SELLING FLOWERS.

Pelorus Guardian and Miners' Advocate., Volume 17, Issue 59, 27 July 1906, Page 8

SELLING FLOWERS.

[BY THE AUTHOR OF “ EAST LYNNE."] . 1 ■ On a certain day in the first week in April, . 1867, there stood a man against the wall that bounds the north-west corner of the Regent’s Park. It was a bitter cold day, in spite of the sun shining with full force and warmth on that particular spot, for the cruel north- ■ east wind was keen and sharp, cutting its way into delicate frames. The man looked like a countryman, inasmuch as he wore what country people call the smock-frock; he was a tall, dark-haired man, about fortyfive, powerfully made, but very thin, with a pale and patient face. Resting on the ground by his side was- a high round hamper—or, ' as he called it, a kipe—containing roots of flowers in blossom, primroses chiefly, a few violets, and a green creeping plant or two. The man was not a countryman by habit now: he had become acclimatized to. London. He had been up by daylight that morning and on his way to the woods, miles distant, in search of these flowers. He dug up the roots carefully, neatly enveloped them in , moss* obtained close by, tying iftound with strips of long dried grass. It was nearly ten before the work was over and the roots packed, blossom upwards, in the kipe, which was three parts filled with mould. Lifting it up, he toiled back to London with it and took up his standing on the broad pavement against the high wall—which seemed as likely a spot for customers as any other. The clock of St. John’s Church opposite to him was striking twelve when he put down his load It was a pretty'sight enough, and artisti- , cally arranged: the’blue violets in the centre, . the delicate primroses around them, the green creeping plants, drooping their branches gracefully, encircling all. Did the ‘ spring-flowers remind rrv r. r n-p passers-by of their spring?—of fjuii lanes, the mossy dells which they had traversed in that by-gone time, and plucked these flowers at will ? If so, they had apparently no leisure to finger over the reminiscense, but went hurrying on. The man did not ask any one to buy ; he left it to them. The hours went on. At three o'clock he had not sold a single root. He stood there silently ; waiting, waiting; his wistful face less hopeful than at first. He did not much expect gentlemen to purchase, but he did think ladies would. They swept by in numbers, well-dressed women in silk and velvet,

' and gay bonnets gleaming in the sunny day; ’■ some were in carriages, more on foot; but they passed him. Occasional glances were cast on the flowers; one lady leaned, close to, - her carriage-window and gazed at them until she was beyond view; two or three had Stopped with a remark or question; but ’ they did not buy. As the clock struck three the man took a piece of bread from his pocket and ate it, going over to the cab-stand afterwards for a drink of water." He had eaten another meal

while he was gelling up the roots in the * morning, and washed it down with water from a neighbouring rivulet. Better water that than this. “Not much luck this afternoon, mate, eh ?” remarked a cab-driver, who had been sitting for some time on the box of his fourwheeled cab. " No," replied the man, going back to his post. Almost immediately the wide path before him seemed crowded. Two parties, acquain- ; tances apparently, had met from opposite ways. They began talking eagerly: of a ball they were to be at that night; of a missionary meeting to be attended on the ' morrow; of various plans and projects. One lady, who had a little girl’s hand in hers, held out a beautiful bouquet. '“I have ‘been all the way into Baker Street to get?it,” she said'. " Is it not lovely ? It was- only seven-and-sixpence. I felt inclined to lake a cab and bring it home, lest the hot sun should injure it.” A good deal more talking, the man behind standing unnoticed, and they parted, to go on their several ways. But the little girl had turned to the kipe of flowers and her feet were glued to the pavement. The flaxen hair flowing on her shoulders was tied with blue ribbons, the colour of her eyes. " Mamma, buy m&a bouquet.” The lady, then arrested, turned round and cast a glance on the flowers. “ Nonsense," she answered rather crossly. “ But they are primrose flowers, mamma; - do buy me some.” “ Don’t be tiresome, Mina ; those are roots, . not flowers; come along ; I have no time to spare.” . She made quite a dazzling vision in the poor man’s sight as she went away with the child; the silk gown of bright lavender, the white lining of the black velvet mantle, as the wind blew back its corners, and the monstrous gold net stuffed with yellowish hair‘that‘stood out from her head behind, and glittered in the sun. How fashionable it all was, and free from care, and indicative of wealthy ease! but you must not blame the man if life did seem to hinq for the moment to be dealt out unequally. Sevcn-and-sixpence for a bouquet, and a cab to carry it home in 1 He did not see a lady crossing the road imtil she stood before him. A quiet, gentle lady this, very much lacking in fashion, especially in the matter of back hair. “ Are they roots or flowers ?" she asked.

