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Lucas. - </title> - - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - -<style type="text/css"> - -a { - text-decoration: none; -} - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -h1,h2,h3,h4 { - text-align: center; - clear: both; -} - -h2.nobreak { - page-break-before: avoid; -} - -hr { - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - clear: both; - width: 65%; - margin-left: 17.5%; - margin-right: 17.5%; -} - -div.chapter { - page-break-before: always; -} - -ul { - list-style-type: none; -} - -li { - margin-top: .5em; - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -p { - margin-top: 0.5em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: 0.5em; - text-indent: 1em; -} - -table { - margin: 1em auto 1em auto; - max-width: 40em; - border-collapse: collapse; -} - -td { - padding-left: 2.25em; - padding-right: 0.25em; - vertical-align: top; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.tdpg { - vertical-align: bottom; - text-align: right; - white-space: nowrap; -} - -.ad { - margin: auto; - max-width: 30em; -} - -.box { - border: thin solid black; - padding: 0.5em; -} - -.blockquote { - margin: 1.5em 10%; -} - -.caption { - text-align: center; - margin-bottom: 1em; - font-size: 90%; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.center { - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.dedication { - margin-top: 3em; - margin-bottom: 3em; - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0em; - font-size: 130%; -} - -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.hanging { - padding-left: 2em; - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.larger { - font-size: 150%; -} - -.max15 { - margin: auto; - max-width: 15em; -} - -.noindent { - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.pagenum { - position: absolute; - right: 4%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; - font-style: normal; -} - -.poetry-container { - text-align: center; - margin: 1em; -} - -.poetry { - display: inline-block; - text-align: left; -} - -.poetry .stanza { - margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em; -} - -.poetry .verse { - padding-left: 3em; -} - -.poetry .indent0 { - text-indent: -3em; -} - -.poetry .indent2 { - text-indent: -2em; -} - -.poetry .indent10 { - text-indent: 2em; -} -.poetry .indent12 { - text-indent: 3em; -} - -.right { - text-align: right; - margin-right: 1em; -} - -.smaller { - font-size: 80%; -} - -.smcap { - font-variant: small-caps; - font-style: normal; -} - -.spacer { - margin-left: 3em; -} - -.titlepage { - text-align: center; - margin-top: 3em; - text-indent: 0em; -} - -.u { - text-decoration: underline; -} - -@media handheld { - -img { - max-width: 100%; - width: auto; - height: auto; -} - -.poetry { - display: block; - margin-left: 1.5em; -} - -.blockquote{ - margin: 1.5em 5%; -} -} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<pre style='margin-bottom:6em;'>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 *** -</pre> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">VERENA<br /> -<span class="u">IN THE MIDST</span></p> - -<p class="center">E. V. LUCAS</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="ad"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<h2><i>Other Books of</i> E. V. LUCAS</h2> - -<h3>ENTERTAINMENTS</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE VERMILION BOX</li> -<li>LANDMARKS</li> -<li>LISTENER’S LURE</li> -<li>MR. INGLESIDE</li> -<li>OVER BEMERTON’S</li> -<li>LONDON LAVENDER</li> -</ul> - -<h3>ESSAYS</h3> - -<ul> -<li>ADVENTURES AND ENTHUSIASMS</li> -<li>CLOUD AND SILVER</li> -<li>A BOSWELL OF BAGHDAD</li> -<li>TWIXT EAGLE AND DOVE</li> -<li>THE PHANTOM JOURNAL</li> -<li>LOITERER’S HARVEST</li> -<li>ONE DAY AND ANOTHER</li> -<li>FIRESIDE AND SUNSHINE</li> -<li>CHARACTER AND COMEDY</li> -<li>OLD LAMPS FOR NEW</li> -</ul> - -<h3>TRAVEL</h3> - -<ul> -<li>A WANDERER IN VENICE</li> -<li>A WANDERER IN PARIS</li> -<li>A WANDERER IN LONDON</li> -<li>A WANDERER IN HOLLAND</li> -<li>A WANDERER IN FLORENCE</li> -<li>MORE WANDERINGS IN LONDON</li> -<li>HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS IN SUSSEX</li> -</ul> - -<h3>BIOGRAPHY</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE LIFE OF CHARLES LAMB</li> -<li>A SWAN AND HER FRIENDS</li> -<li>THE BRITISH SCHOOL</li> -<li>THE HAMBLEDON MEN</li> -</ul> - -<h3>ANTHOLOGIES</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE OPEN ROAD</li> -<li>THE FRIENDLY TOWN</li> -<li>HER INFINITE VARIETY</li> -<li>GOOD COMPANY</li> -<li>THE GENTLEST ART</li> -<li>THE SECOND POST</li> -<li>THE BEST OF LAMB</li> -<li>REMEMBER LOUVAIN</li> -</ul> - -<h3>BOOKS FOR CHILDREN</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE SLOWCOACH</li> -<li>ANNE’S TERRIBLE GOOD NATURE</li> -<li>A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN</li> -<li>ANOTHER BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN</li> -<li>RUNAWAYS AND CASTAWAYS</li> -<li>FORGOTTEN STORIES OF LONG AGO</li> -<li>MORE FORGOTTEN STORIES</li> -<li>THE “ORIGINAL VERSES” OF ANN AND JANE TAYLOR</li> -</ul> - -<h3>SELECTED WRITINGS</h3> - -<ul> -<li>A LITTLE OF EVERYTHING</li> -<li>HARVEST HOME</li> -<li>VARIETY LANE</li> -<li>MIXED VINTAGES</li> -</ul> - -<h3>EDITED WORKS</h3> - -<ul> -<li>THE WORKS OF CHARLES AND MARY LAMB</li> -<li>THE HAUSFRAU RAMPANT</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage larger">VERENA<br /> -IN THE MIDST</p> - -<p class="center">A KIND OF A STORY</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">BY</span><br /> -E. V. LUCAS<br /> -<span class="smaller">AUTHOR OF “THE VERMILION BOX,”<br /> -“OVER BEMERTON’S,” ETC.</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 100px;"> -<img src="images/ghd.jpg" width="100" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage">NEW YORK<br /> -GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">COPYRIGHT, 1920,<br /> -BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller">PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> - -<p class="dedication"><span class="smaller">TO</span><br /> -FRANCES<br /> -<span class="smaller">AND</span><br /> -SIDNEY<br /> -COLVIN</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">TO THE READER</h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Mr. Richard Haven, some of whose letters are -to be found in a preceding volume, <i>The Vermilion -Box</i>, is still a bachelor and still lives in Mills -Buildings, Knightsbridge, but is doubtful if he -can afford it much longer.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Emily Goodyer is the children’s nurse. She is -also the fiancée of Bert Urible, greengrocer, soldier -and then greengrocer again.</p> - -<p>Theodore Raby is Verena’s brother and a -widower with one daughter, Josey.</p> - -<p>Walter Raby, another brother, is ranching in -Texas.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Evangeline Barrance, a sister still at school, is -one of the youngest editors in Europe.</p> - -<p>Mr. Horace Mun-Brown, Miss Raby’s nephew -and a briefless barrister, lives in the Temple on -a small income and a sanguine disposition.</p> - -<p>Mr. Septimus Tribe, the husband of Verena’s -youngest sister, Letitia, and by some years her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span> -senior, was at the Board of Trade, but is now in -retirement at Tunbridge Wells.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Nicholas Devose is a traveller and artist who -came nearer marrying Verena Raby than any -other man has done.</p> - -<p>Bryan Field is a young doctor whose path -crossed that of Clemency Power in France during -the War.</p> - -<p>Sir Smithfield Mark is one of the leading surgeons -at Bart’s.</p> - -<p>Sinclair Ferguson is Miss Raby’s doctor.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span></p> - -<p>Lady Sandys is a neighbour of the Rossiters in -Kent.</p> - -<p>Vincent Frank is remaining in the R.A.F. -although the War is over.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Carlyon, whom we meet at once, only to -lose her again, is a neighbour of Miss Raby at -Kington.</p> - -<p class="right">E. V. L.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> - -<h1>VERENA IN THE MIDST</h1> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="I">I<br /> -<span class="smcap">Rhoda Carlyon to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Miss Raby has had an accident and has -asked for you. No immediate danger. -Hope you can come quickly.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="II">II<br /> -<span class="smcap">Rhoda Carlyon to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Haven</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Rhoda Carlyon</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="III">III<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Verena</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -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.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="hanging">(a) Can you use your hands?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(b) Does it tire you too much to read?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(c) Have you much or any pain?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(d) What can I do for you first?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(e) Have you a library subscription?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(f) Is there anyone in the neighbourhood who -can read aloud, endurably?</p> - -<p class="hanging">(g) (Don’t worry: you are not to have the -whole alphabet.) Do games of solitaire -appeal to you?</p> - -</div> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—(h) Have you a gramophone? And if -not, does the idea of a gramophone -repel or attract?</p> - -<p><i>P.S. 2.</i>—<span class="smcap">Dearest Verena</span>, I hate it that -you should be ill—you who live normally a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -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> - -<p><i>P.S. 3.</i>—Yours, again and always,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IV">IV<br /> -<span class="smcap">From the “Herefordshire Post”</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="V">V<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear “Uncle” Richard</span>,—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Now for the answers to your questions, which -Mrs. Carlyon has handed over to me:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="hanging">(a) She can use her hands but is not permitted -to do anything tiring, such as -writing.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(b) She has to lie too flat to be able to hold -a book with any comfort for more than -a very short while.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(c) She is not in serious pain.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(d) What she most wants is letters from -her friends, and you, I imagine, in particular.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -She is rather tired of novels with the -Café Royal in them.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(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.</p> - -<p class="hanging">(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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> -love and thank you for all your suggestions.—Yours -sincerely,</p> - -</div> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VI">VI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Aunt Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VII">VII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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. <i>Nulla -dies sine epistola</i>—however short. Shall I? I -never made such an undertaking before in my -life.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Emma</i> -and <i>Mansfield Park</i>; 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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span> -Probably not. These include <i>Midshipman Easy</i>, -<i>Zanoni</i>, <i>Kenelm Chillingly</i> and, above all, <i>Moby -Dick</i>; 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 <i>Diary</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="VIII">VIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Rhoda Carlyon</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mrs. Carlyon</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Haven</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="IX">IX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sister</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="X">X<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Nesta</span>, 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!</p> - -<p>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)<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—You, as a parent, will like the small -schoolboy’s letter home which one of the evening -papers quotes to-day:—</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Father and Mother</span>,—Do you -know that salt is made of two deadly poisons?—Your -loving son,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">John</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XI">XI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter To Her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mummie</span>,—I hope you are quite -well. I have a cold. Daddy tells me to tell<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x x x x x</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XII">XII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear “Uncle” Richard,</span>—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIII">XIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Three and thirty cheers for the specialist.