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by Mrs. Francis F. Steinthal.
Volume 10, 1899, pg. 2
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My Dear Children,--I wish you all, both great and small, a very happy New Year. I think I must be getting a very old lady,because it seems to me such a short time since I last wrote this same wish. I expect you all think last year was a very long one, and that Christmas presents are very far apart. Take my advice, and be happy every month and every day. If you are constantly trying to make other people happy--to take care of mother when she is not well--to be very attentive to your governess and very obedient to nurse, you cannot fail to feel always bright and jolly. I know some grown-ups who never learnt to think of other people when they were boys and girls, and the consequence is that nobody likes them, and they like nobody, and are always cross and miserable. Can you imagineyour feelings if nurse suddenly, when you were going to bed at night, popped a cold wet blanket round your shoulders? Wouldn't you shiver and shake, and pull a long face. This is just the effect these unhappy people produce. As soon as you go into the room where they are, you feel as though it had suddenly got colder, and you stop laughing, and feel very uncomfortable until you can run away again. Remember that these people began to be cross and unamiable when they were young, just like you. I want you all this year to be terribly frightened lest you grow up "wet blankets," and every time you feelinclined to speak sharply to your little brother and sister (who will persist in pushing your doll's eye in, or breaking your favourite steam engine), or answer mother or nurse rudely, count six before you speak, and remember what you may become in the future. This is a long sermon for the New Year, is it not?
My boys have decided to have a Christmas Tree for the birds every day while the frost lasts. They say the dogs and cats cannot get the food when it is on the tree.
Will you send me any suggestions about competitions or work for the year?
Your loving,
Aunt Mai
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Competitions.
All competitions are open to the children of readers of the Parents' Review. Stamps must be sent in for return postage. Each article must have a label on it, with name, address and age on it.
Rule I.--A fee of 1$. entitles a child to work in any competition.
Rule II.--All work and drawings to be sent to Aunt Mai, Wharfemead, Ilkley, before the 30th.
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Our Cot.
Remember that photographs are now ready of Ellen in Aunt Mai's Nieces and Nephews' Cot, and can be had from the Matron, S. Chads' Home, Far Headingley, Leeds, for 1$. 6d.
"Ellen keeps just about the same, and owing to the cold weather has not been able to get out very much, which is a great pity, as she enjoys her walks so much. The little boy we had in the hospital has gone to Lincolnshire, where is he is being boarded out, and Ellen missed him very much, as he was so bright and chatty and was very devoted to her. We hear from his foster-mother that he sometimes says, 'I must just run and show this to Ellen, I shall not be long,' and then he remembers he is too far off to do that."
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Little Workers' Society.
Founder: Mrs. Edmund Strode.
Each member makes two garments a year for a child known to the worker.
Next June send a pinafore for a little girl.
The following Little Workers sent each a warm dress for a little girl. All the dresses were well made and very well finished. The sewing is much better than it was three or four years ago, and reflects great credit both on the sewers and their teachers:--
Age 8 years--Dorothy Brooks (29), Nora Layard (28). Age 10 and 11 years--Rose Larkin (30), Coralie Sutton (30), Mary Naish (29), Averil Mary Paget (29), Dorothy Butcher (28), Ruth Layard (28), Hilda Bowyer (30). Age 13 and 14--Leila Kenneth Barrington (30), Dorothy Sayer (30).
Baby's Wardrobe.
The long dress has evidently proved too much for the patience and the fingers of the little sewers, and very few have been sent in. This year there will be no monthly sewing competitions, but all members are urged to join the Little Worker's Society and make two garments during the year, or to write to S. Chad's Home, Far Headingley, Leeds, for cut-out garments to be made for Curley. Children who do this are requested to let Aunt Mai know when the clothes are made and returned, so that their names can appear in the "Budget."
Class 10 and over--Robie Broadmead, Irene Walker and Effie Brown get prizes. Class 9 and under--Catherine and Martha Davy and Ethel Walker get prizes.
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Little Authors.
The Christmas Magazine is not so large as it was last year. The Little Authors are so busy writing their tales each month that they do not seem to have time for a special effort. The tales and drawings have greatly improved. Write this month "How Hans Won the Silver Skates."
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The Order of Chivalry.
Next month an account of the Ilkley sale will be given. Besides pretty things on the stalls made and sent by members, there will be a refreshment stall and entertainment. This year Miss Edith Wyvill (Denton, Ben Rhydding, Yorks) hopes that many members will join this society, and that each will "mother" a little child who is not able to get so many pleasures as its Santa Claus.
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Art Club.
Rule I.--No drawing must exceed 12 by 12.
" II.--Drawings must be sent flat.
" III.--All work must be original.
Subjects for January:--
I. A coloured sketch of the favourite Christmas present.
II. One illustration of the tale, "A Shabby Little Lady."
III. A border design of lotus flower, painting outside leaves green, second yellow, and inner ones blue. Outline in black paint.
The following artists sent drawings:--
Noreen Sim, Mary Rees, Nellie and Dorothy Goodwyn, Christina Abbay, Gladys Clark Kennedy, Katie Swan, Evelyn and Daisy Weatherell, Muriel and Eric Baumann, Lady Olga Godolphin Osborne, Lady Dorothy Godolphin Osborn, Beryl Durand, Constance Mary Vallance, Cecily Chomondeley, Eileen and Sylvia Smyly, Edith Walker, Gladys Howarth, Gladys Seed, Mabel Mathwin, Frances Butt, Dorothy Dennison, Lizzie Bonner, Honor Rundle, Vera, Robie, Molly and Hal Broadmead, Lawrence Cadbury, Dorothy Woods, Daisy, Rosalind and Evelyn Crookshank, Cicely Kate Brooks, Ethel Brooks, Irene and Maitland Durant, Nora and Jessie Tillie, Marjorie Barbour, Marjorie, Sylvia and Evelyn Powys, Eleanor and Agnes Cargin, Owen Callard, Winifred Villiers-Stuart, Sylvina Powers, Cecil, Tom and Allen Parkes, Winifred Edminson, Kathleen Rome, Josephine and Eric B. Hickson, Dora Hatherley, Margaret Powell, Eveline S. Thompson, Basil Leverson, Evelyn Waley, Dorothy Marriott, Nellie Heath, Josephine and Helena Scruby, Violet, Jessie, Harold and Will Dickson, Lorna Lawrence.
Some laws of good design.--After studying and enjoying the varieties of patterns formed by a combination of straight lines only, in the "Savage" room at the British Museum, it is most interesting to walk into the Egyptian Section and look carefully at the symbolic designs formed by slight curves. On a slab from a temple which was decorated about B.C. 660, there are ducks and beetles, flies and eels, flowers and cats, a curious mixture, but each one forming part of a pattern--not one law is violated. On the mummy of a dear little girl called Tyhous, who died when she was only six years old, A.D. 127, there is a good design of a lotus flower, with a bud on each side, drawn in black, with pale green leaves on a yellow ground. Tyhous' sad father and mother wished to represent that their little one's spirit should be fed, the lotus being the emblem of food. They little thought that English girls and boys would see their little daughter seventeen hundred and seventy-one years after they had lost her. A very fine copy of the Book of the Dead has lately been placed in the room, and a whole day could be spent in studying it. The palettes, with the small cups fastened on them to contain the paints, look very practical. Cakes of the three colours used--blue, yellow, and red, have also been found, and are now in the Museum.
The following is the conventional drawing of a lotus flower in design (see work for the month):--
The Egyptians designed direct from natural inspiration founded on a few types. The two plants most commonly represented were the lotus and papyrus. These were used as symbols of food for the body and mind. Feathers and branches of palm are also types from which all ornament comes. In distant ages, the Egyptians wishing to do honour to their gods on festival days, used to tie palms round the wooden posts of their temples. The beauty of the falling leaves at the summit suggested to an artistic mind the idea of carving them in stone, and thus securing an imperishable memorial. This was the origin of columns or pillars, and in the British Museum can now be seen a pillar surmounted with palms, and a second with feathers, the stalks forming the pedestal. They painted everything they saw, but only in flat tints, never adding shade or shadow. They used red, blue, and yellow, outlining with black or white. In the very early days blue always represented green, but in later years they used natural colour.
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A Shabby Little Lady.
The sea was coming in slowly over the golden sands, so lazily and gently, with a soft murmur as it flowed--hardly force enough it seemed to have to toss the little strands of crimson weed before it on the beach, and as each little wave came and went, it washed the pebbles bright, and left them shining like precious stones in the sunlight.
Further down, in the shadow of the cliff, a row of white tents stood, with little groups of children playing before each, busily engaged in the digging of deep holes or the building up of sand castles.
In front of one, the largest tent of all, a very big hole was being excavated--so deep it was that you could hardly see the three curly heads inside, bobbing up and down in all the ardour of digging--there was Monica, fair of face and flaxen; Naired, just seven years old, giving directions with all her might and main; little Rob too, and Rose, with scarlet cheeks, working away as if life depended upon their exertions; mother, sitting at the door of the tent, knitting busily.
"It's just the loveliest hole," cried Monica, "by far the biggest on the beach--that little girl's next door, now, I don't think anything of hers."
It wasn't much of a hole, certainly, but there was only one to dig, and that one such a tiny pale-faced little being; she might have been Monica's age, but she was only half her size, a prim-looking old-fashioned little soul, in a shabby washed-out cotton dress.
She was digging steadily away, stopping every now and then to cast somewhat wistful glances at the merry trio in the next hole.
Just behind her an old man sat, looking dreamily out to sea, with such tired, listless eyes; he hardly seemed to notice, and scarcely ever spoke to his little companion.
Every day these two had come down there on the beach, and, in the pauses of her own play, Monica had watched them curiously--the old man so silent and far-away-looking, and his little granddaughter sometimes digging, but far oftener playing staidly with her doll, taking it out to paddle in the pools, drying its cracked legs carefully, and spreading out the towel to dry in the sun.
"Why don't you ask her to play with you?" said mother, "she's such a lonely little maiden."
Monica glanced doubtfully at the little hole next door.
"Well, mother," she said, slowly, "I don't think I quite care to--she's quite a poor child, you know, her dress is ever so shabby; I'm sure she's not a lady."
