Children’s Page

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXV, Issue 14, 7 October 1905, Page 54

Children’s Page

COUSINS’ BADGES.

Cousins* requiring badges are re quested to send an addressed envelope, when the badge will be forwarded by return mail.

COUSINS CORRESPONDENCE,

Dear Cousin Kate, When I tell you that the chief event of interest in our lives is the arrival of the -English mail (via 'Frisco) you will understand what 1 mean to imply when wo call your replies to my letters our extra special. 1 wrote my usual letter last week, but did not send it. as it did not seem to jne to be up to the usual standard, and this week I feel that my local news will be stale, and in consequence unprofitable. Mother liked very much what you said about the sensibility of children. and thinks that grown-up people tas a -rule) rate far too lightly ch'ldren’s ability to feel and - understand. S';.e remembers perfectly as a girl staying with an old-fashioned lady, w ho looked upon intelligent thought- in children very much as vve look upon eruption of small-pox—-a thing to be stamped out as quickly as possible, the patient isolated for fear of spreading the contagion, and the most stringent precaution taken Io prevent a relapse. This lady had a little grandson of four (a veritable pickle), always asking questions that nobody wcincd to be able to answer. One day, after ripping up the bellows to see where The wind was stored, his grandmother told him that if he did not cease being fo troublesome she would get a new pair of bellows tn.l blow him up into the sky, ■where he would remain lloating about lor rvei- and ever. ’’Yon couldn't,’’ he beornfuliv replied. ‘‘l should go up like This” (h’-rc he picked up a stone to illustrate his meaning, and as 1 he stone fell) “and then come tumbling down,” showing el'-arly that he understood the law' of gravity, though he might not be able to g<\v it a name. 1 am glad I live in these days of camaraderie between parent and child. Mother says that the higher ♦•duration of woman has had a great deal to do with this better under standing between them. It has raised their ideals and quickened thv’r -ense of responsibility towards (heir children. In the olj days if was enough for the veil-born woman to look hire, speak half u dozen languages perfectly. together vith a very' inferior knowledge oi her own. to be more familiar with the ways of ( ourt. than of still room or nursery; and l hen when their children turned out 1o be different to thorn-elves, with ideas more in keeping with the times, looked upon them a- monster- of ingratitude nr as changelings. And vet they had some attributes we have not. Men and women in those day- gave their lives, and thing- they valued more Ilian their lives, freely to defend a belief, principle, or an institution. Service w<> more loyal. I*evvreiirr and courtesy more real, in short, all those dead and gone people paved the way lor flu* good times we live in—such good times as no previous history can record: the pen. mightier than the sword: education, so fr<n» that tin* poorest can avail themselves uf it; ami with education will