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIV">XIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Aunt Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XV">XV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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 <i>Nicholas Nickleby</i> -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 <i>The Tempest</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -there are others in it too and we must have time.—I -am, your affectionate niece,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Evangeline</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Of course if you are not well enough to -write, you mustn’t bother about shadow. I can -ask some one else.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVI">XVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -combination clothes-horse, screen, step-ladder and -holder for what the French, who can be so clever -with names, call a <i>serviette sans fin</i>; 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>So much for the business side.</p> - -<p>Now for the amusement. A good catchy name -is needed for it, but I have not yet thought of one<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Again wishing you a speedy recovery, I am, -yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVII">XVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I’m awfully sorry about your being -seedy. There’s nothing like keeping fit and I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span> -was never so full of beans myself. Get well soon. -Cheerio!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XVIII">XVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Haven</span>,—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 <i>The Beguiler; -or, The Invalid’s Friend</i>.—Yours affectionately,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XIX">XIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XX">XX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Evangeline Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Evangeline</span> (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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Haven</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXI">XXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sister</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -outside their mystery. But on this subject -I shall say no more.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXII">XXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span> -intended) but as though it were a diminutive of -Alexander or Alfred, bringing to mind, most unsuitably, -the vulgar paper <i>Ally Sloper</i>. 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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIII">XXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear “Uncle” Richard.</span>—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIV">XXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>“But suppose I don’t know any poetry?”</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Invoking life, I feel the surging tide</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of countless wants ordained to be denied;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Invoking sleep, I feel the hastening stream</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of minor wants merged in a want supreme.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -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 <i>Omar</i> I shall send you one.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Ah, Love! could’st thou and I with Fate conspire</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Would we not shatter it to bits—and then</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Re-mould it nearer to the Heart’s desire!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Wouldn’t we just? But then you don’t think -the scheme as sorry as I often am forced to.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXV">XXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -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 <i>will</i> 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.</p> - -<p>The more I go on in this aimless way the more -I want to break loose and live alone without meals<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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:—</p> - -<div class="box max15"> - -<p class="center"><span class="smaller">HERE LIES</span><br /> -<br /> -FRITZ THE DACHSHUND<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smaller">WHO<br /> -<br /> -(ALTHOUGH A GERMAN)<br /> -<br /> -WAS<br /> -<br /> -THE TRUEST FRIEND<br /> -AN ENGLISH FAMILY<br /> -EVER HAD<br /> -<br /> -1919</span></p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVI">XXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Louisa Parrish to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I suppose you have all the books you want. -You have always been so well provided for, but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span> -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 <i>Queechy</i> again and found -it quite exciting, so I am putting that in too. -Many of the modern books are so <i>outré</i>.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I must stop now or I shall miss the post.—Always -your loving friend,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Louisa</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVII">XXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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 <i>arrière pensée</i>—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I asked one of them what he thought of France -and the French. He had been right through<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>I hope all goes as well with you as it can.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<h3>MOTIVES</h3> - -<p class="center">[<i>Enclosure</i>]</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<p>So the war began and all the men of the -country flocked to the colours and there was great -excitement.</p> - -<p>At the end of a year the army of the old King -had conquered and peace was proclaimed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I am not so sure,” replied the sorrowing -widow. “We had a quarrel and he went and -joined the army to spite me.”</p> - -<p>Farther on the King met a poor old man bowed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -with grief and sighing deeply as he leaned on his -staff.</p> - -<p>“How is this, old man?” cried the King. “Why -do you sorrow when so many are gay?”</p> - -<p>“Alas,” groaned the other, “I have just heard -that my son was killed in this horrible war.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” cried the old King. “You have been -wounded, my young hero?”</p> - -<p>The soldier nodded and looked bored.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>The soldier turned his tired eyes on him and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -stiff smile made his mouth crooked. “I suppose -that was it,” he said wearily. “I <i>had</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And then the old King went to bed.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXVIII">XXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -think you will agree with me that this is a really -good scheme.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXIX">XXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>, I am finding, to my horror, -that the poets when at their briefest are usually -concerned with mortality: and not necessarily<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Underneath this sable Hearse</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lies the subject of all verse:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sidney’s sister, Pembroke’s mother:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Death, ere thou hast slain another</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Fair, and Learn’d, and Good as she,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Time shall throw a dart at thee.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Wouldst thou hear what Man can say</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In a little? Reader, stay.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Underneath this stone doth lie</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As much Beauty as could die:</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">Which in life did harbour give</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To more Virtue than doth live.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If at all she had a fault,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Leave it buried in this vault.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Then there is Herrick’s “Upon a Child that Died”—another -inspiration:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Here she lies, a pretty bud,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lately made of flesh and blood:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who as soon fell fast asleep</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As her little eyes did peep.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Give her strewings but not stir</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The earth that lightly covers her.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">With these, which are Tudor or early Stuart, I -would associate the Scotch epitaph on Miss -Lewars:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Say, sages, what’s the charm on earth</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Can turn Death’s dart aside?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">It is not purity and worth,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Else Jessie had not died.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And Stevenson’s best known poem is an epitaph -too:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Under the wide and starry sky</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Dig the grave and let me lie:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Glad did I live and gladly die,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And I laid me down with a will.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">This be the verse you grave for me:</div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>Here he lies where he long’d to be;</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>Home is the sailor, home from the sea,</i></div> - <div class="verse indent2"><i>And the hunter home from the hill.</i></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You’ll be glad to be seeing your wife again -after all this long while,” I said.</p> - -<p>He pondered. “My wife, I don’t know,” he -replied at last: “but my leetler boy, Oh, yais!”—Good -night, my dear.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXX">XXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sister</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXI">XXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Richard</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -epitaph—“He never disappointed”? Well, it is -true of you.</p> - -<p>Your idea of the short poems is perfect and I -have already learned some.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It is <i>almost</i> 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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXII">XXXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Verena</span>, your testimonial gave me -extraordinary pleasure, and I wish it was true.</p> - -<p>I don’t say, in spite of your charming piece of -altruistic reasoning, that you are lucky to be in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Tabloid Treasury</i> when it is ready?</p> - -<p>Having sent you the other day all those elegiac -efforts, I am now copying out three or four short<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I strove with none, for none was worth my strife;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I warmed both hands before the fire of life;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">It sinks, and I am ready to depart.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">But Landor had a predecessor who said much the -same in a homelier manner:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">My muse and I, ere youth and spirits fled,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Sat up together many a night, no doubt:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But now I’ve sent the poor old lass to bed,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Simply because my fire is going out.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Stevenson must have had Landor’s lines in mind -when he made this summary of his own career:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I have trod the upward and the downward slope;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I have endured and done in days before;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I have longed for all, and bid farewell to hope;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And I have lived and loved, and closed the door.