Mother said nothing, and Monica went on digging assiduously, but somehow or other, whether it was a look she caught in her mother's eyes, or whether it was her own thoughts that troubled her, she kept her face turned away as much as possible from the "poor little girl," and was correspondingly crabby.
"I do wish you'd mind where you're going!"
Down it came, with such a thud, the high wall on one side of their hole--some stumbling feet, passing by, had walked right into it, and a little girl stood looking down at the ruins, and the three, not angry faces, upturned to her from the hole below.
"I'm very sorry," she said, timidly.
Monica felt altogether too cross to answer--there was nearly a whole morning's work destroyed, and all because a silly child hadn't looked where she was going. Things seemed to be all crossways to-day, somehow.
The little unwitting offender hesitated a moment, and then turned away and walked on.
She was far too little to be all alone on the beach, she had evidently lost someone. Lonely Eve sat up in her hole next door and looked thoughtfully after her as she wandered on and then sat down on the sand a little way off.
Eve put down her spade in a moment and ran down the beach to her side.
"Don't cry, darling," she said softly, putting her arms round the little sobbing form, "come and sit in my hole and tell me all about it."
The child looked up into Eve's face, then put her hand in hers and soon the two were sitting happily together, side by side in the shallow hole, which was just large enough to hold them comfortably.
The sun shone brightly down on the two little faces, Eve's wistful one radiant now, and the momentary grief chased away from that of her new little friend, for was not Eve's motherly arm round her and Eve's shabby dolly on her lap?
Father had told her to go on to the beach and he would follow, and she had felt lonely, and the little girl had spoken crossly and--
"Hullo," said a voice just then, "Why, Nellie, I thought I had lost you."
And there was a big man standing by them, looking kindly down at the two little friends. He had come noiselessly up over the soft sands, searching for his little daughter.
"Oh, father, father!" cried Nellie, scrambling up, all in a hurry, "here's such a nice little girl--she has been so kind to me. I may have her for my friend, mayn't I?"
"You're in a very great hurry to make friends to-day, Nellie," said her father, with a smile. "I thought you said yesterday you were going to wait a while before you chose your friends, and that you thought it would most likely be the little girl in the tent just near here, because she was so pretty."
"I've changed my mind, father," answered Nellie, in a low voice, looking over at the hole where Monica still sat, apparently deeply interested now in a book which lay on her lap. "She spoke very unkindly to me just now, when I never meant to hurt her sand wall. I would much rather have Eve for my friend, she's ever so much gentler and sweeter."
"Quite right, Nellie," said her father, settling himself comfortably down on the sand beside them, with a courteous "Good morning" to the old man. "She's a kind little lady--I'm afraid pretty looks and pretty dresses don't always go with gentle ways and kind hearts. I would rather you had this little girlie for your friend, Nellie."
And so, while Eve and Nellie nestled, hand in hand, in their cosy little sand house, filling the air with their merry chatter--Monica sat silent in hers, with a flush of shame on her face. She had heard every word.
Ada Hamley.
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The Pig with a Sraight Tail.
Once upon a time there was a family of pigs who lived in a very clean stye (clean for pigs), belonging to a farmer. There was the father and mother and four little ones. The eldest was "Blacky," the next "Curly-tail," the next "Grunty," and the youngest "Spots." There is generally one grumpy and disagreeable one in the family, and Grunty was so in this wonderful family. In the pig tribe it is a great disgrace to have a straight tail. This, however, none of our present friends had. The farmer to whom the pigs belonged had a very large field, in which, sometimes, the pigs were allowed to go, and when they did, they enjoyed it immensely. One day when they were just going, Mrs. Pig (all the pig's surnames are "Pig," but they all have different christian names) said to Grunty, "Hurry up, we're all waiting for you," and Grunty said, "All right, mother, give me two minutes at least to get ready; you never let me have any time." "Don't be so rude" said Mrs. Pig, "or your father will pop you; and you shan't come with us at all," and so poor Grunty had to stop there in the close stye all day. When all the others came back from the field, Curly-tail said, "Why, Grunty, the tip of your tail is getting quite straight, not at all curly like ours." At this Grunty got quite frightened, and went to look in the looking-glass and saw it was quite true. He did not go at all with the others that evening, but stopped in the covered-up place, or the house, and went to sleep. He got worse and worse-tempered day by day, and at last he got quite unbearable. One night, when he was in bed, he saw a little white thing coming in; when it got close to him, he saw it was a little thing like a human being. "I am a fairy," it said, "and I have come to see if I cannot make you better tempered." Grunty was quite taken back at this speech. "What can this thing do to me," he thought. "I know! I will pretend I am asleep," so he took no notice of her. She kept on prodding him, and pushing him, and trying her hardest to wake him, still she got no answer whatever. "Well, I must come again to-morrow," she said, aloud. "Ah," thought Grunty, "she won't see me to-morrow," and Grunty thought this was a fine joke. The next day, when they were led out into the field, Grunty kept in sight until he saw the man coming to take them away, when he managed to slip behind a bush where he was not seen by the others. They did not miss him until he got home, and then, when they saw that he was not with them, they all set up a dismal howling. for, though he was a disagreeable and grumpy little pig, they missed their brother greatly. Grunty would not have hidden from them if he had known how unhappy he was making them. Well, when they got out of sight and hearing, he ran as fast as he could into the wood, which was next to the field. As it grew dark he began to get frightened, but soon he trudged on again bravely. Suddenly on the branch of one of the trees, he saw a pair of green eyes looking down at him, and never was he so frightened in his life. Soon, however, he found it was a cat. "Well good friend," said the cat, "What are you doing out at this time?" "Roaming about," said Grunty, "I've lost my people." "Poor thing," said the cat, sympathetically, "My home is up here; I wonder if you could get up here." "No," said piggy, "I'm afraid I can't, but I can lie at the bottom of this tree and go to sleep," and so Grunty spent the night here. The next morning Grunty asked the cat the way to the nearest town. "Straight through this middle path," said the cat, "Good-bye." "Good-bye," returned Grunty, "and thank you." As soon as he got to the town a whole lot of animals crowded round him and began jeering at him. "Look at his tail! look at his tail!" they cried. "Oh," thought Grunty, "is my tail quite straight?" and he looked in a looking-glass, and lo and behold! it was as straight and stiff as a poker. Grunty asked heaps of people the way to farmer Brown's, but nobody knew, and they still kept mocking and jeering him. After a time, Grunty's friend the cat came up, and as he was partly blind, he did not notice that Grunty's tail was straight. "Where is Farmer Brown's?" said piggy to the cat. "First on your right and keep straight on," said the cat. Grunty thanked him and followed his directions. The animals still continued to chaff Grunty on his tail. He went on as fast as his legs could carry him. At last he got to the farm, and he saw his brothers and sisters in the field, so he rushed up to them and begged their pardon for running away. They said they would forgive him, but they would not speak to him until his tail was curly again. So he had to go to bed that night without anybody saying "good-night" to him. After a week had passed like this, the same fairy that came before came in the night. He asked her whether she could make his tail curly again. "If you can go without anything to eat except a carrot a day for four days, it will be curly by the fourth day," she said. Grunty thanked her, and promised. When the four days were over he had a curly tail, and he never was naughty again. Grunty never forgot that fairy.
G. D. Henzell Pidcock (Aged 12).
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Senior Art Club.
This Club is intended for Aunt Mai's pupils when they leave her at the age of sixteen, but it is open to any readers of the Review, either lady or gentleman. The terms are 6$. for six months. All work marked for exhibition is criticised by Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., on the yearly "Pupils' Show Day," in Miss Stewart Wood's studio, 44, Holland Street, Kensington. All particulars of the Club can be obtained from Miss A. Y. Davidson, Secretary, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Rule 1.--Work is sent to Miss Stewart Wood, 44 , Holland Street, Kensington, by the 23rd of every month, and the portfolio leaves her on the 1st of the month following. Subjects are issued on the 21st of each month, but members may receive subjects for a term in advance on application to the Secretary.
Rule 2.--The name and address of contributor is written on the back of each study, and paper is placed over the face of the principal subject for protection and for the writing of criticism. Secondary subjects are usually numbered and criticised en masse. Oil students are required to use thin French canvas (Young, Gower Street, London, 2$. per yard), to reduce postage. For same purpose no mountings or stretchers are allowed.
Rule 3.--All work marked "for exhibition" is shown to Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., at the end of the winter term: Miss E. S. Wood writes her criticisms, and occasionally a letter of her own advice to the students, and lends them examples of good work. Studies are returned in June, or if a member especially wishes, in December also.
Rule 4.--All dues to be paid between the 20th and 26th of month preceding a new term, by those who wish to join for six months. Members may join for a month on payment of 1$. per month, but have only one subject criticised. Summer: May - October; Winter: November - April. Subscription, 6$. per term. Fines: 6d. for failure to send in principal subject; 6d. for sending in work late; 1$ for keeping portfolio more than a night (unless Sunday intervenes); 1$. for damaging or failing to return, within specified time, books, casts &c., borrowed from the critic or other members. Fines, and any extra donations, go to defray heavy postal expenses of Critic and Secretary. All complaints, suggestions, and payments sent to the latter, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Sketching Club Subjects.
January and February.--Bottles, size about 17 by 11. As an example of the value of seeking beauty in simple subjects, the variety to be found in ordinary glass bottles can hardly be equalled. Put up a row of old medicine bottles with their various shapes, and the reflected lights and surfaces will be found ot be full of interest. A very subdued background and foreground should be used.
The following simple rules may be followed for the guidance of all still life subjects:--
Arrange your study in a room with a north light if possible. If there are other windows in the room block them up. The kind of window, however, does not matter, as long as the light is steady. Turn your picture, if it is an oil, sideways towards the window, so as to avoid a shine on it. From time to time put the picture side by side with the object, so that they can be looked at together from the end of the room. When compared in this way it is easy to discover inaccuracies, so that the student becomes his own teacher. Begin by placing your subject with light, loose lines of charcoal on the canvas, then draw with firmness and decision, making a bold mark and taking it out if it does not look right. Make a separate study in charcoal so as to decide on the relative values with the division of middle tone, deepest dark and highest light firmly established. This should be done in one sitting as a time study.
Time Study. A bunch of purple grapes with their stalks; background and foreground subdued to a warm grey; size, about eight by eleven.
