FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.

FROCKS FOR TO-MORROW.By"THE LADY DRESSMAKER."EVENING DRESSES FOR CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES.Thewinter is always distinguished by a rather dowdy style of dress, especially in town, where, for at least three months of the year, the days are so dark and the light so poor at best that everyone says, "It really cannot matter what one puts on in such sombre weather as this." Such is the sentiment expressed by the general public, but, of course, does not apply to those who, having carriages at their disposal, can blossom out like the lilies of King Solomon, and be carried over the mud and through the gloom without let or hindrance. It is only on sunny days during the winter and at Church Parade in Hyde Park that one sees the brighter side of winter dress. Otherwise it only blooms in the shops, at the dressmakers', and at the endless afternoon teas which constitute the main amusement during the winter. One must have at least one nice walking-dress for the winter, in spite of the gloom, for these last-named festive occasions, and one generally needs a cape or mantle as well to wear in turn with our costume or with it as we may require. Besides this, most women have a certain amount of "wearing out" to do of clothes that must put in a second winter. Those wise people who have established a kind of rule for themselves in the purchase of dress get a handsome cape or mantle one year and a handsome gown the next, the latter becoming less visible and important the second year when worn under the new mantle. Both of these should come from first-rate shops, in order to get the full value out of them. Then there are the people who wait for the sales to supply themselves with winter clothes, and say they manage to finish out the last year's stock by this means in the still darker and shorter days before Christmas. I always consider the wearing out of one's winter things a grievous bother which falls most heavily on the shoulders of those who are very careful wearers of their garments. I know people who really are never able to wear out their clothes, and become quite dispirited at the constant sight of them. I know one lady who is able to clothe several others poorer than herself because she takes such good care of what she wears, and things are hardly worn in appearance when she has them repaired and brushed up.The class which has the most difficulty in clothing themselves so as to present a respectable appearance is composed of these verypoor ladies, who are governesses, lady-helps, or companions, and no doubt my readers will have noticed the moving appeals issued by many of the societies and agencies which are interested in procuring work for them. As we are always anxious to find out good works for our women and girls, we commend to them this one, as one of the most blessed both to giver and receiver.The return to fashion of dresses made from the same material entirely instead of those which have been so long in wear, which consisted of a blouse, more or less handsome, and a skirt, has brought in a necessity for mantles and capes, and so these are really the most fashionable of the out-of-door garments for the winter months. There is no fear, however, of the skirt and jacket disappearing from amongst us, for they have been found too useful to lose their place in our esteem; and the winter jackets are, some of them, very pretty and tight-fitting, with large buttons, and generally of three-quarter length, though there are many quite short ones, but which seem more used for cycling or golf than for real walking or driving.TWO WINTER GOWNS.One of these costumes with a tight-fitting coat is shown in our illustration of "a gown with braid and fur," which is a very handsome example of the walking-gowns of the winter. The skirt is made with the fashionable tightness, the much-worn shaped flounce, and the braiding is carried down the front on either side in a graceful arabesque design, which is wider and fuller in detail at the top near the waist. The points are braided in the same manner, and the tops of the sleeves. The fronts have revers of mink fur. The dress itself is in dark blue cloth, and the braiding is in black. The hat is of blue velvet, with white and green wings, and blue and green velvet trimmings. This admixture of blue and green seems more popular than ever this winter, and I have frequently seen a blue hat with a bright green velvet choux bow placed in a conspicuous position in front.The choux and the Louis XII. or true lovers' knot are the two fashionable bows of the season, for hats and bonnets as well as for dress. The first-named seems ubiquitous in evening dress, where black velvet also appears to be most popular as a trimming.GOWN WITH BRAID AND FUR.Both velvet and velveteen are much worn, and are suited to the fashions of the day, and the velveteen blouse retains its popularity, but is more dressy and fanciful than it was. In some cases velvet is used for the coat-shaped bodices, with short square tails that are much seen, and these have almost invariably fancy vests or yokes. In most instances, too, these are of finely tucked silk muslin, which, in cream or white, is quite the most popular material for them, in spite of its perishable nature and apparent unseasonableness.So far as materials are concerned, everything that is clinging and soft is sought after, and even the rustling silks that lined our skirts and gave us such a feeling of opulence have been relinquished in favour of something more clinging. Cashmere and nuns' veiling are used for the lining of day dresses, and China silks for evening ones. For slight people this clinging effect is sometimes trying, but where stout people are concerned the matter becomes worse, and we shall hear of all kinds of cures for obesity in order to wear the new skirts.Of course, as is usual at this season, many evening dresses for small Christmas festivities are simple, and our illustration shows three of these, which are inexpensive and pretty. The first seated figure to the right wears a pink silk muslin, plain for wearing over the accordion-kilted skirt, and having a small black leaf-like pattern on it for the pointed overskirt; a ruching of rose-coloured silk goes round the latter part of the bodice and sleeves, and the back is finished with a wide band and bow with ends of rose colour. This can, of course, be carried out in any hue, but in white or cream-colour it is very pretty, and there are such numbers of fancy gauzes and nets that a pretty choice can be made which would be more inexpensive than the model we present.The centre figure wears a dress ofmousseline-de-soieof a pale shade of Parma violet, which is trimmed with narrow ribbons, drawnup to form small ruches. These are of a slightly darker violet. The small Eton jacket is of the same shade of violet velvet or satin, with bands of velvet and paste buckles. The standing-up figure wears a dress of jet-embroidered net, with bands ofpassementerieon the front of the bodice. The evening wrap is of a soft yellow brocade, which is lined with a pale violet, and trimmed with flounces of lace and silk. The collar is edged with white fur, and a bow of chiffon ornaments the neck at the back. In giving these dresses I should observe that, although they seem costly, they can be copied in less expensive materials. Nuns' veiling, China silk, velveteen, taffetas, Russian net, and Brussels net are all in fashion, and all are comparatively so moderate in price as to be attainable by those who have slender purses. This season we also have the embroidered net skirts that were introduced last year, with the improvement that this season the bodice-piece is sold as well. So we have not to make troublesome inquiries and huntings for the material to decorate them. There seems to be a tendency likewise to return to the use of a three-quarter length sleeve, which fits the arm smoothly as far as the elbow and terminates in a frill. The long net and chiffon sleeves are still worn, and I notice that there are some very pretty high net bodices without sleeves, or, at least, with a few folds of satin, which answer the purpose. These will be a novelty if they should be adopted, and will be charming for the evening with all thin materials.The illustration of two winter gowns shows one of the new skirts and a bodice fastened at the back. The skirt is also fastened there in the newest fashion; the trimming consists of rows of fine black braid, the dress being of fine cloth, of apervencheblue. The bodice is trimmed with points of velvet, of a darker shade of blue, and the same is used for the bows at the back. The second dress is one of those tucked throughout. It is of a soft satin cloth, of a pale shade of grey. The revers are braided, and there is a front of dark-grey velvet and a high collar, with the lining braided, like the revers. I hope you will notice that this skirt opens on one side, usually the left, and it is finished by a row of tiny buttons, or by a small ruching of ribbon.A great deal of this ribbon ruching is seen, as well as much piping. Silk braids, very fine and very narrow, in black and white, form a feature of this year's decorations, and silver braids as well. Crystal buttons are more liked than paste or steel ones, and there is a craze for old lace and for mixing fur with it. Black and white are in as much favour as this mixture has always found during the last four years, and the two are constantly mixed in trimmings.I think I mentioned in my last that the hair was worn low on the neck—certainly far lower than has been the custom for some little time. But I do not find that the knot of hair is quite so low just now. Evidently the idea has not quite "caught on," as the slang phrase has it, and most of the well-dressed heads I have lately seen have had the coil of hair at the back of the head midway down. Perhaps, later on, we shall see more of the low hair dressing than we do now.Truly the swing of the pendulum has quite carried us away from the neat and ever-becoming black stockings, and the new ones are a study in colour and design. I think the tartan ones will be worn, and will look well; but I cannot say I like the others; nevertheless, that may be because one has grown used to a lack of colour for so long.So far as boots and shoes are concerned, the most fashionable people wear the American ones with their extremely pointed toes and narrow feet, but it is open to the sensible to wear something more comfortable if they do not mind a loss of style, for we cannot be really smart unless our poor feet be pinched and pointed to the last degree.

By"THE LADY DRESSMAKER."

EVENING DRESSES FOR CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES.

EVENING DRESSES FOR CHRISTMAS FESTIVITIES.

Thewinter is always distinguished by a rather dowdy style of dress, especially in town, where, for at least three months of the year, the days are so dark and the light so poor at best that everyone says, "It really cannot matter what one puts on in such sombre weather as this." Such is the sentiment expressed by the general public, but, of course, does not apply to those who, having carriages at their disposal, can blossom out like the lilies of King Solomon, and be carried over the mud and through the gloom without let or hindrance. It is only on sunny days during the winter and at Church Parade in Hyde Park that one sees the brighter side of winter dress. Otherwise it only blooms in the shops, at the dressmakers', and at the endless afternoon teas which constitute the main amusement during the winter. One must have at least one nice walking-dress for the winter, in spite of the gloom, for these last-named festive occasions, and one generally needs a cape or mantle as well to wear in turn with our costume or with it as we may require. Besides this, most women have a certain amount of "wearing out" to do of clothes that must put in a second winter. Those wise people who have established a kind of rule for themselves in the purchase of dress get a handsome cape or mantle one year and a handsome gown the next, the latter becoming less visible and important the second year when worn under the new mantle. Both of these should come from first-rate shops, in order to get the full value out of them. Then there are the people who wait for the sales to supply themselves with winter clothes, and say they manage to finish out the last year's stock by this means in the still darker and shorter days before Christmas. I always consider the wearing out of one's winter things a grievous bother which falls most heavily on the shoulders of those who are very careful wearers of their garments. I know people who really are never able to wear out their clothes, and become quite dispirited at the constant sight of them. I know one lady who is able to clothe several others poorer than herself because she takes such good care of what she wears, and things are hardly worn in appearance when she has them repaired and brushed up.

The class which has the most difficulty in clothing themselves so as to present a respectable appearance is composed of these verypoor ladies, who are governesses, lady-helps, or companions, and no doubt my readers will have noticed the moving appeals issued by many of the societies and agencies which are interested in procuring work for them. As we are always anxious to find out good works for our women and girls, we commend to them this one, as one of the most blessed both to giver and receiver.

