next Lord Strathcona, one of the most -remarkable men of his age, and some ten years older than General Diaz; -but then those ten years count for nought in a hardy Scotsman when -pitted against a man of Southern climes. Longevity is an asset of the -North. Diaz is of the South, and that he should still be strong and -vigorous and able to pull the ropes of public affairs after fourscore -years is a remarkable achievement for any man, and the more remarkable -for a man with Indian blood in his veins. Not only that, but one must -remember Diaz had an extraordinarily hard life until a few years ago.</p> - -<p>His father was a little innkeeper in a little town in Southern Mexico. -He died of cholera when the boy was only three years old. There were -five other children. The mother’s daily struggle to provide food and -clothing for them was great. Diaz went to the village school. At -fourteen he joined the Roman Catholic seminary with the intention of -entering the Church. It was his mother’s dearest wish. Education in -those early days was free in Mexico where even military students pay no -fees to-day, and education is on a high standard generally.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">352</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1 smaller noindent sans"><b>A LIFE OF ADVENTURE</b></p> - -<p>Then the boy earned a small sum by teaching, which he spent in -acquiring Latin grammar, logic, and philosophy. He found the tenets -of the Church unacceptable. Mexico was at that time seething with -revolution. Troops were continually passing through Oaxaca. The youth -used to slip off in the evening to join the camp fires and listen to -tales of valour and strife that made the blood tingle in his veins. -The call of the bugle fired his soul. One has only to look at the man -to see he was a born soldier beneath the guise of the politician of -to-day. His life is one long story of romance and adventure, of serious -difficulties ably overcome.</p> - -<p>In the course of fifty-five years there had been sixty-eight dictators, -presidents, and rulers in Mexico. This all ended in 1876, when General -Diaz, then but a rough soldier, rode up to the City of Mexico at the -head of the revolutionary army and declared himself President.</p> - -<p>With the exception of four years he has reigned ever since. He fought -hand to hand for Mexico and liberty. He saw the overthrow of the -Church. He lived to see his beloved country rise from the lowest to -one of the highest rungs of the world’s ladder. It is impossible here -even to hint at the narrow escapes from death he had as a soldier, to -mention the strange and sad story of the Emperor Maxmilian and his -misguided and beautiful wife Carlotta. It is not possible to dwell on -the courtly manners and charming grace of the elder Diaz as compared -with the rough soldier of sixty years ago. One cannot even mention his -ideally happy home life, his love of sport, or his interest in science -and the great questions of this great world. Diaz can only be summed up -here as a man of many parts and many interests.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">353</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1 smaller noindent sans"><b>AN ERA OF PROSPERITY</b></p> - -<p>What have been the results of General Diaz’s long administrations? That -terrible poverty which sapped the life’s blood from the country during -three-fourths of last century has turned to affluence. Peace is the -outcome of revolution. The country, jibed and jeered at abroad, now -holds a position among the leading nations. Lawlessness has given place -to wise jurisdiction. The Mexicans are better governed, they can afford -to pay the taxes imposed for the benefits they receive, and are yet -more wealthy. Instead of money pouring out to repay old debts, foreign -capital is pouring into the country, so secure has Mexican credit -become in the world’s markets.</p> - -<p>More important than all, Diaz has taught the Mexicans the benefit of -lasting peace, has set before them an ideal of honest public life which -will survive him as a great monument to a great man. Diaz made modern -Mexico. Roughly dividing his life into three parts, hunger and struggle -were dominant in the earlier years. During the next span he was helping -to make history in one of the wildest and most beautiful countries of -God’s earth. The latter part of his strenuous life he has devoted to -a desk and diplomacy, has thrown aside the soldier’s cloak for the -frock-coat and tall hat of civilisation.</p> - -<p>For thirty years President Diaz has been teaching men to govern. He -has made many men. He has modelled a nation. Diaz has always been a -patriot, whether old or young. He has established thirty years of -peace, and made a Presidency famous for its political rule. Not only -do Mexicans love him, but Europeans who have filled their purses with -Mexican gold must honour and respect so remarkable a man. It will be -an evil day when anything happens to General Diaz; but his work will -live. The nation he has moulded and made is too well impressed with the -benefits received to wander from the path of good government or throw -aside his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">354</a></span>able laws for long. Mexico is no longer a country in the -making. Mexico is made, and it was Porfirio Diaz who made it.</p></div> - -<p class="padt1">Apropos of the book itself, the late Major Martin Hume wrote some -months before, in a review on the work of some other author:</p> - -<p class="padt1">“Any book that truly and attractively sets forth the life-story -of such a man as Diaz should be worth reading. Mrs. Alec Tweedie, -a few years ago, produced in England an excellent biography and -appreciation of the President, and the book now before us will -certainly not displace it as the standard work in English on the -subject.”</p> - -<p>President Diaz himself selected it as his authentic biography.</p> - -<p class="padt1">The following letter from my publisher is, perhaps, therefore, of -interest:</p> - -<div class="blockquote padt1"> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Cranes Park, Surbiton</span>,<span class="add3em"> </span><br /> -“<em>Feb. 25, ’09</em>.<span class="add1em"> </span></p> -<p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Tweedie</span>,</p> - -<p class="p2">“I am very glad to hear that the President of Mexico appreciates -your <cite>Life</cite> of him so highly that he wishes the book brought up -to date, and that it should be translated into Spanish for sale -in Mexico. I remember the day I took the book for the first time -round the trade. No one seemed to take the slightest interest in -<cite>Porfirio Diaz</cite>, in fact, very few seemed to know that he existed, -and it was only when I mentioned the fact that you were the author, -and that the matter for the <cite>Life</cite> had been supplied to you by the -President himself, and that they would be bound to use copies, as -they all know you have a public of your own, they gave me orders.</p> - -<p>“I was surprised myself at the interest the book created, as repeat -orders from both booksellers and libraries commenced almost at -once, and continued to come in.</p> - -<p>“I had always an idea that the book had something to do with the -tardy recognition of the President by the English Government.</p> - -<p class="right">“Yours very truly,<span class="add4em"> </span><br /> -“<span class="smcap">Herbert Blackett</span>.”<span class="add1em"> </span></p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">355</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">Diaz was hurled from power in his eighty-first year. It is one of the -saddest episodes in the history of great rulers, and at the same time -one of the most important in the history of a country. His remaining -in office for an eighth term was a fatal mistake, and shrouded in -gloom the close of a career of unexampled brilliancy, both in war and -statesmanship.</p> - -<p>Diaz left Mexico in May, 1911, and for fifteen months after that -country did not know one moment’s peace.</p> - -<p>His life was verily a moving spectacle of romance.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>And so here end snatches of remembrance of thirteen busy years.</p> - -<p>No—not quite—see next page.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">356</a></span></p> - -<h3 id="EPILOGUE">EPILOGUE<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">QUITE WELL AGAIN</span></h3></div> - -<p class="drop-cap">JUST been elected to the Council of the Eugenic Society, and the only -woman to sit on the Council of the Cremation Society of England.</p> - -<p>And so ring down the curtain on the “Bakers’ Dozen,” and the -booksellers’ and authors’ thirteen. So ends my tale—no “Spy’s” tail.</p> - -<p class="padt1 center">AU REVOIR!</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="padt1">P.S.—No woman ever wrote a letter—tradition says—without a P.S. -Above everything I am a woman, so let me hasten to add my P.S.</p> - -<p>These pages have been corrected for press during fourteen days of -great strain.</p> - -<p>Thousands of invitations were sent from my door between reading -the “galleys.” Thousands of letters and questions were answered -during the correction of the “page proof,” which turned up while -I was acting as Hospitality Honorary Secretary for the <span class="smcap">First -International Eugenics Congress</span>, held in London, July, 1912.</p> - -<p>For the Inaugural Banquet I sent out to all parts of the world -about a thousand invitations, nearly five hundred of which were -accepted. Major Leonard Darwin, son of the great Darwin and nephew -of Sir Francis Galton, presided at the dinner, and Mr. Arthur J. -Balfour and the Lord Mayor (Sir Thomas Crosby) spoke. A Reception, -at which all members attending the Congress were present, followed.</p> - -<p>Amongst those who came forward and helped me, by giving delightful -entertainments and each receiving five or six hundred guests in -their beautiful homes, were H. E. the American Ambassador, the -Duchess of Marlborough, the Lord Mayor (the first medical man to -fill that post), Mr. Robert Mond, and Major Darwin.</p> - -<p>My part of the festivities ended by my taking a hundred of our -foreign and colonial visitors to tea on the Terrace of the House of -Commons, thanks to the generosity of ten Members of Parliament. The -Speaker kindly lent his gallery, and allowed his Private Secretary -to find seats for the whole number.</p> - -<p>All this was most enjoyable, but it was not good for careful -proof-reading.</p></div> - -<div class="figcenter padt1 padb1" id="i_356fp"> -<img src="images/i_356fp.jpg" width="289" height="600" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">HERE ENDS THE TALE. SKETCH IN “SPY,” 1912</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"><h2>FOOTNOTES:</h2></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">1</span></a> <cite>George Harley, F.R.S., or the Life of a London -Physician.</cite></p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">2</span></a> Lady Brilliana Harley was the daughter of Sir Edward -Conway, and was born in the year 1600, at the Brill, of which her -father was Governor. She became the third wife of Sir Robert Harley, of -Brampton Bryan, in 1623. -</p> -<p> -From her letters published by the Camden Society one gathers she was a -woman of considerable education, and of deep religious feeling imbued -with Calvinistic doctrine, while devotion to her home and children is -the keynote of her correspondence. -</p> -<p> -In the Great Rebellion, however, when Sir Robert Harley’s Parliamentary -duties necessitated his absence from Brampton Bryan, the Royalists -in the neighbourhood of the Castle alleged that Lady Brilliana was -sheltering rebels; and, after various threats and efforts to gain -possession of the stronghold, a Royalist force under Sir William -Vavasour laid siege to Brampton Bryan Castle on July 26th, 1643. -</p> -<p> -There Lady Brilliana with her children and household, and several -neighbours who had joined her in resisting the encroachments of the -Royalists, were shut up for six weeks, during which time she, usually -spoken of as “the Governess,” conducted the defence with both skill and -courage. Shots were daily fired into the Castle and frequently poisoned -bullets were used: one of these wounded the cook, who died from its -effects; and two ladies among the besieged party were also wounded. -</p> -<p> -Finding that Lady Brilliana was obdurate and would not surrender, -Charles I sent her a personal letter by special messenger—Sir John -Scudamore—whom Lady Brilliana received with calm dignity; but with -unflinching endurance she determined to continue her defence. She -replied to the King by a letter setting forth the attacks to which her -husband’s property had been subjected, and humbly petitioned that all -her goods should be restored to her. -</p> -<p> -Sir John Scudamore hurried back with another Royal document, offering -free pardon to Lady Brilliana and her supporters in the Castle, if she -would surrender, and also granting free licence to all to depart from -the Castle. -</p> -<p> -But Lady Brilliana stood her ground when the Royal messenger arrived on -September 1st. “By this time,” an “eye-witness” wrote later, “the fame -of the noble lady was spread over most of the kingdom, with admiration -and applause....” -</p> -<p> -And this courageous determination was all the more pronounced as she -was too unwell to receive Sir John on his return, having contracted a -chill which terminated fatally about a month later. -</p> -<p> -On September 9th, the defeat of the Royal troops elsewhere necessitated -the withdrawal of Sir William Vavasour’s force from Brampton Bryan, and -the siege was suddenly raised. -</p> -<p> -The relief was too late. Strain of deprivation and anxiety had taken -their toll and weakened the frame of the plucky heart that knew no -surrender. -</p> -<p> -“This honourable lady,” continued her historian, “of whom the world was -not worthy, as she was a setting forward the work of God suddenly and -unexpectedly fell sick of an apoplexy with a defluxion of the lungs.... -Never was a holy life concluded with a more heavenly and happy ending.” -</p> -<p> -Her body was encased in lead and carried to the top of the Castle to -await burial in more peaceful days; but when the siege of Brampton -Bryan was renewed, and the Castle taken, her coffin was desecrated in -the search for plunder. -</p> -<p> -Her three beloved children, who had been through the first attack with -her, were taken prisoner at the end of the second siege in 1644.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">3</span></a> <cite>Behind the Footlights.</cite></p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">4</span></a> Nansen, whom she met at dinner at our house.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">5</span></a> <cite>Mexico as I saw It</cite> quickly passed into a second edition -in spite of its price, and then fell out of print. Nearly ten years -later Nelson and Sons decided to add it to their shilling Library of -Travel. Strange as it may appear, not a single copy of the old edition -was on the market anywhere, and we had to advertise three times before -we could get a dirty copy to tear to pieces for correction for the -printers. In August, 1911, the cheap edition was selling in thousands -on the railway bookstalls of Great Britain.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">6</span></a> Since reproduced in a volume, <cite>Herbert Schmalz and his -Work</cite>.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">7</span></a> Lord Inchcape.</p></div> - -<div class="footnote padb1"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">8</span></a> Now Mrs. W. L. Courtney.</p></div> - -<div class="chapter"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">359</a></span></p> -<h2 id="INDEX">INDEX</h2></div> - -<ul class="index"> -<li class="ifrst">A</li> - -<li class="indx">Aberconway, Lord (John Brown & Co.), <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Aberdeen, Earl of, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Countess of, <a href="#Page_116">116</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Africa, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Agnew, Sir William, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Alarcon, Colonel, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Albemarle, The, <a href="#Page_213">213</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Alexander">Alexander, Mrs. (see <a href="#Hector">Hector</a>), <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Algiers, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Allen, Grant, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Allingham, Mr., <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> - -<li class="indx">America, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Anderson, Miss A. M., <span class="smcap">M.