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">A final example, from the French of the Abbé -Regnier:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Gaily I lived as ease and nature taught,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And spent my little life without a thought,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And am amazed that Death, that tyrant grim,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Should think of me, who never thought of him.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Don’t be afraid; in future I shall send you only -one poem at a time.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIII">XXXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -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 <i>au fond</i>, -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIV">XXXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">the glorious privilege</div> - <div class="verse indent0">of being independent,</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">he called it.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You look very sad this morning,” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -“But then,” she added, “ladies generally do.”</p> - -<p>“Why is that?” Violet asked.</p> - -<p>“They have such difficult lives,” she said. “It’s -their husbands, I think.”</p> - -<p>“But you have a husband.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Your daily poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">He who bends to himself a joy</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Does the winged life destroy;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But he who kisses the joy as it flies</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Lives in eternity’s sunrise.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">If you trap the moment before it’s ripe</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The tears of repentance you’ll certainly wipe;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But if once you let the ripe moment go,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">You can never wipe off the tears of woe.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">A lot of wisdom there, but for most of us, who -are so far from being children, rather a counsel of -perfection.—Good night.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span> -moment’s examination: “The sisters of the Misericordia -harbour every kind of disease and have -no respect for religion.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXV">XXXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to the Hon. Mrs. Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mother</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -friend, who has presented me to her!—Your -loving</p> - -<p class="right">C.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVI">XXXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Richard</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVII">XXXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Hazel Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Hazel</span>,—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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span></p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -that I was never free to consider offers.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Aunt V.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXVIII">XXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sister</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XXXIX">XXXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mummy</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x x x<br /> -x x x x</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XL">XL<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Septimus Tribe</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Uncle Septimus</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLI">XLI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Father was really funny about it. “What does -Horace want to marry for, anyway?” he said:<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> -“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLII">XLII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p>And here is to-day’s poem, a very brief one but -a very striking one too:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Reason has moons, but moons not hers</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Lie mirror’d on the sea,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Confounding her astronomers,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But, O! delighting me.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIII">XLIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Hazel Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Hazel</span>,—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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Aunt V.</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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?</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIV">XLIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Patricia Power to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">You Dear Lucky Clem</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>We went over to the Pattern at Kilmakilloge -last week in the motor-boat, but Tim wouldn’t let<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Pat</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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> - -<p class="right">P.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLV">XLV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Brian Field to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Enclosure</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Power</span>,—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 <i>malades imaginaires</i> 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!</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Bryan Field</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVI">XLVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt</span>,—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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">She first deceased; he for a little tried</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To live without her, liked it not, and died.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -meet him out. It would be like him to put a love-philtre -on the market.—Your loving</p> - -<p class="right">H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVII">XLVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power To Bryan Field</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Doctor</span>,—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 <i>malades imaginaires</i>—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clemency Power</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—What does “begob” mean? I don’t understand -foreign languages.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLVIII">XLVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Louisa Parrish to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>My rheumatism has been troubling me again<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Louisa</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I re-open this, later, to say that I have -just heard that my poor cousin Lady Smythe is -to undergo an operation.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XLIX">XLIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Verena</span>, my dear, <i>apropos</i> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After that I feel that you must have something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -more than usually beautiful in the way of a short -poem. Try this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Here lies a most beautiful lady,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Light of step and heart was she;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I think she was the most beautiful lady</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That ever was in West Country.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But beauty vanishes; beauty passes;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">However rare—rare it be;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And when I crumble, who will remember</div> - <div class="verse indent2">This lady of the West Country?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="L">L<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I now have a new and more practical scheme<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -places to act as manager. If you are sufficiently -interested in the scheme to invest in it, please let -me know the amount.</p> - -<p>I hope you are better. I have one of my bad -attacks of nasal catarrh.—Yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LI">LI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -warned her against: a regular T.G. (Temporary -Gentleman) of the worst type.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -frittered my time away too long.—Your affectionate -nephew,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LII">LII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Bryan Field to Sir Smithfield Mark</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir Smithfield</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -in, say, Herefordshire, who wants a change? Of -course a Bart’s man.—I am, yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Bryan Field</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIII">LIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Josey Raby to Vincent Frank</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Vin</span>,—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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span></p> - -<p>I think you had better call on father boldly and -have it out with him.—Your own</p> - -<p class="right">J.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIV">LIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Theodore Raby to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Old V.</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>thé dansant</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span> -thrown away on an experiment in imitation.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Theo.</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LV">LV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear “Uncle” Richard</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LVI">LVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Nesta</span>, it is impossible, I fear, for a week -or so. But I will come then, although only for a -night.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LVII">LVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—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</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LVIII">LVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Coming by 2.35 for night.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIX">LIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>By hand</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Richard</span>—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LX">LX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Poor Dear</span>, “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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Sack him!” he replied blankly. “Employers -don’t give the sack any more; they get it.”</p> - -<p>And this is true.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -which are set on a higher level than the old.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Here is the poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Since all that I can ever do for thee</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is to do nothing, this my prayer must be:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That thou may’st never guess nor ever see</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The all-endured this nothing-done costs me.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Good night.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXI">LXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Her Brother Walter in -Texas</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Walter</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -a camera, couldn’t you send some photographs? -Remember I have never seen Sally. I don’t even -know if there are any children.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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 <i>Punch</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span> -merely have to lie still and give the spine a chance.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Verena</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXII">LXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Theodore Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Theo</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXIII">LXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span> -and I send the first number. If you get well -quickly there will never be another. It is called -<i>The Beguiler</i> 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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Evangeline</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote box"> - -<p class="titlepage">No. 1. <span class="spacer">May, 1919</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="larger">THE BEGUILER</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">OR</span><br /> -THE INVALID’S FRIEND</p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Miscellany</i></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">COMPILED BY</span><br /> -EVANGELINE BARRANCE</p> - -<p class="center">ASSISTED BY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p> - -<h3>PEOPLE WHO REALLY DESERVE THE O.B.E.