OUR LILY GARDEN.

OUR LILY GARDEN.PRACTICAL AIDS TO THE CULTURE OF LILIES.ByCHARLES PETERS.Althoughwe have no true lily indigenous to our island, there is at least one species which has established itself in England, and by this time can claim to be called a British wild flower. This lily is theMartagonor Turk’s cap, a flower long cultivated in English gardens, and, after the Madonna lily, the most familiar of the whole genus.The fifth group of lilies, theMartagons, is the most extensive of all. It includes over twenty species which differ widely from each other in most particulars. The usual description of the members of this group (“perianth cernuous, with the segments very revolute, stamens diverging on all sides”) is certainly applicable to all theMartagons, but it is equally so to the tiger-lily orL. Speciosum.Most of theMartagonsare remarkable rather for the number of their blossoms than for the size of the individual flowers. There are, however, many exceptions to this;Lilium Monadelphumbears blossoms in large numbers, but the individual flowers are large and showy.L. MedeoloidesandL. Avenaceumbear but one or two blossoms of small size.The prevailing colours of the flowers of theMartagonsare yellow, orange and red. A few are purple, and one rare variety of the commonMartagonis white.In a former article we sub-divided this group of lilies into several smaller sections. We do not advance any scientific reason for so classifying them. The divisions are adopted merely for convenience of description.The first of our sub-divisions is the group of lilies which we have calledTrue Martagons. This group contains ten species. In all the members except one the bulb is perennial, and does not bear a rhizome. They are all natives of the Old World, being for the most part natives of Central Europe.The leaves of the trueMartagonsare narrow, but vary in width from those ofL. Martagon, which are three-quarters of an inch across, to those ofL. Tenuifolium, which are scarcely more than the tenth of an inch wide. In some species the leaves are arranged in whorls, in others they are scattered.The flowers of this group of lilies are mostly small but numerous. In all exceptL. Hansoni,L. Avenaceum, andL. Medeoloides, the segments of the perianth are very revolute, which fact has given to these lilies the name of “Turk’s cap,” from the resemblance of the fully-opened blossom to a turbaned cap.The trueMartagonsare among the easiest of the lilies to cultivate, but they have one or two peculiarities which would seem to negative this statement. For instance, these lilies very much dislike being meddled with. Consequently they rarely do well the first year they are planted. It is very annoying after having bought fifty bulbs ofL. Pomponiumnot to have a single blossom the first season. But you have only got to wait until the bulbs have established themselves, when they will flower year after year and increase at a prodigious rate.All the trueMartagonslike a cool loamy soil. On the whole they object to peat. Many kinds, as the commonMartagon, for instance, like chalk, and are seen to perfection when grown in heavy loam on a limestone bottom. The heavy, black loam of London suits theMartagonsvery well, and we have seen these lilies in greater perfection in suburban gardens than anywhere else.First among the trueMartagonsstands the lily which has given its name to the group—Lilium Martagon, ortheTurk’s-cap lily. This lily has a very wide range, being found wild throughout Central Europe and Siberia. We have said that it also grows wild in England, but our readers can hardly expect ever to see the plant growing wild in our island. It used to be fairly plentiful in Surrey, Devonshire and the Isle of Wight, but the rage for collecting specimens has pretty well exterminated the species from our shores. It is, however, occasionally met with, especially in Surrey.TheMartagonlily is one of our oldest garden flowers. When once established, it is very loath to go and very free to increase, so in many gardens this lily has come up and flowered every year for centuries.The bulb ofLilium Martagonis about the size of a hen’s egg, and of the ordinary ovoidal shape. It is very compact and usually stained on the outside with bright yellow or purple. The leaves are of a greyish-green colour and are arranged in whorls. The flower-head is visible when the plant is but a few inches high. It consists of from four to forty little buds closely packed together. The lily flowers in July, and a well-grown specimen is a very pretty object.The flower spike forms a perfect cone or pyramid. The blossoms are very small—about one and a quarter inches across—and borne on stalks which grow out at right angles to the main stem. These stalks gradually diminish in length as they get towards the top, thus producing the characteristic cone shape. The nodding blossoms are of a lilac-purple, splashed and spotted with claret colour. The pollen is red, the segments of the perianth are fleshy and very much curled.There are several well-marked varieties of theMartagonlilies. The varietyDalmaticum, as its name implies, is found in Dalmatia. It is a finer plant than the type. The leaves are deep glossy green, and the flowers are very dark purple. In another variety calledCattaneae, the flowers are still darker, appearing in some lights to be quite black.There is a white variety of theMartagonlily, a lovely little gem, which, though rare, is one of the easiest culture. It is curious that this is the only variety in the whole group ofMartagonswhich bears white flowers. It is of garden origin, and is not found in the wild state.Then there is the doubleMartagon, about the stupidest flower which owns the name of lily. It is extraordinary the rage people have for double flowers. It is very rarely that a double flower has half the beauty of the single variety. In the rose, the chrysanthemum, the aster and other composite flowers, the double varieties are indeed vastly superior to the single flowers. But to us all the double bulbous plants are incomparably inferior to the single ones. In the lilies, the double varieties are scarcely worth growing.Lilium Martagonand its varieties should be grown in masses or as a thick border. Beyond seeing that the plants are well watered, they give no trouble and should never be disturbed.Lilium Pomponium, or, as it is sometimes called,Lilium Pomponicum, is another well-known lily from Central Europe. It resembles the last in many particulars, but the leaves are linear and scattered, and the blossoms are not nearly so numerous as are those ofL. Martagon.From three to ten flowers are produced on each stem. The flowers are nodding with the segments much recurved, and are about an inch across. In the type the colour is a dullish-red, but there are also orange and yellow varieties.This lily looks well in big masses, for the blossoms are very graceful, though perhaps rather disappointing for a lily.Lilium Pyrenaicum, or the yellow Turk’s cap, is by some authorities considered to be only a variety of the last; by others to be a distinct species. As its name tells you, it comes from the Pyrenees, and it is not known as a wild plant in other parts of the continent. Yet, by the way, we see that it is sometimes included among the British wild flowers from some apparently wild examples having been found in the Isle of Wight. Probably these are simply garden escapes; still it is possible that they are indigenous to that island.Except in the colour of its flowers, the Pyrenean Martagon exactly resembles the Pompon lily. The flowers are slightly larger than are those ofL. Pomponicum, and are of a fine yellow colour, spotted with purple. The outside of the tube is red.Lately this lily has become very popular, but it is not altogether a desirable plant as the blossoms exhale a rank and disagreeable odour.In the Japanese Islands is found aMartagonlily, differing very markedly from the European species, which we have just described. This lily,Lilium Hansoniby name, is very rare and not often seen in cultivation. But we believe that in a short time it will become a well-known and popular plant.A well-grown specimen of Hanson’s lily stands about five feet high and bears a pyramidal spike of yellowish-orange blossoms. The flowers are not nearly so much recurved as are those of the otherMartagons. The segments are thick and fleshy, of a bright orange slightly spotted with purple. The flowers are about two inches across. From three to fifty are present in each spike.This lily is one of the first to blossom in favourable seasons, coming into flower in the first week of June.It is also perfectly hardy, and shows no tendency to degenerate if it is provided with suitable soil. A rich but light loam with abundance of leaf-mould and a little peat and sand is the proper compost in which to growLilium Hansoni.Another lily from Japan,Lilium Medeoloides, somewhat resembles Hanson’s lily, but is much smaller, rarely exceeding twelve inches in height, and the blossoms are far fewer and smaller.L. Medeoloidesis very imperfectly known. The bulb consists of a large number of small oat-shaped scales very loosely packed together. The leaves are in whorls. The blossoms are frequently upright, and for this reason the plant is often included among theIsolirions.Except as a curiosity, this lily is certainly not worth growing. It is very difficult to manage, and the bulbs almost invariably rot in the winter.A LILY-GROWER.Lilium Avenaceumis another Japanese species which very closely resembles the last;but the flowers invariably bend downwards, and are very slightly spotted. Like the last, it is not worth growing except as a curiosity.ResemblingL. Pomponiumin many points, but of far smaller dimensions, and with much more brilliant blossoms is the littleLilium Tenuifolium. This little lily inhabits Siberia and differs from most of the species in that the bulb is not truly perennial. Some authorities state that the bulb is annual, but this we do not believe to be correct. It is more likely a triennial species.This lily must be grown from seed. Fortunately the plant produces seed in abundance, and the seeds germinate freely, often producing a flowering bulb in two years.In this plant the leaves are extremely thin. The blossoms are about an inch across, of the colour of red sealing-wax. Rarely are more than three blossoms present on each stem. It is a pretty little flower, and makes a good pot-plant.Lilium Callosum, the callous-bracted lily, is something like a magnified version of the last. The leaves are broader and less numerous than inL. Tenuifolium. The flowers about an inch and a quarter across, of a vivid scarlet or orange. The bracts are thick and horny, a characteristic which has given the plant its name.The callous lily likes a rich peaty soil, but it is very accommodating and will grow in most good soils. It is perfectly hardy, and is of little difficulty to cultivate.We now come to a lily which will always be famous, not so much for its intrinsic beauty—though, to be sure, it is a beautiful plant—but because it is the flower which has generally been considered to be the “lily of the fields,” the only plant mentioned by name by our Saviour.The lily to which we refer is the scarletMartagon, lily of the fields, lily of Chalcedony, orLilium Chalcedonicum.It is doubtful whether we shall ever know for certain which flower was referred to by Christ as “the lily of the fields.” Why the scarletMartagonshould have borne the honour for so long is difficult to see. As far as we have been able to discover, this lily does not grow in Palestine, and though of course we cannot be certain that it did not inhabit the Holy Land in the time of Christ, it is very unlikely that it did, for the lily of Chalcedony knows how to take care of itself, and it is unlikely that it would have become exterminated.We have no real reason for supposing that the lily of the fields was a true lily—that is, a member of the genuslilium. Even in England at the present day we call a host of liliaceous plants “lilies,” and in the East they are very lax in floral nomenclature.That the plant referred to was one of superior beauty is probable, but even the meanest flower would answer to the description that “Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”It is commonly held now that the plant referred to was either the yellow star-lily (Amaryllis Lutea) or else an anemone. But it may well be that our Saviour meant no special blossom, but by “the lily of the field” He intended any flower to be taken.Before it became the fashion to “bed out” the gardens of the wealthy, the scarletMartagongraced alike the palaces of the rich and the cottages of the poor. Throughout England this magnificent lily was one of the commonest of garden flowers. But when the finest gardens were turned into puzzle pictures, manufactured out of geraniums, blue lobelias and yellow calceolarias, all the fine old garden plants were rooted up and destroyed, and many plants ceased to know England as their home.How thankful we all are that the formal garden has left us! Now it is considered in its true light, as a vulgar waste of soil.We have returned to the old-fashioned garden, but alas! we cannot make old gardens at a day’s notice. We have reinstated our old herbaceous plants, and now we are attempting to place the lily of the fields in its old position, as queen of the flower-bed.Unfortunately this lily is difficult to establish, though when once it is established it gives no trouble and will grow for centuries. But we do not often see it now in gardens, and it is doubtful if it will ever again become a constant inhabitant of every garden, as it was of old.The bulb ofLilium Chalcedonicumis about the size of a duck’s egg, and is very compact and heavy. The outer scales are stained with a bright yellow colour.The growth of this lily is peculiar and unlike any other. Good plants grow to about four and a half feet high, and bear from four to eight blossoms in a cluster at the top.The lower leaves of this species are long and lance-shaped. The upper leaves, which are extremely numerous, are small and linear and embrace the stem, giving the plant a curious resemblance to a Maypole.The flowers are borne in a cluster with very short pedicles. They are of a brilliant sealing-wax red, usually unspotted, quite scentless, and about two inches across. The segments are very revolute, and altogether this lily resembles a much glorified edition ofLilium Pomponium. There is a variety with yellowish-orange flowers. This plant blossoms at the beginning of August.To cultivate this lily successfully is by no means an easy matter. It delights in a rich heavy loam of great depth and with a chalk basis. It dislikes peat and manures. If it can have the soil it likes, it does best when exposed to the sun all day long. This lily rarely does well for the first year or two, but when established gives no trouble whatever. It is a native of Greece and the Ionian Isles.Closely resembling the last lily is the nodding red lily of Carniola (Lilium Carniolicum). Comparing this lily with the last, we see that it is altogether smaller, the leaves fewer and the blossoms less lividly red, but spotted and usually solitary. It inhabits South Europe, and flowers in June.(To be continued.)