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mr. Percy, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Andrews, St., <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Angelo, Michael, <a href="#Page_164">164</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Antrim, Countess of, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Argentina, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Arms and the Man,” <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Arnold, Matthew, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Arts and Crafts Exhibition, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ascot (Prologue, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>), <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Assaye</em>, P. & O. steamer, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Atherton, Gertrude, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Aurelius, Marcus, <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Austin, L. F., <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Australia, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Avon, The, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ayrton, Mrs. Hertha, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Aztec ruins, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">B</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Bab Ballads</cite>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Balaclava, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Balfour, A. J. (Prime Minister), <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Lady Frances, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barlee, Miss Ellen, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barrett, John, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Barry, J. M., <a href="#Page_87">87</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bate, Percy, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bateson, Mary, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Tom, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Battersea Park, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bavaria, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Beale, Dorothea, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bedford, Mr. Herbert, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Beecham, Sir Thomas, Mus. Doc., <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Beerbohm, Max, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Behind the Footlights</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Belgium, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bell, Mr. Moberly, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss G., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Benson, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Berkshire, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Berlin, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bertie, Sir Francis, <a href="#Page_252">252</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Besant, Sir Walter, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Biarritz, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Birmingham, George, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bismarck, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Björnson, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“— Björnstjerne,” <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Blackett, Herbert, <a href="#Page_354">354</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Blackie, Professor, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Blake, Dr. Jex, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bompas, Mr., <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bond, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bonne, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Booth, General, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bordon, <a href="#Page_255">255</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Borkum, <a href="#Page_47">47</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Boston, U.S., <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bothnia, Gulf of, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Boughton, George, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bourchier, Arthur, <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Boyce, Sir Rubert, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Braddon">Braddon, Miss, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a> (Mrs. Maxwell)</li> - -<li class="indx">Braille, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Brampton, Bryan, <a href="#Page_12">12</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Brandes, Georg, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Breitmann, Hans, <a href="#Page_31">31</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">360</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Bret Harte, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Brewster, Sir David, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Broken Hearts</em>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bruges, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Bryant, Mrs. Sophie, <span class="smcap">D.SC.</span>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss Margaret, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buccleuch, Duchess of, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buckingham Palace, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buckinghamshire, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buckland, Frank, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burmah, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burne-Jones, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Burns, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Buszard, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Butt, Clara, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Byron, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">C</li> - -<li class="indx">Cacahuimilpa, Caves of, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-9</li> - -<li class="indx" id="Caird">Caird, Mr. Patrick, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>. See <a href="#Cunard">Cunard</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cairo, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Calthrop, Dr., <a href="#Page_347">347</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cambridge, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Camden Society, <a href="#Page_12">12</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Campden Hill, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Canada, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Carlton, The, <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Carlyle">Carlyle, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Sartor"><em>Sartor Resartus</em></a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Carnegie, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Castle, Edinburgh, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Catania, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cellini, Benvenuto, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chaillu, Paul du, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Charles V, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Charterhouse, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chelsea, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chesterton (<cite>Illustrated London News</cite>), <a href="#Page_69">69</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Chicago, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li> - -<li class="indx">China, <a href="#Page_190">190</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Chisholm">Chisholm, Hugh. See <a href="#St_James"><cite>St. James’s Gazette</cite></a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Choate, Mr., <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Christian Scientists, <a href="#Page_237">237</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Christiania, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Christison, Sir Alexander, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir Robert, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Chronicle, The Daily</cite>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Clarence Memorial, The, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Clarke, Sir Edward, <span class="smcap">K.C.</span>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir Andrew, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss Agnes (the late), <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Clifford, Mrs. W. K., <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Clodd, Mr. Edward, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Clyde, The, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li> - -<li class="indx">College, Queen’s, Harley Street, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Bedford, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Girton, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Newnham, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Somerville, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Colombia, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Comedy and Tragedy</cite>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Congo River, <a href="#Page_268">268</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Connaught, Duke of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Duchess of, <a href="#Page_100">100</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Constable, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Copenhagen, <a href="#Page_55">55</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Corelli, Marie, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Coriolanus</cite>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Corney Grain, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Coronet Theatre, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Courtney">Courtney, W. L., <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Fortnightly"><cite>Fortnightly</cite></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Crane, Walter, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cremation Society of England, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Critchett, Sir Anderson, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cromer, Lord, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Crookes, Sir William, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Crozier">Crozier, Dr. Beattie, <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cuba, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Cunard">Cunard Company (see <a href="#Caird">Caird</a>), <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Cushmann, Charlotte (American tragedienne), <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">D</li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Daisy Chain, The</em>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dalhousie, Earl of, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Daniel Druce</cite>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Danish versus English Butter-making</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Dante_Society">Dante Society, The, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Darwin, Charles, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Davenport, Mr. Cyril, of the B.M., <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Davies, Miss Emily, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Davis, Mr. William, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Delbruck, Professor Hans von, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Demos, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Denison">Denison, Colonel George, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Denmark, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Devonshire">Devonshire, Duke of, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Duchess of (see <a href="#Manchester">Manchester</a>), <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Diaz, Madame, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— (President), General Porfirio, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_350">350</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Diaz, Porfirio, Seven Times President of Mexico</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">361</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Dickens, Charles, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dimsdale, Sir Joseph, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Disraeli, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Dot, Mrs.</cite>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Drummond">Drummond, Mr., <a href="#Page_242">242</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Drury Lane Theatre, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dowie, John Alexander, the Prophet, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dublin, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dunsany, Lord, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Dürer, Albrecht, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">E</li> - -<li class="indx">Earl’s Court Exhibition, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Edinburgh, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Egypt, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Eliot, George, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ely, Bishop of, <a href="#Page_213">213</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Emerson, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Emmott, Lord, <a href="#Page_218">218</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Encyclopædia Britannica</cite>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Engaged</em>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">England, <a href="#Page_18">18</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="English_Review"><cite>English Review.</cite> See <a href="#Harrison">Harrison</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Epic of Hades</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Lewis_Morris">Lewis Morris</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Erichsen, John (Uncle John), later Sir John, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Eton, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Eugenic Society, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">F</li> - -<li class="indx">Faraday, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Farquharson, Dr., <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Joseph, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Faucit, Helen, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fawcett, M. G., <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs., <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fenwick, Mrs. Bedford, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fergusson, William, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fielding, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Hon. W. S., <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fildes, Sir Luke, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="indx">First Aid Yeomanry Corps, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>First College for Women, The</em>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Finland, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>-<a href="#Page_7">7</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Fisher, Miss (the late), <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Foreign Office, The, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Forget-me-not</cite> (play), <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Fortnightly"><cite>Fortnightly</cite> (see <a href="#Courtney">Courtney</a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">France, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Frederick, Lady</cite>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Furness, Dr. Horace Howard, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Furniss, Harry, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_302">302</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">G</li> - -<li class="indx">Gainsborough, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gallery, Grafton, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Grosvenor, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Modern (Venice), <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— National (Brussels), <a href="#Page_158">158</a>,</li> -<li class="isubi">and Berlin, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— New, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Galton, Sir Francis, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Garvin, J. L. (see <a href="#Pall_Mall"><em>Pall Mall</em></a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Germany, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gibson, Dana, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gilbert, Alfred, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir W. S., <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>-<a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ginsburg, Dr., <a href="#Page_313">313</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Girl’s Ride in Iceland, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Giuliano, Marquis de San, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Gladstone Dock,” <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mr., <a href="#Page_19">19</a>-21</li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs., <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Glasgow, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Glencoe, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Godwin, Mrs. (Mme. Whistler), <a href="#Page_173">173</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Goodbody, Dr. Francis, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs. W. F., <a href="#Page_347">347</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Goodwood, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gosse, Mr. Edmund, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Lord, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gossenass, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Graham, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Cunninghame, Mr., <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grant, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir Arthur, of Monymusk, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Gray (<cite>Elegy</cite>), <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Green">Green, Sir Frederick (see <a href="#Orient">Orient</a>), <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Greenock, <a href="#Page_180">180</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grey, Sir Edward, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grossmith, George, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Weedon, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Grub Street, <a href="#Page_101">101</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Guerbel, Count de, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Countess, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Guildhall, <a href="#Page_228">228</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">H<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">362</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Habitant</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Drummond">Drummond</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Haddon, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Halifax, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Halifax Chronicle</cite>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Halouan, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hampton, Herbert, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hangö, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hannay, Rev. James, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Harley, George, or