The return to fashion of dresses made from the same material entirely instead of those which have been so long in wear, which consisted of a blouse, more or less handsome, and a skirt, has brought in a necessity for mantles and capes, and so these are really the most fashionable of the out-of-door garments for the winter months. There is no fear, however, of the skirt and jacket disappearing from amongst us, for they have been found too useful to lose their place in our esteem; and the winter jackets are, some of them, very pretty and tight-fitting, with large buttons, and generally of three-quarter length, though there are many quite short ones, but which seem more used for cycling or golf than for real walking or driving.

TWO WINTER GOWNS.

TWO WINTER GOWNS.

One of these costumes with a tight-fitting coat is shown in our illustration of "a gown with braid and fur," which is a very handsome example of the walking-gowns of the winter. The skirt is made with the fashionable tightness, the much-worn shaped flounce, and the braiding is carried down the front on either side in a graceful arabesque design, which is wider and fuller in detail at the top near the waist. The points are braided in the same manner, and the tops of the sleeves. The fronts have revers of mink fur. The dress itself is in dark blue cloth, and the braiding is in black. The hat is of blue velvet, with white and green wings, and blue and green velvet trimmings. This admixture of blue and green seems more popular than ever this winter, and I have frequently seen a blue hat with a bright green velvet choux bow placed in a conspicuous position in front.

The choux and the Louis XII. or true lovers' knot are the two fashionable bows of the season, for hats and bonnets as well as for dress. The first-named seems ubiquitous in evening dress, where black velvet also appears to be most popular as a trimming.

GOWN WITH BRAID AND FUR.

GOWN WITH BRAID AND FUR.

Both velvet and velveteen are much worn, and are suited to the fashions of the day, and the velveteen blouse retains its popularity, but is more dressy and fanciful than it was. In some cases velvet is used for the coat-shaped bodices, with short square tails that are much seen, and these have almost invariably fancy vests or yokes. In most instances, too, these are of finely tucked silk muslin, which, in cream or white, is quite the most popular material for them, in spite of its perishable nature and apparent unseasonableness.

So far as materials are concerned, everything that is clinging and soft is sought after, and even the rustling silks that lined our skirts and gave us such a feeling of opulence have been relinquished in favour of something more clinging. Cashmere and nuns' veiling are used for the lining of day dresses, and China silks for evening ones. For slight people this clinging effect is sometimes trying, but where stout people are concerned the matter becomes worse, and we shall hear of all kinds of cures for obesity in order to wear the new skirts.

Of course, as is usual at this season, many evening dresses for small Christmas festivities are simple, and our illustration shows three of these, which are inexpensive and pretty. The first seated figure to the right wears a pink silk muslin, plain for wearing over the accordion-kilted skirt, and having a small black leaf-like pattern on it for the pointed overskirt; a ruching of rose-coloured silk goes round the latter part of the bodice and sleeves, and the back is finished with a wide band and bow with ends of rose colour. This can, of course, be carried out in any hue, but in white or cream-colour it is very pretty, and there are such numbers of fancy gauzes and nets that a pretty choice can be made which would be more inexpensive than the model we present.

The centre figure wears a dress ofmousseline-de-soieof a pale shade of Parma violet, which is trimmed with narrow ribbons, drawnup to form small ruches. These are of a slightly darker violet. The small Eton jacket is of the same shade of violet velvet or satin, with bands of velvet and paste buckles. The standing-up figure wears a dress of jet-embroidered net, with bands ofpassementerieon the front of the bodice. The evening wrap is of a soft yellow brocade, which is lined with a pale violet, and trimmed with flounces of lace and silk. The collar is edged with white fur, and a bow of chiffon ornaments the neck at the back. In giving these dresses I should observe that, although they seem costly, they can be copied in less expensive materials. Nuns' veiling, China silk, velveteen, taffetas, Russian net, and Brussels net are all in fashion, and all are comparatively so moderate in price as to be attainable by those who have slender purses. This season we also have the embroidered net skirts that were introduced last year, with the improvement that this season the bodice-piece is sold as well. So we have not to make troublesome inquiries and huntings for the material to decorate them. There seems to be a tendency likewise to return to the use of a three-quarter length sleeve, which fits the arm smoothly as far as the elbow and terminates in a frill. The long net and chiffon sleeves are still worn, and I notice that there are some very pretty high net bodices without sleeves, or, at least, with a few folds of satin, which answer the purpose. These will be a novelty if they should be adopted, and will be charming for the evening with all thin materials.

The illustration of two winter gowns shows one of the new skirts and a bodice fastened at the back. The skirt is also fastened there in the newest fashion; the trimming consists of rows of fine black braid, the dress being of fine cloth, of apervencheblue. The bodice is trimmed with points of velvet, of a darker shade of blue, and the same is used for the bows at the back. The second dress is one of those tucked throughout. It is of a soft satin cloth, of a pale shade of grey. The revers are braided, and there is a front of dark-grey velvet and a high collar, with the lining braided, like the revers. I hope you will notice that this skirt opens on one side, usually the left, and it is finished by a row of tiny buttons, or by a small ruching of ribbon.

A great deal of this ribbon ruching is seen, as well as much piping. Silk braids, very fine and very narrow, in black and white, form a feature of this year's decorations, and silver braids as well. Crystal buttons are more liked than paste or steel ones, and there is a craze for old lace and for mixing fur with it. Black and white are in as much favour as this mixture has always found during the last four years, and the two are constantly mixed in trimmings.

I think I mentioned in my last that the hair was worn low on the neck—certainly far lower than has been the custom for some little time. But I do not find that the knot of hair is quite so low just now. Evidently the idea has not quite "caught on," as the slang phrase has it, and most of the well-dressed heads I have lately seen have had the coil of hair at the back of the head midway down. Perhaps, later on, we shall see more of the low hair dressing than we do now.

Truly the swing of the pendulum has quite carried us away from the neat and ever-becoming black stockings, and the new ones are a study in colour and design. I think the tartan ones will be worn, and will look well; but I cannot say I like the others; nevertheless, that may be because one has grown used to a lack of colour for so long.

So far as boots and shoes are concerned, the most fashionable people wear the American ones with their extremely pointed toes and narrow feet, but it is open to the sensible to wear something more comfortable if they do not mind a loss of style, for we cannot be really smart unless our poor feet be pinched and pointed to the last degree.

OUR PROSPECTUS PUZZLE REPORT.SOLUTION.ANOTHER NAUGHT.A Roundel.Time hastens onwards to the dayWhen our good, trusty printer oughtUpon our numbers to displayAnother naught.Oh! how tremendous is the thought:—A thousand weeks have passed awaySince out our magazine was brought!We love our work, it is but play;"Bon Voyage" to the bark high-fraught;And printer, sing as you in-layAnother naught.Prize Winners.Ten Shillings Each.J. Hunt, 42, Francis Road, Birmingham.A. Phillips, 15, South Hill Park, Hampstead.Emily M. Wood, Woodbank, Southport.Five Shillings Each.Margaret Baggallay, 3, Clarence Lawn, Dover.Marie Behrendt, Scanthorpe, Doncaster.Lily Belling, Wribbenhall, Bewdley.Miss H. M. Brown, Longformacus, Duns, N.B.Charlotte D. Cole, 7, High Street, Beckenham.M. A. C. Crabb, Ipplepen, Alexandra Road, Hemel Hempstead.Agnes Dewhurst, 32, Lethbridge Road, Southport.Miss M. Hodgkinson, 2, Feversham Terrace, York.Benjamin Marcroft, High Legh, Grosvenor Drive, New Brighton.Nellie Meikle, 2, Newsham Drive, Liverpool.Henzell G. Robson, 7, Oxford Terrace, Gateshead-on-Tyne.F. A. Powell, 75, Hythe Road, Swindon.Anne Sifton, 230, Goldhawk Road, Shepherd's Bush.M. Stuart, The Shrubbery, Grove Park, Kent.Ellen C. Tarrant, 2, Palace Grove, Bromley.Violet C. Todd, Ford, Cornhill-on-Tweed.Very Highly Commended.Mrs. Acheson, Eliza Acworth, Lottie R. Biddle, E. J. Cameron, Mrs. J. Cumming, May Merrall, E. C. Milne, Lilla Patterson, Constance Taylor, Connie E. Thompson, Daisy Tyler, Martha Wood.For Artistic Execution.Maud Abbott.Highly Commended.Annie A. Arnott, Fanny Ashby, Ethel M. Atkins, Margaret Bailey, Eva M. Benson, R. S. Benson, E. K. Berry, Mary A. Blagg, Nancy Bolingbroke, M. S. Bourne, May Burlinsay, Annie J. Cather, Mabel E. Davis, Mrs. Deane, Edward R. Duffield, Alice M. Feurer, Emily Francis, Mrs. W. H. Gotch, Mrs. Grubbe, Edith E. Grundy, A. Hughes, George L. Ingram, Annie G. Luck, C. Y. MacGibbon, E. Mastin, Jessie Middlemiss, Mrs. Nicholls, Percy J. Powell, Alice M. Price, Gertrude Saffery, A. C. Sharp, Isabel Snell, Norah M. Sullivan, A. C. T., Phyllis Toker, Ann Toplis, Florence Whitlock, Mrs. Wigglesworth, E. Wilson.Honourable Mention.S. Ballard, Mary I. Chislett, Helen M. Coulthard, Mrs. H. Keel, K. H. Ingram, E. M. Le Mottée, Charlotte Hayward, Florence Hayward, Ethel C. Hobbs, Edith L. Howse, Annette E. Jackson, Alice E. Johnson, Fred Lindley, Ethel C. McMaster, Elsa P. Neel, Charles Parr, Elizabeth A. Reynolds, Annie Saunders, Dorothy Smith, Ellen R. Smith, Gertrude Smith, May Tutte, Anna Walker, J. Walker, Julia Waltenberg, John R. Whyberd, G. Watherston.EXAMINERS' REPORT.The insatiability of an editor who is clamouring daily for our words of wisdom compels us to be very brief. This is all the more to be regretted because with such a subject to handle we could have risen to great literary heights. But to work!The title was not "Another aught," the reason being that aught is not synonymous with naught. The difference between the two is considerable, "aught" signifying anything, "naught" nothing. The importance of this pleasing fact is often overlooked, especially by schoolchildren, who frequently speak of a cipher as "an aught," or, as they in their childish wisdom spell it "ought."In many solutions the final letter of "onwards" was omitted. Doubtless, "onward" is grammatically just as good, but as the "s" was in the puzzle it was a pity not to transfer it to the solution.The beginning of the third line seems to have caused trouble. Those who failed to find the true solution generally gave "On our three figures," or "On our first numbers." Both readings are good interpretations of the text, but the first is meaningless and the second is incorrect. With "On all our numbers "—adopted by a few solvers—we have little fault to find.Many competitors kindly pointed out that the minus sign in line 6 ought to have been the sign of division. Let us examine their contention closely. Two weeks divided by two yields one week and the beginning of the line would run "A thousand one week." Two weeks minus two yields weeks, clearly, and we need pursue the instruction no further. Some of the readings at this point were remarkable,e.g., "A thousand days"; "Twelve thousand days": "A thousand years," and "A million weeks."We have always been accustomed to regardThe Girl's Own Paperwith much veneration, but the idea of its having first seen the light something like fourteen thousand years before Adam is somewhat startling.In the next line, "G. O. P." often took the place of "magazine." Our dislike of such irritating abbreviations did not prevent us from doing justice to the reading which is rhythmically correct.The number of solvers who wrote "barque" for "bark" was amazing. The latter was in the puzzle and signifies any small vessel. The former was not in the puzzle and defines a vessel of a particular rig. And there is really no need for more.