PRACTICAL AIDS TO THE CULTURE OF LILIES.

ByCHARLES PETERS.

A

lthoughwe have no true lily indigenous to our island, there is at least one species which has established itself in England, and by this time can claim to be called a British wild flower. This lily is theMartagonor Turk’s cap, a flower long cultivated in English gardens, and, after the Madonna lily, the most familiar of the whole genus.

The fifth group of lilies, theMartagons, is the most extensive of all. It includes over twenty species which differ widely from each other in most particulars. The usual description of the members of this group (“perianth cernuous, with the segments very revolute, stamens diverging on all sides”) is certainly applicable to all theMartagons, but it is equally so to the tiger-lily orL. Speciosum.

Most of theMartagonsare remarkable rather for the number of their blossoms than for the size of the individual flowers. There are, however, many exceptions to this;Lilium Monadelphumbears blossoms in large numbers, but the individual flowers are large and showy.L. MedeoloidesandL. Avenaceumbear but one or two blossoms of small size.

The prevailing colours of the flowers of theMartagonsare yellow, orange and red. A few are purple, and one rare variety of the commonMartagonis white.

In a former article we sub-divided this group of lilies into several smaller sections. We do not advance any scientific reason for so classifying them. The divisions are adopted merely for convenience of description.

The first of our sub-divisions is the group of lilies which we have calledTrue Martagons. This group contains ten species. In all the members except one the bulb is perennial, and does not bear a rhizome. They are all natives of the Old World, being for the most part natives of Central Europe.

The leaves of the trueMartagonsare narrow, but vary in width from those ofL. Martagon, which are three-quarters of an inch across, to those ofL. Tenuifolium, which are scarcely more than the tenth of an inch wide. In some species the leaves are arranged in whorls, in others they are scattered.

The flowers of this group of lilies are mostly small but numerous. In all exceptL. Hansoni,L. Avenaceum, andL. Medeoloides, the segments of the perianth are very revolute, which fact has given to these lilies the name of “Turk’s cap,” from the resemblance of the fully-opened blossom to a turbaned cap.

The trueMartagonsare among the easiest of the lilies to cultivate, but they have one or two peculiarities which would seem to negative this statement. For instance, these lilies very much dislike being meddled with. Consequently they rarely do well the first year they are planted. It is very annoying after having bought fifty bulbs ofL. Pomponiumnot to have a single blossom the first season. But you have only got to wait until the bulbs have established themselves, when they will flower year after year and increase at a prodigious rate.

All the trueMartagonslike a cool loamy soil. On the whole they object to peat. Many kinds, as the commonMartagon, for instance, like chalk, and are seen to perfection when grown in heavy loam on a limestone bottom. The heavy, black loam of London suits theMartagonsvery well, and we have seen these lilies in greater perfection in suburban gardens than anywhere else.

First among the trueMartagonsstands the lily which has given its name to the group—Lilium Martagon, ortheTurk’s-cap lily. This lily has a very wide range, being found wild throughout Central Europe and Siberia. We have said that it also grows wild in England, but our readers can hardly expect ever to see the plant growing wild in our island. It used to be fairly plentiful in Surrey, Devonshire and the Isle of Wight, but the rage for collecting specimens has pretty well exterminated the species from our shores. It is, however, occasionally met with, especially in Surrey.

TheMartagonlily is one of our oldest garden flowers. When once established, it is very loath to go and very free to increase, so in many gardens this lily has come up and flowered every year for centuries.

The bulb ofLilium Martagonis about the size of a hen’s egg, and of the ordinary ovoidal shape. It is very compact and usually stained on the outside with bright yellow or purple. The leaves are of a greyish-green colour and are arranged in whorls. The flower-head is visible when the plant is but a few inches high. It consists of from four to forty little buds closely packed together. The lily flowers in July, and a well-grown specimen is a very pretty object.

The flower spike forms a perfect cone or pyramid. The blossoms are very small—about one and a quarter inches across—and borne on stalks which grow out at right angles to the main stem. These stalks gradually diminish in length as they get towards the top, thus producing the characteristic cone shape. The nodding blossoms are of a lilac-purple, splashed and spotted with claret colour. The pollen is red, the segments of the perianth are fleshy and very much curled.

There are several well-marked varieties of theMartagonlilies. The varietyDalmaticum, as its name implies, is found in Dalmatia. It is a finer plant than the type. The leaves are deep glossy green, and the flowers are very dark purple. In another variety calledCattaneae, the flowers are still darker, appearing in some lights to be quite black.

There is a white variety of theMartagonlily, a lovely little gem, which, though rare, is one of the easiest culture. It is curious that this is the only variety in the whole group ofMartagonswhich bears white flowers. It is of garden origin, and is not found in the wild state.

Then there is the doubleMartagon, about the stupidest flower which owns the name of lily. It is extraordinary the rage people have for double flowers. It is very rarely that a double flower has half the beauty of the single variety. In the rose, the chrysanthemum, the aster and other composite flowers, the double varieties are indeed vastly superior to the single flowers. But to us all the double bulbous plants are incomparably inferior to the single ones. In the lilies, the double varieties are scarcely worth growing.

Lilium Martagonand its varieties should be grown in masses or as a thick border. Beyond seeing that the plants are well watered, they give no trouble and should never be disturbed.

Lilium Pomponium, or, as it is sometimes called,Lilium Pomponicum, is another well-known lily from Central Europe. It resembles the last in many particulars, but the leaves are linear and scattered, and the blossoms are not nearly so numerous as are those ofL. Martagon.

From three to ten flowers are produced on each stem. The flowers are nodding with the segments much recurved, and are about an inch across. In the type the colour is a dullish-red, but there are also orange and yellow varieties.

This lily looks well in big masses, for the blossoms are very graceful, though perhaps rather disappointing for a lily.

Lilium Pyrenaicum, or the yellow Turk’s cap, is by some authorities considered to be only a variety of the last; by others to be a distinct species. As its name tells you, it comes from the Pyrenees, and it is not known as a wild plant in other parts of the continent. Yet, by the way, we see that it is sometimes included among the British wild flowers from some apparently wild examples having been found in the Isle of Wight. Probably these are simply garden escapes; still it is possible that they are indigenous to that island.

Except in the colour of its flowers, the Pyrenean Martagon exactly resembles the Pompon lily. The flowers are slightly larger than are those ofL. Pomponicum, and are of a fine yellow colour, spotted with purple. The outside of the tube is red.

Lately this lily has become very popular, but it is not altogether a desirable plant as the blossoms exhale a rank and disagreeable odour.

In the Japanese Islands is found aMartagonlily, differing very markedly from the European species, which we have just described. This lily,Lilium Hansoniby name, is very rare and not often seen in cultivation. But we believe that in a short time it will become a well-known and popular plant.

A well-grown specimen of Hanson’s lily stands about five feet high and bears a pyramidal spike of yellowish-orange blossoms. The flowers are not nearly so much recurved as are those of the otherMartagons. The segments are thick and fleshy, of a bright orange slightly spotted with purple. The flowers are about two inches across. From three to fifty are present in each spike.

This lily is one of the first to blossom in favourable seasons, coming into flower in the first week of June.

It is also perfectly hardy, and shows no tendency to degenerate if it is provided with suitable soil. A rich but light loam with abundance of leaf-mould and a little peat and sand is the proper compost in which to growLilium Hansoni.

Another lily from Japan,Lilium Medeoloides, somewhat resembles Hanson’s lily, but is much smaller, rarely exceeding twelve inches in height, and the blossoms are far fewer and smaller.

L. Medeoloidesis very imperfectly known. The bulb consists of a large number of small oat-shaped scales very loosely packed together. The leaves are in whorls. The blossoms are frequently upright, and for this reason the plant is often included among theIsolirions.

Except as a curiosity, this lily is certainly not worth growing. It is very difficult to manage, and the bulbs almost invariably rot in the winter.

A LILY-GROWER.

A LILY-GROWER.

A LILY-GROWER.

Lilium Avenaceumis another Japanese species which very closely resembles the last;but the flowers invariably bend downwards, and are very slightly spotted. Like the last, it is not worth growing except as a curiosity.

ResemblingL. Pomponiumin many points, but of far smaller dimensions, and with much more brilliant blossoms is the littleLilium Tenuifolium. This little lily inhabits Siberia and differs from most of the species in that the bulb is not truly perennial. Some authorities state that the bulb is annual, but this we do not believe to be correct. It is more likely a triennial species.

This lily must be grown from seed. Fortunately the plant produces seed in abundance, and the seeds germinate freely, often producing a flowering bulb in two years.

In this plant the leaves are extremely thin. The blossoms are about an inch across, of the colour of red sealing-wax. Rarely are more than three blossoms present on each stem. It is a pretty little flower, and makes a good pot-plant.

Lilium Callosum, the callous-bracted lily, is something like a magnified version of the last. The leaves are broader and less numerous than inL. Tenuifolium. The flowers about an inch and a quarter across, of a vivid scarlet or orange. The bracts are thick and horny, a characteristic which has given the plant its name.

The callous lily likes a rich peaty soil, but it is very accommodating and will grow in most good soils. It is perfectly hardy, and is of little difficulty to cultivate.

We now come to a lily which will always be famous, not so much for its intrinsic beauty—though, to be sure, it is a beautiful plant—but because it is the flower which has generally been considered to be the “lily of the fields,” the only plant mentioned by name by our Saviour.

The lily to which we refer is the scarletMartagon, lily of the fields, lily of Chalcedony, orLilium Chalcedonicum.

It is doubtful whether we shall ever know for certain which flower was referred to by Christ as “the lily of the fields.” Why the scarletMartagonshould have borne the honour for so long is difficult to see. As far as we have been able to discover, this lily does not grow in Palestine, and though of course we cannot be certain that it did not inhabit the Holy Land in the time of Christ, it is very unlikely that it did, for the lily of Chalcedony knows how to take care of itself, and it is unlikely that it would have become exterminated.

We have no real reason for supposing that the lily of the fields was a true lily—that is, a member of the genuslilium. Even in England at the present day we call a host of liliaceous plants “lilies,” and in the East they are very lax in floral nomenclature.

That the plant referred to was one of superior beauty is probable, but even the meanest flower would answer to the description that “Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”

It is commonly held now that the plant referred to was either the yellow star-lily (Amaryllis Lutea) or else an anemone. But it may well be that our Saviour meant no special blossom, but by “the lily of the field” He intended any flower to be taken.

Before it became the fashion to “bed out” the gardens of the wealthy, the scarletMartagongraced alike the palaces of the rich and the cottages of the poor. Throughout England this magnificent lily was one of the commonest of garden flowers. But when the finest gardens were turned into puzzle pictures, manufactured out of geraniums, blue lobelias and yellow calceolarias, all the fine old garden plants were rooted up and destroyed, and many plants ceased to know England as their home.

How thankful we all are that the formal garden has left us! Now it is considered in its true light, as a vulgar waste of soil.

We have returned to the old-fashioned garden, but alas! we cannot make old gardens at a day’s notice. We have reinstated our old herbaceous plants, and now we are attempting to place the lily of the fields in its old position, as queen of the flower-bed.

Unfortunately this lily is difficult to establish, though when once it is established it gives no trouble and will grow for centuries. But we do not often see it now in gardens, and it is doubtful if it will ever again become a constant inhabitant of every garden, as it was of old.