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by Mrs. Francis F. Steinthal.
Volume 10, 1899, pg. 13
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My Dear Children,--In my next letter I hope to be able to tell you about some of the beautiful sights that can be seen on the Riviera, and to try and help you to realise amid your fogs and rain the warmth of glorious sunshine, and the effect of a blue sky and sea. I fear it will be difficult to answer many letters when so far away; but if any of you have a question to ask, or anything that is important to tell me, I do hope you will write. The artists must not fear that they will be neglected. The drawings will be criticised by a friend who is a very clever artist, and a capital teacher of both drawing and design. So I hope every artist will send to me at Wharfemead, and take advantage of this very exceptional assistance. I shall probably get many new ideas for future work when away. You are all very dear to me, and if I can help any of you to become good and clever women, who will try to help the world to grow purer and holier, I shall be a contented and happy old lady.
Your loving,
Aunt Mai.
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Competitions.
All competitions are open to the children of readers of the Parents' Review. Stamps must be sent for return postage.
Rule I.--A fee of 1$., now due, entitles a child to work in any competition.
Rule II.--All work and drawings to be sent to Aunt Mai, Wharfemead, Ilkley, before the 30th.
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Our Cot.
"Ellen has enjoyed her Christmas very much. She was brought in to the Christmas Eve tea given by some C. U. members at Whitley Beaumont, and was carried in to the Christmas Day dinner, and was delighted to have her dinner with the girls. It was very nice to have her down at the Christmas tree too, where her couch was put in front of the girls, so that she might have the best view of the presents."
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Little Workers' Society.
Founder: Mrs. Edmund Strode.
Each member makes two garments a year for a child known to the worker.
Next June send a pinafore for a little girl.
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Curley's Dressmakers.
Members are urged to write to S. Chad's Home, Far Headingley, Leeds, for cut-out garments to be made for Curley. One might make her dress, another her petticoat, and so on.
Probably many new members wonder who Curley is! She was taken to the Home five years ago when she was three years old, on the coldest night of the year. She had been very cruelly treated by a step-father, and was picked up by a kind policeman as she was going to fetch some beer for him. The poor little mite had nothing on but a dress, which was only pinned on. She was so black that the first hot bath made very little difference. In the second, little white streaks ran down her back, and after the third dip, Curley came out a bonny white girl, who looked very happy and satisfied. The last three years she has been dressed by Aunt Mai's nieces, and it is hoped that they will continue to take the same interest in her until little Curley is promoted to a situation.
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Little Authors.
Three tales have already been sent in, "How Hans Won the Silver Skates," by Lady Gwendolin Godolphin Osborne, Lady Dorothy Godolphin Osborne, and Margaret Powell. Several more are expected this month, and the MSS. will be passed round in February. This month take the title, "The Daffodil Elf and his Adventures."
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The Order of Chivalry.
On the 10th December, the most successful bazaar ever held for the Order took place in Ilkley. The total receipts were £69 17$. 7d. Of this £20 were sent to the Head Office in London, £5 to the York Order, and £30 12$. 7d. will be devoted to the carrying on of the special work of the Ilkley Branch. The Vicar, in opening the bazaar, pointed out that the motto, "Gentleness, Honour, and Love," was but the embodiment of the principles of Christianity. In these days people think much of education, and the mind is crammed with every class of knowledge conceivable, but while realising that it is of the utmost importance to the nation as well as to the individual, we must not neglect the training of the heart as well as of the mind. If the children's sympathies are not developed, their characters must suffer. It is in order to train all children to feel for others, weak and more helpless than themselves, that the Order of Chivalry was founded, and Miss Edith Wyvill (Denton, Ben Rhydding, Yorks) will be glad to send all particulars to any parents or children who desire to know more of this excellent work.
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Art Club.
Rule I.--No drawing must exceed 12 by 12.
" II.--Drawings must be sent flat.
" III.--All work must be original.
Subjects for February:--
I. A careful drawing of a door slightly open. To be drawn from the room.
II. An illustration of--
"Daffy-down-dilly went up to town
In a fine petticoat and a new gown."
III. A circular design of a lotus flower. Suitable for the inside of a bowl.
The following artists sent drawings in December:--
Evelyn, Marjorie, and Sylvia Powys, the Ladies Gwendolin, Olga and Dorothy Osborne, Sylvia Power, Gladys Clark Kennedy, Gladys Seed, Robie, Vera, Molly and Hall Broadmead, Madgie Crook, Dorothy Denison, Aileen Dougherty Christina and Rachel Barclay, Violet, Jessie Will and Harold Dickison, Lawrence Cadbury, Mary Rees, Francis Butt, Ruth Edminson, Josephine, Eric and Philippa Beck Hickson, Dorothy Marriott, Beryl Marion Durand, Nellie Heath, Kathleen Rome, Eveline Thompson, Irene and William Durant, Sylvia and Eileen Smyly, Honor Rundle, Cecily Cholmondeley, Evelyn Crookshank, Basil Leverson, Dorothy Woods, Noreen Sim, D., C., and E. Weatherell, Eldred and Kenneth Reynolds, Cicely and Ethel Brooks, Lorna Lawrence, Christina Abbay, Margaret Powell, Edith Walker, Florence Helder, Dorothy and Kenneth Yeo.
Some laws of good design.--A student of 17, who had been taught to carefully draw, first line and then mass drawings before conventionalising and finishing his design, has lately gone to one of the first designers of wall papers in London, and finds that the teaching he has received stands him in good stead, and that he is far before other youths of his age in consequence. This is a little lesson for the benefit of the young artists who do not quite understand the necessity of walking step by step into artist-land, and who send highly-finished designs that fail because they disobey laws, which could not possibly by broken if the designs had been drawn in the three grades.
This month circular design is given, and we advance a little further on the road of invention. It is not known who struck the first circle. Perhaps the hollow reed in some far-off pre-historic age have the first idea, or the impression made by the cut end of a reed on the sand or soft earth might have given the circle to design. Perhaps the sun and moon suggested to the simple, imitative early mind the genesis of pattern. The square with its derived chequers, zig-zags, and diapers might stand as a symbol of the Northern Nations; while, on the other hand, the graceful curves and spirals are suggestive of the supple Southerner, and we look to Greece and Italy for their most perfect types.
Walter Crane says:--"Square and angular patterns strike at once by their emphasis and rigid logic, while the circular types appeal rather to the sense of grace and rhythm." We find that by reproducing patterns formed from a primitive square and circle that we obtain certain off-shoots which form universal decorative units, as well as geometric plans.
The leading off-shoots from the square are:--The chequer, the fret, the zig-zag, the diaper. From the circle:--The scroll, the spiral, the fan, the scale, the oval. Students are advised to draw both a square and a circle, and to again draw from these lines and curves illustrating the above principles.
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Little Miss Holiday and Workaday Child.
Daphne was sitting in the window-seat, all huddled up, looking out at the clouds, and thinking. It wasn't a very happy little face turned up to the summer sky, the beauty and calm above found no reflection in the troubled discontent written thereon. The seaside holidays were coming to a close--those holidays so long looked forward to, as the change from smoky town to beautiful country and sea and beach, from school-life to freedom--yet somehow Daphne thought they hadn't been so very happy after all; she wondered why. All the treats they had planned had been carried out, the picnics and drives and bathing and excursions, and yet--
Now this evening they had all gone down to the beach to take a last look at the sea, mother and father, Nancy and Dick, and she had a sore throat and must stay at home all alone.
"And I don't believe one of them looked a bit sorry," Daphne said to herself, "I'm sure I heard Dick say something about being glad that the old crosspatch was left behind. He would be sorry enough if my sore throat got worse and I were to die;" and then quickly the thought came of itself, "Why should he be sorry?"
Looking up again at the white clouds so distant, the child tried to picture herself away, far away beyond them, not in the home world any more--would they miss her? Yes, deep down in her heart Daphne knew they all loved her, but then the shamed answering question came, Was anyone much the happier because she was in the world or less tired when the day was over, because of her help? If ever there was anything to be done, Daphne had a way of gliding out of it and leaving it for others to do; usually she rather prided herself on this, but to-night, somehow, she saw with clearer eyes.
And Dick had called her a crosspatch! Well, it was true. All these holidays, whose were the favourite games that were played, the chosen walks that were taken? Always Daphne's, and if Dick or little Nancy demurred sometimes, truly "crosspatch" was the very right word. Daphne was not given to overmuch thinking as a rule and perhaps that was why these thoughts troubled her now. Usually life went on so easily and carelessly for this maiden of nine; guided and guarded by loving hands, her little boat floated down the stream of days with hardly a let or check, but sitting there by the window this evening, all alone and just a little unwell, a pause seemed to come to this careless drifting and something--it might have been the stretch of distant sky over which the white clouds floated like snow birds--made her thoughts turn as they had never done before, away and beyond.
"I am a crosspatch," she whispered to herself. "I don't wonder they don't want me or--or love me."
Round the corner just then came Dick and Nancy, arm in arm, bright of face and chattering merrily. They glanced up at the window for a moment and called out, "Hullo, Daph," rather guiltily perhaps, as if half ashamed of their jollity, then scuttled upstairs with their treasures. Presently up the steep cliff path came mother and father also. Daphne watched them wistfully from her window, and noticed, for the first time really consciously, how tired and slow her mother's steps were and what a pale thin face she had. As they entered the hall, Daphne heard her voice asking someone downstairs about "Miss Daphne's supper," and then came calls for Dick to fetch slippers and Nancy to run up with mother's outdoor things.
And so it had always been, Daphne remembered with a pang. Always it was Dick or Nancy who carried messages and ran errands as a matter of course, and ever it was Daphne who did not like being disturbed.