the Life of a London Physician</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harley, Sir Robert, Knight of the Bath, <a href="#Page_12">12</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Lady Brilliana, <a href="#Page_12">12</a> (see <a href="#Footnote_2_2">note</a>), <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Street, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Harmsworth">Harmsworth, Mr. See <a href="#Northcliffe">Lord Northcliffe</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harnack, Dr. Adolph, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harris, W. B., <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Harrison">Harrison, Austin (see <a href="#English_Review"><cite>English Review</cite></a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Frederic, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_318">318</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harrow, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hart, Sir Robert, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Harvard House, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— John, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Robert, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Haselden, W. K., <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hawkins, Anthony Hope, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hay, John, <a href="#Page_229">229</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hayes, Catherine, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Heaton, Sir Henniker, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hekla, <a href="#Page_38">38</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Hector">Hector, Mrs. (see <a href="#Alexander">Alexander</a>), <a href="#Page_92">92</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Hedda Gabler</cite> (play), <a href="#Page_93">93</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Heinemann, Mr., <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hellqvist, Carl Gustav (Swedish artist), <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Helsingfors, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>His Excellency the Governor</cite>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hennessy, Mrs., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">H.M. Theatre, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hobbes, John Oliver (Mrs. Craigie), <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hogarth, Miss Janet (now Mrs. W. L. Courtney), <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Holl, Frank, <a href="#Page_82">82</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Holland, Sir Henry, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">—, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Holmes, Oliver Wendell, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Holroyd, Sir Charles, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Home</cite> (magazine), <a href="#Page_68">68</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hook, Theodore, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hooper, Dr., <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hornung, E. W., <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hospital, St. Thomas’s, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">House of Lords, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hudson Bay Company, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Huggins, Lady, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Humbert, Mlle., Editor of <cite>L’Éclair</cite>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hume, Major Martin, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hurlingham (Prologue, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>), <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hurst Park, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Hyde Park, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Hyde Park, Its History and Romance</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">I</li> - -<li class="indx">Ibsen, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Ibsen, Henrik,” <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Iceland, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Ida, Princess</em>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Illinois Theatre, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Inchcape">Inchcape, Lord (see <a href="#Mackay">Mackay</a>), <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li> - -<li class="indx">India, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Inferno</cite>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Dante_Society">Dante Society</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Intellectual Development</em> (see <a href="#Crozier">Crozier</a>), <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Iolanthe</cite>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Irving, Sir H., <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Ethel, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Italy, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">J</li> - -<li class="indx">Jackson, General, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Jameson, Dr., <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Japan, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>John Glayde’s Honour</cite> (play), <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Judas (Prologue, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>)</li> - - -<li class="ifrst">K</li> - -<li class="indx">Kekewich, Mr. Justice, <a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kelvin, Lord, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kemble, Mrs., <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kendal, Mrs., <a href="#Page_189">189</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Killowen, Lord Russell of, <a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kiel, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kimberley (Relief of), <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> - -<li class="indx">King Edward VII, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— George V, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kingston, Miss Gertrude, <a href="#Page_152">152</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">363</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Kinloch, Sir John, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kingsley, Charles, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss Mary, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Dr. Henry, <a href="#Page_273">273</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Kipling, <a href="#Page_242">242</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Knowles, James Sheridan, <a href="#Page_18">18</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Koh-i-noor” (diamond), <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Konig">Königin Augusta Garde, The, <a href="#Page_257">257</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Korsör, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">L</li> - -<li class="indx">Labouchere, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lady of Guadaloupe (Patron Saint of Mexico), <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ladysmith (Relief of), <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lankester, Sir E. Ray, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lapland, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Laurier, Sir Wilfrid, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lavery, John, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Legation, <a href="#Page_195">195</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lehmann, Liza, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leighton, Sir Frederick, <span class="smcap">P.R.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leith, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leland, Charles Godfrey, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_32">32</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lemieux, Hon. Rodolphe, <span class="smcap">K.C.</span>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Le Moine, Sir James, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lemmens-Sherrington, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lemon, Mark, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leslie, General K. H., <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lesseps, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lewis, Thomas Taylor, <span class="smcap">M.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a> (see <a href="#FNanchor_2_2">note</a>)</li> - -<li class="indx">Leyland, Mr., <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Leys, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lichtenfelde, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Li Ching Fong, Lord (Chinese Minister), <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Liebig, Baron Justus von, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Li Hung Chang, <a href="#Page_189">189</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lindsay, Sir Coutts, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Violet, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Linton, Lynn, Mrs., <a href="#Page_89">89</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Liverpool, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Liverpool Post</cite>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lloyd George, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li> - -<li class="indx">London, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Londonderry, Marquis of, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lorimer, John, <span class="smcap">A.R.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— J. H., <a href="#Page_340">340</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lourdes, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lover, Samuel, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Low, Sydney, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lowe, Miss, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lowell, J. R., <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lucy (now Sir Henry), <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Lugard, Lady, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Lusitania</em>, The, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Luxembourg, The Paris, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">M</li> - -<li class="indx">Macbeth, Lady, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Macdonald, Sir W., <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— College, The, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Mackay">Mackay, Sir James (see <a href="#Inchcape">Lord Inchcape</a>), <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mackennall, Bertram, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> - -<li class="indx">MacWhirter, John, <a href="#Page_345">345</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Madrid, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Mail, The Daily</cite>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><i>Man and Superman</i>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Manchester">Manchester, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>-<a href="#Page_202">202</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Duchess of (see <a href="#Devonshire">Devonshire</a>), <a href="#Page_205">205</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mann, Adolph, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mansion House, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Maple Leaves</em>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Marconi, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Marshall, Captain Robert, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Master Builder</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maud, Mr. Cyril, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maugham, Mr. S., <a href="#Page_280">280</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maurier, George du, <a href="#Page_82">82</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maxim, Sir Hiram, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Maxse">Maxse, L. J. (see <a href="#National_Review"><cite>National Review</cite></a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Maxwell, Mrs. (see <a href="#Braddon">Braddon</a>), <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">May, Phil, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></li> - -<li class="indx">McCarthy, J. H., <a href="#Page_88">88</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mendelssohn, <a href="#Page_297">297</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mexico, 15, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Mexico as I Saw It</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Meynell, Mrs. Wilfrid, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Milan, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Millais, Lady, <a href="#Page_188">188</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Miller, Mr. W. C., <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Milton">Milton Centenary, The, <a href="#Page_264">264</a> (<cite>Paradise Lost</cite>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>)</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Model Mothers</cite>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mohammed, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Montaigne, <a href="#Page_76">76</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Montreal, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Moore, Mary, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Moriarty, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Morley, Lord, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Morocco, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Morris, Mr. Edward, <a href="#Page_208">208</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Clara, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Lewis_Morris">— Sir Lewis, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mountains, Thüringian, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mühlberg, Dr. von (German Ambassador), <a href="#Page_15">15</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">364</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Munich, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Murchison, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Murray, Mrs., <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Willie, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Murray’s Magazine</cite>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Museum, British, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— South Kensington, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Muspratt, James, of Seaforth Hall, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Emma (daughter), <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Mussoorie (N.W. India), <a href="#Page_133">133</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Muttlebury, Colonel, <span class="smcap">C.B.</span>, <span class="smcap">K.W.</span>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>My Inner Life</cite>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Crozier">Crozier</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">N</li> - -<li class="indx">Nansen (Prologue, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>), <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Nansen at Home</cite>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Napoleon, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="National_Review"><cite>National Review</cite> (see <a href="#Maxse">Maxse</a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">National Union of Women’s Suffrage Societies, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Newton, Sir Alfred, Lord Mayor of London, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> - -<li class="indx">New Vagabond Club, <a href="#Page_256">256</a></li> - -<li class="indx">New York, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Niagara, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Nice, Consulate at, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Nordeau, Max, <a href="#Page_223">223</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Norfolk, Duke of, <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Northcliffe">Northcliffe, Lord (see <a href="#Harmsworth">Harmsworth</a>), <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Norway, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Queen of, <a href="#Page_56">56</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Nova Scotia, <a href="#Page_250">250</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">O</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Oberammergau Passion Play, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Observer</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx">O’Neil, Mrs., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Orchardson, Sir William Q., <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Orient">Orient Line, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Green">Green</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Orpen, William, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Osborne, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ottawa, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Oudin, Eugène, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">P</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Palace of Truth, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Pall_Mall"><cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite> (see <a href="#Straight">Straight</a>), <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Panama, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Panes, Miss, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pankhurst, Miss Christabel, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Paradise Lost.