The bulb ofLilium Chalcedonicumis about the size of a duck’s egg, and is very compact and heavy. The outer scales are stained with a bright yellow colour.

The growth of this lily is peculiar and unlike any other. Good plants grow to about four and a half feet high, and bear from four to eight blossoms in a cluster at the top.

The lower leaves of this species are long and lance-shaped. The upper leaves, which are extremely numerous, are small and linear and embrace the stem, giving the plant a curious resemblance to a Maypole.

The flowers are borne in a cluster with very short pedicles. They are of a brilliant sealing-wax red, usually unspotted, quite scentless, and about two inches across. The segments are very revolute, and altogether this lily resembles a much glorified edition ofLilium Pomponium. There is a variety with yellowish-orange flowers. This plant blossoms at the beginning of August.

To cultivate this lily successfully is by no means an easy matter. It delights in a rich heavy loam of great depth and with a chalk basis. It dislikes peat and manures. If it can have the soil it likes, it does best when exposed to the sun all day long. This lily rarely does well for the first year or two, but when established gives no trouble whatever. It is a native of Greece and the Ionian Isles.

Closely resembling the last lily is the nodding red lily of Carniola (Lilium Carniolicum). Comparing this lily with the last, we see that it is altogether smaller, the leaves fewer and the blossoms less lividly red, but spotted and usually solitary. It inhabits South Europe, and flowers in June.

(To be continued.)

SHEILA’S COUSIN EFFIE.A STORY FOR GIRLS.ByEVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc.CHAPTER XI.THE “PLYMOUTH CASTLE.”Sheilastood with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair on the deck of a great steamer that was slipping slowly down Southampton Water on a bright October afternoon.She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and, turning quickly round, exclaimed delightedly—“Oh, Miss Adene, you are really here! The stewardess said she knew you were on board; but I was half afraid you were not. I did not catch a glimpse of you anywhere.”“I was below with my niece setting our cabins to rights, as travellers like to do before getting out of smooth water. Well, little one, you look very bright; but you are thinner than when I saw you last. I am afraid you have had an anxious summer.”“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “Poor Effie was ill for a long time, and I don’t think all the doctors and specialists they called in did her any good. They tried all sorts of things for her breathing, and there was a sort of operation once, and I’m sure that did her harm. The last man who saw her said, ‘Take her out of England for the winter. Let her live out of doors and take no physic, and not see a doctor at all unless there is real cause.’ That’s what I call being sensible; and I remembered what you had said about Madeira and how delightful it was there, and Effie set her heart upon going. So here we are. Uncle and Aunt Cossart, and Effie and I and her maid. Oh, I think it will be delightful! I have never been abroad. It will be charming to cross the Atlantic and see beautiful new places!”There was a laugh from behind, and Sheila turned to meet the sunny glance from a pair of bright dark eyes, and Miss Adene said—“Ah, here is my nephew (as he likes to be called) Ronald Dumaresq! Let me introduce him, Sheila, my dear.”The girl held out her hand with her pretty manner, half shy, half frank, and Ronald shook it heartily, saying—“I have heard a lot about you, Miss Cholmondeley, from my aunt. I know all about that fire in which you played the part of heroine.”“I!” cried Sheila, half indignant at the imputation. “I did nothing at all but shiver and shake, and feel in a most fearful fright. I don’t know if that’s what you call being heroic. I don’t.”“Well, but you must have a spirit of your own, I am sure! Did I not just hear you saying that crossing the Atlantic would be delightful? Not many people share that opinion, I can tell you.”“I mean it to be delightful. I don’t care if I am ill. It will be a new experience. I like to try new things.”“If you like sea-sickness you will bea remarkable being,” laughed Ronald; “but perhaps you are a good sailor.”“I think I shall be. I went yachting once all about the Hebrides, and it was often pretty rough and choppy; but I did not mind. I don’t see how one could be ill in a huge boat like this.”Ronald laughed.“Wait till you see what the Atlantic rollers are like. You will soon learn what a cork even a big vessel like this can be. Wait till we get to the Bay of Biscay O!”Laughing and talking, with the quickly established good fellowship of young folks, Sheila and Ronald paced up and down the deck. Sheila was keenly interested in the big vessel and in the other ships they met or passed as they glided along; and Ronald could answer most of her questions, and was altogether a delightful companion. He had travelled a good deal, though he had never before been to Madeira; and he told her anecdotes of shipboard life and of his hunting adventures, time slipping away so fast that the clatter of teacups and the movement of some of the passengers towards the saloon quite surprised them.It was not a full ship, being one of the “intermediate” boats popular with Madeira passengers, who often find trouble in getting booked for the regular Cape mails. Most of the passengers had cabins to themselves—no small boon to bad sailors, and appreciated by all.“We shall take about half a day, perhaps a whole one, longer than the mail,” Ronald explained; “but it’s much jollier to have plenty of room and a cabin of one’s own. But come along and have some tea! Where are your people? You’ve got a delicate cousin, I know, and an aunt and uncle. Anybody else?”“No, I did want my brother to come; but it couldn’t be arranged. It would have been quite perfect with him. Is this the way? How funny everything is on shipboard! Oh, we are beginning to roll a little! I suppose we are getting into the Channel?”“Yes, just about. Do you mind?”“Not a bit. I like it. There is Miss Adene! Who is the lovely lady she is talking to? And, oh, what a darling little boy! Who is he?”“Oh, that’s our young Rascal! The lady is my sister-in-law, you know. Here, Rascal, come and see this lady! Here’s somebody new to make a fuss of you!”Sheila was devoted to babies and little children. She was on her knees in a moment, and little Guy had his arms about her, making up his mind in a moment that this was a friend, and laughing and chattering in the most confidential way.“Oh, isn’t he too perfectly sweet!” cried Sheila in an ecstasy, kissing her hand as the nurse bore him off for his tea; and then she found herself led up and presented to Lady Dumaresq, who was so gentle, and beautiful, and sweet that Sheila fell in love with her at once.Effie was not present, having been much tired by the railway journey, so that the maid had got her to bed at once. Mr. and Mrs. Cossart came into the saloon for some tea; but sat apart and looked rather forlorn. Miss Adene went and spoke to them, but they did not seem happy, and very soon went away again, so that Sheila was thankful to be able to consort with the Dumaresq party, since all the other passengers were strangers.The vessel certainly pitched a good deal as they got farther out into the Channel. Sheila did not mind it in the least; but she observed that the saloon thinned considerably, and Ronald remarked with a laugh—“I don’t think there will be many at dinner to-night.”Sheila presently slipped away to take a peep at Effie, who was dozing in her berth. She did not feel ill, she said, only tired and sleepy. She was interested to hear about Miss Adene and the Dumaresqs. Miss Adene had paid her more than one visit during her illness, and she had grown fond of her, though she had not seen her now for a good while, and she did not correspond with her as Sheila did.Mr. and Mrs. Cossart had gone to bed too, the maid said with a smile. They were both rather sea-sick, but were comfortable now. The maid was an experienced traveller and an excellent sailor. She and Sheila and the stewardess had a little laugh together over the unfortunates who were so speedily bowled over.“Poor things! It’s a dreadful sort of feeling; but they’ll be better when we’re once through the Bay. We get into smooth water then very often, especially this time of year, and they soon forget their troubles.”Ronald was right about the dinner. There were very few at table, and the Captain was still on the bridge. He did not generally leave his post there till the perils of the Channel were passed.Sir Guy came up from his cabin looking thin and frail, but with a sunburnt tint upon his face from the open-air life he had led all the summer. Sheila thought him very handsome and very interesting. He and Lady Dumaresq seemed surrounded by a halo of romance; they were so much attached to each other, and were both so very handsome and attractive. Indeed, Sheila thought that the voyage and the long stay in Madeira with such nice people would be enchanting, and her bright spirits bubbled over in little peals of happy laughter and merry repartee in answer to Ronald’s chaff.After dinner he took her for a prowl upon the deck. She would have liked to wander up and down a long time; but the air blew chilly, so he took her in to Miss Adene, who was now almost the sole occupant of the drawing-room saloon, weariness or the motion of the boat having driven others below.“Have you seen May lately?” asked Miss Adene. “And what is the news from Isingford?”“May has been visiting a good deal this summer, so I only saw her now and then,” answered Sheila; “and as for news, there is not so very much. Perhaps you have heard that Lionel Benson is engaged to my cousin Raby?”“No; I had not heard that.”“Yes. I rather think it was the fire that did it, though it wasn’t given out till three months afterwards. I think they are all very pleased, and she will be married soon, for he has plenty of money. He is in the business, you know. It isn’t a very interesting engagement, but Raby seems quite happy. I suppose it’s all right.”“They are two handsome young people, and know each other well. It ought to turn out happily, I think. And how about Cyril?” asked Miss Adene, with a little quick glance, which Sheila met and answered by a flashing smile.“Oh, Cyril! Well, he is still idling about at home, talking of the wonders he means to do some day, and they all believe in him as much as ever, I think.”A little smile curved Miss Adene’s lips.“Don’t be merciless, little girl. Perhaps he may astonish the world yet!”“He astonished some of us the day of the fire. Miss Adene, I can speak to you, because you’re not a relation whose feelings have to be spared. Butdoyou believe that when he dashed off like that, fighting his way out and knocking everybody down, he had the least intention of going for help? You know he says he was going for the fire-escape, and people believe it now. Lionel Benson won’t say it’s a lie because of Raby, and though North always looks as grim as grim when the thing is mentioned, he does not contradict. After all, Cyril is his brother. But Oscar and I know that he rushed straight home. Of course, hemayhave seen somebody and sent a message, but somehow I can’t believe that he was thinking of anything but saving his own precious skin. It makes me so wild with Cyril. What do you think about it? You saw it all.”“Well, Sheila, perhaps the best way is not to think too much about it. We all have our faults and failings, and we must beware of judging those of other people too harshly. The thing is over and done with now, and we are not set as judges over each other. If Cyril is trying to atone for an error in the past, it would be better to try and excuse it, and not think too harshly of him.”“I think he’s just as conceited as ever. I don’t think he’s a bit ashamed. Miss Adene, do you know, I rather think he would like to marry May. He is always going over there when she is at home. But hewillget a good snubbing if he tries. May would not touch him with a pair of tongs!”“My dear child!” said Miss Adene, laughing, and then she added, “I had an idea that Cyril was attached to Effie.”Sheila shrugged up her shoulders.“I can’t quite make out about that. Sometimes I fancy it is so, and then I don’t know what to think. But Effie has been ill all the summer, and though Cyril used to go and see her prettyoften, I could never make out if they cared for one another. Effie’s never been allowed to talk about the fire, so I don’t know if she saw or remembered what Cyril did then. I don’t much believe that Cyril cares for anybody but himself; only May is well born, and Effie is an heiress. It’s those things he thinks about.”“Sheila, Sheila, don’t be cynical!”“Well, I’ve heard people say so. Even Ray said something very like that. Ray is sensible; she doesn’t go down flat before the family idol. She is fond of Cyril, but she sees his faults. She and North have really much more in them than Raby and Cyril.”Sheila enjoyed her little gossip with Miss Adene, and was almost reluctant to go to bed. However, when once there she slept soundly, and only awoke when the stewardess brought her a cup of morning tea.“It’s pretty rough, miss, but fine and sunny. Not weather as sailors call it, but a capful of wind right in our faces. If you feel like getting up, I’ll bring you hot water; but most of the ladies are lying still, even those that aren’t ill.”But Sheila was all for getting up, though she staggered about her narrow little cabin, and was glad to sit down as much as she could, for the vessel pitched and lurched a good deal, and her hairpins went flying over the floor, and her clothes swayed and flapped in a comic manner.But once up and out in the breezy sunshine, all the little dizziness of getting up vanished. Ronald was on deck before her, and welcomed her with a most friendly smile, and little Guy was trotting about, the pet and plaything of the captain, who had found him a ship’s cap, vastly too large for him, which was tied on his head by a broad ribbon.Sheila was the only lady up at breakfast, and was made much of by the captain and the other passengers. She was full of sparkle and fun, was delighted to be taken to various mysterious portions of the boat where passengers seldom ventured, and spent a perfectly delightful morning, learning a vast deal of nautical lore, and winning the good-will of everybody on board.She flitted into the cabins where Effie and Miss Adene lay. Effie was quite comfortable, but indisposed for the exertion of getting up in such a rough-and-tumble sea. Miss Adene rose for lunch, but was a little disinclined for talk, and Lady Dumaresq did not appear at all that day.But soon they passed through the troubled Bay; the water became calm and smiling; one after another the passengers appeared; and Effie would lie on her deck-chair all day, watching the indigo blue of the great Atlantic rollers, which lifted them gently up and let them down, and shone with rainbow tints when the sunlight caught their foam-flecked crests.Mr. and Mrs. Cossart appeared in due course to sit beside their darling and watch how the fresh breeze brought some colour to her face. But Sheila flitted about like a sprite, never still, always intent upon some fresh fancy. Her merry laugh was one of the familiar sounds about the deck, and she seemed always the centre of a group of admirers.People were kind to Effie, and would come and chat to her; but the mother began to look with rather jealous eyes upon the little court that Sheila always had round her.“I hope she is not going to be a little flirt,” she said once to her husband. “She is certainly pretty, but I don’t know if I like that way of hers. She attracts more notice than I think quite seemly.” And in her heart she added, “I can’t have my Effie cut out and overshadowed by that little chit!”(To be continued.)