</h3> - -<h4>I. COOK</h4> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Her name is Gladys Mary but we call her Cook. She -says that after a certain age, cooks have the right to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -called Mrs., but that she is a very long way from that -age herself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She truly deserves the O.B.E.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Rose</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<h3>HISTORICAL RHYMES</h3> - -<h4>I. QUEEN ELIZABETH AND SIR WALTER RALEIGH</h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">It was a wet and windy day</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The ground was damp and dirty</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But yet the Queen she would not stay.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">They pressed her, she grew shirty.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“A murrain on you,” she replied</div> - <div class="verse indent2">“<i>I</i> care not for the weather.”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And she went forth in all her pride</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In silk and ruff and feather.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Beside her walked her courtiers gay</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Although with cold they shivered;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How cold they were they dared not say</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Lest with a glance be withered.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Look! in the middle of the road</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A puddle wide and frightening.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Wait, Madam!”—forward Raleigh strode</div> - <div class="verse indent2">His satin cloak untightening.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Down in the wet he flung his cloak,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">She stepped across quite dryly,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then with her sweetest smile she spoke,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Commending him most highly.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">“<span class="smcap">Pansy</span>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span></p> - -<h3>RULES AS TO BIRTHDAYS<br /> -FOR THE BENEFIT OF PARENTS</h3> - -<p>The person whose birthday it happens to be should be -allowed to get up when they choose. There should be -sausages for breakfast.</p> - -<p>It seems hardly necessary to point out that there -should be no lessons, and no walk.</p> - -<p>Lunch should be chosen by the birthday person.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>Sample Menu for a Birthday Lunch:—</p> - -<ul> -<li>Roast Chicken.</li> -<li>Bread Sauce.</li> -<li>Green Peas.</li> -<li>Squiggly Potatoes.</li> -<li>Trifle, with chocolate éclairs as an alternative.</li> -</ul> - -</div> - -<p>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 <i>has</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Chrysanthemum</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus1.jpg" width="500" height="400" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">BADLY-HEARD SAYINGS: 1. “HITCH YOUR WAGON TO A TAR.”</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p> - -<h3>A FABLE</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Instead of being sorry for it, the pine trees were insulting.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>The silver birch, who was a perfect lady, made no -reply.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Being a perfect lady it still said nothing to them, nor -had it even smiled as they tottered and fell.</p> - -<p>The moral is that every one’s good time <i>may</i> come.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Carnation</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p> - -<h3>STRAY THOUGHTS ON PARENTS</h3> - -<p>Parents are always saying that they once were children -too, but they give no signs of it.</p> - -<p>It is a peculiarity of parents that they always want you -to change your boots.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Parents live in houses, usually in the best rooms. -They can’t bear doors either to be left open or shut -with a bang.</p> - -<p>A funny thing about parents is that they can find -interesting reading in newspapers.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Tulipe Noire</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<h3>CORRESPONDENCE</h3> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Editor</span>,—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 <i>The -Getting-well of Dorothy</i> and a delightful book for -grown-ups called <i>Aunt Anne</i>. Wishing every success for -<i>The Beguiler</i> in its most admirable campaign,—I am, -yours faithfully,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Haven</span></p> - -<p class="right">His mark X</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> - -<h3>THE GIANT’S SHOES<br /> -<span class="smaller">BY W. K. CLIFFORD</span></h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -play pitch-and-toss were exposed to great danger and -sufferings.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>That’s all.</p> - -<p class="titlepage"><i>End of Number 1 of<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Beguiler</span>; or <span class="smcap">The Invalid’s Friend</span>.</i></p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXIV">LXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Evangeline Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Evangeline</span>,—<i>The Beguiler</i> 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.</p> - -<p><i>The Invalid’s Friend</i> 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 <i>Nineteenth Century</i> -is conscious, beside it, of being too wordy, and -<i>Blackwood’s</i> of being without method, and the -<i>Cornhill</i> of coming out too often, with a vulgar -frequency, and the <i>Strand</i> of being too serious.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -I want to read the next number.—Your affectionate -and grateful aunt.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Verena</span>, B.I.</p> - -<p class="right">(<i>Beguiled Invalid</i>)</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXV">LXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Josey Raby to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest of Aunts</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Don’t you think that our first duty is to ourselves -and that the fulfilment of ourselves is sacred?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -I do, and I can fulfil myself only by -marrying Vincent. Do, do help me!—Your -loving</p> - -<p class="right">J.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXVI">LXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Josey Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Josey</span>,—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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Aunt V.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXVII">LXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Vincent Frank to Josey Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Josey Pet</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Vin Ordinaire</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXVIII">LXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir Smithfield Mark to Brian Field</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Field</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Communicate with him direct: Sinclair Ferguson, -Kington, Herefordshire.—I am, yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Smithfield Mark</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXIX">LXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -of the neighbourhood would come too.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXX">LXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>The question is, are you strong enough to go<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p>To-day’s poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">O World, be nobler, for her sake!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If she but knew thee what thou art,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In thee, beneath thy daily sun,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Know’st thou not that her tender heart</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For pain and very shame would break?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O World, be nobler, for her sake!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXI">LXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mummie</span>,—A man has been here to -cut wood and we watched him. He said that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x x<br /> -x x x</p> - -<p>Love to Lobbie.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXII">LXXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -must let me bring her down to play and sing to -you.—Your affectionate nephew,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXIII">LXXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—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....</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXIV">LXXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nicholas Devose to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Serena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I know, through various channels, certain -things about your life to-day, but of course only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">N. D.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXV">LXXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Josey Raby to Vincent Frank</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Vin.</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>If you would rather fly to Scotland, let me -know and I will meet you anywhere.</p> - -<p>I have got a wedding ring.—Your devoted</p> - -<p class="right">J.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXVI">LXXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Vincent Frank to Josey Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Impossible. Writing.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Vincent.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXVII">LXXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>, 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 <i>Times</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -conspiracy afoot to make us think that the dead -“carry on” too much as we do.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>But this is dull reading for Herefordshire. -Are not these lines on the toilet table of Marie -Antoinette poignant?—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">This was her table, these her trim outspread</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Brushes and trays and porcelain cups for red;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Here sate she, while her women tired and curled</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The most unhappy head in all the world.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXVIII">LXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Vincent Frank to Josey Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Josey</span>,—I hated having to telegraph, -but there was nothing else to do.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Vin.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXIX">LXXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to the Hon. Mrs. Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mother</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>We are now reading nothing but the <i>Times</i> -and Thackeray. Having just finished <i>Esmond</i> we -are beginning <i>The Virginians</i>. 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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Mr. Haven was here the other day. He is very -nice—tall, with very soft quite white hair, prematurely<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span> -white. He did Miss Raby a world of -good—Your dutiful truant,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clementia</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXX">LXXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Nicholas Devose</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear</span>,—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.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Serena</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXI">LXXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Josey Raby to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt V.</span>,—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</p> - -<p class="right">J.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXII">LXXXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span></p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span> -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 <i>esprit de corps</i>.