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Just below, in the room beneath Daphne's, sat another little maiden, and curiously enough, she too was watching the sky in the twilight and thinking, but the two faces upon which the soft evening light fell were very different. Golden curls clustered round Daphne's blue eyes and fair skin gave it yet more beauty. Mary's was thin and sallow, with straight locks drawn tightly back in a little hard knob, old-looking rather, in spite of her nine years. Mary was just the landlady's daughter and dwelt habitually below stairs; queenly Daphne did not even know of her existence, though Nancy did, for she had once stolen down the steep kitchen steps to give the crying baby a little toy and had come upon Mary nursing it. Mary had put her little brothers to bed in the stuffy back-room, which was all they had now that that lodgings were let. She had washed up the tea-things, so that poor weary mother could go out for a little, to breathe the fresh sea air after her long tiring day, and now she sat, watching her return by the window, watching, too, the fleecy clouds as they glided across the sky. Little pale-faced figure sitting there in the shabby room, so common-place in dress and even features. And yet there was real happiness shining in her upturned eyes. The message the clouds were bringing was one of gladness; she looked out from her dingy home to that white world above and the peace and beauty there rested her and told her many things she could never perhaps have put into words. Her arms were tired with hushing big Frankie to sleep, but the touch of his loving chubby hands round her neck as he said "good-night" lingering still and her motherly little heart was full of love for her pet. The clouds had nearly all gone and the sun had set, so the folded hands had to be busy again lighting the lamp, boiling the milk for Miss Daphne's supper.
"What should I do without my girl?" said mother that night.
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I think that evening those cloud messengers had spoken well. To one little maid they had given such a glimpse of beauty and brightness that lifted for a while the veil of carelessness and selfishness from her heart and brought new hopes and longings, which never wholly left her again. To the other, their tidings came of a brighter world than this of toil and tired workers, and of a loving Father there, who watches over all His children, rich and poor.
Ada Melicent Hamley.
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When the Lights are Low.
Chapter I.
"That was a most scrumptious fairy tale, Auntie Flory. I do believe you know more about fairies and elves and gnomes than anyone I have ever met. The only bad thing about it is, that I wish you had told it me before tea instead of after."
"And why, you comical child?" asked Auntie.
"Because I'm sure I shall think about it when I'm in bed, and then I shall get frightened: I always do."
"Frightened at fairies and elves, Beryl? You're not afraid of them now. I thought you seemed to like them so much?"
"Ah, that's very different!" said Beryl, with a long drawn-out sigh. "Now, I'm sitting with you in this cosy, light room, and the fire looks bright and cheerful and everyone's about; that's quite a different thing to lying by yourself in a room that's almost dark--nurse will not open the door as widely as I like--with only a night-light that flickers and makes nasty shadows on the ceiling, and then you get thinking, and can't go to sleep--that's what I mean."
"Oh!" answered Auntie, thoughtfully, "that's it, is it? But what is it you're afraid of, Bel?"
"Oh! the darkness and the quietness--and everything. I simply love to hear of fairies and what they do in the day-time, but always at night I seem to get afraid of them."
"But, tell me, Beryl, you say you are afraid of the darkness. What is darkness, after all? It's nothing but a light gone away--in the day-time, as you know, our side of the earth turns towards the sun, and at night it doesn't--that's all. The world is just the same and the sun is just the same, only there's the other half of our globe between us and it. Darkness isn't anything that you can be afraid of."
Beryl shook her head doubtfully.
"And when it's dark," she went on, "I think all kinds of things about bad fairies and gnomes, and I feel afraid of them."
"And yet," said Auntie Flory, "you are not afraid of them in the day. They are not stronger in the night than in the day. What about the little birds outside in the dark garden: do you think they fear the night? No: they just tuck their little heads under their wings and fall fast asleep. And the flowers, too, close their pretty cups and sleep also; for over them and over us God watches."
"But when I'm frightened God seems so far away up in heaven. I can't somehow make myself believe that He can know what is going on all the way down there in my bed-room, and then I get afraid of the fairies."
It was a very serious little face that turned towards Auntie's kind one just then. Beryl was only eight years old, and Auntie Flory's god-child, and the two loved each other dearly.
"But, Beryl dear, listen to me. God made the world and all that is in it, didn't He? And if there are such little beings as fairies and elves, mustn't God have made them too? So, don't you see, God must be stronger than the beings He had made. Will you try and think, when you begin to get frightened in the darkness, something like this: I'm only a little girl, but I'm God's little girl; and even if there are such things as spiteful fairies and gnomes, they are not stronger than God who made them, and I'll trust Him not to let them harm me."
"I'll try, Auntie darling," said Beryl, soberly: "that's a very nice thought. I believe it will be a comfort to me."
"Auntie Flory is a great help to me," she announced to nurse that evening, as she sat before her steaming basin of bread and milk, waiting for her supper to cool. "She's very merry and laughs a good deal, but she has very wise thoughts. I don't mind to-night if you don't leave me door so very widely open, nurse."
Whereat nurse elevated her eyebrows, for was not this a constant source of contention, as each bed-time drew near, between herself and Miss Beryl?
Chapter II.
It was just a week after Beryl's talk with Auntie, and again it was bed-time. To-night, however, mother was out and Auntie Flory had departed amid loud lamentations to her far-away home. Beryl lay in her white-curtained bed, with an uneasy pucker on her brow--she really did not mind, not very much, but it was too bad of nurse to go downstairs and leave her night-light unlighted, especially when mother was out.
Nurse had friends in the kitchen, friends with very loud voices it seemed, and when such was the case she might call and call, but no one ever heeded.
And now, to make matters worse, there was Baby Rose crying in mother's room, at the other end of the long passage--such a sharp frightened cry.
What was Beryl to do?
Her room was so dark, and in the long corridor the gas turned down so low; she could never get out of bed, that was certain, she was much too frightened; better huddle the clothes up over her head and wait.
Baby Rose's cry sounded again, still more sharply.
What was it that Auntie had said? God was stronger than all the dark spirits, and He was watching.
Out of bed she slipped in her white night-dress, and hurried barefoot down the long passage, like a little pale ghost, into mother's room.
There was Baby Rose, sitting up in her cot, trembling and crying, and, close by, almost touching the white muslin curtains of the bed, a bright glare of flame shot up from the little table standing near. The night-light case, which ought to have been floating in water, had caught fire and set light to the flimsy tablecloth.
Beryl's heart stood still for a moment; then she remembered long ago mother had told her what to do.
Quick as thought she dragged up the heavy hearthrug and threw it, as well as she could, over the burning table and pressed it down, calling out the while with all her might and main.
In a moment almost, it seemed to the child, there came a confused hubbub of voices and steps, nurse came running upstairs, conscience-stricken, and close behind there was mother in her outdoor things.
Beryl ran sobbing to her, as she snatched Baby Rose out of her crib, and called to nurse to see if the fire were really quite extinguished. And a little later, when poor perplexed mother understood somewhat how it had happened--though that was not for some time--and what Beryl had done, she took her little daughter up in her arms and kissed her.
"My brave Beryl has saved her little sister's life," she said, gravely.
"And I wasn't a bit afraid of the dark when I was once out of bed, mother," answered Beryl, resting her hot, flushed face against her pale one. "Auntie was quite right. I'm more sure than ever now that God looks after little children in the night-time, for He must have put it into my head to go and look after Baby Rose, who couldn't help herself. I shall always, always remember that, when I begin to get frightened or lonely. I used to think sometimes, mother, that God was so far away up in heaven, He couldn't possibly watch over each little child, all this way off; now I know He does."
Ada Melicent Hamley.
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Senior Art Club.
This Club is intended for Aunt Mai's pupils when they leave her at the age of sixteen, but it is open to any readers of the Review, either lady or gentleman. The terms are 6$. for six months. All work marked for exhibition is criticised by Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., on the yearly "Pupils' Show Day," in Miss Stewart Wood's studio, 44, Holland Street, Kensington. All particulars of the Club can be obtained from Miss A. Y. Davidson, Secretary, 41 Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Rule 1.--Work is sent to Miss Stewart Wood, 44, Holland Street, Kensington, by the 23rd of every month, and the portfolio leaves her on the 1st of the month following. Subjects are issued on the 21st day of each month, but members may receive subjects for a term in advance on application to the Secretary.
Rule 2.--The name and address of contributor is written on the back of each study, and paper is placed over the face of the principal subject for protection and for the writing of criticism. Secondary subjects are usually numbered and criticised en masse. Oil students are required to use thin French canvas (Young, Gower Street, London, 2$ per yard), to reduce postage. For same purpose no mountings or stretchers are allowed.
Rule 3.--All work marked "for exhibition" is shown to Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., at the end of the winter term: Miss E. S. Wood writes his criticisms, and occasionally a letter of her own advice to the students, and lends them examples of good work. Studies are returned in June, or if a member especially wishes, in December also.
Rule 4.--All dues to be paid between the 20th and 26th of month preceding a new term, by those who wish to join for six months. Members may join for a month on payment of 1$. per month, but have only one subject criticised. Summer: May-October; Winter: November-April. Subscription, 6$. per term. Fines: 6d. for failure to send in principal subject; 6d. for sending in work late; 1$. for keeping portfolio more than a night (unless Sunday intervenes); 1$. for damaging or failing to return, within specified time, books, casts, &c., borrowed from the critic or other members. Fines, and any extra donations, go to defray heavy postal expenses of Critic and Secretary. All complaints, suggestions, and payments sent to the latter, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Subjects for February.
I. February. Continuation of the subject given in January, "Bottles."--When the student has succeeded in putting down a fairly accurate though not necessarily a dexterous drawing of the objects before her, the painting is next to be considered. Any part will do to begin with, perhaps the principal object is best. Try and match the tone as nearly as possible; if you fail to match it with the brush try putting on a tint with the palette knife; then go to some distance and see how nearly it matches. Cover your canvas in this way, putting on each touch squarely, filling it up like a piece of Mosaic, not leaving the edges to dry sharply, but blurring the outlines a little. The more advanced students will want to carry their work a little further, and when the picture is quite dry can repaint, adding detail. There are various methods to be adopted; some excellent still-life painters prefer painting their work bit for bit, and if done with due regard for values very little alteration will complete the picture at the end. This method secures freshness and brilliancy of paint.
II. Time Study. The pretty rose sent from the south of France, now so common in England at this time of the year, makes a beautiful study--drawn, if possible, with its long reddish stem and thorns.
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by Mrs. Francis F. Steinthal.
