Children's Page

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXV, Issue 16, 21 October 1905, Page 54

Children's Page

COUSINS’ BADGES.

Cousins requiring badges are requested to send an addressed envelope, wheu the badge will be forwarded by return mail.

COUSINS' CORRESPONDENCE.

Dear Cousin Kate, — I suppose you have quite forgotten me. 1 have just returned home from Mullet Point, where 1 have been spending my holidays. Have you ever been there? It is 34 miles from Auckland, and you go there in a steamer. There is a small school there., and it has only six pupils, although some time age there was a larger school ami many more pupils. Only one hoy goes to this school. The people with ■whom I stayed own* large numbers of fowls and ducks. I suppose you have been to Mullet Point, so I would only he wasting your .tame ( by describing .the place- to- you. We have started practising for our annual school concert already. My brother and I have, been invited to pay a visit fo the Panther, Ihe Austrian warship which is now in the harbour. I do not think I will be able to 00. as I am unwell. I have now one hundred and eleven post-cards, and 1 have a nice large album which will hold live hundred. I have bought another canary, and 1 have a pair now. I have been given forty-eight post-cards, which I have to sell at a penny each. ■When I gel the four shillings J can exchange them for either a ring, a watch, or a camera. We had our Sundayschool concert a few weeks ago. and the school was crowded. As I have .no more news L must now stop.— Yours truly. Cousin Leslie. | Dear Cousin Le-diG- You arc not at all a good correspondent, are you? F think you quite forget me. not the other way round. What a delightful holiday you must have had. [ hope the weather was line. Would you like to go to school down there? I don’t think you could have very much fun if there were so few pupils; That one boy must ■be rather lonely in the play-hour. I should think. I wonder they keep the school open for such a few. What a pity it would be to miss going over the Panther. I think it would be worth a visit even if you did feel seedy. You might not have another chance for a hug time. I wonder if you will ever fill that large album? How many have you got now ? Surely you are beginning to practise very early for the school concert. You ought to he very perfect «l>y the time the performance comes on. I should not think you could get a very nice watch or ring for four shillings, could you? —Cousin Kate.] d 4* 4* 4* i Dear Cousin Kate,— I suppose you think I have forgotten you altogether, hut we have not been getting the ‘‘Graphic’’ lately. I am afraid tins is the last letter I will be able to write, as we are not going to take the '.'Graphic” any more. We arc having glorious weather: it is just like the middle »f summer. It was so hot to-day that (he people all came out in thin muslins. My brother took my sister, some friends

and I up the mountain this afternoon, and took our photos. He took us. in four different places, and 1 think they will turn out very well. He takes photos very nicely. We are all kept quite busy now preparing for the bazaar. Every Wednesday night we have a sewing bee down in the Sunday-school. We had great fun last night chasing imaginary ghosts around the churchyard. It appears that somebody is playing a trick, and trying to frighten people by dressing up as a ghost. It frightened quite a number of people last Saturday night, and some boys who have been watching about the churchyard said they have seen it every night this week. My brother has just come in, and he said there are a lot of young men hunting all over the place for it. It was seen getting down from a tree in the churchyard a little after dark. We had an exciting experience the other day. The ticket office in the Domain was broken into, and six pounds were taken. There is no more news, so I will dose, with love to all the cousins, not forgetting yourself.—Krom Cousin Ida. Te Aroha? [Dear Cousin Ida. — lam so very sorry to hear that you arc going to leave oil' writing: I do* so hate to lose any of my’ cousins, but it would not be at all amusing to write letters if you never saw the answers, so I suppose there is r.o help for it. 1 think Te Aroha must be the only place in New Zealand that is having line weather. It is raining and blowing everywhere else, it seems, though it is not cold here. Did you get to the top of the mountain? 1 have been nearly’ to the top of the epur, but never managed Io get to 1 he top., though there must be a perfect view from there. I hope, the photos will be a great success. What a fright you won id have had if the ghost had appeared when you were running round the churchyard. I think it is a horribly cruel trick to frighten people by placing ghost, and whoever it is ought to be publicly' bra leu. I hope the young mon catch him. Have the police no idea who broke in to the ticket office? —Cousin Kate.] 4* 4* 4 l ' Dear Cousin Kate, —I was very glad to see my letter in last week’s ‘•Graphic.” I like the sixth standard very much, and 1 think it is very easy. L never went to the football match, but the match was a draw. Have you seen the Arahura? She is coming down the W est Coast about the end of this month. I am very sorry that your gardening was not successful, and I expect you will be disappointed. We have been having bad weather lately, and also the equinoctial gales. Buster Brown is very funny’, isn’t he? W'e have not got many Howers in our garden just now. I have just finished reading a book called ‘‘The Mystery’ of the Moat,” by Adeline Sergeant. Have you read it. Cousin Kate? I think this is all the news, so goodbye, with love to you and all the other ‘’Graphic” cousins.—From Cousin Jack, West port. Dear Cousin Jack,— T don’t think I have seen the Arahura, but I may’ have without knowing it. There are such a number of new boats in Auckland just now, and such very big ones, too. It is lovely’ to watch them coming up the harbour—they' look grand. 1 was very dis-