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Well, here goes for the fireworks.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Here is the poem—foreshadowing joys -beyond all the dreams of Oliver Lodge:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Within the streams, Pausanias saith,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That down Cocytus’ valley flow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Girdling the grey domain of Death,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The spectral fishes come and go;</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">The ghosts of trout flit to and fro.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Persephone, fulfil my wish,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And grant that in the shades below</div> - <div class="verse indent0">My ghost may land the ghosts of fish!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXIII">LXXXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—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....</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXIV">LXXXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verona Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—By the way, I saw Josey the other night -at the Ritz, with a very gay party. She is the -prettiest little thing.</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXV">LXXXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Your best way is to be ready to do what you -can for the wife.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Sir, from my dear old home you come,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And all its glories you can name;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, tell me,—has the winter-plum</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Yet blossomed o’er the window frame?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span></p> - -<p class="noindent">And this:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">You ask when I’m coming: alas! not just yet ...</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How the rain filled the pools on that night when we met!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, when shall we ever snuff candles again,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And recall the glad hours of that evening of rain?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">—What is the special charm of those? But they -haunt me.—Good night,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXVI">LXXXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -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.</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXVII">LXXXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span> -obstacles to Roy’s folly as it is his to be foolish. -We only play at free will.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Here’s another Chinese poem which gives me -great joy:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Confusion overwhelming me, as in a drunken dream,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I note that Spring has fled and wander off to hill and stream;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With a friendly Buddhist priest I seek a respite from the strife</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And manifold anomalies which go to make up life.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Good night, my dear,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXVIII">LXXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I am still having bad nights thinking about -my future.—Your affectionate nephew,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="LXXXIX">LXXXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to Patricia Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Pat, my Angel</span>,—I am comfortable enough -here but I wish I could hail an aeroplane and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span> -be critical, because every one here is kind and -nice, and as for Miss Raby I’d do anything -for her.</p> - -<p>Give Herself my love and say I’ll write very -soon. Adela ought to write to me, tell her.—Your -devoted</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clem.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XC">XC<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>One of the reasons why I have a leaning towards -this industry—apart from the fact that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I never see Hazel now, but still live in -hopes.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCI">XCI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Friend and Philosopher</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">How we watch the feeble flicker,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Watch the face so wan!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Day by day she groweth weaker,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Soon she will be gone.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCII">XCII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>, 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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A garden is a loathsome thing—eh, what?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Blight, snail,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Pea-weevil,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Green-fly such a lot!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">My handiest tool</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is powerless, yet the fool</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">(Next door) contends that slugs are not.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Not slugs! in gardens! when the eve is cool?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nay, but I have some brine;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Tis very sure they shall not walk in mine.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">—That of course is sacrilege, and I haven’t the -heart to add anything serious to it.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Morpheus calls.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCIII">XCIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nicholas Devose to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dearest Serena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p class="right">N.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCIV">XCIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Louisa Parrish to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Louisa</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—My brother Claude has had another -stroke.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCV">XCV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mummie</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x x</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCVI">XCVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Verona Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><i>Dear Aunt Verena</i>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—I haven’t seen Stella since that awful -Elysian business.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCVII">XCVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, I have to confess to a sad failure. -You must know that I am always hoping for an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When the first Act was over and there was -still no Anna, I told the commissionaire to find<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Now could one set a better trap for Fortune -than that?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Here is an old favourite, for a change:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Jenny kissed me when we met,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Jumping from the chair she sat in;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Time, you thief, who love to get</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sweets into your list, put that in!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Say I’m weary, say I’m sad,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Say that health and wealth have missed me,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Say I’m growing old, but add</div> - <div class="verse indent12">Jenny kissed me.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">I suppose you know that the Jenny of this poem -was Jane Welsh Carlyle?—Your devoted</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCVIII">XCVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nicholas Devose to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Am at Garland’s Hotel, tell me what to do.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nicholas</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="XCIX">XCIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Roy Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Roy</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -should also like a biggish box of Plasticine for -Lobbie.—Your affectionate cousin,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="C">C<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Nicholas Devose</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Are you grey? I am.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Serena</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CI">CI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>I once read somewhere that clever women always<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -say, in a tone almost of triumph, “You’re getting -thinner.”</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And here is to-day’s poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">If on a Spring night I went by</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And God were standing there,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">What is the prayer that I would cry</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To Him? This is the prayer:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O Lord of Courage grave,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">O Master of this night of Spring!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Make firm in me a heart too brave</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To ask Thee anything!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -lines. The author of <i>The Children of -the Ghetto</i> 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.</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CII">CII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Richard</span>,—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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CIII">CIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span> -of pictures for the nation—whether hung in London -or elsewhere—for ever?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>That is enough for the present; but I will -supply further hints.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Gray’s ‘Elegy in a Country Churchyard’,” -said Mrs. Dee, “is a melancholy poem, but its<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Behold to-day’s poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Men say they know many things;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But lo! they have taken wings,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The arts and sciences,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And a thousand appliances;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The wind that blows</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is all that anybody knows.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CIV">CIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to his sister Hazel</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Best of Beans</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Tell me all about things and how the home-barometer -reads. Is it still “Stormy”?—Yours -till Hell freezes,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CV">CV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -(for, as that witty cleric, the late Dean Beeching, -wrote:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">It all comes out of the books I read</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And it all goes into the books I write</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">—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 <i>The Endowed Charities -of the City of London</i>. 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 <i>Times</i> -puts the letters of the most insignificant of his -correspondents.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There’s a threat of Prohibition coming to England -too, but I hope against it. There is too much<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Omar should be arrayed against Prohibition at -once:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A blessing, we should use it, should we not?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And if a curse, why then Who set it there?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -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:—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“A certain amount of freedom to go wrong is -essential in a University, where men are learning, -not to obey, but to choose.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>—That’s pretty good, don’t you think?