" Roots." His natural civility had gone out of him; a feeling of injustice was chafing

both temper and spirit. ■' * Roots are of no use to me, ” she observed, thinking him very surly. “ You do not seem to have sold many.” “ I have sold none. I had a walk of some hours to get the roots; I’ve stood here in this blessed spot since twelve o’clock " and there's the kipe as I set it down." " KipeJ he is country-bred,” thought the lady. As she was. ’ . " The ladies in their grand dresses have been going by a-foot and in their carriages, and not one of them has offered to lay out a penny on me. They’d go into a shop and give half-a-crown for a pot o' flowers; they'll give their seven-and-sixpence for their bouquets: but they won’t help a poor man, trying to get a living." He spoke almost fiercely, not looking at her, but straight before him. This sort of thing was not pleasant, and the lady prepared to depart. Feeling in her pocket foi some halfpence, she found a penny only, and would have given that to him. ” No; I will not take it. If I can’t earn an honest penny, I’ll not take one in charity.” She walked on, glad to leave the man and his incivility, Besides, she had just before been upset by the rude girls that congregate in those as in other parts ot London, importuning.her to buy flowers. This man was different. She began to think—well, of many things; and she went back to him with a sixpence in her hand ; the face looked stern yet: but it was an honest face and very pale. “Will you take this?" she gently asked, holding out the sixpence. He shook his head. " No, no. I'll not take money without giving goods in return ’Twould be as good as a fraud." '■But they are roots; and I can’t carry them.” No answer. " How do you sell them?" "Threepence a-piece," " Have you any children ?" "Y—es.” 'the hesitation was caused by bis innate truthfulness. He had but one rh : ld, but his temper just now would nol allow him to explain, " I hen let me buy two of these roots, and fou kiep them and give the flowers to your

Arildien when you get home.”

" No, ma’am. No." •• Well, then, give me one of the primros. .oots.” She was about to pluck the_ flowers fro.’ it, as being then more convenient to carry when he interposed to stop it, his voice be t raying strange feeling. " Oh, don’t do that! ’Twould be a’mosi 1 sin.” *

It was evident that he loved earth's prluctions. And then she remarked that was done up so neatly and carefully in if dry moss, that no inconvenience could an Tom carrying it. Dropping the sixpriu into his hand, ’she went away quickly, I his honesty should break out again, and 1 sist on returning threepence. Perhap; was only lack of change that caused him ■ to do it.

He waited on. Presently a woman ii .ed shawl came by, stopped at the sight ihe primroses, scanned them critically, r spoke. ” IVhat’s the price of ’em, master ?”

” Threepence a root.” ” Threepence a root I What, for th •nesses o’primroses?” “ I’ve been far enough to get ’em.”

“ Let’s look at one.” He put one into her hand, and she lui r, : t about in all directions, as if fearing imp :ure. Apparently she satisfied herself " If you’ll let me have six of these f< hilling, I’ll take ’em. I’ve got half-a-cu • window-pots at home, waiting to be fill with some’at or other.” He did not think it well to refuse the off; considering how slow the day’s sale ha been. She held the six roots across her arm resting against the red shawl. ” You’ll give meonein,” she said, keepm the shilling in her hand. She must have ha. a conscience, that woman! ” No.” Relinquishing the shilling she d< parted .with her purchases. Two or line stray buyers came up after that, each c.\ or a solitary root of either primroses c Holels. One gentleman, who got eft Mias omnibus close by, appeared to regav Ids standing there in the light of a person; :lievance, and asked him in a sharp, ia. placable voice why he didn’t go to wpil instead of skulking there with flowers, ; great, strong, lazy fellow like him! If stamped on, not waiting for an answer; up-a which another gentleman who had heard tu reproach came up and bought a root c violets, paying for it with a threepenny piece And so, with one thing and another, tin day wore on to twilight. He took up his hamper then and went away towards home, seeking to sell on his road. But luck was not with him. Home! It was situated in the heart o( London, and had best be indicated as lying somewhere between Oxford Street and the Strand. The locality was occasionally described as “ awful” by those who knew it: not in reference to the people, but to the dwellings they lived in. As a rule, thieves and pickpockets did not inhabit there, only the poorest of the labouring poor, quite the one half of whom were out of work six months in the year on an average. As the man went down a close street, where men congregated in rags, holding pipes in their mouths, and women stood about with hanging hair and shrill tongues, he turned into a miserable greengrocery shed. The master, weighing out twopennyworth of coal for a customer, looked round. ” Is it you, Sale ? Had a good day on’t ?’• ” No. You'll let me leave the kipe here for the-night. They’d wither in my place.” " Leave it, and welcome.”.

