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diff --git a/old/63551-0.txt b/old/63551-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 1ef2b82..0000000 --- a/old/63551-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7244 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Verena in the Midst, by Edward Verrall (E. -V.) Lucas - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this ebook. - -Title: Verena in the Midst - -Author: Edward Verrall (E. V.) Lucas - -Release Date: November 18, 2020 [EBook #63551] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at - http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - available at The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERENA IN THE MIDST *** - - - - - -VERENA IN THE MIDST - -E. V. LUCAS - - - - -_Other Books of_ E. V. LUCAS - - -ENTERTAINMENTS - - THE VERMILION BOX - LANDMARKS - LISTENER’S LURE - MR. INGLESIDE - OVER BEMERTON’S - LONDON LAVENDER - -ESSAYS - - ADVENTURES AND ENTHUSIASMS - CLOUD AND SILVER - A BOSWELL OF BAGHDAD - TWIXT EAGLE AND DOVE - THE PHANTOM JOURNAL - LOITERER’S HARVEST - ONE DAY AND ANOTHER - FIRESIDE AND SUNSHINE - CHARACTER AND COMEDY - OLD LAMPS FOR NEW - -TRAVEL - - A WANDERER IN VENICE - A WANDERER IN PARIS - A WANDERER IN LONDON - A WANDERER IN HOLLAND - A WANDERER IN FLORENCE - MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON - HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS IN SUSSEX - -BIOGRAPHY - - THE LIFE OF CHARLES LAMB - A SWAN AND HER FRIENDS - THE BRITISH SCHOOL - THE HAMBLEDON MEN - -ANTHOLOGIES - - THE OPEN ROAD - THE FRIENDLY TOWN - HER INFINITE VARIETY - GOOD COMPANY - THE GENTLEST ART - THE SECOND POST - THE BEST OF LAMB - REMEMBER LOUVAIN - -BOOKS FOR CHILDREN - - THE SLOWCOACH - ANNE’S TERRIBLE GOOD NATURE - A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN - ANOTHER BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN - RUNAWAYS AND CASTAWAYS - FORGOTTEN STORIES OF LONG AGO - MORE FORGOTTEN STORIES - THE “ORIGINAL VERSES” OF ANN AND JANE TAYLOR - -SELECTED WRITINGS - - A LITTLE OF EVERYTHING - HARVEST HOME - VARIETY LANE - MIXED VINTAGES - -EDITED WORKS - - THE WORKS OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB - THE HAUSFRAU RAMPANT - - - - - VERENA - IN THE MIDST - - A KIND OF A STORY - - BY - E. V. LUCAS - AUTHOR OF “THE VERMILION BOX,” - “OVER BEMERTON’S,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - COPYRIGHT, 1920, - BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY - - PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA - - - - -TO FRANCES AND SIDNEY COLVIN - - - - -TO THE READER - - -The correspondence from which the letters in this book have been selected -passed (with the exception of the last) during 1919. The last is a little -later. - -Mr. Richard Haven, some of whose letters are to be found in a preceding -volume, _The Vermilion Box_, is still a bachelor and still lives in Mills -Buildings, Knightsbridge, but is doubtful if he can afford it much longer. - -Miss Verena Raby, the centre of this epistolary circle, is one of Mr. -Haven’s oldest friends. Old Place, the ancestral home over which she now -reigns, is near Kington in Herefordshire, on the borders of England and -the Principality which provides us impartially with perplexities and -saviours. Miss Raby is one of a family of nine, but none of the others -neglect any opportunity of postponing letter-writing. Of these brothers -and sisters, all save one—Lucilla, Nesta’s mother—are living, or were -living when these pages went to press. - -Nesta Rossiter, who is managing Old Place during Miss Raby’s illness, -married Fred Rossiter, an amateur painter, and they have three children, -Antoinette (or “Tony”), Lobbie and Cyril. - -Emily Goodyer is the children’s nurse. She is also the fiancée of Bert -Urible, greengrocer, soldier and then greengrocer again. - -Theodore Raby is Verena’s brother and a widower with one daughter, Josey. - -Walter Raby, another brother, is ranching in Texas. - -Hazel Barrance, daughter of Clara Raby, is another of Miss Raby’s nieces. -She was a V.A.D. during the War, but has now returned to Kensington -routine, in a not too congenial home. Her brother Roy also finds Peace -heavy on his hands but has more chances for liberty and diversion, and -grasps most of them. - -Evangeline Barrance, a sister still at school, is one of the youngest -editors in Europe. - -Mr. Horace Mun-Brown, Miss Raby’s nephew and a briefless barrister, lives -in the Temple on a small income and a sanguine disposition. - -Mr. Septimus Tribe, the husband of Verena’s youngest sister, Letitia, -and by some years her senior, was at the Board of Trade, but is now in -retirement at Tunbridge Wells. - -Clemency Power is an Irish girl who managed to get out to France during -the War, although under age, and was so happy and busy there that she -abandoned idleness permanently. Her mother, a widow, the daughter -of an Irish peer, lives with Clemency’s two younger sisters near -Kenmare. Patricia, aged nineteen, is the only one who comes into this -correspondence. - -Miss Louisa Parrish, who was at school with Verena and looks upon that -accident as an indissoluble bond, lives frugally but with no loss of -social position in her late father’s house in a Berkshire village. - -Nicholas Devose is a traveller and artist who came nearer marrying Verena -Raby than any other man has done. - -Bryan Field is a young doctor whose path crossed that of Clemency Power -in France during the War. - -Sir Smithfield Mark is one of the leading surgeons at Bart’s. - -Sinclair Ferguson is Miss Raby’s doctor. - -Lady Sandys is a neighbour of the Rossiters in Kent. - -Vincent Frank is remaining in the R.A.F. although the War is over. - -Mrs. Carlyon, whom we meet at once, only to lose her again, is a -neighbour of Miss Raby at Kington. - - E. V. L. - - - - -VERENA IN THE MIDST - - - - -I - -RHODA CARLYON TO NESTA ROSSITER - -[_Telegram_] - - -Miss Raby has had an accident and has asked for you. No immediate danger. -Hope you can come quickly. - - - - -II - -RHODA CARLYON TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR MR. HAVEN,—I am sorry to have rather bad news for you. My -neighbour, Miss Raby, has had the misfortune to fall and hurt her spine, -and Mr. Ferguson, our doctor, is afraid that she may have to lie up for -some long time. She is not in much pain, but must be very quiet. She was -anxious that you should be told. It was fortunate that I was at home when -the accident happened, as her maids are not good in emergencies. Mr. -Ferguson, who is exceptionally capable for a country place, will call in -a specialist, but I fear there is no doubt about the seriousness of the -injury and that her recovery will be a long business. Miss Raby is very -brave and even smiling over it, but for anyone so active and so much -interested in the life around her it will be a trial. She is hoping for -one of her nieces, Mrs. Rossiter, to come directly.—I am, yours sincerely, - - RHODA CARLYON - - - - -III - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST VERENA, your letter—or rather Mrs. Carlyon’s, containing your -bad news—gave me a shock. Do you really mean to say you will have to lie -up for months—flat and helpless? This is terrible for you—and for us. Of -course I shall come and see you as soon as may be; but it can’t be yet. -Why do you live so far away? And I will write, but if you cannot use your -hands you must get either Mrs. Carlyon or Nesta (if she is there) to -answer a number of questions at once. (I am glad Nesta is coming.) - -(a) Can you use your hands? - -(b) Does it tire you too much to read? - -(c) Have you much or any pain? - -(d) What can I do for you first? - -(e) Have you a library subscription? - -(f) Is there anyone in the neighbourhood who can read aloud, endurably? - -(g) (Don’t worry: you are not to have the whole alphabet.) Do games of -solitaire appeal to you? - -I want you to think of me as your Universal Provider and to express your -needs without any reserve. For what else am I useful? Consider me, in -short, as a Callisthenes whose motto is “Deeds not Words.”—Yours, - - R. H. - -_P.S._—(h) Have you a gramophone? And if not, does the idea of a -gramophone repel or attract? - -_P.S. 2._—DEAREST VERENA, I hate it that you should be ill—you who live -normally a hundred minutes to the hour. But if there is no heritage of -weakness you will be all the better for the enforced rest. That I intend -to think and believe. - -_P.S. 3._—Yours, again and always, - - R. H. - - - - -IV - -FROM THE “HEREFORDSHIRE POST” - - -We regret to state that Miss Verena Raby of Old Place, Kington, who is -so well known as the Lady Bountiful of the neighbourhood, has met with a -serious accident through falling on the ice and sustained spinal injuries -which may confine her to her room for several months. Every one will wish -her a speedy recovery. - - - - -V - -NESTA ROSSITER TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR “UNCLE” RICHARD,—I got here this afternoon and found Aunt Verena -very still and white and pathetic, but the doctor is cheerful and a -London swell, a friend of his—Sir Smithfield Mark—is expected to-morrow. -Mrs. Carlyon, who lives in that big house near the church, on the -Llandrindod road, has been kindness itself. I have come prepared to stay -for a considerable time. Fred has promised not to go away just yet and -fortunately we have a very good nurse. A little later perhaps Lobbie, my -second, will come to me here; it depends on how quiet Aunt Verena has to -be kept. - -Now for the answers to your questions, which Mrs. Carlyon has handed over -to me:— - -(a) She can use her hands but is not permitted to do anything tiring, -such as writing. - -(b) She has to lie too flat to be able to hold a book with any comfort -for more than a very short while. - -(c) She is not in serious pain. - -(d) What she most wants is letters from her friends, and you, I imagine, -in particular. - -(e) She has a library subscription, but would like to know what books -are cheerful. She does not want to lie awake thinking about other -people’s frustrated lives. She is rather tired of novels with the Café -Royal in them. - -(f) I have done my best for years to learn to read aloud, for the sake of -the children, but most of the sentences end in a yawn. I wonder why it -makes one so sleepy. - -(g) This is really most important. Aunt Verena is devoted to Solitaire -and thinks that a little later it might help her. But in her horizontal -position it is, of course, impossible to use a table. What we have been -wondering is whether it would be possible to get an arrangement by which -it could be played on a more or less vertical board. Do you think this -could be managed? I have been thinking about it and can suggest only -long spikes and holes in the cards so that they could be hung on. Do you -know anyone who could carry out such a scheme? She is going along very -satisfactorily and is a perfect patient. She tells me to give you her -love and thank you for all your suggestions.—Yours sincerely, - - NESTA ROSSITER - - - - -VI - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST AUNT VERENA,—We are so sorry to hear about your accident, and so -glad that some of the reports were exaggerated. Father says that nothing -would give him such joy as to go to bed for a year, and then perhaps -he might lose a few of his seventeen permanent colds; but he sends his -love too. There is no news; the chief is that Roy has been demobbed -and is wondering what his future is to be. His present is largely Jazz -and avoiding father. The lucky boy is staying with some rich friends -in Kensington. I am glad that Nesta is with you. Mother has given up -Christian Science in favour of what father calls Unchristian Séance. - -It’s an awful thing to say, but I often regret the loss of the War. Not -because I was a profiteer, but because I then had something to do and -some fun with it. But now?—Your loving - - HAZEL - - - - -VII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, of course I will write. If I were not tied to London just now by -office work I should take rooms near you and do my best to spoil you. But -that cannot be. Instead I will send you a letter as often as possible. -In fact, I wouldn’t mind, if it would really give you any satisfaction, -promising to write every day. _Nulla dies sine epistola_—however short. -Shall I? I never made such an undertaking before in my life. - -As to books—when I am ill I am like the man who when a new one came out -read an old one—Dr. Johnson or Hazlitt or Mr. Birrell—and therefore I am -a bad counsellor. Were I to have a nice luxurious little illness at this -moment I should take with me to the nursing home _Emma_ and _Mansfield -Park_; but they are men’s books far more than women’s. I should also put -into practice a project I have long had in mind—the attempted re-reading -of certain favourites of my schooldays, to see if they will stand the -test. Probably not. These include _Midshipman Easy_, _Zanoni_, _Kenelm -Chillingly_ and, above all, _Moby Dick_; but I doubt if any of these -are in Miss Raby’s line. Nor is, I am afraid, my glorious new friend, -O. Henry. In default of a better I send by parcel post the old 6-volume -edition of Fanny Burney’s _Diary_. - -Picture me hunting about for a Reader. Surely among all the demobilised -young women who are said to be pining for a job I can find one! Don’t -be frightened—she shall not be too startlingly from one of the great -tea-drinking departments of the Government—but I can’t guarantee that -her skirts will be below her knees. There are no long skirts left in -London to-day, and no stockings that are not silk. I am not an observant -person, but I have noticed that; I have noticed also that the silk does -not always go the whole way. But perhaps among all your vast array of -relations you know of a nice girl. If so, say so and I will not pursue -the chase, but at the moment more than one agency is being busy about it. -“Must have a pleasant voice and be able to keep it up for an hour without -one gape”—that is what I tell them. - -I must now stop or your poor arms will be tired with holding this up. -Don’t forget that I want to know what Sir Smithfield Mark says. Apropos -of doctors, I met old Beamish at the club to-day, very cock-a-hoop as -he was just off to North Berwick, on his doctor’s advice, and without -Mrs. B. He said with a wink that every man should have three doctors, -carefully selected, to consult with discretion: one, when things were -slackening domestically, to assure his wife that he must be fed up—better -and more nourishing food, oysters and so forth; one when he was bored -with town, to assure his wife that he is badly in need of a change and -ought to go off on a little holiday at once, alone; and one to look after -him when he is really ill. - - R. H. - - - - -VIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO RHODA CARLYON - - -DEAR MRS. CARLYON, we are all very grateful to you for being such a good -Samaritan to our dear Verena. The word neighbour henceforward will have -a new meaning for me; but why we should naturally be amiably disposed -to people because they cultivate the normally objectionable practice of -living near or next door to us I never understood. You, however, have -behaved so nobly that I shall now think of neighbours as being human -too,—I am, yours sincerely, - - RICHARD HAVEN - - - - -IX - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR SISTER,—We are gravely disturbed by the news of your accident and -trust that recovery will be swift and sure, although injury to the spine -is often slow in healing and not infrequently leaves permanent weakness. -You are, however, normally strong, much stronger than my poor Letitia, -who seems to me to become more fragile every day. Strange that two -sisters should be so different. - -I shall be glad to be informed if there is anything that I can do to -alleviate your mind at this season. Since we have had no details of -your illness nor are acquainted with your medical man, it is possible -that I may be suggesting a gravity which the case does not possess; but -from what I know of spinal troubles, I think that if you have not yet -considered the drawing-up of your will you ought to do so. Most probably -you have, for you have always been thoughtful, but even the most complete -will is liable to second and third thoughts, which necessitate codicils. -It occurs to me that the presence of a man of affairs, such as myself, -might be of use to you while you perform this delicate task, and it -is, of course, more suitable for one who is allied to you through kin -to stand beside your bed than for a stranger. I have stood beside too -many for you to feel any embarrassment. I have also acted as Executor -and Trustee on several occasions; in fact, few men can have had more -experience than I in giving counsel as to wise benefactions. - -With loving thoughts, in which Letitia would, I am sure, join me, -were she not out purchasing our necessarily frugal dinner,—I am, your -affectionate brother-in-law, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - - - -X - -RICHARD HAVEN TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR NESTA, how odd things are! Here have you been my honorary niece for -years and years, and we have hardly exchanged a word, and now, all owing -to a piece of slippery ice, I am reeling out correspondence. But how -wrong that it should have needed such a lamentable form of provocation! - -You must think of me now as in constant consultation with card-sharpers -and carpenters, with a view to solving the great Solitaire-board problem. -If it comes out, thousands of invalids, and a few lazy folk into the -bargain, will bless the names of Raby and Rossiter, not altogether, I -hope, forgetting that of Haven; for all of us at times have wished for -the possibility of playing card games while reclining in comfort on a -sofa. There is a thing called a card index, the maintaining of which -seems to have been the principal task of the female war-winners in the -various Government Departments, and it is upon the same principle (as you -have already suggested) that our vertical or sloping Solitaire table must -be made. Meanwhile tell me if you have one of those invalid tables that -come from Bond Street and can be insinuated into the patient’s zone with -such ease. If not I shall send you one. - -I ran into one of your kith and kin, Horace Mun-Brown, to-day and told -him the news, so Verena may expect trouble. I had told him before I -realized what a bloomer I was committing. But that is life! The always -wise communicate no news.—Yours, - - R. H. - -_P.S._—You, as a parent, will like the small schoolboy’s letter home -which one of the evening papers quotes to-day:— - -MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,—Do you know that salt is made of two deadly -poisons?—Your loving son, - - JOHN - - - - -XI - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DEAREST MUMMIE,—I hope you are quite well. I have a cold. Daddy tells me -to tell you that if you don’t come home soon he will take another lady in -wholly wedlock. So please come soon because we have decided we couldn’t -endure her. I send you a thousand kisses.—Your loving - - TONY - - x x x x x x x x - - - - -XII - -NESTA ROSSITER TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR “UNCLE” RICHARD,—Aunt Verena asks me to tell you that the specialist -is very hopeful that she may be quite as strong and active as ever, but -it will be a long business. Injuries to the spine are, however, very -dangerous things, and there can be no certainty yet. Directly she can, -she is going to write to you with her own hand. You are to be the first. -Meanwhile she says that your daily letters are a great joy, but you must -not hesitate to break the custom if it is ever at all troublesome.—Yours -sincerely, - - NESTA - - - - -XIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -Three and thirty cheers for the specialist. - - R. H. - - - - -XIV - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST AUNT VERENA,—I hope you are really better, or—if that is too much -to hope yet—that you are going on all right. As soon as the Doctor says -so, I am coming to peep at you. - -We are living in a state of great excitement because Mother’s old -friend Mrs. Blundry is here for a few days and she talks of nothing but -spiritualism. You know she lost her son Savile in the War—or, to use her -own word, she “gave” him—and every night she gets out the paraphernalia -of communication and has conversations with him. I used to think of death -with terror—and indeed I do now, of my own—but the late Savile Blundry is -transforming us all into frivolous heartless creatures! From his mother’s -report of what he says, the grave has taught him nothing, and most of his -remarks are only to the effect that it’s “jolly decent over there.” - -Father is furious about it all and says that the duty of the dead is to -be dead: but of course he can’t be brutal like that to Mrs. Blundry. The -fact, however, remains that she sees far more of her Savile now than she -ever did when he was alive. Of course, if talking to the boy, or thinking -she does so, brings any comfort, one should be glad of it—and there seem -to be lots of people getting such comfort, or groping after such comfort, -all over the world—but really, dead people do seem to have so little to -say. When it comes to that, so do live people. - -We have already had one real séance here, when father was out, and -wonderful results were said to be obtained, but to my naughty sceptical -mind they weren’t of any interest whatever. After a number of false -starts and accusations of undue control, and so forth, we got a name -spelt out which with a little lenience could be translated into Cyrus -Bowditch-Kemp by one of the women present, who, when she was a girl, -had known a man of that name who died in Rangoon twenty years ago. This -was, of course, frightfully thrilling. Then he was asked if he had a -message for any member of the company and he said “Yes” and this was the -message: “Wind in the daffodils”; and the woman nearly fainted when she -remembered that one spring afternoon when Bowditch-Kemp was calling, -there was a gale which swayed the daffodils at the edge of the lawn. That -was all, but it was considered to be marvellous and to prove that Mr. -Bowditch-Kemp was now the woman’s “watcher,” as they are called. - -I hope you are not shocked: but you said you wanted to know all that we -were doing. People take this new spiritualism so differently; and of -course, as I said, if it is a comfort one is only too glad, but it can be -a kind of drug too, and there is no doubt that it has made things very -easy for too many charlatans.—Your loving - - HAZEL - - - - -XV - -EVANGELINE BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I was awfully sorry to hear about your accident. The -French mistress has had one too, she went to London and was knocked down -by a taxi and has been in bed ever since. We were glad about her, but I -am sorry about you. It will be horrid not to see you at Christmas. I am -going to prepare a great surprise to cheer you while you are ill but I -mustn’t tell you any more about it now as it is a terrific secret. Miss -Arnott is reading _Nicholas Nickleby_ to us, it is very nice. I like John -Browdie, don’t you? But I think the actors are the best, Mr. Folair and -Mr. Lenville and the Infant Phenomenon. We acted _The Tempest_ the other -day, I was Ariel. It isn’t fair in a charade, is it, to divide a word -like “Shadow” into “shay” and “dough.” It ought to be “shad” and “owe” or -“Oh!” oughtn’t it? Do answer this, because I want to confound some of the -other girls. I will get the surprise ready as soon as possible, but there -are others in it too and we must have time.—I am, your affectionate niece, - - EVANGELINE - -_P.S._—Of course if you are not well enough to write, you mustn’t bother -about shadow. I can ask some one else. - - - - -XVI - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I met Haven by chance the other morning and heard of -your accident. I am more than sorry, but I think I have a means both -of helping you to pass some of the weary time and also, if you are so -disposed, of making good use of some of your superfluous income, of which -I have so often written to you. It is monstrous, especially now, when -the world is trying to recover from the paralysis of the War, that there -should be any dormant bank balances, and, except for medical attendance -and nursing, you will, I imagine, be spending less than usual. - -To be brief, I have now perfected a piece of household furniture which -cannot fail to make its way if it is set properly on the market. This is -a combination clothes-horse, screen, step-ladder and holder for what the -French, who can be so clever with names, call a _serviette sans fin_; -surely a more picturesque phrase than “circular towel.” My invention is -intended primarily for the kitchen, but, being on casters, it can easily -be moved elsewhere. I feel sure that never before can one and the same -article have been used for drying clothes, keeping out a draught, and in -hanging pictures: and small houses must find it invaluable. The carpenter -has carried out my idea with great skill and the model is here for anyone -to see. I am enclosing a photograph, with dimensions. - -All that is needed is a small sum sufficient to manufacture a thousand -or so and to pay the patent-fee. We can then see how it goes and arrange -for further supplies. I expect it to be a little gold-mine both for the -inventor and for the fortunate capitalist. I am giving you, dear Aunt -Verena, the first chance. A sum of £500 should be sufficient to start -with. - -So much for the business side. - -Now for the amusement. A good catchy name is needed for it, but I have -not yet thought of one that wholly pleases me. The name should cover all -its many functions and yet be short and snappy. I thought of “Steppo,” -but that disregards the clothes-horse and screen; or “Klowscrene,” but -that takes no note of the ladder. It occurred to me that you might find -entertainment on your bed of sickness (which I trust you are soon to -leave) in puzzling out something suitable. - -You must not think of me as for one moment wanting something for nothing. -I should never do that. All I propose is an alliance between my restless -brains and your dormant bank balance which might be profitable to both of -us. - -Again wishing you a speedy recovery, I am, yours sincerely, - - HORACE - -_P.S._—I suppose it would hardly do to call it “The Angel in the House”? -Not enough people know the phrase, and admirers of Coventry Patmore might -be shocked. - - - - -XVII - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I am most awfully sorry to hear from Hazel about your -accident. I hope it’s only a blighty and that you will soon be fit again. -As I am a great believer in good news as a buck-me-up, I hasten to tell -you before anyone else that I am engaged to be married. Every one has -always said that I should be all the better for settling down, and really -with such a pet as Trixie I am sure they are right. I have not known her -very long—we met at a dance at Prince’s—but there are some people that -you feel in a minute or so you have known all your life, and she is one -of them. If you were not so ill I should bring her to see you at once. - -She has fair hair, bobbed, and her father is a swell in the India -Office. I have not met either him or her mother yet, but Trixie is to let -me know directly a favourable opportunity occurs and then I shall butt -in. I rather dread the interview, as Mr. Parkinson—that’s her father’s -name—is said to be dashed peppery and to have set his heart on her -marrying coin; but I daresay I shall pull myself together and play the -game. Meanwhile Trixie wants to keep the engagement a secret; and except -for two or three pals you are the only person I have told. I haven’t even -told Hazel. - -I ought to tell you that she can drive a car and knows all about them, -so she ought to be really a helpmate, as all wives should be, don’t you -think? She is nearly eighteen and as I am nearly twenty it is splendid. -I have always believed that husbands ought to be older than their wives. -It gives them authority. We are thinking of taking our honeymoon in a -two-seater on which I have had my eye for some time; but it is rather -costly. Everything costs such a lot nowadays. Trixie says she finds me -such a relief after so many soldiers. You see, having been in the Army -such a short time, I am almost, she says, a civilian; really her first -civilian friend; but of course if the War hadn’t stopped I should still -be a soldier too.—Your sincere nephew, - - ROY - -_P.S._—I’m awfully sorry about your being seedy. There’s nothing like -keeping fit and I was never so full of beans myself. Get well soon. -Cheerio! - - - - -XVIII - -EVANGELINE BARRANCE TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR MR. HAVEN,—Will you please be very kind and write something for a -little paper which I am editing at school for Aunt Verena to read while -she is so ill. You are so clever. Something funny if you can, but, if -not, something readable. The paper is to be called _The Beguiler; or, The -Invalid’s Friend_.—Yours affectionately, - - EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - - - -XIX - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—Just a line to say that I have hit on what I think is a -perfect name for my invention, so do not trouble your brains any more. -“The Housewife’s Ally.”—Yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -XX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - -DEAR EVANGELINE (what a long name!), I am so busy in trying to be a -beguiler to your Aunt Verena, on my own account, that I don’t think I -shall be able to contribute to your magazine; but I wish it very well and -I shall try to collect something for you from a literary friend here and -there. Being funny is too difficult for me anyway.—Yours sincerely, - - RICHARD HAVEN - - - - -XXI - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR SISTER,—Letitia and I were distressed by the tone of Nesta’s reply -to my offer of a friendly advisory visit. It was never in my mind to -supplant your lawyer, but merely to assist you in preparing for him. -Friendly as family lawyers can become, one must always remember that -they are a race apart, members of a secret society, largely inimical in -their attitude to amateur counsellors outside their mystery. But on this -subject I shall say no more. - -Letitia is, I regret to state, in a poorer condition of health than -usual, due not a little to the need for certain luxuries with which, to -my constant regret, I am unable to provide her, not the least of which -is some sound invigorating wine such as our medical man recommends. In -default of champagne, which is light and easily digested, she has to -take stout, which, poor girl, lies heavily on her stomach. But these are -not matters on which to discourse to one in affliction, and I apologise. -Let me repeat that if in any way I can be of service to you in your -helplessness I shall be only too ready.—I remain, your affectionate -brother-in-law, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - - - -XXII - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—I am afraid I was over-sanguine about the name for my -invention. I showed it to a friend, a very capable man at the Bar, and -to my astonishment he pronounced “Ally” not as if it were the word -signifying helper (as I had intended) but as though it were a diminutive -of Alexander or Alfred, bringing to mind, most unsuitably, the vulgar -paper _Ally Sloper_. Such a misconception, in a man of his ability, would -mean that far too many people would make a similar mistake, so we must -start again.—I am, yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -XXIII - -NESTA ROSSITER TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR “UNCLE” RICHARD.—The news here is good, I think, were it not that -Aunt Verena has great difficulty in sleeping. She worries a good deal -over her inactivity, and her burdensomeness (as she calls it) to others. -She does not want to take drugs, nor do the doctors recommend them if -they can be avoided. Our nurse is very good and attentive, but not much -of a companion in the small hours. Have you any suggestions?—I am, yours -sincerely, - - NESTA ROSSITER - - - - -XXIV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I’m sorry about your sleeping so badly. All I can do is to pass -on to you my own remedy, which is to repeat poetry to myself. It is -better than counting sheep and all that kind of thing. - -“But suppose I don’t know any poetry?” - -Well, of course, you do; but there is no harm in learning more, and -especially so if, in order not to tire you in the wrong way, it is all -very short, never more than eight lines. The epigrammatic things that -are like miniatures in painting. What do you think of that? Here is a -quatrain that touches immediately on your case:— - - Invoking life, I feel the surging tide - Of countless wants ordained to be denied; - Invoking sleep, I feel the hastening stream - Of minor wants merged in a want supreme. - -You see, I have already begun to collect these little jewels, -and, difficult as it is to find perfection (even Landor is often -disappointing), I am in great hopes of getting together a really -beautiful necklace of them, and then perhaps we will print them privately -in a little book for the weary, and the wakeful and the elect. You might -even learn Omar: say, two quatrains a day. It’s the loveliest melancholy -stuff and can’t do you any harm, because you have your belief in the -goodness of things all fixed and unshakeable, and you couldn’t get at the -red wine if you wanted to. If you haven’t an _Omar_ I shall send you one. - - Ah, Love! could’st thou and I with Fate conspire - To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, - Would we not shatter it to bits—and then - Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s desire! - -Wouldn’t we just? But then you don’t think the scheme as sorry as I often -am forced to. - - R. H. - - - - -XXV - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST AUNT VERENA,—I do hope you are getting stronger. We are all -excited about the vertical Solitaire table and I long to see it. One -odd and unexpected effect of your illness is to keep Evangeline quiet -and busy. She comes home from school now full of importance and spends -hours with her pen. The result, as I think she has told you, is to be -a surprise for you. I wish I could do something to help you, but can -suggest nothing. Knitting was my only accomplishment and I’m sure you are -not short of woollies. Having ordered the day’s food, I have now nothing -to do but periodically to eat it, and to go out of my way to be more than -amiable to the maids for fear of offending and losing them. You have no -notion—you with your divine permanent staff—of the volcanoes we live on -here and our constant terror of receiving notice. And this family in -particular, because father makes no effort to control his language (but -then no one does any more, and if “damn” were a word that infants could -lisp they would lisp it—but servants don’t like it), and mother _will_ -give us the results of séances, which again servants don’t like or quite -understand. Their idea of the dead is something to be put tidily away in -a cemetery and visited on Sunday afternoons; not talkative spirits full -of messages. - -The more I go on in this aimless way the more I want to break loose and -live alone without meals and really do something. I was useful during -the War and now I’m a machine. My only excitement—and a very doubtful -on—is the refusal of dear cousin Horace, who proposes to me every other -week.