coine the higher knowledge of our duty to our neighbour and ourselves. England not being my native land, I could only dimly guess at your feelings, and sympathise with them: but mother understands. and has asked me to tell you that before she went Home last time, after an absence of fifteen years, the longing to drive or to walk through an English country lane, between hedgerows of wild roses and honeysuckle, became sb great as at times to give her absolute pain, and does still whenever she allows herself to think of it. She also begs me to tell you she has often boated on the Dee and walked on the walls and in the rows of dear old Chester. I hope to some day. 1 promised, I think, to tell you about the parish tea at St. Mary’s, Parnell. It must have been a great success, judging by the numbers of patrons, both from a sociable and iinaneial point of view. The tables literally groaned with good things, and from the way some of the younger people put them away I should - think there would be groaning next day. It was a real-good old-fashioned high tea; not at all the sort of tea you go to and when you get hoiiie say, "For goodness sake get me something to e.it. I’m .famished." The decorations of the room were Japanese, and- extremely pretty, and also one of the four long tables which stretched from end to en 1 of the room, the floral decorations of red and white azaleas and camellias blending beautifully with the Japanese scheme of colour, But the genera! effect was ruined by the floral decorations of three of the tables, the colouring of them being quite out of keeping with the rest of the room. Japan is the land of the chrysanthemum and peach or cherry blossom; both these latter are in, and why, oil. why, were these not used, or the camellia and azalea, which is so ejinmon with us? After tea w e adjourned to the pro-C'athedral, where a short organ recital was given while the schoolroom was being put in order for the social that was to follow. Two solos, "He Shall Feed His Flock” and "The Lord is Mindful of His Own,” were beautifully rendered by two lady visitors, the other items, with one or two exceptions, belli" very good. The recital over, we re-turm-d to the schoolroom, where inusie. cards, ping-pong, and table croquet were 1 be amusements provided for the rest of the evening. 'l'he Vicar, in the course of a very long address, told ns a story of a curate who was very anxious to know nhat the bishop of the diocese thought ot his reading of the lessons in church. So extremely anxious was he that someone volunteered to ask his lordship, who replied that he thought the line-t portion of the reading was. "Here eudeth the second lesson”; and I am afraid, dear Cousin Kate, you will be glad to eml this description of mine. I have got "The ( halloners” al last, ami will tell yon how I like it when I write to you again. 1 have just finished reading Gilbert Parker's “Seats of the .Mighty.” a delightful and instructive story qf the siege of Quebec in 171)5, delightful in its conception of the characters of its hero and heroine, Robert Moray and Alixe Duvarney, the former an English hostage, on parole, held by the French, tin* latter the daughter of an oflieial high in the Civil service of the FrenchCanadian Government. How these two, alien in birth, religion, aims, ami fortune. love and trust one another in the face of a thousand natural reasons wit/,

they should not, emerge triumphant out of the many moral and physical pitfalls laid for them is an object lesson to us in these degenerate days. Instructive, because, unlike the general run of so-called historic novels, the author has given us accurate historic facts, and has emphasised these by giving us illustrations (copied from rare old prints) of the principal places, people, and events concerned in the siege, and also a copy of the map of operations again-t Quebec actually used by Wolfe. The story opens where Moray is accused by Monsieur Doltaire (an illegitimate son of the King of France and Moray’s rival for the hand of Alixe Duvarney) of. while an hostage on parole, sending valuable information and a plan of the forts to Gen. Braddock, of the besieging army. He is arrested and taken to a dungeon in the citadel, there to await the pleasure, he is told, of the King of France as to his doom. While in the citadel he is visited by Monsieur Doltaire, who tells him the real reason, for his arrest and detention there is—that he has in his possession some letters seriously compromising the' honour of a great lady, who is Madam La Pompadour’s rival for the 'favour of the King of France". I.a Pompadour wants these letters to use against her rival, and has

commissioned Doltaire to obtain them, by fair means or foul. These letters were bequeathed to Moray with the (lying request of their -owner that they should never be placed into any hands but those of. the lady whose. reputation was involved. Doltaire offers for the letters freedom, the alternative death, which latter Moray chooses rather than dishonour. After over a year of. terrible suffering he escajies, aided by his fiancee and some humble friends, and leaches Louisburgh. where General Wolfe is encamped, shows him a secret way of entrance into Quebec, and the rest is a matter of history. The sketch of Wolfe is only a slight one, he being only incidental, as it were, to the story, but I have never read any description of him that I liked so much. The character of Monsieur Doltaire is the most turions mixture of good and evil I have ever read of; indeed, one can only liken him to Lucifer, before the fill. Of course Moray marries Alixe, the good people are rewarded, and the bad ones sent (to put it mildly) to Coventry. I moan to buy a copy for my book shelf. I saw the second and third programme of West's pictures. They are far and away the best cinematograph pictures t have ever seen. I'he ones I liked best were those of the trip through Engandine. Valley. Wore they not realistic? Nearly every time the train passed under the shop verandah-like structures, that I suppose were L unconsciously ducked my head for fe:tr of its striking the top. And the snow—l fairly shivered. Shooting the rapids at Killarney was a beautiful picture, and the trip to the moon, was it not droll, and also very cleverly conceived, especially the falling through space? The picture of the steel works I thought simply terrifying. I detest furnaces and machinery, and I could not help feeling glad I wasn't a man when I saw the molten metal pouring out and the sparks Hying; I. thought that five minutes’of it would be enough to convert the newest woman that ever lived into a veritable Eve. I hope to go again this week to see the pictures of the New Zealand School Cadet <’orps. There is a similar institution in England, which has been organised by the Established Church. It is called “The Church Lads’ Brigade.” The drill is taught by churchmen in- the Xunday-schools on week nights. L Iwive a cousin who is an officer in this bri•gade. and my brother Lyn- received last mail a newspaper from him., sent from Prestayn, in Flintshire, where they ,-liail