A STORY FOR GIRLS.

ByEVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen Sisters,” etc.

THE “PLYMOUTH CASTLE.”

Sheilastood with sparkling eyes and ruffled hair on the deck of a great steamer that was slipping slowly down Southampton Water on a bright October afternoon.

She felt a hand upon her shoulder, and, turning quickly round, exclaimed delightedly—

“Oh, Miss Adene, you are really here! The stewardess said she knew you were on board; but I was half afraid you were not. I did not catch a glimpse of you anywhere.”

“I was below with my niece setting our cabins to rights, as travellers like to do before getting out of smooth water. Well, little one, you look very bright; but you are thinner than when I saw you last. I am afraid you have had an anxious summer.”

“Yes, rather,” answered Sheila. “Poor Effie was ill for a long time, and I don’t think all the doctors and specialists they called in did her any good. They tried all sorts of things for her breathing, and there was a sort of operation once, and I’m sure that did her harm. The last man who saw her said, ‘Take her out of England for the winter. Let her live out of doors and take no physic, and not see a doctor at all unless there is real cause.’ That’s what I call being sensible; and I remembered what you had said about Madeira and how delightful it was there, and Effie set her heart upon going. So here we are. Uncle and Aunt Cossart, and Effie and I and her maid. Oh, I think it will be delightful! I have never been abroad. It will be charming to cross the Atlantic and see beautiful new places!”

There was a laugh from behind, and Sheila turned to meet the sunny glance from a pair of bright dark eyes, and Miss Adene said—

“Ah, here is my nephew (as he likes to be called) Ronald Dumaresq! Let me introduce him, Sheila, my dear.”

The girl held out her hand with her pretty manner, half shy, half frank, and Ronald shook it heartily, saying—

“I have heard a lot about you, Miss Cholmondeley, from my aunt. I know all about that fire in which you played the part of heroine.”

“I!” cried Sheila, half indignant at the imputation. “I did nothing at all but shiver and shake, and feel in a most fearful fright. I don’t know if that’s what you call being heroic. I don’t.”

“Well, but you must have a spirit of your own, I am sure! Did I not just hear you saying that crossing the Atlantic would be delightful? Not many people share that opinion, I can tell you.”

“I mean it to be delightful. I don’t care if I am ill. It will be a new experience. I like to try new things.”

“If you like sea-sickness you will bea remarkable being,” laughed Ronald; “but perhaps you are a good sailor.”

“I think I shall be. I went yachting once all about the Hebrides, and it was often pretty rough and choppy; but I did not mind. I don’t see how one could be ill in a huge boat like this.”

Ronald laughed.

“Wait till you see what the Atlantic rollers are like. You will soon learn what a cork even a big vessel like this can be. Wait till we get to the Bay of Biscay O!”

Laughing and talking, with the quickly established good fellowship of young folks, Sheila and Ronald paced up and down the deck. Sheila was keenly interested in the big vessel and in the other ships they met or passed as they glided along; and Ronald could answer most of her questions, and was altogether a delightful companion. He had travelled a good deal, though he had never before been to Madeira; and he told her anecdotes of shipboard life and of his hunting adventures, time slipping away so fast that the clatter of teacups and the movement of some of the passengers towards the saloon quite surprised them.

It was not a full ship, being one of the “intermediate” boats popular with Madeira passengers, who often find trouble in getting booked for the regular Cape mails. Most of the passengers had cabins to themselves—no small boon to bad sailors, and appreciated by all.

“We shall take about half a day, perhaps a whole one, longer than the mail,” Ronald explained; “but it’s much jollier to have plenty of room and a cabin of one’s own. But come along and have some tea! Where are your people? You’ve got a delicate cousin, I know, and an aunt and uncle. Anybody else?”

“No, I did want my brother to come; but it couldn’t be arranged. It would have been quite perfect with him. Is this the way? How funny everything is on shipboard! Oh, we are beginning to roll a little! I suppose we are getting into the Channel?”

“Yes, just about. Do you mind?”

“Not a bit. I like it. There is Miss Adene! Who is the lovely lady she is talking to? And, oh, what a darling little boy! Who is he?”

“Oh, that’s our young Rascal! The lady is my sister-in-law, you know. Here, Rascal, come and see this lady! Here’s somebody new to make a fuss of you!”

Sheila was devoted to babies and little children. She was on her knees in a moment, and little Guy had his arms about her, making up his mind in a moment that this was a friend, and laughing and chattering in the most confidential way.

“Oh, isn’t he too perfectly sweet!” cried Sheila in an ecstasy, kissing her hand as the nurse bore him off for his tea; and then she found herself led up and presented to Lady Dumaresq, who was so gentle, and beautiful, and sweet that Sheila fell in love with her at once.

Effie was not present, having been much tired by the railway journey, so that the maid had got her to bed at once. Mr. and Mrs. Cossart came into the saloon for some tea; but sat apart and looked rather forlorn. Miss Adene went and spoke to them, but they did not seem happy, and very soon went away again, so that Sheila was thankful to be able to consort with the Dumaresq party, since all the other passengers were strangers.

The vessel certainly pitched a good deal as they got farther out into the Channel. Sheila did not mind it in the least; but she observed that the saloon thinned considerably, and Ronald remarked with a laugh—

“I don’t think there will be many at dinner to-night.”

Sheila presently slipped away to take a peep at Effie, who was dozing in her berth. She did not feel ill, she said, only tired and sleepy. She was interested to hear about Miss Adene and the Dumaresqs. Miss Adene had paid her more than one visit during her illness, and she had grown fond of her, though she had not seen her now for a good while, and she did not correspond with her as Sheila did.

Mr. and Mrs. Cossart had gone to bed too, the maid said with a smile. They were both rather sea-sick, but were comfortable now. The maid was an experienced traveller and an excellent sailor. She and Sheila and the stewardess had a little laugh together over the unfortunates who were so speedily bowled over.

“Poor things! It’s a dreadful sort of feeling; but they’ll be better when we’re once through the Bay. We get into smooth water then very often, especially this time of year, and they soon forget their troubles.”

Ronald was right about the dinner. There were very few at table, and the Captain was still on the bridge. He did not generally leave his post there till the perils of the Channel were passed.

Sir Guy came up from his cabin looking thin and frail, but with a sunburnt tint upon his face from the open-air life he had led all the summer. Sheila thought him very handsome and very interesting. He and Lady Dumaresq seemed surrounded by a halo of romance; they were so much attached to each other, and were both so very handsome and attractive. Indeed, Sheila thought that the voyage and the long stay in Madeira with such nice people would be enchanting, and her bright spirits bubbled over in little peals of happy laughter and merry repartee in answer to Ronald’s chaff.

After dinner he took her for a prowl upon the deck. She would have liked to wander up and down a long time; but the air blew chilly, so he took her in to Miss Adene, who was now almost the sole occupant of the drawing-room saloon, weariness or the motion of the boat having driven others below.

“Have you seen May lately?” asked Miss Adene. “And what is the news from Isingford?”

“May has been visiting a good deal this summer, so I only saw her now and then,” answered Sheila; “and as for news, there is not so very much. Perhaps you have heard that Lionel Benson is engaged to my cousin Raby?”

“No; I had not heard that.”

“Yes. I rather think it was the fire that did it, though it wasn’t given out till three months afterwards. I think they are all very pleased, and she will be married soon, for he has plenty of money. He is in the business, you know. It isn’t a very interesting engagement, but Raby seems quite happy. I suppose it’s all right.”

“They are two handsome young people, and know each other well. It ought to turn out happily, I think. And how about Cyril?” asked Miss Adene, with a little quick glance, which Sheila met and answered by a flashing smile.

“Oh, Cyril! Well, he is still idling about at home, talking of the wonders he means to do some day, and they all believe in him as much as ever, I think.”

A little smile curved Miss Adene’s lips.

“Don’t be merciless, little girl. Perhaps he may astonish the world yet!”

“He astonished some of us the day of the fire. Miss Adene, I can speak to you, because you’re not a relation whose feelings have to be spared. Butdoyou believe that when he dashed off like that, fighting his way out and knocking everybody down, he had the least intention of going for help? You know he says he was going for the fire-escape, and people believe it now. Lionel Benson won’t say it’s a lie because of Raby, and though North always looks as grim as grim when the thing is mentioned, he does not contradict. After all, Cyril is his brother. But Oscar and I know that he rushed straight home. Of course, hemayhave seen somebody and sent a message, but somehow I can’t believe that he was thinking of anything but saving his own precious skin. It makes me so wild with Cyril. What do you think about it? You saw it all.”

“Well, Sheila, perhaps the best way is not to think too much about it. We all have our faults and failings, and we must beware of judging those of other people too harshly. The thing is over and done with now, and we are not set as judges over each other. If Cyril is trying to atone for an error in the past, it would be better to try and excuse it, and not think too harshly of him.”

“I think he’s just as conceited as ever. I don’t think he’s a bit ashamed. Miss Adene, do you know, I rather think he would like to marry May. He is always going over there when she is at home. But hewillget a good snubbing if he tries. May would not touch him with a pair of tongs!”

“My dear child!” said Miss Adene, laughing, and then she added, “I had an idea that Cyril was attached to Effie.”

Sheila shrugged up her shoulders.

“I can’t quite make out about that. Sometimes I fancy it is so, and then I don’t know what to think. But Effie has been ill all the summer, and though Cyril used to go and see her prettyoften, I could never make out if they cared for one another. Effie’s never been allowed to talk about the fire, so I don’t know if she saw or remembered what Cyril did then. I don’t much believe that Cyril cares for anybody but himself; only May is well born, and Effie is an heiress. It’s those things he thinks about.”

“Sheila, Sheila, don’t be cynical!”

“Well, I’ve heard people say so. Even Ray said something very like that. Ray is sensible; she doesn’t go down flat before the family idol. She is fond of Cyril, but she sees his faults. She and North have really much more in them than Raby and Cyril.”

Sheila enjoyed her little gossip with Miss Adene, and was almost reluctant to go to bed. However, when once there she slept soundly, and only awoke when the stewardess brought her a cup of morning tea.

“It’s pretty rough, miss, but fine and sunny. Not weather as sailors call it, but a capful of wind right in our faces. If you feel like getting up, I’ll bring you hot water; but most of the ladies are lying still, even those that aren’t ill.”