</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CVI">CVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Mummy</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p> - -<p>Daddy says that he is much more important -than Aunt Verena.—Your loving</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x x x<br /> -x x x x</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CVII">CVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nicholas Devose to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dearest Serena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -artist only a painter—is the tendency of people to -admire what he thinks his least worthy efforts.</p> - -<p class="right">N. D.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CVIII">CVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to Patricia Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Angel Pat</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clem.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CIX">CIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>, 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.”</p> - -<p>Samuel Wilson did even better, his will, dated -October 27th, 1766, containing this clause: “And<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<p>Here is a pretty compliment, to take the taste -of all that away:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">If I were a rose at your window,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Happiest rose of its crew,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Every blossom I bore would bend inward:</div> - <div class="verse indent2">They’d know where the sunshine grew.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Here is the latest definition of appendicitis. -“The thing you have the day before your -doctor buys a Rolls-Royce.”</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CX">CX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance To Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXI">CXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Patricia Power to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Clem</span>,—Herself is herself again.</p> - -<p>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.)</p> - -<p>What about that Doctor out in France? Where -does he come in? You mustn’t be a heart-breaker, -you know, darling.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -friends will find you out.” They do, don’t they?—Your -loving and jealous</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Pat</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXII">CXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -said £3, 2s. 8d. to the beadles of the hospital, -who should come with the children.”</p> - -<p>Peter Symonds was a man, and perhaps you -would rather be guided by a woman. If so, observe -the example of Margaret Sharles:—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Even better, for your purpose, is the example -of Jane Shank:—</p> - -<p>“By will, dated 7th July, 1795, Mrs. Jane<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span></p> - -<p>But I must not weary you (or myself) with -these testaments.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>And here is the poem: something lighter for a -change:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I recollect a nurse called Ann</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Who carried me about the grass,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And one fine day a fair young man</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Came up and kissed the pretty lass.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">She did not make the least objection,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thinks I “Ha ha!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">When I’m grown up I’ll tell mamma.”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And that’s my earliest recollection.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">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?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">WATER</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The world turns softly</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Not to spill its lakes and rivers,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The water is held in its arms</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> - <div class="verse indent0">And the sky is held in the water.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">What is water,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That pours silver,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And can hold the sky?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Good night,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXIII">CXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Nicholas Devose</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear</span>,—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!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Serena.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXIV">CXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Aunt</span>,—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span> -at any rate to the point of support. Without -a little capital a young experimentalist can -do nothing, and I have only my brains.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>(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.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> - -<p>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. <i>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.</i></p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXV">CXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to her Mother</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darlingest Mummy</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Sarah was so funny yesterday. Daddy told -her to bring him last week’s <i>Punch</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<p class="right">x x x x<br /> -x x x x</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXVI">CXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Power</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy Barrance</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—If you are going to Ireland and would -send me a wire I would meet you and help you -through London.</p> - -<p><i>P.S. 2.</i>—The evening papers are full of more -Irish outrages. I don’t think you ought to travel -alone.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXVII">CXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to Roy Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Barrance</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -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 <i>Mary of the -Winds</i>, 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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clemency Power</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXVIII">CXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Power</span>,—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, <i>Mary of the Winds</i>, -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy Barrance</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXIX">CXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>, 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>For a change let me give you a poem in prose:—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">FATHER-LOVE</p> - -<p class="hanging">One hears so much of mother-love.</p> - -<p class="hanging">The phrase alone is expected to touch the very springs -of emotion.</p> - -<p class="hanging">There are songs about it, set to maudlin music; there is, -in America, a Mother’s Day.</p> - -<p class="hanging">God knows I have no desire to bring the faintest suspicion -of ridicule to such a feeling, even to such a -fashion;</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> - -<p class="hanging">The stronger the bonds that unite mothers and children -the better for human society;</p> - -<p class="hanging">The more we think of and cherish our mothers the better -for ourselves.</p> - -<p class="hanging">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.</p> - -<p class="hanging">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?</p> - -</div> - -<p>Good night,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXX">CXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Louisa Parrish to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Louisa</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXI">CXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—I am sending you the -second number of <i>The Beguiler</i> 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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Evangeline</span></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote box"> - -<p class="titlepage">No. 2. <span class="spacer">September, 1919</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="larger">THE BEGUILER</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">OR</span><br /> -THE INVALID’S FRIEND</p> - -<p class="center"><i>A Miscellany</i></p> - -<p class="titlepage"><span class="smaller">COMPILED BY</span><br /> -EVANGELINE BARRANCE</p> - -<p class="center">ASSISTED BY A BUNCH OF FLOWERS</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span></p> - -<h3>THE TEST<br /> -A STORY</h3> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span> -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 <i>The Merchant of Venice</i> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span></p> - -<p>“Because,” Philippa said, “he was the only one who -when he told the story did not make the other person -call him Sir.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Heartease</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<h3>PEOPLE WHO REALLY DESERVE THE O.B.E.</h3> - -<h4>II. THE POSTMAN</h4> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Some people lay their letters by their plates and go on -eating. This seems to me extraordinary.</p> - -<p>Some of our visitors who get letters say “Excuse me” -before they read them, but others don’t.</p> - -<p>When I think of the postman going on for ever and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span> -ever taking letters to other people I am convinced that -he ought to have the O.B.E.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Rose</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<h3>THE CINEMA</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I wish they would turn more books into films. A -girl I know lived in Paris and saw <i>The Count of Monte -Cristo</i> 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 <i>The Black Tulip</i> and the other <i>Little -Women</i>. Jack wanted <i>Twenty Thousand Leagues under<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -the Sea</i> and I think one of Mrs. Nesbit’s books like -<i>The Enchanted Castle</i> would be splendid.</p> - -<p>One thing that I don’t like about the movies is that -they give you too much time to read the short sentences in.</p> - -<p>It is funny how a high wind always blows in American -drawing-rooms in the cinema.</p> - -<p>M.P.s when you see them on the movies going to the -opening of Parliament always walk too fast.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Dandelion</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> -<img src="images/illus2.jpg" width="500" height="450" alt="" /> -<p class="caption">UNFORTUNATE MISUNDERSTANDING NEAR CHELSEA HOSPITAL</p> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> - -<h3>HISTORICAL RHYMES</h3> - -<h4>II. LINES ON THE LANDING OF KING JOHN -AFTER A CERTAIN TRAGIC EVENT</h4> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Long live the King” the people cried</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And cheered with all their might.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They crowded to the vessel’s side</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To see King John alight.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Will he be clad in gold and silk?”</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The children, wondering, said.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Yes, and in ermine, white as milk</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With gold upon his head.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Will he wear gems about his neck</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And hold a sceptre rare?”</div> - <div class="verse indent0">“Yes, when he stands upon the deck</div> - <div class="verse indent2">You’ll see them flashing fair.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">But lo! whose is that skimpy form</div> - <div class="verse indent2">All bare and shivering?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Whose are those thin and naked legs?</div> - <div class="verse indent2">It is—great Heavens!—the King!</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Why doth he cower beneath a sack,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">As cold as lemon-squash?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The regal panoply, alack,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Is missing in the Wash.