gone into camp for a week, and had just been reviewed by General Sir George White. The newspaper gave a very- interesting account of the review and some -good pictures of the officers and camp. It seems a lovely idea, does it not. the Church taking up the training of its lads for defence of country? Much better than conscription, is it not? 1 have written the account of my trip to Antwerp, but must keep it until next week, as I am afraid it would make my letter too long. With many thanks for your last kindly and encouraging remarks about the improvement in my letters, and with heaps of love to yourself and the cousins, I remain, your loving cousin, Hilda (Ponsonby). P.S.—Would it be permissible to ask if any of the cousins could give me a good recipe for cocoanut ice and Turkish delight? (Dear Cousin Hilda,- —1 was not at all surprised at not hearing from you last week. It is quite impossible for you always to be able to write long descriptive letters of the type you send every week. The mood in which the majority of persons fond of writing can alone give their best is not always .upon one, and unless there is obligation. it is, as T told you before, wiser not to force the unwilling brain. I have not read Gilbert Parker’s “Seats of the Mighty,” but if I can find time will get it from the library, for your excel tent description of the plot has made me want to go more deeply into the story. Are you fond of Dickens, and, it so. have you read the •’Tale of Two Cities”? If not, you have a tremendous treat in store for you. 1 must have been about fifteen when T fir-t read it—or, rather, had it read aloud to me. W e were away for our holidays in the Isle, of Man, at a little fishing village, where we were absolutely the only visitors, and ! never dipinto the story now without losing eon-cioui-ness of present surroundings, and seeing once more the vast cliff on the verge of which we lay. the glorious open sea beyond, and hearing the rich cadences and expressive ■ modulations of-a voice 1 shall hear no more. •I fear? Do you know 1 think it a thousand pities -more • “grown-ups”- do not make a practice of reading aloud to tlleir children. That is one point where tin* “Home” parents do or did compare well. Reading aloud in winter time, when a certain ago was reached, was a family fixture, ami at any rate it was an essential part of the governess’ duty. It is really an art, and one which, like the art of conversation, seems in danger of dying out- I hcardzso'me children being read to the other day by a school teacher, of good position, and did not wonder that the young people missed at least half the points and i-ermed only half interested. It was. a monotonously voiced gabble, the speed truly amazing, but not the smallest inflection, accentuation, or. as it seemed to me, sympathy. Ami the accent and pronunciation—alas’, fur our poor tongue’’ One of the must astonish mg problems of our colonial s’oeio•loi»\’ is how it comes that in a country 13,000 miles away from London we have in all' classes and sec tions of >-><-icty a growing cockney accent. Which would Vie with anything to be heard in Whitechapel.* If the older generation were the sinners it would not be so surprising; but it is from the mouths of babes and sucklings that one's ears are tlie,mojst .hideo.usly wronged. Il is really a great, pity, but how it is going to bi* mended 1 don’t see, for half the school teachers 1 kirovv a rm particularly gross offenders. But this is very dull! I must strike out in some now ciir*‘ition. I discovered that epitaph, by the way. Here it is: “Here lies a poor woman? who always was tired; She lived in a house Tv'iere help was not hired. Her last words on earth were, ‘Dear fpends. I am going .Where washing ain’t done, nor sweeping.' 1 nor •’s'e wing; Bui everything there is exact to my wishes. For where, they don’t eat there’s no . washing of dishes. - • I'll be where loud anthenps will always ‘ - be ringing, *x ‘ • i But having; no voice I’ll be clear of the singing. Don’t mourn for me now, don’t mourn for me never, I’m going to do nothing for ever and Humour and pathos are always closely