—Your loving - - HAZEL - -_P.S._—Poor Fritz has had to be gently brought to his end. We have buried -him next to Tiger and father has had the stone engraved with the words:— - - HERE LIES - FRITZ THE DACHSHUND - WHO - (ALTHOUGH A GERMAN) - WAS - THE TRUEST FRIEND - AN ENGLISH FAMILY - EVER HAD - 1919 - - - - -XXVI - -LOUISA PARRISH TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA,—I have only just heard of your accident and cannot -understand why you did not let me know sooner. But perhaps, poor thing, -you can’t write. I heard it through the Hothams, who had been told by -Pauline Bankes. Still even if you can’t write yourself you must have -some one there who can. Dictating is not an easy thing, I know, but even -a postcard would have been better than nothing, and then I would have -written at once to cheer you up. But if you do send a postcard, you will -be careful, won’t you, not to put anything very private on it, as they -are all read here. It was how the village heard of poor Colonel Onslow’s -daughter’s elopement. No doubt you were too ill to think of all your -friends, and yet in the night, when one thinks of so much, I wonder my -name didn’t occur to you. - -Writing letters is no hardship to me, as it is to so many people. My -brother John, for instance, can’t bring himself to put pen to paper at -all, and his study is always littered up with unanswered things. It is -very odd, I always think, that the son of so methodical a man as father -was should be so careless, but I expect it is a throwback or comes from -mother’s side. I am much more like father in so many ways, as well as -having the Parrish nose and the ears set so far forward, while John and -the others favour the Pegrams. - -You must let me know if there is anything I can do for you besides -writing now and then. Of course, if you were able to knit it would be -better, although there is no one to knit for now. All the girls that I -see knitting are working only for themselves—those jumpers they wear -without corsets, so very indelicate, I think, especially when the bust is -at all full. It is all so different from the War, when people were really -unselfish. As long as I can remember, I, personally, have knitted for -others; not that I want to take credit for it, but it is nice to be able -to be of service. When I was a child it was mittens for the gardener and -the coachman or else those poor Deep Sea Fishermen. - -I suppose you have all the books you want. You have always been so well -provided for, but there’s a little comforting bedside volume by Frances -Ridley Havergal which I am sending in case you should want anything of -that sort. It has always helped me, and the other day, after so many -years, I read _Queechy_ again and found it quite exciting, so I am -putting that in too. Many of the modern books are so _outré_. - -My rheumatism has been rather worse lately, but I mustn’t tell you -things like that when you are so ill yourself. I should like to know what -your doctor says about you. There was a poor lady here who slipped and -fell and hurt her back, very much in the same way, I should imagine, and -she lived only a few hours. And dear old Sir Benjamin Pike, my father’s -friend and fellow magistrate, came to his end in the same way, through a -banana skin. I am sure the regulations about throwing banana and orange -skins away in the streets should be more strict. In my childhood we never -saw bananas at all, and now they are everywhere. How odd it is that -fashions in fruit should change as well as fashions in bodies and in -dress, although I for one am against so much change in dress and think -the advertisements in the weekly papers are dreadful in their incitement -to women to spend money, especially now when the Prime Minister tells -us we should all save, and I am sure he is right. And the money people -gave for pearls too, at the Red Cross sale! Perfectly marvellous where it -all comes from, and how different we all are! Those millionaires buying -pearls for their wives, and me here quite happy with the mosaic brooch my -father brought me from Venice and the agate clasp which belonged to dear -mother. - -I must stop now or I shall miss the post.—Always your loving friend, - - LOUISA - - - - -XXVII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, how odd it is that even the sweetest-natured men, when asked -for a fairy tale for the young, tend to satire. Pure fancy—comic -invention with no _arrière pensée_—seems to be the most evasive medium. -That mathematical genius, W. K. Clifford, could do the genuine thing -without one drop of the gall of sophistication, and so, of course, -could Lewis Carroll, and Burne-Jones in his letters. But when I asked -my old friend, George Demain, for something amusing and suitable for -a children’s amateur magazine, look at what he sent! I enclose the -original, which please return. As it is no part of my scheme of life to -teach cynicism, I am withholding it from the fledgling editors. I don’t -mind meeting cynics (although it is always best that there should be but -one in any company) but I don’t intend consciously to make any. - -One of the extraordinary things of the moment is how little some men who -went through the War were changed by it all. In fact, it comes to this, -that the War could deal only with what a man had: it could not create -brains or feelings. The people who talk about it as a purge, an educator, -as discipline and so forth, are saying what they thought it ought to have -been, rather than what it was. There are clerks in my office who enlisted -and fought and even killed men, and have now returned to be clerks again, -with perfect resignation, and with no outward sign of development, except -that they do their work with less care. - -I asked one of them what he thought of France and the French. He had -been right through the War and had come, for the first time in his life, -into relations with the French under every kind of emotional stress. He -ought to have had numbers of stories to tell and national distinctions to -draw. All he said was—“Funny how far up from the railway platform their -trains are!” - -I hope all goes as well with you as it can. - - R. H. - -MOTIVES - -[_Enclosure_] - -Once upon a time there was a King who had never done anything except -make laws and draw his salary, and when he was getting well on in years -he began to wonder if his people really loved him. He might never have -discovered the answer had not a neighbouring country declared war against -him and threatened to invade his territory; for “Now,” said the old King, -“we will probe at last into this question of devotion.” - -He immediately issued a proclamation that the country was in danger and -that all who wished to fight could do so but there would be no compulsion. - -So the war began and all the men of the country flocked to the colours -and there was great excitement. - -At the end of a year the army of the old King had conquered and peace was -proclaimed. - -The day that the troops returned was a great holiday. The streets -were gay with flags and banners, and every one came out to welcome -the victors. That night the old King, dressed as a plain citizen, -slipped through his palace gates and mingled with the crowd. He saw -the illuminations and heard with emotion the joyous songs and cries of -exultation. - -Overcome by the noise and rejoicing he turned down a quiet street and -presently he came on a woman weeping in a doorway. He asked the cause of -her grief and she told him that her husband had been slain in battle. - -“Ah,” said the old King, “I am truly sorry to hear that, but, after all, -there is a consolation in knowing that he died fighting for his King.” - -“I am not so sure,” replied the sorrowing widow. “We had a quarrel and he -went and joined the army to spite me.” - -Farther on the King met a poor old man bowed with grief and sighing -deeply as he leaned on his staff. - -“How is this, old man?” cried the King. “Why do you sorrow when so many -are gay?” - -“Alas,” groaned the other, “I have just heard that my son was killed in -this horrible war.” - -“You have cause for sorrow, my friend,” said the old King -sympathetically, “but remember he fell in a good cause. He died for his -King.” - -“Perhaps he did,” replied the poor old man. “But he didn’t say anything -about that when he marched off. He didn’t want to go, as a matter of -fact. Not a bit. But every one else was going and he was afraid of being -thought a coward.” - -At the next corner the old King saw a soldier, one of the victors. He was -lame and haggard and worn and was leaning against a wall to rest. - -“Ah!” cried the old King. “You have been wounded, my young hero?” - -The soldier nodded and looked bored. - -“Never mind, my lad,” said the old King, patting him on the shoulder. “We -are all proud of you—and remember, you risked your life in honour of your -King!” - -The soldier turned his tired eyes on him and a stiff smile made his -mouth crooked. “I suppose that was it,” he said wearily. “I _had_ thought -that I joined up to see a bit of life and have the girls look at me, but -possibly you are right. I expect it was the King’s honour I was thinking -of.” - -So the King returned thoughtfully to his palace, and as he entered the -great hall the musicians began playing “God keep the King.” Then all the -courtiers who were to receive their share of the indemnity claimed from -the defeated enemy, and all the commanders who were to receive titles and -honours and large estates, cried out with one voice “God keep the King!” -so that the people out in the streets heard it and joined in the shout as -if they meant it. - -And then the old King went to bed. - - - - -XXVIII - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT,—I am surprised to hear from Nesta Rossiter that my -invention does not strike you more favourably. I felt sure that you -would like to invest a little in it and at the same time encourage me. -But at the moment I am so busy with a bigger and vastly more attractive -project that I am not so disappointed as I might have been. This new -project is the kind of thing which I am sure will interest you too, for -it involves the pleasure of a vast number of people. Briefly, I want to -open a Picture Palace in the heart of the City. As you probably know, -the part of London which is called the City is given up exclusively to -business and eating-houses. But there are thousands—almost millions—of -men and youths and girls who would rather eat their lunch in a Picture -Palace than in a restaurant, and see at the same time a drama which might -entertain, instruct, amuse, or quicken their emotions. This means crowded -houses from say 12.15 to 2.30, the audience constantly changing as their -time was up. Then there are also the employers—the stock-brokers and -merchants—who might like to break the monotony of routine by seeing the -pictures for an hour at any time, and then there are also errand boys who -ought to be elsewhere. And we can add to these the number of strangers -calling in the City who have nothing to do when their business is done. I -think you will agree with me that this is a really good scheme. - -Land is of course expensive, but I am writing to three or four of the -most suitably situated churches suggesting the possibility of acquiring -their sites and rebuilding them where they are more needed. The proposal -may sound very revolutionary to you, but my experience is that the more -revolutionary a thing is the more likely it is to happen. Besides, it is -not so revolutionary as it appears, for these churches are practically -obsolete and I have no doubt whatever that the vicars would welcome a -change. - -I hope you are steadily improving. As a good name for the City Man’s -Cinema will be an advantage, perhaps you would like to be thinking of -one.—Yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -XXIX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA, I am finding, to my horror, that the poets when at their -briefest are usually concerned with mortality: and not necessarily -because the space on a tombstone is restricted and they are writing for -the stone-cutter, although that may have been an influence, but from -choice. Yet as it is my belief that we ought to familiarize ourselves -with the idea of death (and indeed the War forced us overmuch to do so) -you mustn’t mind an epitaph or two now and then, particularly when they -are beautiful. Or shall we get them all over at once—and illustrate -my discovery too? The most famous of all, the epitaph on the Countess -Dowager of Pembroke, every one knows:— - - Underneath this sable Hearse - Lies the subject of all verse: - Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother: - Death, ere thou hast slain another - Fair, and Learn’d, and Good as she, - Time shall throw a dart at thee. - -But I like hardly less the elegy on Elizabeth L. H. It is longer—longer -indeed than the eight-line limit that we have set ourselves—but I have -cut off the end, which is inferior:— - - Wouldst thou hear what Man can say - In a little? Reader, stay. - Underneath this stone doth lie - As much Beauty as could die: - Which in life did harbour give - To more Virtue than doth live. - If at all she had a fault, - Leave it buried in this vault. - -Then there is Herrick’s “Upon a Child that Died”—another inspiration:— - - Here she lies, a pretty bud, - Lately made of flesh and blood: - Who as soon fell fast asleep - As her little eyes did peep. - Give her strewings but not stir - The earth that lightly covers her. - -With these, which are Tudor or early Stuart, I would associate the Scotch -epitaph on Miss Lewars:— - - Say, sages, what’s the charm on earth - Can turn Death’s dart aside? - It is not purity and worth, - Else Jessie had not died. - -And Stevenson’s best known poem is an epitaph too:— - - Under the wide and starry sky - Dig the grave and let me lie: - Glad did I live and gladly die, - And I laid me down with a will. - This be the verse you grave for me: - _Here he lies where he long’d to be;_ - _Home is the sailor, home from the sea,_ - _And the hunter home from the hill._ - -But enough of mortality! Let me tell you a little thing that happened -yesterday. An Italian I used to know, a clerk, who has been in England -for three or four years, came in to say goodbye. He is going home. - -“You’ll be glad to be seeing your wife again after all this long while,” -I said. - -He pondered. “My wife, I don’t know,” he replied at last: “but my leetler -boy, Oh, yais!”—Good night, my dear. - - R. H. - - - - -XXX - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR SISTER,—I hasten to thank you for the timely case of champagne -which you have sent for Letitia. It will, I am sure, revive her, even -though the vintage is a little immature. I consider 1911 to be still too -young, which reminds me that it is in the correction of errors such as -this, trifling but easily evitable, that I could be of so much use to you -on the kind of periodical supervising visit to your establishment (now -necessarily neglected through your most regrettable accident) which I -have before suggested, and which, even at great personal inconvenience, -I am still ready at any time to pay. At the present moment, however, it -seems to me that a visit from Letitia would be even more desirable, for -when one is sick and surrounded by comparative strangers, who should be -a more welcome guest than a sister? And it is long since you two have -met. Apart from the pleasure of reunion, the little change would do -Letitia good. Save for myself, who am not, I am aware, too vivacious a -companion, the poor dear sees almost no one. With a slightly augmented -income she could take a place in society here far more appropriate to -her birth; but when one has not the means to return hospitality one is -a little sensitive about accepting it. Awaiting your reply, I am, your -affectionate brother-in-law, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - - - -XXXI - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -MY DEAR RICHARD,—This is my first letter in my own hand and it must be -short. I am very grateful to you. Would not that be a nice epitaph—“He -never disappointed”? Well, it is true of you. - -Your idea of the short poems is perfect and I have already learned some. - -Nesta is excellent company, but I fear she is giving me more time than it -is fair to take. Every now and then, when she is apparently looking at -me, I can see that her glance is really fixed on her children, many miles -off. The far-away nursery look. - -It is _almost_ worth being ill to discover how kind people can be. If -it is true (and of course it is) that to give pleasure to others is the -greatest happiness, then I can comfort myself, as I lie here apparently -useless, that I have my uses after all, since I am the cause of that -happiness in so many of my friends.—Yours, - - V. - - - - -XXXII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST VERENA, your testimonial gave me extraordinary pleasure, and I -wish it was true. - -I don’t say, in spite of your charming piece of altruistic reasoning, -that you are lucky to be in bed, but to have to remain in a remote rural -spot while England is getting herself into order again is not a bad -thing. For it is a slow and rather unlovely process. Just at the moment -War seems, as one remembers it (and of course I speak only of England, -not of the Front), a more desirable condition than Peace. There is no -doubt that the country is a fit place for Profiteeroes to live in. - -I felt sure that you knew Clifford’s excellent nonsense for the young. As -you don’t know it, you shall; but not yet! A surprise is brewing. - -With the steady assistance of my invaluable Miss Faith and her little -Corona (which is not, alas! a cigar, but a typewriter) I have amassed -already a collection of brief poems such as may gently occupy your -thoughts in the wakeful sessions of the night. These I shall dole out to -you, one by one, for you to take or leave as you feel “dispoged.” I have -not gone beyond my own shelves, but if ever I find myself with the run of -somebody else’s no doubt I shall find many more, probably equally good or -even better. We might call it the _Tabloid Treasury_ when it is ready? - -Having sent you the other day all those elegiac efforts, I am now -copying out three or four short poems where the poets take stock and -prepare to put up the shutters, and here again the quality is high. The -most famous example is, of course, Landor’s: - - I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; - Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art; - I warmed both hands before the fire of life; - It sinks, and I am ready to depart. - -But Landor had a predecessor who said much the same in a homelier manner:— - - My muse and I, ere youth and spirits fled, - Sat up together many a night, no doubt: - But now I’ve sent the poor old lass to bed, - Simply because my fire is going out. - -Stevenson must have had Landor’s lines in mind when he made this summary -of his own career:— - - I have trod the upward and the downward slope; - I have endured and done in days before; - I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope; - And I have lived and loved, and closed the door. - -A final example, from the French of the Abbé Regnier:— - - Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught, - And spent my little life without a thought, - And am amazed that Death, that tyrant grim, - Should think of me, who never thought of him. - -Don’t be afraid; in future I shall send you only one poem at a time. - - R. H. - - - - -XXXIII - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—If I have from time to time bothered you with my financial -schemes I am very sorry. But I have an active brain, and too few briefs. -Also I want to be in a sound financial position, and, under more -favourable circumstances, most of my projects would, I am sure, succeed. -But you are the only capitalist that I know, and just at the moment -you are, I now realize, not in a position to take any deep interest -in monetary ventures. I ought to have thought of this before, and I -apologise. - -I write to you to-day for a very different purpose and that is, to -enlist not your bank balance but your sympathy and, I hope, active help. -In a nutshell, I want to marry Hazel. I have laid my case before her more -than once, but she refuses to take me seriously. I am aware that I am not -so superficially gay and insouciant as the majority of the young men of -to-day; I know only too well that I cannot jazz and that I prefer dances -where an intervening atmospheric space divides the partners. But, though -I may be old-fashioned, surely I have compensating qualities of value in -married life. What I feel is that if only Hazel could be persuaded that I -am in deadly earnest, and that marriage is not one of—what she calls—my -“wild-cat schemes,” she would begin to look upon me with a new eye. I am -very human _au fond_, dear Aunt, and, in my own way, I adore Hazel. Would -you not try to persuade her to be more kind and understanding?—I am, your -affectionate nephew, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - -_P.S._—On reading this letter through, I find that I have made what looks -rather like a pun—that passage about Hazel and a nutshell. I assure you, -my dear Aunt, it was unintentional. I should never joke about love. - - - - -XXXIV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I have found you a Reader, but I hate to part with her. It -would not, however, do for anyone so young and comely to sit at the -bedside of a hale man of my years, and so you shall have her. But O her -voice! Irish, and south-west Irish at that. In point of fact, Kerry, with -hints of the Gulf Stream in it, all warm and caressing. - -Miss Clemency Power—that is her pretty name—is not, I take it, in any -kind of need, but she worked all through the War and wants to continue -to be independent. And quite right too, say I. And Robbie Burns said it -before me, in one of his English efforts:— - - the glorious privilege - of being independent, - -he called it. - -Miss Power is going to you on Thursday on a month’s probation, and she is -my gift to you, remember: I have arranged it all. It is very Sultanic to -be distributing young women like this, and you must be properly grateful. -I was never Sultanic before. - -Here’s a nice thing my sister Violet’s charwoman said yesterday. Violet -seems to have been looking rather more wistful than usual, but for no -particular reason. The charwoman, however, noticed it and commented upon -it. - -“You look very sad this morning,” she said. “But then,” she added, -“ladies generally do.” - -“Why is that?” Violet asked. - -“They have such difficult lives,” she said. “It’s their husbands, I -think.” - -“But you have a husband.” - -“Yes, but we don’t notice our husbands as much as you do. They come in -and they’re cross and they swear, and we let them. We’ve got our work to -get on with. But with ladies it’s different; they take notice.” - -Your daily poem:— - - He who bends to himself a joy - Does the winged life destroy; - But he who kisses the joy as it flies - Lives in eternity’s sunrise. - - If you trap the moment before it’s ripe - The tears of repentance you’ll certainly wipe; - But if once you let the ripe moment go, - You can never wipe off the tears of woe. - -A lot of wisdom there, but for most of us, who are so far from being -children, rather a counsel of perfection.—Good night. - - R. H. - -_P.S._—A travelling friend tells me that outside the gate of the -Misericordia, in Osaka, Japan, is this notice, the meaning of which is -clear after a moment’s examination: “The sisters of the Misericordia -harbour every kind of disease and have no respect for religion.” - - - - -XXXV - -CLEMENCY POWER TO THE HON. MRS. POWER - - -DEAREST MOTHER,—I have got a job at last—the least like a War job that -you could imagine. I have been engaged to read for an hour or so every -day to a Miss Raby, a lady who owing to an accident has to lie still for -months and months. After all my adventures in France this is a great -change. - -Miss Raby lives near Kington in Herefordshire, a long way from London -and indeed a long way from anywhere, but it is fine country and there are -splendid hills to walk on, Hargest Ridge in particular, where the air is -the most bracing I ever knew, and you look over to the Welsh mountains. -She has an old spacious house in its own grounds, but I am lodging with -one of the villagers; which I greatly prefer. Miss Raby has a nurse, and -one of her nieces, a Mrs. Rossiter, who is charming, is with her. I am a -sort of extra help and am gradually being allowed to do more and more and -now have had the picking of the flowers entrusted to me. - -Miss Raby herself is the sweetest creature, a kind of ideal aunt. She is -somewhere in the forties, I suppose, and had a very full life, in a quiet -way, before she was ill, and she is very brave in bearing her inactivity, -which must be terribly irksome at times and especially in very fine -weather. I am here nominally to read, but we talk most of the time, and -she is never tired of hearing about the War and all my experiences. She -knows the part of the garden that every flower comes from, and I think -her greatest joy every day is her interview with the gardener. - -One thing I have discovered is how very few books bear reading aloud. The -authors don’t think of that when they are writing and so the words are -wrongly placed. Another thing is that books that are silly anyway are -heaps sillier when read aloud. - -I ought to say that although I am in Miss Raby’s service (don’t wince) -she is not my employer—I was engaged by a Mr. Haven, her oldest friend, -who has presented me to her!—Your loving - - C. - - - - -XXXVI - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAREST RICHARD,—I like the woman thou gavest me very much and rejoice in -her brogue, and I am very grateful to you, always. Tell me more about the -state of things. I can bear it.—Yours, - - V. - - - - -XXXVII - -VERENA RABY TO HAZEL BARRANCE - - -DEAREST HAZEL,—I have had a rather pathetic letter from poor Horace, -who, after long wooing you in vain, comes to me (I hope this isn’t -betraying his confidence: I don’t think it is really) as a new legal -Miles Standish. Young men at the Bar are not usually so ready to seek -other mouthpieces, are they? Not those, at any rate, next to whom I used -to sit at dinner parties in the days when I was well and now and then -came to London. - -Of course, my dear child, I am not going to interfere. To be quite -candid, I don’t want you to marry Horace. I think you would condemn -yourself to a very stuffy kind of existence if you did, and I am -against first-cousins marrying in any case. But his appeal gives me an -opportunity of saying what I have more than once wished, and that is that -you would revise your general attitude to marriage. Again and again in -your letters to me I have detected a bitterness about it, the suggestion -that because some couples have fallen out, all must sooner or later do -so. This isn’t true. But even if it were, it ought not to deter us, for -all of us must live our own lives, and make our own experiments, and -all of us ought to believe that we are the great splendid triumphant -exceptions! It is that belief—I might almost call it religion—which I -miss in you and which seems to be now so generally lacking. Put on low -grounds it might be called the gambling spirit, but it is a form of -gambling in which there is no harm, but rather virtue. I often wish that -I had had more of it, but I was unfortunate in having my affections so -enchained by one who too little knew his mind, nor sufficiently valued -his captive, that I was never free to consider offers. - -Marriage may always be a lottery and often turn out disastrously, and -even more often be a dreary curtailment of two persons’ liberty, but it -is a natural proceeding and, unless one utterly denies any purpose in -life, a necessary one; and I am all in favour of young people believing -in it. I wish that you were braver and healthier about it, but I don’t -want you to become Mrs. Horace Mun-Brown, and I am telling him so. - -This is the longest letter I have written since I took to my bed; indeed -I believe it is the longest I ever wrote.—Your loving - - AUNT V. - - - - -XXXVIII - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR SISTER,—I was grieved to learn from a third party that you are -no better; indeed rather worse. Letitia and I were hoping that every -day showed improvement. In the possibility that one deterrent cause may -be too much thought, it has occurred to us that the presence in the -house, to be called upon whenever needed, of a soothing voice, might -be a great solace and aid. Such a voice transmitting the words of the -poets, the philosophers or even the romancers, could not but distract -the mind of the listener from her own anxieties and gradually induce -repose. Letitia, to whom I have been reading for some years, will tell -you—with more propriety than I can—how melodious and sonorous an organ is -mine. You have but to say the word and it is at your service.—I am, your -affectionate brother-in-law, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - - - -XXXIX - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DEAREST MUMMY,—When you come home you will find another baby here, only -it isn’t a real baby, it’s a puppy. A spaniel. Mr. Hawkes gave it to us -and he says we are to own it together so that each of us has a bit. He -says I am to have its stomach and mouth, which means I have got to feed -it, and Cyril is to have its front legs and ears, and Lobbie its hind -legs and tail, and its tongue is to belong to us all. I have told Cyril -that you and Daddy ought to have an ear each but he won’t give them up. -The ears of a spaniel are the nicest part, next to the lips. It is a girl -and Mr. Hawkes says that this means that when it grows up it will be -fondest of Cyril. We have named it Topsy because it is a girl and black. -Do come home soon and see it.—Your everlastingly loving - - TONY - - x x x x x x - x x x x - - - - -XL - -NESTA ROSSITER TO SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - -DEAR UNCLE SEPTIMUS,—Aunt Verena asks me to thank you for your kind -offer, but to say that a trained reader has already been secured. With -love to Aunt Letitia,—I am, yours sincerely, - - NESTA ROSSITER - - - - -XLI - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—You were the kindest thing to write to me like that. Such a -long letter too! I hope you weren’t too tired after it. But, alas! the -pity is it has not converted me. Marriage for every one else if you like, -but not for me. I have seen too much of it, nor do I seem to want any of -the things it gives except escape from home. But it would be escaping -only to another form of bondage. Every one is not made for domesticity -and I am sure I am not. I hate everything to do with the preparation -of meals. I even rather hate meals themselves and would much prefer to -eat only when I felt hungry, a little at a time and fairly often and -alone. The idea of munching for evermore punctually and periodically -opposite the same man both repels and infuriates me. I wonder if you can -understand this. The thought of Horace under these conditions is too -revolting. - -Since I wrote to you Horace has actually been to father, behind my -back; but father is much too pleased with my likeness to himself to be -unsporting, and Horace was sent away with the warning that he hadn’t an -earthly—but if he cared to persist he must come to me direct and to no -one else. He would have gone to mother for a cert if she had not been so -wholly occupied with the affairs of the next world. - -Father was really funny about it. “What does Horace want to marry for, -anyway?” he said: “he knows how to speak French”—this referring to his -old theory that what men most want in wives is a gift of tongues when -travelling abroad. - -But apart from not wanting to marry, marriage frightens me. It means -losing the fine edge of courtesy and kindness and tenderness. I see -so many married people—girls I knew when they were engaged—one or two -to whom I was bridesmaid and they are all so coarsened by it and take -things so for granted. I don’t think anything is sadder than the way -in which little pretty indulged sillinesses when a girl is engaged, -become detestable in her husband’s eyes after they are married. Losing -umbrellas, for example. - -That’s the end of my grumbling about marriage. This correspondence, as -the editors say, must now cease, and henceforth I will write only when I -have something cheerful and amusing to tell you. I have been selfishly -using you far too long.