Volume 10, 1899, pg. 25
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My Dear Children,--Last month I promised to tell you something of the beautiful world I am now living in. While you are skating and feeling very chilly at times, we are sitting under large palm trees trying to shield ourselves from the rays of the sun. On one side is an orange grove, where we can pick an orange whenever we want one; and on the other side is an olive grove, where the colour is constantly changing, and is always perfect. The small grey-green leaves seem to catch every gleam of sunshine, and sometimes glitter like silver. There is a wonderful retriever dog here called "Azor," who can open every door, and the other day we heard a very funny tale about him. It appears that he dislikes cats very much, and kills every strange one that comes into the garden; but he is always very polite and kind to the two white Persians who live in the same house. Last year one of these cats got some dear little white kittens, and two were kept; but when they got big and strong, a visitor begged to have them to take to England, so their mistress allowed them to go. The two cats must have had a consultation about their lost children, and knowing Azor's peculiarity, they evidently decided that he must have destroyed them. From that day poor Azor--who happened in this case to be perfectly innocent--led a terrible life. The cats would hide in the bushes, and when he solemnly walked down the garden would suddenly pounce on him and scratch with all their might and main. The dog had no more peace. For a month he was persecuted, and at last the mistress sent away one of the cats, and the other one then left Azor alone. You see what a bad reputation can lead to! I wish I could show you all the old town of Bordighera, with its narrow passages (with buttresses joining them, in case of earthquake), and, walking up and down them, little brown-faced children in wonderful colours of red, and golden brown, and blue and pink. The houses are plastered and coloured pink and yellow, and the old tower in the centre is capped with Mosaics of green, yellow and red, which sparkle in the sunlight. Yesterday, I thought much of my little artists. A very clever botanist who lives here has actually painted 2,000 flowers which can be found here, and he kindly put these out in the museum and allowed us to see them. Every drawing was perfect. They are painted as I am always trying to make you work--very carefully--with great regard to first the drawing and then the colour. Would that you could all have seen what flower painting can be! On each picture there were fine pencil drawings of parts of the flowers, and very often a pencil outline of an enlarged leaf, which covered the paper, the coloured flower resting on it.
Next month I will give you more news from the sunny south.
Your loving,
Aunt Mai.
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Competitions.
All competitions are open to the children of readers of the Parents' Review. All members are reminded that their fees became due on January 1st.
Rule I.--A fee of 1$ entitles a child to work in any competition.
Rule II.--All work and drawings to be sent to Aunt Mai, Wharfemead, Ilkley, before the 30th.
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Little Worker's Society.
Founder: Mrs. Edmund Strode.
Each member makes two garments a year for a child known to the worker.
Next June send a pinafore for a little girl.
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The Order of Chivalry.
This year Miss Edith Wyvill (Denton, Ben Rhydding, Yorkshire) is very anxious to increase the number of members, and will be glad to give all information to any child who will write to her. One little companion in the East End of London was specially delighted to get among other presents a box of crackers, containing rings, chains, brooches, etc. She wrote in wild excitement to say how she had divided them among her sisters and friends, and how much they liked "dressing up."
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Our Cot.
The Lady Superintendent, S. Chad's Home for Waifs and Strays, writes:--"Our news about Ellen does not seem to vary much, as she keeps about the same, sometimes downstairs a good deal and then glad of a few quiet days in bed. It is very nice to see her so patient and contented, and one feels she must often long to be strong and able to go out to service and earn her own living like the other girls."
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Art Club.
Rule I.--No drawing must exceed 12 by 12.
" II.--Drawings must be sent flat.
" III.--All work must be original.
Subject for March:--
I. A medicine bottle or bottles against a dark background.
II. A vertical design for a book on Decorative Art, from the lotus. The Egyptians expressed water by zig-zag lines in horizontal rows. This can be put into the design.
III. Illustrate "Mary had a little lamb," etc.
The following artists sent drawings in January:--
Octavia, Dorothy, Josephine and Helena Scruby, Dorothy Jones, Dorothy Marriott, Winifred Edminson, Edith M. Walker, Lizzie Bonner, Dorothy and Kenneth Yeo, Gladys M. Howarth, Nella Heath, Katie Swan, Dorothy Denison, Madgie B. Crook, Lawrence Cadbury, Vera and Harold Broadmead, Evelyn Powys, Lorna L., Angel and Grace L. Lawrence, Gladys Clark-Kennedy, Dorothy Mary Ker, Margaret Powell, Eldrid Reynolds, Cecily Cholmondeley, Noreen G. Sim, Dorothy and Tom Brooks, Nora G. Tillie, Eleanor M. Cargin, Joan Abbay, Sylvia and Marjorie Powys, Margery Webb, Cuthbert R. Weatherell, Beryl M. Durand, Eveline and Marion Thompson, Ruth Edminson, Eileen, Sylvie and Fergy Smyly, Mary Rees, Myra Hebbert, Josephine, Philippa and Eric Beck Hickson, Dora Hatherly, Edward Wallace Hadingham, Erica Stevenson, Molly and Roby Broadmead, Stella Peake, Eric B. and Archie B. Baumann, Phyllis and Honor Rundle, Marjorie Barbour, Christie Hebbert, Gladys Seed, Wilfrid Crook, Basil Leverson, Dorothy Osborne, Mabel Mattheson, Olga G. Osborne, Katharine Marriott, Jessie Tillie, Kenneth Reynolds, Harold and Jessie Dickson, Agnes Cargin.
Some laws of good design.--Remember that, when laws of design are spoken of, there is no absolute determination of rule for all cases. "Art is not a science," writes Walter Crane, and this the reader must ever bear in mind. It is this possibility of new adaptations and applications which makes the pursuit of Art so fascinating and ever fresh.
The laws which have been already given are, however, at the basis of all true design, and should be studied and learnt by heart by all students who desire to master this special form of Art.
This month the keynotes of our paper are System and Simplicity. Let us suppose that you wanted a pattern of a rose for a wall-paper. You take a rose from your garden, and you copy it faithfully, and the result is a good study; but you find that it is a poor pattern, which, if repeated, would form a more or less shapeless blot. To quote Walter Crane again, we should get a "formal and regular repetition of an informal and naturalistic drawing--a contradiction in terms, in fact." The true designer therefore turns--in spite of the fondness of the unenlightened public for full-blown roses on their walls and draperies--to a simple and more formal representation of the same flower. This is found in the primitive type--the wild roses of our hedges.
Having chosen the flower, the designer then decides on a plan. It is absolutely necessary to build upon some plan: a plan being as essential to a pattern as the skeleton is to the human figure. It can eventually be concealed by detail superadded and enrichment, just as the skeleton is concealed most effectually by the human figure.
Having decided on horizontal or vertical treatment, according to the object the pattern is intended to decorate, also whether it is to be in squares or diagonal, the designer builds it up in line and mass drawing, and then proceeds to colour the finished sketch. The colours must be pure and fair, and flat, and no shading must be introduced, lest the design enter the region of pictorial art.
Next month the three proportions will be taught.
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Little Knitters.
Comforter and Muff made of Brioche stitch.--This is a very simple stitch, and most useful for all sorts of warm clothing. For boy's comforter, two skeins of white or coloured Alloa wheeling, pair of medium-sized bone or wooden pins are required. Cast on 30 stitches, as this pattern consists of threes. Put the thread before the needle, slip one stitch, and knit two together, this is all. Next row the same, and so on till your comforter is long enough. Cast off, and make a fringe by cutting the wool over into equal lengths (say 10 inches), and with a crochet hook hook four double threads into every 4th stitch; pull firm.
For child's muff, two skeins of thickest white fleecy or petticoat wool, pair of rather large wooden knitting pins. Cast on 42 stitches. Thread before the needle, slip one stitch and knit two together, continue till you have length sufficient to form the covering of a muff. Three-quarters of a yard (perhaps less might do) of white fleet wadding; fold this the size and thickness required for a muff. If yours is white you must have a covering of white calico, and a coloured lining of some pretty pale sateen; but, if of cardinal, which always looks warm and pretty, then have a piece of cardinal sateen to match the wool. Make a case for the wadding of that, with a string case at each end of muff. Now join your knitting and sew on to muff. Run an elastic or narrow ribbon through the string case, then finish off with a cord to match, which will go round the child's neck. This pattern also works well for a cot blanket or warm quilt.
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Our Little Cooks.
I. Beef Olives.--Take 1/2-lb. of tender stewing steak cut thin, then cut the meat into neat strips about three inches wide. Rub 1/2-oz. of dripping and two table-spoonfuls of stale bread crumbs together: add a little finely chopped parsley, a little salt and pepper, stir in a table-spoonful of milk to bind the mixture. Roll a little of this into each strip of meat; tie each roll with a piece of string or thread. Place in a small stew-pan, add 1/2-pint of warm water or stock, a very little browning (about a 1/4-tea-spoonful), mix a 1/4-oz. of flour with a little cold water, add it gradually to the stew; stew slowly for about three-quarters of an hour, stirring frequently to prevent the flour sticking to the pan. When cooked, remove the string, arrange the olives neatly on a dish with the gravy round and serve. A few cut up Spanish olives added to the gravy before serving will much improve this dish.
II. Poor Knights.--Take 1/2-lb. of stale bread, cut into slices about half an inch thick. Put 1/4-pint of milk with 1-oz. of moist sugar, a little cinnamon, one egg beaten with a fork to mix the yolk and white, into a bowl; dip each piece of bread several times into this mixture till saturated but not broken. Put some fat into a frying pan; when hot put the pieces of bread into it; fry till a light brown on both sides. Take them out with a fork and put them on a clean cloth, to absorb the fat. Dish them on a hot dish, with a little jam on each piece of bread.
Helena Steinthal.
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Selfish Bennie.
It was a hot day! A haze hung over the land, and a spell seemed to have fallen on all things. The very breeze seemed to be too lazy to stir the leaves upon the trees, or refresh drowsy mortals. The whole village seemed to be asleep, for the one street of which it was composed was silent and deserted. The only sound which broke the heavy stillness was the faint gurgle and murmur of the little stream which flowed past the back doors of the cottages. Just where the main road left the village Bennie was sitting on a stile, leaning against the trunk of a hawthorn tree, which sheltered him from the great heat. Bennie was thoroughly enjoying himself in his own way. In his lap were several fine apples, and he held one in his hand, from which he occasionally took huge bites. When it was finished he dragged up his Holland smock, and thrust a chubby little fist into his pocket. After some exertion he drew from it a large screw of paper, which he tried to open, but could not, because it had stuck to the toffee it enclosed. He then peeled off as much as he could, and proceeded to enjoy the sticky mass, leaning against the tree with his eyes half shut, and lazily swinging his legs. By-and-by a boy about his own size came along the road, and seeing him, stopped and said, "I say, Bennie, you might spare a bit of that toffee." Bennie stuffed what was left of it in his mouth, and said, as well as he was able, "No, I can't."