But Sheila was all for getting up, though she staggered about her narrow little cabin, and was glad to sit down as much as she could, for the vessel pitched and lurched a good deal, and her hairpins went flying over the floor, and her clothes swayed and flapped in a comic manner.

But once up and out in the breezy sunshine, all the little dizziness of getting up vanished. Ronald was on deck before her, and welcomed her with a most friendly smile, and little Guy was trotting about, the pet and plaything of the captain, who had found him a ship’s cap, vastly too large for him, which was tied on his head by a broad ribbon.

Sheila was the only lady up at breakfast, and was made much of by the captain and the other passengers. She was full of sparkle and fun, was delighted to be taken to various mysterious portions of the boat where passengers seldom ventured, and spent a perfectly delightful morning, learning a vast deal of nautical lore, and winning the good-will of everybody on board.

She flitted into the cabins where Effie and Miss Adene lay. Effie was quite comfortable, but indisposed for the exertion of getting up in such a rough-and-tumble sea. Miss Adene rose for lunch, but was a little disinclined for talk, and Lady Dumaresq did not appear at all that day.

But soon they passed through the troubled Bay; the water became calm and smiling; one after another the passengers appeared; and Effie would lie on her deck-chair all day, watching the indigo blue of the great Atlantic rollers, which lifted them gently up and let them down, and shone with rainbow tints when the sunlight caught their foam-flecked crests.

Mr. and Mrs. Cossart appeared in due course to sit beside their darling and watch how the fresh breeze brought some colour to her face. But Sheila flitted about like a sprite, never still, always intent upon some fresh fancy. Her merry laugh was one of the familiar sounds about the deck, and she seemed always the centre of a group of admirers.

People were kind to Effie, and would come and chat to her; but the mother began to look with rather jealous eyes upon the little court that Sheila always had round her.

“I hope she is not going to be a little flirt,” she said once to her husband. “She is certainly pretty, but I don’t know if I like that way of hers. She attracts more notice than I think quite seemly.” And in her heart she added, “I can’t have my Effie cut out and overshadowed by that little chit!”

(To be continued.)

THE PLEASURES OF BEE-KEEPING.ByF. W. L. SLADEN.PART II.A littlecare will have to be exercised in purchasing the swarm. It should be got from a reliable local bee-keeper—a man on whom you can depend to give you what you want, namely, a healthy, natural, “first”[2]swarm, weighing not less than about three pounds. You should receive the swarm in May, but the middle of June will not be too late in many parts of England, especially if the season is at all backward.STANDARD FRAME FITTED WITH FOUNDATION.Everything should be in readiness for the swarm. The hive should be given three or four coats of good light stone-colour paint, and a site must be chosen for it. This should be in a quiet corner of the garden, sheltered from the prevailing winds, and, by preference, shaded from the midday sun; but a dark, damp place under the constant drip of trees should be avoided. Most bee-keepers prefer to have their hives facing south or south-east to catch the early morning sun, but this is not a matter of great importance.The location having been decided upon and the hive set level in it, the next care will be to furnish the hive.Each frame must have a sheet of beeswax, calledbrood foundation, fixed into it, to act as a foundation on which the bees may build their comb. Bees naturally start building their combs from some support above them, continuing the work in a downward direction. The foundation must, therefore, be fixed into the top bar of the frame, which has a saw-cut down the middle on purpose to receive it. Prize the saw-cut wide open, and then insert the edge of the foundation into it. Two or three fine shoemaker’s brads driven through the side of the top bar will make the work secure.Strips of foundation about two inches wide are generally considered sufficient for fitting into frames, but larger sheets answer better. The illustration shows a full-sized sheet of foundation which is held in the centre of the frame by means of tinned wire embedded in the wax. The sides and bottom of full sheets must be kept clear of the frame.One or twoquiltsshould be cut out of some warm material just the size to cover the tops of the frames; a three-inch round hole should be made in the centre for the feeder. A small square piece of cloth should also be cut for covering the hole when the feeder is not on. Felt or baize is best for quilts, but pieces of old carpet answer the purpose very well. A quilt of ticking or unbleached calico, similarly cut, should be placed under the other quilts, next the bees, to prevent them from nibbling holes in the soft material.In preparing the hive for the reception of the swarm, see that the frames are equally spaced by means of the metal ends, so that they hang one and a half inches apart from centre to centre. Do not attempt to hive the swarm until late in the afternoon, say about 4P.M.and 5P.M.If the swarm arrives in the middle of the day, place it in a cool place, and see that it has plenty of ventilation.Do not follow the old-fashioned plan of smearing the inside of the hive with beer and sugar. It is a mistake to suppose that the bees require such mixtures when swarming, or, indeed, at any other time. The only thing they want now is a clean dry hive.For hiving the swarm, the alighting board will have to be extended by means of a large board, one or two feet wide, called ahiving-board, which may be propped up with bricks so as to be on a slight slant. The whole should be covered with a sheet. Also raise the stock-box up a little in front, so as to enlarge the entrance. The stock-box may be kept in this position by means of two little pebbles.Though the chances of getting badly stung while hiving a swarm of bees are more or less remote, it will be advisable to wear the bee-veil, if it be only for the purpose of inspiring confidence during the first attempt at bee-work. The smoker also, though seldom necessary on this occasion, may come in useful, and should be at hand, charged with a roll of smouldering brown paper.BEE-VEIL AND SMOKER.Now shake a few bees on to the sheet. They will immediately commence running up into the hive. Scarcely any will take to the wing. When this first lot of bees has made a good start, some more may be shaken down on top of them, and this will have the effect of making them all much more eager to press into the hive. A few light puffs of smoke from the smoker may now be useful to dislodge an inert cluster, or to correct the course of a group of bees that may have a mistaken notion as to the direction in which the entrance to the hive lies.Unless the queen has been caged, she should now be carefully looked for amongst the living moving mass on the sheet. It will be very satisfactory if we can succeed in spotting her, and can see her enter the hive safely amongst her subjects, for should she by any chance be missing, the swarm will be useless. She is considerably longer, though very little stouter, than an ordinary worker-bee, her tail being particularly long and tapering; her wings also are shorter than those of the workers, and there is a reddish appearance about her legs. We must not mistake a drone for the queen. There is only one queen in the swarm, but there may be several thousands of drones. The drone-bee may be known by his broad body, long wings and large eyes, which almost meet on the top of his head. The drone is stingless. The queen, on the contrary, possesses a sting, but she cannot pierce the skin with it, so we may handle her, when necessary, without fear.DRONE. QUEEN. WORKER.If the queen is in a cage it will be necessary to liberate her and to let her run into the hive with the workers when the latter have almost all entered the hive.Next morning the front of the stock-box may be lowered, and we may take a peep into the hive by lifting up a corner of the quilts. All frames not filled with bees may be removed and placed behind the dummy, to be given again to the bees when they require more room, which they will do in a few days.If the weather keeps fine and warm we shall now see a number of workers flying around the entrance of the hive, and carefully noting the position of their new home. Then off they will go to the fields in search of food in the shape of honey and pollen, to return again before long with their bodies distended with the sweet juice, and their “thighs” laden with the yellow paste.Meanwhile their comrades at home have not been idle. Clustering inside the hive, they have been busy secreting wax, and have already drawn out some of the foundation into a comb of cells to hold the supplies brought in by the field-workers.And so the work of construction and storage goes on day after day, harmoniously and rapidly. There are no hitches or quarrelling amongst the twenty thousand or so little workers which constitute the swarm. Each one knows and does her share of the work, with results that are astonishing, as we shall see if we examine the hive at the end of even one short week.Donning the veil,[3]and armed with the smoker charged, as before, with smouldering brown paper, we send one or two light puffs of smoke into the entrance, which quiets the bees and prepares them for the intended examination. We then remove the roof, taking care not to jar the hive, and, lifting up a corner of the quilts, we send another gentle puff or two of smoke between the frames. We do the same at another corner. After this we make bold to lift out a frame covered with bees, and to our surprise we find that it is filled from top to bottom with a delicate white comb. It is already quite heavy with the honey which glitters in thousands of cells. Here and there a cell contains, instead of honey, a dark mass of pollen-paste called bee-bread.A more careful inspection of the comb will show that the queen-bee too has done her share of work, not by helping to gather honey or to build combs, but by laying eggs which will hatch into grubs (larvæ), and these, by careful feeding and nursing, will eventually become worker-bees, to take the place of the present workers when they die. Near the centre of the comb is a broad circle of cells, each of which contains a tiny white egg, almost invisible to the eye, which the queen has deposited there. Within this circle, in the very centre of the comb, we shall probably find that these eggs have given place to plump littlelarvæ, each one coiled up in the bottom of its cell, and floating in a tiny drop of liquid food which the workers have supplied and keep replenishing. When thelarvæare full grown the mouths of their cells will be covered over by a thin capping of wax, and, hidden away underneath this capping, they will change to the third orpupalstage. The perfect bee gradually develops from this stage, and in three weeks from the time that it was deposited in its cell by the queen-bee as an almost microscopic egg it emerges from it as a full-fledged worker-bee, exactly like the other worker-bees in the hive, and fit in a few days’ time for two months of daily incessant toil. No sooner has the young worker quitted its cell than the cell is cleaned out by one of the other workers, and a fresh egg is deposited in it by the queen. Thus thousands of willing workers are raised from mere specks in the space of three short weeks, and as soon as these shall have completed their marvellous transformations, thousands more will be similarly reared in their place. What wonders the beehive contains! But we are only on the threshold of them.SECTION THROUGH COMB CONTAINING BROOD (ENLARGED).This paper will close with a few hints that may now come in useful to the beginner.In the first place don’t meddle with your bees more than is absolutely necessary. It tends to make them bad-tempered, and if they are once thoroughly roused they may be difficult to manage for months, and become the terrors, not the pets, of their owner. When you have decided that an operation is necessary, have everything ready at hand before you begin, such as frames ready fitted with foundation, the smoker well charged and burning, an extra roll or two of brown paper, matches, etc. If possible, have an assistant to help you, and so avoid trouble and delay at a critical moment.Though swarms, especially “first” ones, usually come off only in settled fine weather, it sometimes happens that they are unfortunate enough to commence life as a separate colony during a spell of bad weather when they cannot obtain food. In such a case, having no stores to fall back upon, they would starve and die if not fed by the bee-keeper, and syrup must be given to them through the feeder. Syrup suitable for feeding bees at this time of the year may be made by the following recipe:—Ten pounds of pure cane sugar, seven pints of water, a teaspoonful of vinegar, and a pinch of salt. Keep stirring over a brisk fire, and allow to boil for a few minutes.(To be continued.)

ByF. W. L. SLADEN.

A littlecare will have to be exercised in purchasing the swarm. It should be got from a reliable local bee-keeper—a man on whom you can depend to give you what you want, namely, a healthy, natural, “first”[2]swarm, weighing not less than about three pounds. You should receive the swarm in May, but the middle of June will not be too late in many parts of England, especially if the season is at all backward.

STANDARD FRAME FITTED WITH FOUNDATION.

STANDARD FRAME FITTED WITH FOUNDATION.

STANDARD FRAME FITTED WITH FOUNDATION.

Everything should be in readiness for the swarm. The hive should be given three or four coats of good light stone-colour paint, and a site must be chosen for it. This should be in a quiet corner of the garden, sheltered from the prevailing winds, and, by preference, shaded from the midday sun; but a dark, damp place under the constant drip of trees should be avoided. Most bee-keepers prefer to have their hives facing south or south-east to catch the early morning sun, but this is not a matter of great importance.

The location having been decided upon and the hive set level in it, the next care will be to furnish the hive.

Each frame must have a sheet of beeswax, calledbrood foundation, fixed into it, to act as a foundation on which the bees may build their comb. Bees naturally start building their combs from some support above them, continuing the work in a downward direction. The foundation must, therefore, be fixed into the top bar of the frame, which has a saw-cut down the middle on purpose to receive it. Prize the saw-cut wide open, and then insert the edge of the foundation into it. Two or three fine shoemaker’s brads driven through the side of the top bar will make the work secure.