—Your loving - - HAZEL - - - - -XLII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I am delighted to hear about my Irish girl. Some day I should -like to be ill myself—nicely, languidly ill, without pain—just for the -pleasure of having her read to me. - -I hope you aren’t letting the papers prey on your mind. Far better not -read them, or, rather, not hear them read; but I expect that is to -suggest too much. After a great war there must always be a period of -ferment and unrest, and that is what we are undergoing now. I don’t in -the least despair of cosmos emerging, but nothing will ever be the same -again and it will be a very expensive chaos for years to come. - -What chiefly worries me is the impaired standard of efficiency, the -scamping, the cheating and the general cynicism. I seem to discern -a universal decrease of pride. The best, the genuine, has gone, and -substitutes reign. Tradespeople no longer keep their word and are -impenitent when taxed with it. A certain amount of dishonesty must, I -suppose, be bred of a war. Officers, for example, had to be fed and -couldn’t be expected to inquire too closely of their batmen where the -chickens came from, and no doubt a good deal of this bivouacking morality -persists. But I wish it hadn’t affected life so generally. I rather fancy -that what this old England of ours is most in need of is a gentleman at -the helm. A nobleman would not be bad, but a gentleman would be better. -No harm if he were rich and could win the Derby. But where to find him? -He is a gift of the gods, to be proffered or withheld according to their -whim or their interest in old England. If they are tired of us (as now -and then one can almost fear), then we may never get him.—Yours, - - R. H. - -And here is to-day’s poem, a very brief one but a very striking one too:— - - Reason has moons, but moons not hers - Lie mirror’d on the sea, - Confounding her astronomers, - But, O! delighting me. - - - - -XLIII - -VERENA RABY TO HAZEL BARRANCE - - -MY DEAR HAZEL,—My last letter too, on this subject, but you must answer -it. There is much in yours with which I sympathize and I think I -understand all of it. There is a vein of almost fierce fastidiousness in -our family (your grandfather had too much of it) which is discernible in -you, but I don’t despair of seeing a deal of it broken down when you meet -the right man. So much of what you say about things seems to me to be due -to your manlessness. I don’t believe that any wholly right view of life -is possible to celibates or those who have never loved. They must see it -piecemeal. I don’t despair of you at all, but you must get out of the -habit of expecting perfection. And where would the fun of marriage be if -it was not partly warfare—give and take?—Your truly loving and solicitous - - AUNT V. - -_P.S._—Don’t stop writing about yourself if you have any prompting to. -What is an old bed-ridden woman for but to try and help others? - - - - -XLIV - -PATRICIA POWER TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -YOU DEAR LUCKY CLEM,—I am so glad you are fixed up all comfy and I wish -I could do the same, but Herself won’t hear of it. She says that one mad -daughter out in the world when there is no need for it is enough. I can’t -make her see that it isn’t the money that matters, but the importance of -doing something for the sake of one’s own dignity. All the same, some -one must of course stay with her. I’m sure that if I were to go, Adela -wouldn’t stick it another minute. But remember me if you ever hear of an -opening or if this Mr. Haven of yours is proposing to distribute any more -damsels among his friends. - -Herself has been very fit lately and we’ve got two more Dexters—such -pets. One is named Dilly and the other Dally, but that’s not their -nature. We liked the names for them, that’s all. So far from being their -nature, they give quarts of milk. - -We went over to the Pattern at Kilmakilloge last week in the motor-boat, -but Tim wouldn’t let us stay long because the boys were out with their -shillelaghs and he was fearful of a fight. But it was great fun. Dr. -O’Connor was there with his new wife, very massive and handsome, and he -was so comically proud of her, and Mr. Sheehan was as mischievous as -ever and even invited us to play lawn tennis at Derreen by moonlight. -It would have been funny if we had and Lord Lansdowne had turned up. We -walked round the lake once, with the cripples, and gave shillings to I -don’t know how many beggars, and then Tim forced us away. Every one was -jigging then, except those who were singing in the inn. Good night, lucky -one.—Your only - - PAT - -_P.S._—This did not get off last night and now I re-open it to say that -I am enclosing a letter which arrived this morning and has all the -appearance of being the handiwork of a beau. I like the writing, so -decisive and distinct. - - P. - - - - -XLV - -BRYAN FIELD TO CLEMENCY POWER - -[_Enclosure_] - - -DEAR MISS POWER,—I promised I would let you know when I was returning -to England. Well, I am due next week, for the hospital is closing. I -suppose you don’t know of a nice snug little practice in a good sporting -neighbourhood with several wealthy _malades imaginaires_ of both sexes -dotted conveniently about? That’s what I want, a kind of sinecure. -Forgive the low ambition. Indeed I am punished already for indulging it, -for see how double-edged the word “sinecure” is, and what a sarcasm on my -profession! - -Having had one or two letters to you returned as “gone away” I have sent -this to your home address to be forwarded. I hope you did not think that -I should let you go, having once found you! The skies are not so lavish -with their blessings as that! No, begob! I shall be very unhappy until an -answer comes to this.—Yours sincerely, - - BRYAN FIELD - - - - -XLVI - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT,—Just one more word, then!—but only to say it’s no good, I -can’t agree with you. The idea of marriage being necessarily warfare is -utterly repugnant to me, and unless a miracle happens I shall continue to -go on doing my best to be happy though single. I see no reason whatever -for people to scrap, and those who like it always fill me with a kind of -disgust. Married life should be all friendliness and niceness. I feel -so strongly about married happiness that I believe if I were asked to -name my favorite poem in all poetry I should give the old epitaph on the -husband who so quickly followed his wife to the grave: - - She first deceased; he for a little tried - To live without her, liked it not, and died. - -No news of Horace for quite a long time. I suspect him of searching -London for an apothecary of the Romeo and Juliet type who can provide -love-philtres and I shall look at my drink very narrowly the next time he -dines here or I meet him out. It would be like him to put a love-philtre -on the market.—Your loving - - H. - - - - -XLVII - -CLEMENCY POWER TO BRYAN FIELD - - -DEAR DOCTOR,—It was very nice of you to write and I am sorry that I -missed those other letters. If you kept them, please send them on. I am -now in a very different employment from that which I had when we used to -meet. I am reader to an invalid lady—not, I hope, a permanent invalid, -and most emphatically not one of your desired _malades imaginaires_—who -lives in a beautiful house in Herefordshire. My duties are not confined -to reading aloud but comprise a hundred other things and I am very happy. -I don’t say that I don’t often regret those rough jolly boys, but one -could not wish the War to last longer just for one’s own entertainment. I -wonder how some of our old friends are—that poor Madame La Touche, does -she still carry round the bill of damage done and horses taken which the -Germans some day are to pay? And old Gaston, are his repentances and good -resolutions any more binding? How long ago it all seems, and, though so -real, how like a dream! I hope you will find a practice to your mind, but -I am sure you don’t really want an idle one. I know too much about your -zealous way with sick and wounded men ever to believe that.—I am, yours -sincerely, - - CLEMENCY POWER - -_P.S._—What does “begob” mean? I don’t understand foreign languages. - - - - -XLVIII - -LOUISA PARRISH TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA,—I was glad to have your niece’s letter saying that you -are progressing nicely. I am so afraid of those falls, and you never know -even when you feel well again whether there may not be some underlying -trouble to break out again at any moment. We shall all pray that nothing -of the kind will happen to you. I can’t help wishing that you had the -advantage of being attended by our dear Dr. Courage. He is so clever and -kind and thoughtful. - -My rheumatism has been troubling me again lately and nothing seems to do -it any good. I deny myself sugar and potatoes and everything that is said -to foster it, but to no purpose. I fear it is so deep-seated that I shall -be a martyr to it all my life, but there is this consolation that they -say that people who have rheumatism seldom have anything else. In this -world we can’t expect to be too happy. - -We have been in great trouble lately through want of maids. I don’t know -what has come over the servant class, but they don’t seem to value a -good place at all any more. Maid after maid has been here and has left. -Whether it is that we haven’t a cinema near, or what, I don’t know, but -they won’t stay. And the wages they ask are terrible. It seems to me that -the world has gone mad. The wonderful thing is that they can always find -some one to carry their boxes, and they get away so quickly. Not that -we have ever missed anything, but they seem to decide to go all of a -sudden, and no kind of consideration for us, and me with my rheumatism, -ever stops them. How different from my young days when old Martha our -cook went on for ever at I am sure not more than twenty pounds a year, -and Arthur the butler never dreamed of leaving or asking for a rise. But -since the War everybody is wild for excitement and change. I must stop -now as the Doctor is waiting downstairs.—Your sincerely loving friend, - - LOUISA - -_P.S._—I re-open this, later, to say that I have just heard that my poor -cousin Lady Smythe is to undergo an operation. - - - - -XLIX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -VERENA, my dear, _apropos_ of the newspapers and your dread of all -their alarms and excursions, don’t believe everything you read. Fleet -Street has to live, and it can do so only by selling its papers, which -have first to be filled. Take, as an example of exaggeration, the outcry -against Departmental inefficiency as if it were a new thing. It has -always been the same, only the scale was larger during the War and after -it. There have always been round pegs in square holes, and disregard of -public money, and, as I happen to know, improper destruction of documents. - -You say you want a story now and then. Well, here is one from my own -experience, gathered as it happens in the very country the violation of -which brought us into the struggle, and bearing upon official cynicism -too. - -Some years ago, I was travelling by a small cross-country railway in -Belgium. It was a bad train at all times, but on this occasion it behaved -with alarming eccentricity: at one time tearing along by leaps and -bounds, and then becoming snailier than the snailiest, until at last, -just outside a station, it stopped altogether. We waited and waited; -nothing happened; and so first one passenger and then another alighted -to see what was the matter, until gradually every one of us was on the -line. Why the train did not immediately rush on and leave us all behind -I cannot say; but, as you will agree, it might easily have done so, for -when we reached the engine it was discovered that both the driver and -stoker were gloriously and wildly drunk. - -There are never lacking leaders on such occasions as these—and we -quickly had several, equally noisy; but by degrees some kind of -policy was agreed upon, and we all marched in a foolish procession to -the station behind the group of three gentlemen who led us, and who -walked (and stumbled over the sleepers) abreast, either sideways or -backwards as they thought of new words and new gestures to apply to -the outrage. At the station we were met by the station-master, and a -battle of explanations and protests and repetitions set in and was waged -terrifically, the issue of which was the production of a large sheet of -paper on which we all, one by one, signed our names beneath a record of -the offence, with the date and place carefully noted. By the time this -was done the station-master had managed to find a new and sober driver -and stoker, and the train could resume its journey. - -I—perhaps because I was English, and there was nothing to gain—happened -to be the last to sign, and therefore the last to rejoin the train. As -I was getting into it I found that I had left my pipe in the office, -and I hurried back to recapture it. I was just in time to see the -station-master placing the last of the pieces of the torn-up manifesto on -the fire. - -After that I feel that you must have something more than usually -beautiful in the way of a short poem. Try this:— - - Here lies a most beautiful lady, - Light of step and heart was she; - I think she was the most beautiful lady - That ever was in West Country. - But beauty vanishes; beauty passes; - However rare—rare it be; - And when I crumble, who will remember - This lady of the West Country? - -Having copied that out it occurs to me that it is almost too personal and -memento-mori-ish. Let me hasten to say that the part of the West Country -indicated is not Herefordshire but, let us say, Gloucestershire. How -careful one always has to be—and isn’t! - - R. H. - - - - -L - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT,—I had anticipated your objection to the marriage of -first-cousins, which is one of your arguments against my courtship of -Hazel. An acquaintance of mine who is connected with a statistical -laboratory has long been making enquiries into the whole matter -of consanguinity, and the results are surprising. The children of -first-cousins are by no means doomed to imbecility or decadence. But even -if they were that should not necessarily deter me, for the union of Hazel -and myself might prove to be childless, although none the less happy for -that, and it would be grievous and tragic to permit a superstition to -keep us sundered. - -But I am letting the whole matter rest for a while and endeavouring -to soothe my fever by concentrating once again on financial schemes. -For without money I have no home to offer any wife. You will remember -my project, in which I still believe implicitly, for establishing a -Cinema in the City? Well, it has fallen through. The reply from the only -churchwarden who has been polite enough to answer my very courteous -letter is unsatisfactory. He displays an antiquated reluctance to come -into line with the march of progress. And as the price of ordinary -building land in the neighbourhood of Cheapside is prohibitive I must -reluctantly abandon the notion either as unripe or as unsuited to my -hands. But I am sure I was on the right track. - -I now have a new and more practical scheme to unfold. While walking -down the Strand yesterday I made a curious discovery in which I am sure -you will be interested. I noticed that in the whole street there is no -shop devoted to woman’s dress—not even a milliner’s. Considering that -the Strand is always too full of people of both sexes and that it is -largely a pleasure street—I mean that the people have time to look about -and money to spend—this is a very strange thing and I am sure there -would be big profits in remedying it. My idea is to find the capital -for an emporium to be established somewhere in the neighbourhood of the -Beaver Hut, where men and women are passing the whole time; visitors to -London—staying at the Savoy and other great hotels—many of them very -wealthy Americans;—people arriving at Charing Cross from Kent (one of the -richest counties); and so on. How natural for the men to wish to give -the women something pretty to wear!—to say nothing of the women’s own -constant desire for new clothes and hats. - -All that is needed is a certain amount of capital to build and stock -with, and the services of a first-class man from one of the big Oxford -Street places to act as manager. If you are sufficiently interested in -the scheme to invest in it, please let me know the amount. - -I hope you are better. I have one of my bad attacks of nasal -catarrh.—Yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -LI - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I am broken-hearted and turn first to you for sympathy -as you are always so kind and all my pals are out of town. The fact is, -Trixie and I have parted for ever. I can’t explain how it happened, -because my brain is all in a whirl about it, and really I don’t know, -but somehow I offended her and it is all off. My life is a blank and -all the plans I had made are mockeries. I had even begun to look in -furniture-shop windows. And then it all went wrong, and when I got to -the Jazzle Ball a little bit late, which I couldn’t help, I found that -she had given every dance away to other men, one of whom is an officer -bounder whom I had most carefully warned her against: a regular T.G. -(Temporary Gentleman) of the worst type. - -I wish you were better so that I might come and talk to you about it -all. I could tell you in words so much more than I can write, especially -with the mouldy pens at this Club. The only satisfactory part is that -I had not bought the engagement ring, not having enough money for it. -I don’t mean that I should regret the money but that I should hate to -receive the blighted thing back. As it is I had not given her anything -but chocolates, and of course we exchanged cigarette cases: but I don’t -intend to use hers any more. I could not enjoy a cigarette from a case so -fraught with memories. - -If I were a little more independent I should try to forget my sorrows in -travel, but I can’t. And dancing has ceased to interest me. In fact, I -believe it is this dancing that is very largely the matter with England. -If we danced less and worked more I am sure we should be “winning the -Peace” more thoroughly. If you have any ideas for me of a strenuous -kind I should like to hear of them, for I am all for toil now. I have -frittered my time away too long.—Your affectionate nephew, - - ROY - -_P.S._—If you are writing to Hazel or any one at home please don’t -mention my tragedy as they did not know I was engaged. - - - - -LII - -BRYAN FIELD TO SIR SMITHFIELD MARK - - -DEAR SIR SMITHFIELD,—You have always been so kind in giving me advice, -and now and then a hand, that I am following the natural course of -gratitude and coming to trouble you again. - -The hospital in France is just closing and I shall be on the loose. I -shall look out for a practice, but, meanwhile, I wondered if any rural -friend of your own might be in need of a locum: I say rural because the -desire to be in old England again is very strong, after so many months -of this foreign land, which, however beautiful in effects of light and -space, never quite catches the right country feeling. I wonder if you -know any one in, say, Herefordshire, who wants a change? Of course a -Bart’s man.—I am, yours sincerely, - - BRYAN FIELD - - - - -LIII - -JOSEY RABY TO VINCENT FRANK - - -DARLING VIN,—It is dreadful, but father won’t hear of an engagement. -He is so absurdly old-fashioned and does not realize that everything -has changed. No doubt when he was your age, long ago in the -eighteen-nineties, people could wait for each other; but why should we? -I don’t suppose that then they even knew how to kiss. He says the most -ridiculous things. He says that a girl ought to know a man at least for a -year and that twenty-one is the earliest age at which she should marry. -Why, Juliet was only about fourteen when she was betrothed to Romeo, -and lots of Indian girls are widows before our hair is up. And what is -the sense of love at first sight if you have to wait? Father also says -that aviation is not a desirable profession for a son-in-law, entirely -forgetting that half the fun of our marriage will be the flying honeymoon. - -I think you had better call on father boldly and have it out with -him.—Your own - - J. - - - - -LIV - -THEODORE RABY TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR OLD V.,—If Josey writes to you for sympathy in her struggle with a -stern and heartless parent, please oblige me and help the little idiot -(bless her, all the same!) by supporting me. - -These are the cold facts. She is eighteen and has been frivolling far -too much, largely because she has no mother and I have been too much -occupied to attend to her properly. Also because the War made frivolling -too easy by fledging so many infants at lightning speed. Among the -acquaintances that she has picked up at this and that _thé dansant_ is -a flying boy, and, just because other boys and girls have married in -haste, she must needs insist on marrying in haste too. No doubt she -thinks herself in love and no doubt also he does, although I shouldn’t be -surprised to find that he is more pursued than pursuing, as is so often -the case now; but the whole thing is derivative really, and I can’t have -my one little Precious thrown away on an experiment in imitation. - -The bore is that—to such a pass has the world come!—she might at any -moment perform the Gretna Green act. Self-restraint, you see, is a little -out of fashion up here: we all live for ourselves now, to the great -detriment of the Human Family which peace was to consolidate. To forbid -her to see the boy seems to me a mistake. If you were well I should ask -you to invite her to the country, but you are not well, my poor dear, -and she wouldn’t go even if you were—not so long as her warrior is -accessible. And he seems to be always in town, the exceptional perils of -the air being, it appears, compensated for by exceptional opportunities -of leave. - -So far as I can gather he is a decent young fellow and he may be on my -side—but he doesn’t come and see me and it seems rather absurd to go to -see him. The new soldier, and especially when he flies, is not to be -found at home too easily! This one seems to be the usual enfranchised -public-school boy—to whom the wonders and mysteries of life are either -top-hole or incomprehensible, or both, and an eclipse of the sun would be -merely a “solar stunt.” - -Even if Josey had her foolish way I don’t suppose that the end of the -world would arrive, but it would be sad and disappointing and I am -certain that she would very quickly regret her impetuosity.—Yours as ever, - - THEO. - -_P.S._—All this about me and mine and nothing of your trouble. Dear old -V. I do so hope that you are mending. I must come and see you and the old -home soon. It will be a dreadful thought some day—how one postpones these -necessary acts! - - - - -LV - -NESTA ROSSITER TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR “UNCLE” RICHARD,—I wonder if you could possibly come down, if only -for a night, to see Aunt Verena. She really needs a good talk with some -one sensible and frank. We all do our best but we are not sufficient. It -is very bad, I am sure, for a naturally active woman such as she is to -be forced to lie still in this way. She has even begun to talk about the -extent to which complete invalidism should be endured, how fair it is to -the community to be a deadweight, and so on. So if you could manage even -a flying visit it would be a great relief to us all and a great comfort -to her.—I am, yours sincerely, - - NESTA - - - - -LVI - -RICHARD HAVEN TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR NESTA, it is impossible, I fear, for a week or so. But I will come -then, although only for a night.—Yours, - - R. H. - - - - -LVII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—I am very unhappy. I do not get any better and I am a -deadweight. I want to arrange my affairs and I have no adviser but you. -I cannot bear to be an imposition on others, even when they assume -the burden so smilingly. The kindness of people to people is far more -extraordinary than their unkindness, I think. If I were to take an -overdose, should I also be “of unsound mind?”—Your very dependent and -despondent - - V. - - - - -LVIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -Coming by 2.35 for night. - - R. H. - - - - -LIX - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - -[_By hand_] - - -DEAREST RICHARD—Just a line to say goodbye and to thank you for coming -down. It is monstrous to ask you to come so far for such a short time. I -feel much more serene and shall now be brave again. I hope you will have -an easy journey. - -I have been wondering most of the night if it was not very unfair to -force so much thinking upon you, when you are, I am sure, busy enough. -And I don’t want to be unfair. If I did, I should just leave all my money -to you, with an intimation that you were my Grand Almoner, and die in -peace. But I can’t do that, partly because you might die too and there is -no one in the world but you who is really to be trusted. Do believe I am -truly grateful for your daily letters and your persistence in what must -often be an irksome task.—Yours always, - - V. - - - - -LX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY POOR DEAR, “irksome” be d—d! There is nothing irksome in talking to -you on paper for a little while every day. Indeed, a lot of it is pure -luxurious pleasure, because I can indulge in the rapture of (so to speak) -hearing my own platitudinous cocksure voice. - -It was a long journey, but I am safely back. It was splendid to find you -looking so little pulled down and to see all those nice faces round you. -I pride myself on being able to pick a Reader against any man! - -While the train was stopping—much too long—just outside some country -station, I watched three farm-labourers hoeing, and all three were -smoking cigarettes. Now, before the War you never saw a farm-labourer -with a cigarette and you rarely saw him smoking during work. I am quite -certain also that you can’t smoke a cigarette and hoe without doing -injustice either to the tobacco or to the crop. No farmer to-day would, -however, I am sure, have the courage to protest. - -“But,” I said to a man the other week when he was blaming one of his -messengers for an unpardonable delay, “if he behaves like that, it is -your business as an employer to sack him.” - -“Sack him!” he replied blankly. “Employers don’t give the sack any more; -they get it.” - -And this is true. - -But a change must come, and the interesting thing to see will be how -complete that change is. One thing is certain, and that is that Capital -and Labour will never resume their old relations; Labour has tasted too -much blood. And you can’t put servants into khaki and tell them they are -our saviours and then expect them to return to the status of servitude—at -any rate not the same ones. The process of grinding the working classes -back to their old position of subjection is going to be impossible; and -the statesmen will find that reconstruction must be based on foundations -which are set on a higher level than the old. - -A man in the train gave me a new definition of the extreme of meanness: -Saving a rose from Queen Alexandra’s Day for use again next year. - -Here is the poem:— - - Since all that I can ever do for thee - Is to do nothing, this my prayer must be: - That thou may’st never guess nor ever see - The all-endured this nothing-done costs me. - -Good night. - - R. H. - - - - -LXI - -VERENA RABY TO HER BROTHER WALTER IN TEXAS - - -MY DEAR WALTER,—It is far too long since I wrote to you, but now I have -only too much time for letters, as an accident hurt my back and I have to -lie up with too little to do. - -I wonder so often how you are, and you never send a line, nor does -Sally. You are the only one of our family of whom no one ever hears. Do -make a great effort and answer this and tell me all about yourself and -your life on the ranch. It must be so very different from ours. If you -have a camera, couldn’t you send some photographs? Remember I have never -seen Sally. I don’t even know if there are any children. - -The garden to-day looks lovely from my window. The old place has not -changed much since our childish days, but the trees are higher. I have -done very little to it beyond keeping it in repair and installing -electric light, which is made by an oil engine, and a few modern things -like that. There are more bath-rooms, for instance. One of them has been -made out of that funny little bedroom where the rat came down the chimney -and you brought up one of your young terriers to kill it and the dog was -afraid and it nearly broke your heart. You haven’t forgotten that? - -The big playroom at the top I have not touched. It has the same -wall-paper. Whenever any of the others—I mean the girls—come to see me -and we go up there we always have a good cry. The screen with the _Punch_ -drawings, the big doll’s house, the rocking horse: they are still there. -Little Lobbie, Nesta’s second child (Nesta is Lucilla’s daughter, who -married an artist), plays there now. Nesta is staying here to keep me -company while I am ill. I don’t have any pain; I merely have to lie still -and give the spine a chance. - -Kington has grown very little. There are new houses near the station -and we have a municipal park! That is about all. But it isn’t what it -was—probably no English town is since the motor car came into being. Some -may be better, but I think that Kington has deteriorated and very few of -our friends remain. Mr. and Mrs. Grace are still living at the Tower, -but alone and very old; all the family has dispersed. One thing that has -not changed is the temperature of the church; which is still cold. But -there is a long—too long—Roll of Honour in the porch. How you must have -regretted that lameness of yours when the War broke out! - -I manage to keep in touch with most of us, chiefly through their -children. Letitia I never see. I should like to, but she is not strong, -and Tunbridge Wells is a long way off, and it is impossible to detach her -from her husband, whom we rather avoid. I am afraid she is not happy, but -I can do very little to help. Clara’s son and daughter—Roy and Hazel—are -very lively correspondents, and Evangeline, their youngest, seems a -thoughtful child; but I fear that Hector Barrance can be rather difficult -at times. Theodore’s only girl is just eighteen. Anna’s boy Horace is a -rather serious young man at the Bar. Lionel is still unmarried; he was -made a C.B.E. in the War. Ronald is also unmarried and I hear from him -now and then, but his duties keep him very close in Edinburgh. Every one -is very kind to me in my illness, Richard Haven—you remember him?—writing -every day. He is fixed in London. Nellie Sandley, whom you were so sweet -upon that summer at Lyme Regis, died last week, poor girl, of pneumonia. - -I wonder if all this interests you in the least, or if your new life in -your new country is all-absorbing. It would be delightful to see you -again. But at any rate do write and send some photographs if you can. -Write directly you get this and then a longer letter later.—Your loving -sister, - - VERENA - -_P.S._—I often wonder if you would not like the series of hunting scenes -by Alken that used to be in the dining-room. Let me know and I will send -them. - - - - -LXII - -VERENA RABY TO THEODORE RABY - - -MY DEAR THEO,—How very delightful to hear from you—even though it is -such a tale of woe. I don’t want you to have more of such perplexities, -but I do want to have another letter. It was odd too because I was just -beginning a long one to Walter asking for his news and telling him mine. - -If Josey writes to me, you may be sure I will be on your side—but can’t -you get her something to do? It is idleness and enough money to buy new -frocks that lead to these problems. I should like her to come here, but, -as you say, she wouldn’t accept just now.—Your very loving - - V. - - - - -LXIII - -EVANGELINE BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I hope you are better. I told you some time ago that -we were preparing a great surprise for you to cheer you up on your bed -of sickness and pain. Well, it is now ready and I send the first number. -If you get well quickly there will never be another. It is called _The -Beguiler_ and has been written for you chiefly by the girls here. I am -the editor. My great friend Mabel Beresford copied it all out. Doesn’t -she write beautifully? I hope you will like it. Roy has read it and he -says it ought to deliver the goods.—Your loving - - EVANGELINE - - - - No. 1. May, 1919 - - THE BEGUILER - OR - THE INVALID’S FRIEND - - _A Miscellany_ - - COMPILED BY - EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - ASSISTED BY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS - - -PEOPLE WHO REALLY DESERVE THE O.B.E. - -I. COOK - -If ever there was a heroine in real life it is Cook. She has to be all -the time in the kitchen even when the sun shines and the birds are -singing. The kitchen must be hot or the things wouldn’t be properly done -for dinner. - -She is always cooking things for other people and she doesn’t get -anything to eat till they have finished, although of course she can taste -as she goes along. This is a delicious thing to do, and when she is in a -good humour she lets us dip our fingers in, but usually she says “Don’t -stop here hindering me.” - -She never goes out except to see if there is another egg or to pick mint -or parsley or to talk to the butcher’s boy, who is terrified of her. -Sometimes she has to catch a chicken and kill it and afterwards she has -to pluck it. - -Our cook is very fat and when she goes upstairs she holds her side and -pants. On Sundays she doesn’t go to Church but to Chapel and she wears -very bright colours. She had a lover once but he died. His portrait is in -her bedroom with his funeral card under it. She says that her troth is in -the tomb with him and never can she marry another. She also says that the -talk about cooks and policemen having a natural attraction for each other -is nonsense. - -Her masterpieces are apple charlotte, bread-and-butter pudding, and -Lancashire hot pot. She also makes delicious stews, which are better than -other cooks’, mother says, because she fries the vegetables first. - -Her name is Gladys Mary but we call her Cook. She says that after a -certain age, cooks have the right to be called Mrs., but that she is a -very long way from that age herself. - -We are all horribly afraid that she will give notice, because a new one -would be so hard to get. There is nothing we wouldn’t do for her. She -could cook as badly as she liked and no one would dare to say anything. -But she cooks beautifully. - -She truly deserves the O.B.E. - - “ROSE” - - -HISTORICAL RHYMES - -I. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SIR WALTER RALEIGH - - It was a wet and windy day - The ground was damp and dirty - But yet the Queen she would not stay. - They pressed her, she grew shirty. - - “A murrain on you,” she replied - “_I_ care not for the weather.” - And she went forth in all her pride - In silk and ruff and feather. - - Beside her walked her courtiers gay - Although with cold they shivered; - How cold they were they dared not say - Lest with a glance be withered. - - Look! in the middle of the road - A puddle wide and frightening. - “Wait, Madam!”—forward Raleigh strode - His satin cloak untightening. - - Down in the wet he flung his cloak, - She stepped across quite dryly, - Then with her sweetest smile she spoke, - Commending him most highly. - - “PANSY” - - -RULES AS TO BIRTHDAYS - -FOR THE BENEFIT OF PARENTS - -The person whose birthday it happens to be should be allowed to get up -when they choose. There should be sausages for breakfast. - -It seems hardly necessary to point out that there should be no lessons, -and no walk. - -Lunch should be chosen by the birthday person. - -Sample Menu for a Birthday Lunch:— - - Roast Chicken. - Bread Sauce. - Green Peas. - Squiggly Potatoes. - Trifle, with chocolate éclairs as an alternative. - -In choosing birthday presents people should remember that the whole point -of a present is that it is an extra. Clothes should never be given for -birthday presents, because one _has_ to have clothes and it is not at all -exciting to be given a pair of stockings. Handkerchiefs do not count as -clothes because they are pretty. - -Some really good entertainment should be arranged for the afternoon. -If in London a matinée is suggested, followed by tea at Rumpelmayer’s. -Bedtime should come at least two hours later than usual. If only these -few simple rules could be committed to memory by those in authority what -completely satisfactory occasions birthdays would be. - - “CHRYSANTHEMUM” - - -[Illustration: BADLY-HEARD SAYINGS: 1. “HITCH YOUR WAGON TO A TAR.”] - - -A FABLE - -There was once a pine wood on the slope of a hill, and in the middle of -the wood was a lovely silver birch which could not grow as it should -because the pine trees were so closely packed about it. - -Instead of being sorry for it, the pine trees were insulting. - -“What are you doing here anyway?” they said. “You weren’t invited. This -is a pine wood. Why aren’t you out there on the common, among the brake -fern, with all the others of your finicking useless tribe? Who wants -silver birches? They do no good in the world.” And so on. - -The silver birch, who was a perfect lady, made no reply. - -And then a war came and it was necessary to get timber for all kinds of -purposes, and all over the country the woods were cut down, among them -this pine wood, for pine is very useful for planks for building huts. - -The men came with their axes and felled tree after tree, but when they -reached the silver birch they said, “We’ll leave this—it’s no good for -timber, and when all these others are gone it will have a chance.” - -And so it was left, and soon it stood all alone and very beautiful, -surrounded by the dead bodies of the unkind pine trees, absolute queen of -the hill. - -Being a perfect lady it still said nothing to them, nor had it even -smiled as they tottered and fell. - -The moral is that every one’s good time _may_ come. - - “CARNATION” - - -STRAY THOUGHTS ON PARENTS - -Parents are always saying that they once were children too, but they give -no signs of it. - -It is a peculiarity of parents that they always want you to change your -boots. - -Parents have several set forms of speech, of which “You seem to think -I’m made of money” is one, and “I never did that when I was your age” is -another. They also wonder “What the world is coming to.” - -Parents live in houses, usually in the best rooms. They can’t bear doors -either to be left open or shut with a bang. - -A funny thing about parents is that they can find interesting reading in -newspapers. - - “TULIPE NOIRE” - - -CORRESPONDENCE - -DEAR EDITOR,—You did me the honour to ask me to contribute to your -magazine, but as I am no writer I can send you nothing of my own. But I -have arranged for a very nice piece of nonsense to be copied out for you. -It was written by a mathematician and philosopher named W. K. Clifford -and was published years ago but seems now to be forgotten. It was Mrs. -W. K. Clifford who wrote a delightful book for children called _The -Getting-well of Dorothy_ and a delightful book for grown-ups called _Aunt -Anne_. Wishing every success for _The Beguiler_ in its most admirable -campaign,—I am, yours faithfully, - - RICHARD HAVEN - His mark X - - -THE GIANT’S SHOES - -BY W. K. CLIFFORD - -Once upon a time there was a large giant who lived in a small castle: at -least, he didn’t all of him live there, but he managed things in this -wise. From his earliest youth up his legs had been of a surreptitiously -small size, unsuited to the rest of his body: so he sat upon the -south-west wall of the castle with his legs inside, and his right foot -came out of the east gate, and his left foot out of the north gate, -while his gloomy but spacious coat-tails covered up the south and west -gates; and in this way the castle was defended against all comers, and -was deemed impregnable by the military authorities. This, however, as we -shall soon see, was not the case, for the giant’s boots were inside as -well as his legs: but as he had neglected to put them on in the giddy -days of his youth, he was never afterwards able to do so, because there -was not enough room. And in this bootless but compact manner he passed -his time. - -The giant slept for three weeks at a time and two days after he woke his -breakfast was brought to him, consisting of bright brown horses sprinkled -on his bread and butter. Besides his boots the giant had a pair of -shoes, and in one of them his wife lived when she was at home: on other -occasions she lived in the other shoe. She was a sensible practical kind -of woman, with two wooden legs and a clothes-horse, but in other respects -not rich. The wooden legs were kept pointed at the ends, in order that -if the giant were dissatisfied with his breakfast he might pick up any -stray people that were within reach, using his wife as a fork. This -annoyed the inhabitants of the district, so they built their church in -a south-westerly direction from the castle, behind the giant’s back, -that he might not be able to pick them up as they went in. But those who -stayed outside to play pitch-and-toss were exposed to great danger and -sufferings. - -Now, in the village there were two brothers of altogether different -tastes and dispositions, and talents and peculiarities and -accomplishments, and in this way they were discovered not to be the same -person. The elder of them was most marvellously good at singing and could -sing the Old Hundredth an old hundred times without stopping. Whenever he -did this he stood on one leg and tied the other round his neck to avoid -catching cold and spoiling his voice; but the neighbours fled. And he -was also a rare hand at making guava dumplings out of three cats and a -shoehorn, which is an accomplishment seldom met with. But his brother was -a more meagre magnanimous person, and his chief accomplishment was to eat -a wagon-load of hay overnight, and wake up thatched in the morning. - -The whole interest of this story depends upon the fact that the giant’s -wife’s clothes-horse broke in consequence of a sudden thaw, being made -of organ pipes. So she took off her wooden legs and stuck them in the -ground, tying a string from the top of one to the top of the other, and -hung out her clothes to dry on that. Now this was astutely remarked by -the two brothers, who therefore went up in front of the giant after he -had his breakfast. The giant called out “Fork! fork!” but his wife, -trembling, hid herself in the more recondite toe of the second shoe. Then -the singing brother began to sing: but he had not taken into account the -pious disposition of the giant, who instantly joined in the psalm, and -this caused the singing brother to burst his head off, but, as it was -tied by the leg, he did not lose it altogether. - -But the other brother, being well thatched on account of the quantity of -hay he had eaten overnight, lay down between the great toe of the giant, -and the next, and wriggled. So the giant, being unable to bear tickling -in the feet, kicked out in an orthopodal manner: whereupon the castle -broke and he fell backwards, and was impaled upon the sharp steeple of -the church. So they put a label on him on which was written “Nupides -Giganteus.” - -That’s all. - -_End of Number 1 of THE BEGUILER; or THE INVALID’S FRIEND._ - - - - -LXIV - -VERENA RABY TO EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - -MY DEAR EVANGELINE,—_The Beguiler_ is by far the best magazine I ever -read. I prefer it to all others, and if I were allowed to get up I should -try it in my bath; but I can’t yet and therefore have to be washed by a -nurse. I never knew before that flowers wielded such graceful pens and -the next time I go into the garden—which I hope will be this year—I shall -walk up and down the borders with a new respect for them. - -_The Invalid’s Friend_ has served its purpose wonderfully. I have read -it three times with delight. It has made all its rivals on my table here -look very foolish—the _Nineteenth Century_ is conscious, beside it, of -being too wordy, and _Blackwood’s_ of being without method, and the -_Cornhill_ of coming out too often, with a vulgar frequency, and the -_Strand_ of being too serious. - -I am very proud of having a niece who is also such an editor. The only -reason in the world why I don’t want to get well instantly is because I -want to read the next number.—Your affectionate and grateful aunt. - - VERENA, B.I. - - (_Beguiled Invalid_) - - - - -LXV - -JOSEY RABY TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST OF AUNTS,—Now you are up to writing letters, I do wish you would -send a line to father to try and make him more reasonable. He actually -takes up the line that no girl should marry under the age of twenty-one -and then not before she has known the man for a year. Just think of being -so out-of-date as that! And he is so sensible in almost every other way, -except about ices. - -There are some men of course who need time for knowing, but Vincent is -not one of them. I feel that I have known him all my life, although it is -really only two months, but then he is so simple and open. If he weren’t, -he wouldn’t call me his Sphinx, would he? For there is nothing mysterious -about me really. - -Don’t you think that our first duty is to ourselves and that the -fulfilment of ourselves is sacred? I do, and I can fulfil myself only by -marrying Vincent. Do, do help me!—Your loving - - J. - - - - -LXVI - -VERENA RABY TO JOSEY RABY - - -MY DEAR JOSEY,—I am sorry for all your perplexities; but I can’t offer -any help. Your father probably knows best, but even if he doesn’t, he -must be considered too, because he is your father and you are a child. -Besides, I find myself agreeing with what he says. Since you have asked -my advice you must listen to it, and my advice is to obey your father -and tell Vincent that you intend to do so. Your father has been very -understanding. He has not forbidden you to see Vincent at all, as many -fathers would have done; he has merely said that there are certain rules -between you and him which must be respected. I think he is right, for two -reasons. One because it is his house and he must be the head of it, and -the other because you would be losing such a lot of your young life if -you had your way and married now. Girls should be engaged; women married. -To leave school and come into a world such as yours and then miss all the -fun of it between your age and twenty-one, is to be very foolish. It is -throwing away a very delightful freedom. - -Another thing—don’t you owe anything to your father? You say that our -first duty is to ourselves. I am not sure that we can always separate -ourselves. Very often, and usually while we are living under other -people’s roofs and taking other people’s money, we are not ourselves but -a blending of ourselves and themselves. Aren’t you and your father a -little bit mixed up like that? Isn’t he entitled a little longer to the -company of the daughter he is so fond of? Think about it from his point -of view.—Your loving - - AUNT V. - - - - -LXVII - -VINCENT FRANK TO JOSEY RABY - - -JOSEY PET,—My own sphinxling, I adore having your letters, but don’t -you think it might be best to put all three or four each day into one -envelope and post them. With special messengers so constantly coming, the -fellows here get to suspect things and are so poisonously funny about it. -There is no chaff I wouldn’t stand so long as you loved me, but now and -then too much chipping gets on one’s nerves, darling. I shall be at the -Pic. on Saturday at 7.5 and have taken our usual table.—Yours ever, - - VIN ORDINAIRE - - - - -LXVIII - -SIR SMITHFIELD MARK TO BRYAN FIELD - - -MY DEAR FIELD,—By a most extraordinary chance, I do know of a man in -the country—and the desired country at that—Herefordshire, in fact. He -is a Bart’s contemporary and a very old friend, and he not only needs a -holiday but is going to take one with me. Everything is arranged. I have -secured him by holding you out as the best possible substitute. I am -grateful to you for writing to me, for it is too long since we went away -together and too long since I threw a fly in Sutherland, where we are -going. - -Communicate with him direct: Sinclair Ferguson, Kington, Herefordshire.—I -am, yours sincerely, - - SMITHFIELD MARK - - - - -LXIX - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT,—You will remember my failure to establish a business-man’s -cinema in the City. I may have been discouraged but I was not dismayed, -because I am convinced that there is still an enormous field for picture -palaces and that the industry will increase rather than decay. I have -now hit upon another and more practicable scheme and that is to build -picture palaces just inside the great London termini. The idea came to me -while waiting at Paddington the other day after just missing my train. -The next train was not for two hours, and meanwhile I had nothing to do. -The thing to remember is that every day crowds of people are in the same -position as mine, while there are countless others with time to kill for -different reasons. If a cinema theatre were adjacent, with a continuous -performance, it could not but be a very popular boon and should pay -handsomely. Even the staff would probably often steal a few minutes -there; I don’t mean the station-master, but certainly the porters, and -the inhabitants of the neighbourhood would come too. - -All that is needed is to obtain permission from the various Railway -Companies to erect the buildings on their premises and then collect the -capital; a mere trifle would be needed, because the site would be either -free, or negligibly cheap. If you agree, would you invest, say, £1000 in -it? - -If I do not mention Hazel it is not because I have ceased to love her, -but because I have nothing to report. I wish she could be got away from -her father, whose cynical influence is bad for her. Detached, she might -soon come to see things more romantically and then would be my chance.—I -am, yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -LXX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I am deeply interested in your desire to spend money at once, -while living. Personally, I expect you do a great deal more with it than -you know, or at any rate than you led me to understand. I happen to be -acquainted with your character. - -The question is, are you strong enough to go into this matter?—for the -best almsgiving, I take it, is that which has not been asked, but comes -unexpectedly, dropping like gentle dew from a clear sky; and this needs -imagination and the willingness to enter into all kinds of investigating -trouble. It is in essence the very antithesis of facile cheque-writing; -but so irksome, and unlocking so much distress and squalor, that most -of us shy at it and reach for the cheque-book again in self-defence. My -friend Pagnell, who is all logic, insists that philanthropists are of -necessity busy-bodies, and mischievously self-indulgent ones too, and -that the broken and the helpless should go to the wall. That, he holds, -is Nature’s plan, which meddling man disturbs and frustrates. But the -English character is not sufficiently scientifically de-sentimentalized -for that. - -One of the things that I should like to see done with money is to reform -education. This you could easily do at a very trifling cost, at once,—and -have the fun of watching it go on—by endowing certain experiments in your -own village. If they were successful there, their fame would be noised -abroad and others would copy and gradually the seed would fructify. The -smallness of the seed never matters. The interest on a thousand pounds -would do it—fifty pounds a year to an associate teacher whose duty it was -to fit the children for the world they are to live in. Reading, writing -and arithmetic would go on as usual, but concurrently with them there -would be instruction in life: directed chiefly at the girls, who are to -be the wives and mothers and home upholders of the future. If the hand -that rocks the cradle rules the world, the hand should be better trained. -One of the first things to be taught is the amount of tea required in a -tea-pot. The old story about the wealth of mustard-makers being derived -from our wastefulness with their commodity is probably far more true of -the wealth of tea-merchants. - -The difficulty would be to find the teacher. That always is the -difficulty—finding the right person to carry out one’s ideas. And, -imagination being the rarest quality in human nature, the difficulty is -not likely to decrease. The best way would be to interest some cultured -and well-to-do resident to take it on—someone like your Mrs. Carlyon—but, -then you would be up against the village schoolmaster, who, not having -any imagination, would resent her rival influence, and so the scheme -would end where so many others equally sensible have ended; in the realm -where, I am told, the battles of the future are to be fought—in the air. - -One of the reasons why progress is so piecemeal is that the thinkers -have to delegate, whereas it is usually only the man that thought of a -thing who is really capable of carrying it out. We saw enough of that -in the War, where most of the muddles and scandals were the result of -delegation; and most of them, for that reason, were unavoidable. - - R. H. - -To-day’s poem:— - - O World, be nobler, for her sake! - If she but knew thee what thou art, - What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done - In thee, beneath thy daily sun, - Know’st thou not that her tender heart - For pain and very shame would break? - O World, be nobler, for her sake! - - - - -LXXI - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DEAREST MUMMIE,—A man has been here to cut wood and we watched him. He -said that every time the clock ticks some one dies and some one is born. -He said that the best food for rabbits is Hog-weed and he is going to -give us two baby rabbits. He said that jays suck pheasant’s eggs. I can’t -remember anything else, but he is one of the nicest men who have ever -been here. Oh yes, he said that when he was a boy he and the other boys -used to put little teeny-weeny frogs on their tongues and make them jump -down their froats, but don’t be alarmed, I don’t mean to try this, not -till we see what happens to Cyril. Do come home soon.—Your lovingest - - TONY - - x x x x x - x x x - -Love to Lobbie. - - - - -LXXII - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—It is extraordinary how things happen for the best, -and I am sure that I am being looked after by fate in some strange -particular way. I never have gone in much for religion, but that there is -a kind of guardian spirit for people who behave decently I am convinced. -You remember about Trixie? Well, for quite a long time I was heart-broken -and couldn’t enjoy food or anything. But I see now that it had to happen, -it was all done for my good, because it gave me more depth and maturity -so as to be ready to meet Stella on level terms. - -Stella is the loveliest girl you ever saw and quite the best partner I -have yet danced with, almost my own height and so extraordinarily light -and supple without being too thin. She also has a tremendous sense of -humour, which I consider most important in a perfect marriage. Lots of -marriages, I am convinced, have gone wrong because the husband and wife -had different ideas of a joke. Poor mother, for instance, never sees that -father is pulling her leg, and it makes her querulous where she ought to -laugh. - -I wish I could bring Stella to see you. She sings divinely and can play -all the latest things by ear after hearing them only once; which is, I -think, a wonderful gift and makes her the life and soul of parties. She -would do you a world of good. On a houseboat at Hampton last week-end she -never stopped. It was smashing. - -Her people are very well off, her father being on the Stock Exchange. -They live at Wimbledon and have a full-sized table. Do write and send -me your congratulations. I have not seen her father yet, but my idea -is to make him take to me so much that he finds a place for me in his -office. As there are no sons, he will probably want someone to carry on -the business and I don’t doubt my ability to pick up the threads very -quickly. I wish it was Lloyd’s, because I am told that is child’s play, -but I don’t doubt I could cut a figure on the Stock Exchange too. - -Stella has a retroussé nose and the most adorable smile. We have -thousands of things in common, besides a love of dancing. She says she -doesn’t want an engagement ring, she would much rather have a deer-hound, -so I am trying to get one. I wonder if anybody breeds them in your -neighbourhood? - -Father wants me to go to Oxford, just as if there had been no War, but I -don’t feel that I could possibly endure the restrictions there. Besides, -what would Stella do? During the War she worked too, for all kinds of -Charities. She was splendid. When you feel well enough, you must let me -bring her down to play and sing to you.—Your affectionate nephew, - - ROY - - - - -LXXIII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—Some of your special privileges seem to be coming my way, -for I am now largely occupied in writing letters of counsel, chiefly to -nephews and nieces in whom the fever of love burns or does not burn. -Theodore’s girl is the last—so very much a child of the moment as to -think that wanting a thing and having it should be synonymous. I am -feeling very grateful I am not a mother and I felicitate with you on -your non-paternity. Parents just now are anything but enviable. None the -less.... - -It’s funny how the young people come to me for help, just as though -I were a flitting Cupid instead of a weary stationary horizontal -middle-aged female, whose only traffic in the emotions occurred in the -dim and distant past and is for ever buried.—Good night, - - V. - - - - -LXXIV - -NICHOLAS DEVOSE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR SERENA,—If I may call you again by that name, which to me, in -spite of everything, is sacred still—I have only just had, from my -sister, the news of your illness, having in this far spot few letters -from home, and I write at once to say that I am deeply grieved and hope -that already you are better. - -If you can bring yourself to write, or to send a message by another -hand, I implore you to do so. You may think it hard that it needed a -serious injury to occur to you before I wrote again, but that would not -necessarily convict me of callousness. I swear to you, Serena, that not a -day has passed without my thinking of you—and always with the tenderest -devotion to you and always with self-reproach and regret that, so largely -through my fault, or, even more, my own impossible temperament, your life -may have been circumscribed and rendered less happy. - -I know, through various channels, certain things about your life to-day, -but of course only externals. I know, for instance, that you have not -married; but whether that is because of me (as my own singleness is -certainly associated with you, or rather with us), I do not know. I know -by how many years you are my junior, and I am forty-nine next week. If -you are conscious of loneliness and it is my influence that has kept you -from marrying, I am sorry; but there are worse things than celibacy and -it is probable that both of us are best suited to that state. I certainly -am. The common notion that every one ought to marry is as wrong-headed as -that every one ought to be an employer of labour. Very few persons are -really fitted to live intimately with others; and the senseless heroic -way in which the effort is made or the compromise sustained is among the -chief of those human tragedies which must most entertain the ironical -gods peering through the opera-glasses of Heaven. - -I must not suggest too much melancholy. I don’t pretend that life has -nothing in it but wistful memories and regrets. On the contrary, I -taste many moments of pleasure. But—even while enjoying my own somewhat -anti-social nature—I should, were I asked to stand as fairy godfather -beside cradles, wish for no child a sufficient income to indulge -impulses, nor too emphatic a desire to be sincere, nor, above all, any -hypertrophied fastidiousness. In a world constructed not for units but -for millions, such gifts must necessarily isolate their possessor. - -When the War broke out I was in Korea. Since last we met I have been all -over the world and at the present moment am in Fez. I have thousands of -sketches stored away, some of which might be worth showing, but I can’t -bring myself to the task of selection and all the other arrangements; I -can’t sometimes bear the thought that anyone else should see them, so -you will gather that I am very little more reasonable than of old and -probably even less fitted to take a place in the daily world. - -If it would be any kind of pleasure to you to see me—if I could help you -in any way—you have but to let me know. I shall be in Madrid, at the -Grand Hotel, till the end of next month and will do as you tell me. - - N. D. - - - - -LXXV - -JOSEY RABY TO VINCENT FRANK - - -DARLING VIN.,—Every one is against me and therefore I must act alone. -Will you be at Euston with two tickets on Saturday evening and we will be -married in Scotland. It is the only way. After I am married they will all -understand and be reasonable. - -If you would rather fly to Scotland, let me know and I will meet you -anywhere. - -I have got a wedding ring.—Your devoted - - J. - - - - -LXXVI - -VINCENT FRANK TO JOSEY RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -Impossible. Writing. - - VINCENT. - - - - -LXXVII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA, to return to the great money problem, I think you ought -to know that the papers print particulars of the will of a Hastings -innkeeper who set apart the interest on £300 for an annual supper to -sixty Hastings newsboys. And a little while ago I cut from the _Times_ -a will in which the testator, a fellmonger and a gunner, killed during -the War, left “£1000 in trust during the life of his wife to apply the -income for a treat for the children of the Chelsea and District Schools, -Banstead, such treat to consist of sweets, strawberries, or a visit to -the pantomime, and to be in the nature of a surprise.” - -Well, there would be no difficulty in arranging for little things like -that. All you want is a good almoner and perhaps Miss Power would take -the post. And here again you could see the fun going on, which the dead -cannot. At least we used to think they couldn’t, but the evidence on the -other side is accumulating. There is a conspiracy afoot to make us think -that the dead “carry on” too much as we do. - -All you need is to ask yourself which kind of worker is least rewarded, -or you are most sorry for, and go ahead. Lamb’s friend, James White, -would have chosen chimney-sweeps. The late landlord of the Royal Oak -at Hastings would have replied “Newsboys.” Miss Rhoda Broughton would -reply, “Overworked horses.” On my own list would occur railway porters. -Also compositors. And what about the little girls who carry gentlemen’s -new garments all about Savile Row and the tailors’ quarters—is anything -done for them? And the window-cleaners—they can’t have much fun. And -oyster-openers—what a life! And carpet-beaters—Heavens! And the little -telegraph girls, in couples, with the grubby hands. No, the list would -not be hard to compile. - -There are possibilities of social regeneration in it, too. Certain -horrible imperfections—due to haste and false economy and a want of -thoroughness—are allowed year after year to persist, to the serious -impairing of the nation’s nerves, which might be removed, or at any rate -reduced in number, if some warm-hearted living hand, like yours now, or -wise dead hand, like yours in the distant future, were outstretched. -For example, a legacy of a thousand pounds would not be thrown away -if the interest on it were offered every year as a prize to the maker -of chests-of-drawers which would open most easily, or the maker of -looking-glasses which remained at the desired angle without having to -be wedged. The details would have to be worked out, perhaps through -some furniture trade paper, but what a heightening of effort and what -a saving of temper might result! And if a prize were offered to the -firm of haberdashers whose buttons were most securely sewn on, what -a wave of comfort might be started! I bought some soft collars at a -first-class shop only last week and the buttons were all loose and some -of the button-holes were too small; and it was I who suffered, not the -haberdasher. All he did was to spread his hands and complain about -post-war carelessness; whereas he might just as well have supervised the -things before they were sent home as not. One of the most infuriating -things in Peace-time is the impossibility of punishing anybody—except -oneself. The world is so prosperous that one can’t touch it. Once one -could set a tradesman’s knees shaking by merely expressing the intention -of going elsewhere in future; but it is so no longer. - -But this is dull reading for Herefordshire. Are not these lines on the -toilet table of Marie Antoinette poignant?— - - This was her table, these her trim outspread - Brushes and trays and porcelain cups for red; - Here sate she, while her women tired and curled - The most unhappy head in all the world. - - R. H. - - - - -LXXVIII - -VINCENT FRANK TO JOSEY RABY - - -DARLING JOSEY,—I hated having to telegraph, but there was nothing else to -do. - -You know, my sweet, that part of a man’s job is to look after his woman, -and I can’t feel that we should be playing the game to go off like this. -The more I think about it the more convinced I am that your father knows -what he is saying and that we ought to wait. After all, impossible though -they are, fathers have got some kind of right to put their damned old -trotters down now and then, and especially when one is still eating from -their hands. Besides, I don’t know from day to day what I am going to -do—the whole force is in such a muddle with Winston tinkering at it—and -it wouldn’t be playing the game to marry now. Three years isn’t such a -terrible long time and I may be an Air-Marshal by then, who knows? After -all, we must live, and I haven’t got a bean beyond my rotten pay, and if -your father turns us down, where are we? Echo answers where. Especially -as my people have always set their hearts on my marrying that red-headed -horror I showed you in the distance at the Russian Ballet. - -No, my angel darling sphinx, the sweetest thing ever made or dreamt of, -let us be sensible, much as it goes against the grain, and wait. I’ve -got my eye on an absolutely topping engagement ring in Regent Street, -which shall be yours in a fortnight from to-day and we’ll have the most -gorgeous fun.