Putting the kipe into a corner, contriving to cover its remaining flowers so that the coal dust should not altogether blacken them. Richard Sale went on, down the street. Two shillings of the money he had taken must be paid for rent; there was no grace; and it left him tenpence to spend. ■ He went into a shop and bought that dainty with the poor, a “saveloy,” and a loaf of bread. He bought a pennyworth o I milk, a large quantity considering his means; and he bought a modicum of tea and sugar. There was a sick child at home, always thirsty, and they had said at the dispensary that milk was good for him. And now, admire the enduring patience of this man. He had gone without food all day, except the two slices of bread, lest he might not have enough money left to make a meal with his boy ia the evening. Long fasting does not seem so hard to them as it would to us, who live regularly: they have to fast so often. Richard Sale’s later history is but that of many. He had been attracted to London from his country home by greater wages earned there, and for some time did well. But misfortune came to him in the shape of rheumatic fever; it lasted long enough to sell him up, and turn him out with his wife and children, when he was still too weak to work. He never recovered position —if that word may be applied to a daily labourer. The fingers of one hand were considerably weakened, the joints stiff, and for four years he had to get a living how he could, at odd jobs; at buying things to sell again; or, as he had been doing to-day, walking out miles to get up roots, or cress, and sell; keeping his honesty always, and self-denying to the end. You never saw or dreamed of such a place as the one he finally turned into. It was not fit for human beings to dwell in. A pig-sty inhabited by respectable pigs would have been sweet in comparison. They called it by distinction a court, A court! On either side an alley ten feet wide, which had no thoroughfare, was a block of buildings: old, overhanging, tumble-down dwellings. They had no outlet behind on either side, being built against the backs of other houses: and two women, hanging out their linen to dry on the cords stretched across from roof to roof, could lean from the windows and shake hands with each other. The fresh air of heaven, given us so freely by God, could not penetrate to these miserable houses. A whole colony of people lived in them, how many in i room—at least in some of the rooms—it would be regarded as a libel to say. The stairs were scarcely safe, the floors were rotten ; dirt and sickness prevailed. As to cleaning the places—water was a great deal ;oo scarce for that.

Richard Sale went nearly to the bottom }f this court, turned into a doorway on the ;eft, and thence into a room on the right. A small, low room. Standing in its midst he could have touched the side walls, and his aead narrowly escaped brushing the ceiling What colour the walls had originally been, lobody could'tell; the window, facing the :ourtyard, had most Of its panes broken, and pasted over with newspaper. On the high bantle-piece, opposite the door, was a lighted candle stuck in a gingerbeer-bottle. The nan looked at it as he went in. "Halloa, Charley, got alight?" he exclaimed in a kind tone. "Bridget Kelly came in and lighted it, la,” replied a weak young voice from the loor. " I’ve been so ill, da." He lay on a mattrass against the wall jppposite the window, covered with a gray voollen blanket, a boy of nine years old. In rame he looked younger; in face consideribly older, for it wore that preternatural expression of intelligence sometimes seen in lelicate children of any station, often In the extreme poor. It was a fair, meek little face; and something in the blue eyes, bright :o-night, and in the falling flaxen hair, momentarily reminded the man of the other :hild with the blue ribbons he had seen that day. This little boy was the only one of all his family left to Richard Sale. He had peen idling «ome time, as if consumed bv