ANOTHER NAUGHT.

A Roundel.

Time hastens onwards to the dayWhen our good, trusty printer oughtUpon our numbers to displayAnother naught.Oh! how tremendous is the thought:—A thousand weeks have passed awaySince out our magazine was brought!We love our work, it is but play;"Bon Voyage" to the bark high-fraught;And printer, sing as you in-layAnother naught.

Time hastens onwards to the dayWhen our good, trusty printer oughtUpon our numbers to displayAnother naught.

Oh! how tremendous is the thought:—A thousand weeks have passed awaySince out our magazine was brought!

We love our work, it is but play;"Bon Voyage" to the bark high-fraught;And printer, sing as you in-layAnother naught.

Ten Shillings Each.

Five Shillings Each.

Very Highly Commended.

Mrs. Acheson, Eliza Acworth, Lottie R. Biddle, E. J. Cameron, Mrs. J. Cumming, May Merrall, E. C. Milne, Lilla Patterson, Constance Taylor, Connie E. Thompson, Daisy Tyler, Martha Wood.

For Artistic Execution.

Maud Abbott.

Highly Commended.

Annie A. Arnott, Fanny Ashby, Ethel M. Atkins, Margaret Bailey, Eva M. Benson, R. S. Benson, E. K. Berry, Mary A. Blagg, Nancy Bolingbroke, M. S. Bourne, May Burlinsay, Annie J. Cather, Mabel E. Davis, Mrs. Deane, Edward R. Duffield, Alice M. Feurer, Emily Francis, Mrs. W. H. Gotch, Mrs. Grubbe, Edith E. Grundy, A. Hughes, George L. Ingram, Annie G. Luck, C. Y. MacGibbon, E. Mastin, Jessie Middlemiss, Mrs. Nicholls, Percy J. Powell, Alice M. Price, Gertrude Saffery, A. C. Sharp, Isabel Snell, Norah M. Sullivan, A. C. T., Phyllis Toker, Ann Toplis, Florence Whitlock, Mrs. Wigglesworth, E. Wilson.

Honourable Mention.

S. Ballard, Mary I. Chislett, Helen M. Coulthard, Mrs. H. Keel, K. H. Ingram, E. M. Le Mottée, Charlotte Hayward, Florence Hayward, Ethel C. Hobbs, Edith L. Howse, Annette E. Jackson, Alice E. Johnson, Fred Lindley, Ethel C. McMaster, Elsa P. Neel, Charles Parr, Elizabeth A. Reynolds, Annie Saunders, Dorothy Smith, Ellen R. Smith, Gertrude Smith, May Tutte, Anna Walker, J. Walker, Julia Waltenberg, John R. Whyberd, G. Watherston.

The insatiability of an editor who is clamouring daily for our words of wisdom compels us to be very brief. This is all the more to be regretted because with such a subject to handle we could have risen to great literary heights. But to work!

The title was not "Another aught," the reason being that aught is not synonymous with naught. The difference between the two is considerable, "aught" signifying anything, "naught" nothing. The importance of this pleasing fact is often overlooked, especially by schoolchildren, who frequently speak of a cipher as "an aught," or, as they in their childish wisdom spell it "ought."

In many solutions the final letter of "onwards" was omitted. Doubtless, "onward" is grammatically just as good, but as the "s" was in the puzzle it was a pity not to transfer it to the solution.

The beginning of the third line seems to have caused trouble. Those who failed to find the true solution generally gave "On our three figures," or "On our first numbers." Both readings are good interpretations of the text, but the first is meaningless and the second is incorrect. With "On all our numbers "—adopted by a few solvers—we have little fault to find.

Many competitors kindly pointed out that the minus sign in line 6 ought to have been the sign of division. Let us examine their contention closely. Two weeks divided by two yields one week and the beginning of the line would run "A thousand one week." Two weeks minus two yields weeks, clearly, and we need pursue the instruction no further. Some of the readings at this point were remarkable,e.g., "A thousand days"; "Twelve thousand days": "A thousand years," and "A million weeks."

We have always been accustomed to regardThe Girl's Own Paperwith much veneration, but the idea of its having first seen the light something like fourteen thousand years before Adam is somewhat startling.

In the next line, "G. O. P." often took the place of "magazine." Our dislike of such irritating abbreviations did not prevent us from doing justice to the reading which is rhythmically correct.

The number of solvers who wrote "barque" for "bark" was amazing. The latter was in the puzzle and signifies any small vessel. The former was not in the puzzle and defines a vessel of a particular rig. And there is really no need for more.