</cite> See <a href="#Milton">Milton</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Paradise Regained</cite> “ “</li> - -<li class="indx">Paris, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Sir_G_Parker">Parker, Sir Gilbert, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Dr_Parkin">Parkin, Dr., <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Partridge, Mr. Bernard, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pasteur, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Peacock Room,” <a href="#Page_169">169</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pennell, Mrs. E. K., <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pennsylvania, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Petersburg, St., <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Petersen, Ilef, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Philadelphia, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Philippines, The, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Phillips">Phillips, Mrs. Alison, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— J. S. R. (see <a href="#Yorkshire_Post"><cite>Yorkshire Post</cite>)</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Philpotts, Miss B., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Physicians, Royal College of, <a href="#Page_21">21</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Pinafore, H.M.S.</cite> (play), <a href="#Page_148">148</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pinakothek, The (Munich), <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pinero, Sir A. W., <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pittsburg, <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Plains of Abraham, <a href="#Page_253">253</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Polar Expedition (Prologue, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>)</li> - -<li class="indx">Pond, Major, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Portland, Duke of, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Preussische Jahrbücher</cite> (Political magazine), <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Prince Imperial, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Propert, Mr. Lumsden, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Punch"><cite>Punch</cite> (see <a href="#Owen_Seaman">Owen Seaman</a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Pygmalion and Galatea</cite>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Pyhakoski, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">Q</li> - -<li class="indx">Quebec, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Literary and Historical Society, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Queen</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Queen Alexandra, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Catherine, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Eleanor, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Elizabeth, <a href="#Page_118">118</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mary (present Queen), <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Victoria, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Querétaro, <a href="#Page_134">134</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">R<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">365</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Raeburn, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Railway, Canadian Pacific, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ramsay, Sir William, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Lady, <a href="#Page_274">274</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ranelagh (Prologue, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>), <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Red River, <a href="#Page_244">244</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Reid, E. T., <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir George, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir Hugh Gilzean, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Whitelaw, Mr., <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rhodes Scholarship Trust, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Cecil, <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Riddell, Mrs. H. J. (novelist), <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Right of Way, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Sir_G_Parker">Sir G. Parker</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx">“Ring,” The, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Riviera, The, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Roberts, Lord, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mr. Russell, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Robertson, Mr. Forbes, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Professor James, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rodd, Sir Rennell, <a href="#Page_331">331</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rodin, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rogers, Catherine, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rome, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Roosevelt, Mr., <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Root, Elihu, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rothenstein, Will, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rottenburg, Dr. von, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Royal Academy (London), <a href="#Page_158">158</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Royal Artillery, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Royal Geographical Society, <a href="#Page_135">135</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Rue du Bac, Paris, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ruskin, <a href="#Page_275">275</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Russia, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Russo-Turkish War, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">S</li> - -<li class="indx">Salisbury, Lord, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sandown (Prologue, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>), <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sandwich, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">San Francisco, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li> - -<li class="indx">San Giuliano, Marquis di, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>, <a href="#Page_326">326</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Santley, Sir Charles, <a href="#Page_33">33</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Sartor"><em>Sartor Resartus.</em> See <a href="#Carlyle">Carlyle</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Saunders, Sir Edwin, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Savoy, The, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Schlesinger, Miss, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Schmalz, Herbert, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Schopenhauer, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Scotland, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Owen_Seaman">Seaman, Owen (see <a href="#Punch"><cite>Punch</cite></a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Second in Command</em>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a></li> - -<li class="indx">See, <a href="#Konig">König</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Selfe, Colonel, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Semon, Sir Felix, <a href="#Page_15">15</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Seton, Thompson, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shackleton, Sir Ernest, <a href="#Page_314">314</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shakespeare, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shaw, Mr. Bernard, <a href="#Page_257">257</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs. Bernard, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mr. Norman, <a href="#Page_168">168</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Shelley, <a href="#Page_4">4</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Siam, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sicily, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Siddons, Sarah, <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sidgwick, Mrs. Henry, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Silent Sisterhood</em>, The, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Smiles, Samuel, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Smith, Goldwin, <a href="#Page_248">248</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss A. L., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss Maria Constance, <span class="smcap">I.S.O.</span>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Smollett, <a href="#Page_209">209</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Society for the Blind, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Soldiering in Canada</cite> (see <a href="#Denison">Denison</a>), <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Solomons, Solomon J., <a href="#Page_270">270</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Somers Town Club, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Songs of Two Worlds</cite>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Southampton, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Southwark, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Spiers, Phené, <a href="#Page_170">170</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Staite, W. G., <a href="#Page_277">277</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stanley, H. M., <a href="#Page_265">265</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stanley, Lady Alice, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Starey, Mrs., <a href="#Page_29">29</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stefansson, J., <a href="#Page_52">52</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sterling, Madame Antoinette, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs., <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="St_James"><cite>St. James’s Gazette</cite> (see <a href="#Chisholm">Chisholm</a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - -<li class="indx">St. James’s, Court of, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Theatre, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> - -<li class="indx">St. Lawrence, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></li> - -<li class="indx">St. Martin’s Town Hall, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stockholm, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Strachey, Lady, <a href="#Page_294">294</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Miss, <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="Straight">Straight, Sir Douglas, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Pall_Mall"><cite>Pall Mall Gazette</cite></a></li> - -<li class="indx">Stratford, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Strathcona, Lord, <a href="#Page_249">249</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Suez, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Canal, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Suffragists, Women, <a href="#Page_215">215</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Sunny Sicily</cite>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Suomi, <a href="#Page_65">65</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sutherland, Sir Thomas, <a href="#Page_180">180</a><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">366</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx">Sutro, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Swan, Sir Joseph, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_275">275</a>, <a href="#Page_278">278</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Sweden, <a href="#Page_50">50</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Sweethearts</cite>, play by W. S. Gilbert, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Switzerland, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">T</li> - -<li class="indx">Tadema, Sir L. Alma-, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Talleyrand, <a href="#Page_31">31</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tangier, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Tatler</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tehuantepec, Isthmus of, <a href="#Page_131">131</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Telegraph</cite>, The, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Temple Bar</em>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Templetown, Viscount, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_290">290</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tennyson, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Tents of Shem</cite>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Territorials, The, <a href="#Page_251">251</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Terry, Ellen, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Thackeray, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Thiersch, Julie, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Maler, <a href="#Page_28">28</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Thompson, Mrs. W., <a href="#Page_343">343</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Thring, Life of Edward</cite>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li> -<li class="isubi">See <a href="#Dr_Parkin">Dr. Parkin</a>.</li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Through Finland in Carts</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx" id="The_Times"><cite>Times, The</cite>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tittoni, <a href="#Page_331">331</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tolstoi, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Toronto, <a href="#Page_247">247</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Torop, Sophus, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tower of London, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Trafford, George, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tree, Sir Herbert, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Lady, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Viola, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Treloar, Sir William, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Trübner, Nicholas (publisher), <a href="#Page_30">30</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Turner, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Twain, Mark, <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tweedie, Alec, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Tweedie, Ethel</em> (fishing boat), <a href="#Page_186">186</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tweedie, Mrs. Alec, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Dr. Alexander, <span class="smcap">F.R.S.</span>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Sir John, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Twining, Louisa, <a href="#Page_78">78</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Two Orphans, The</em>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Tyndall, <a href="#Page_19">19</a></li> - -<li class="ifrst">U<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">367</a></span></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Ulysses</cite>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a></li> - -<li class="indx">United States, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> - -<li class="indx">University, London, <a href="#Page_149">149</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— College Hospital, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">V</li> - -<li class="indx">Vaughan, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Vauxhall (People’s Palace), <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Vedrenne and Barker, <a href="#Page_203">203</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Velasquez, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></li> - -<li class="indx">“Volumnia,” <a href="#Page_200">200</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">W</li> - -<li class="indx">Waldorf Theatre, The, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wales, Prince of (Albert Edward), <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— — George (now George V), <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Princess of (now Queen Mary), <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Walter, John (see <a href="#The_Times"><cite>The Times</cite></a>), <a href="#Page_106">106</a></li> - -<li class="indx">War, Crimean, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Transvaal, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Ward, Miss Geneviève, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mrs. Humphry, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Warsaw, <a href="#Page_201">201</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Washington, <a href="#Page_125">125</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Watts, <span class="smcap">R.A.</span>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wedderburn, Sir William, <a href="#Page_289">289</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Welby, Miss, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wellington, <a href="#Page_67">67</a></li> - -<li class="indx">West Indies, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Weston, Miss Jessie, <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Whistler, James McNeill, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a></li> - -<li class="indx">— Mme., <a href="#Page_172">172</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Whitehall, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a></li> - -<li class="indx">White House, <a href="#Page_224">224</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Whiteing, Richard (Prologue, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>)</li> - -<li class="indx">White Star Line, <a href="#Page_291">291</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Wicked World</em>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wier, Colonel John, <a href="#Page_232">232</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wiggin, K. D., <a href="#Page_239">239</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wilde, Mrs. (Miss A. M. Clay), <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">William III, <a href="#Page_284">284</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><em>Wilton, Q.C.