inward lever, and got weaker and weaker. A chair without a back; a low wooden stool on three legs; a board laid across a pan in the middle of the room, serving for a table, appeared to constitute the chief of the goods and chattels; but everything, including the floor, was scrupulously clean. Sale put down the things he had brought in, and stooped to kiss the child. "Been ill, d’ye say, Charley? Worse,?" The boy was sitting up now. He had on i warm comfortable shirt, made of some dark woollen stuff. , The father stroked th< hair from his brow with a gentle hand. " Tell da what the matter has been." At this juncture a woman came bursting in, A very untidy woman, in attire just suited to the place; the Bridget Kelly spoken of. She with her husband and children occupied one of the upper rooms, and would often look after the lonely boy when his father was away. From what she said now, Sale made out that she had come in that afternoon and found Charley “off his head:” meaning that his mind had been wandering " Hay be it’s tire beginning o’ faver,” she -aid. "His eyes was wild, and his cheeks had the flush o’ the crimson rose. I think ho must ha’ been in it some time, for he ouldn’t remember nothing of how the day had gone. After that he took a fainting fit, md I thought sure he was"—she stopped a moment, and then substituted better words for the boy’s hearing than those she had been about to say—"worse, and it frighted' me.”

Sale made no reply, only looked down at his child. The woman edntinued:

" I just called my big Pat, and sent him to ask the doctor to step down here. But wc haven’t seen the colour of him yet; and Bat, he’ve not comeback nather. I’ll be after walloping of him when he do." " What doctor did you send to?" asked Sale. .

" One that Jenny told us on. She come i' the thick o' the fight, and she said she’d stay wi' him then. I was busy a dabbing out my bits o' things for thechilder." Mrs. Kelly went away, and Richard Sale knelt down then to be nearer the child. He felt his hot brow; he felt his little hands, they were cold; and as he looked attentively Into the face turned up to him, a great aching took possession of his heart. He loved the boy with a fervent love, as it' was in his nature to do. Contact with the rough usage of a rough world had not seared his affections as it does those of most men. The boy turned, as if in sudden remembrance, and brought up a flower from somewhere between the bell and the wall. It was one of those single hyacinths, or field blue-bells, common to the season.

"See da!” Da, a substitute for daddy, as may be surmised, had grown into common use. The boy had never called his father by any other name. “Jenny gave it me. See how nice it smells."

" Ay, Are you hungry, Charley ?" " I’m thirsty,” answered Charley. Sale rose. He took off his smock-frock, standing revealed in a coloured shirt, trousers, and braces made of string: lifted the board off the earthenware pan, and brought up from thence some dry bits of wood and a handful of coal; with these he made a fire. From a cupboard in the wall he took a few useful articles, a cup or two, a plate or two, a teapot, and small tin kettle, which he went into the courtyard to fill. But ever and anon as he busied himself, wailing for the water to boil, he cast a yearning lock on the boy’s face, who lay languidly watching. This evening social meal, so patiently waited for through the day, through many a day, was the one white interlude in his life of labour.

It’s ready now, Charley. Will you sit up to it ?" Charley left the bed and took his place on die three-legged stool close to the -fire, and there seemed to be taken with a shivering fit. Sale folded the gray blanket over him ; cut him some bread and the half of a saveloy, and gave it him on a plate, Charley took a biteof each and apparently could not swallow either.

" The tea's coming, lad." , The tea did come, and he drank it down at a draught, giving back the cup and the eatables together. It was nothing very unusual : his appetite had been capricious ol late. "I can't eat it, da."

" Well, try some sop, Charley. Here's a droo of milk left."

Going to the cupboard for something, Sale came upon an unexpected luxury. Two cold potatoes on a plate and a bit of cooked herring. “Why, Charley, here’s your din* nor!” heexclaimed. “Haven’t youeatit?" "I forgot it, da.” Of course this implied that his appetite had failed. Sale did not like it: it was the first time the mid-day food left lor him had been wholly untouched. Slicing a bit of bread into a small yellow basin, Sale poured ioino boiling water on it, covered it for a iiinnlo or two, then drained the water off, me! put in some sugar, and the milk that emained. It may be remarked that Richard Sale did things neatly and tidily, quite difi fMit from the habits of his apparent class; vs lie was different in speech and manner, ■.■urley cat a spoonful of the sop, and gave u basin back again. " I’m only thirsty, da." !!e was,lying covered up again, and had 11-,I 1 -, n asleep in his own place next the wall, i -he mallrass served for both of them, and v either was washing up the cups, when a M\::e voice was heard above the tongues of ; natives, who seemed to be always keeping a perpetual traffic in the passage, and , c by no means choice in their language, a opened the door. here a sick boy here, named Charles •1,. ?’>