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">“<span class="smcap">Pansy</span>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p> - -<h3>A VISIT TO THE ZOO</h3> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Convolvulus</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p> - -<h3>A FABLE</h3> - -<p>There was once a garden path paved with flat stones, -and in between the stones were little tufts of thyme and -other herbs.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>And at that moment a tennis ball, struck out of the -court near by, fell on the geranium and broke it in two.</p> - -<p>The moral is that every one has his own place in life -and we should mind our own business.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Carnation</span>”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span></p> - -<h3>CORRESPONDENCE</h3> - -<h4>I</h4> - -<p class="noindent"><i>To the Editor of <span class="smcap">The Beguiler</span></i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Hoping you can find a place for the “anecdote” in -your bright little periodical,—I am yours faithfully,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hector Barrance</span></p> - -<h4>II</h4> - -<p class="noindent"><i>To the Editor of <span class="smcap">The Beguiler</span></i></p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Believe me, your admiring subscriber,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Haven</span></p> - -<p class="right">X His mark</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span></p> - -<h3>TREES</h3> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">I think that I shall never see</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A poem lovely as a tree.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A tree whose hungry mouth is prest</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A tree that looks at God all day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And lifts her leafy arms to pray;</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A tree that may in Summer wear</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A nest of robins in her hair;</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Upon whose bosom snow has lain;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Who intimately lives with rain.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Poems are made by fools like me,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But only God can make a tree.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage"><i>End of Number 2 of<br /> -<span class="smcap">The Beguiler</span>; or, <span class="smcap">The Invalid’s Friend</span></i></p> - -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXII">CXXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Evangeline Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Editor</span>,—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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">There was once a successful <i>Beguiler</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0">Which turned a sad dame to a smiler.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>You are at liberty to quote these lines in all -your advertisements,—I am, yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Constant Reader</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXIII">CXXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -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 -<i>locum</i>; but none the less I am terrified. I can’t -bear the thought of a stranger.</p> - -<p>Forgive this peevishness, but I am so tired of -being helpless.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXIV">CXXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear “Uncle,”</span>—Aunt Verena has got it into -her head that the <i>locum</i> 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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXV">CXXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Verena</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span> -more fun to have alms-houses while one was alive -and watch them at work.</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Behold the punctual poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">There is a flower I wish to wear,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But not until first worn by you—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Heartsease—of all earth’s flowers most rare;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Bring it; and bring enough for two.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Good night,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXVI">CXXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Emily Goodyer to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Emily Goodyer</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXVII">CXXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Emily Goodyer</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Emily</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXVIII">CXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Emily Goodyer to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span> -Mesopotamia it isn’t right that he should be kept -waiting any longer.—I am, yours respectfully,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Emily Goodyer</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXIX">CXXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Herbert Urible to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Madam, Mrs. Rossiter</span>,—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span> -madam, but I don’t think it is fair. A man has -his feelings and rights.</p> - -<p>Awaiting your reply,—I am, yours respectfully,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Herbert Urible</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXX">CXXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Herbert Urible</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Urible</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>I hope that you and Emily will be very happy.—Yours -sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXI">CXXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Hazel Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Hazel</span>,—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXII">CXXXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Richard</span>,—I am prepared to wear a -white sheet and eat humble pie, great slices of it -and a second helping. The terrible <i>locum</i> 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,</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXIII">CXXXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>You simpleton, thinking you can get a nurse -in Peace-time. There isn’t such a thing in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXIV">CXXXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Hazel Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXV">CXXXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Brian Field to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>By hand</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Power</span>,—I must confess that I had -hoped to get to Herefordshire, but no more. The -rest is Chance, dear beautiful Chance.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Bryan Field</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXVI">CXXXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Clemency Power to Bryan Field</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>By hand</i>]</p> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Field</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Clemency Power</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXVII">CXXXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>My sister’s boy is there and I went down for -the day to see him: a nice candid jolly boy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span> -satellites or boon companions and vie with them -in youthfulness, but I am not likely ever to do -that.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The next thing is to make sure he gets into -my dear Bannister’s College at Cambridge.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p>The poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Why do our joys depart</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For cares to seize the heart?</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I know not. Nature says,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Obey; and man obeys.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I see, and know not why</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thorns live and roses die.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">W. S. Landor</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXVIII">CXXXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Nesta</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Write as soon as you can—or telegraph if you -like.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXXXIX">CXXXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Hazel Barrance</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Hazel</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Quite a lot of young men have, from -time to time, been seen in the neighbourhood.</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXL">CXL<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Lady Sandys</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Agatha</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLI">CXLI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Lady Sandys to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Nesta</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Your Tony and Cyril were here yesterday, and -in consequence the garden hasn’t a single trace of -fruit left.—Yours,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Agatha</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLII">CXLII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Power</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span> -speak you would understand why.—Your abject -admirer,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy Barrance</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Please answer at once and put me out -of my misery.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLIII">CXLIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Don’t reply to letter am coming by afternoon -train.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLIV">CXLIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Sister</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLV">CXLV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nesta Rossiter to Septimus Tribe</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Uncle Septimus</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Nesta</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLVI">CXLVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to his sister Hazel</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Hazel, Old Thing</span>,—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 -<i>infra dig</i> in it. Clemency is two or three years<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLVII">CXLVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to his sister Hazel</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Darling Old Thing</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLVIII">CXLVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>, 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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Old gentlemen don’t mind becoming Brothers<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span> -of the Charterhouse, but what about their Sisters? -I doubt it.</p> - -<p>Only therefore by the exercise of great secrecy -could you benefit them.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>Here is the poem, which, I trust, is not too -sad:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">You come not, as aforetime, to the headstone every day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I, who died, I do not chide because, my friend, you play;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Only, in playing, think of him who once was kind and dear,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And if you see a beauteous thing, just say, he is not here.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Always “<i>à votre service</i>,” as the nice French officials -say in the South,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CXLIX">CXLIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Hazel Barrance to Nesta Rossiter</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Nesta</span>,—You needn’t worry about -things here. They are going very smoothly. Little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -stomach-aches and trifles like that; nothing -more.</p> - -<p>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—<i>your</i> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span> -and, I suppose, the necessary capital. But it is the -wifely co-operation that he insists upon and that -I most cordially resent.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Urible is now more punctual and does not -leave so early.</p> - -<p>Poor Roy has just written to me about his -broken heart. O that Irish syren! But his heart -mends very quickly.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Hazel</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CL">CL<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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 <i>motif</i>.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>I must take it, he told me, to one of the Thames -bridges and throw it into the river at dead low -tide.