Strips of foundation about two inches wide are generally considered sufficient for fitting into frames, but larger sheets answer better. The illustration shows a full-sized sheet of foundation which is held in the centre of the frame by means of tinned wire embedded in the wax. The sides and bottom of full sheets must be kept clear of the frame.

One or twoquiltsshould be cut out of some warm material just the size to cover the tops of the frames; a three-inch round hole should be made in the centre for the feeder. A small square piece of cloth should also be cut for covering the hole when the feeder is not on. Felt or baize is best for quilts, but pieces of old carpet answer the purpose very well. A quilt of ticking or unbleached calico, similarly cut, should be placed under the other quilts, next the bees, to prevent them from nibbling holes in the soft material.

In preparing the hive for the reception of the swarm, see that the frames are equally spaced by means of the metal ends, so that they hang one and a half inches apart from centre to centre. Do not attempt to hive the swarm until late in the afternoon, say about 4P.M.and 5P.M.If the swarm arrives in the middle of the day, place it in a cool place, and see that it has plenty of ventilation.

Do not follow the old-fashioned plan of smearing the inside of the hive with beer and sugar. It is a mistake to suppose that the bees require such mixtures when swarming, or, indeed, at any other time. The only thing they want now is a clean dry hive.

For hiving the swarm, the alighting board will have to be extended by means of a large board, one or two feet wide, called ahiving-board, which may be propped up with bricks so as to be on a slight slant. The whole should be covered with a sheet. Also raise the stock-box up a little in front, so as to enlarge the entrance. The stock-box may be kept in this position by means of two little pebbles.

Though the chances of getting badly stung while hiving a swarm of bees are more or less remote, it will be advisable to wear the bee-veil, if it be only for the purpose of inspiring confidence during the first attempt at bee-work. The smoker also, though seldom necessary on this occasion, may come in useful, and should be at hand, charged with a roll of smouldering brown paper.

BEE-VEIL AND SMOKER.

BEE-VEIL AND SMOKER.

BEE-VEIL AND SMOKER.

Now shake a few bees on to the sheet. They will immediately commence running up into the hive. Scarcely any will take to the wing. When this first lot of bees has made a good start, some more may be shaken down on top of them, and this will have the effect of making them all much more eager to press into the hive. A few light puffs of smoke from the smoker may now be useful to dislodge an inert cluster, or to correct the course of a group of bees that may have a mistaken notion as to the direction in which the entrance to the hive lies.

Unless the queen has been caged, she should now be carefully looked for amongst the living moving mass on the sheet. It will be very satisfactory if we can succeed in spotting her, and can see her enter the hive safely amongst her subjects, for should she by any chance be missing, the swarm will be useless. She is considerably longer, though very little stouter, than an ordinary worker-bee, her tail being particularly long and tapering; her wings also are shorter than those of the workers, and there is a reddish appearance about her legs. We must not mistake a drone for the queen. There is only one queen in the swarm, but there may be several thousands of drones. The drone-bee may be known by his broad body, long wings and large eyes, which almost meet on the top of his head. The drone is stingless. The queen, on the contrary, possesses a sting, but she cannot pierce the skin with it, so we may handle her, when necessary, without fear.

DRONE. QUEEN. WORKER.

If the queen is in a cage it will be necessary to liberate her and to let her run into the hive with the workers when the latter have almost all entered the hive.

Next morning the front of the stock-box may be lowered, and we may take a peep into the hive by lifting up a corner of the quilts. All frames not filled with bees may be removed and placed behind the dummy, to be given again to the bees when they require more room, which they will do in a few days.

If the weather keeps fine and warm we shall now see a number of workers flying around the entrance of the hive, and carefully noting the position of their new home. Then off they will go to the fields in search of food in the shape of honey and pollen, to return again before long with their bodies distended with the sweet juice, and their “thighs” laden with the yellow paste.

Meanwhile their comrades at home have not been idle. Clustering inside the hive, they have been busy secreting wax, and have already drawn out some of the foundation into a comb of cells to hold the supplies brought in by the field-workers.

And so the work of construction and storage goes on day after day, harmoniously and rapidly. There are no hitches or quarrelling amongst the twenty thousand or so little workers which constitute the swarm. Each one knows and does her share of the work, with results that are astonishing, as we shall see if we examine the hive at the end of even one short week.

Donning the veil,[3]and armed with the smoker charged, as before, with smouldering brown paper, we send one or two light puffs of smoke into the entrance, which quiets the bees and prepares them for the intended examination. We then remove the roof, taking care not to jar the hive, and, lifting up a corner of the quilts, we send another gentle puff or two of smoke between the frames. We do the same at another corner. After this we make bold to lift out a frame covered with bees, and to our surprise we find that it is filled from top to bottom with a delicate white comb. It is already quite heavy with the honey which glitters in thousands of cells. Here and there a cell contains, instead of honey, a dark mass of pollen-paste called bee-bread.

A more careful inspection of the comb will show that the queen-bee too has done her share of work, not by helping to gather honey or to build combs, but by laying eggs which will hatch into grubs (larvæ), and these, by careful feeding and nursing, will eventually become worker-bees, to take the place of the present workers when they die. Near the centre of the comb is a broad circle of cells, each of which contains a tiny white egg, almost invisible to the eye, which the queen has deposited there. Within this circle, in the very centre of the comb, we shall probably find that these eggs have given place to plump littlelarvæ, each one coiled up in the bottom of its cell, and floating in a tiny drop of liquid food which the workers have supplied and keep replenishing. When thelarvæare full grown the mouths of their cells will be covered over by a thin capping of wax, and, hidden away underneath this capping, they will change to the third orpupalstage. The perfect bee gradually develops from this stage, and in three weeks from the time that it was deposited in its cell by the queen-bee as an almost microscopic egg it emerges from it as a full-fledged worker-bee, exactly like the other worker-bees in the hive, and fit in a few days’ time for two months of daily incessant toil. No sooner has the young worker quitted its cell than the cell is cleaned out by one of the other workers, and a fresh egg is deposited in it by the queen. Thus thousands of willing workers are raised from mere specks in the space of three short weeks, and as soon as these shall have completed their marvellous transformations, thousands more will be similarly reared in their place. What wonders the beehive contains! But we are only on the threshold of them.

SECTION THROUGH COMB CONTAINING BROOD (ENLARGED).

SECTION THROUGH COMB CONTAINING BROOD (ENLARGED).

SECTION THROUGH COMB CONTAINING BROOD (ENLARGED).

This paper will close with a few hints that may now come in useful to the beginner.

In the first place don’t meddle with your bees more than is absolutely necessary. It tends to make them bad-tempered, and if they are once thoroughly roused they may be difficult to manage for months, and become the terrors, not the pets, of their owner. When you have decided that an operation is necessary, have everything ready at hand before you begin, such as frames ready fitted with foundation, the smoker well charged and burning, an extra roll or two of brown paper, matches, etc. If possible, have an assistant to help you, and so avoid trouble and delay at a critical moment.

Though swarms, especially “first” ones, usually come off only in settled fine weather, it sometimes happens that they are unfortunate enough to commence life as a separate colony during a spell of bad weather when they cannot obtain food. In such a case, having no stores to fall back upon, they would starve and die if not fed by the bee-keeper, and syrup must be given to them through the feeder. Syrup suitable for feeding bees at this time of the year may be made by the following recipe:—

Ten pounds of pure cane sugar, seven pints of water, a teaspoonful of vinegar, and a pinch of salt. Keep stirring over a brisk fire, and allow to boil for a few minutes.

(To be continued.)