allied, and there is an abundance of both in this. The line—- “ Having no voice, I’ll be clear of the Binging,” is to uie delicious, and again reminds me of my childhood, because of a very naughty remark and clever retort between a younger sister and myself. We had been given a lecture on “The oldfashioned, stereotyped Early Victorian ideas of Heaven amt Hell” by our muse, who delighted in horrors, and > had remarked that Heaven must be (hill. 1 got a prodigious scolding, as you may imagine, but reiterated obstinately, “Well, so it must be dull. 1 don't want to play a harp all day, sitting on <v nasty damp cloud.” “Yes, perhaps." said Elfrida, thoughtfully, “but you’ll find it a jolly sight more uneomfy it you've got Io sit on hit cinders!” Certainly she scored- And J am afraid we three children deserved cinder-—if the recording angel took notice of mischief and untidiness, etc., as our good nurse informed us wns the case. We were naughty. 1 think 1 told you once beiore how the cook, offending us, we managed to get to the chimney of the kitchen and, by throwing a brick and biscuit tin down, sent after it a shower of soot, completely ruining the major part of a dinner for a dinner party. Great was the tribulation both in the servants’ hall ami later in the nursery. J am afraid 1 must now stop somewhat abruptly, for a message has just reached me which will preclude my giving any more time to letters to-day. .1 hope to answer your next letter in more satisfactory style.—Cousin'Kate.l 4* 4* 4* Dear Cousin Kate, —1 thank you for accepting me as one of your con-ins’ band. 1 am sending for the badge. I hope you have not forgotten me. I have lately had so many things to occupy my spare time that I have not been able sooner to take advantage of my new position of a “Graphic” cousin. You mistook somehow my reference to business in supposing that I have to go to Queen-street. We are in business in the st orek coping line, anil although wo are really in the city our 'locality is usually spoken of as in the suburbs. You wished me to toil you’ how a fretwork machine is made. 1 fear it would be more difficult to explain it to you without drawings-than for uie to make one from the diagrams in the hook. It might bo more interesting if 1 were to tell you something of the funny ways of the cats and dogs we have had. They have difficult characters, just like people have. You said in one of your letters that you like pictures of cats, but do not like them in the house. Father says that a. house without a cat is like meat without fat. Suppose I begin my cats’ tale with a title. “Cats I have known” sounds all right, bid before 1 begin on my own cats. I must tel] you of one father often talks about that they had wlrn he was young. This was a wonderfully clever, brave, handsome, and affectionate eat named Tommy. Its mother. -Jenny, bad been a great poacher. She would leave home during the summer to live in the woods, returning shy ami wild some bleak night at beginning of winter. She was (ventuaTly caught, sentenced. ami executed by the gamekeeper. Tommy took after his mother in her poaching proclivities, but used to bring home his booty. Th? first rabbit or hare he brought was taken from him by one of father’s brothers, who cut off the head and gave it to Tommy. All lie brought afterwards were headless. II? evidently considered the head was his own share. Besides being dead nuts on rabbits, he was a great ratter, and one day brought eleven rats within one hour from some tables near, and laid them in a row in Ihe yard. This feat was recorded in rhyme as follows: — Our cat is fixing up a reputation, As premier raider of Hie pint ion; lie brings and lays them in a row, d'hat all may see his record grow. lie (•.mid open the house door and I d himself in by jumping up and clinging to the latch with one paw, while he pressed down the little lever with th. 1 other, which freed the door. He never troubled to close the door after him again. He could tell the time and the day of the week, as the following account will 'show. He used to wake up the household- before six o’clock on every working day, hut on Sundays he woke only father at seven. Father used to get up before the othera on Gunday