IN THE TWILIGHT SIDE BY SIDE.ByRUTH LAMB.PART III.HOW TO GROW OLD."They shall still bring forth fruit in old age" (Psalm xcii. 14).WhenI was a child a dear old lady, who had been asking questions about my lessons, laid her gentle hand on my head and said, "I see you love school, my child. 'Learn young, learn fair.'"You, dear girl friends, will be at no loss to understand the teaching of the proverb. It says, in few words, that those lessons which are early imprinted on our minds are likely to have an abiding place in our memories and a lasting influence over our lives.There is one lesson amongst many which we ought to be constantly learning from the time that we can understand anything. It is, how to grow old.Do I see some of you smiling at each other, as if old age were such a far-away subject that it ought not to be introduced to my great gathering of girls? Why, if I could have spoken to you as children, one by one, I would have asked, "Are you learning how to grow old?"You ought to be, for the moment you began to live you started on the path that leads to old age. From that path none of us can turn aside and, perhaps without thinking much of the inevitable ending, we pursue our course thereon steadily and uninterruptedly. We may start on many other paths—those of duty, work, mental culture, etc.—and we may take up certain pursuits and relinquish them at our will, but the one onward journey is continuous. We travel by night and by day. Sleeping or waking, resting or working, we are ever progressing towards old age, whether we live to reach it or not.It is often said that every age has its special beauty, and yet I daresay many of you have never dreamed of associating the idea of beauty with old age. You are apt to claim it as the special prerogative of youth. Yet I believe that old age may be—and I assert that it ought to be in certain senses—the most beautiful of all, despite the white hair, the tremulous hand, the feeble step which seeks support from the strong arm of the young, and the wrinkles on brows that were once as smooth and fair as the fairest amongst yours.The young often shrink from the very thought of being old. One hears the girl in her teens whisper to her companion, as she glances at a third who is not out of her twenties, "She is getting to look quite old already. She might be five-and-thirty."The tone is half pitying, half disparaging, as if the object of the remark were somehow in fault because a few more years had passed over her young head than over the speaker's.Listen again to words from the lips of a girl who is just "sweet seventeen." (Alas that seventeen does not always deserve the adjective!) She has just stigmatised a friend of thirty as "a cross old thing." And for what? She has only been trying to bring her good common sense and sound judgment to bear upon the other's wilfulness. She is anxious to save her from doing a foolish thing on which her childish will is stubbornly set and which is certain to be followed by remorse and trouble."Sweet seventeen" purses her pretty lips and tosses her foolish head whilst saying, "As if I were going to be ordered about by her! Cross old thing!" And she goes on her wilful way and pays for it.Still we must acknowledge that a dozen extra years do not always bring proportionate wisdom, any more than does the seventeenth birthday invariably carry sweetness in its train. We have to learn to grow old in such wise that each year's passage means also progress in everything that is best.It seems very strange—does it not?—that whilst everyone desires long life, so many dislike to look forward to old age in connection with themselves. Or, if they do, it is not so much in a frank and natural manner as in a secret and stealthy fashion. If they speak of it at all, they speak as of something which may be near to others, but is still far, far away from themselves. Such people would never tell you that they are learning how to grow old—striving each day after some knowledge which will tend towards the attainment of a really beautiful and lovable old age.The need for such a study is ignored by so many up to and beyond middle age, that one wonders little at its being ignored by the young. Yet other questions occupy their earnest attention in connection with increasing years.How to ward off the semblance of old age, for the reality cannot be deferred. How to look young in spite of it. How to conceal the number of the years that have passed over their heads. How best to utilise art so as to simulate the complexion of youth and to hide the marks of time on their features.Time is readily given in order to solve such questions to the exclusion of those higher lessons, attention to which would make old age the most beautiful and lovely of all.Girls, dear girls! you are generally keen observers of externals, and especially so in matters of female dress and adornment. If one of you has been at a social gathering, whether amongst humble workers or leaders in society, what is usually the first question asked by sisters or acquaintances on her return? Is it not about the dresses worn? You inquire how such a one looked, or if another again wore a dress which is too well known on account of its age. You want to hear all about novelties in the fashioning of new garments, and whether they were of a mode likely to be becoming to yourselves. It may be you give a little laugh as you say that such a girl would be sure to look dowdy, or inquire if the good taste of another was as conspicuous as usual.I am inclined to doubt whether you were as anxious to know how your friend was impressed by the words and conduct of those with whom she had been associating, or whether she had, during this little season of social enjoyment, received impressions likely to influence her for good. We ought to be learners in every place, but not merely in regard to externals.Now I want to ask you a question. I have given you credit for being keen observers. Tell me, can you imagine a picture more truly pitiable and contemptible than that of a woman on whose face is the stamp of age, but who imagines that she has succeeded in hiding it by paint and powder?One who hugs the thought that she has rendered her wrinkles invisible, or that her dyed hair, with its tell-tale line of grey near the roots, or the cunningly arranged golden hued substitute for whitened locks, deceives anyone but herself? All such shams make the old look older still. They add to the appearance of age instead of taking from it, and they rob old age of much of the beauty which is as real as that which pertains to the youth it tries to simulate. I am alluding to externals first because everyone sees them.I have no doubt that you have all discovered my liking for proverbial expressions. My native county is rich in these pithy sayings which convey so much meaning in few words. The subject of our present talk brings to mind one of these proverbs, which was often quoted in my hearing when I was a girl. I recall one occasion especially. A ruddy farmer turned to look after an elderly woman who had just passed him. She was girlishly dressed, and she strove to trip along in youthful fashion, feeling evidently well satisfied with herself, and claiming admiration by every gesture.What had our countryman to say about her appearance? He jogged his neighbour's elbow, and quoted the proverb, as he indicated the retreating figure with a jerk of his thumb: "Old ewe dressed lamb fashion.""Aye," said his friend, "and it's no good. Age will show in spite of paint and finery. She was turned twenty when I was twelve, and I'm over fifty-three to-day. Why, deary me! There's always somebody that remembers."These added words were as true as the proverb itself. There is always someone, amongst our many acquaintances and kinsfolk, who has a good memory for dates, and who can refer to the number of Life's milestones we have passed with unerring accuracy.I asked you if there could be anything more pitiable and contemptible than the sight of an elderly woman trying to defy time and age by such means as I have named?I will answer my own question, "Yes, there is. The sight of a girl who, possessing youth, health, and the share of good looks and attractiveness which must accompany these two things, is ever striving to improve Nature's handiwork by the use of unnatural means." Believe me, my dear girl friends, the sight of a young face disfigured by artificial colouring and unnaturally whitened by powder, of blackened eyebrows and eyelashes, together with similar shams, excites in my mind a feeling of true motherly regret. I love girls too well to say hard things or to speak of contempt for such practices; though they ought to be contemptible in the eyes of all pure and right-minded girls.One associates the use of them with small minds and natures whose chief end and aim are to gratify personal vanity and attract admiration, instead of striving to win respect by the exercise of far nobler powers. Can any girl be so self-deceived as to think she will win honest affection by such means?She may win it in spite of them, but it will be because the one who gives it is able to discover something better and more deserving of love beneath this miserable upper crust of deception.One is always ready to recognise, with gratitude, even a mistaken attempt made by the young with a view of giving pleasure to others. But I am sure that self-pleasing and the gratification of vanity are, in nearly every case, the incentives to such displays as I have condemned.In looking round me, I have been struck with the fact that some of the girls who use paint, powder, and what are, I am informed, known under the general name of "make-ups," are just those to whom Nature has been specially liberal in the gift of beauty.Beauty, when joined to vanity, has an insatiable longing to add to its attractions. It is more than conscious of all that it has, but it is never satisfied, because it craves to combine, in its own person, the attractions of every style which is, from time to time, commended in its hearing. Hence all these useless and foolish efforts to improve on Nature's handiwork.Do not misunderstand me so far as to think I condemn the use of many little toilet accessories, which add greatly both to comfort and health. It would be insulting to the good sense of my girls, if I were to specify what things are lawful and useful, and what are contemptible and to be avoided.You would smile, in pitying fashion, at the sight of an old lady, whose grey locks having become too scanty to cover her head, had thought fit to crown her wrinkled face with a wig and fringe of golden hair. But if the addition matched what remained of her own growth, I hope you would be glad to think that art had done something on behalf of comfort and comeliness for old age, as well as for youth. Depend on it the natural colour of your hair is that which agrees best with your features and complexion, and if there is anything really wrong with the latter, it will be better for you to consult your doctor than a manufacturer of cosmetics.I am glad to think I have not known many girls whose vanity led them to spoil their appearance in the manner I hope you join me in condemning, but we have all seen plenty of such. I picture two, however, both rather exceptionally attractive. One had beautiful, glossy, dark hair, with eyes to match, and a complexion like a blush rose.I did not see her for some time, and when we met I was horrified at the change. A mop of yellow, frizzled hair surmounted a face whence the blush-rose tint had fled, or been hidden under glaringly false red and white. All the dainty charm of the face was gone, and I am fain to confess that I went a little out of my way to avoid a closer meeting with my changed acquaintance. Happily I can tell of a pleasant sequel in this case. Some good influence has been brought to bear, or perhaps the girl's innate good sense has overcome her vanity, and she has found out that such shams are unworthy of a self-respecting girl.She has given fair play to Nature, and that just in time to save the blush-rose complexion from ruin, and to be once more her bonny self.The second girl possessed remarkable beauty especially of complexion, and her vanity and greed of admiration were in proportion to it. These impelled her to be ever experimenting on herself to produce greater perfection, with the result that whilst still a girl she looked many years older than her age, and I hear, though I do not see her now, that she is daily becoming less attractive, though no less vain than of old.Quite apart from the harm done to personal appearance by these foolish practices, but of far greater importance, is the moral injury they cause. One might call the exhibition of paint an acted falsehood, because it is an attempt to make ourselves appear what we are not.But such devices are too transparent to deceive. If begun, they become more and more injurious and difficult to discontinue, and those who practise them live in an atmosphere of anxiety and disappointment. Age comes, despite all efforts to delay its progress, and it leaves footprints which baffle art to disguise or obliterate.Doubtless you have all heard this expression used in relation to someone you know—"She knows how to grow old gracefully." You understand it to picture one who accepts age as the natural and inevitable sequence of youth; who is above the paltry vanity which would hide it—or, rather, try to hide it—yet who neglects nothing which can help to make it externally attractive, and especially to the young. For, if age is to have its full legitimate influence over youth, it must be beautiful in itself, both without and within.I will not ask you, my dear ones, to look again at that pitiable picture of Vanity battling with Age, despite the certainty of defeat and disappointment. But be assured of this—that the girl who starts on the same lines will reach the same goal; but it will not be that of a beautiful and lovable old age.Do not imagine that I undervalue externals. I would have you all be habitually careful about them. Let your complexion be kept at its best by scrupulous cleanliness. If your hair is beautiful and abundant, take pains to dress it in the fashion that best sets off such good looks as you possess. If you are less favoured in this respect, give the more care and pains so as to make the best of what you have.Exercise good taste in your dress, whilst carefully keeping your expenditure within your means. The girl who dresses quietly and becomingly will not make herself conspicuous in later years by the use of glaring colours or fantastic garments.Try to be graceful and quiet in your movements, and scrupulous in avoiding all little ways and habits likely to be disturbing, unpleasant, or offensive to others. And do not be offended if a well-meaning friend ventures to point out a tendency to any growing habit of the kind, knowing that if once established it will be almost impossible for you to overcome it. Bear in mind that such a warning can be only intended for your benefit and to help you on your way towards growing old gracefully.Study to modulate your voices so that the sound of them may fall pleasantly, even musically, on the ear. Shrill, harsh, and loud youthful voices become something too terrible when they accompany age.I wonder if any of you have heard our dear Queen speak? I regret to say that I have not, but friends have told me that they never heard a voice which equalled hers for its melodious tone, perfect clearness, and faultless enunciation.Try to avoid affectation in gesture and movement, and any form of facial contortion. Habit makes all these painful to witness, and age exaggerates them. Sometimes a habit of knitting the brows is contracted early in life, with the result that the forehead is furrowed and a forbidding expression given to the face which permanently spoils it. Age intensifies what is forbidding and disagreeable, but shows to the greatest advantage all that is most lastingly attractive in us, just as the flower fulfils the promise of the bud.In this lesson on "How to grow old" I have confined myself to externals. It is time for us to part, but when we meet again we will study the subject from the highest standpoint.Before then a new year will have dawned on us. Let me suggest as a fitting motto for it, "I will go in the strength of the Lord God." May it prove a very happy one to you all.(To be continued.)

ByRUTH LAMB.

HOW TO GROW OLD.

"They shall still bring forth fruit in old age" (Psalm xcii. 14).

"They shall still bring forth fruit in old age" (Psalm xcii. 14).

WhenI was a child a dear old lady, who had been asking questions about my lessons, laid her gentle hand on my head and said, "I see you love school, my child. 'Learn young, learn fair.'"

You, dear girl friends, will be at no loss to understand the teaching of the proverb. It says, in few words, that those lessons which are early imprinted on our minds are likely to have an abiding place in our memories and a lasting influence over our lives.

There is one lesson amongst many which we ought to be constantly learning from the time that we can understand anything. It is, how to grow old.

Do I see some of you smiling at each other, as if old age were such a far-away subject that it ought not to be introduced to my great gathering of girls? Why, if I could have spoken to you as children, one by one, I would have asked, "Are you learning how to grow old?"

You ought to be, for the moment you began to live you started on the path that leads to old age. From that path none of us can turn aside and, perhaps without thinking much of the inevitable ending, we pursue our course thereon steadily and uninterruptedly. We may start on many other paths—those of duty, work, mental culture, etc.—and we may take up certain pursuits and relinquish them at our will, but the one onward journey is continuous. We travel by night and by day. Sleeping or waking, resting or working, we are ever progressing towards old age, whether we live to reach it or not.

It is often said that every age has its special beauty, and yet I daresay many of you have never dreamed of associating the idea of beauty with old age. You are apt to claim it as the special prerogative of youth. Yet I believe that old age may be—and I assert that it ought to be in certain senses—the most beautiful of all, despite the white hair, the tremulous hand, the feeble step which seeks support from the strong arm of the young, and the wrinkles on brows that were once as smooth and fair as the fairest amongst yours.

The young often shrink from the very thought of being old. One hears the girl in her teens whisper to her companion, as she glances at a third who is not out of her twenties, "She is getting to look quite old already. She might be five-and-thirty."