</em>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wimbledon, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Winchilsea, Earl of, <a href="#Page_214">214</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Winchester, Marquis of, <a href="#Page_287">287</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Windsor, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></li> - -<li class="indx"><cite>Winter Jaunt to Norway, A</cite>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wirgman, Blake, <a href="#Page_146">146</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Wolseley, General, <a href="#Page_243">243</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Woodhall Spa, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">X</li> - -<li class="indx">Xochicalco, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">Y</li> - -<li class="indx" id="Yorkshire_Post"><cite>Yorkshire Post</cite> (see <a href="#Phillips">Phillips</a>), <a href="#Page_105">105</a></li> - - -<li class="ifrst">Z</li> - -<li class="indx">Zansig, Mme., <a href="#Page_216">216</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Zimmern, Miss A., <a href="#Page_295">295</a></li> - -<li class="indx">Zion City, <a href="#Page_236">236</a></li></ul> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="bbox chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Mexico_as_I_Saw_It"><span class="largest">Mexico as I Saw It</span><br /> -<br /><span class="smaller">By MRS. ALEC TWEEDIE</span><br /> -<span class="smallest">(<em>née</em> HARLEY)</span></h2> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Morning Post.</b>—“In her new volume, Mrs. Alec Tweedie has chosen -fresh subjects for her bright descriptive powers. Of the glorious -amphitheatre she writes like a true artist. The public will, we -believe, heartily welcome this fascinating work, which contributes to -our knowledge of one of the greatest men of the day, and supplies at -the same time the most agreeable reading.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Punch.</b>—“She ‘saw it’ under exceedingly favourable -circumstances. Armed with an introduction to the President she was -welcomed with more than Mexican warmth.... A born traveller, ready when -occasion compelled to put up with hardships and short commons, Mrs. -Alec Tweedie took cheerfully to the private cars provided for her in -the railways, to the semi-official banquets, and to life in palaces. -She travelled all over Mexico with her eyes, as usual, wide open.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Sunday Sun</b> (The book of the week).—“The reading public -may congratulate itself as well as Mrs. Alec Tweedie on the happy -inspiration which directed her to Mexico. For the antiquarian she -contributes information both new and valuable, as she had the good -fortune to be in Mexico at the time of important discoveries of Aztec -remains. We owe this book much gratitude, for there is a practical and -informing value in its crisp, vivid pages.... It shows to a public -curiously ignorant on the subject a great country.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Pall Mall Gazette.</b>—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is famous for her -spirited ‘relations of journeys’ to less get-at-able resorts. Mexico -will fully sustain the reputation which she acquired with ‘Through -Finland in Carts.’ There is no doubt it is just such a relation of -a journey as the general reader likes. It is light, it is long, it -is chatty, it is informing, and is profusely illustrated with really -first-rate photographs. The grave and the gay alternate in her pages, -and her touch is never ponderous. There has been no better book of -travel ... for a long time.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Westminster Gazette.</b>—“That alert and experienced traveller, -Mrs. Alec Tweedie, gives a lively account of recent journeying. A -good deal of historical and archæological lore finds a natural place -in this variegated travel-book. Her vivid description of the Caves of -Cacahuamilpa justifies her rapturous comparison of these wonders of -nature with the mightiest buildings of the world.”</p> - -<p class="padt1 center"><b>AMERICAN PAPERS</b></p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Philadelphia Public Ledger.</b>—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is one of the -most vivacious, accomplished and amiable of travellers. She writes -with unflagging spirit and humour, and is never weary. As a result -we have a narrative of incidents and observations from day to day, -intimate as a diary, full of entertainment, portraying scenes, customs -and experiences of unusual interest. Mrs. Tweedie’s progress was -almost royal in the hospitality and service she received from men of -every rank and position. It would be difficult among the books of -travel issued during the past twelve months to find one so amusing and -comprehensive as this.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Boston Transcript.</b>—“A traveller born. Nothing worth seeing or -hearing escapes her. Her first experiences of life in Mexico were on a -ranche, where she had abundant opportunities of studying its various -phases at her leisure.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>New York Times.</b>—“The very name of Mexico bears with it a -mysterious breeze and charm. She is happy when she deals off-hand -with what her senses bring her; the ragged ugliness of the beggar, -the funeral cars, the cock and bull fights, the landscapes, and the -riot of tropical verdure, the sharp contrasts of society, the flood of -religious superstition, and happier still when she takes up the doings -of high society.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>Churchman.</b>—“The book is an <em>olla podrida</em>; social studies of -the aristocracy, labourers, beggars, politicians and the Indians elbow -archæological investigations, and besides these are all the adventures -of a venturesome traveller, told in brisk fashion with a breezy humour, -with enthusiasm for her subject, and yet with a practical common sense -quite as awake to the economic possibilities of Mexico in the future as -to the picturesque relics of Mexico in the past.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="chapter bbox"> -<h3 class="nobreak"><span class="largest">Through Finland in Carts</span></h3> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Saturday Review</b> (Books of the week).—“There is something that -is almost, if not quite, fascinating about Mrs. Alec Tweedie and her -manner of making a book. A monument of discursive energy. A mass of -information both useful and entertaining.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Daily Mail.</b>—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie has added to our stock of -entertaining books of travel in unfamiliar lands.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Illustrated Sporting and Dramatic News</b> (The book of the -week).—“From first to last there is not a dull page in the volume, -which is admirably written, well illustrated, and full of humour. It is -one of the best books of travel we have read for many a year.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>The Speaker.</b>—“There are many vivid pen-and-ink sketches in -these pages of peasant life, and Mrs. Tweedie shows that she possesses -not only a quick eye but ready powers of expression.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Pall Mall Gazette.</b>—“She saw everything and everybody in -Finland, nothing—from the squalor of the peasants’ huts to the -political outlook—escaped her lively observation. Her book is full of -information and entertainment.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Literary World.</b>—“A most valuable book. It is more than a book -of travel, it is the best study of Finland that has yet appeared; like -the Finlanders themselves, it is extremely up to date, indeed it is -difficult to imagine a better-balanced book of travel.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Daily Telegraph.</b>—“A spirited story of adventure in Finland. The -account given of the women of Finland is very curious and instructive.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Morning Post.</b>—“Containing information of a very varied sort -imparted in a very sprightly way. Sportsmen should read what Mrs. Alec -Tweedie has to say about fishing in Finland.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>The Queen</b> (The book of the week).—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie has -written several good books of travel, each better than the last. -Finland is really an excellent book—it is about the most entertaining -and instructive travel book of the year.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="chapter bbox"> - -<p class="center padt1">“<em>A BOOK OF ABSORBING INTEREST.</em>”</p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="HYDE_Park"><span class="largest">Hyde Park:</span><br /> -<span class="larger">Its History and Romance</span></h3> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>The Academy.</b>—“In ‘Hyde Park’ Mrs. Tweedie is triumphantly -encamped and any attempt to dislodge her would be quite futile. Her -study of an extraordinarily interesting and attractive subject is -thoroughly complete, and from first to last most delightfully done. It -is a wholly delightful book, and what with the immense interest of the -subject, the pleasant writing, and the number of well-chosen pictures, -should have a really great success.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Sunday Sun</b> (The book of the week).—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s book is -altogether delightful. She is frankly a gossip, and while she includes -in her book all that appertains to the Park itself, she can never -resist the temptation to tell a good story. No side of life escapes her -attention.... In short, a great subject is worthily treated. Lovers -of London and lovers of England should be grateful for this memorial -of their great playground. Hyde Park may be called a picture book of -history, and its history has been written with loving care and no -little skill.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Pall Mall.</b>—“Mrs. Alec Tweedie is a capital stage manager of -this wonderful play, bright, cheery, and always entertaining. She -has saturated herself with the atmosphere of each period, and each -character, good, bad, and indifferent, stands before us with wonderful -reality.... To watch them is to realise how important Hyde Park is -to our gregarious metropolis; and if distance intervenes and exiles -you, you may still be transported thither on the magic carpet of Mrs. -Tweedie’s most engrossing pages.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>The Nation.</b>—“As delectable to the sociable as it is puzzling -to the misanthropic, Hyde Park represents the same spirit of serious -trifling and enforced idleness as in the days when it first became a -pleasure ground for the High-World some three centuries ago. These are -among the ghosts raised by Mrs. Alec Tweedie’s ‘Hyde Park.’ She devotes -considerable space to the painful and gruesome chronicles of Tyburn, -and tells an entertaining account of the evolution of the carriage.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="chapter bbox"> - -<p class="center padt1"><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="FOOTLIGHTS"><span class="largest">Behind the Footlights</span><br /> - -TWO EDITIONS</h3> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Morning Post.</b>—“It ought to have an unusually large circulation -in comparison with other books which describe the inner life of the -stage. Mrs. Alec Tweedie touches the moral aspect of the acting -life with delicacy and reticence.... Her pictures of rehearsals are -realistic. She has many delightful anecdotes.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Daily Express.</b>—“A gossiping encyclopædia of the stage. If there -is anything about the stage that is not touched upon, it is because it -is not worth troubling about, and there is not a dull page in the book -from start to finish, and scarcely one which is not brightened by an -anecdote.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>Standard.</b>—“‘Behind the Footlights’ contains a greater amount -of direct personal information concerning leading contemporary actors, -actresses, managers, and dramatists than can be found in any number of -recently published books about the theatre in England.... She must be -thanked for a singularly clever and entertaining volume.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="center large padt1 padb1">JOHN LANE: THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, W.</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="chapter bbox"> - -<p class="center padt1"><em>BY THE SAME AUTHOR</em></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="GEORGE_HARLEY"><span class="largest">George Harley,</span><br /> -<span class="smcap small">F.R.S.;</span><br /> -<br /> - -<span class="smallest">or,</span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="larger">The Life of a Harley Street Physician</span><br /> -<br /> -By HIS DAUGHTER</h3> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>The Times.</b>—“The authoress is well known by her pleasant -and chatty books of travel.... She has succeeded, by a judicious -combination of her father’s notes with her own recollections, in -producing a readable and interesting memoir.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Morning Post.</b>—“The memoir contains much interesting reading, -tracing as it does the career of a distinguished man of science, -who, though he had to struggle for years against almost insuperable -difficulties, reached at last a high place in the professional tree and -maintained his position there.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>St. James’s Gazette.</b>—“Mrs. Tweedie is to be congratulated both -on her subject and on the way she has manipulated it.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="chapter bbox"> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="ICELAND"><span class="largest">A Girl’s Ride in Iceland</span><br /> -<br /> -FOUR EDITIONS</h3> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Morning Post.</b>—“This account of an autumn trip to an unhackneyed -land is much better worth reading than many more pretentious -volumes.... The authoress has an eye for what is worth seeing, a happy -knack of graphic description, and a literary style which is commendably -free from adjectival exuberance.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>Manchester Guardian.</b>—“Mrs. A. Tweedie’s account of her trip is -so bright and lively that the novelty of her experience is rendered -additionally interesting by her manner of describing it.... The -authoress interests us from first to last, and her style is altogether -free from affectation of fine writing ... her book, indeed, is both -instructive and amusing.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1"><b>St. James’s Gazette.</b>—“... Many interesting details of the -history and social life of the Icelanders are set forth in a pleasant, -chatty style by the spirited and observant lady who rode 160 miles like -a man.”</p> - -<p class="padr1 padl1 padb1"><b>Saturday Review.</b>—“... people intent on new fields of travel; -Mrs. Tweedie’s lively account of a voyage to Iceland, and its agreeable -and entirely successful results, ought to inspire adventurous ladies to -follow her example.... Mrs. Tweedie describes the wonders of the land -with a keen appreciation, and has not forgotten to supply many useful -hints.”</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<p class="center large padt1 padb1">LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD<br /> -NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY<br /> -TORONTO: BELL AND COCKBURN</p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="bt bb chapter"> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="NOTICE">NOTICE</h3> - - -<p class="padb1"><em>Those who possess old letters, documents, correspondence, MSS., scraps -of autobiography, and also miniatures and portraits, relating to -persons and matters historical, literary, political and social, should -communicate with Mr. John Lane, The Bodley Head, Vigo Street, London, -W., who will at all times be pleased to give his advice and assistance, -either as to their preservation or publication.</em></p></div> - -<p> </p> - -<div class="bbox"> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="LIVING_MASTERS_OF_MUSIC">LIVING MASTERS OF MUSIC.</h3> - -<p class="center">An Illustrated Series of Monographs dealing with Contemporary Musical -Life, and including Representatives of all Branches of the Art.</p> - -<p class="center">Edited by ROSA NEWMARCH.</p> - -<p class="center">Crown 8vo. Cloth. Price 2/6 net.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">HENRY J. WOOD. By <span class="smcap">Rosa Newmarch</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">SIR EDWARD ELGAR. By <span class="smcap">R. J. Buckley</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">JOSEPH JOACHIM. By <span class="smcap">J. A. Fuller Maitland</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">EDWARD A. MACDOWELL. By <span class="smcap">Lawrence Gilman</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">THEODOR LESCHETIZKY. By <span class="smcap">Annette Hullah</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">GIACOMO PUCCINI. By <span class="smcap">Wakeling Dry</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">IGNAZ PADEREWSKI. By <span class="smcap">E. A. Baughan</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">CLAUDE DEBUSSY. By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Franz Liebich</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">RICHARD STRAUSS. By <span class="smcap">Ernest Newman</span>.</p> - -<h3 class="nobreak">STARS OF THE STAGE</h3> - -<p class="center padr1 padl1"><span class="smcap">A Series of Illustrated Biographies of the Leading Actors, -Actresses, and Dramatists.</span></p> - -<p class="center">Edited by J. T. GREIN.</p> - -<p class="center">Crown 8vo. Price 2/6 each net.</p> - -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">ELLEN TERRY. By <span class="smcap">Christopher St. John</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">SIR HERBERT BEERBOHM TREE. By <span class="smcap">Mrs. George Cran</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1">SIR W. S. GILBERT. By <span class="smcap">Edith A. Browne</span>.