and get breakfast; ready. Tommy’s method of waking him up was by putting his cold nose in their laces. Father and I'ncle George slept in a bedroom over the kitchen, which was an enlargement of the house, and had a separate stairway. * One Sunday morning father and uncle were awake early, and they agreed to have some fun when Tommy came by pretending not to wake. PresmiHy up he comes, and the usual procedure failing, he tries stroking the fave with his paws, then endeavours to drag the clothes down with his teeth and claws. Then he seems to get a fresh' thought, and jumps off father’s bed am! on Io uncle's, going through the same performance, but without effect. Then he tries father again, but failing, he jumps down and goes to the stairhead and meows loudly evidently wishing to let the rest of the house know that something is amiss. Nobody takes any heed, so lie tries again and again to wake them up. and calling loudly down the stairs at intervals, even going half-way down to make them hear and heed him. At last, when poor puss seemed nearly demented with concern and grief, ami was making apparently a final forlorn a'tompt to arouse father, he opened his eyes, and he and uncle sat up. r l’hv effect on Tommy was great. I'rom 1 he depths of grief hr suddenly changed to the most uncontrollable manifestations of joy. jumping from one to the other of them and exhibiting the most lively affection. At last a day came when he returned not, and he was mourned as dead, until he was seen in the squire's wood, a few hundred yards away, adjoining Lea Hurst, where Miss Florence Nightingale was living. This lady was fond of eats, and had several beauties, ’rummy was having an airing with the rest, in charge of a maid, lie had evidently been beguiled while on a poaching expedition, and petting ami rich feeding had dulled his memory for former friends. However, it was some consolation that he was in the best of hands. Miss Nightingale was an invalid, confined to her room. Father says he would like to know whether 'l’onnny treated her to his early morning call. About live years ago we had a fine black eat named Jack. He was a great pet, but the next door people did not seem to have a proper cstevan for him, for they put poison where he could get it. I have heard that cats have nine lives, but have had to conclude that it is only stray bad rats that arc thus favoured. Poor Jack had only one. After two days’ sickness he died, and we buried him in th? garden, with military honours— a kerosene tin baud. We asked father to write us an epitaph for his tombstone, and this is what we placed on his grave:— Within a mile beneath this pile. Lies our beloved .Jack; His virtues were many; His sins-had he any? His rent was a line glos»y black. ( ut oil in his prime, .His death was a crime Done ov.r the feme at the lr.uk. Adieu, darling .lark. This letter is now perhaps as long as \ ou will have room for. and I must resms <• the story of the tricks and tempers of -let. Sammy. Darkey, (tv., for future letters. So with your permission I will close with “To be continued in oui next.” Cousin Lyn, Auckland. | Dear Cousin L\ n, I certainly had not forgotten you. but thought you had forgotten me, or that you had be. n too busy. Why don’t you send that story of the vat Io “( hat tei box”? I am sure they would take it. It is really 100 good to be lost. If you have any more like that one I should b« delighted to hear them. ’They are very clvvm. and I am sure the other cousins would also. I know cats are very clever, but that one was a marvel. I think I should have gone to Miss Nightingal? and got the cat back if I had been your father. How < ruvl of them to frighten the poor thing like that, wasn’t it? At the St. Aidan’s bazaar a beautiful Persian vat was for sale. You would have lilod it. H had beautiful long blue fur. and its tale was like a squirrel’s. Though I don’t like cats in the house, we have two bcaulies of our own. and I don't know how many others find their way into our place • in fact, it seems to be the happy hunting ground fur all the vats in the neighbourhood. My father is like yours, and loves llivm, and always spoils them dreadfully. I think it is horribly cruel the way people poison animals. We had a