The tone is half pitying, half disparaging, as if the object of the remark were somehow in fault because a few more years had passed over her young head than over the speaker's.

Listen again to words from the lips of a girl who is just "sweet seventeen." (Alas that seventeen does not always deserve the adjective!) She has just stigmatised a friend of thirty as "a cross old thing." And for what? She has only been trying to bring her good common sense and sound judgment to bear upon the other's wilfulness. She is anxious to save her from doing a foolish thing on which her childish will is stubbornly set and which is certain to be followed by remorse and trouble.

"Sweet seventeen" purses her pretty lips and tosses her foolish head whilst saying, "As if I were going to be ordered about by her! Cross old thing!" And she goes on her wilful way and pays for it.

Still we must acknowledge that a dozen extra years do not always bring proportionate wisdom, any more than does the seventeenth birthday invariably carry sweetness in its train. We have to learn to grow old in such wise that each year's passage means also progress in everything that is best.

It seems very strange—does it not?—that whilst everyone desires long life, so many dislike to look forward to old age in connection with themselves. Or, if they do, it is not so much in a frank and natural manner as in a secret and stealthy fashion. If they speak of it at all, they speak as of something which may be near to others, but is still far, far away from themselves. Such people would never tell you that they are learning how to grow old—striving each day after some knowledge which will tend towards the attainment of a really beautiful and lovable old age.

The need for such a study is ignored by so many up to and beyond middle age, that one wonders little at its being ignored by the young. Yet other questions occupy their earnest attention in connection with increasing years.

How to ward off the semblance of old age, for the reality cannot be deferred. How to look young in spite of it. How to conceal the number of the years that have passed over their heads. How best to utilise art so as to simulate the complexion of youth and to hide the marks of time on their features.

Time is readily given in order to solve such questions to the exclusion of those higher lessons, attention to which would make old age the most beautiful and lovely of all.

Girls, dear girls! you are generally keen observers of externals, and especially so in matters of female dress and adornment. If one of you has been at a social gathering, whether amongst humble workers or leaders in society, what is usually the first question asked by sisters or acquaintances on her return? Is it not about the dresses worn? You inquire how such a one looked, or if another again wore a dress which is too well known on account of its age. You want to hear all about novelties in the fashioning of new garments, and whether they were of a mode likely to be becoming to yourselves. It may be you give a little laugh as you say that such a girl would be sure to look dowdy, or inquire if the good taste of another was as conspicuous as usual.

I am inclined to doubt whether you were as anxious to know how your friend was impressed by the words and conduct of those with whom she had been associating, or whether she had, during this little season of social enjoyment, received impressions likely to influence her for good. We ought to be learners in every place, but not merely in regard to externals.

Now I want to ask you a question. I have given you credit for being keen observers. Tell me, can you imagine a picture more truly pitiable and contemptible than that of a woman on whose face is the stamp of age, but who imagines that she has succeeded in hiding it by paint and powder?

One who hugs the thought that she has rendered her wrinkles invisible, or that her dyed hair, with its tell-tale line of grey near the roots, or the cunningly arranged golden hued substitute for whitened locks, deceives anyone but herself? All such shams make the old look older still. They add to the appearance of age instead of taking from it, and they rob old age of much of the beauty which is as real as that which pertains to the youth it tries to simulate. I am alluding to externals first because everyone sees them.

I have no doubt that you have all discovered my liking for proverbial expressions. My native county is rich in these pithy sayings which convey so much meaning in few words. The subject of our present talk brings to mind one of these proverbs, which was often quoted in my hearing when I was a girl. I recall one occasion especially. A ruddy farmer turned to look after an elderly woman who had just passed him. She was girlishly dressed, and she strove to trip along in youthful fashion, feeling evidently well satisfied with herself, and claiming admiration by every gesture.

What had our countryman to say about her appearance? He jogged his neighbour's elbow, and quoted the proverb, as he indicated the retreating figure with a jerk of his thumb: "Old ewe dressed lamb fashion."

"Aye," said his friend, "and it's no good. Age will show in spite of paint and finery. She was turned twenty when I was twelve, and I'm over fifty-three to-day. Why, deary me! There's always somebody that remembers."

These added words were as true as the proverb itself. There is always someone, amongst our many acquaintances and kinsfolk, who has a good memory for dates, and who can refer to the number of Life's milestones we have passed with unerring accuracy.

I asked you if there could be anything more pitiable and contemptible than the sight of an elderly woman trying to defy time and age by such means as I have named?

I will answer my own question, "Yes, there is. The sight of a girl who, possessing youth, health, and the share of good looks and attractiveness which must accompany these two things, is ever striving to improve Nature's handiwork by the use of unnatural means." Believe me, my dear girl friends, the sight of a young face disfigured by artificial colouring and unnaturally whitened by powder, of blackened eyebrows and eyelashes, together with similar shams, excites in my mind a feeling of true motherly regret. I love girls too well to say hard things or to speak of contempt for such practices; though they ought to be contemptible in the eyes of all pure and right-minded girls.

One associates the use of them with small minds and natures whose chief end and aim are to gratify personal vanity and attract admiration, instead of striving to win respect by the exercise of far nobler powers. Can any girl be so self-deceived as to think she will win honest affection by such means?She may win it in spite of them, but it will be because the one who gives it is able to discover something better and more deserving of love beneath this miserable upper crust of deception.

One is always ready to recognise, with gratitude, even a mistaken attempt made by the young with a view of giving pleasure to others. But I am sure that self-pleasing and the gratification of vanity are, in nearly every case, the incentives to such displays as I have condemned.

In looking round me, I have been struck with the fact that some of the girls who use paint, powder, and what are, I am informed, known under the general name of "make-ups," are just those to whom Nature has been specially liberal in the gift of beauty.

Beauty, when joined to vanity, has an insatiable longing to add to its attractions. It is more than conscious of all that it has, but it is never satisfied, because it craves to combine, in its own person, the attractions of every style which is, from time to time, commended in its hearing. Hence all these useless and foolish efforts to improve on Nature's handiwork.

Do not misunderstand me so far as to think I condemn the use of many little toilet accessories, which add greatly both to comfort and health. It would be insulting to the good sense of my girls, if I were to specify what things are lawful and useful, and what are contemptible and to be avoided.

You would smile, in pitying fashion, at the sight of an old lady, whose grey locks having become too scanty to cover her head, had thought fit to crown her wrinkled face with a wig and fringe of golden hair. But if the addition matched what remained of her own growth, I hope you would be glad to think that art had done something on behalf of comfort and comeliness for old age, as well as for youth. Depend on it the natural colour of your hair is that which agrees best with your features and complexion, and if there is anything really wrong with the latter, it will be better for you to consult your doctor than a manufacturer of cosmetics.

I am glad to think I have not known many girls whose vanity led them to spoil their appearance in the manner I hope you join me in condemning, but we have all seen plenty of such. I picture two, however, both rather exceptionally attractive. One had beautiful, glossy, dark hair, with eyes to match, and a complexion like a blush rose.

I did not see her for some time, and when we met I was horrified at the change. A mop of yellow, frizzled hair surmounted a face whence the blush-rose tint had fled, or been hidden under glaringly false red and white. All the dainty charm of the face was gone, and I am fain to confess that I went a little out of my way to avoid a closer meeting with my changed acquaintance. Happily I can tell of a pleasant sequel in this case. Some good influence has been brought to bear, or perhaps the girl's innate good sense has overcome her vanity, and she has found out that such shams are unworthy of a self-respecting girl.

She has given fair play to Nature, and that just in time to save the blush-rose complexion from ruin, and to be once more her bonny self.

The second girl possessed remarkable beauty especially of complexion, and her vanity and greed of admiration were in proportion to it. These impelled her to be ever experimenting on herself to produce greater perfection, with the result that whilst still a girl she looked many years older than her age, and I hear, though I do not see her now, that she is daily becoming less attractive, though no less vain than of old.

Quite apart from the harm done to personal appearance by these foolish practices, but of far greater importance, is the moral injury they cause. One might call the exhibition of paint an acted falsehood, because it is an attempt to make ourselves appear what we are not.

But such devices are too transparent to deceive. If begun, they become more and more injurious and difficult to discontinue, and those who practise them live in an atmosphere of anxiety and disappointment. Age comes, despite all efforts to delay its progress, and it leaves footprints which baffle art to disguise or obliterate.

Doubtless you have all heard this expression used in relation to someone you know—"She knows how to grow old gracefully." You understand it to picture one who accepts age as the natural and inevitable sequence of youth; who is above the paltry vanity which would hide it—or, rather, try to hide it—yet who neglects nothing which can help to make it externally attractive, and especially to the young. For, if age is to have its full legitimate influence over youth, it must be beautiful in itself, both without and within.

I will not ask you, my dear ones, to look again at that pitiable picture of Vanity battling with Age, despite the certainty of defeat and disappointment. But be assured of this—that the girl who starts on the same lines will reach the same goal; but it will not be that of a beautiful and lovable old age.

Do not imagine that I undervalue externals. I would have you all be habitually careful about them. Let your complexion be kept at its best by scrupulous cleanliness. If your hair is beautiful and abundant, take pains to dress it in the fashion that best sets off such good looks as you possess. If you are less favoured in this respect, give the more care and pains so as to make the best of what you have.

Exercise good taste in your dress, whilst carefully keeping your expenditure within your means. The girl who dresses quietly and becomingly will not make herself conspicuous in later years by the use of glaring colours or fantastic garments.

Try to be graceful and quiet in your movements, and scrupulous in avoiding all little ways and habits likely to be disturbing, unpleasant, or offensive to others. And do not be offended if a well-meaning friend ventures to point out a tendency to any growing habit of the kind, knowing that if once established it will be almost impossible for you to overcome it. Bear in mind that such a warning can be only intended for your benefit and to help you on your way towards growing old gracefully.

Study to modulate your voices so that the sound of them may fall pleasantly, even musically, on the ear. Shrill, harsh, and loud youthful voices become something too terrible when they accompany age.

I wonder if any of you have heard our dear Queen speak? I regret to say that I have not, but friends have told me that they never heard a voice which equalled hers for its melodious tone, perfect clearness, and faultless enunciation.