IN THE TWILIGHT SIDE BY SIDE.ByRUTH LAMB.PART IX.AN ALL-IMPORTANT SUBJECT.“To everything there is a season.”—“A time to love.”—Eccles. iii. 1, 8.IfI were, this evening, to ask each of you, my dear girl friends, what subject occupies your thoughts most in regard to your future life, I wonder how many of you would even whisper the truth in my ear—if, indeed, you cared to trust me so far. You have trusted me in many things, and your confidences have been very precious to me; but they have caused me sorrow as well as joy: sorrow, since no human being can do more than lay bare the workings of one heart, the spiritual experience of one soul, the sensations, painful or otherwise, of one body, in order to help or advise others. We may all make guesses about our neighbours, but we can be sure of nothing outside ourselves.Our object to-night is of almost universal interest amongst those who are girls to-day, but who will be the women, wives and mothers of future years. I know that there has been a great revolution in girl life and habits during the last few years. Girls have taken up new occupations, and are the rivals of, and competitors with, the other sex, in nearly every field of study and of work. Many girls live independent of home ties, and some, I hope not a very large number, scout the mention of that sweetest bond of all, which has subsisted ever since God created the first human pair.Do not for a moment imagine that I, a woman who has lived long enough to note from its very beginning the wonderful educational improvement made by my sex, think lightly of it, or undervalue it. Far from this, I am proud of what girls are doing to-day, and every feminine triumph chronicled gives me a throb of pleasure and a sense of sympathy with the patient, self-denying worker, who has not only deserved success, but won it. I do not, however, sympathise with the minority amongst these intellectually gifted girls and women, who ignore home ties, because they work outside the home circle, and speak of the sacred names of wife and mother as if the duties pertaining to those who hear them were not to be contemplated from the heights to which they have attained. What I feel about feminine progress is this: Every bit of knowledge gained, every step made in manual dexterity, artistic perfection, or even professional skill, should trend towards the development of a nobler being, better equipped for every womanly duty than were the women of preceding generations. Ay, and more ready and willing to do it with all the added charm that refinement and culture can give to what nature bestowed in the first instance.Since girls and women outnumber men, there will doubtless be a pretty strong contingent, amongst the most scholarly girls, who will not marry.Experience has already proved this to some extent. But, after all, human nature is stronger than reason, and will assert itself in unexpected ways, to the confusion of every learned argument.Feminine independence is apt to lose its value, and the right to stand, in every sense, on the same level and platform with the man is soon waived, when the true love of a true heart is offered together with the strong arm to learn on and to give protection in time of need.Tell me, dear ones, what piece of news, in which you are not personally concerned, stirs you most, and excites the greatest interest? Is it not the tidings of a friend’s engagement?What confidences are so sacred as those that tell of happy, hopeful love? Think of your girl friend who, with sweet shyness, hid her blushing face on your shoulder, and repeated in a whisper the words lately spoken by that one who had of late become more to her than all the world besides. Did not your own heart thrill with sympathetic gladness as you listened? Were you not proud of her confidence, and did you not feel more honoured by it than by any trust she had reposed in you before?She had told you of her joys and sorrows, her hopes and fears on other subjects, many a time, and you had listened and sympathised. But all the rest sank into insignificance when compared with the importance of the future now opening before her. Her confidence was mingled with both smiles and tears—happy tears you were sure—and you too were ready to laugh and cry by turns, as you clasped her in your arms, and kissed her, telling her between whiles how truly you rejoiced in her joy.I can picture you going homeward with the news, so delighted to tell it that your walk breaks into a run in your eagerness, and yet as you go, you perhaps think to yourself, “I wonder if such happiness will come to me also. Shall I some day reciprocate such confidence as my friend has placed in me?”As you asked yourself the question, did some known face come before your mind’s eye and bring to your cheek a self-conscious flush? Not a flush of shame. Far be it from me to suggest such a thing. You have no need to shrink from owning that you do look forward hopefully to the possibility of being one day the loved and trusted partner of some good man, and, if God so wills it, the mother of his children.The prospect of being a wife and a mother involves alike the most sacred, vast, and yet delightful responsibilities. How can you be fit to undertake such, if you have given them no serious thought beforehand, or striven to qualify yourself for them?Having myself known such an ideally happy married life that the very memory of it makes me unspeakably rich now, in the days of my widowhood, how I long to see my experiences repeated in the lives of those who are to be the wives and mothers of the future!Death robbed me of my partner several years ago, but even death could not take away the riches that memory stored for me during more than thrice that time, nearly thirty blessed years. Having had experience of the things which tend to the building up of such memories, I feel free to speak of them to you, my dear girl friends, to whom the path is yet an untrodden way.Oh, I do want it to be a happy path to all of you who may enter upon it! Not necessarily all smooth. Such paths are seldom found on earth, and when they are, those who tread them are apt to grow weary even of happy monotony, and to step aside into others, where they find or make difficulties for themselves. Or they remain on the smooth road, but cover it with imaginary stumbling-blocks, which are harder to surmount than real ones.What I desire for each of you is a road on which you and the dear one who is the accepted alike of your heart, your reason, and your conscience may walk together as “two who are agreed.”The privilege of choice pertains to the other sex; but only after a limited fashion, seeing that with yourselves rests the power to accept or refuse any number of offers that may be made to you.If you accept, your answer should have a threefold basis. Honest affection to begin with, for, believe me, without this married life cannot be truly happy. It is a life which calls for much self-devotion, self-denial, patience, and the bending of one’s own will to that of another.True affection sweetens all these things and makes them easy, and that must be a hard nature indeed which does not respond on receiving such proofs of it.But reason and conscience should each have a voice in saying “Yes” or “No” to an offer of marriage. They will speak, even when at times the girl is unwilling to listen to either of them.Conscience will ask, “Is the union with this man one on which a blessing can be asked and expected? I have been brought up by God-fearing parents, whose great desire has been that I should be His child and walk as a disciple of Jesus. On this, the most important subject of all, shall we two be agreed?”I am not going to suggest all the questions which will be likely to come into the mind of a Christian girl under such circumstances; but I cannot imagine one worthy of the name who would give an answer, affecting the happiness of at least two lives, without earnestly seeking guidance from God by prayer and supplication. If, after this, conscience is satisfied, only reason’s voice has to be heard.“What, are not affection and conscience enough without help from reason?” you ask.Well, perhaps I should say common sense should have a third voice in the matter. You and I have eyes to see and ears to hear. However young you may be, you have seen and known something of what are called imprudent marriages.There may have been true affection and unity in aims, principles, and work. The union, as such, may be one against which no one can say a word, except that it will not be a prudent marriage, and can only bring regrettable consequences.How a young man is to be honoured if he, for the very love he bears a girl, refrains from giving her the pain of saying “No” when her heart as well as esteem for his character would induce her to say “Yes” at all risks!Often the girl has to show herself the stronger under such circumstances, and then her task is doubly hard, for she has to battle against her own heart’s pleadings as well as those of her lover.I do not believe that any girl who shows her courage and self-devotion in such a manner will have cause to regret in the long run. If the man is worthy of her affection, he will love her the better for the motives which have induced her to refuse him. He will have realised the cost to herself, and will determine that it shall not be in vain. Knowing that he cannot give her such a home as woulddeserve the name, and that marriage on such a slender or uncertain income would mean privation, constant struggling to make ends meet, probably debt as an additional burden, he will resolve to work the harder and possess his soul in patience until brighter days dawn for both of them.He will say, “What is worth having is worth both working and waiting for,” and he will redouble his efforts to shorten the time of probation. Each will be cheered by the thought, “It was for her sake I kept silent,” or “It was for his sake I said ‘No,’ not my own.”I have often been consulted by girls who, having seen my own happy married life, have decided that I must be an authority on things pertaining thereto. But, alas, it has also often happened that the applicant for advice only wished me to confirm her own foolish decision.One case recurs to my mind after the lapse of many years. Thefiancée, orphaned as an infant, had been brought up, educated, and cared for by relatives. She was a good pianist, and had early found a groove in which to earn a livelihood, always having in addition the certainty of a home with those who had brought her up, should she need it.Past her first girlhood, at twenty-nine she engaged herself to a young man eight years her junior, inferior to herself in social position, education, speech, and manner, and with a weekly income of twenty-five shillings, no other money, and relatives who rather needed help than were likely to give it.She came to ask if I would smooth matters with the relatives, who were grieved and indignant at her folly in thinking of such a union. A little questioning elicited the facts that her savings were to furnish the cottage, pay the wedding expenses, including the bridegroom’s new suit, and that rent alone would absorb six out of the weekly twenty-five shillings. She could not retain her position after marriage, but she hoped to earn something by giving music lessons.Need I tell you what eloquence I wasted on this wilful young woman, who was old enough to know better, but too old and obstinate to be convinced against her will. I brought figures to bear, put the cost of the barest necessaries opposite to that nineteen shillings of weekly income after payment of rent. But it was all useless. She did not want to be convicted of rashness and folly, but to induce others to agree to them.You have doubtless foreseen the result whilst listening to the prelude. The marriage took place. The wife’s money was all absorbed at the start, and debts began to be incurred almost immediately. The man was not of the sort likely to win a better position, and the woman, gently nurtured, found in him a hard, selfish domestic tyrant, who made her life of toil doubly bitter by his coarseness and the harshness of his conduct towards the children. Friends had said they would not help; but pity and the old affection for the woman whose childhood they had watched over conquered indignation, and much was done for her, often by stealth, or she and her little ones would have been no better for it. I will not tell the rest of a sad story; but what I have said gives a picture of results where neither conscience nor reason had a voice in deciding the future of two lives.Every rank of life furnishes samples of ill-advised marriages. A girl may be attracted by a handsome person, and not pause to find out whether the moral and religious character of the man corresponds with it. She may note his pleasant social qualities and admire them; but it would be well for her to find out whether these are equally notable under the home roof. It is good to know what sort of a son and brother a man is.If a mother’s face lights with pleasure at the mention of her son, and the thought of what he is to her brings moisture to her eyes, if the girls of the family make a friend of him and regard him as a great factor in the sum that makes up the happiness of home, there will be good reason for believing that, in the dearest of all relationships, he will not be found wanting.There is an old saying that “A man is known by the company he keeps.” Is it not, then, well for you, who look forward to spending a lifetime in his society, to know something of the associates he chooses for himself now?I think I hear some of you asking, “Is it not the business of parents and guardians to satisfy themselves about the position, means, character, associates, and so on, of the man who seeks a daughter in marriage?”Assuredly it is. But all of you are not blessed with parents, or kind, wise guardians in place of them. Some have not even friends who will interest themselves on behalf of girl acquaintances. Some, again, are ready to blame the young and foolish girls who think so lightly of what is of supreme importance. They laugh, or quote old sayings about “Eating rue pie,” “Marry in haste and repent at leisure,” and so on. One has even noted a look of almost pleasurable anticipation on the face of some acquaintance whose advice has been asked, but not followed, as the remark has been made, “She will find out her mistake soon enough when she gets what she never bargained for.”Perhaps there may be relatives who are not wholly sorry to be rid of responsibility in regard to girls who have not been amenable to advice or rules. Such wash their hands of the whole affair by the warning, “As you make your bed, so you must lie. Do not look to us for help in future.”So, when a girl reaps the fruits of a hasty or ill-advised marriage, the most she gets from erewhile friends or kinsfolk, is, “You were warned in time. I told you what would happen.”Parents, guardians, true friends may do their utmost, but, after all, they cannot do everything. A great part of the responsibility must rest on the girl herself, since they may advise and she refuse to listen. They may picture the prospect before her, she may shut her eyes to it. They may bring facts and figures, she will not discuss them, or will insist that her calculations are right and theirs are wrong. They may point out that the burden of care and toil which would follow such a marriage will prove too heavy for her. She makes light of it, because hitherto she has never felt the reality.Dear ones, I am dealing mainly with warnings, and that side of the question with which reason has mainly to do, in this our first talk on an all-important subject. We shall look at the love and the beautiful—poetic I had almost said—the heavenly side of it by-and-by. Now, I seem to be looking all the time at the mistakes and follies which, in so many cases, have spoiled lives, and made marriage like anything rather than what God meant it to be.Is there one amongst you to-night who is getting tired of the daily round in a poor home where all the family are, however, rich in affection? You may have grown weary of the makeshifts and contrivances needful to keep up appearances. You hate to have to calculate how far every shilling will go before you spend it. You long to escape from the narrow round of daily life, almost at any cost. Perhaps you have only to say “Yes,” in order to exchange it for comparative ease and luxury, but you hesitate, and why?Because your heart tells you that affection will have no share in the compact. Conscience whispers that you only know that your suitor’s worldly circumstances are favourable, but as to his character you are almost in ignorance, and have an uncomfortable feeling that you had better not inquire too closely.Will you give your life into the keeping of one about whom you know almost nothing, and try to silence heart, conscience and reason by saying to yourself, “A fine home, costly garments, money and social position will make up for all else that is lacking.”God forbid. All that the world has to offer cannot make amends for the absence of true love and the respect and confidence that should give it stability, neither can it stifle the voice of conscience, which says, “I told you the truth, and you would not listen.”Sometimes girls are impatient of parental control, and to escape from what is only reasonable and right, determine to rule in a home of their own. They use the hackneyed saying that marriage brings affection with it, but too often realise that the parental yoke was light indeed when compared to what they have voluntarily assumed.I think I see you turning reproachful eyes upon me, and hear you asking, “How is it that you, who have known such wedded happiness, speak as though you looked on marriage as a thing to be avoided?”Patience, dear ones. I have been drawing word-pictures from life. You have listened patiently; now I ask you to bear my words in mind. Between this and our next Twilight gathering ask yourselves if any of my warnings have come specially home to you, or if you are in danger of wrecking your own young lives and bringing sorrow on those who love you, in any of the ways against which I have lifted up my voice.(To be continued.)

ByRUTH LAMB.

AN ALL-IMPORTANT SUBJECT.

“To everything there is a season.”—“A time to love.”—Eccles. iii. 1, 8.

“To everything there is a season.”—“A time to love.”—Eccles. iii. 1, 8.

I

fI were, this evening, to ask each of you, my dear girl friends, what subject occupies your thoughts most in regard to your future life, I wonder how many of you would even whisper the truth in my ear—if, indeed, you cared to trust me so far. You have trusted me in many things, and your confidences have been very precious to me; but they have caused me sorrow as well as joy: sorrow, since no human being can do more than lay bare the workings of one heart, the spiritual experience of one soul, the sensations, painful or otherwise, of one body, in order to help or advise others. We may all make guesses about our neighbours, but we can be sure of nothing outside ourselves.

Our object to-night is of almost universal interest amongst those who are girls to-day, but who will be the women, wives and mothers of future years. I know that there has been a great revolution in girl life and habits during the last few years. Girls have taken up new occupations, and are the rivals of, and competitors with, the other sex, in nearly every field of study and of work. Many girls live independent of home ties, and some, I hope not a very large number, scout the mention of that sweetest bond of all, which has subsisted ever since God created the first human pair.

Do not for a moment imagine that I, a woman who has lived long enough to note from its very beginning the wonderful educational improvement made by my sex, think lightly of it, or undervalue it. Far from this, I am proud of what girls are doing to-day, and every feminine triumph chronicled gives me a throb of pleasure and a sense of sympathy with the patient, self-denying worker, who has not only deserved success, but won it. I do not, however, sympathise with the minority amongst these intellectually gifted girls and women, who ignore home ties, because they work outside the home circle, and speak of the sacred names of wife and mother as if the duties pertaining to those who hear them were not to be contemplated from the heights to which they have attained. What I feel about feminine progress is this: Every bit of knowledge gained, every step made in manual dexterity, artistic perfection, or even professional skill, should trend towards the development of a nobler being, better equipped for every womanly duty than were the women of preceding generations. Ay, and more ready and willing to do it with all the added charm that refinement and culture can give to what nature bestowed in the first instance.

Since girls and women outnumber men, there will doubtless be a pretty strong contingent, amongst the most scholarly girls, who will not marry.