beautiful spaniel killed in the same way. We were so angry about it, but ye buried him without a band. What . a splendid epitaph yowr fathei gave you. J am going to learn it, though it won’i do for my dog. /How are you getting on with, your violin? Still practising, I hope. Please write again noon. Coiisju Katv.J 4* 4' 4* Dear Cou<in Kafr,—The badge arrived safely. I think it ’»« very pretty. I like read ing Cousin Hilda’s letters very much. They are very interesting, aren't they? We are having void and wet weather now. We were expecting it, it was line before, and the grass and vegetables wire so green. They were growing well, too. I carry the mail lor Mamii info Maiignw-ka and bark again. '1 he days I <sirr\ it fire: Monday. Wednesday. and b'riday. I nearly always ride lhe pony. Her name is Pearl. Site is nice and quiel. ami 1 enjoy the ride. We have a grocer’s simp in Mangawvka, and I go there every Saturday. M\ -i? I<r and I take music Jefsons from Mr. Brooks oiHe a week. My brother ii*vd to lake music l< -Mms too. bid he duct not now. I'his is cur week a school, and then we are going Io have our spring holidays. I hope to be Li the shop most of the time. The answer Io that riddle I gave yoji is King A*n. I will give the cousins another riddl< . Why is a horse of a particular colour like a large river in I’Tanvc? Dear ( oii'-in Katv> that - is. all-Hic;.uew s .ju f -L now .-o I will (om-ludc. Cousin Claude. | Dear ( ousin Claude,—f am glad you liked your badge. :.Oue of,. Hu i «msiijs guessed your last ; ridde, w liieh v. a* very (sever of her, I think. I never <<n giic*s riddles. \Vv have had Indrid vvenHicr this hist week. Imt it was not a .bit cold. Did Iliv rain do mm h -damage to your garden? A\ hat Inn it must he c arry ing the mail in on line day s, but in this vvcjthvr it. must b‘ awful. Don’t you hate it when Uie rain runs down your neck, and up your shevis, and your fingers get (old and numb? How do you like learning musric? Isn’t the pravli-ing a bollivr? Bnt it has to be done. I hope y <Ui will hav(‘ a good time in the holidays. Do you like being in the shop’. I suppose you think it fun: but vnu would not like it so mueli if you had to he Ilu re all the time- that makes a great, dilierem-v. Co>usin Kate.]