Try to avoid affectation in gesture and movement, and any form of facial contortion. Habit makes all these painful to witness, and age exaggerates them. Sometimes a habit of knitting the brows is contracted early in life, with the result that the forehead is furrowed and a forbidding expression given to the face which permanently spoils it. Age intensifies what is forbidding and disagreeable, but shows to the greatest advantage all that is most lastingly attractive in us, just as the flower fulfils the promise of the bud.

In this lesson on "How to grow old" I have confined myself to externals. It is time for us to part, but when we meet again we will study the subject from the highest standpoint.

Before then a new year will have dawned on us. Let me suggest as a fitting motto for it, "I will go in the strength of the Lord God." May it prove a very happy one to you all.

(To be continued.)

"SISTER WARWICK": A STORY OF INFLUENCE.ByH. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.CHAPTER IV.Granny 20was in one of her most garrulous moods, but who was there to listen? She tried to catch a nurse or probationer as they hurried by the end of the bed, with a "Listen to me now, nurse." But a smile and a nod and a "By-and-by, Granny," was all she got for her pains.Her nearest bed-fellows were too sleepy for anything, and she had to content herself with murmuring to an imaginary audience until Sister had a moment's leisure, and came to her bedside."I was saying, Sister, that Mrs. 21 there is one with me. We both rue our wedding-day! And we thought—bless yer!—we thought, when we stood up so proud and made our vows, that we was the luckiest women in the world.""And it all turned out badly, Granny?""Oh, well! It might have been wuss for some of us. I won't say it mightn't; but me was in too much of a hurry—that was the mischief. Why, bless yer! Mrs. 21 there says she wasn't more'n sixteen when she took a 'usband! And me? I was only just turned eighteen. We didn't know no better. We were took by a 'andsome face.""Well, Granny, I cannot err on the side of marrying too young, whatever I do.""Sister! You ain't never thinking of matrimoany? Don't 'ee, dear! Don't 'ee! Just take the advice of a old woman whatknows. This is what I say. If a man comes to you and seems true enough, don't trust him! No, not if trust was to sparkle like a diamond from the end of every hair on his head, don't trust him!"Hardly knowing how to contain herself for laughter, Sister promised to be very careful, and thanked Granny for her wise words."They aire wise. You may well say so," chuckled the old lady. "Now I could tell you——""Another time, Granny dear—and see! Here's nurse with your tea. A cup of tea! There's nothing like it, is there?""Bless yer—no!"And Nurse Hudson—what of her? Hadthe episode of yesterday's carelessness with the words of reproof that followed been the warning Sister Warwick hoped? The watchful eyes could detect very little that was amiss that day. But she was obliged to acknowledge that the nurse's manner towards herself was not what it should be. With her new efforts not to repel her nurses by the stiffness of her own manners she ignored what she could. Later she felt glad she had done so.After tea the medicines were given out. It was the staff-nurse's duty to-day, and following the instructions on her chart, Hudson went to and fro, pouring out the draughts, and bringing them to each bed in order.Sister, seated by No. 10, watched her silently. But when she brought the dose for this "typhoid," she took it from her hand to administer it herself.What instinct made her pause, before giving it, to ask:"Is this the new medicine, nurse?""Of course it is, Sister!" The tone was offensive, but, ignoring it, Sister Warwick leant forward to hold the glass to the girl's lips. Again she paused. What was it stayed her hand?She raised the glass, smelt it, and then put it to her own lips and tasted the liquid, her eyes on the chart."This is an overdose!" she said sternly. "Here are four times the right amount!"For she knew in a flash what the nurse had done, and she shuddered at the thought! Hudson had certainly, as she said, given the fresh medicine the chart directed, but in her heedlessness she had not looked to see if the quantity was altered too. She had poured out two tablespoonfuls instead of two teaspoonfuls—a dose that would have caused intense suffering, if nothing worse, to the sick girl.Sister Warwick rose from her chair and looked Nurse Hudson full in the face. Her utter scorn and indignation at this culpable carelessness rendered her speechless.But her glance was enough!Turning on her heel, she carried the medicine-glass into her room, placed it in a cupboard there, and locking it up, removed the key.Nurse Hudson watched it all—miserable and self-condemned—knowing what the action meant. Now that it was done, she would have given anything to have been more careful. Her colour came and went. She stood irresolute. Her better self was urging her to go at once and with a humble apology plead for another trial with an earnest promise of a different course in the future. But she could not bring herself to do that. Pride and Selfishness had been too closely her companions lately, excluding better impulses.No, she would not believe that Sister Warwick meant to report her to the Matron. Perhaps she would only ask for her removal to another ward; there she could make a fresh start. But she did not ask herself with what motive.Nurse Hudson's work had always been tarnished with the discolouring influences of her own low aims. No wonder now that she failed, and did not take the one step that might have saved her nursing career.She left the ward that evening without another word with the Sister—miserable, self-pitying, undecided, little thinking that she would never enter it again."The whole affair shall be stopped at once!" The Matron's voice was full of decision and very stern. "I will send for Hudson and tell her I cannot keep her here any longer. Nor will I sign her certificate! I am not justified, after all you tell me, in sending her away to pass herself off as a qualified nurse.""You take a harder view of her conduct than I do, Matron." And Sister Warwick then and there began to plead for the nurse who had been such a "thorn in her side.""You will not move me, Sister! Hudson will go! It will seem right, from many points of view, when you can look at it dispassionately. I am only very thankful that we so rarely have such a failure among the nurses, and thankful most of all that no worse harm has been done. We might have had a case for the coroner."Sister Warwick knew the Matron's words were just. She left her and went back to her own room, sinking into her leaning-chair with the consciousness that an upset like this "took it out of her" far more than even an operation involving pain and suffering to one of her dear ward babies. And, sad at heart, she began to think of Ellen Hudson's future, then to search back in her own mind for possible opportunities missed in the past when she might have helped her more kindly. She realised bitterly that she herself might have done better too.She sat forward then and wrote a little note and sent it round to the Nurses' Home, timed to reach Nurse Hudson just after her interview with the Matron.It was to ask her staff-nurse to come and see her before she left. But she never came. She passed out of Sister Warwick's life from that hour, and her place knew her no more.Nurse Carden's bright face and ready sympathy were a pleasant interruption to the Sister's mournful ruminations that evening. She came in a little before her usual time, and the two had a quiet chat in the "Sisters' Room" before the night work began.Here Sister Cumberland joined them. These three women—so different in character, so united in aim and purpose—felt then the sustaining power of a friendship that was standing the wear and tear of life.Seeing how worried the elder "Sister" was by the present, the other two drew her thoughts back to the past and to their earlier experiences in the ward."Do you remember?" was the introduction to many reminiscences Sister Cumberland recalled that night on duty, when she fought her fiercest fight with the craving for sleep.Nurse Carden talked of Tommie the waif and his whimsical ways. He could not be forgotten, for it was not many days since at the lodge-gate of her own home she had seen the Tommie of to-day. Such a contrast! A sturdy, ruddy, honest country lad, loving his life as a gardener's boy, and always ready, if questioned, to say, "Oh, I belong to Nurse Carden, I do! I ain't got nobody else! But she is good to me, she is!"So the three talked until the hour struck which took them to their various duties and closed the second of these days my pen has tried to describe—days chosen not because they were remarkably different from many others, but because they give an average picture of the cares and anxieties, the pleasures and interests that belong to a hospital Sister's life; because, too, they tell of an experience that had a lasting effect in softening Sister Warwick's character and in extending her influence over the nurses in her charge.[THE END.]

ByH. MARY WILSON, Author of "In Warwick Ward," "In Monmouth Ward," "Miss Elsie," etc.

Granny 20was in one of her most garrulous moods, but who was there to listen? She tried to catch a nurse or probationer as they hurried by the end of the bed, with a "Listen to me now, nurse." But a smile and a nod and a "By-and-by, Granny," was all she got for her pains.

Her nearest bed-fellows were too sleepy for anything, and she had to content herself with murmuring to an imaginary audience until Sister had a moment's leisure, and came to her bedside.

"I was saying, Sister, that Mrs. 21 there is one with me. We both rue our wedding-day! And we thought—bless yer!—we thought, when we stood up so proud and made our vows, that we was the luckiest women in the world."

"And it all turned out badly, Granny?"

"Oh, well! It might have been wuss for some of us. I won't say it mightn't; but me was in too much of a hurry—that was the mischief. Why, bless yer! Mrs. 21 there says she wasn't more'n sixteen when she took a 'usband! And me? I was only just turned eighteen. We didn't know no better. We were took by a 'andsome face."

"Well, Granny, I cannot err on the side of marrying too young, whatever I do."

"Sister! You ain't never thinking of matrimoany? Don't 'ee, dear! Don't 'ee! Just take the advice of a old woman whatknows. This is what I say. If a man comes to you and seems true enough, don't trust him! No, not if trust was to sparkle like a diamond from the end of every hair on his head, don't trust him!"

Hardly knowing how to contain herself for laughter, Sister promised to be very careful, and thanked Granny for her wise words.

"They aire wise. You may well say so," chuckled the old lady. "Now I could tell you——"

"Another time, Granny dear—and see! Here's nurse with your tea. A cup of tea! There's nothing like it, is there?"

"Bless yer—no!"

And Nurse Hudson—what of her? Hadthe episode of yesterday's carelessness with the words of reproof that followed been the warning Sister Warwick hoped? The watchful eyes could detect very little that was amiss that day. But she was obliged to acknowledge that the nurse's manner towards herself was not what it should be. With her new efforts not to repel her nurses by the stiffness of her own manners she ignored what she could. Later she felt glad she had done so.

After tea the medicines were given out. It was the staff-nurse's duty to-day, and following the instructions on her chart, Hudson went to and fro, pouring out the draughts, and bringing them to each bed in order.

Sister, seated by No. 10, watched her silently. But when she brought the dose for this "typhoid," she took it from her hand to administer it herself.

What instinct made her pause, before giving it, to ask:

"Is this the new medicine, nurse?"

"Of course it is, Sister!" The tone was offensive, but, ignoring it, Sister Warwick leant forward to hold the glass to the girl's lips. Again she paused. What was it stayed her hand?

She raised the glass, smelt it, and then put it to her own lips and tasted the liquid, her eyes on the chart.

"This is an overdose!" she said sternly. "Here are four times the right amount!"