"Well, I'm sure you'll never get through all those apples."
"Yes, I will," answered Bennie in a muffled tone, nodding his head.
"I do think you might give me one, because you were the only one who got any. I had to drop all mine, or old Father Jones would have caught me. My, didn't he give Tim a whacking, just!"
Again Bennie nodded.
"Won't you give me one?"
"No, so you needn't ask any more."
"Well, you are a greedy, selfish thing! I hope they'll make you ill."
And the boy passed on.
Bennie went on sucking his toffee and swinging his legs, thinking of nothing in particular and feeling very content. By-and-by, an old woman toiled up the road with a heavy basket on her arm.
"Well, my boy," said she, in a shrill voice, to Bennie, "just as selfish as ever! You never think of anyone but yourself, and you're always eating. Apples! gracious, boy! you're not going to eat all that lot?"
"Yes," mumbled Bennie, wishing the toffee would be quick and melt.
"Bless me! and you've got your mouth full of sweets, too. If I was Mrs. Simpson I'd never sell you any, you selfish little wretch. There's your poor mother ironing away like anything on a day like this, when it about melts one to move, and she doing it all to keep you, you selfish, ungrateful vagabond, who sit here as lazy as a lord, and don't care how she slaves. I'd be ashamed, I would, indeed!" And she went on, having wrathfully shaken her knotty stick at Bennie.
He looked after her, his face flushed. Perhaps it was the effect of the heat; perhaps of the old woman's words. Bennie was not by any means a bad boy, only he always pleased himself in what he did, and had little consideration for other people. For instance, on that hot afternoon it never entered his head that he might help his mother in any way; but directly he had finished his simple dinner he had slipped out, and down the village street to the stile, visiting Mrs. Simpson's sweet shop on the way. He had thought of nothing but his own pleasure, so that old Goody Smith's words had awakened perfectly new ideas in his mind, and he sat pondering them, even forgetting to commence another apple. At last he awoke from his thoughts with a start, and took up the largest of those he had left. It was a very good apple, but somehow he did not enjoy it. The sun seemed hotter than ever, and the trunk of the hawthorn very hard. Then he thought of his mother, ironing away in the stuffy little back room, the sunshine pouring through the window. He got off the stile, a determined look on his face, and trotted home. Pushing open the door, he said: "Can I do anything for you, mother?"
His mother turned round with a start.
"You, Bennie?" she exclaimed. "Yes, you can, if you will. I do so want this basket of things taken over the hill to Mrs. Christie's, and Mary has gone with Johnny and baby into the woods, so there's no one to take it. Will you?"
"All right," said Bennie, and taking up the basket he trudged away up the hill. It was a hot road, and very dusty; but he marched on and on, till he disappeared over the brow of the hill.
His mother stood and watched him from the doorway. "Well, I never," she murmured. "Who'd have thought it?" And she turned away and went on with her ironing.
Some time afterwards Bennie appeared again on the top of the hill, his sturdy little figure showing dark against the golden sky behind. He came trotting home, and found his mother sitting outside the back door, knitting.
"Well, Bennie," she said, smiling. "Was it all right?"
"Yes," said Bennie.
"If you hadn't taken them for me," she went on, "I should be taking them now. You're a good boy, Bennie." And she gave him a kiss.
Bennie turned away, with a light in his eyes and a glad heart, thinking, "It's nice to help. I think I will again." And he did. Phoebe Rennell (age 15.)
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Curley's Adventures in Fairyland.
"Curley, Curley, run along up to bed, dear; nurse is calling you," said Mrs. Douglas.
"Oh! must I mother? I did so want to finish drawing this picture."
"You must know that I always mean what I say."
Curley gave a heavy sigh. After he had kissed his mother he went upstairs, wondering why did bed-time come so quickly; why did his bed-time come at half-past six, and a great many more things. After he had got into his own little bed he lay wondering, as he thought, about half an hour, but really it was about ten minutes, when he heard a shrill whistle, and he looked down on his counter-pane and saw a little man, not much bigger than his (Curley's) finger.
"Please," he stammered, "Did you want--did you call me?"
"Call you," said Golden Bell (for that was the little man's name). "Yes, I have been calling you for ever so long, but you only remained there in that great white place like a block of wood."
By "that great white place," Golden Bell meant Curley's bed.
"I am very sorry, sir; I did not hear you."
"Never mind now, for I am going to take you to my home, Fairyland."
"Fairyland!" gasped Curley. "Thank-you very much; I did so want to go there, only nurse said she could not take me."
"She was quite right; no human being could take you there."
"Perhaps I had better ask my mother, sir; she might not like me to go there. Shall I run and ask her now?"
"No, no; there is no need of that, for she knows."
So now Curley felt quite safe. Now, Golden Bell told Curley to get into the spoon he was drawing along. So he (Curley) obeyed, and almost before he was settled in this funny carriage it began to move, and before they had gone about twelve yards, which is about twelve miles in Fairyland, Curley asked, "Please, how much further is it?"
"Only about three or four more miles," was the answer.
At last they got there, and when Curley opened his eyes (for he was dozing) he saw a huge white palace, made of white cream, and in front of it were a lot of soldiers, marching up and down before brown sugar sentry boxes. Golden Bell stopped in front of them and made a deep bow, and then the soldiers opened a chocolate sweet gate. Then Curley and Golden Bell went up a long, sweeping drive, not of gravel, like our drives and paths, but of sugar-plums. They got to the front door, which was made of chocolate, too, only it had toffee and butterscotch on it. The wall papers were of sugar icing. They went through a long hall, and opened a door, and there Curley saw, on a throne made of toffee, butterscotch, chocolate, and all kinds of sweets, the Queen. She was dressed in the purest white and gold. She looked at Curley and smiled. When she looked at him he remembered that he had come away in his nightdress, and he grew very red and looked down at it reproachfully, when lo, he saw that he was dressed like all the other little fairies, in purple and white, for purple was their Queen's favourite colour. She then rose and said, "You all know, except Curley, that this is my birthday, and I want you all to be happy and joyous." Then she went out of the room, and the fairies followed her. Then they all went on to the bright green lawn, where Curley saw all round the beds and grass tiny little lights. These were glow-worms, for they are the lamplighters in Fairyland, you know. The fairies pulled huge crackers, and last of all they had a battle of sweetmeats. Curley like this best of all. They threw them at each other till they were quite tired, and they were going to play, when--"Master Curley, do wake up." And Curley awoke, to find himself in his own little bed and his nurse throwing nuts at him. So he sprang out of bed, and told her about all his adventures while he was being dressed, and at breakfast he told his father and mother, and his father said, "Well, Curley, that is something to be proud of, I'm sure, because I never dreamt of taking a visit to Fairyland when I was seven years old." Beryl Tollemache (age 10 1/2)
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Senior Art Club.
This Club in intended for Aunt Mai's pupils when they leave her at the age of sixteen, but it is open to any readers of the Review, either lady or gentleman. The terms are 6$. for six months. All work marked for exhibition is criticised by Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., on the yearly "Pupils' Show Day," in Miss Stewart Wood's studio, 44, Holland Street, Kensington. All particulars of the Club can be obtained from Miss A. Y. Davidson, Secretary, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Rule 1.--Work is sent to Miss Stewart Wood, 44, Holland Street, Kensington, by the 23rd of every month, and the portfolio leaves her on the 1st of the month following. Subjects are issued on the 21st of each month, but members may receive subjects for a term in advance on application to the Secretary.
Rule 2.--The name and address of contributor is written on the back of each study, and paper is placed over the face of the principal subject for protection and for the writing of criticism. Secondary subjects are usually numbered and criticised en masse. Oil students are required to use thin French canvas (Young, Gower Street, London, 2$ per yard), to reduce postage. For same purpose no mountings or stretchers are allowed.
Rule 3.--All work marked "for exhibition" is shown to Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., at the end of the winter term: Miss E. S. Wood writes his criticisms, and occasionally a letter of her own advice to the students, and lends them examples of good work. Studies are returned in June, or if a member especially wishes, in December also.
Rule 4.--All dues to be paid between the 20th and 26th of month preceding a new term, by those who wish to join for six months. Members may join for a month on payment of 1$. per month, but have only one subject criticised. Summer: May-October; Winter: November-April. Subscription, 6$ per term. Fines: 6d. for failure to send in principal subject; 6d. for sending in work late; 1$. for keeping portfolio more than one night (unless Sunday intervenes); 1$. for damaging or failing to return, within specified time, books, casts, &c., borrowed from the critic or other members. Fines, and any extra donations, go to defray heavy postal expenses of Critic and Secretary. All complaints, suggestions and payments sent to the latter, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Subjects for March and April.
I. A Japanese Study, size not larger than 18 by 12.--This study gives a wide margin to the invention of the artist. Most of us possess some recollections of a country that has added so much to modern art, and it will be in the selection of the best specimens that we shall look for the inherent taste of the student. A Japanese paper fan well arranged makes a good background for small objects, which may include the lovely bronze and metal work (in this case best without too much delicate inlay), or the ivory work found on little boxes or on knife handles. Colour may be given by a foreground of some piece of brilliant silk, plain or embroidered, chosen as a suitable relief to the objects. Always remember in choosing a subject there must be beauty of line, beauty of proportion, and beauty of colour and tone. As this principal study is likely to be intricate in form, careful drawings of the various parts should be made, at the same time not forgetting the instructions as to broad light and shade and the study of values.
II. Time Study, about three hours. Daffodils.--The flower appropriately accompanies the Japanese study, it being a favourite one in Japan. The Japanese have taught us in decoration the great value of simplicity. Place one or two blooms only in a vase, securing the extreme ends firmly, so as to allow the whole length of the graceful stalk to show. The yellow comes very prettily against a cream background or with a delicate grey. The study should include the natural size of the flower.
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by Mrs. Francis F. Steinthal.