Dear Cousin Kate, —1 did not write to you last week as I had nothing of interest to tell you. I had such a lovely large bunch of violets given me yesterday. 1 love violets, don’t you* I haven’t seen last week’s “Graphic,” as there was some mistake, and our copy tva- sold, so I haven’t seen my letter yet. We received a number of pretty pieces for the piano, from my cousins in America, last mail; they are mostly eake walks and two-steps; one is ‘ Ihe Candy Girl,” it is very prettyHave you heard it. Cousin Kate? Have you read "A Welsh Singer,” by Alan Raine? I suppose you have: it is a very pretty story, is it not? I have, just finished reading it. The school children have begun practising for the end of the year concert; they go on Saturdays and practise in the school. They are learning some very pretty dances. Nora and I go every Saturday together. She plays for the children and I have my shorthand lesson. The children are going up for a musical examination. Dear Cousin Kate, I wonder if you would mind sending me another badge, my other one got mislaid somehow. 1 am enclosing an addressed envelope, if you will please send me one. It has been raining here for the last week, and things are slightly wet, so I haven’t ventured out for a bike ride for an age. I shall have to bring this uninteresting liter to a close. Atirevoir. with fondest love for yourself and all the cousins, I remain. Cousin Eileen, Hawera, Taranaki. [Dear (Anisin Eileen.—Have you quite recovered from your visit to the dentist? 11l this time I suppose your face is its natural size again. I think violet- are my favourite flower: they look so lovely and they smell so sweet. I haven’t beard the “Candy Girl,” but I have heard lots of other eake walks. People are mad about two-steps, I think, and want to dance nothing else. It is vert ugly, 1 think, ami not halt so r.ice as a waltz. . But the eake walk properly danced is very amusing to watch. > >mc American- did it at a danee a little while ago, and we simply roared wit h laughter at them, they looked so absurd. I am sending you another badge, but don’t lose this one- I liked al! Alan Baine’s books, and I thin!: the "Welsh Singer” is the best, am! I loved ’ Torn Sails,” too. —Cousin Kate.] ♦ + + Dear Cou-’n Kate.- I wish to be one of your many cousins. I like reading the cousins’ letters very much, and will try to write regular. 1 am in the third standard now. W.<- are to be examined very -non. My little sister Stella and I are very interested in Buster, I think he is very funny and elever. We have a Manx 'eat called Mis- Bobby. Have you been to Napier, Cousin Kate. 1 think it is a very pretty place. 1 must close now. Hoping you will accept mens me of voter cousins. Houle you Ipeasi- semi me a badge.—l remain your- truly, Il lahine Smith, aged 10 years. [Dear Cousin Ruahiue. —I am sending you a badge, and shall lie delighted to have yon for a couisn. What a pretty name you hare. I love the Maori name.-, they sound so soft ami quaint, and -o few people have them. Buster is. a terrible pickle, isn't he? All the same you always want to know what he will do next I really don’t know what more tni-chief he can find to do now. be s"etus to have been in every' -tiape possible. I have rever stayed in Napier, only passed through, ■but I though' it was very pretty. I hep.' to go there some day. XVc had a <•<" .1 • ■ I.’iat had its tai! ent off, or. i.itchr. the .lour banged on it and it dropped off. t'ne day a friend of ours came to the house and saw the cat. and said, "Oh. what a lovely Manx kitten. VVe could not’help laughing. Afterwards we always called it the Manx cat.—Cousin Kate.] i ♦ Dear Cousin Kate.—l was very pleased to see my letter in the “Graphic.” I like reading books, and the last one I read was “The Two of a Trade.’" Have you read it? It is a nice book, •nd very interesting. I never go to

dances. I have two married sisters living near. I stay with them sometimes. You a<ked me how we go to Mangaweka. We ride. The roads are very bad here in the winter time, but we manage to ride through it. lam very fond of horses and flowers. Everybody is busy at their gardens now- With love to all the cousins—don't forget yourself, I remain, your loving cousin, Ada, Wai repo. [Dear Cousin Ada, —I have never read ‘‘Two of a Trade.” What is it about and who wrote it? 1 love reading, in fact I would read all day if I had time; perhaps it is just as well 1 can't, because it is very bad for the eyes to read too much. Have you read any of Ethel Turner’s? if you have not you should get them, they are lovely; “Five Little Australians” and “Miss Bobby;” but they are all very good and would interest you immensely I am sure. It must be horrid riding through the mud I should think. Don’t you get very splashed and dirty? I don’t like gardening very much, but I love flowers, only 1 like other people to plant them.—Cousin Kate.] Dear Cousin Kate, — Excuse me for not writing before this. You must have been a bit anxious about me. There is a little girl called Clara Milne across the road, and she has a pony. She can canter on it too. There is another little girl called Vera Bain, and her little brother's name is Georgie. 1 have not written to ( ousin Doreen for a long time. Now 1 must close, with love from your loving cousin. Norma. [Dear Cousin Norina, —It is a very long time since you wrote, what have you been doing with yourself all this time? I thought you werer never going to write any more. Do you ever ride your friend's pony, or would you Im? frightened? I have a niece who is longing to have a pony. The other day site went out on one belonging to a friend of hers, and those two rode all over the place like madcaps; their hats flew off and their hair was blown over their faces, in fact they looked quite like wild creatures, but they thought it was lovely. I was rather sorry for the pony; you would have enjoyed it too, wouldn’t you. Write again soon, and write to Doreen too or she will forget you. — Cousin Kate.l