—Your grovelling lover, - - VIN. - - - - -LXXIX - -CLEMENCY POWER TO THE HON. MRS. POWER - - -DEAR MOTHER,—Things go along very comfortably here, so comfortably that -I have a guilty feeling that I am not earning my salary at all, but -spending a happy visit. I now have a weekly journey to Hereford to do any -extra shopping that may be needed. I go in a car in state in the morning -and have lunch at the Green Dragon while the things are being packed up. - -We are now reading nothing but the _Times_ and Thackeray. Having just -finished _Esmond_ we are beginning _The Virginians_. Miss Raby’s father -used to read it to them all and she says it brings old times back: but -I should prefer a change now and then. I find that I can manage reading -aloud now with much less fatigue. Don’t you think girls at school ought -to be trained in it? - -Did I tell you that my employer, Mr. Haven, had a wonderful Solitaire -board made on which Miss Raby can play while lying at full length on her -back? The cards have holes in them at the top, and are hung on instead of -being laid down, as on a table. She is able to sit up better now and can -use a table, but she keeps this for times when she is tired. Don’t you -think it is the very thing for Grannie? I think I shall get one made and -send it to her. - -I have even taken on a class in the school—teaching what is called daily -sense. It is the idea of my employer, Mr. Haven, and consists of showing -the little beggars how wrong it is, for instance, to stand on the middle -of the cane seat of a chair, instead of on the wooden edges, and things -like that. The schoolmaster was very ratty about it at first, but I did -some of my blarneying and now he’s a lamb. - -It’s wonderful what an effect a little brogue has on these Sassenachs. I -noticed it among the soldiers in France, officers and men, and it’s the -same here; and I swear I never really try. But doesn’t it look as if all -that poor old Ireland needed to get her way was to send out an army of -Norahs and Bridgets just to talk and so convince? - -Mr. Haven was here the other day. He is very nice—tall, with very -soft quite white hair, prematurely white. He did Miss Raby a world of -good—Your dutiful truant, - - CLEMENTIA - - - - -LXXX - -VERENA RABY TO NICHOLAS DEVOSE - - -DEAR,—Your letter was indeed a voice from the past—almost from the grave. -It was kind of you—it was like you—to write, but I almost wish you had -not. I have a long memory. Come back if you will, but do not come here -without letting me first know that you are in England. But for your own -sake I think you ought to return now and then and challenge criticism. It -is not fair, either to yourself or to others, to bury all those beautiful -pictures—for I am sure they are beautiful. You could not do anything that -was not beautiful or distinguished. I am growing stronger every day and -the doctors are hopeful about my being able to be active again, almost -if not quite as before. Nicholas, believe this, I have no quarrel with -fate, my life has been happier far than not. - - SERENA - - - - -LXXXI - -JOSEY RABY TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT V.,—This is just to tell you that it is all over. Vincent, -when the time came, had no courage, so we have parted. I am now unable to -eat, and expect and hope shortly to go into a decline and die. This is a -world of the poorest spirit and I have no wish to continue in it. Think -of me always as your loving - - J. - - - - -LXXXII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -Well, the Great Day has nearly passed, and Peace having now been -formally celebrated we must look out for squalls. I saw the procession -from a window, the owner of which—my old friend Mrs. Kershaw—is paying -her rent out of the money she made by letting the rest of the rooms. The -caprice which decided that the route should embrace her house she looks -upon as a direct answer to prayer. - -This reminds me of a true story, told me by Mrs. Northgate-Grove, of -their page-boy, who has been very carefully brought up. At the local -Peace sports he was entered for the 100-yard race, which, he said, would -be an absolutely sure thing for him, provided the telegraph boy didn’t -run. On the night before Peace Day, one of the family passing his bedroom -door heard him on his knees imploring Divine interference. “O God, I pray -Thee that some important message may prevent the telegraph boy from being -able to compete.” And here’s another nice prayer story. A small girl was -overheard by her mother asking God to “Graciously make Rome the capital -of Turkey.” “But why do you pray for that, darling?” “Because that’s how -I put it in the examination paper to-day.” - -My head aches from this overture to the millennium and I wish we were -a year on. We are settling down so perilously slowly. In fact, here in -London you would think it a perpetual Bank Holiday, whereas never in our -history ought we to have been working harder than since the Armistice. -But who is to tell the people how serious it all is? The statesmen’s -“grave warnings” and the newspapers’ constant chidings equally are -usually cancelled by parallel pages of incitements to frivolity and -expense. England, for the greatest nation in the world, can be singularly -free from _esprit de corps_. - -But these are gloomy Peace-Day reflections—possibly due to the fact that -it has begun to rain and the fireworks will be spoiled. I am to see them -from a roof in Park Lane. I would much rather spend the evening in the -bosom of some nice family and watch a baby being bathed and put to bed. -That is the prettiest sight in the world; but I don’t know any babies any -more. Where are they all? Every one—particularly as he gets older and -more disposed to saturninity—should know a baby and now and then see it -being put to bed. - -Well, here goes for the fireworks.—Yours, - - R. H. - -_P.S._—Here is the poem—foreshadowing joys beyond all the dreams of -Oliver Lodge:— - - Within the streams, Pausanias saith, - That down Cocytus’ valley flow, - Girdling the grey domain of Death, - The spectral fishes come and go; - The ghosts of trout flit to and fro. - Persephone, fulfil my wish, - And grant that in the shades below - My ghost may land the ghosts of fish! - - - - -LXXXIII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—The Peace Celebrations here, they tell me, were very quiet. -I am glad that they are over at last and we can now all begin.... - -Your long letter about the benefactions has given me plenty to think -about for some days. I had not thought of the distribution of money as -being so full of amusing possibilities: almost too full. I should like to -do something of the kind, but to confine it to my own neighbourhood. But -then one’s name would be certain to leak out, and it is so dreadful to be -thanked. - -Meanwhile, I wonder what you will think of this idea. You remember -Blanche Povey who used to live at Pangbourne? She married a doctor, a -very nice man, Dr. Else, and they live at Malvern. Malvern is of course a -happy hunting ground for medical men, because invalids go there, mostly -rich ones, and Dr. Else would be doing very well, only for an infirmity. -The usual one—he drinks. Blanche tells me that he is getting worse, and -she sees nothing but disaster, and every time he goes to a patient she -fears he may have over-stepped the mark and be found out. It seems to -me that if a man in his position, a really nice man, could be promised -anonymously a good sum of money on the condition that he did not touch -alcohol for a year, much good might be done. How does it strike you? Or -am I becoming that hateful thing, a busy-body? With the best intentions, -no doubt, but a busy-body none the less.—Yours, - - V. - - - - -LXXXIV - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—You must not think I’m just a mere rotter when I tell -you that Stella and I have parted. I know it looks silly to be in love -with different girls so often, but then how is one to discover which is -the real one unless one tries? Besides, at the time each is the only one. -I liked Stella in many ways and I like her still, but I can see that -we are not perfectly suited. Her nature makes her pick up new friends, -chiefly men, too easily. My nature is not like that—I want one and one -only. Although of course all this is Greek to you, perhaps you can -sympathize. - -Margot is much more like me and she shares my keenness for the country. -Stella hated being away from London or excitement, while Margot loves -walking among the heather and all that sort of thing. She knows a fearful -lot about natural history too, and only yesterday, when we were on Box -Hill, she corrected me when I said “There goes a wood-pigeon” because it -was really a ring-dove. Pretty good, that, for a girl! - -Don’t think I am flirting with her, because it would be no use as -she doesn’t intend ever to marry, but I find her an A.1. pal and she -is teaching me lots of things and making me much more observant. You -would like her, I’m sure. Her father is a retired brewer with oceans of -Bradburies, who wants her to marry a cousin.—Your affectionate nephew, - - ROY - -_P.S._—By the way, I saw Josey the other night at the Ritz, with a very -gay party. She is the prettiest little thing. - - - - -LXXXV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, your question about the tippling medico is not an easy one to -answer. How could he take money if he is a man with any pride? The thing -becomes a bribe, and bribes are rather offensive. It is also on the cards -that what he needs to pull him together is not your money, but just the -jolt which expulsion from Malvern would give him. He might then make an -effort and start afresh among patients who are really ill and in need -of a doctor—panel work, for example. Somehow, I don’t like interference -in this kind of case. There is always the chance, too, that teetotalism -might make him self-righteous and injure his character in other ways, -perhaps more undesirably than alcohol. That’s how I feel. - -On the other hand, expulsion from Malvern might be the means of sending -him wholly to the devil. His self-respect would be lost and he would sink -lower and lower. In this case the burden would fall chiefly on his wife, -for with the complete loss of self-respect there can come to the loser a -certain peace of mind; the struggle is over; whereas she would suffer in -two ways—through grief and through poverty. There’s no fairness in the -world. The Gods may, as Edgar says, be just in making of our pleasant -vices whips to scourge us, but there is no justice in including the -innocent in this castigation—as always happens. - -Your best way is to be ready to do what you can for the wife. - -The League of Nations continues to engage attention; but if I were -building a house I should build it underground. War can never be -eliminated, and it is certain in the future to be waged chiefly in the -air and without warning. It is probably high time to turn our scaffold -poles into spades. - -I send you to-day two short poems from the East. Although written -hundreds and hundreds of years ago by Chinese poets, they touch the spot -to-day:— - - Sir, from my dear old home you come, - And all its glories you can name; - Oh, tell me,—has the winter-plum - Yet blossomed o’er the window frame? - -And this:— - - You ask when I’m coming: alas! not just yet ... - How the rain filled the pools on that night when we met! - Oh, when shall we ever snuff candles again, - And recall the glad hours of that evening of rain? - -—What is the special charm of those? But they haunt me.—Good night, - - R. H. - - - - -LXXXVI - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—You were very good to reply so quickly about poor Blanche’s -husband. I wish other people were as prompt and true to their word. Dr. -Else must now, I suppose, gang the gait that the stars have prescribed -for him; but of course one has to remember that my interference might be -also in the stellar programme. - -What I think I most want is advice as to the disposition of money after -I am dead. I suppose I ought to be giving it to my own needy relations -while I am alive. There is poor Letitia, for one. That husband of hers -does nothing to add to his pension, and I know she is in need of all -kinds of things. Roy is on my mind too. Not that his father is not well -off, but fathers and sons so often fail to understand each other, and -I feel sure that the boy, if helped a little, might become serious and -develop into a self-supporting man. At present he seems to do nothing but -fall in and out of love. I do not intend to blame him for that, but I -should like to see more stability. He sends me the fullest account of his -young ladies, each of whom is perfect in turn. How lovely to be young and -absurd and not ashamed of inconstancy! As we grow older we acquire such -stupid cautions. - - V. - - - - -LXXXVII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -Look here, Verena, I wish you wouldn’t say fulsome things about my -promptness and so forth. My promptness is sheer self-indulgence, to -prevent the bore of accumulated correspondence. As for my sagacity, don’t -be so sure about it. You may be taken in by my brevity and the confidence -of it all; and I may be utterly wrong about everything. Why not? - -Meanwhile, I have to remark that either everything is in the stellar -programme (as you so happily call Fate) or nothing is. If your suggested -interference with the bibulous proclivities of Dr. Else is written there, -so is my dissuasion of you. - -If you are bent upon some form of corruption—bribing people into -Virtue—why not try it with the young? There’s Roy, as you say, all ready -to be an ass. Might not he allow his life to be regulated by the promise -of “A Gift for a Good Boy”? Not long ago some rich man left his son a -fortune on condition that he never approached within a certain fixed -distance—several miles—of Piccadilly Circus. It got into the papers, -I remember. How it can be known whether or not these conditions are -observed I have no notion. I trust it does not mean ceaseless tracking -by private detectives. But there is always a certain fascination about -them and I wonder that dramatists have not done more with the idea. -Personally I think I hate such tampering with destiny, fortunate or ill, -but you must do as you wish with your own. Besides, as I said before, it -is probably as much your fate to set up obstacles to Roy’s folly as it is -his to be foolish. We only play at free will. - -What is at the moment interesting me more than such metaphysics is the -problem: Where are the scallops? Once upon a time there used to be -Coquilles St. Jacques twice a week, but my faithful landlady can’t get -scallops anywhere in these days. Why do things suddenly disappear like -this? Is it because the scallop is a cheap luxury, and the fishmonger -wants to deal only in the expensive articles? Whitechapel (that very -sensible country) is probably full of scallops. - -Here’s another Chinese poem which gives me great joy:— - - Confusion overwhelming me, as in a drunken dream, - I note that Spring has fled and wander off to hill and stream; - With a friendly Buddhist priest I seek a respite from the strife - And manifold anomalies which go to make up life. - -Good night, my dear, - - R. H. - - - - -LXXXVIII - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—Thank you for your very kind letter, but really I don’t -think I am in any such danger as you seem to fear (and it’s frightfully -decent of you to take so much interest in me and my affairs) because I -always feel that I am a kind of darling of the gods. This must sound -horribly conceited, but it isn’t as bad as that really. It’s a kind of -faith in a higher protection, and there’s no harm in having that, is -there? Anyhow, it keeps me from getting into anything like very serious -trouble. I’ve just had another example of this watchfulness, and it’s so -wonderful that I must tell you about it. - -You remember about Stella and how glad we were that it was all over -with her? We shouldn’t have suited each other a bit, and as a matter of -fact I think she would have dragged me down. Well, after not seeing her -for weeks, I ran into her in Bond Street on Monday, and before I knew -where I was I’d asked her to dine at the Elysian the next day. That was -yesterday. It was foolish, I know, but she was so nice and friendly in -spite of it all, and looked rather pathetic, and I always think one -should be as kind as possible—in fact I learnt it from you. - -Anyway, I did it, and then went off and began to regret it at once. I saw -what an ass I had been to re-open friendship with her. No one should ever -re-open with old flames, particularly when they haven’t played the game. -And a meal is particularly unwise, because there may be an extra glass of -wine and then where are you? You get soft and melting and forget what you -ought to remember, and all the fat is in the fire once more, and before -you know where you are you are very likely engaged again. So I went -about kicking myself for being so gentle and impulsive, and had a rotten -night. The next day I couldn’t telephone or wire to call it off, because -I hadn’t her address, and the wretched dinner hung over me like the sword -of what’s-his-name all day. Some men of course wouldn’t have gone at all, -but I hate breaking engagements. - -But—and this is the point—I needn’t have worried at all; and after -such a wonderful experience of watchfulness over me I shall never worry -again—I should be a monster of ingratitude if I did. Because all the -time my guardian angel was working for me. For when I had dressed and -started out to get to the Elysian punctually, what do you think?—there -was a cordon of police all round it, to keep me and every one away, and -thousands of people looking on. The restaurant had caught fire and was -gradually but surely burning to the ground! Wasn’t that an extraordinary -piece of luck, or rather, not luck but intervention? Of course it was no -good looking for Stella among such a crowd, so I went off to the Club and -dined alone. - -A religious fellow would make a tract about an experience of this kind. -I’m afraid I can’t be called religious exactly, but I have learnt my -lesson. - -I am still having bad nights thinking about my future.—Your affectionate -nephew, - - ROY - - - - -LXXXIX - -CLEMENCY POWER TO PATRICIA POWER - - -PAT, MY ANGEL,—I am comfortable enough here but I wish I could hail -an aeroplane and drop in on you all for a few hours. Some day we shall -be able to do impulsive and impossible things like that. Miss Raby is -certainly getting stronger, and could very well do her own reading, but -she seems to like me. I am saving money too—because there’s nothing to do -with it—and when my time is finished you must come to London to meet me -and I’ll stand you some nice dinners and theatres before we go back. - -I hope I’ve done the school children a little good, but it’s -heartbreaking to be a teacher, because one is fighting nature most of the -time. “Be thoughtful, be good, be considerate,” we say, by which we mean -“Behave so that the comfort of older people, who own the world, may be as -little disturbed as possible.” But oh the little poets and rebels we are -suppressing and perhaps destroying! - -We’re all women here, except the Doctor and the Rector, who are both -old and oh so polite. The Doctor’s wife, Mrs. Ferguson, is the affable -arch type who tells anecdotes and is “quite sure God has a sense of -humour”—you know the kind I mean. The Rector’s wife is soft and clinging -and full of superlative praise. But I mustn’t be critical, because every -one here is kind and nice, and as for Miss Raby I’d do anything for her. - -Give Herself my love and say I’ll write very soon. Adela ought to write -to me, tell her.—Your devoted - - CLEM. - - - - -XC - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—As you know, there is great need of a revival in all kinds of -home industries if we are to regain, or rather to hold, our place among -the nations, and I am far too keen a political economist not to be giving -much thought to the matter. What I am at the moment most interested in -is the carpet manufacture. I have heard of a firm in the West of England -which merely needs a little more capital to do the most astonishing -things, and I wonder if you would advance me a thousand or so to invest -in it. I ask as a loan—no speculation at all. - -One of the reasons why I have a leaning towards this industry—apart from -the fact that carpets must always be needed—is that the other day when -I was in the South Kensington Museum, looking about for inspiration, I -noticed an ancient rug, hanging on the wall, which represented a map. -It at once struck me that it would be a first-class notion to make map -carpets for sale in this country. Think of the enormous success that a -carpet-map of the Western Front would have been during the late War. -Conversation need never have faltered, and if you had a real soldier -to tea or dinner he could have made his story extraordinarily vivid by -walking about the room and illustrating the various positions. Or take -a carpet-map of Ireland—how that would help in our understanding of the -Irish question! In nurseries too, the carpet could teach geography. -Children crawling over it from one country to another could get a most -astonishing notion of boundaries and so forth. - -The more I think of the scheme, the more I am taken by it; and I hope, -dear Aunt, that you will see eye to eye with me. Trusting that you -are progressing favourably towards a complete recovery—I am, your -affectionate nephew, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - -_P.S._—I never see Hazel now, but still live in hopes. - - - - -XCI - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -MY DEAR FRIEND AND PHILOSOPHER,—How wise you are! On paper. When I meet -you and see your dear old face I know you are capable of quite as many -incautious impulses as most of us; but when I read your cool counsels and -generalizations you seem to assume a white beard of immense proportions -and to be superior to all human temptations or foibles. - -Now, tell me, don’t you think there is any way in which a little -money might help to get England back to a sense of orderliness and -responsibility again? Nesta and I have been wondering if lecturers -could be employed, perhaps with cinema films, to excite people about -England—the idea of England as the country that ought to set a good -example, that always has led and should lead again. A kind of pictorial -pageant of its greatness. Or there might be illustrated lives of its -greatest men, to stimulate the ambition of the young and their parents. -It is all very vague in my mind, but don’t you think there is something -in it? The Rector, I confess, is very cold. He says that what is needed -is more faith, more piety, and anything that I could do to that end would -be the best thing of all; but when I ask him how, all he can suggest is a -new peal of bells here and a handsome donation to the spire fund of the -church at Bournemouth where he was before he came here, which was left -unfinished. Nesta says that, according to her recollection, Bournemouth -has too many spires as it is. I know you are usually sarcastic about the -Church, but do tell me candidly what you think. - -In exchange for all yours, I must give you the last verse of a -consolatory poem written for me by a young sympathizer aged nine:— - - How we watch the feeble flicker, - Watch the face so wan! - Day by day she groweth weaker, - Soon she will be gone. - -Apropos of children—Nesta’s Lobbie said a rather nice thing the other -day. There was a wonderful sunset and she went out into the garden to -see it. Then she said—“Mother, I can’t think how God made the sky. I can -understand His making nuts”—here she rubbed her thumb and finger together -as though moulding something—“and even flowers. But the sky—no!”—Your -grateful - - V. - - - - -XCII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA, you have hurt me this time. I never thought you had it in -you to do so, but you have. You tell me to tell you something “candidly.” -Now, when have I ever done anything else? - -As for the Church, I don’t think this the best time to give it spires. -It is not architecturally that it needs help, and I never thought so -with more conviction than when, at a State banquet the other night, to -which I was bidden, I saw a Bishop in purple evening dress. He looked an -astonishingly long way from Bethlehem. - -As for the cinema scheme, it is ingenious and might serve; but I think -I should wait a little until the present fermentation subsides. You -would never get a Picture Palace manager to put it on now, when every -one is thoughtless and lavish with money and only excitement is popular. -I remember seeing an Italian cinema audience go wild over a film about -Mameli, who wrote their national song and joined Garibaldi; but that was -just before a war—with Turkey—and not after. Before a war you can do -wonders with people; but after—no. It is then that the big men are needed. - -I don’t often send you anything really wicked, but the temptation to-day -is too great to be resisted. You are fond, I know, of those lines by T. -E. Brown called “My Garden.” Well, in the magazine of Dartmouth Royal -Naval College some irreverent imp once wrote a parody which I can no -longer keep to myself. By what right an embryonic admiral should also be -a humorous poet I can’t determine; but there is no logic in life. Here is -his mischief:— - - A garden is a loathsome thing—eh, what? - Blight, snail, - Pea-weevil, - Green-fly such a lot! - My handiest tool - Is powerless, yet the fool - (Next door) contends that slugs are not. - Not slugs! in gardens! when the eve is cool? - Nay, but I have some brine; - ’Tis very sure they shall not walk in mine. - -—That of course is sacrilege, and I haven’t the heart to add anything -serious to it. - -Here’s a nice thing said recently by an old French general, retired, in -charge of the Invalides Hospital. “Heroes—yes; a hero can be an affair of -a quarter of an hour, but it takes a life-time to make an honest man.” - -Morpheus calls. - - R. H. - - - - -XCIII - -NICHOLAS DEVOSE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAREST SERENA,—I rejoiced to have your letter. I was afraid that you -might not be well enough to write; I was afraid that you might not wish -to write. I am on my way back and you shall know when I reach London. I -will do as you say: you would be wiser than I. - - N. - - - - -XCIV - -LOUISA PARRISH TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA,—It is too long since I wrote to you. The reason is that -the trouble about maids has been so constant and distressing. I am sure -that there could not be a house where more consideration is shown, but we -cannot get any to stay. I don’t understand it in the least. I have even -offered to buy a gramophone for the kitchen, but it is useless. I brought -myself to this step very reluctantly, because some of the records with -what I believe is called “patter” in them are so vulgar, and too many of -the songs too. Our last cook stayed only four days and vanished in the -night. She seemed such a nice woman, but you never can tell, they are -so deceitful. When we came down in the morning there was a note on the -kitchen table and no breakfast. She had actually got out of the window -after we had gone to bed. - -I now have one coming from the North with an excellent character but she -wants £45 a year. Isn’t it monstrous? The housemaid has been here for -three weeks, but I wake several times every night and fancy I hear her -making off. Life would be hardly worth living, under such circumstances, -but for our friends. - -I hope your news is good. My own constant ailment does not show any -improvement and if only I could feel any confidence about the house I -should go to Buxton. I heard from a visitor at the Vicarage yesterday of -another case of spinal trouble which seems very like your own. That too -was the result of a fall. It was many years ago and the poor sufferer is -still helpless; but we all hope better things for you.—Your sincerely -loving friend, - -LOUISA - -_P.S._—My brother Claude has had another stroke. - - - - -XCV - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DEAREST MUMMIE,—I had a funny dream last night. I dreamt about you and -me going to see the Queen and I had a hole in my stocking. The Queen -didn’t see the hole but you made me cross by drawing attention to it and -apologizing. I said to the Queen, “I suppose you never wear the same -stockings again, Queen Mary,” and she said, laughing, “Oh, yes, I do but -you mustn’t call me Queen Mary, you must call me Ma’am.” Wasn’t it funny? - -When you come home you will find new curtains in the drawing-room which -Daddy has had put up for a surprise for you. I oughtn’t to have told you, -but you must pretend you didn’t know and be tremendously excited. My cold -has gone. I used four handkerchiefs a day.—Your very loving - - TONY - - x x x x x - - - - -XCVI - -ROY BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -_Dear Aunt Verena_,—I am feeling very run down and depressed, because my -star has set. What I mean is that Margot has gone. Her people have taken -a place in Scotland and of course she had to go too. As I believe I told -you, she never intends to marry, but all the same she was a jolly good -sort and we had some topping walks together. We used to go to the Zoo -too, and as her father is a Fellow all the keepers know her and show her -the special things. Being cooped up in London is rotten and I wondered if -I might come to you for a few days for some country air and perhaps cheer -you up a bit. You must be very dull lying there all the time with nothing -but women about you. I should be out most of the day, and I daresay there -are some people to play tennis with and a golf course not too far off. -Margot has been to Herefordshire and she says it’s ripping, and what she -doesn’t know about the country isn’t worth knowing. Of course if all this -bores you, you’ll say so, won’t you?—Your affectionate nephew, - - ROY - -_P.S._—I haven’t seen Stella since that awful Elysian business. - - - - -XCVII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I have to confess to a sad failure. You must know that I am -always hoping for an adventure that shall be worth narrating in a letter -to you, and sometimes I even strive for them. My latest deliberate -flirtation with the Goddess of Chance occurred this afternoon; and being -deliberate it failed. At least there is nothing in it for the immediate -and sacred purpose: but one never knows how long an arm can be. - -It happened this way. I had invited Anna—you know, Fred Distyn’s -sister—to a matinée; and she was to meet me in the lobby five minutes -before the rise of the curtain. I was there even earlier and stood -waiting and watching the eager faces of the arriving audience for fully -ten minutes after the play had begun. This eagerness to be inside a -theatre and witness rubbish is (as you know) a terrible commentary on -life and the intellectual resources of civilization; but that is beside -the point. - -Having waited for a quarter of an hour I then deposited with the -commissionaire a minutely-painted word-portrait of Anna, together with -her ticket, and took my seat. - -When the first Act was over and there was still no Anna, I told the -commissionaire to find some one in the street who looked as though a -theatre would amuse him—or, if need be, her—and invite him or her to -occupy the empty place. - -Now could one set a better trap for Fortune than that? - -But it was a hopeless fiasco. Instead of playing the Haroun Al Raschid -and going out into the highways and byways, the commissionaire gave the -ticket to his wife, who happened to be calling on him for some of his -Saturday wages. My own fault, of course, for I ought to have gone myself. -One should never delegate the privileges of romance. - -Here is an old favourite, for a change:— - - Jenny kissed me when we met, - Jumping from the chair she sat in; - Time, you thief, who love to get - Sweets into your list, put that in! - Say I’m weary, say I’m sad, - Say that health and wealth have missed me, - Say I’m growing old, but add - Jenny kissed me. - -I suppose you know that the Jenny of this poem was Jane Welsh -Carlyle?—Your devoted - - R. H. - - - - -XCVIII - -NICHOLAS DEVOSE TO VERENA RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -Am at Garland’s Hotel, tell me what to do. - - NICHOLAS - - - - -XCIX - -NESTA ROSSITER TO ROY BARRANCE - - -DEAR ROY,—Aunt Verena asks me to say that she will be delighted if you -will come for a few days next week, but she warns you that you will find -things very slow here. We are a small party, the liveliest of us being -my little Lobbie, whom I don’t think you have seen. As she is now six, -this shows that you have neglected your kith and kin. If you care for -fishing you had better bring your rod, as the Arrow is not far off. And I -wish you would go to that shop in the Haymarket just above the Haymarket -Theatre and get one of those glass coffee machines—medium size. I should -also like a biggish box of Plasticine for Lobbie.