</p> -<p class="hangingindent4 padr1 padb1">SIR CHARLES WYNDHAM. By <span class="smcap">Florence Teignmouth Shore</span>.</p></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<h3 class="chapter" id="A_CATALOGUE_OF_MEMOIRS_BIOGRAPHIES_ETC"><em>A CATALOGUE OF MEMOIRS, BIOGRAPHIES, ETC.</em></h3> - -<div class="advert"> - -<p class="padt1">THE LAND OF TECK & ITS SURROUNDINGS. By Rev. <span class="smcap">S. -Baring-Gould</span>. With numerous Illustrations (including several -in Colour) reproduced from unique originals. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 10s. 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">AN IRISH BEAUTY OF THE REGENCY: By <span class="smcap">Mrs. Warrenne Blake</span>. -Author of “Memoirs of a Vanished Generation, 1813-1855.” With a -Photogravure Frontispiece and other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ The Irish Beauty is the Hon. Mrs. Calvert, daughter of Viscount -Pery, Speaker of the Irish House of Commons, and wife of Nicholson -Calvert, M. P., of Hunsdson. Born in 1767, Mrs. Calvert lived to -the age of ninety-two, and there are many people still living who -remember her. In the delightful journals, now for the first time -published, exciting events are described.</p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON IN CARICATURE: 1795-1821. By <span class="smcap">A. M. Broadley</span>. With -an Introductory Essay on Pictorial Satire as a Factor in Napoleonic -History, by <span class="smcap">J. Holland Rose</span>, Litt. D. (Cantab.). With 24 -full-page Illustrations in Colour and upwards of 200 in Black and White -from rare and unique originals. 2 Vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -42<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p><em>Also an Edition de Luxe.</em> 10 guineas net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMORIES OF SIXTY YEARS AT ETON, CAMBRIDGE AND ELSEWHERE. By <span class="smcap">Robert -Browning</span>. Illustrated. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 14<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE FOUNDATIONS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. By <span class="smcap">Stewart Houston -Chamberlain</span>. A Translation from the German by <span class="smcap">John Lees</span>. -With an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Lord Redesdale</span>. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 2 vols. 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE SPEAKERS OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS from the Earliest Times to the -Present Day, with a Topographical Account of Westminster at various -Epochs, Brief Notes on sittings of Parliament and a Retrospect of the -principal Constitutional Changes during Seven Centuries. By <span class="smcap">Arthur -Irwin Dasent</span>, Author of “The Life and Letters of <span class="smcap">John -Delane</span>,” “The History of St. James’s Square,” etc. etc. With -numerous Portraits, including two in Photogravure and one in Colour. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_4" id="PageA_4">4</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH AND HIS FRIENDS. By <span class="smcap">S. M. Ellis</span>. -With upwards of 50 Illustrations, 4 in Photogravure. 2 vols. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 32<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON AND KING MURAT. 1808-1815: A Biography compiled from hitherto -Unknown and Unpublished Documents. By <span class="smcap">Albert Espitalier</span>. -Translated from the French by <span class="smcap">J. Lewis May</span>. With a -Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">LADY CHARLOTTE SCHREIBER’S JOURNALS Confidences of a Collector of -Ceramics and Antiques throughout Britain, France, Germany, Italy, -Spain, Holland, Belgium, Switzerland, and Turkey. From the Year 1869 -to 1885. Edited <span class="smcap">Montague Guest</span>, with Annotations by <span class="smcap">Egan -Mew</span>. With upwards of 100 Illustrations, including 8 in colour and -2 in photogravure. Royal 8vo. 2 Volumes. 42<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">CHARLES DE BOURBON, CONSTABLE OF <span class="smcap">France: “The Great -Condottiere.”</span> By <span class="smcap">Christopher Hare</span>. With a Photogravure -Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE NELSONS OF BURNHAM THORPE: A Record of a Norfolk Family compiled -from Unpublished Letters and Note Books, 1787-1843. Edited by <span class="smcap">M. -Eyre Matcham</span>. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ This interesting contribution to Nelson literature is drawn from -the journals and correspondence of the Rev. Edmund Nelson. Rector -of Burnham Thorpe and his youngest daughter, the father and sister -of Lord Nelson. The Rector was evidently a man of broad views and -sympathies, for we find him maintaining friendly relations with his -son and daughter-in-law after their separation. What is even more -strange, he felt perfectly at liberty to go direct from the house -of Mrs. Horatio Nelson in Norfolk to that of Sir. William and Lady -Hamilton in London, where his son was staying. This book shows how -completely and without reserve the family received Lady Hamilton.</p> - -<p class="padt1">A QUEEN OF SHREDS AND PATCHES: The Life of Madame Tallien Notre Dame de -Thermidor. From the last days of the French Revolution, until her death -as Princess Chimay in 1835. By <span class="smcap">L. Gastine</span>. Translated from the -French by <span class="smcap">J. Lewis May</span>. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and -16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_5" id="PageA_5">5</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">SOPHIE DAWES, QUEEN OF CHANTILLY. By <span class="smcap">Violette M. Montagu</span>. -Author of “The Scottish College in Paris,” etc. With a Photogravure -Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations and Three Plans. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ Among the many queens of France, queens by right of marriage -with the reigning sovereign, queens of beauty or of intrigue, the -name of Sophie Dawes, the daughter of humble fisherfolk in the -Isle of Wight, better known as “the notorious Mme. de Feucheres,” -“The Queen of Chantilly” and “The Montespan de Saint Leu” in the -land which she chose as a suitable sphere in which to exercise her -talents for money-making and for getting on in the world, stand -forth as a proof of what a women’s will can accomplish when that -will is accompanied with an uncommon share of intelligence.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MARGARET OF FRANCE DUCHESS OF SAVOY. 1523-1574. A Biography with -Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations and Facsimile -Reproductions of Hitherto Unpublished Letters. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ A time when the Italians are celebrating the Jubilee of the -Italian Kingdom is perhaps no unfitting moment in which to glance -back over the annals of that royal House of Savoy which has -rendered Italian unity possible. Margaret of France may without -exaggeration be counted among the builders of modern Italy. She -married Emanuel Philibert, the founder of Savoyard greatness: -and from the day of her marriage until the day of her death she -laboured to advance the interests of her adopted land.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MADAME DE BRINVILLIERS AND HER TIMES. 1630-1676. By <span class="smcap">Hugh -Stokes</span>. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ The name of Marie Marguerite d’Aubray, Marquise de Brinvilliers, -is famous in the annals of crime, but the true history of her -career is little known. A woman of birth and rank, she was also a -remorseless poisoner, and her trial was one of the most sensational -episodes of the early reign of Louis XIV. The author was attracted -to this curious subject by Charles le Brun’s realistic sketch of -the unhappy Marquise as she appeared on her way to execution. This -<em>chef d’œuvre</em> of misery and agony forms the frontispiece to the -volume, and strikes a fitting keynote to an absorbing story of -human passion and wrong-doing.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE VICISSITUDES OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. 1735-1821. By <span class="smcap">Eugene -Welvert</span>. Translated from the French by <span class="smcap">Lilian O’Neill</span>. -With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ The Duchesse de Narbonne-Lara was Lady-in-Waiting to Madame -Adelaide, the eldest daughter of Louis XV. Around the stately -figure of this Princess are gathered the most remarkable characters -of the days of the Old Regime, the Revolution and the fist Empire. -The great charm of the work is that it takes us over so much and -varied ground. Here, in the gay crowd of ladies and courtiers, in -the rustle of flowery silken paniers, in the clatter of high-heeled -shoes, move the figures of Louis XV., Louis XVI., Du Barri and -Marie-Antoinette. We catch picturesque glimpses of the great wits, -diplomatists and soldiers of the time, until, finally we encounter -Napoleon Bonaparte.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_6" id="PageA_6">6</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">ANNALS OF A YORKSHIRE HOUSE. From the Papers of a Macaroni and his -Kindred. By <span class="smcap">A. M. W. Stirling</span>, author of “Coke of Norfolk and -his Friends.” With 33 Illustrations, including 3 in Colour and 3 in -Photogravure. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 2 vols. 32<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MINIATURES: A Series of Reproductions in Photogravure of Eighty-Five -Miniatures of Distinguished Personages, including Queen Alexandra, the -Queen of Norway, the Princess Royal, and the Princess Victoria. Painted -by <span class="smcap">Charles Turrell</span>. (Folio.) The Edition is limited to One -Hundred Copies for sale in England and America, and Twenty-Five Copies -for Presentation, Review, and the Museums. Each will be Numbered and -Signed by the Artist. 15 guineas net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE. During the Reign of George III. -from 1771-1783. With Notes by Dr. <span class="smcap">Doran</span>. Edited with an -Introduction by <span class="smcap">A. Francis Steuart</span>, and containing numerous -Portraits reproduced from contemporary Pictures, Engravings, etc. 2 -vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE WAR IN WEXFORD. By <span class="smcap">H. F. B. Wheeler and A. M. Broadley</span>. -An Account of The Rebellion in South of Ireland in 1798, told from -Original Documents. With numerous Reproductions of contemporary -Portraits and Engravings. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">RECOLLECTIONS OF GUY DE MAUPASSANT. By His Valet <span class="smcap">François</span>. -Translated from the French by <span class="smcap">Maurice Reynold</span>. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">FAMOUS AMERICANS IN PARIS. By <span class="smcap">John Joseph Conway</span>, M.A. With 32 -Full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 10<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">LIFE AND MEMOIRS OF JOHN CHURTON COLLINS. Written and Compiled by his -son, <span class="smcap">L. C. Collins</span>. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> -net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_7" id="PageA_7">7</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">THE WIFE OF GENERAL BONAPARTE. By <span class="smcap">Joseph Turquan</span>. Author of -“The Love Affairs of Napoleon,” etc. Translated from the French by Miss -<span class="smcap">Violette Montagu</span>. With a Photogravure Frontispiece and 16 -other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ Although much has been written concerning the Empress Josephine, -we know comparatively little about the <em>veuve</em> Beauharnais and -the <em>citoyenne</em> Bonaparte, whose inconsiderate conduct during -her husband’s absence caused him so much anguish. We are so -accustomed to consider Josephine as the innocent victim of a cold -and calculating tyrant who allowed nothing, neither human lives -nor natural affections, to stand in the way of his all-conquering -will, that this volume will come to us rather as a surprise. Modern -historians are over-fond of blaming Napoleon for having divorced -the companion of his early years; but after having read the above -work, the reader will be constrained to admire General Bonaparte’s -forbearance and will wonder how he ever came to allow her to play -the Queen at the Tuileries.</p> - -<p class="padt1">A SISTER OF PRINCE RUPERT. ELIZABETH PRINCESS PALATINE, ABBESS OF -HERFORD. By <span class="smcap">Elizabeth Godfrey</span>. With numerous Illustrations. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">AUGUSTUS SAINT GAUDENS: an Appreciation. By <span class="smcap">C. Lewis Hind</span>. -Illustrated with 47 full-page Reproductions from his most famous works. -With a portrait of Keynon Cox. Large 4to. 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY AND HIS FAMILY. By Mrs. <span class="smcap">Herbert St. John -Mildmay</span>. Further Letters and Records, edited by his Daughter and -Herbert St. John Mildmay, with numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">SIMON BOLIVAR: El Libertador. A Life of the Leader of the Venezuelan -Revolt against Spain. By <span class="smcap">F. Loraine Petre</span>. With a Map and -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">A LIFE OF SIR JOSEPH BANKS, PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY: With Some -Notices of His Friends and Contemporaries. By <span class="smcap">Edward Smith</span>, -F.R.H.S., Author of “<span class="smcap">William Cobbett</span>: a Biography,” “England -and America after the Independence,” etc. With a Portrait in -Photogravure and 16 other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller">⁂ “The greatest living Englishman” was the tribute of his -Continental contemporaries to Sir. Joseph Banks. The author of his -“Life” has, with some enthusiasm, sketched the record of a man -who for a period of half a century filled a very prominent place -in society, but whose name is almost forgotten by the present -generation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_8" id="PageA_8">8</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON & THE INVASION OF ENGLAND: The Story of the Great Terror, -1797-1805. By <span class="smcap">H. F. B. Wheeler</span> and <span class="smcap">A. M. Broadley</span>. -With upwards of 100 Full-page Illustrations reproduced from -Contemporary Portraits, Prints, etc.; eight in Colour. 2 Volumes. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 32<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Outlook.</cite>—“The book is not merely one to be ordered from the -library; it should be purchased, kept on an accessible shelf, and -constantly studied by all Englishmen who love England.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">DUMOURIEZ AND THE DEFENCE OF ENGLAND AGAINST NAPOLEON. By <span class="smcap">J. -Holland Rose</span>, Litt.D. (Cantab.), Author of “The Life of Napoleon,” -and <span class="smcap">A. M. Broadley</span>, joint-author of “Napoleon and the Invasion -of England.” Illustrated with numerous Portraits, Maps, and Facsimiles. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE FALL OF NAPOLEON. By <span class="smcap">Oscar Browning</span>, <span class="smcap">M.A.</span>, -Author of “The Boyhood and Youth of Napoleon.” With numerous Full-page -Illustrations. Demy 8vo (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Spectator.</cite>—“Without doubt Mr. Oscar Browning has produced a -book which should have its place in any library of Napoleonic -literature.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Truth.</cite>—“Mr. Oscar Browning has made not the least, but the most -of the romantic material at his command for the story of the fall -of the greatest figure in history.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE BOYHOOD & YOUTH OF NAPOLEON, 1769-1793. Some Chapters on the early -life of Bonaparte. By <span class="smcap">Oscar Browning</span>, <span class="smcap">M.A.</span> With -numerous Illustrations, Portraits etc. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Daily News.</cite>—“Mr. Browning has with patience, labour, careful -study, and excellent taste given us a very valuable work, which -will add materially to the literature on this most fascinating of -human personalities.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LOVE AFFAIRS OF NAPOLEON. By <span class="smcap">Joseph Turquan</span>. Translated -from the French by <span class="smcap">James L. May</span>. With 32 Full-page -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE DUKE OF REICHSTADT (NAPOLEON II.) By <span class="smcap">Edward de Wertheimer</span>. -Translated from the German. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net. (Second Edition.)</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Times.</cite>—“A most careful and interesting work which presents -the first complete and authoritative account of this unfortunate -Prince.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Westminster Gazette.</cite>—“This book, admirably produced, reinforced -by many additional portraits, is a solid contribution to history -and a monument of patient, well-applied research.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_9" id="PageA_9">9</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON’S CONQUEST OF PRUSSIA, 1806. By <span class="smcap">F. Loraine Petre</span>. -With an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Field-Marshal Earl Roberts</span>, V.C., -K.G., etc. With Maps, Battle Plans, Portraits, and 16 Full-page -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Scotsman.</cite>—“Neither too concise, nor too diffuse, the book is -eminently readable. It is the best work in English on a somewhat -circumscribed subject.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Outlook.</cite>—“Mr. Petre has visited the battlefields and read -everything, and his monograph is a model of what military history, -handled with enthusiasm and literary ability, can be.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON’S CAMPAIGN IN POLAND, 1806-1807. A Military History -of Napoleon’s First War with Russia, verified from unpublished -official documents. By <span class="smcap">F. Loraine Petre</span>. With 16 Full-page -Illustrations, Maps, and Plans. New Edition. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). -12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Army and Navy Chronicle.</cite>—“We welcome a second edition of this -valuable work.... Mr. Loraine Petre is an authority on the wars of -the great Napoleon, and has brought the greatest care and energy -into his studies of the subject.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">NAPOLEON AND THE ARCHDUKE CHARLES. A History of the Franco-Austrian -Campaign in the Valley of the Danube in 1809. By <span class="smcap">F. Loraine -Petre</span>. With 8 Illustrations and 6 sheets of Maps and Plans. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">RALPH HEATHCOTE. Letters of a Diplomatist During the Time of Napoleon, -Giving an Account of the Dispute between the Emperor and the Elector -of Hesse. By <span class="smcap">Countess Gunther Gröben</span>. With Numerous -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMOIRS OF THE COUNT DE CARTRIE. A record of the extraordinary events -in the life of a French Royalist during the war in La Vendée, and of -his flight to Southampton, where he followed the humble occupation of -gardener. With an introduction by <span class="smcap">Frédéric Masson</span>, Appendices -and Notes by <span class="smcap">Pierre Amédée Pichot</span>, and other hands, and -numerous Illustrations, including a Photogravure Portrait of the -Author. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Daily News.</cite>—“We have seldom met with a human document which has -interested us so much.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_10" id="PageA_10">10</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">THE JOURNAL OF JOHN MAYNE DURING A TOUR ON THE CONTINENT UPON ITS -RE-OPENING AFTER THE FALL OF NAPOLEON, 1814. Edited by his Grandson, -<span class="smcap">John Mayne Colles</span>. With 16 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">WOMEN OF THE SECOND EMPIRE. Chronicles of the Court of Napoleon III. -By <span class="smcap">Frédéric Loliée</span>. With an introduction by <span class="smcap">Richard -Whiteing</span>, and 53 full-page Illustrations, 3 in Photogravure. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Standard.</cite>—“M. Frederic Loliee has written a remarkable -book, vivid and pitiless in its description of the intrigue -and dare-devil spirit which flourished unchecked at the French -Court.... Mr. Richard Whiteing’s introduction is written with -restraint and dignity.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMOIRS OF MADEMOISELLE DES ECHEROLLES. Translated from the French by -<span class="smcap">Marie Clothilde Balfour</span>. With an introduction by <span class="smcap">G. K. -Fortescue</span>, Portraits, etc. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Liverpool Mercury.</cite>—“... this absorbing book.... The work has a -very decided historical value. The translation is excellent, and -quite notable in the preservation of idiom.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO: A BIOGRAPHICAL STUDY. By <span class="smcap">Edward Hutton</span>. -With a Photogravure Frontispiece and numerous other Illustrations. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF PETER ILICH TCHAIKOVSKY (1840-1893). By his Brother, -<span class="smcap">Modeste Tchaikovsky</span>. Edited and abridged from the Russian and -German Editions by <span class="smcap">Rosa Newmarch</span>. With Numerous Illustrations -and Facsimiles and an Introduction by the Editor. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net. Second edition.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>The Times.</cite>—“A most illuminating commentary on Tchaikovsky’s -music.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>World.</cite>—“One of the most fascinating self-revelations by an -artist which has been given to the world. The translation is -excellent, and worth reading for its own sake.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Contemporary Review.</cite>—“The book’s appeal is, of course, -primarily to the music-lover; but there is so much of human and -literary interest in it, such intimate revelation of a singularly -interesting personality, that many who have never come under the -spell of the Pathetic Symphony will be strongly attracted by what -is virtually the spiritual autobiography of its composer. High -praise is due to the translator and editor for the literary skill -with which she has prepared the English version of this fascinating -work.... There have been few collections of letters published -within recent years that give so vivid a portrait of the writer as -that presented to us in these pages.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_11" id="PageA_11">11</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF SIR HALLIDAY MACARTNEY, K.C.M.G., Commander of Li Hung -Chang’s trained force in the Taeping Rebellion, founder of the first -Chinese Arsenal, Secretary to the first Chinese Embassy to Europe. -Secretary and Councillor to the Chinese Legation in London for thirty -years. By <span class="smcap">Demetrius C. Boulger</span>, Author of the “History of -China,” the “Life of Gordon,” etc. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) Price 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">DEVONSHIRE CHARACTERS AND STRANGE EVENTS. By <span class="smcap">S. Baring-Gould</span>, -<span class="smcap">M.A.</span>, Author of “Yorkshire Oddities,” etc. With 58 -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Daily News.</cite>—“A fascinating series ... the whole book is rich in -human interest. It is by personal touches, drawn from traditions -and memories, that the dead men surrounded by the curious panoply -of their time, are made to live again in Mr. Baring-Gould’s pages.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE HEART OF GAMBETTA. Translated from the French of <span class="smcap">Francis -Laur</span> by <span class="smcap">Violette Montagu</span>. With an Introduction by -<span class="smcap">John Macdonald</span>, Portraits and other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. -(9 × 5¾ inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Daily Telegraph.</cite>—“It is Gambetta pouring out his soul to Léonie -Leon, the strange, passionate, masterful demagogue, who wielded the -most persuasive oratory of modern times, acknowledging his idol, -his inspiration, his Egeria.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF JOAN OF ARC. By <span class="smcap">Anatole France</span>. A Translation by -<span class="smcap">Winifred Stephens</span>. With 8 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches). 2 vols. Price 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE DAUGHTER OF LOUIS XVI. Marie-Thérèse-Charlotte of France, Duchesse -D’Angoulême. By <span class="smcap">G. Lenotre</span>. With 13 Full-page Illustrations. -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) Price 10<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">WITS, BEAUX, AND BEAUTIES OF THE GEORGIAN ERA. By <span class="smcap">John Fyvie</span>, -author of “Some Famous Women of Wit and Beauty,” “Comedy Queens of the -Georgian Era,” etc. With a Photogravure Portrait and numerous other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MADAME DE MAINTENON: Her Life and Times, 1655-1719. By <span class="smcap">C. C. -Dyson</span>. With 1 Photogravure Plate and 16 other Illustrations. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 12<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_12" id="PageA_12">12</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">DR. JOHNSON AND MRS. THRALE. By <span class="smcap">A. M. Broadley</span>. With an -Introductory Chapter by <span class="smcap">Thomas Seccombe</span>. With 24 Illustrations -from rare originals, including a reproduction in colours of the -Fellowes Miniature of Mrs. Piozzi by Roche, and a Photogravure of -Harding’s sepia drawing of Dr. Johnson. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). -16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE DAYS OF THE DIRECTOIRE. By <span class="smcap">Alfred Allinson</span>, M.A. With 48 -Full-page Illustrations, including many illustrating the dress of the -time. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">HUBERT AND JOHN VAN EYCK: Their Life and Work. By <span class="smcap">W. H. James -Weale</span>. With 41 Photogravure and 95 Black and White Reproductions. -Royal 4to. £5 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="center smaller"><span class="smcap">Sir Martin Conway’s Note.</span></p> - -<p class="smaller">Nearly half a century has passed since Mr. W. H. James Weale, -then resident at Bruges, began that long series of patient -investigations into the history of Netherlandish art which was -destined to earn so rich a harvest. When he began work Memlinc was -still called Hemling, and was fabled to have arrived at Bruges as -a wounded soldier. The van Eycks were little more than legendary -heroes. Roger Van der Weyden was little more than a name. Most of -the other great Netherlandish artists were either wholly forgotten -or named only in connection with paintings with which they had -nothing to do. Mr. Weale discovered Gerard David, and disentangled -his principal works from Memlinc’s, with which they were then -confused.</p> - -<p class="padt1">VINCENZO FOPPA OF BRESCIA, <span class="smcap">Founder of The Lombard School, His Life -and Work</span>. By <span class="smcap">Constance Jocelyn Ffoulkes</span> and <span class="smcap">Monsignor -Rodolfo Majocchi</span>, <span class="smcap">D.D.</span>, Rector of the Collegio Borromeo, -Pavia. Based on research in the Archives of Milan, Pavia, Brescia, -and Genoa and on the study of all his known works. With over 100 -Illustrations, many in Photogravure, and 100 Documents. Royal 4to. £5 -5<em>s.</em> 0<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMOIRS OF THE DUKES OF URBINO. Illustrating the Arms, Art and -Literature of Italy from 1440 to 1630. By <span class="smcap">James Dennistoun</span> -of Dennistoun. A New Edition edited by <span class="smcap">Edward Hutton</span>, with -upwards of 100 Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 3 vols. 42<em>s.</em> -net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE DIARY OF A LADY-IN-WAITING. By <span class="smcap">Lady Charlotte Bury</span>. Being -the Diary Illustrative of the Times of George the Fourth. Interspersed -with original Letters from the late Queen Caroline and from various -other distinguished persons. New edition. Edited, with an Introduction, -by <span class="smcap">A. Francis Steuart</span>. With numerous portraits. Two Vols. Demy -8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_13" id="PageA_13">13</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LAST JOURNALS OF HORACE WALPOLE. During the Reign of George III. -from 1771 to 1783. With Notes by <span class="smcap">Dr. Doran</span>. Edited with an -Introduction by <span class="smcap">A. Francis Steuart</span>, and containing numerous -Portraits (2 in Photogravure) reproduced from contemporary Pictures, -Engravings, etc. 2 vols. Uniform with “The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting.” -Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">JUNIPER HALL: Rendezvous of certain illustrious Personages during the -French Revolution, including Alexander D’Arblay and Fanny Burney. -Compiled by <span class="smcap">Constance Hill</span>. With numerous Illustrations by -<span class="smcap">Ellen G. Hill</span>, and reproductions from various Contemporary -Portraits. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">JANE AUSTEN: Her Homes and Her Friends. By <span class="smcap">Constance Hill</span>. -Numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Ellen G. Hill</span>, together with -Reproductions from Old Portraits, etc. Cr. 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE HOUSE IN ST. MARTIN’S STREET. Being Chronicles of the Burney -Family. By <span class="smcap">Constance Hill</span>, Author of “Jane Austen, Her Home, -and Her Friends,” “Juniper Hall,” etc. With numerous Illustrations by -<span class="smcap">Ellen G. Hill</span>, and reproductions of Contemporary Portraits, -etc. Demy 8vo. 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">STORY OF THE PRINCESS DES URSINS IN SPAIN (Camarera-Mayor). By -<span class="smcap">Constance Hill</span>. With 12 Illustrations and a Photogravure -Frontispiece. New Edition. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MARIA EDGEWORTH AND HER CIRCLE IN THE DAYS OF BONAPARTE AND BOURBON. -By <span class="smcap">Constance Hill</span>. Author of “Jane Austen, Her Homes and Her -Friends,” “Juniper Hall,” “The House in St. Martin’s Street,” etc. With -numerous Illustrations by <span class="smcap">Ellen G. Hill</span> and Reproductions of -Contemporary Portraits, etc. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 21<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">CESAR FRANCK: A Study. Translated from the French of Vincent d’Indy, -with an Introduction by <span class="smcap">Rosa Newmarch</span>. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEN AND LETTERS. By <span class="smcap">Herbert Paul</span>, <span class="smcap">M.P</span>. Fourth -Edition. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">ROBERT BROWNING: Essays and Thoughts. By <span class="smcap">J. T. Nettleship</span>. -With Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net. (Third Edition).<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_14" id="PageA_14">14</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">NEW LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE. Edited and Annotated by <span class="smcap">Alexander -Carlyle</span>, with Notes and an Introduction and numerous -Illustrations. In Two Volumes. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Pall Mall Gazette.</cite>—“To the portrait of the man, Thomas, these -letters do really add value; we can learn to respect and to like -him more for the genuine goodness of his personality.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Literary World.</cite>—“It is then Carlyle, the nobly filial son, -we see in these letters; Carlyle, the generous and affectionate -brother, the loyal and warm-hearted friend, ... and above all, -Carlyle as a tender and faithful lover of his wife.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Daily Telegraph.</cite>—“The letters are characteristic enough of -the Carlyle we know: very picturesque and entertaining, full of -extravagant emphasis, written, as a rule, at fever heat, eloquently -rabid and emotional.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">NEW LETTERS AND MEMORIALS OF JANE WELSH CARLYLE. A Collection of -hitherto Unpublished Letters. Annotated by <span class="smcap">Thomas Carlyle</span>, -and Edited by <span class="smcap">Alexander Carlyle</span>, with an Introduction by -<span class="smcap">Sir James Crichton Browne</span>, <span class="smcap">M.D., LL.D., F.R.S.</span>, -numerous Illustrations drawn in Lithography by <span class="smcap">T. R. Way</span>, and -Photogravure Portraits from hitherto unreproduced Originals. In Two -Vols. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>Westminster Gazette.</cite>—“Few letters in the language have in such -perfection the qualities which good letters should possess. Frank, -gay, brilliant, indiscreet, immensely clever, whimsical, and -audacious, they reveal a character which, with whatever alloy of -human infirmity, must endear itself to any reader of understanding.”</p> - -<p class="smaller"><cite>World.</cite>—“Throws a deal of new light on the domestic relations -of the Sage of Chelsea. They also contain the full text of Mrs. -Carlyle’s fascinating journal, and her own ‘humorous and quaintly -candid’ narrative of her first love-affair.”</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LOVE LETTERS OF THOMAS CARLYLE AND JANE WELSH. Edited by -<span class="smcap">Alexander Carlyle</span>, Nephew of <span class="smcap">Thomas Carlyle</span>, editor -of “New Letters and Memorials of Jane Welsh Carlyle,” “New Letters of -Thomas Carlyle,” etc. With 2 Portraits in colour and numerous other -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 2 vols. 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">CARLYLE’S FIRST LOVE. Margaret Gordon—Lady Bannerman. An account -of her Life, Ancestry and Homes; her Family and Friends. By <span class="smcap">R. -C. Archibald</span>. With 20 Portraits and Illustrations, including a -Frontispiece in Colour. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 10<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">EMILE ZOLA: <span class="smcap">Novelist and Reformer</span>. An Account of his Life, -Work, and Influence. By <span class="smcap">E. A. Vizetelly</span>. With numerous -Illustrations, Portraits, etc. Demy 8vo. 21<em>s.</em> net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_15" id="PageA_15">15</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMOIRS OF THE MARTYR KING: being a detailed record of the last two -years of the Reign of His Most Sacred Majesty King Charles the First, -1646-1648-9. Compiled by <span class="smcap">Alan Fea</span>. With upwards of 100 -Photogravure Portraits and other Illustrations, including relics. Royal -4to. £5 5<em>s.</em> 0<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">MEMOIRS OF A VANISHED GENERATION 1811-1855. Edited by <span class="smcap">Mrs. Warrenne -Blake</span>. With numerous Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) -16<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE KING’S GENERAL IN THE WEST, being the Life of Sir Richard -Granville, Baronet (1600-1659). By <span class="smcap">Roger Granville</span>, M.A., -Sub-Dean of Exeter Cathedral. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ -inches.) 10<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF ROBERT <span class="smcap">Stephen Hawker</span>, sometime Vicar -of Morwenstow in Cornwall. By <span class="smcap">C. E. Byles</span>. With numerous -Illustrations by <span class="smcap">J. Ley Pethybridge</span> and others. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF WILLIAM BLAKE. By <span class="smcap">Alexander Gilchrist</span>, Edited with -an Introduction by <span class="smcap">W. Graham Robertson</span>. Numerous Reproductions -from Blake’s most characteristic and remarkable designs. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches.) 10<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net. New Edition.</p> - -<p class="padt1">GEORGE MEREDITH: Some Characteristics. By <span class="smcap">Richard Le -Gallienne</span>. With a Bibliography (much enlarged) by <span class="smcap">John -Lane</span>. Portrait, etc. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net. Fifth Edition. Revised.</p> - -<p class="padt1">A QUEEN OF INDISCRETIONS. The Tragedy of Caroline of Brunswick, Queen -of England. From the Italian of <span class="smcap">G. P. Clerici</span>. Translated by -<span class="smcap">Frederic Chapman</span>. With numerous Illustrations reproduced from -contemporary Portraits and Prints. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 21<em>s.</em> -net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">LETTERS AND JOURNALS OF SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. Edited by his Daughter -<span class="smcap">Laura E. Richards</span>. With Notes and a Preface by <span class="smcap">F. B. -Sanborn</span>, an Introduction by Mrs. <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>, and a -Portrait. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16<em>s.</em> net.<span class="pagenum"><a name="PageA_16" id="PageA_16">16</a></span></p> - -<p class="padt1">GRIEG AND HIS MUSIC. By <span class="smcap">H. T. Finck</span>, Author of “Wagner and his -Works,” etc. With Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) 7<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> -net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">EDWARD A. MACDOWELL: a Biography. By <span class="smcap">Lawrence Gilman</span>, -Author of “Phases of Modern Music,” “Strauss’ ‘Salome,’” “The Music -of To-morrow and Other Studies,” “Edward Macdowell,” etc. Profusely -illustrated. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF ST. MARY MAGDALEN. Translated from the Italian of an -unknown Fourteenth-Century Writer by <span class="smcap">Valentina Hawtrey</span>. -With an Introductory Note by <span class="smcap">Vernon Lee</span>, and 14 Full-page -Reproductions from the Old Masters. Crown 8vo. 5<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY. A Biography by <span class="smcap">Lewis Melville</span>. -With 2 Photogravures and numerous other Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × -5¾ inches). 25<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">A LATER PEPYS. The Correspondence of Sir William Weller Pepys, Bart., -Master in Chancery, 1758-1825, with Mrs. Chapone, Mrs. Hartley, -Mrs. Montague, Hannah More, William Franks, Sir James Macdonald, -Major Rennell, Sir Nathaniel Wraxall, and others. Edited, with an -Introduction and Notes, by <span class="smcap">Alice C. C. Gaussen</span>. With numerous -Illustrations. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches.) In Two Volumes. 32<em>s.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON, AN ELEGY; AND OTHER POEMS, MAINLY PERSONAL. By -<span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>. Crown 8vo. 4<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">RUDYARD KIPLING: a Criticism. By <span class="smcap">Richard Le Gallienne</span>. With a -Bibliography by <span class="smcap">John Lane</span>. Crown 8vo. 3<em>s.</em> 6<em>d.</em> net.</p> - -<p class="padt1">THE LIFE OF W. J. FOX, Public Teacher and Social Reformer, 1786-1864. -By the late <span class="smcap">Richard Garnett</span>, C.B., LL.D., concluded by -<span class="smcap">Edward Garnett</span>. Demy 8vo. (9 × 5¾ inches). 16<em>s.</em> net.</p></div> - - -<p class="center padt1">JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD, VIGO STREET, LONDON, W.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="transnote chapter"><p>Transcriber’s Notes:</p> - -<p class="noindent padt1 padb1">The spelling, hyphenation, punctuation and accentuation are as the -original, except for apparent typographical errors which have been -corrected.</p> - -<p class="noindent padb1">In Chapter VII the titles of John Oliver Hobbe’s books have been -amended thus:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"><p class="noindent"><i>The Gods, Some Mortals and <b>Mr.</b> Wickenham</i><br /> -Amended to read,<br /> -<i>The Gods, Some Mortals and <b>Lord</b> Wickenham</i></p> - -<p class="noindent padt1 padb1"><i>The Dream the Business</i><br /> -Amended to read,<br /> -<i>The Dream <b>and</b> the Business</i></p></div> - -<p class="noindent">The date given for the quotation from <i>Punch</i> in Chapter XXIV is given -as <b>1960</b> in the original and has been amended to read:</p> - -<p class="center"> -“(<em>From ‘The Times’ of December 20, <b>1906</b>.</em>)</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Thirteen Years of a Busy Woman's Life, by -Mrs. Alec Tweedie - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THIRTEEN YEARS OF A BUSY *** - -***** This file should be named 55263-h.htm or 55263-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/5/2/6/55263/ - -Produced by MWS, Brian Wilcox and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project -Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you -charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you -do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the -rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose -such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and -research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do -practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is -subject to the trademark license, especially commercial -redistribution. - - - -*** START: FULL LICENSE *** - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project -Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at -http://gutenberg.org/license). - - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy -all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. -If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the -terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or -entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement -and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" -or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the -collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an -individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are -located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from -copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative -works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg -are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project -Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by -freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of -this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with -the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by -keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project -Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in -a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check -the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement -before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or -creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project -Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning -the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United -States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate -access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently -whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, -copied or distributed: - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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/license - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived -from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is -posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied -and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees -or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work -with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the -work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 -through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the -Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or -1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional -terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked -to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the -permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any -word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or -distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than -"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version -posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), -you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a -copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon -request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other -form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided -that - -- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is - owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he - has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the - Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments - must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you - prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax - returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and - sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the - address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to - the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." - -- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or - destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium - and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of - Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any - money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days - of receipt of the work. - -- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set -forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from -both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael -Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the -Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm -collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain -"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or -corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual -property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a -computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by -your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with -your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with -the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a -refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity -providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to -receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy -is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further -opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER -WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO -WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. -If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the -law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be -interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by -the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any -provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance -with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, -promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, -harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, -that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do -or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm -work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any -Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. - - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers -including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists -because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from -people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. -To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation -and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 -and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. - - -Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive -Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at -http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent -permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. -Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered -throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at -809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email -business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact -information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official -page at http://pglaf.org - -For additional contact information: - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To -SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any -particular state visit http://pglaf.org - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. -To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate - - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic -works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm -concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared -with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project -Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. - - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. -unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily -keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. - - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - -</pre> - -</body> -</html> diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 92fa47e..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_016fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_016fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index e9a0ff8..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_016fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 18cd75e..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp_large.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp_large.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f3d4ebf..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_030fp_large.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 52515f4..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp_large.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp_large.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5114bed..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_031fp_large.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_033fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_033fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 114c92f..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_033fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_042fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_042fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a0cc605..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_042fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_047fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_047fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 11d1151..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_047fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_065fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_065fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a9c5567..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_065fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_094fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_094fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8649c5a..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_094fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_123fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_123fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 21a1d52..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_123fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_145fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_145fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index cbe21bc..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_145fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_156fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_156fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8c69c4c..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_156fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_161fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_161fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index a8a1fdf..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_161fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_175fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_175fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f82146d..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_175fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_262.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_262.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9517bbb..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_262.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_303.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_303.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 7ac3a18..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_303.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_317.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_317.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5fb3554..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_317.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_320fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_320fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 45e4255..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_320fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_346.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_346.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index ec47a1b..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_346.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_356fp.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_356fp.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 2416df7..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_356fp.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/55263-h/images/i_frontis.jpg b/old/55263-h/images/i_frontis.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 78fd292..0000000 --- a/old/55263-h/images/i_frontis.jpg +++ /dev/null |