</p> - -<p>With the assistance of the almanack we ascertained -the exact moment and I dropped it over. -Then I went home with a light heart.</p> - -<p>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, <i>the</i> -stone. Well, I recognize fate when I meet it, and -I bought it back. Kismet.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -placed in one of the strong rooms. That was only -a little while ago.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He said that generally they were not so good. -They were not so steady and were liable to nerves -and fancies.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, Cynicism, let them bleat and sigh,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Their own hearts hard, belike, and chill as stone;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Give me the soul that’s tinged with irony,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For then I know that it has felt and known.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLI">CLI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Patricia Power to Her Sister Clemency</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Clem</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Pat</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLII">CLII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>Here is the poem:—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">We wagered, she for sunshine, I for rain,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And I should hint sharp practice if I dared;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For was not she beforehand sure to gain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Who made the sunshine we together shared?</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Meanwhile there is every sign of the coming winter -here. Falling leaves everywhere.—Good -night,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLIII">CLIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Richard Haven</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dearest Richard</span>,—Forgive me for not answering -sooner, but serious things have been happening.</p> - -<p>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>I’m going to get -better</i>. Mr. Field found something pressing somewhere -and removed it and I am already able to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right">V.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLIV">CLIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>Although it is forty shillings a bottle I drink -champagne to-night.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLV">CLV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right">R. H.</p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse center">MY MOTHER</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">My mother stood in the candlelight,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With a red rose in her hair,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And another at her throat.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Her face is delicately molded,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With coal black eyes that seem</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To smolder, like fire far into the night.</div><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Her cheeks are a gorgeous red,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Her lips curved in a smile</div> - <div class="verse indent0">That seem like the morning dawn itself.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Her neck is soft and slim</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Like a swan floating down o’er the river.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">I love her, for she is my mother</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And I love no other.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">She shares my joys and sorrows, my mother—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Her heart is kind and true,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Her hair is black and glassey,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">I can’t describe my mother’s beauty.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Edward Black.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLVI">CLVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Antoinette Rossiter to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt Verena</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -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</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Tony</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLVII">CLVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sinclair Ferguson to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Miss Raby</span>,—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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>It is as Field’s <i>locum</i>, 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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Sinclair Ferguson</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLVIII">CLVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby to Sinclair Ferguson</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Doctor</span>,—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.</p> - -<p>Old friends are best.—Yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Verena Raby</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLIX">CLIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Louisa Parrish to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Verena</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Louisa</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLX">CLX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Evangeline Barrance to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The editor of <i>The Beguiler, or The Invalid’s -Friend</i> presents her compliments to Miss Raby -and begs to announce that the last number was -the last. Hurrah!</p> -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXI">CLXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Bryan Field to Sir Smithfield Mark</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Sir Smithfield</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Bryan Field.</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXII">CLXII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Sir Smithfield Mark to Bryan Field</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Field</span>,—I appear to be a very remarkable -and meddlesome person, and your case<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Smithfield Mark</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXIII">CLXIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Richard Haven to Clemency Power</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">My Dear Miss Power</span>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Richard Haven</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXIV">CLXIV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -and then not again till next year, while ideas -go on for ever.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXV">CLXV<br /> -<span class="smcap">Roy Barrance to His Sister Hazel</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -Sunday to begin work in earnest and be worthy of -her.</p> - -<p>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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Roy</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i>—Why don’t you find some decent fellow, -Hazel? There’s nothing like it.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXVI">CLXVI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby To Nicholas Devose</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>I want you to know that I am going to get -well. The new temporary doctor here has done<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -wonders and I can even totter beside the flower -beds again. It is too much yet to realize, but it -is true.—Your friend,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Serena</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXVII">CLXVII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Nicholas Devose To Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p class="center">[<i>Telegram</i>]</p> - -<p>I am so glad. May I come to see you?</p> - -<p class="right">N. D.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXVIII">CLXVIII<br /> -<span class="smcap">Verena Raby To Nicholas Devose</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Nico</span>,—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span> -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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Serena</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXIX">CLXIX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe to Verena Raby</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Verena</span>,—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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Such a task might bring in enough extra revenue -to make all the difference to poor Letitia’s life.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I am,</p> - -<p class="center"> -Your affectionate brother,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Septimus Tribe</span></p> - -<p><i>P.S.</i> I wonder if you would care to have my address -set up as a pamphlet for private distribution.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> -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.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXX">CLXX<br /> -<span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown to Verena Raby</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">(<i>Two months later</i>)</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Aunt</span>,—I am deeply gratified to hear -that your recovery is complete and that you have -all your old and beneficial activity again.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span></p> - -<p>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 <i>Nineteenth Century and After</i> and found it -perfect. Our plan then is to buy up thousands -and thousands of the largest papers, such as the -<i>Daily Telegraph</i> and the <i>Queen</i> and the <i>Field</i>—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.</p> - -<p>Ever since the day when I first met Sybil in the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>We both long to be united. Lack of pence is -our only obstacle.</p> - -<p>Please telegraph, dear Aunt Verena, to</p> - -<p class="center">Yours sincerely,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Horace Mun-Brown</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CLXXI">CLXXI<br /> -<span class="smcap">Walter Raby to his sister Verena</span><br /> -<span class="smaller">(<i>Six Months Later</i>)</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Dear Old Girl</span>,—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,</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Walter</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">INDEX TO POETRY</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Index to poetry"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Binyon, Laurence,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Blake, William,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Browne, William,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Burns, Robert,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Colman, George,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Conklin, Hilda,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Cory, William,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>De La Mare, Walter,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Fitzgerald, Edward,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Galsworthy, John,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Giles, A. H.,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_156">156</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Herrick, Robert,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Hodgson, Ralph,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Hunt, Leigh,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Jonson, Ben,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Kilmer, Joyce,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Landor, W. S.,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Lang, Andrew,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Locker-Lampson, Frederick,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_200">200</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Lowell, J. R.,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Lucas, Winifred,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Lytton, Robert, Lord,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Nichols, Bowyer,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Regnier, the Abbé,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Stevenson, R. L.,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td>Thoreau, H. D.,</td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#Page_183">183</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<pre style='margin-top:6em'> -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VERENA IN THE MIDST *** - -This file should be named 63551-h.htm or 63551-h.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. 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