Experience has already proved this to some extent. But, after all, human nature is stronger than reason, and will assert itself in unexpected ways, to the confusion of every learned argument.

Feminine independence is apt to lose its value, and the right to stand, in every sense, on the same level and platform with the man is soon waived, when the true love of a true heart is offered together with the strong arm to learn on and to give protection in time of need.

Tell me, dear ones, what piece of news, in which you are not personally concerned, stirs you most, and excites the greatest interest? Is it not the tidings of a friend’s engagement?

What confidences are so sacred as those that tell of happy, hopeful love? Think of your girl friend who, with sweet shyness, hid her blushing face on your shoulder, and repeated in a whisper the words lately spoken by that one who had of late become more to her than all the world besides. Did not your own heart thrill with sympathetic gladness as you listened? Were you not proud of her confidence, and did you not feel more honoured by it than by any trust she had reposed in you before?

She had told you of her joys and sorrows, her hopes and fears on other subjects, many a time, and you had listened and sympathised. But all the rest sank into insignificance when compared with the importance of the future now opening before her. Her confidence was mingled with both smiles and tears—happy tears you were sure—and you too were ready to laugh and cry by turns, as you clasped her in your arms, and kissed her, telling her between whiles how truly you rejoiced in her joy.

I can picture you going homeward with the news, so delighted to tell it that your walk breaks into a run in your eagerness, and yet as you go, you perhaps think to yourself, “I wonder if such happiness will come to me also. Shall I some day reciprocate such confidence as my friend has placed in me?”

As you asked yourself the question, did some known face come before your mind’s eye and bring to your cheek a self-conscious flush? Not a flush of shame. Far be it from me to suggest such a thing. You have no need to shrink from owning that you do look forward hopefully to the possibility of being one day the loved and trusted partner of some good man, and, if God so wills it, the mother of his children.

The prospect of being a wife and a mother involves alike the most sacred, vast, and yet delightful responsibilities. How can you be fit to undertake such, if you have given them no serious thought beforehand, or striven to qualify yourself for them?

Having myself known such an ideally happy married life that the very memory of it makes me unspeakably rich now, in the days of my widowhood, how I long to see my experiences repeated in the lives of those who are to be the wives and mothers of the future!

Death robbed me of my partner several years ago, but even death could not take away the riches that memory stored for me during more than thrice that time, nearly thirty blessed years. Having had experience of the things which tend to the building up of such memories, I feel free to speak of them to you, my dear girl friends, to whom the path is yet an untrodden way.

Oh, I do want it to be a happy path to all of you who may enter upon it! Not necessarily all smooth. Such paths are seldom found on earth, and when they are, those who tread them are apt to grow weary even of happy monotony, and to step aside into others, where they find or make difficulties for themselves. Or they remain on the smooth road, but cover it with imaginary stumbling-blocks, which are harder to surmount than real ones.

What I desire for each of you is a road on which you and the dear one who is the accepted alike of your heart, your reason, and your conscience may walk together as “two who are agreed.”

The privilege of choice pertains to the other sex; but only after a limited fashion, seeing that with yourselves rests the power to accept or refuse any number of offers that may be made to you.

If you accept, your answer should have a threefold basis. Honest affection to begin with, for, believe me, without this married life cannot be truly happy. It is a life which calls for much self-devotion, self-denial, patience, and the bending of one’s own will to that of another.

True affection sweetens all these things and makes them easy, and that must be a hard nature indeed which does not respond on receiving such proofs of it.

But reason and conscience should each have a voice in saying “Yes” or “No” to an offer of marriage. They will speak, even when at times the girl is unwilling to listen to either of them.

Conscience will ask, “Is the union with this man one on which a blessing can be asked and expected? I have been brought up by God-fearing parents, whose great desire has been that I should be His child and walk as a disciple of Jesus. On this, the most important subject of all, shall we two be agreed?”

I am not going to suggest all the questions which will be likely to come into the mind of a Christian girl under such circumstances; but I cannot imagine one worthy of the name who would give an answer, affecting the happiness of at least two lives, without earnestly seeking guidance from God by prayer and supplication. If, after this, conscience is satisfied, only reason’s voice has to be heard.

“What, are not affection and conscience enough without help from reason?” you ask.

Well, perhaps I should say common sense should have a third voice in the matter. You and I have eyes to see and ears to hear. However young you may be, you have seen and known something of what are called imprudent marriages.

There may have been true affection and unity in aims, principles, and work. The union, as such, may be one against which no one can say a word, except that it will not be a prudent marriage, and can only bring regrettable consequences.

How a young man is to be honoured if he, for the very love he bears a girl, refrains from giving her the pain of saying “No” when her heart as well as esteem for his character would induce her to say “Yes” at all risks!

Often the girl has to show herself the stronger under such circumstances, and then her task is doubly hard, for she has to battle against her own heart’s pleadings as well as those of her lover.

I do not believe that any girl who shows her courage and self-devotion in such a manner will have cause to regret in the long run. If the man is worthy of her affection, he will love her the better for the motives which have induced her to refuse him. He will have realised the cost to herself, and will determine that it shall not be in vain. Knowing that he cannot give her such a home as woulddeserve the name, and that marriage on such a slender or uncertain income would mean privation, constant struggling to make ends meet, probably debt as an additional burden, he will resolve to work the harder and possess his soul in patience until brighter days dawn for both of them.

He will say, “What is worth having is worth both working and waiting for,” and he will redouble his efforts to shorten the time of probation. Each will be cheered by the thought, “It was for her sake I kept silent,” or “It was for his sake I said ‘No,’ not my own.”

I have often been consulted by girls who, having seen my own happy married life, have decided that I must be an authority on things pertaining thereto. But, alas, it has also often happened that the applicant for advice only wished me to confirm her own foolish decision.

One case recurs to my mind after the lapse of many years. Thefiancée, orphaned as an infant, had been brought up, educated, and cared for by relatives. She was a good pianist, and had early found a groove in which to earn a livelihood, always having in addition the certainty of a home with those who had brought her up, should she need it.

Past her first girlhood, at twenty-nine she engaged herself to a young man eight years her junior, inferior to herself in social position, education, speech, and manner, and with a weekly income of twenty-five shillings, no other money, and relatives who rather needed help than were likely to give it.

She came to ask if I would smooth matters with the relatives, who were grieved and indignant at her folly in thinking of such a union. A little questioning elicited the facts that her savings were to furnish the cottage, pay the wedding expenses, including the bridegroom’s new suit, and that rent alone would absorb six out of the weekly twenty-five shillings. She could not retain her position after marriage, but she hoped to earn something by giving music lessons.

Need I tell you what eloquence I wasted on this wilful young woman, who was old enough to know better, but too old and obstinate to be convinced against her will. I brought figures to bear, put the cost of the barest necessaries opposite to that nineteen shillings of weekly income after payment of rent. But it was all useless. She did not want to be convicted of rashness and folly, but to induce others to agree to them.

You have doubtless foreseen the result whilst listening to the prelude. The marriage took place. The wife’s money was all absorbed at the start, and debts began to be incurred almost immediately. The man was not of the sort likely to win a better position, and the woman, gently nurtured, found in him a hard, selfish domestic tyrant, who made her life of toil doubly bitter by his coarseness and the harshness of his conduct towards the children. Friends had said they would not help; but pity and the old affection for the woman whose childhood they had watched over conquered indignation, and much was done for her, often by stealth, or she and her little ones would have been no better for it. I will not tell the rest of a sad story; but what I have said gives a picture of results where neither conscience nor reason had a voice in deciding the future of two lives.

Every rank of life furnishes samples of ill-advised marriages. A girl may be attracted by a handsome person, and not pause to find out whether the moral and religious character of the man corresponds with it. She may note his pleasant social qualities and admire them; but it would be well for her to find out whether these are equally notable under the home roof. It is good to know what sort of a son and brother a man is.

If a mother’s face lights with pleasure at the mention of her son, and the thought of what he is to her brings moisture to her eyes, if the girls of the family make a friend of him and regard him as a great factor in the sum that makes up the happiness of home, there will be good reason for believing that, in the dearest of all relationships, he will not be found wanting.

There is an old saying that “A man is known by the company he keeps.” Is it not, then, well for you, who look forward to spending a lifetime in his society, to know something of the associates he chooses for himself now?

I think I hear some of you asking, “Is it not the business of parents and guardians to satisfy themselves about the position, means, character, associates, and so on, of the man who seeks a daughter in marriage?”

Assuredly it is. But all of you are not blessed with parents, or kind, wise guardians in place of them. Some have not even friends who will interest themselves on behalf of girl acquaintances. Some, again, are ready to blame the young and foolish girls who think so lightly of what is of supreme importance. They laugh, or quote old sayings about “Eating rue pie,” “Marry in haste and repent at leisure,” and so on. One has even noted a look of almost pleasurable anticipation on the face of some acquaintance whose advice has been asked, but not followed, as the remark has been made, “She will find out her mistake soon enough when she gets what she never bargained for.”

Perhaps there may be relatives who are not wholly sorry to be rid of responsibility in regard to girls who have not been amenable to advice or rules. Such wash their hands of the whole affair by the warning, “As you make your bed, so you must lie. Do not look to us for help in future.”

So, when a girl reaps the fruits of a hasty or ill-advised marriage, the most she gets from erewhile friends or kinsfolk, is, “You were warned in time. I told you what would happen.”

Parents, guardians, true friends may do their utmost, but, after all, they cannot do everything. A great part of the responsibility must rest on the girl herself, since they may advise and she refuse to listen. They may picture the prospect before her, she may shut her eyes to it. They may bring facts and figures, she will not discuss them, or will insist that her calculations are right and theirs are wrong. They may point out that the burden of care and toil which would follow such a marriage will prove too heavy for her. She makes light of it, because hitherto she has never felt the reality.

Dear ones, I am dealing mainly with warnings, and that side of the question with which reason has mainly to do, in this our first talk on an all-important subject. We shall look at the love and the beautiful—poetic I had almost said—the heavenly side of it by-and-by. Now, I seem to be looking all the time at the mistakes and follies which, in so many cases, have spoiled lives, and made marriage like anything rather than what God meant it to be.

Is there one amongst you to-night who is getting tired of the daily round in a poor home where all the family are, however, rich in affection? You may have grown weary of the makeshifts and contrivances needful to keep up appearances. You hate to have to calculate how far every shilling will go before you spend it. You long to escape from the narrow round of daily life, almost at any cost. Perhaps you have only to say “Yes,” in order to exchange it for comparative ease and luxury, but you hesitate, and why?

Because your heart tells you that affection will have no share in the compact. Conscience whispers that you only know that your suitor’s worldly circumstances are favourable, but as to his character you are almost in ignorance, and have an uncomfortable feeling that you had better not inquire too closely.

Will you give your life into the keeping of one about whom you know almost nothing, and try to silence heart, conscience and reason by saying to yourself, “A fine home, costly garments, money and social position will make up for all else that is lacking.”

God forbid. All that the world has to offer cannot make amends for the absence of true love and the respect and confidence that should give it stability, neither can it stifle the voice of conscience, which says, “I told you the truth, and you would not listen.”

Sometimes girls are impatient of parental control, and to escape from what is only reasonable and right, determine to rule in a home of their own. They use the hackneyed saying that marriage brings affection with it, but too often realise that the parental yoke was light indeed when compared to what they have voluntarily assumed.

I think I see you turning reproachful eyes upon me, and hear you asking, “How is it that you, who have known such wedded happiness, speak as though you looked on marriage as a thing to be avoided?”

Patience, dear ones. I have been drawing word-pictures from life. You have listened patiently; now I ask you to bear my words in mind. Between this and our next Twilight gathering ask yourselves if any of my warnings have come specially home to you, or if you are in danger of wrecking your own young lives and bringing sorrow on those who love you, in any of the ways against which I have lifted up my voice.

(To be continued.)

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