—Your affectionate -cousin, - - NESTA - - - - -C - -VERENA RABY TO NICHOLAS DEVOSE - - -DEAR,—I have thought much since your last letter and more still since -the telegram came. Please do not come yet. I could not bear it. Old as -the rest of me has become, all that appertains to you is preserved, as -though in some heart-cell apart, and as fresh as yesterday. I am not -equal to the emotion of seeing you just yet, nor am I sure that I want -to. The you that I know is no longer the you that others see—he is young -and ambitious and often masterful and yet with such strange fits of -misgiving. But I should love to have a portfolio of your sketches, if you -could trust them to the railway. Choose those that you think the best or -that you made under the happiest conditions. No, let there be one or two -when you were least happy. - -Are you grey? I am. - - SERENA - - - - -CI - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I hope that this heat isn’t too much for you, but perhaps your -circumambient heights promote a breeze. London has been stifling. The -War has certainly broken down many of our old conventions. Who, even -in the hottest summer, ever before saw bathing in the Trafalgar Square -fountains? Or stark naked boys careering round Gordon’s statue. But I -saw them to-day—a score of them—with a policeman after them; for against -bathing there is a law to break, apparently. The constable did not run, -he merely advanced; but they scampered before him, all gleaming in the -evening sun, dragging their scanty clothes behind them, and those who -were leading paused now and then to get a leg into their trousers, -hesitated, failed, and were away again. It is astonishing how little -space can intervene between what appears to be a sauntering policeman and -a naked fleeing boy. This constable was like Fate. - -I once read somewhere that clever women always tell men that they look -overworked. Yesterday I made the discovery of a form of words even more -soothing when proceeding from feminine lips: another weapon in the clever -woman’s verbal armoury—should she need any assistance that way. The -solicitous phrase “You are looking overworked,” is unction perhaps more -for the young than the middle-aged and elderly. No young man, however -conscious of his own abysmal laziness, can resist it, or want to resist -it. But the maturer man—the man to whom Father Time’s chief gift is an -increase of girth—must be differently handled. He may be overworked, but -to be told about it, however seducingly, does not much interest him. -Besides he knows when it is not true: when what looks like the effect of -overwork (supposing the lady to have something to go upon) is really due -to late hours or a glass too many. In short, he is a little too old for -any flattery but the kind of flattery he is not too old for. Therefore -the clever woman, in dealing with him, must do otherwise. Taking him by -the hand, she must look at his features with a close and careful scrutiny -which, although it is assumed, can be extremely comforting, and then say, -in a tone almost of triumph, “You’re getting thinner.” - -Isn’t it about time that you sent me another medical report? Here is a -passage in Swift’s letters that I hit upon last night:— - -“And remember that riches are nine parts in ten of all that is good in -life, and health is the tenth; drinking coffee comes long after, and -yet it is the eleventh; but without the two former, you cannot drink it -right.” - -And here is to-day’s poem:— - - If on a Spring night I went by - And God were standing there, - What is the prayer that I would cry - To Him? This is the prayer: - O Lord of Courage grave, - O Master of this night of Spring! - Make firm in me a heart too brave - To ask Thee anything! - -Who do you think wrote that? It is a very fine specimen of what I call -“Novelists’ poetry”—the poetry which men known for their prose and -romance now and then produce. Most of them occasionally try their hand, -and often very interestingly. One of the best short poems in the language -is an epitome of the life of man by Eden Phillpotts. Grant Allen wrote -some remarkable lines. The author of _The Children of the Ghetto_ has -published a volume of his verses which is full of arresting things. -Thomas Hardy, of course, has become poet altogether, and Maurice Hewlett -seems to be that way inclined. But still I don’t tell you who wrote the -lines just quoted: John Galsworthy. - - R. H. - - - - -CII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -MY DEAR RICHARD,—I have come to the conclusion that the immediate -need is to get my will properly fixed up. If you won’t accept the -responsibility of distributing money according to your own judgment I -must make some definite bequests. I calculate that after relations and -friends and certain dependants are provided for or remembered, there -ought to be as much as £50,000 to leave for some specific useful purpose. -It might go to build and endow alms-houses, it might form a benevolent -fund of some kind. Please concentrate on this question, even though it -tends towards that pernicious evil “interference.” - -I am in momentary fear of losing Miss Power because her mother has been -ill; but hope for the best. I don’t know what we should do without her. - - V. - - - - -CIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -Now, Verena, you’re talking. The interest on £50,000 at five per cent, -with income-tax at present rate deducted, would be, say, £1750. Well, you -can do lots of things with £1750 a year. - -Have you ever heard of the National Art Collections Fund? This is a -society of amateurs of art who collect money in order to acquire for the -nation pictures and drawings and sculptures which the nation ought not -to miss but which it has no official means of purchasing. For although -we have a National Gallery of the highest quality, the Treasury grant -for buying new masterpieces for it is so small that, unless private -enterprise assists, everything goes to America. How would you like your -£1750 a year to assist the purchase of pictures for the nation—whether -hung in London or elsewhere—for ever? - -And then have you ever heard of the National Trust for the Preservation -of Places of Historic Interest and Natural Beauty? This was founded by -the late Octavia Hill with the purpose of acquiring for the nation, for -ever, beauty spots and open spaces and old comely buildings. Isn’t that -a good and humane idea? To preserve a piece of grass land, with all its -trees intact, in the midst of a new building estate! All kinds of parks -and commons and hill-tops are now inviolate through the activities of -this Society. Would you like your money to strengthen their hands? No one -with money to spare who followed Octavia Hill could go wrong. - -That is enough for the present; but I will supply further hints. - -You want stories, you say. Here is one which was told yesterday, at Mrs. -Beldham’s, by a very attractive and humorous woman. We had been talking -of jewels; apropos, I think, of Lady Crowborough’s pearl necklace which -she took off and allowed me to hold. Nothing more exquisite than the -temperature and texture of them could I imagine; only about twenty-five -thousand pounds’ worth, that’s all. I wonder that the psychic quality -of jewels has not appealed more to novelists, for there can be no doubt -that they are curiously sympathetic. Pearls in particular, which grow -the finer the more constantly and intimately they are worn by congenial -wearers, but which languish and decline in lustre as their wearer loses -health, and worn on some necks refuse to glow and shine at all. I can see -a Hawthorney kind of story in which the living pearls of a dead mistress -play a subtle part. - -Anyway, we were talking about precious stones, and this Mrs. Dee told -us her hard case. For she is the owner of some of the most beautiful -emeralds that exist in this country: the owner, but she cannot get at -them. They belonged, she said, to her Aunt Emily, and it was always -understood that upon the death of that estimable and ageing lady they -were to descend to her. It was, indeed, in the will. And so they would -have done, had not the too officious layers-out neglected to remove them -from the old lady’s neck. - -“Gray’s ‘Elegy in a Country Churchyard’,” said Mrs. Dee, “is a -melancholy poem, but its sadness is as nothing compared with mine, when I -sit beside Aunt Emily’s grave in the Finchley Road cemetery and think of -all my jewels growing dim only six feet or so below me.” - - R. H. - -_P.S._—Behold to-day’s poem:— - - Men say they know many things; - But lo! they have taken wings, - The arts and sciences, - And a thousand appliances; - The wind that blows - Is all that anybody knows. - - - - -CIV - -ROY BARRANCE TO HIS SISTER HAZEL - - -BEST OF BEANS,—I am having quite a good time here, after all. One of the -carriage horses isn’t at all a bad hack and there’s some ripping country. -At the end of Hargest Ridge there’s an old race-course which hasn’t been -used for centuries, where you can gallop for miles. Aunt Verena looks -perfectly fit but she has to keep still. She is awfully decent to me -and really wants to set me on my feet. Why is it that Aunts and Uncles -can be so much jollier and more sympathetic than fond parents? One of -Nesta’s kids is here too—Lobbie—and we have a great rag every bed-time. -Aunt Verena doesn’t seem to think that I am cut out for the Diplomatic -Service. Perhaps not. Personally I should prefer to manage an estate. If -it comes to the worst, there’s always the stage, but after the Stella -incident the very thought of singing musical-comedy songs makes me -shudder. There’s rather a nice Irish girl here, who reads to Aunt Verena, -named Clemency Power. She was in a canteen in France during the War. I -never met a Clemency before. She’s got a heavenly touch of brogue. - -Tell me all about things and how the home-barometer reads. Is it still -“Stormy”?—Yours till Hell freezes, - - ROY - - - - -CV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, with a view to getting assistance towards the solution of -the great testamentary problem, I went yesterday to see Bemerton the -bookseller and inquire about the literature of charity (for, as that -witty cleric, the late Dean Beeching, wrote:— - - It all comes out of the books I read - And it all goes into the books I write - -—or, more accurately, the letters I write, for I have never touched -authorship proper) and he produced from those inexhaustible shelves a -report on alms-houses and kindred endowments published in 1829 under the -title _The Endowed Charities of the City of London_. This exceedingly -formidable tome I am going to peruse and send you the results; and -really I don’t think I could do a more disinterested thing, for none -of your money is coming to me, and it consists of nearly eight-hundred -double-column pages of the kind of small type into which the Editor -of the _Times_ puts the letters of the most insignificant of his -correspondents. - -Bemerton, by the way, told me a very nice ghost story which, when I can -find an hour or two, I am going to write out for you. It was told him by -a distinguished Orientalist, and he believes it and I should like to. - -There’s a threat of Prohibition coming to England too, but I hope -against it. There is too much of “Thou shalt not” in the world. If people -were trusted more, there would probably be less excess and folly. So -far as I can gather from those who know America, one effect—and by no -means a desirable one—of the dry enactment is to increase trickery and -mendacity. The illicit sale of alcoholic beverages still goes on, but as -it is illegal it must be done secretly and lies must be told to cover it. -Personally I would rather think of a nation too convivially merry than of -one systematically deceptive. - -Omar should be arrayed against Prohibition at once: - - A blessing, we should use it, should we not? - And if a curse, why then Who set it there? - -—that wants some answering. All the same, there are probably more people -who would be better for less drink than those who would be improved by -more; but the second class exists. I have met several of them. - -One of the best commentaries on abstinence by compulsion is that of -Walter Raleigh, the Professor of Literature. During the War there was a -movement at Oxford to prevent Freshers’ Wines and keep all intoxicants -out of the Colleges; and a petition to the Vice-Chancellor to this effect -was signed by a large number of persons, chiefly in Holy Orders. Walter -Raleigh, however, wouldn’t sign it, and this is part of the letter in -which he gave his reasons:— - -“I cannot think it wise to ask the resident members of the University -to adopt rules drafted for them by a body of petitioners the bulk of -whom are neither responsible for the discipline of the Colleges nor well -acquainted with the life of the undergraduates. - -“A certain amount of freedom to go wrong is essential in a University, -where men are learning, not to obey, but to choose. - -“Thousands of the men whose habits you censure have already died for -their people and country. Virtually all have fought. Why is it, that when -the greatest mystery of the Christian religion comes alive again before -our eyes, so many of the authorized teachers of Christianity do not see -it or understand it, but retire to the timid security of a prohibitive -and negative virtue? Your petition is an insult to the men who have saved -you and are saving you.” - -—That’s pretty good, don’t you think? - - R. H. - - - - -CVI - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DEAREST MUMMY,—I hope you will come home soon. We are not having much -fun, nurse is so stubbern. Topsy brought in a mole yesterday and you -never saw such darling little hands as it has. Daddy has promised to have -a coat made up for you if we get a thousand of them. - -I wish you would write to nurse to say that I needn’t have cod liver oil. -A telegram would be better and I will pay you back for it out of my money -box. - -Uncle Hugh has sent Cyril a toy theatre and we are going to do Midsummer -Night’s Dream which Daddy says was by bacon. He won’t tell us what he -means. - -When you come home you will find a surprise in the garden. I mean you -will if it comes up. We have sown Welcome in mignonette in the bed under -your sitting-room window but there are such lots of slugs that we can’t -count on it. - -Daddy says that he is much more important than Aunt Verena.—Your loving - - TONY - - x x x x x x - x x x x - - - - -CVII - -NICHOLAS DEVOSE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAREST SERENA,—I am sending a selection, and an easel with them. I -suggest that you adopt the Japanese custom and change them periodically. -The Japanese make each picture the King of the Wall for a week or so -in turn, but I should like you to have a fresh one of my drawings on -the easel every day—for the whole day. That is, of course, if you like -them. I cannot tell you how happy I am to be allowed to do this. I feel -that I am again in your life, but with perfect safety: vicariously, so -to speak, but with the fullest fidelity too. Let some one advise me of -safe arrival. I am sending you sixty picked things—so you must be well -again in sixty days! But I daresay that if you did the picking you would -make a totally different choice. One of the tragic things in an artist’s -life—and I don’t mean by artist only a painter—is the tendency of people -to admire what he thinks his least worthy efforts. - - N. D. - - - - -CVIII - -CLEMENCY POWER TO PATRICIA POWER - - -ANGEL PAT,—I am so sorry about Herself. Of course I’ll come directly, -if it’s necessary. I have told Miss Raby and she agrees. Let me have a -telegram anyhow directly you get this. I’ll tell you a secret, Pat. I -have an admirer, and at any moment he may sue for my hand! Or such is my -unmaidenly guess. It’s this plaguey Kerry voice of mine. Every one says -sweet things about it, but for this boy—Miss Raby’s nephew who has been -staying here—it’s been too much entirely. That he will propose I feel -certain and I wish he wouldn’t. I was bothered enough in France, but one -doesn’t take War proposals seriously, especially when the men are away -from their own country. But this boy is as eager as a trout stream.—Yours, - - CLEM. - - - - -CIX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA, I now send you some notes collected from the perusal of -the gigantic volume on the Endowed Charities of London as they were -examined by a commission early in the last century. It is a monument to -the public-spirited dead. In London the benefactions run chiefly to free -schools, alms-houses, subsidized sermons and doles of bread and coal—“sea -coal,” as it is usually called. Now and then there is an original -touch, as when one Gilbert Keate gave to the parish of St. Dunstan’s -in the East—you know, the church with the lovely spire built on flying -buttresses—“£60, to be lent gratis, yearly, during the space of four -years, to three young men inhabitants of this parish (one of them to be -of the Dolphin precinct), by the vestry, to each £20 on good security, -by bond for repayment at four years’ end, as the inhabitants in vestry -should think fit.” - -Samuel Wilson did even better, his will, dated October 27th, 1766, -containing this clause: “And my mind and will further is, that the said -sum of twenty thousand pounds, or whatever sum be so paid by my said -executors to the said chamberlain, shall be and remain as a perpetual -fund, to be lent to young men who have been set up one year, or not more -than two years, in some trade or manufacture, in the city of London, or -within three miles thereof, and can give satisfactory security for the -repayment of the money so lent to them; ... and further my mind and will -is, that no part of this money shall be lent to an alehouse keeper, a -distiller or vendor of distilled liquors.” - -That seems to me to be a very excellent disposition of money; but -probably it is not in your line. The Corporation of London was appointed -to manage the charity, but as a rule these rich City men left their money -to their Chartered Companies for distribution. Where alms-houses, for -example, are built and endowed there must obviously be some organization -to carry them on; and the City Companies, who are commonly supposed to -devote their time to eating and drinking, really exist largely for this -admirable purpose. So do churchwardens; carrying round the plate is but a -small part of their duties. - -Here is a pretty compliment, to take the taste of all that away:— - - If I were a rose at your window, - Happiest rose of its crew, - Every blossom I bore would bend inward: - They’d know where the sunshine grew. - -A letter from an old friend making his first long voyage reaches me -to-day from Aden. He says, “Why don’t artists oftener paint circular -pictures? Nothing could be more beautiful than the views of water and -sky, and now and then of scenery or buildings, that I have been getting -through my porthole. I would almost go so far as to say that round -pictures are the only ones—at any rate of the open air. You should get -one of the Galleries to arrange a Porthole Exhibition and start the -fashion.”—Good night, - - R. H. - -_P.S._—Here is the latest definition of appendicitis. “The thing you -have the day before your doctor buys a Rolls-Royce.” - - - - -CX - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—Since Roy has come back from his visit, I seem to know -so much more about you. I don’t mean that he tells us anything, but he -answers questions. I want to thank you for your kindness to him, which -was just what he was needing to pull him together, because father never -has time to take any real interest in him and is impatient too. Fathers -and sons so often, it seems to me, are the last people who ought to meet. -Mothers and daughters can hit it off badly enough and misunderstand each -other thoroughly, but I don’t think there is so much real hostility -between them as between those others. I don’t think hostility is the -word; it is a kind of rivalry, particularly as the mother usually takes -the boy’s side. Anyway, if you are going to be as much interested in -poor old Roy as he says, I am sure he will buck up and do something -worth while, because he has lots of ability and makes friends too. In -fact, when it comes to the other sex he makes them too easily. His chief -trouble is that he had just enough Army life to unsettle him and not -enough to give him discipline. The War came for him at the wrong time: he -ought to have been younger and escaped it or older and have gone properly -into it. - -I was much more lucky, for I shall never regret a moment of my V.A.D. -work. But I wish I could be busy again. So does nearly every girl I -know. We all miss the War horribly; which sounds a callous and selfish -thing to say, but isn’t really. It shows, however, that there must be -something very wrong with our civilization if it needs a ghastly thing -like that to give thousands and thousands of girls their only chance to -be useful!—Your loving - - HAZEL - -_P.S._—A hospital nurse I know said a funny thing yesterday. She said -that one of the tragedies of nursing is that the officer you restore to -life is so seldom the officer you want to dine out with; and another -tragedy is that that is what he can’t understand. - - - - -CXI - -PATRICIA POWER TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -DEAREST CLEM,—Herself is herself again. - -Your news is very exciting. Of course you were bound to have a proposal -at Kington, because you have them everywhere. I rather like the sound of -the boy. Do tell me some more about him and how you yourself feel. There -seem to be no boys here, except the Luttrells and the Hills, and they -are not very luscious; but there’s to be a dance at Kenmare and perhaps -we shall see a new face or two then. O Lord for some new faces! (The -maiden’s prayer.) - -What about that Doctor out in France? Where does he come in? You mustn’t -be a heart-breaker, you know, darling. - -Dilly and Dally grow in beauty day by day and go on giving amazing -supplies of milk. Old Biddy Sullivan has been drinking again. Mrs. -O’Connor’s little girl the other day was overheard laying it down as a -maxim, to her brother, that one should always tell the truth, not because -it is right, but because “you can be sure your friends will find you -out.” They do, don’t they?—Your loving and jealous - - PAT - - - - -CXII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA, I return to the Charity Book. Behold the case of Peter -Symonds, which may, or may not, offer suggestions. “Peter Symonds, by -will, dated 4th April, 1586, gave to the parson and churchwardens of All -Saints, Lombard Street, yearly, for ever, £3, 2s. 8d., to be received -of the churchwardens and socialty of the Company of Mercers, to be -employed by the said parson and churchwardens in manner following, viz. -to pay 30s. thereof yearly, on Good Friday, to the children of Christ’s -Hospital, in London, on condition that the same children, or threescore -of them at least, should, on the same Good Friday, in the morning, -yearly, for ever, come into the said church of All Saints ... and he -directed that the said parson and churchwardens should bestow 3s. 4d. -in the purchase of good raisins, which should be divided in threescore -parts, in paper, and one part given to each child; and he gave 16d. of -the said £3, 2s. 8d. to the beadles of the hospital, who should come with -the children.” - -Peter Symonds was a man, and perhaps you would rather be guided by a -woman. If so, observe the example of Margaret Sharles:— - -“By will, dated 2nd September, 1600, Margaret Sharles bequeathed £20 -unto such a learned man as her overseers should think good, to preach -every week in the year, in the parish of Christ Church ... she also -bequeathed to the vicar and churchwardens, £5 a year, to be employed for -ever, towards the relief of the vicar, curate, clerk, and sexton by the -discretion of the churchwardens there; she also gave unto and amongst her -poor tenants within the said parish, £6 yearly, for ever, to be bestowed -in manner following: £1, 6s. 8d. for a load of great coals; 16s. for -a thousand billets, to be distributed amongst her said tenants, three -days before Christmas, and the residue thereof to be spent upon a dinner -for her said poor tenants on Christmas Day, at the sign of the Bell, in -Newgate-market.” - -Even better, for your purpose, is the example of Jane Shank:— - -“By will, dated 7th July, 1795, Mrs. Jane Shank directed that the -Painter-stainers’ Company should divide the interest on her fortune -into twelve equal parts, and shall apply eleven-twelfth parts thereof -in payment of pensions of £10 a year, to indigent blind women, and -retain the remaining twelfth part as a compensation for their trouble -and expenses. Jane Shank requested that the Company would advertise for -proper objects of the charity in two morning and two evening papers, -three times each, as often as any vacancies should happen; and she -directed that the persons to be elected should be of the age of 61 years -at the least, should have been blind three years, should be widows -or unmarried, and unable to maintain themselves by any employment, -should be in distressed circumstances, born in England, not in Wales or -Ireland, have lived three years in their present parish, have no income -for life above £10 a year, never having received alms of any parish or -place, never having been a common beggar, and being of sober life and -conversation.” - -Jane, you see, was a forerunner of Sir Arthur Pearson of St. Dunstan’s, -who would, I am sure, have no difficulty in recommending a suitable -destination for any spare funds of your own. - -But I must not weary you (or myself) with these testaments. - -Here is a story that was told by my friend, Mrs. Torwood Leigh. Towards -the end of the War she gave a party to an Officers’ mess stationed in the -neighbourhood, and almost every guest exceeded. The next day, when they -called to return thanks, each one in turn took her aside to apologize—for -another! - -And here is the poem: something lighter for a change:— - - I recollect a nurse called Ann - Who carried me about the grass, - And one fine day a fair young man - Came up and kissed the pretty lass. - She did not make the least objection, - Thinks I “Ha ha! - When I’m grown up I’ll tell mamma.” - And that’s my earliest recollection. - -That is a poem by a man pretending to infancy. Here is a genuine -child-product, one of the lyrics of a little American girl named Hilda -Conklin. Don’t you think it rather beautiful? - -WATER - - The world turns softly - Not to spill its lakes and rivers, - The water is held in its arms - And the sky is held in the water. - What is water, - That pours silver, - And can hold the sky? - -Good night, - - R. H. - - - - -CXIII - -VERENA RABY TO NICHOLAS DEVOSE - - -DEAR,—They are beautiful, and so like you. I shall set them up daily, one -by one, as you wish—and it is a charming idea and will make the nights so -exciting, for some one else will choose them for me and it will be all -a surprise! But I had to go through the whole sixty first. How could I -wait? Why, I might die! - -How wonderful a world it is, and how fortunate are those who can travel -about and feast their eyes on it—and yet how sad you rovers must be! -Especially at sunset! Some of your painted sunsets are almost more than I -can bear, but what they must have been to you I can only guess. And how -more than fortunate are those, like you, who can capture so much of all -this beauty and preserve it for others! - -None the less I don’t envy the traveller. “East, west, home’s best”; and -yet perhaps home should rightly be where oneself is; perhaps we are too -prone to surround ourselves with comforts in one spot and disregard the -big world. But after lying here so long it seems as if there would be no -joy in any travel to equal one brief walk round the garden.—Thank you -again. - - SERENA. - - - - -CXIV - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR AUNT,—You will begin to think of me as a business man and -nothing else, even although so many of my schemes have come to nothing. -But I assure you I am quite human too and often think of your illness -with sincere regret. If I have had bad luck with my schemes, it is due -to the fact, which is no disgrace, that they are before their time. I -have been, in a way, too far-sighted. I have seen the public needs too -soon, before even the public is conscious of them; which commercially is -a mistake. One cannot, however, change one’s nature. My great distress -is that I have as yet failed to convince you of my general acuteness, -at any rate to the point of support. Without a little capital a young -experimentalist can do nothing, and I have only my brains. - -The project which I am now about to lay before you is, however, so -different from the others, and so romantic and picturesque, that I feel -sure you will be interested. It also offers chances of rich returns. - -There is somewhere in Mexico a lake with which is associated a very -remarkable religious ceremony. On a certain day in the year the priest -of the community, accompanied by thousands of worshippers, proceeds to -the shore of this lake, where, after some impressive rites, he enters the -water. The others remain outside. The priest wades steadily out into the -lake, the bottom of which slopes very gradually, until his head alone is -visible. - -(All this may sound very odd to you, but you must remember, dear Aunt, -that the Mexicans are a strange race and that foreign religions can often -appear grotesque to us. My informant, a very cultivated man, assures me -that, in this lake business, the comic element is lacking, such is the -fervour of the multitude.) - -Very well then, the priest, having reached the farthest point, remains -standing there while the people set to work to tear off their jewels and -ornaments, which were brought for the purpose, and to fling them at him. -The idea is that if the article thrown reaches him or goes beyond him, -the thrower’s sins are forgiven. _But the point for you and me is that -whether you throw far or throw short, the jewels and ornaments fall into -the water and sink._ - -Now this has been going on for ages, and since it would be impious for -the Mexican believers to attempt to recover any of the treasure it -follows that it is there still. My plan is very simple—merely to form -a small company and to drain the lake. I can give you no particulars -at the moment—I have not even ascertained how big the lake is—but I am -being very active about it and am already on the track of a first-class -engineer. As he, however, requires a financial guarantee, I am hoping -that you will see your way to invest, say, £1000 at once and perhaps more -later.—I am, your affectionate nephew, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - -_P.S._—How interesting it would be if I could spend my honeymoon visiting -the place with Hazel and making inquiries! But alas! that is probably too -rosy a dream. - - - - -CXV - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO HER MOTHER - - -DARLINGEST MUMMY,—Thank you for being such an angel about the cod liver -oil. I like Ovaltine much better but Daddy says it is to make you lay -eggs. - -Sarah was so funny yesterday. Daddy told her to bring him last week’s -_Punch_ from the library and she brought a much older one. When he was -cross with her she said “O I never look at dates.” You should have seen -Daddy’s face. And to-day when she was telling us about the butcher -being rude to her she said “But I don’t mind, I always treat him with -ignorance.” - -Nurse’s young man, Bert Urible, has been here. He has come back from -Messupotamia. Cyril saw him kiss her in the kitchen. He bought us some -pear drops and nurse took some of his War relics upstairs to show Daddy -and Daddy sent for him and gave him a whisky and soda. When I asked him -if he had killed many Turks he said “Not half.”—Your loving - - TONY - - x x x x - x x x x - - - - -CXVI - -ROY BARRANCE TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -DEAR MISS POWER,—I hope you won’t think it awful cheek of me to write -to you but you were saying the other day that you wondered if it was -necessary to get a passport to go to Ireland now. I thought you would -like to know that it isn’t. I inquired about it at Cook’s. But I hope -you are not going home just yet, for I am sure my aunt can’t spare you. -I wish all the same that when you do go I could be there, for Ireland is -one of the places I have always wanted to see, and I have always felt -that the only decent thing to do is to give them Home Rule and have done -with it. A fellow I know in the Air Force who came from Kerry says it is -ripping.—I am, yours sincerely, - - ROY BARRANCE - -_P.S._—If you are going to Ireland and would send me a wire I would meet -you and help you through London. - -_P.S. 2._—The evening papers are full of more Irish outrages. I don’t -think you ought to travel alone. - - - - -CXVII - -CLEMENCY POWER TO ROY BARRANCE - - -DEAR MR. BARRANCE,—It was very kind of you to trouble about the -passport. I hope not to be leaving Miss Raby until she has really done -with me, but my Mother, who lives near Kenmare, is sometimes not very -well and I might be sent for and should not like to have to be delayed -by red tape. Yes, Kerry is very lovely and I find myself longing for it -most of the time. But I doubt if you would care for a country that is so -wet. English people are so often disappointed to find only grey mists -and rain. For fine weather June is the best month in our parts, but I -like it all—grey mists and rain hardly less than the sunshine. Lobbie has -been very naughty since you left and goes to bed in the dumps instead -of in the highest spirits. I am reading Miss Raby the loveliest Irish -book—indade and it’s more than that, it’s a Kerry book—just now, called -_Mary of the Winds_, and sometimes I am so homesick I can’t go on at all -at all. It’s destroyed I am with the truth of it!—I am, yours sincerely, - - CLEMENCY POWER - - - - -CXVIII - -ROY BARRANCE TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -DEAR MISS POWER,—Please don’t think of me as nothing but English. -There’s quite a lot of Irish blood in our family, some way back, and I -always feel drawn to the Irish and sorry for them. As for wet weather I -love it when I’m prepared for it; and I’ve got a topping Burberry. I got -that book you mentioned, _Mary of the Winds_, but it’s a little off my -beat. I would give anything to hear you read it, it would be just too -lovely, and better than any music. I hope you don’t mind my saying that -I think your ordinary voice absolutely top-hole, the most ripping thing -I ever listened to. There isn’t any music, not even “You’re here and I’m -here,” to touch it. Most people have to sing to be musical, but all you -need to do is to talk and it beats a concert hollow. I would love to have -it on a gramophone.—I am, yours sincerely, - - ROY BARRANCE - - - - -CXIX - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA, you ought perhaps to know about the St. Ethelburga Society -School, where 36 boys and 20 girls were educated, and fully re-clothed -once a year—being taught reading, writing and arithmetic and the -catechism, with Lewis’s explanation—and all for £1400 permanent funds and -occasional subscriptions and donations. But of course money was worth -more then than in our reckless post-War day. For example, at the St. -Bride’s School 80 boys and 70 girls were educated, of whom 40 boys and 30 -girls were also clothed and apprentice fees of £3 given with certain of -the boys—and this on an income of £375. - -I have long thought that a handbook should be compiled for the benefit -of persons, like yourself, who are philanthropically disposed but don’t -know what to do. It might have some such title as “Philanthropic Hints to -Those about to Make their Wills,” or “The Inspired Testator,” or “First -Aid to Imaginative Bequest” or “The Prudent Lawyer Confounded” or “How -to be Happy though Dead.” In this book an alphabetical list would be -given of the less fortunate ones of the earth and suggestions offered -as to what a little money could do towards a periodic gilding of their -existence. No one could compile it without the assistance of my London -Charity report or similar works. - -For a change let me give you a poem in prose:— - -FATHER-LOVE - -One hears so much of mother-love. - -The phrase alone is expected to touch the very springs of emotion. - -There are songs about it, set to maudlin music; there is, in America, a -Mother’s Day. - -God knows I have no desire to bring the faintest suspicion of ridicule -to such a feeling, even to such a fashion; - -The stronger the bonds that unite mothers and children the better for -human society; - -The more we think of and cherish our mothers the better for ourselves. - -We owe so much tenderness to them not merely because they gave us life, -but because they are women and as such have a disproportionate burden of -drudgery and endurance and grief. - -All the same, why was it that when, the other evening, I saw a -grey-haired father—my host—thinking himself unobserved, stroke the head -of his grown-up son (a father too) and the son lay his hand on his -father’s with a caressing gesture for a moment, but with a slightly -guilty look—why was it that something melted within me (as it never does -when I watch the embraces of mothers and sons) and my eyes suddenly -dimmed? - -Good night, - - R. H. - - - - -CXX - -LOUISA PARRISH TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA,—I have just returned from the funeral of my brother -Claude, one of the most beautiful interments I was ever privileged to -attend. With great forethought he had himself selected the site when the -cemetery was first laid out, choosing a spot between two lovely firs on -the high ground where the view is so extensive. He always was so careful -in his ways, and this is but another example of his kindly consideration -for others. By the blessing of Heaven the day was fine, but the mourners -were protected from the sun by the grateful shade of the trees—exactly, I -feel sure, as my dear brother had planned. Now and then, when I was able -to raise my eyes, there lay the wonderful panorama before me. - -The funeral attracted a large concourse, Claude having been a public man -held in the greatest esteem and affection, and there were few dry eyes. -The coffin was very plain, for he always held that it was a waste of -money to spend it lavishly on the trappings of mortality. - -Forgive me if I write no more this evening, for I am tired with -travelling and sad at heart. But I wanted you to hear of the success of -the day. I often spoke to Claude about you.