For she knew in a flash what the nurse had done, and she shuddered at the thought! Hudson had certainly, as she said, given the fresh medicine the chart directed, but in her heedlessness she had not looked to see if the quantity was altered too. She had poured out two tablespoonfuls instead of two teaspoonfuls—a dose that would have caused intense suffering, if nothing worse, to the sick girl.

Sister Warwick rose from her chair and looked Nurse Hudson full in the face. Her utter scorn and indignation at this culpable carelessness rendered her speechless.

But her glance was enough!

Turning on her heel, she carried the medicine-glass into her room, placed it in a cupboard there, and locking it up, removed the key.

Nurse Hudson watched it all—miserable and self-condemned—knowing what the action meant. Now that it was done, she would have given anything to have been more careful. Her colour came and went. She stood irresolute. Her better self was urging her to go at once and with a humble apology plead for another trial with an earnest promise of a different course in the future. But she could not bring herself to do that. Pride and Selfishness had been too closely her companions lately, excluding better impulses.

No, she would not believe that Sister Warwick meant to report her to the Matron. Perhaps she would only ask for her removal to another ward; there she could make a fresh start. But she did not ask herself with what motive.

Nurse Hudson's work had always been tarnished with the discolouring influences of her own low aims. No wonder now that she failed, and did not take the one step that might have saved her nursing career.

She left the ward that evening without another word with the Sister—miserable, self-pitying, undecided, little thinking that she would never enter it again.

"The whole affair shall be stopped at once!" The Matron's voice was full of decision and very stern. "I will send for Hudson and tell her I cannot keep her here any longer. Nor will I sign her certificate! I am not justified, after all you tell me, in sending her away to pass herself off as a qualified nurse."

"You take a harder view of her conduct than I do, Matron." And Sister Warwick then and there began to plead for the nurse who had been such a "thorn in her side."

"You will not move me, Sister! Hudson will go! It will seem right, from many points of view, when you can look at it dispassionately. I am only very thankful that we so rarely have such a failure among the nurses, and thankful most of all that no worse harm has been done. We might have had a case for the coroner."

Sister Warwick knew the Matron's words were just. She left her and went back to her own room, sinking into her leaning-chair with the consciousness that an upset like this "took it out of her" far more than even an operation involving pain and suffering to one of her dear ward babies. And, sad at heart, she began to think of Ellen Hudson's future, then to search back in her own mind for possible opportunities missed in the past when she might have helped her more kindly. She realised bitterly that she herself might have done better too.

She sat forward then and wrote a little note and sent it round to the Nurses' Home, timed to reach Nurse Hudson just after her interview with the Matron.

It was to ask her staff-nurse to come and see her before she left. But she never came. She passed out of Sister Warwick's life from that hour, and her place knew her no more.

Nurse Carden's bright face and ready sympathy were a pleasant interruption to the Sister's mournful ruminations that evening. She came in a little before her usual time, and the two had a quiet chat in the "Sisters' Room" before the night work began.

Here Sister Cumberland joined them. These three women—so different in character, so united in aim and purpose—felt then the sustaining power of a friendship that was standing the wear and tear of life.

Seeing how worried the elder "Sister" was by the present, the other two drew her thoughts back to the past and to their earlier experiences in the ward.

"Do you remember?" was the introduction to many reminiscences Sister Cumberland recalled that night on duty, when she fought her fiercest fight with the craving for sleep.

Nurse Carden talked of Tommie the waif and his whimsical ways. He could not be forgotten, for it was not many days since at the lodge-gate of her own home she had seen the Tommie of to-day. Such a contrast! A sturdy, ruddy, honest country lad, loving his life as a gardener's boy, and always ready, if questioned, to say, "Oh, I belong to Nurse Carden, I do! I ain't got nobody else! But she is good to me, she is!"

So the three talked until the hour struck which took them to their various duties and closed the second of these days my pen has tried to describe—days chosen not because they were remarkably different from many others, but because they give an average picture of the cares and anxieties, the pleasures and interests that belong to a hospital Sister's life; because, too, they tell of an experience that had a lasting effect in softening Sister Warwick's character and in extending her influence over the nurses in her charge.

[THE END.]

GUS.Yawant ti knaw aboot ma maate Gus? Set ya doon, then, an' ah'll tell ya all aboot it.Me an' Gus wer friends fra' t' first. 'E wer a shy, quiet soort o' lad, an' t' other chaps didn't seem ti taake ti 'im at first, an' it wer soort o' loansoom for a yoong chap lodgin' aloan i' a straange plaace, specially as 'e didn't seem ti care mooch for t' public-'oose o' neets. Soa wun evening, as we wer leavin' woork, ah says ti 'im, "Coom in an' 'ave a bit o' soopper wi' ma an' ma missus, lad."'E looked real pleased, an' said 'e would coom, bud 'e wouldn't coom straight 'oam wi' ma, as ah wanted 'im ti. Noa, 'e mun gang back ti 'is lodgins an' fettle issen oop.My missus weant best pleased when sha 'eard 'e wer coming; mebbe, theer weant ower mooch for soopper, an' sha niver were fond o' straangers; bud 'e 'adn't been i' oor lahtle room aboove 'alf a minute afoor ah seed as sha'od taaken a fancy ti 'im. 'E com in rather shy an' bashful loike, for all 'e'd maade 'issen soa graand wi' 'is Soonday coate an' all, an' ma missus, she says—"Set ya doon an' maak yersen at whoam, while ah get summat for ya ti eat," an' 'e set doon reet theer by t' door, on t' edge o' 'is cheer, an' 'adn't a woord to say for 'issen.Oor lahtle lass Polly—she wer nobbut fooer year owd then—shoo com in an' stood starin' at 'im wi' 'er finger i' 'er mooth, an' at sight o' 'er 'e foond 'is tongue."Coom 'ere, lahtle ma'ad," says 'e; "ah'm wonnerful fond o' childer. Coom an' see what ah've got i' ma pocket."Bud t' lahtle lass still stood beside ma, starin' at 'im as if 'e wer summat i' a show.Gus didn't saay nowt moor, but 'e oots wi' 'is knife an' a bit o' wood and starts carvin' summat."Noo," says 'e, arter a bit, "what shall it be? Shall ah maak tha a 'orse, or a coo, or what?"T' lahtle lass foond 'er toongue at that."A lad," says she, an' cooms a step nearer ti see what 'e wer at."Shoo'll be a rare wun for t' lads when shoo's a bit bigger, ah'se warran'," says 'e, wi' a laugh; an' 'e goes on carvin' t' bit o' wood in a waay 'at wer wunnerful ti me. Soon t' head an' shoolthers appeared, an' then t' legs an' arms, an' all t' while t' tahtle lass crept nearer an' nearer, an' by t' tahm t' lad wer doon, shoo wer sittin' on 'is knee an' chatterin' awaay ti 'im as if 'e wer' an owd friend.That woon moother's 'eart, for shoo's powerful set on t' lahtle lass, seem' shoo's t' oanly wun wi' 'ave—an' ah reckon ah weant far be'ind 'er i' that—an' befoor 'e left shoo'd arst 'im ti taake 'is dinner wi' us Soonday next. Arter that, Gus wer in an' oot continual, an' 'e an't' lahtle lass wer as thick as thieves. It wer pratty ti see 'er perched o' 'is knee, wi' 'is arm roond 'er, an' ti 'ear 'er pratty prattle, all aboot 'er dolls an' toys an' sooch-like. 'E used ti call 'er 'is lahtle sweet-'eart, an' saay sha mun marry 'imwhen sha wer growed a bit, an' t' lahtle lass 'ud look oop i' 'is faace, as graave as graave, an' promise ti be 'is lahtle wife. 'Twer as pratty a pictur as 'eart could wish to see them thegither, an' 'e niver seemed ti tire o' 'er coompany, or care ti talk wi' me or t' missus when t' lahtle lass wer theer.Well tahm went on, an' t' job e'd coom doon 'ere for wer nigh finished—layin' rails o' new line it wer—an' 'e wer talkin' o' leavin', for 'e weant fra' oor parts; when wun daay—ah mind it wer t' first o' April, for theer'd been soom foolin' amoong t' lads earlier i' t' daay, an' t' blackthorn wer buddin' i' t' 'edges—we wer setting on t' railway bank eatin' oor dinners. Gus wer moor talkative than ordinary that daay; ah mind 'e'd been tellin' us o' t' waay they did 'arvestin' i' 'is parts—Lancashire waay—an' 'arvest-'oams, an' sooch-like, when all of a soodden ah caught sight o' ma lahtle lass runnin' along t' line. It did gie ma a toorn, for t' doon traain 'ad been signalled two or three minutes sin', an' even as ah caught sight o' 'er, ah 'eerd it roombling along i' t' distance."Ma God!" ah cried. "Look theer!"Jack Wilson—'im as lives i' yon cottage wi' t' creepers doon by t' church—shoots as lood as 'e could, "Get oft t' line, bairn! Get off t' line!" Bud Polly, sha didn't taak noa 'eed ti 'im.Then afoor ah 'ad got ma wits aboot ma, or 'ad ony idea what 'e wer goin ti do, Gus 'ad joomped doon fra' t' bank, an' were roonnin' for 'is loife doon t' line ti meet t' lahtle lass. It wer awful to see 'im, while every moment t' thoonder o' t' train com nearer."Is t' man mad?" cried Wilson. "It's certain death." An' even as 'e spoke, t' train com roond t' corner.Polly stood still, terrified, an' Gus ran on reet inti t' teeth o' t' train. Ah turned deadly sick, for ah niver thowt 'e would be i' tahm, an' it seemed nobbut a waaste o' two lives; bud 'e reached 'er joost afoor t' train did. Ah seed 'im catch 'er oop an' toss 'er on ti t' bank, an' then—then t' traan wer on 'im, an' we saw noothing moor till it 'ad past. Then ah ran ti wheer 'e wer lyin', an' an awful sight it wer. It 'aunts ma yet, thoo it's nigh on ten year sin. 'E wer livin', poor chap, an' 'e looked up at ma wi' a smile, though t' death dews were gathering on 'is faace."T' lahtle lass?" 'e asked anxiously."Saafe an' well," ah answered. "Eh, Gus, lad, tha' shouldn't 'a doon it. Ah reckon she weant woorth it.""Niver saay that!" 'e said. "Wheer is sha? Ah'd like fine to bid her good-bye."Polly wer cryin' wi' fright on t' bank cloas at 'and. Ah called 'er, bud at first sha 'ung back, not knawin' as it wer 'er friend as lay theer, a sickenin' sight, an' not fit for a bairn ti see."Niver mind, John," 'e said, sadly enough. "It's better soa. Ah wouldn't like 'er ti think o' ma like this." But ah went an' fetched 'er, an' bade 'er ti thank 'im for saavin' 'er loife."Nay, nay," 'e said, smoilin' oop at 'er. "Good-bye, lahtle sweet'eart. Tha'lt 'ave ti get anoother lad noo.""Nay, ah'll waait for thee an' be thy lahtle wife," says Polly sturdily, not un'erstan'in', poor lahtle lass, as 'e wer dyin'."Tha'lt 'ave ti waait till tha gets ti t' New Jeroosalem, then," 'e answers, "if soa be as they'll let ma in." An' at that 'e looks serious.Ah maade 'aste ti cheer 'im oop."Nay, lad, thoo need 'ave noa fear o' that," ah says. "Tha mind hoo He said, 'Inasmooch as ye 'a doon it to wun o' t' least o' these, ye 'a doon it unto Me.'"Hoo 'is faace lighted oop at that word! Then a spasm o' agony crossed it, an' t' death rattle began i' 'is throat.'E couldn't speak, bud 'e maade ma a sign ti send t' lahtle lass away, an' ah bade 'er roon 'oam ti 'er moother. Then ah knelt doon an' raised 'im in ma arms, an' it weant long—thank God, it weant long.Well, it's ten year sin, as ah said, an' it's an owd story noo, an' t' grass is green on 'is graave. T' lahtle lass keeps it rare an' gay wi' flooers. Shoo's growin' a graat gell noo, an' it weant be long afoor t' lads begin ti coom aboot 'er, for shoo's growin' bonny; bud shoo's niver forgotten Gus, an' if shoo iver did, ah wouldn't oan 'er as ma darter, that ah wouldn't!