was the doctor, come at last. A young : a Mr. Whatley, who had just set up in i, ,!Touring street, and hoped to struggle i:m: I ice. Me had a shock head of hair, ;. i i:d voice, in which he was wont to ■decisive opinions; but he wanted ■:r f. r common sense nor innate kind! 1 i lie came in, sniffing emphatically. 11■ - in a word that he had been detained, Tmg a keen look round the room. Salt r, to explain the features of the boyd •s, hut die doctor cut it short by un mcnk-usly taking the candle in hi:i (leaving the bottle, which Sale mack

i,d. apology for, but the randlestic; ,! ;mim to pieces a night pi two ago, •(.I hoisting it close to the sleeping face. A ■.vhito face, which a faint streak of pin! ■ < s:-: the cheeks, and the dry lips open. Ik l: ■ 1.0 1 the child gently, feeling his skinand Shall I wake him, sir?" “ “ Presently," replied Mr. Whatley. lie i the candle back in the bottle, and stood : i:st i lie side of the mantle-piece, his elbow on a projecting ledge of it, in sil r :. ii of the broken chair Sale off*--! m yen ha<l advice for him before ?" ■ i'se taken liim tothe dispensary. But--’ “ Well r" tor (he man had stopped. ■" ' - - -ileman there told me they caul, ’ i 0.-h f or him, sir. Nothing, in far! 1 ctH was fresh air and exercise 1 n:;d vfor! living,” a, 1 !■ -\v yon i ivdn him the fresh a i ' ; -e ?" ho ddng round the room, 1. ■ di nrd the living.” , u,,v, could I, sir? He is not’ str<v ! i > ,o ;.b ut with me, and he’s to- ■ 1. carry. Now and then I've pi. ■ ■ , ’’ ,-n the street-flags in the sun. 1 . ■; to answer. 'The street lias • ’ : : ;i it, n: in 1e! tor streets the pM'c , . i f hunt Mm r.vay, and tell him u i lie young doctor gazed steadfastly at the

Sind gave It to tne child to drink. " Hewon't eat his food, sir,'’observed Sal*. " I daresay not. He’s getting beyond it.*The boy held up the flower. “ When Jenny gave me this, she said there'd be prettier blue-bells in heaven." “ Ay, ay,’.’ answered the young man, in a tone' as though he were lost in some dream. ■ I’ll look in again in the morning," he said to Sale, when the latter went out with him to the unsavoury alley. " Y—ah!" cried he, wrathfully, as he sniffed the air. Sale seemed to want to say something. " I’ve not got the money to pay you now, sir I’ll bring it to you, if you’ll please to trust me, the very £rst I get." _ . And the young man, who was’ a quick reader of his fellow-men, knew that it would be brought, though Sale starved himself to save it. "All right," he nodded, "it won’t be much. Look here, my man," be stopped to say, willing to administer a grain Of comfort in his plain way, "if it were my child, I should welcome the change. He’ll have a better home than this.’

Sale went in again ; to the stifling atmosphere and the dirty wall*, in the midst of which the child was dying so peacefully. The boy did not seem inclined to sleep now; he lay in bed talking, a dull glazed light in the once feverish eyes. Sale drew the threelegged stool close, and sat down upon it. The lad put his hand into his father’s,- apd the trifling action upset Sale’s equanimity, who had been battling in silence with his shock of grief. Very much to his own discomforture, he burst into tears ; and he had not done it when his wife died.

" Don’t cry, da. Is it for me ?" "It seems hard, Charley," he sobbed. "The three rest all taken, and now you; and me to be left alfine!"