—Your truly affectionate - - LOUISA - - - - -CXXI - -EVANGELINE BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—I am sending you the second number of _The Beguiler_ -and we all hope it will amuse you. We also hope that no other number -will be needed, not because we are tired, but because we want you to be -well.—Your loving niece, - - EVANGELINE - - - No. 2. September, 1919 - - THE BEGUILER - OR - THE INVALID’S FRIEND - - _A Miscellany_ - - COMPILED BY - EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - ASSISTED BY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS - - -THE TEST - -A STORY - -There was once a girl named Philippa Barnes whose father and mother -died when she was seventeen. As she was too young to be married and was -very rich, she had to have a guardian, and in reply to an advertisement -a number of candidates for that position came forward. They were all -handsome elderly men of nearly forty, and when Philippa saw them she -liked most of them a good deal, but as their references were all perfect -she was puzzled how to choose. Being very fond of Shakespeare she had -read _The Merchant of Venice_ and she decided that she must devise a -test, as Portia did, but as it would be foolish to borrow the idea of the -three caskets, which most people know about, she had to invent a new one. - -All the applicants for the post of guardian were told to be at her family -mansion at ten o’clock in the morning, and when they were assembled -Philippa sent for them one by one and told each that he must recount to -her some anecdote in which he had taken part with some person of inferior -position—such as a bus-conductor or a taxi-driver or a railway porter or -a waiter or a char. When they had all finished Philippa made her choice, -which fell upon a candidate named Barclay Pole who was not so tall as -the others and not so well dressed, although his references were beyond -dispute. - -“But,” said her old nurse, who had been standing by her side all through -the interviews, “why do you choose him when there are all those handsome -ones at your disposal?” - -“Because,” Philippa said, “he was the only one who when he told the story -did not make the other person call him Sir.” - -Barclay Pole thus became her guardian and carried out his duties with -perfect success until it was time to give her hand in marriage to Captain -Knightliville of the Guards. - - “HEARTEASE” - - -PEOPLE WHO REALLY DESERVE THE O.B.E. - -II. THE POSTMAN - -When my brother was small he wanted to be a postman because he wanted to -knock double knocks; but no one who is grown up would want it, because -there is no fun in spending your life in delivering letters to other -people, other people’s letters are so dull. - -Other people have such odd ways with their letters. Father even is cross -when there is a letter for him and says “Confound the thing!—why can’t -they leave me alone?” But my eldest sister waits for the postman and is -miserable if he doesn’t bring her anything. - -Some people lay their letters by their plates and go on eating. This -seems to me extraordinary. - -Some of our visitors who get letters say “Excuse me” before they read -them, but others don’t. - -When I think of the postman going on for ever and ever taking letters to -other people I am convinced that he ought to have the O.B.E. - - “ROSE” - - -THE CINEMA - -One of the strange things to reflect about is what people did before the -cinema was invented. My father was an old man before he ever saw a moving -picture and when he was a boy there were none. He does not like them now -because he says he always comes away with either a headache or a flea, -but I like them excessively. - -I like the serious ones best, but my brother Jack wants the comic ones. -He can walk like Charlie Chaplin. He likes Mutt and Jeff too. I know -a girl who was photographed by a cinema man while she was at Church -Parade in the Park and the next week she saw it at a Picture Palace and -recognized herself. - -One kind of a film is always very dull and that is the kind that shows -the King shaking hands with the Lord Mayor and people coming away from -football matches. It is a very curious thing but nearly always when I -get into a cinema this kind of film happens at once and goes on for a -long time, so that it is very often too late to stay to the end of the -story-film. - -I wish they would turn more books into films. A girl I know lived in -Paris and saw _The Count of Monte Cristo_ and it was splendid. Lots of -books would make good films. The other day we all said what books we -would most like to see on the movies. Two girls came to tea and one said -_The Black Tulip_ and the other _Little Women_. Jack wanted _Twenty -Thousand Leagues under the Sea_ and I think one of Mrs. Nesbit’s books -like _The Enchanted Castle_ would be splendid. - -One thing that I don’t like about the movies is that they give you too -much time to read the short sentences in. - -It is funny how a high wind always blows in American drawing-rooms in the -cinema. - -M.P.s when you see them on the movies going to the opening of Parliament -always walk too fast. - - “DANDELION” - - -[Illustration: UNFORTUNATE MISUNDERSTANDING NEAR CHELSEA HOSPITAL] - - -HISTORICAL RHYMES - -II. LINES ON THE LANDING OF KING JOHN AFTER A CERTAIN TRAGIC EVENT - - “Long live the King” the people cried - And cheered with all their might. - They crowded to the vessel’s side - To see King John alight. - - “Will he be clad in gold and silk?” - The children, wondering, said. - “Yes, and in ermine, white as milk - With gold upon his head.” - - “Will he wear gems about his neck - And hold a sceptre rare?” - “Yes, when he stands upon the deck - You’ll see them flashing fair.” - - But lo! whose is that skimpy form - All bare and shivering? - Whose are those thin and naked legs? - It is—great Heavens!—the King! - - Why doth he cower beneath a sack, - As cold as lemon-squash? - The regal panoply, alack, - Is missing in the Wash. - - “PANSY” - - -A VISIT TO THE ZOO - -Last Saturday we all went to the Zoo. There were no lion or tiger cubs, -but we went behind the cages in the reptile house and the keeper showed -us some baby crocodiles and let us hold one. It had the funniest little -teeth like a tiny saw, and a white throat which it can close up in the -water, and a film comes over its eyes when it likes just like the shutter -of a Brownie. The keeper said it was a few months old but would very -likely live to be a hundred. - -Then he hooked a boa constrictor out of its cage and asked us to hold -it. I was frightened at first but after Jack and the others had held it -I tried. Its body feels terribly strong and electric and all the time it -is coiling about and darting out a little forked tongue. I was very glad -when the keeper took it away. - -We saw the diving birds being fed in their tank. There are two of them, -one in a cage at each end, and the keeper throws little live fish into -the tank and lets out one bird at a time. At first we were very sorry for -the poor little fish, which swim about frantically in all directions to -escape from the terrible great bird who dashes after them like a cruel -submarine; but after a while we began to want the bird not to miss any. -Isn’t that funny? And my brother Jack got so excited that he pointed out -to the bird where one of the little fish was hiding and cried out “Here -he is, look, down here! Look, in the corner!” - - “CONVOLVULUS” - - -A FABLE - -There was once a garden path paved with flat stones, and in between the -stones were little tufts of thyme and other herbs. - -On each side of the path were beds full of gay flowers, among which was -a very vain geranium, who, when no one was about, used to mock the thyme -because it was in such an exposed spot and liable to be walked on. - -“The proper place for plants,” the geranium said, “is in a bed where they -are safe from people’s feet and are treated with respect. Look at me!” - -“Yes,” said the thyme, “but the more I am trampled on the sweeter I -become and the more the lady who planted me likes me. Haven’t you seen -her squeezing me with her beautiful hands and then inhaling my fragrance, -whereas if anything hits you you are done for for ever.” - -And at that moment a tennis ball, struck out of the court near by, fell -on the geranium and broke it in two. - -The moral is that every one has his own place in life and we should mind -our own business. - - “CARNATION” - - -CORRESPONDENCE - - -I - -_To the Editor of THE BEGUILER_ - -DEAR MADAM,—You ask me to tell you what is the most depressing thing -I ever heard. It was this. I was crossing the Channel on a rough day, -feeling more miserable than I can describe and clinging to my deck-chair -because I knew that to move would be fatal, when two young men passed me, -in rude health and spirits, both smoking large pipes, and I heard one -say, “Personally, I’ve got no use for a smooth sea.” I can conceive of -nothing more offensively depressing than this. - -Hoping you can find a place for the “anecdote” in your bright little -periodical,—I am yours faithfully, - - HECTOR BARRANCE - - -II - -_To the Editor of THE BEGUILER_ - -DEAR MADAM,—I am glad to hear that you approved of my contribution to -your last number. Being still unable to write, I again send you something -copied from the works of another. It is a poem by Joyce Kilmer, a young -American killed in the war. - -Believe me, your admiring subscriber, - - RICHARD HAVEN - X His mark - - -TREES - - I think that I shall never see - A poem lovely as a tree. - - A tree whose hungry mouth is prest - Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; - - A tree that looks at God all day, - And lifts her leafy arms to pray; - - A tree that may in Summer wear - A nest of robins in her hair; - - Upon whose bosom snow has lain; - Who intimately lives with rain. - - Poems are made by fools like me, - But only God can make a tree. - -_End of Number 2 of THE BEGUILER; or, THE INVALID’S FRIEND_ - - - - -CXXII - -VERENA RABY TO EVANGELINE BARRANCE - - -MY DEAR EDITOR,—Having read your second number I feel so much better that -I am confident—to my distress—that a third will not be needed. And yet I -should so much like to read many more. I have been moved to become a poet -myself and write you a testimonial. After hours of thought in the watches -of the night I produced this couplet, which even though it is not worthy -to stand beside Pansy’s historical ballads is sincere:— - - There was once a successful _Beguiler_ - Which turned a sad dame to a smiler. - -You are at liberty to quote these lines in all your advertisements,—I am, -yours sincerely, - - CONSTANT READER - - - - -CXXIII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—I am rather upset by a piece of news this morning. Dr. -Ferguson came in to say that he is going away next week for a month’s -holiday, and I can quite believe that he needs one, for I alone must have -been a great source of anxiety to him—but it was rather a shock. He went -on to say that he has found a very good _locum_; but none the less I am -terrified. I can’t bear the thought of a stranger. - -Forgive this peevishness, but I am so tired of being helpless.—Yours, - - V. - - - - -CXXIV - -NESTA ROSSITER TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR “UNCLE,”—Aunt Verena has got it into her head that the _locum_ who -is coming next week to take Dr. Ferguson’s place will not understand her -case and she is working herself into a fret over it. Dr. Ferguson assures -me that he wouldn’t allow anyone to take his place who is not qualified -in every way, and he says too that Aunt Verena ought for every reason to -be placid. Do please write to her to help soothe her down again.—Yours -sincerely, - - NESTA - - - - -CXXV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAREST VERENA, I quite understand your nervousness about this new -doctor, but I think you should be more of a gambler over it all. You -should be more trustful of your star, which, though it (to my mind, very -reprehensively), allowed you to have a horrid fall, has made things as -comfortable as possible since. Until I hear to the contrary I intend to -think of the new doctor as a godsend, and a very agreeable change to old -Ferguson, who struck me as a prosy dog. Be an optimist, my dear. - -The more I think of your money and your character, the more I incline -towards alms-houses, which, in a human non-Nietzschean country like ours, -I consider to be among the most satisfactory forms of sheer benevolence. -But I am not wholly convinced, and I should hate to see the interest -on £50,000 going in any way astray. Meanwhile I have made notes on the -alms-houses in this book. But what perplexes me is that these benevolent -people wait till they are dead. It would be far more fun to have -alms-houses while one was alive and watch them at work. - -Here is an essay on the death of an imaginary grandmother which little -Mary Landseer has produced. The death of one’s grandmother had been set, -by an almost too whimsical instructress, as the subject of a composition:— - -“One day, I think it was the hapiest day in the world for me. My -Granmother died and left me £50. Without waiting to morn or wait for her -funral I was walking along Oxford St. in surch of things to buy. My heart -was as light as a feather as I walked and my boots were up in the ere. - -“First I thought of what my Husband would like me to have, then with a -suden thought I turned my steps home-would, and that night I went to a -play, the next a nother, and so I went on till I had only 10s. left. Then -how I wished my other Granmother was died, but it was no good. And when I -had children I wished I had not been so rash as to spend it on abusments, -but had saved it, but it was gone for ever and my other Granmother never -died, to my grat misfortune.” - -It was Mary’s father who wrote that exquisite thing to a Vicereine in -India. “I wash your feet with my hair,” he said at the end of a letter, -employing an Indian phrase of courtesy, adding, “It is true that I have -very little hair, but then you have very little feet.” - -Behold the punctual poem:— - - There is a flower I wish to wear, - But not until first worn by you— - Heartsease—of all earth’s flowers most rare; - Bring it; and bring enough for two. - -Good night, - - R. H. - - - - -CXXVI - -EMILY GOODYER TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR MADAM,—This is to let you know with my respects that the children -are quite well and happy. The puppy which Mr. Hawkes gave them takes up a -deal of their time and Miss Tony is busy collecting flowers for a prize -which her uncle has offered her. Master Cyril is not biting his nails so -much since I tried the bitter aloes. - -I am sorry to have to incommode you, but I wish to give a month’s -notice, not through any fault that I have to find with the place, which -has always been most comfortable and considerate, but because Mr. Urible -has now come back from Mesopotamia and been demobbed and he wants to be -married at once. I should have preferred to walk out a little longer, as -I feel I should like to know more of Bert now he has been in the Army, -as soldiers can be so different from greengrocers, which is the way I -used to know him before the War, but he is very firm about it and I don’t -feel that I have the right, after being engaged so long, to refuse. That -is why dear Madam I have to give notice and not through any complaint or -dissatisfaction. - -I am very sorry for it, because I am very fond of the children and I know -that it is difficult to find nursemaids now, but Mr. Urible is so firm -that I can’t do anything else. I think you would like to know that he has -grown much broader while in the Army and is a far finer figure of a man -than he was when he joined up. He has two medals.—I am, with respect, -your faithful servant, - - EMILY GOODYER - - - - -CXXVII - -NESTA ROSSITER TO EMILY GOODYER - - -DEAR EMILY,—Your letter came as a surprise: not because I was not -expecting you some day to marry, but because I was trusting to you to -keep everything at Combehurst going until Miss Raby was well enough to -spare me. Believe me that I am very glad that you have Urible safely back -again, but without wanting for a moment to interfere with your plans I -do most earnestly wish that you could postpone your wedding for a few -weeks. Having waited so long would not Urible—and you—be willing to wait -a little longer? Would not you? You have been such a comfort to us for so -long, being so trustworthy and understanding, that I am distracted when I -think of finding anyone else, especially in these times. Miss Raby still -needs me constantly and I cannot bear to abandon her now. May I think of -you as being prepared to stay another three months?—I am, yours sincerely, - - NESTA ROSSITER - - - - -CXXVIII - -EMILY GOODYER TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR MADAM,—I have read your letter several times and I have shown it to -Mr. Urible. We both feel the same about it; we feel that we have waited -long enough, especially Bert with all the dreadful things in Mesopotamia -to put up with, the thermometer sometimes being over 120 and sometimes -below freezing in a few hours. But we want to do what is right and what -Mr. Urible suggests with his respects to you Madam is that we should -be married as soon as possible, as arranged, but that, until you come -back in three months or before, I should continue to be the children’s -nurse by day. Mr. Urible is taking over Parsons’s shop and garden in the -village and we should live there. There are three nice rooms and a good -kitchen and scullery, and no doubt a neighbour will cook Bert’s meals for -him. Dear Madam we are very wishful to oblige you but Mr. Urible feels -that after all he has been through in Mesopotamia it isn’t right that he -should be kept waiting any longer.—I am, yours respectfully, - - EMILY GOODYER - - - - -CXXIX - -HERBERT URIBLE TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR MADAM, MRS. ROSSITER,—Pray excuse me writing but I wish you to -understand my position with regard to Miss Goodyer, who has been a good -nurse to your children. It is not as selfish as you think. Miss Goodyer -and I were to have married four years ago but then came the conscription -and it was impossible. While I was away she promised to marry me directly -there was Peace, but I couldn’t get demobbed till a little while ago, -which means further delay, and now she says that you have asked her to -put me off again. Pray pardon me, dear madam, but I don’t think this is -fair of you, or that it shows the right feeling for a soldier who comes -out of the War a good deal worse off than he went in. While I have been -away fighting for my country my business has gone to other people and -now I am asked to wait longer for my wife. Pardon me, madam, but I don’t -think it is fair. A man has his feelings and rights. - -Awaiting your reply,—I am, yours respectfully, - - HERBERT URIBLE - - - - -CXXX - -NESTA ROSSITER TO HERBERT URIBLE - - -DEAR MR. URIBLE,—I quite understand and agree. Perhaps you could lend -me Mrs. Urible by day just a little while until Miss Raby is well. That -would be very kind of you. - -I hope that you and Emily will be very happy.—Yours sincerely, - - NESTA ROSSITER - - - - -CXXXI - -NESTA ROSSITER TO HAZEL BARRANCE - - -DEAR HAZEL,—I am in a bother over our nice faithful Emily, who wants -to be married but is willing to go on looking after the children by -day until I can leave Aunt Verena. I don’t care about that kind of -arrangement very much; a nurse with a husband living near by is a nurse -spoiled, I should guess; but it is better than nothing. As, however, the -children might need things in the night, I am hoping you can find me -a new nurse at once. You are always so clever. I wrote to our regular -Registry Office, of course, but they tell me that there isn’t anything -on their books at the moment. Could you possibly go round to some of the -other places?—Yours distractedly, - - NESTA - - - - -CXXXII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAR RICHARD,—I am prepared to wear a white sheet and eat humble pie, -great slices of it and a second helping. The terrible _locum_ arrived -this morning and I like him and feel that he is clever and to be trusted. -His name is Field and he is young, not more than twenty-six I should say. -He is a Bart’s man, like Dr. Ferguson, and has been in France, doing -excellent work.—Yours, - - V. - - - - -CXXXIII - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -You simpleton, thinking you can get a nurse in Peace-time. There isn’t -such a thing in the world—not under £50 a year. How silly we all were -not to take a leaf out of the Darlings’ book and train Newfoundland -dogs!—only they would have to be muzzled to-day. If I were you I should -let your Emily have her way—it’s only for a few weeks—and make Fred do -more. Surely if the children want anything in the night, he could get -it.—Yours always, - - HAZEL - -_P.S._—Father is rejoicing in a séance story which was told him at the -Club. Communication was at last set up with the spirit of an old Ceylon -judge whose life had been by no means one of restraint. All that he would -say to the medium was, “I’m a dashed sight more comfortable than I ever -expected to be.” - - - - -CXXXIV - -NESTA ROSSITER TO HAZEL BARRANCE - - -O foolish virgin, how little you know of men, or at any rate of Fred! -Once he is asleep no noise in this world can wake him, and as for getting -things, he can get nothing. He is a pet, but no one ever took such -advantage of that aloofness from domestic co-operation which so many men -consider their right. In his attitude to the children he is a mixture -of a connoisseur and a comedian. He is either admiring them—against -backgrounds, æsthetically, as though they were porcelain or almond -blossom, or physically, as though they were prize puppies—or he is using -them as foils for his jokes. It is all very delightful and we are a happy -family, but it makes me smile when you suggest that he could take the -place of Emily in any capacity whatever. Children, he thinks, should be -both seen and heard, which shows that he is a modern enough parent, but -they should be seen only when they are picturesque and heard only when -they are gay. This being so, please go on trying to find a nurse. There -is always one leaving. Every day hundreds of children must grow out of -nurses.—Yours, - - NESTA - - - - -CXXXV - -BRYAN FIELD TO CLEMENCY POWER - -[_By hand_] - - -DEAR MISS POWER,—I must confess that I had hoped to get to Herefordshire, -but no more. The rest is Chance, dear beautiful Chance. - -And how did I discover that you were here too? I saw you in the garden -from Miss Raby’s window and asked. Please send me a word of pardon. I -should never try to influence Destiny.—I am, yours sincerely, - - BRYAN FIELD - - - - -CXXXVI - -CLEMENCY POWER TO BRYAN FIELD - -[_By hand_] - - -DEAR MR. FIELD,—I am glad that Herefordshire is so small and that the -long arm of coincidence has not shortened. I am even more glad that it is -you who are to take care of Miss Raby.—I am, yours sincerely, - - CLEMENCY POWER - - - - -CXXXVII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, I have no posthumous activities to recommend to-day, having just -returned from a temple consecrated to youth, where, but for its antiquity -and its Roll of Honour, no one would think of death. I mean Winchester. - -My sister’s boy is there and I went down for the day to see him: a nice -candid jolly boy. - -I came to the conclusion that there is a charm about an old public -school greater than that of a university. The boy is more engaging than -the youth: he may have “side” and affectation among his contemporaries, -but with a much older man such as I am he is himself in a way that the -undergraduate seldom is. The undergraduate’s whole desire is so often -to be taken for a man, whereas the schoolboy at most would like to -approximate to an undergraduate. - -Of all the schools that I know none is so attractive as this. Its age, -its traditions, its beauty, alone would single it out: but I am taken -with its spirit too. When I go to see Dick I naturally meet many of his -school-fellows; and I find a candour and friendliness which is a strange -contrast to the social reserves of boys from other schools I could name. -I don’t know whether the whole school is similarly fortunate, but in -Dick’s house there is a door-opening, door-closing and passing-the-salt -tendency which I fancy is often bad form elsewhere. To talk with the -immature man is never easy, wherever you find him, and my inclination -would always be to jump the gulf that is fixed between real childhood and -real manhood; but Dick’s companions are easier. - -Nephews and uncles go through strange vicissitudes. At first the uncle -is an imposing creature who appears but rarely and when he does must -be treated with respect and called Uncle on every occasion. And then -as the boy grows older and understands the powers and possibilities of -half-crowns the uncle takes on a god-like mien. And then, older still, he -meets him on more equal terms; which get more and more equal until the -time comes when he discovers that this once remarkable person is nothing -but a fogey and a bore. Some uncles, before this last stage is reached, -attach themselves to their nephews as satellites or boon companions and -vie with them in youthfulness, but I am not likely ever to do that. - -The relations of son and father have somewhat similar stages, but there -is as a rule too close a tie there to permit of the half-contemptuous -easy terms on which nephew and uncle often rub along. Dick is a good boy -and should do well. I watched him this afternoon longing to hit out but -knowing that the game demanded self-repression, and admired him and saw -earnest of sound citizenship in it. - -The next thing is to make sure he gets into my dear Bannister’s College -at Cambridge. - -But, Verena, how glorious to be a boy! And yet how comforting, now and -then, to be old enough to be useful to the young—when they will let -us!—Good night, - - R. H. - -The poem:— - - Why do our joys depart - For cares to seize the heart? - I know not. Nature says, - Obey; and man obeys. - I see, and know not why - Thorns live and roses die. - - W. S. LANDOR - - - - -CXXXVIII - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -MY DEAR NESTA,—I have had a brain-wave. Why should not I go down to -Combehurst until you are free again and sleep near the children and let -Emily go on attending to them by day, as she suggests, and keep an eye -on her? I am willing to. This would also liberate Fred for his Dormy -House, whither he could lug his clubs with a clear conscience. If you -accept this offer, don’t overwhelm me with gratitude, because I shall be -pleasing myself more than anything else, this abode being at the moment a -most suitable one to leave. - -Father’s sarcasms have had very high velocity of late. He said this -morning, for example, apropos of a very harmless young man who brought -me back from the theatre and whom I was foolish enough to ask in for -a whisky and soda, that if girls looked at men with the eyes of men -the world would come to an end, because there would be no marriages. I -replied that I supposed the effect would not be far different if men -looked at women with the eyes of women; which he would of course have -himself included if he was not eager to score off me. Not that this -young man had any more designs on me than the rest of his sex. (I don’t -count Horace.) Never was a girl so unembarrassed by suitors as I or more -willing to be so. But it is part of father’s humour to pretend that I -hunt them and that I catch only the most detrimental. How he would behave -if I really got engaged I often wonder. Probably he would play the game. - -Write as soon as you can—or telegraph if you like.—Yours, - - HAZEL - - - - -CXXXIX - -NESTA ROSSITER TO HAZEL BARRANCE - - -DARLING HAZEL,—You are an angel to come to the rescue like this and -I accept gladly. Fred will be so much relieved too, and I am sure he -deserves his holiday.—Yours, - - NESTA - -_P.S._—Quite a lot of young men have, from time to time, been seen in -the neighbourhood. - - - - -CXL - -NESTA ROSSITER TO LADY SANDYS - - -DEAR AGATHA,—My cousin Hazel Barrance is going to look after the children -and Emily—who, as you probably know, is about to marry Urible—until I -come back. (Fred is off to his golf.) It is very sporting of her and I -want you to see that she has a little amusement. She plays tennis too -well and pretends to hate men, so everything is easy for you. I long to -get back again. Kiss your fat Barbara for me.—Yours, - - NESTA - - - - -CXLI - -LADY SANDYS TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -DEAR NESTA,—I will do what I can for your cousin. Jack is bringing -several of his friends down for a home-made lawn-tennis tournament -next week-end; and that will be a start. Two or three of the Wimbledon -tournament players will be among them, we hope. - -Your Tony and Cyril were here yesterday, and in consequence the garden -hasn’t a single trace of fruit left.—Yours, - - AGATHA - - - - -CXLII - -ROY BARRANCE TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -DEAR MISS POWER,—Please don’t be angry with this letter, but I can’t -help writing it. I can’t think of anything but you, and above all the -London traffic, even the motor buses and the W.D. lorries, I hear the -music of your lovely Irish voice. I want to say that I worship you and if -you care the least little bit about me I am yours at your feet to do as -you like with. I haven’t been much of a success so far, but with you to -help me and order me about I could do anything. Aunt Verena is buying me -a share in a new concern directly, and I am sure she would adore it if -you were her niece, though only by marriage. Don’t answer this at once, -but give me the benefit of thinking me over from every point of view. Of -course you may be engaged already, or you may actively dislike me, and -in this case I must ask you to forgive me for writing, but I couldn’t -help it. If you could see yourself and hear yourself speak you would -understand why.—Your abject admirer, - - ROY BARRANCE - -_P.S._—Please answer at once and put me out of my misery. - - - - -CXLIII - -ROY BARRANCE TO CLEMENCY POWER - -[_Telegram_] - - -Don’t reply to letter am coming by afternoon train. - - - - -CXLIV - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR SISTER,—It is seldom enough that we hear from you direct, but -news gets into circulation in very curious ways and it was the oddest -chance which informed me that you may be losing the services of Nesta as -a companion during your very regrettable indisposition. Letitia is so -much stronger than she was, thanks to the nourishing delicacies which -the strictest economy in my own personal needs has made it possible for -me to obtain for her, that she is now perfectly fitted to be at your -side—where, being your sister, she ought to be—and I hereby offer our -services. I say “our” for she would not care to come alone, and I could, -I am convinced, be useful and stimulating in very many ways. I am not -surprised that Nesta should be leaving you. If the stories that I hear of -the wildness of those unmothered children of hers are true, it is more -than time that she returned to her home. A mother’s first duty is to her -brood. The ties uniting aunt and niece are of, comparatively, negligible -slenderness. Where there is, as alas! in your case, no husband, a sister -has the first claim to nourish and protect. Awaiting your reply,—I am, -your affectionate brother-in-law, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - - - -CXLV - -NESTA ROSSITER TO SEPTIMUS TRIBE - - -DEAR UNCLE SEPTIMUS,—You will be pleased to know that I have arranged -to stay on with Aunt Verena. Please give my love to Aunt Letitia.—Yours -sincerely, - - NESTA - - - - -CXLVI - -ROY BARRANCE TO HIS SISTER HAZEL - - -DARLING HAZEL, OLD THING,—Wish me luck because I am starting out on the -biggest enterprise of my life. What a pity we are not Roman Catholics and -then you could burn candles for me. I am going down to Aunt Verena’s to -propose to Clemency Power, that divine Irish girl. I wrote to her last -night but I’m such a rotten letter-writer that I’m going down to see her -in person and learn my fate. I even tried to get the letter back, but -postmen are so rottenly honest. I waited for hours in the rain for the -pillar-box to be emptied and offered him two pounds and an old overcoat, -but all he did was to threaten to call a policeman. If she accepts me -I shall be the luckiest man on earth and there’s nothing I shan’t be -able to do. You’ll see. But if she turns me down I don’t know what will -happen. I shall probably become a film-actor in broken-hearted stories. -Lots of people have said I have the right kind of mobile face for the -movies, and really there’s nothing _infra dig_ in it. Clemency is two or -three years older than I am, but I think that’s all to the good. What I -need is a steadying hand. You will adore her.