Volume 10, 1899, pg. 37
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My Dear Children,--I feel sure you would all like to hear a little more about Bordighera and the life here, so I will give you a few details that may interest you. If you could go into the large palm gardens here, you would see many men cutting off the large branches and putting them on carts; some of the palm leaves are over three yards long. If you were to ask the cutters why they were doing this, you would hear a very interesting tale. When you go to Rome you will see an obelisk which stands in the Piazza Vaticano. In 1584 this obelisk was lying half-buried in the earth. Many a Pope had thought of raising it and having it removed to the Piazza Vaticano, but the difficulties and expense were so great that, one by one, they gave up the idea. But Pope Sextus V. was bolder and more ambitious than his predecessors, and determined that during his lifetime the column should be rescued. Fontano, a clever architect, was chosen by the Pope, and the work was commenced. It took one year to free it from the ground where it had lain so long, and to convey it to the place where it was to stand. But there remained then the most difficult task, namely, to raise it upright and make it stand erect. When Fontano had made all his preparations, he went to the Pope and asked him to name a day for the elevation. The Pope did so, and promised to honour the ceremony with his presence, as it would be sure to attract a great number of people.
"That is what alarms me," said Fontano. "Should the noise of the crowd bewilder the workmen, and prevent my voice being heard, I cannot answer for its success."
"Never fear," said Pope Sextus, "I will take good care of that," and he immediately issued orders that whosoever uttered a sound during the erection of the column should suffer death. This proclamation was placarded on the walls of Rome.
On the great day, Fontano, after receiving the Pope's benediction, mounted the high scaffolding from which he was to superintend the great work. The Piazza was crowded to suffocation, and a great and imposing sight it must have been to the Pope and Fontano to look down on the sea of upturned faces as silent as though they had been marble statues.
The signal was given, and the ropes began to stretch and strain and creak. Up! up! rose the great monster. All held their breath, and in another minute the column would be erect. All at once a crack was heard; the pillar began to sink, and the ropes no longer pulled it. The crowd shuddered. "Water! water!" shouted a voice," wet the ropes!" Fontano obeyed; water was thrown on the ropes, which at once contracted, and once more the workmen pulled and the column stood erect before the multitude.
The man who had called out was Bresca, a native of Bordighera, and captain of sailing vessel. According to the Pope's edict he was at once seized by the soldiers and brought before Sextus V. to receive his sentence of death. But Sextus, although stern, was a just man, and instead of frowning on the prisoner, he smiled, and promised to grant any favour he might ask. The good captain asked first for the Pope's blessing, and secondly the privilege for himself and his descendants of yearly furnishing the Apostolic Palace at Easter with palms.
So these few weeks before Easter the descendants of the clever Bresca are busy cutting their palms to send to Rome for Easter. As soon as Easter is over, they will begin to tie up the palm trees to bleach them for next year.
Last week we went to see a village, Busano, that had been quite wrecked in the earthquake which took place ten years ago last Ash Wednesday. As many people were in the churches very early that morning, and the churches were in several villages quite destroyed, a great number of people lost their lives, and many poor little children were left without father or mother. At Busano 70 people were killed in the church. It is so curious to see big orange trees growing among the ruins laden with fruit. The other day a large shark was caught close to the shore. I fear you could not wade and bathe here as comfortably as you do in England.
On Sunday there is a delightful service for children, and you will be interested to hear that we always have a collection for the Waifs and Strays you are helping so well. One day we are going to have a little drawing-room meeting for children, and I shall tell them about "Curly" and Ellen, and what you are doing for them.
In May I hope I shall see a great number of you at 50, Porchester Terrace, where Mrs. Franklin so very kindly invites us to meet. As I have been so long away from you this year I hope a larger number than ever will come.
Your loving,
Aunt Mai.
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Competitions.
All competitions are open to the children of readers of the Parents' Review. All members are reminded that their fees became due on January 1st.
Rule I.--A fee of 1$ entitles a child to work in any competition.
Rule II.--All work and drawings to be sent to Aunt Mai, Wharfemead, Ilkley, before the 30th.
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Little Workers' Society.
Founder: Mrs. Edmund Strode.
Each member makes two garments a year for a child known to the worker.
Next June send a pinafore for a little girl.
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Little Authors.
During the last two months tales were sent in by Phyllis, Dorothy and Eric Lovel, Olive Miles, Noreen Sim, Margaret Powell, Dorothy Osborne, and Phoebe Rennell.
In April write about "Little John's Wonderful Journey."
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Our Cot.
They Lady Superintendent, S. Chad's Home for Waifs and Strays, writes:--"Ellen has had to undergo another operation during the past month, which the doctor hopes will be the final one necessary for her. Her leg is very painful, and she is very glad now that the operation has been done. There have been two other children who have also undergone slight operations at the same time, so Ellen has had plenty of company. She would like to thank some of the "members" for the lovely flowers she has received several times by post, and which help to make the hospital so bright."
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Art Club.
Rule I.--No drawing must exceed 12 by 12.
" II.--Drawings must be sent flat.
" III.--All work must be original.
In April draw:--
I. Design for the back of a book on Spring Flowers.
II. Little ones to draw carefully within the brush two twigs; seniors, two daffodils in a vase.
III. Illustrate "Froggie would a-wooing go," etc.
The following artists sent drawings in February:--
Evelyn, Cuthbert and Daisy Weatherell, Robie, Hal, Vera and Molly Broadmead, Eldred and Kenneth Reynolds, Irene M. Durant, Margaret and Winifred Edminson, Olga and Dorothy Godolphin Osborne, Nella Heath, Madgie B. Crook, Ruth Edminson, Marjorie, Evelyn and Sylvia Powys, Katie Swan, Josephine, Dorothy and Octavia Scruby, Madge and Geoffrey Franklin, Noreen Sim, Gladys Clark-Kennedy, Sylvia Power, Winifred Villiers Stuart, Dora M. Hatherly, Phyllis and Honor Rundle, Sylvia and Eileen Smyly, Erica Stevenson, Dorothy Woods, Beryl M. Durand, Dorothy Yeo, Agnes Cargin, Margaret Powell, Francis Butt, Dorothy Denison, Mabel Mathwin, Dorothy Jones, Lizzie Bonner, Violet Dickson, Elsie Helme, Gladys Howarth, Gladys Seed, Dorothy Brooks, Dorothy and Nellie Goodwyn, Joan Abbay, Josephine, Eric and Philippa B. Hickson, Margery Webb, Kathleen Rome, Cicely P. Foster, Lawrence Cadbury, Mary and Ronald Rees, Tom Brooks, A. M. and B. C. Hebbert, Marjorie Barbour, Jessie and Harold Dickson, Ethel and Cecily Brooks, Basil Leverson, Marion J. and Eveline Spencer Thompson, Catherine Julia Cecil, Tom Parke, Stella Peake, M. A. F. Broadwood.
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Our Little Cooks.
Lamb Cutlets.--Shape some neck cutlets by cutting off the thick part of the bone, trim off some of the fat and the skin, brush over with egg, dip the cutlets when egged in fine bread crumbs; season with a little salt. Dip in clarified butter, sprinkle over a few more bread crumbs, and fry over a good clear fire, turning them when required. Drain them from all fat, and arrange them on a hot dish, with spinach in the middle.
Helena Steinthal.
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Little Knitters.
Knitted Jersey for boy of ten.--Materials: five skeins of three-ply Alloa wheeling, grey or dark fawn, one skein of crimson, pair of medium sized wood or bone knitting pins, four steel knitting needles, size 10.
Cast on 68 stitches. Knit alternately, purl and plain, to end of row. Then the ribbed part: two purl, four plain, to end of row. Next row, two plain, four purl, and so on for 92 rows, or till the jersey is long enough. Now to form the neck. On the row that has two purl four plain, knit three ribs, or 20 stitches, cast off 30 stitches and knit the remaining 20. Next row, knit 20, cast on 30 stitches, and knit the remaining 20 as before. Next row, two purl, four plain to end of row, and continue this for 92 rows or till the same length as other side, then the purl and plain alternate border as before. Cast off and pin the sides together, wrong side out, leaving a space of at least five inches for each sleeve.
Sleeve.--With two knitting needles (steel) No. 10, cast on 30 stitches with crimson wool. Knit 24 rows of one purl and one plain rib, not the same as the border of jersey, but ordinary ribbing, break off the crimson, join on the fawn, and with the wooden pins knit one plain row. Increase by picking up every third stitch on this row till there are 50 stitches, then two purl, four plain for 50 rows; decrease by knitting together the second and third stitches at the beginning of each row, do this for 16 rows; still further decrease by knitting together the second and third last stitches at the end, as well as at the beginning of the row, till only four stitches are left cast off. Other sleeve to be knitted the same. For the neck pick up on the four steel pins the 60 stitches cast off before; with the same crimson wool rib one purl and one plain, same as cuffs of sleeves. Thirty or 35 rows will make a nice roll-down collar. Cast off loosely and finish off end of wool with a coarse needle. This may be knitted all one colour, and for small child should be worked with four-ply fingering and finer pins.
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A Day in a Bad Dog's Life.
Imp was a schipperke, he was black, shiny and short-coated, with a little stump of a tail and two pointed stuck-up ears; and now I am going to record the most eventful day of his life.
"Most annoying," thought he, "that they will make noises downstairs when dogs want to sleep. Really those humans are most inconsiderate to us superior beings. Well! well!" he said, with a sigh something like a grunt, "but these humans are a pest. I do not know who was silly enough to invent them. They are all pests except my mistress."
"So are little dogs who won't let big dogs sleep," was the snappish reply of a big retriever who was well past the prime of life; and Imp held his peace.
The noise did not stop, and neither of the dogs could sleep. Imp determined he would investigate affairs, to the great satisfaction of the old retriever. He got up, stretched himself and trotted across the floor to the door. Too tantalising! it was shut, and outside, "Oh, the dear little thing, oh, the sweet pussy," came the voices of several humans.
"It's cats," said Imp, with a short sharp bark, and he began to burrow at the door as if he were burrowing for rats in the garden.
Cats! sworn enemies since puppyhood, when he first came in contact with one of that feline race.
"Imp, naughty dog, don't scratch," came from outside. "Oh, pretty pussy."
"Well, I do call that hard lines to have cats outside and expect me not to scratch," said Imp, scratching the paint off the door with more energy than before.
"Is that Imp scratching? It is a very bad habit of his, he must be whipped for it," said a voice.