" You'll come next, da. Jenny says so. It’s such a beautiful land;; music-and flowers and sweet fresh air. Mother's there, and Bessie and Jane ; Jesus took them home to it because it was better than this, and he's coming for me. Jenny has told me it all." Sale made no reply. He saw how it was —that others had discerned what he had not: that sure approach of death—and the good Bible-woman had been at her work preparing, soothing, reconciling, even this little child. But it did seem very hard to the father.

“If I could have kept you all in a wholesome lodging, Charley, the illness mightn’t have come on; on you or on them. God knows how I strove to do my best, Things be against its poor, and that's a fact; these horrible tumble-down kennels be against us," "Never mine, da; it'll be betterin heaven."

Ah; yes! yes, it will be better in heaven. And may God sustain all these unaided ones with that sure and certain hope as they struggle on. ■ The boy slept at length ; but he started continually; sometimes waking up and asking for water, sometimes rambling in speech. Sale sat and watched him through the night, he and his heavy heart. You may be sure that the dawn could not penetrate quickly into that close place, sftut m from the open light and air. It was candle-light there, but getting bright outside, when the boy started up, a gray look on his wan face, never before seen there. " What is it, Charley ? Water ?" The child looked about him as if bewildered ; then he caught up the blue-bell that lay still at band, and held it out to his father.

••Take it, da. i can see the others up there. They are better than this,” He lay down again, his little face to the wall, and was very still. , So still that Sale hushed his own breath, Jest he should disturb him. The sounds of the day were commencing outside l two women had already pitched upon some point of dispute, and were shrieking at each Other with shrill voices. By-and-by Sale leaned over to look at the still face, and saw what had happened

-that it was still for ever! He went out later with his basket of roots. It is not for the poor to indulge grief in idleness; death or no death indoors money must he earned. The world was as busy as though no little child, free from want now, had just been laid to rest; people jostled each other on the pavements; and the sun shone down, direct and hot, from thg clear blue sky. As Richard Sale looked up, he wondered how long it might be before God removed him to the same bright world; and he took his stand meekly in a convenient spot for the sale of the flowers. CHARACTER IN EYEBROWS. There is a great deal of character in the eyebrow, As the form and expression of the eyes and the regions about them have largely to do with feelings, pride, and self-control, the eyebrows are more particularly connected with the expression of those qualities, or the reverse. When the eyebrows are ragged, unkempt, and shaggy, as we often see them, there is a lack of self-control. When they are straight and orderly, the reverse is the case. If there is a tendency to pointed brows, with thinness of hair, there is an innate liking for display and variety. When fluffy and extended deep on the nose, geniality and love are the chief attributes.

Light-tinged eyebrows show lack of ambition, while black brows indicate force, and the medium brown shade is indicative of coquetry. AMERICAN “NOTIONS." The Americam Paper Mill says: Paper, as is well known, is a non conductor of heat, and the new paper waistcoat now on the market is said to be an excellent thing to wear when the thermometer is below zero. One of the most singular of recent patents is a rocking chair washing machine. The rocking-chair, which is placed in a tub in which are water, soap, and the clothes to be washed, has a rack on its rockers provided with a grooved roller. The wash-tub has projections on its vertical ends, and allows of the full play of the rocker of the chair. The'result of this arrangement is that the mother of the family can rock her child to sleep in her arms, and at the same time be washing the family linen Persons travelling by rail can now make themselves very comfortable by the use of a patented portable elbow frame. These can be fixed so as to give the effect of the most cosy arm-chair, and the fatigue of a long journey is thus materially diminished. These elbows can be folded when not in use. and weigh under three pounds. A new device, which is adapted either for a bed or bathroom, is a portable shampooing apparatus. T his patent applies to a reservoir -to hold either hot or ■ old water, and fitted with a spray fixed on an arm projecting from the teseivoir. The arm is movable, so that it can be turned down, leaving a mirror, which is fitted on the reservoir, clear for shaving purposes or for general use. This handy shampoo is made entirely of metal The spray is easily adjusted by a tap, leaving both hands free ior use; and the reservoir being so construaed that it can be moved to any,desired height, any force required can be,"-ob-tained. 1

Women and Typewriting Machines.— tt is estimated that 75.000 women in America are earning their living by operating typewriting machines, which is but another illustration of how the introduction of new machinery oftentimes increases rather than than decreases the opportunities for wort ]