—Yours ever, - - ROY - - - - -CXLVII - -ROY BARRANCE TO HIS SISTER HAZEL - - -DARLING OLD THING,—It is no good. I am down and out. The whole thing -has been a failure. To begin with, I had a hell of a journey, full of -hopes and fears alternately. In the taxi at Paddington I felt full of -buck and then while waiting for the train to start I knew I was a goner. -At Reading I began to have hopes again and at Swindon I wasn’t worth -two-pence-halfpenny. At Newport I nearly got out and came back and at -Hereford I had a big whisky and soda and was confident once more. But all -the way from the station to the house I just sweated. - -The very first thing I saw as I came up the drive was Clemency playing -tennis with the new Doctor, and my heart sank like a U boat into my -socks. I knew in my bones that everything was up; and I was right. -Whether or not Clemency is booked, I don’t know, but she won’t have me. -She was as nice as she could be, and her voice drove me frantic every -time she spoke, but she held out no hope. I expect the sawbones will -get her, he’s the kind of quiet, assured, efficient card that a flighty -blighter like me would never have a chance against. And he’s nobbled the -whole place. Aunt Verena thinks he’s It. - -I stuck it for two days and then I made an excuse and came away. -And now, what do you think I’m doing? I’m a railway porter. I carry -people’s luggage at Paddington and tell them when the train starts -for Thingumbob—if ever it does—and what time the train comes in -from Stick-in-the-mud. I was going to Ireland to fish and try to -forget—Clemency told me of a place called Curragh Lake—but the strike -came and put the lid on that for the moment. The joke is that the old -ladies all want to know what lord I am—as the papers have given them -the idea that at Paddington there are only noblemen helping.—Your -broken-hearted - - ROY - - - - -CXLVIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA, I think that we may all feel happier than we were doing. -Even if Old England stands not quite where she did, the bulldog breed is -not extinct. The way in which the nation has taken the railway trouble, -and the lightning efficiency of the food distributing arrangements, -should put dismay into enemy hearts—and under the word enemy I include -Allies and rivals—and renew our own individual and corporate ambition -and national spirit. In that way the Strike may be said to have been a -blessing in disguise, although industrially it has been a calamity. It -may also make people look a little more narrowly at their pence, which is -what we shall all have to do before long. - -The oddest things happened, not the least of which I heard of yesterday, -when one of the few K.C.’s whom it is my privilege to know showed me on -his watch chain the shilling which had been given him, in his capacity as -a porter at Victoria, by his butcher, all unconscious of his identity, as -a tip for helping with the family luggage on their return from the South -Coast. The K.C. said nothing at the time, except Thank you, but when -things are a little quieter he is going to show it to his purveyor of -indifferent Peace-time joints and enjoy a good laugh with him. - -I have been wondering if alms-houses for the rich are not more important -than for the poor. On all sides I hear of old widowed ladies who, needing -homes, or companions, spend their time in visiting one married daughter -or married son after another, when they would be far happier in a little -colony like Hampton Court. Couldn’t you do something for them? But you -would have to be very careful. If any suspicion of charity got about, -the whole scheme would fail. So you could not put them together, even in -the most exquisite little garden-village homes. They would have to be -isolated. At what point in the social scale a necessitous old lady ceases -to be willing to have her necessity known, I cannot say; but certainly -those who suffer most from it would least like it published. - -Old gentlemen don’t mind becoming Brothers of the Charterhouse, but what -about their Sisters? I doubt it. - -Only therefore by the exercise of great secrecy could you benefit them. - -And have you ever thought of the men who are tossed up and down all day -and all night on light-ships? To keep others safe. What a life and what -opportunities to the philanthropist! - -Here is the poem, which, I trust, is not too sad:— - - You come not, as aforetime, to the headstone every day, - And I, who died, I do not chide because, my friend, you play; - Only, in playing, think of him who once was kind and dear, - And if you see a beauteous thing, just say, he is not here. - -Always “_à votre service_,” as the nice French officials say in the South, - - R. H. - - - - -CXLIX - -HAZEL BARRANCE TO NESTA ROSSITER - - -MY DEAR NESTA,—You needn’t worry about things here. They are going very -smoothly. Little stomach-aches and trifles like that; nothing more. - -I had an unexpected and not too welcome visitor yesterday in the -somewhat Gothic shape of Horace Mun-Brown, who had discovered from -Evangeline where I was. He stayed to lunch—_your_ food and drink—and -talked exclusively of himself and his creative brain, both of which he -again laid at my feet. I suppose some men like the sensation of being -turned down, but I feel somehow that I should hate it. I mean as a -habit—and by the same person. Perhaps the shock to Horace’s egoism is -a kind of stimulant and he goes off and is more creative than ever. At -any rate he went away with his absurd head high in the air and what is -called a confident tread, and this morning came a long letter about his -latest scheme, which is to run a theatre called The Polyglot for plays in -foreign languages, in order to get the patronage of the various foreign -residents in London. One week a Greek play, for the Greek colony, then an -Italian, for the Italian, then a Russian, then an American, and so forth. -But he can carry this fatiguing project through successfully only if he -has my wifely co-operation and, I suppose, the necessary capital. But it -is the wifely co-operation that he insists upon and that I most cordially -resent. - -Mrs. Urible is now more punctual and does not leave so early. - -Poor Roy has just written to me about his broken heart. O that Irish -syren! But his heart mends very quickly. - -I am bidden to tennis at Lady Sandys’ on Sunday. Some real Wimbledon men -who have engaged in mixed doubles with the marvellous Lenglen. This is -too exciting.—Yours, - - HAZEL - - - - -CL - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -Now I am going to tell you the ghost story that the distinguished -Orientalist told Bemerton and Bemerton told me. I shall tell it as though -I myself were the owner of the fatal jewel—for that is the _motif_. - -We begin with the Indian Mutiny, when a British soldier broke into a -temple and wrenched the jewel from the forehead of a god. This jewel -passed into the hands of my grandfather and then my father and gradually -reached me. It was of a remarkable beauty—a huge ruby—but beyond keeping -it in a box in the dining-room and showing it occasionally to guests, I -gave little thought to my new possession. - -Neither my grandfather nor father had been too prosperous, and from -the moment the stone became mine I began to experience reverses—not -very serious, but continuous. It was a long time before I suspected any -connection between these little calamities and the jewel, but gradually -I began to do so. One evening I received a shock. Several people were -dining with me and suddenly the servant put a piece of paper in my hand -on which one of the guests had written “Am I dreaming, or is there really -a Hindoo sitting on the floor behind you? Nobody else seems to notice -him.” On my asking him about it afterwards he said that the Hindoo was -scrabbling on the ground as though digging a hole with his nails and that -he had a very malignant expression. From time to time two or three other -people, all unaware of the legend, wondered if there was not a figure of -this kind in the room, and I began to get nervous. I told the story to -a friend who knows more about India than any one living. “I should get -rid of that stone,” he said. “It’s dangerous. But you must be quit of it -scientifically.” - -I must take it, he told me, to one of the Thames bridges and throw it -into the river at dead low tide. - -With the assistance of the almanack we ascertained the exact moment and I -dropped it over. Then I went home with a light heart. - -Three months later a man called to see me. He knew, he said, that I was -interested in Oriental curiosities and he had a very remarkable one to -show me. A ruby. It had been dredged up from the Thames and he had heard -of the workman who had found it and had bought it and now gave me the -first offer. It was, of course, _the_ stone. Well, I recognize fate when -I meet it, and I bought it back. Kismet. - -But although I was willing still to own it, if such was the notion of -destiny, I was against keeping it at home any more. So I procured a metal -box and wrapped up the jewel and sealed it and locked the box and sealed -that and deposited it at my Bank in the City, where it was placed in one -of the strong rooms. That was only a little while ago. - -Last week I had occasion to visit the bank to consult the manager on some -point of business. After we had finished we chatted awhile. Looking round -at the girls at the desks—all called in to take the place of the male -clerks who had gone to the War, and many of them kept on,—I asked him how -they compared in efficiency with the men. - -He said that generally they were not so good. They were not so steady and -were liable to nerves and fancies. - -“For example,” he said, “it’s impossible to get some of them to go to the -strong room at all, because they say there is a horrible little Hindoo -squatting there and scrabbling on the floor.” - -There is no news and here is the poem. You must recover very quickly now, -under the Paragon’s treatment, because the supply of verses is running -short:— - - Oh, Cynicism, let them bleat and sigh, - Their own hearts hard, belike, and chill as stone; - Give me the soul that’s tinged with irony, - For then I know that it has felt and known. - - - - -CLI - -PATRICIA POWER TO HER SISTER CLEMENCY - - -DEAREST CLEM,—We have had a visit from your young friend, who is a great -lark. He is coming again. Indeed I believe that if Herself had asked him -to stay he would be here for ever. He thinks there is no country like -Ireland and no part of it like Kerry; which is true enough. We are very -much obliged to you, I’m sure, for sending a male thing to this nunnery. - -Herself wants to know if readers to invalid ladies never get a week’s -holiday. She pretends to want to see you. Mr. Barrance says that he -doubts if you can get away before her regular doctor returns. Don’t -forget us.—Your devoted - - PAT - - - - -CLII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA, one final word about your money. I have, I think, a really -good suggestion at last; at any rate it is one which I myself, in your -position, should follow. Not only as a valuable gift, but as a well -merited stroke of criticism, it would be a fine thing if you were to -leave the money to the Prime Minister of the day, not for his own use -but to increase the paltry £1200 which is all the money for new Civil -List pensions that this great nation can find every year. Every year the -number of claimants for its miserable little doles is far in excess of -those that can be helped, and the help is therefore of the most meagre, -and often, I should guess, useless kind. A pension of £50 a year to the -widow of this eminent but unfortunate man, £70 to the daughter of that, -and so forth—always “In consideration of his distinguished services to -Science, Literature, Art or to his country” and of “the necessitous -circumstances” of those whom he has left behind. If some of these fifties -could be turned into hundreds it would be an act of benevolence indeed. -What do you say? Alms-houses are excellent, but somehow I feel that this -is better. - -Little Mrs. Peters amused me yesterday with one of her remarks. Speaking -of the impending visit of her sister-in-law, she said, “I want to give -her a decent lunch but I don’t want to appear well off. Don’t you think -an old partridge stewed is the thing?” - -Here is the poem:— - - We wagered, she for sunshine, I for rain, - And I should hint sharp practice if I dared; - For was not she beforehand sure to gain - Who made the sunshine we together shared? - -Meanwhile there is every sign of the coming winter here. Falling leaves -everywhere.—Good night, - - R. H. - - - - -CLIII - -VERENA RABY TO RICHARD HAVEN - - -DEAREST RICHARD,—Forgive me for not answering sooner, but serious things -have been happening. - -I am entirely with you about the Civil List. I cannot believe that the -superfluity of the estate could be devoted to any better purpose and I -am arranging it at once. But there is not the urgency that there was, -because _I’m going to get better_. Mr. Field found something pressing -somewhere and removed it and I am already able to stand. Think of that! -He says that all I need now is to get some bracing change of air and lose -the weakness that comes of lying down so long. And to think that once I -was grumbling to you about his coming here at all! We never recognise, -until after, the messengers of the friendly gods. It is really a kind of -miracle and I’m so sorry about dear old Dr. Ferguson, who was always, -although the kindest thing on earth, a little gloomy and pessimistic -about me, and who will, although pleased—because his heart is gold—be -also a little displeased, by the younger man’s triumph—because his heart -is human as well. That is all, to-day, but when I tell you that I am -writing this at my desk in my bedroom—the first letter to any one under -such novel and wonderful conditions—you have got to be very happy and -drink my health. And now I half want not to get well because I shall miss -all my kind friends’ kindnesses and solicitous little acts.—Your very -grateful - - V. - -_P.S._—You must not any longer be at the pains of writing to me so -often, and I cannot allow you to be at the expense of Clemency any -more. I am now (alas!) independent of all these kind amenities; and my -dear Nesta goes home to-morrow. I have kept her too long from her home. -I shall feel lost indeed, and am wondering if health is worth such a -breakup. - - - - -CLIV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -Although it is forty shillings a bottle I drink champagne to-night. - - - - -CLV - -RICHARD HAVEN TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR, the news is terrific and I sent you a telegram at once. I am -rejoiced, and yet—what is to become of me now? I had formed habits of -talking to you every day which I greatly prized and now they are to be -broken. The young doctor is certainly a gift from heaven and I should -like his permanent address. As to Miss Power, I have not any intention of -giving her the sack but if she sends in her resignation I must accept it. -I think, however, that you make a mistake in demobilizing the staff so -rapidly. These things are best done by gradations and I, for one, intend -to remain on duty for some little while yet. I hear so many things that -have only half their flavour until they are passed on to you. You will -therefore oblige me by issuing a reprieve in so far as my poor pen is -concerned and allow it to continue in your service. The moral seems to -be: When one is really ill, present one’s regular doctor with a fishing -rod.—Yours ever, - - R. H. - -_P.S._—I was writing about “Father-Love” the other day; and now here are -some lines of a small boy in praise of his mother, which recall the day -of Solomon. The last line—after so many exalted attempts!—is very sweet? - -MY MOTHER - - My mother stood in the candlelight, - With a red rose in her hair, - And another at her throat. - - Her face is delicately molded, - With coal black eyes that seem - To smolder, like fire far into the night. - - Her cheeks are a gorgeous red, - Her lips curved in a smile - That seem like the morning dawn itself. - - Her neck is soft and slim - Like a swan floating down o’er the river. - I love her, for she is my mother - And I love no other. - - She shares my joys and sorrows, my mother— - Her heart is kind and true, - Her hair is black and glassey, - I can’t describe my mother’s beauty. - - EDWARD BLACK. - - - - -CLVI - -ANTOINETTE ROSSITER TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT VERENA,—Mother asks me to write to say that she has got home -safely. It is heavenly to have her here again. I am so glad you are -getting well. Hazel is going to stay with us a little longer. She has a -friend at Lady Sandys’ who is a champion tennis player. He is teaching -us to juggle. He can keep four balls in the air at once and lay down and -get up with a croquet mallet balanced on his forehead. He is very nice. -He calls us his pupils and we are named Apter and Aptest. Cyril is Apter -and I am Aptest. Lobbie is to be taught too and her name at present is -Apt. Emily comes to us every day. She is now Mrs. Urible and she usually -brings vegetables. Hazel’s friend sings too and Hazel plays for him and -we all dance. He is teaching us the Highland fling. He says I have light -fantastic toes. Hazel is teaching him hesitation which he never knew -before. Mother is fatter. She says it is because she has not had us to -worry her, but as she has had Lobbie it must be your nice things to eat. -It is lovely and enchanting to have her back. I am so glad you are well -again.—Your loving - - TONY - - - - -CLVII - -SINCLAIR FERGUSON TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR MISS RABY,—I rejoiced to have Mr. Field’s very favourable -report—surprisingly favourable—even though it reflects a little on my -own want of intuition and skill. But I will not develop that theme, for -I too was once young and cleverer than my elders, and yesterday I caught -a twenty-one lb. salmon and the divine glow still warms me and makes me -tolerant to all men. Seriously, my dear friend, this news of your sudden -improvement has relieved me profoundly, for it has been a constant grief -to me to see you so helpless and to be able to do so little. - -It is as Field’s _locum_, so far as your own case is concerned, that I -shall consider myself when I return, which will be in about three weeks. -I wonder if he has left me anything in the place to do? I quite expect to -find that old Withers has grown another leg.—I am, yours sincerely, - - SINCLAIR FERGUSON - - - - -CLVIII - -VERENA RABY TO SINCLAIR FERGUSON - - -MY DEAR DOCTOR,—Thank you for your very kind letter, so very like you. -Both Mr. Field and I agree that probably the pressure was something new, -a development which could not be foreseen. I would not change my doctor -for any one, and though I am delighted to think of him happy in the -Highlands catching mammoth fish, I hope he will soon return. - -Old friends are best.—Yours sincerely, - - VERENA RABY - - - - -CLIX - -LOUISA PARRISH TO VERENA RABY - - -MY DEAR VERENA,—I was both surprised and delighted to receive your great -news. It removed a heavy burden from my mind, for it has been a grief all -these months to think of you lying there. To be frank, I never expected -you to leave your bed again, and have often said so, and even now I am -fearful that there may be danger of a relapse. There are such things as -false recoveries. But I shall hope for the best. I was embroidering a -counterpane for you with “Resignation” on it (a favourite word with my -dear mother) but I shall not go on with it.—Yours always affectionately, - - LOUISA - - - - -CLX - -EVANGELINE BARRANCE TO VERENA RABY - - -The editor of _The Beguiler, or The Invalid’s Friend_ presents her -compliments to Miss Raby and begs to announce that the last number was -the last. Hurrah! - - - - -CLXI - -BRYAN FIELD TO SIR SMITHFIELD MARK - - -DEAR SIR SMITHFIELD,—You have played, all unknowingly, such a leading -part in my recent life that I must tell you the latest development. When -you arranged for me to take over Dr. Ferguson’s patients at Kington, you -did not expect that one of the inmates of Miss Raby’s house was the same -Irish girl whom I found working in the French village where the hospital -was situated to which—through your influence—I was appointed. Having -done so much, although unconsciously, to throw these two people together -again, you will be prepared to hear that they—that is to say, we—are now -engaged to be married. My gratitude to you cannot be expressed in words. -Believe me, yours sincerely, - - BRYAN FIELD. - - - - -CLXII - -SIR SMITHFIELD MARK TO BRYAN FIELD - - -MY DEAR FIELD,—I appear to be a very remarkable and meddlesome person, -and your case is yet another reminder of how dangerous it is to be a -human being. However, I cannot consider that any harm, but much the -reverse, has been done this time; although your letter has made me -nervous! - -Seriously, my young friend, I congratulate you with all my heart and wish -for you a full measure of professional success and domestic happiness. If -there is anything at any time that I can do for you, let me know; or, no, -on second thoughts don’t let me know—there is clearly no need to! I am, -yours sincerely, - - SMITHFIELD MARK - -_P.S._—Don’t talk about gratitude. Go on making remarkable cures, for the -honour of Bart’s. That would be far more pleasing to me than any words. - - - - -CLXIII - -RICHARD HAVEN TO CLEMENCY POWER - - -MY DEAR MISS POWER, I enclose a cheque to settle our little account, -and if you notice a discrepancy between the amount which you thought was -owing and that for which it is made out you must devote the difference to -the purchase of a wedding present for Mrs. Bryan Field, who has been such -a boon and a blessing in the house of my friend. I shall never cease to -be thankful that it was you who accepted the post, for I cannot conceive -that even this great world could provide anyone else half so desirable. - -May you be very happy with your brilliant husband, and live long, and see -him rise from honour to honour. I am glad you are going to marry so soon, -because then he will be able to play cricket with his sons.—I am, yours -sincerely, - - RICHARD HAVEN - - - - -CLXIV - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR AUNT,—The news of Hazel’s engagement has prostrated me and -also filled me with a kind of despair about life in general. That a -lawn-tennis player should, for a permanency, be preferred to a man of -ideas is so essentially wrong that one is left gasping. Lawn-tennis is a -frivolous capering game for a few fine days in summer and then not again -till next year, while ideas go on for ever. - -Now that you are so much better again, you will probably be intent upon -spending your superfluity in your own way, but I want you to listen to -one more project of mine. It will show you too how my mind has been -working. You know the old joke about men going out fishing or shooting -and expecting to bring trout or game back to their wives, but, through -want of sport, having to stop at the fishmonger’s or poulterer’s on their -way home? Well, it suddenly occurred to me while I was shaving yesterday -that here is the germ of a very successful business. You know how every -traveller promises his family or his friends that he will bring back -something. If he is going to the East, he generally promises a parrot -or a shawl or a string of amber beads. If he is going to Africa, he -promises, say, ostrich feathers or assegais. But in any case he promises -something and—this is the point—probably forgets, and therefore comes -back empty-handed and is in consequence despised. Now, my idea is that -great emporiums should be stocked and opened somewhere near the points of -disembarkation from abroad. The ships from foreign parts disgorge their -passengers at Liverpool or Southampton or London, and I should establish -a great bazaar close to the harbour at each spot where everything that -had been promised and forgotten could be purchased—parrots, shawls, -beads, ostrich feathers, assegais, everything. The returning traveller -would see it, his face would brighten, he would dash in and buy and be no -longer ashamed or afraid to meet his wife. Don’t you think that a good -notion? - -All that is needed is a clever fellow—an ex-P. & O. officer, say, who -knows the world and travellers’ ways—to be put in control, and enough -capital to give the show a real start, and the result would be easy. -Would you not care to invest?—I am, yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -CLXV - -ROY BARRANCE TO HIS SISTER HAZEL - - -Blow the cymbals, bang the fife, I’m so bucked I don’t know what -to do. I’m engaged to the sweetest creature you ever saw or dreamed -of—Clemency’s sister Pat. You see, Clemency gave me a letter of -introduction to her people, and the fish took such a dislike to me that -one day I got a car and went over to see them. They’ve got a jolly place -not far from Kenmare—the post office is at Sneem—and the old lady, who’s -not old at all and no end of a sport, and her two other daughters, -Patricia and Adela, live there, all among little cows and chickens and -bamboos and tropical plants. You see, the Gulf Stream comes in here and -makes delicate things grow like the very devil. Clemency is a peach, but -you should see Pat, and, even more, you should hear her! Clemency’s voice -laid me out flat enough, but Pat’s is even more disastrous, begorra! -You should hear her say “I will” where you and I and other dull English -people would say “Yes,” or “I will not” when we should say “No,” or “I -won’t.” The word “will” as she says it is like something on a lovely -flute. She’s younger than I am too. I think a husband should be older -than his wife. Clemency was just the other side, you know. Anyway, she -has said “I will” to me, and the old lady is agreeable provided I can -show some signs of responsibility and so I am bucketing back on Sunday to -begin work in earnest and be worthy of her. - -It’s wonderful how everything works out for you when you let it. I -go cold when I think of how awful it would be to marry Clemency and -then meet this angel-pet. I should probably have seen her first as a -bridesmaid, and then—but it won’t bear thinking about. The Fates sent -Field down to Kington just in time. I am coming back next week to go -seriously into this motor transport affair that Aunt Verena is helping -to finance for me, and as soon as it gets started I’ll begin to arrange -to marry. No man is worth a damn till he’s married. With Pat to help I -could do what that old Greek johnny was going to do with a fulcrum or -something—move the earth. Cheerio!—Yours, - - ROY - -_P.S._—Why don’t you find some decent fellow, Hazel? There’s nothing like -it. - - - - -CLXVI - -VERENA RABY TO NICHOLAS DEVOSE - - -I want you to know that I am going to get well. The new temporary doctor -here has done wonders and I can even totter beside the flower beds again. -It is too much yet to realize, but it is true.—Your friend, - - SERENA - - - - -CLXVII - -NICHOLAS DEVOSE TO VERENA RABY - -[_Telegram_] - - -I am so glad. May I come to see you? - - N. D. - - - - -CLXVIII - -VERENA RABY TO NICHOLAS DEVOSE - - -DEAR NICO,—No, please, do not come. After all the years that have -passed, and the eight months and more that I have been thinking -doubly—having so little else to do and believing that life was over—you -must not re-enter my heart. It is sealed against you—at least so long -as you keep away. How I should feel if I saw you, I cannot say; but I -daren’t experiment, nor must you ask. You were to have given me so much; -you took so much; you even, I confess, still hold so much—how dare I then -see you, and even more, how dare I let you see me? You could never bear -the thought of age, of life’s inevitable decline. So many artists cannot: -it is part of the price they pay for their gifts—and no small price too, -for it makes them a little inhuman and to be inhuman in this strange -wonderful world is terrible. No, dear, do not come or again suggest it. -My Nicholas Devose must be as dead as your Serena. The two who would now -meet are strangers and they will be wise to remain so. But my Nicholas—I -have him here and shall never forget him, and over him I often cry a -little.—Your friend, - - SERENA - - - - -CLXIX - -SEPTIMUS TRIBE TO VERENA RABY - - -DEAR VERENA,—Your letter of good news to my poor Letitia has made us -extravagantly happy—or at least it would have done so had any form of -extravagance not become impossible. I am not in the habit of criticising -those in authority; I think it a bad habit to which the facile grumblers, -who form a large majority in this country generally, and particularly in -towns such as this, where most of the residents live on pensions or fixed -incomes, are too prone. None the less, I cannot conceal my chagrin and -surprise that the Government cannot do more towards lowering the cost of -living. Our weekly bills become more formidable every week, without any -apparent reason. Why, for example, should a remote war in Europe increase -the price of butter and eggs? The cows were not belligerents; there were -no casualties in the poultry yards. As for coal, I am in despair, and the -thought that your poor sister may be without the comfort of fires this -winter fills me with a profound melancholy. - -I wonder if you could get your friend Mr. Haven to help me to some task. -I know him to be an influential person and I know myself to be capable. -Although over age—not in fact but through a ridiculous rule of the -Civil Service—and therefore disqualified to continue my labours for my -country, I am still sound in mind and body. Indeed my intellect was never -brighter, as many of my Tunbridge Wells friends with whom I am in the -habit of discussing public affairs every day, would, I flatter myself, -assure you. There is I believe a new public functionary called a Censor -of Films. I feel that I could be very useful in such a capacity, if what -is needed is a man of all-round sagacity and some imagination. But I -would leave the nature of the post to your friend. - -Such a task might bring in enough extra revenue to make all the -difference to poor Letitia’s life. - -Meanwhile I rejoice in your recovery, trusting fervently that there -is nothing illusory about it. Unhappily I have known cases of spinal -trouble improving only to return with more severity; but I intend to -fight against harbouring such fears for you. Letitia would send her love -but she is engaged at the moment in making a fair copy of an address -which I am to deliver at our Social Circle on the credibility of present -evidence on the persistence of our daily life’s routine after death. It -is a labour of love to her, which is fortunate as I cannot afford an -amanuensis. I am, - - Your affectionate brother, - - SEPTIMUS TRIBE - -_P.S._ I wonder if you would care to have my address set up as a -pamphlet for private distribution. Although I am its author, I feel -at liberty to say without presumption that it is a very thorough -presentation of the case both for and against, and every one is -interested in such speculations just now. There is a most worthy little -printer near the Pantiles who deserves encouragement. - - - - -CLXX - -HORACE MUN-BROWN TO VERENA RABY - -(_Two months later_) - - -DEAR AUNT,—I am deeply gratified to hear that your recovery is complete -and that you have all your old and beneficial activity again. - -After so long and costly an illness I am sure that, wealthy as you -are, you would not, in these very expensive times, wish to lose any -opportunity of adding to your fortune; and such an opportunity now -occurs. You have heard of the paper shortage? Owing to the war only a -small proportion of the paper needed for journals and magazines and books -is now being made. The problem then is, how to supply the deficiency? And -it is here that my scheme comes in. - -If new paper cannot be manufactured from wood pulp—owing to the scarcity -of labour in the forests—it must be made in other ways. Now the best -of these is from old paper. Now this can be done satisfactorily only -if the printed words on it can be removed; in other words (to be for -a moment scientific) it must be “de-inked.” De-inking is a mysterious -business, but Sybil, who took a course of chemistry at Newnham, has hit -on a process which cannot fail. She has tried it in the kitchen of her -flat with an old copy of the _Nineteenth Century and After_ and found -it perfect. Our plan then is to buy up thousands and thousands of the -largest papers, such as the _Daily Telegraph_ and the _Queen_ and the -_Field_—the paper for each copy of which now probably costs more than the -price it is sold for (this discrepancy being made possible by the wealth -of advertisements)—de-ink them and sell the new paper at a considerable -profit. All that is needed is the capital for the erection of the -de-inking plant. Speed is of course imperative. If you are interested—and -this cannot fail—please telegraph. - -Ever since the day when I first met Sybil in the Egyptian Room at the -British Museum my life has been a whirl of joy and intellectual stimulus. -We are both convinced that we lived and loved before, in a previous -existence, and Sybil even goes so far as to believe that as ancient -Egyptians we were instrumental in overcoming a papyrus shortage in the -days of the Ptolemies. Personally I think this a little fanciful, but it -might be true. Who can say? And women have wonderful intuition. - -We both long to be united. Lack of pence is our only obstacle. - -Please telegraph, dear Aunt Verena, to - - Yours sincerely, - - HORACE MUN-BROWN - - - - -CLXXI - -WALTER RABY TO HIS SISTER VERENA - -(_Six Months Later_) - - -DEAR OLD GIRL,—I was surprised to have your long letter. You seem to have -been having a pretty thin time, but I hope you’re all right by now. We -have some fine cattle coming along. Keep fit, it’s the only way. Yours -ever, - - WALTER - - - - -INDEX TO POETRY - - - PAGE - - Binyon, Laurence, 128 - - Blake, William, 66 - - Browne, William, 56 - - Burns, Robert, 57 - - Colman, George, 62 - - Conklin, Hilda, 200 - - Cory, William, 253 - - De La Mare, Walter, 89 - - Fitzgerald, Edward, 42 - - Galsworthy, John, 178 - - Giles, A. H., 152, 156 - - Herrick, Robert, 57 - - Hodgson, Ralph, 77 - - Hunt, Leigh, 173 - - Jonson, Ben, 56 - - Kilmer, Joyce, 221 - - Landor, W. S., 62, 229, 241 - - Lang, Andrew, 147 - - Locker-Lampson, Frederick, 200 - - Lowell, J. R., 193, 261 - - Lucas, Winifred, 41 - - Lytton, Robert, Lord, 103 - - Nichols, Bowyer, 140, 258 - - Regnier, the Abbé, 62 - - Stevenson, R. L., 57, 62 - - Thoreau, H. D., 183 - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERENA IN THE MIDST *** - -***** This file should be named 63551-0.txt or 63551-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/5/5/63551/ - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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. 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