Imp scratched harder, alas! for the paint.
"No," said Imp, as he settled himself in his bed five minutes later, "I don't think there are any nice humans, not even my mistress," for he had just received chastisement from her hands. He then by way of revenge began to shake the table-cloth (the table was already laid for breakfast).
This was very soon put a stop by a crash--bang--sugar, porridge, milk, coffee, hot-water, knifes, forks and spoons came clattering down on him as he collapsed beneath the scene of havoc and ruin. By the time he was able to extricate himself from it, the noise had brought humans to the room.
Imp, much dazed and a little cut, seemed entirely unconscious of anything until he heard the postman's step and in a second he was upon the ottoman by the window with eager eyes and ears pricked up. In another second he had his two fore paws out on the window sill (the window being open) and was barking vigorously at the postman and a small cat. He got so excited that he lost his footing and fell two stories on to the carriage drive below. Dazed, his eyes blinking, Imp went towards the front door, giving feeble short barks at the postman, and to his mistress' amazement was there to meet her as she came down expecting to find him dead.
"Yes, miss," came a voice, "he has been a bad dog, he is just a bad penny and sure to turn up."
"I don't care if he is a bad penny or not," said his little mistress, half sobbing with fright, "so long as he has turned up."
He was carefully carried up, his wounds were bathed and he was laid on his mat to sleep. He slept all morning and it was not until the pangs of hunger woke him up that he was disturbed from his dreams. He went down and ate his dinner with a hearty appetite.
"I wonder," said his mistress, "if Imp will be well enough to come with us for a walk."
"No, I don't think so," came another voice, "you had better leave him at home."
"But I won't be left at home," thought Imp, "just because I fell out of the window and cut myself a bit." And when his little mistress started out for a walk with her governess, there he was--and so of course he had to be muzzled and taken.
"I have never known the smells so good as they are to-day, all the dogs seem to be smelling nice. I'll roll--but there are some dogs." And off he went and was soon engaged in a fight with four or five small dogs. Before he had been called off, he heard a low deep bark and found himself rolled over in the dust by a big St. Bernard.
"Oh! naughty Nero. Oh, I do hope he is not hurt," said a lady, running up and collaring the St. Bernard and patting the stupefied Imp. She patted and stroked him, till Imp felt quite an affection for her.
By-and-by, his mistress and her governess went round the corner and Imp tucked his inch and a half of a tail down and ran as hard as he could got after the lady with the St. Bernard.
She went in at her gate never suspecting that he was following, and it was not till she entered a pretty drawing-room where afternoon tea was laid, that she saw a little black dog trotting over the green pile carpet.
"Oh," she said, "it is the little black dog that Nero rolled over. Poor little thing, I hope it is not hurt."
"Well! I have been waiting for you for tea," said the other lady, "and we will give the little dog some cake. I expect he will be able to beg for it."
And Imp did beg, and had a rare good time, being petted by the ladies, receiving dainty pieces of cake, and doing all his tricks. And when at last the ladies were about to take him home, they felt sure he would not want the leash, as he was such a good little dog. He followed them well enough till he saw three cats which he chased hard, when they turned the tables and chased him and then he soon lost sight of the ladies. He arrived home at dusk and saw the small black cat creeping across the drive. He chased it and was up to it before it had time to run up a tree. It turned at bay and he received several scratches, but managed to shake it by its back until he laid it out a corpse on the gravel. He crept guiltily into the house, his mistress could not flog him, and then he was sent to bed in disgrace.
"Well!" he thought, as he lay listening to the regular breathing of the solemn old retriever, "I have scratched all the paint off the door, I have been flogged, I have tumbled out of the window, I have fought four dogs, I have been rolled over by a big St. Bernard, I have been out to tea, I have chased four cats and killed one, and I think I have done a good day's work," and then he went to sleep. Margaret Powell.
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The Spider's Birthday Party.
"My dear," said Mr. Spider to his wife, as he swung lazily at the end of a beautiful gossamer-like thread one fine evening, "my dear, you know that it will be our little son's birthday in a few days; what do you say to a party to celebrate the event?"
"It would be very nice indeed," answered his meek little wife (she always agreed with Mr. Spider; it would have been very bad manners if she had not), "but don't you think he would feel rather shy among so many strangers? He has seen so very few children besides his own brothers, and he always hides himself when anyone calls at our house, so that I am always afraid that people will think it rude, and"--
"Pooh, pooh, my dear; we must not molly-coddle our children in that way. Why, we'll have the whole place laughing at us if we don't take care."
So it was arranged that the party should be given, and invitations were sent out, and a good many accepted. All the little spiders had been carefully instructed by their mother as to how they were to behave, and they all promised to be very good. Rene, the eldest, whose birthday it was, was certainly rather shy at first; but all the guests, especially one little white butterfly, were very nice, and most of them gave him presents. They all went down to the croquet-ground and played. Rene did not like the game at all at first, for his ball would go the wrong way, and he stuck at one hoop for ages, getting croqueted and knocked out of his place in the most aggravating manner. At last he got through, and after giving his worse opponent's ball a whack which sent it skimming to the other end of the court, he proceeded on his way to the winning post, and to everyone's surprise, came in second.
Then came tea. They were all very merry, the white butterfly sitting on Rene's right hand and the youngest boy of the spider family on his left. Rene's shyness had worn off a little by now, and he talked quite at his ease with Miss W. Butterfly, indeed he got quite excited over a prank that he was telling her about, and which he and his brothers had once played on their mother, getting into her store-room through a trap-door by a rope which hung from the floor of that longed-for place. He was describing how they got up the rope, and in his excitement never noticed that everyone's eyes were turned on him and that his mother was just behind, carrying a huge tray of tea-things. Leaning too far back, he lost his balance and fell backwards, stool and all, into the tea-tray, smashing the china and nearly causing his mother to faint with terror. All the guests jumped up and began running towards her to see if she or her unlucky little son were hurt, tumbling over each other in their hurry and only adding to the confusion. Mr. Spider was there, and of course he was the first to arrive on the spot to see if he could do anything. He pulled the unfortunate Rene roughly out of the tray, where he had been lying with his leg in the tea-pot and his head in the sugar-basin. He was not much hurt, but his head was all powdered with sugar, and his velvet suit stained with milk and tea. He did present a comical sight, with his clothes all awry and his face with such an ashamed look on it! However, when he had changed his garments and brushed the sugar out of his hair, he came back and joined as heartily in the game of hide-and-seek they were playing, as if nothing unusual had happened. At last the guests said good-bye, and went to their different homes; and soon after, Rene's bedtime came and he fell asleep, to dream of another birthday party, with lots of funny adventures, but none so extraordinary as when he fell into the tea-tray. Sylvia Power (Aged 12 1/2).
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Senior Art Club.
This Club is intended for Aunt Mai's pupils when they leave her at the age of sixteen, but it is open to any readers of the Review, either lady or gentleman. The terms are 6$. for six months. All work marked for exhibition is criticised by Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., on the yearly "Pupils' Show Day," in Miss Stewart Wood's studio, 44, Holland Street, Kensington. All particulars of the Club can be obtained from Miss A. Y. Davidson, Secretary, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Rule 1.--Work is sent to Miss Stewart Wood, 44, Holland Street, Kensington, by the 23rd of every month, and the portfolio leaves her on the 1st of the month following. Subjects are issued on the 21st of each month, but members may receive subjects for a term in advance on application to the Secretary.
Rule 2.--The name and address of contributor is written on the back of each study, and paper is placed over the face of the principal subject for protection and for the writing of criticism. Secondary subjects are usually numbered and criticised en masse. Oil students are required to use thin French canvas (Young, Gower Street, London 2$. per yard), to reduce postage. For same purpose no mountings or stretchers are allowed.
Rule 3.--All work marked "for exhibition" is shown to Mr. David Murray, A.R.A., at the end of the winter term: Miss E. S. Wood writes his criticisms, and occasionally a letter of her own advice to the students, and lends them examples of good work. Studies are returned in June, or if a member especially wishes, in December also.
Rule 4.--All dues to be paid between the 20th and 26th of month preceding a new term, by those who wish to join for six months. Members may join for a month on payment of 1$. per month, but have only one subject criticised. Summer: May-October; Winter: November-April. Subscription, 6$. per term. Fines: 6d. for failure to send in principal subject; 6d. for sending in work late; 1$ for keeping portfolio more than one night (unless Sunday intervenes); 1$. for damaging or failing to return, within specified time, books, casts, &c., borrowed from the critic or other members. Fines, and any extra donations, go to defray heavy postal expenses of Critic and Secretary. All complaints, suggestions, and payments sent to the latter, 41, Bessborough Gardens, London, S.W.
Subjects for April.
I. A Japanese Study, size not larger than 18 by 12.--This study gives a wide margin to the invention of the artist.
Most of us possess some recollections of a country that has added so much to modern art, and it will be in the selection of the best specimens that we shall look for the inherent taste of the student. A Japanese paper fan well arranged makes a good background for small objects, which may include the lovely bronze and metal work (in this case best without too much delicate inlay), or the ivory work found on little boxes or on knife handles. Colour may be given by a foreground of some piece of brilliant silk, plain or embroidered, chosen as a suitable relief to the objects. Always remember in choosing a subject there must be beauty of line, beauty of proportion, and beauty of colour and tone. As this principal study is likely to be intricate in form, careful drawings of the various parts should be made, at the same time not forgetting the instructions as to broad light and shade and the study of values.
II. Spring. Size 14 by 10, or 18 by 12.--A variety of subjects may be selected. If the season is favourable, the time has come again when we can sit out of doors and watch Nature in her varying moods, and see how far we have profited by our indoor work towards gaining power in representing her. It is a season of pale and delicate tints; nothing is heavy or dark now out of doors. The still bare trees are more apt to look a pale reddish tint than green: the skies even show a tender fitful blue, and are more changeable with their rapidly passing clouds than they are later in the season. Show how much you have already learnt by choosing a suitable bit for out-of-door study. Let it be simple and telling in effect. If sitting out of doors is impossible a flower study of the primrose will be accepted; when gathered with its surrounding earth, a piece almost of the bank on which it grows, carefully dug up and carried home in a box, a lovely study will be ready to paint.
Proofread July 2011, LNL
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