Yawant ti knaw aboot ma maate Gus? Set ya doon, then, an' ah'll tell ya all aboot it.

Me an' Gus wer friends fra' t' first. 'E wer a shy, quiet soort o' lad, an' t' other chaps didn't seem ti taake ti 'im at first, an' it wer soort o' loansoom for a yoong chap lodgin' aloan i' a straange plaace, specially as 'e didn't seem ti care mooch for t' public-'oose o' neets. Soa wun evening, as we wer leavin' woork, ah says ti 'im, "Coom in an' 'ave a bit o' soopper wi' ma an' ma missus, lad."

'E looked real pleased, an' said 'e would coom, bud 'e wouldn't coom straight 'oam wi' ma, as ah wanted 'im ti. Noa, 'e mun gang back ti 'is lodgins an' fettle issen oop.

My missus weant best pleased when sha 'eard 'e wer coming; mebbe, theer weant ower mooch for soopper, an' sha niver were fond o' straangers; bud 'e 'adn't been i' oor lahtle room aboove 'alf a minute afoor ah seed as sha'od taaken a fancy ti 'im. 'E com in rather shy an' bashful loike, for all 'e'd maade 'issen soa graand wi' 'is Soonday coate an' all, an' ma missus, she says—

"Set ya doon an' maak yersen at whoam, while ah get summat for ya ti eat," an' 'e set doon reet theer by t' door, on t' edge o' 'is cheer, an' 'adn't a woord to say for 'issen.

Oor lahtle lass Polly—she wer nobbut fooer year owd then—shoo com in an' stood starin' at 'im wi' 'er finger i' 'er mooth, an' at sight o' 'er 'e foond 'is tongue.

"Coom 'ere, lahtle ma'ad," says 'e; "ah'm wonnerful fond o' childer. Coom an' see what ah've got i' ma pocket."

Bud t' lahtle lass still stood beside ma, starin' at 'im as if 'e wer summat i' a show.

Gus didn't saay nowt moor, but 'e oots wi' 'is knife an' a bit o' wood and starts carvin' summat.

"Noo," says 'e, arter a bit, "what shall it be? Shall ah maak tha a 'orse, or a coo, or what?"

T' lahtle lass foond 'er toongue at that.

"A lad," says she, an' cooms a step nearer ti see what 'e wer at.

"Shoo'll be a rare wun for t' lads when shoo's a bit bigger, ah'se warran'," says 'e, wi' a laugh; an' 'e goes on carvin' t' bit o' wood in a waay 'at wer wunnerful ti me. Soon t' head an' shoolthers appeared, an' then t' legs an' arms, an' all t' while t' tahtle lass crept nearer an' nearer, an' by t' tahm t' lad wer doon, shoo wer sittin' on 'is knee an' chatterin' awaay ti 'im as if 'e wer' an owd friend.

That woon moother's 'eart, for shoo's powerful set on t' lahtle lass, seem' shoo's t' oanly wun wi' 'ave—an' ah reckon ah weant far be'ind 'er i' that—an' befoor 'e left shoo'd arst 'im ti taake 'is dinner wi' us Soonday next. Arter that, Gus wer in an' oot continual, an' 'e an't' lahtle lass wer as thick as thieves. It wer pratty ti see 'er perched o' 'is knee, wi' 'is arm roond 'er, an' ti 'ear 'er pratty prattle, all aboot 'er dolls an' toys an' sooch-like. 'E used ti call 'er 'is lahtle sweet-'eart, an' saay sha mun marry 'imwhen sha wer growed a bit, an' t' lahtle lass 'ud look oop i' 'is faace, as graave as graave, an' promise ti be 'is lahtle wife. 'Twer as pratty a pictur as 'eart could wish to see them thegither, an' 'e niver seemed ti tire o' 'er coompany, or care ti talk wi' me or t' missus when t' lahtle lass wer theer.

Well tahm went on, an' t' job e'd coom doon 'ere for wer nigh finished—layin' rails o' new line it wer—an' 'e wer talkin' o' leavin', for 'e weant fra' oor parts; when wun daay—ah mind it wer t' first o' April, for theer'd been soom foolin' amoong t' lads earlier i' t' daay, an' t' blackthorn wer buddin' i' t' 'edges—we wer setting on t' railway bank eatin' oor dinners. Gus wer moor talkative than ordinary that daay; ah mind 'e'd been tellin' us o' t' waay they did 'arvestin' i' 'is parts—Lancashire waay—an' 'arvest-'oams, an' sooch-like, when all of a soodden ah caught sight o' ma lahtle lass runnin' along t' line. It did gie ma a toorn, for t' doon traain 'ad been signalled two or three minutes sin', an' even as ah caught sight o' 'er, ah 'eerd it roombling along i' t' distance.

"Ma God!" ah cried. "Look theer!"

Jack Wilson—'im as lives i' yon cottage wi' t' creepers doon by t' church—shoots as lood as 'e could, "Get oft t' line, bairn! Get off t' line!" Bud Polly, sha didn't taak noa 'eed ti 'im.

Then afoor ah 'ad got ma wits aboot ma, or 'ad ony idea what 'e wer goin ti do, Gus 'ad joomped doon fra' t' bank, an' were roonnin' for 'is loife doon t' line ti meet t' lahtle lass. It wer awful to see 'im, while every moment t' thoonder o' t' train com nearer.

"Is t' man mad?" cried Wilson. "It's certain death." An' even as 'e spoke, t' train com roond t' corner.

Polly stood still, terrified, an' Gus ran on reet inti t' teeth o' t' train. Ah turned deadly sick, for ah niver thowt 'e would be i' tahm, an' it seemed nobbut a waaste o' two lives; bud 'e reached 'er joost afoor t' train did. Ah seed 'im catch 'er oop an' toss 'er on ti t' bank, an' then—then t' traan wer on 'im, an' we saw noothing moor till it 'ad past. Then ah ran ti wheer 'e wer lyin', an' an awful sight it wer. It 'aunts ma yet, thoo it's nigh on ten year sin. 'E wer livin', poor chap, an' 'e looked up at ma wi' a smile, though t' death dews were gathering on 'is faace.

"T' lahtle lass?" 'e asked anxiously.

"Saafe an' well," ah answered. "Eh, Gus, lad, tha' shouldn't 'a doon it. Ah reckon she weant woorth it."

"Niver saay that!" 'e said. "Wheer is sha? Ah'd like fine to bid her good-bye."

Polly wer cryin' wi' fright on t' bank cloas at 'and. Ah called 'er, bud at first sha 'ung back, not knawin' as it wer 'er friend as lay theer, a sickenin' sight, an' not fit for a bairn ti see.

"Niver mind, John," 'e said, sadly enough. "It's better soa. Ah wouldn't like 'er ti think o' ma like this." But ah went an' fetched 'er, an' bade 'er ti thank 'im for saavin' 'er loife.

"Nay, nay," 'e said, smoilin' oop at 'er. "Good-bye, lahtle sweet'eart. Tha'lt 'ave ti get anoother lad noo."

"Nay, ah'll waait for thee an' be thy lahtle wife," says Polly sturdily, not un'erstan'in', poor lahtle lass, as 'e wer dyin'.

"Tha'lt 'ave ti waait till tha gets ti t' New Jeroosalem, then," 'e answers, "if soa be as they'll let ma in." An' at that 'e looks serious.

Ah maade 'aste ti cheer 'im oop.

"Nay, lad, thoo need 'ave noa fear o' that," ah says. "Tha mind hoo He said, 'Inasmooch as ye 'a doon it to wun o' t' least o' these, ye 'a doon it unto Me.'"

Hoo 'is faace lighted oop at that word! Then a spasm o' agony crossed it, an' t' death rattle began i' 'is throat.

'E couldn't speak, bud 'e maade ma a sign ti send t' lahtle lass away, an' ah bade 'er roon 'oam ti 'er moother. Then ah knelt doon an' raised 'im in ma arms, an' it weant long—thank God, it weant long.

Well, it's ten year sin, as ah said, an' it's an owd story noo, an' t' grass is green on 'is graave. T' lahtle lass keeps it rare an' gay wi' flooers. Shoo's growin' a graat gell noo, an' it weant be long afoor t' lads begin ti coom aboot 'er, for shoo's growin' bonny; bud shoo's niver forgotten Gus, an' if shoo iver did, ah wouldn't oan 'er as ma darter, that ah wouldn't!

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