appointed with niy garden, and very annoyed, too, because I think the fowls scraped up all the seeds. The weather has been bad everywhere. I hope the gales will blow themselves out soon; we are all very tired of theni. Buster Brown is very funny, but he is very naughty, too, I think; he really deserves all the spanking he gets and more. Did you en joy reading tlie “Mystery of the Moat”? it ought to be exciting with a name like that. Next time you write will you give me your address? I cannot find it, and some of tire cousins want it.—Cousin Kate.] •fc + <• ' Dear Cousin Kate, —I was pleased on opening the “Graphic” on October 4tb, to find my first letter in it, and your remarks, were rearl with interest. I may perhaps do as you suggest about sending to “Chatterbox”; could 1 cut it from the “Graphic,” or must I write it out again? , I am getting on very well with .the yiolin,,,.but„the fj'ct mac-bine has been nggleetcd. I. have beep making a trolly like, a motor ...car for myself, and, a bigdog kennel for a, : neighbour. I guessed Cousin. Claude’s mizzle. ’The river is the Rhony, aijd t h,y colo.ur of the liqrse is, roan. Ip return. I will set him a little sum, which, as lie is a conn-

try boy, ought to be in his line. I n one beason wc gathered 850 lbs of tomatoes from 106 square yards of garden, and bold them—loo lbs at lid, 400 lbs at 2d, 300 lbs at 3d per lb.; the rest we used. How much would it be per acre? “Cats J Have Known,” Chapter HI. In my last letter 1 introduced Sammy to the cousins. Very soon after h? bad adopted us we discovered that he had :is readily taken a front place in the cat society of the neighbourhood. Although he was not a beauty as far as outward appearance went, he had evidently attractive and commanding manners, and musical taste. In the backyard under our bedroom window, there was a huge pile of empty boxes, and here Sammy organized regular musical i veilings—the ladies, I suppose all had box seats. All the cats for miles round seemed to be present, and we used to listen to the solos, duets, choruses, and war songs, etc., that went on until we interrupted the proceedings by throwing something—not a bouquet—at the performer. There was such a stampede on one of thes£ occasions that the stage and all collapsed—an avalanche of boxes coming to the ground. Sammy was missing fo r three days afterwards. An idea took father, ami he went out to see. and there, sure enough, was Sammy inside one of the boxes, which, having no lid. had fallen top downwards, and imprisoned him. He was unharmed, but ready to make up for his long fast. This affair seemed to break up the musical class, or perhaps they engaged another yard. At meal times we used to put a chair at table for Sammy, ami his food on a plate; he would put his paws on the edge of the table, and eat his meals as quietly and sensibly as a human being. He never attempted to touch anything that was not given to him on his plate/ His manner was so proper that he seemed to be a wan? that it was an honour to sit at table, and was cireful not to abuse the privilege. We had at this time a very intelligent dog named Darkey. Sly? also-used to sit at table, ami behave like a Christian. I must state this was while mother and Hilda were on their travels. Darkey wa£ fond of teasing Sammy by pretending. to be savage; but she respected his clayvs enough to keep a. safe distance. Every now and then, after making a feint .of attack, .she would spin round ami give him a slash with her bushy ta.il. as much as to say, “I can get at you. you see.” Sammy, used to lodk very serious and bored, while at a safe

distance, and frightened if Darkey pressed him at elose -»quarters. But that he enjoyed it was seen by the fact that if Darkey eeased,- he would invite a continuance of the display. I will have to tell you of Darkey when I have done with the eats. We had a lot of fowls at this time, and Sammy took a great interest in them. He used to sit for hours, watching and apparently studying them, and would sometimes rush suddenly amongst them, seemingly with no other object than to create a diversion, for which he got peeked. He was very curious about the eggs, and the manner of their production by the hen sitting on the nest. One day' father found him on the nest with the patient, quiet, expectant look of a nesting hen on his face. Ho evidently thought if hens could produce eggs by sitting in the box, why sliauldn’t h? ? But he had to. give it up, and let those who knew how, do the egg-making business. He used to aet as guardian to the chickens, keeping the rats away, and a bad black eat that used to come on the fence, and look with greedy, consuming eyes at the chicks. When we had commenced to make the yard into a garden, we sold most of the fowls,-keeping only one hen and her. eleven chicks, which we penned ip. Sammy set up a comradeship witli this hen. and used to go to roost with ler and the chicks in the box-house we had made for them in the pen. At last Sammy shared Jack’s fate. One of the neighbours was losing his chicks, and laid poison for the culprit; but he did not know what we knew, that a w,-asal was about. 1 am sure poor Sammy was innocent, and suffered for the weasel’s misdeeds. He did not have a military funeral, but he was most sincerely mourned for his good qualities. ‘A\ e buried him darkly at dead of night,’’ as tlie .poem says of another good warrior. —(tousin Lyn. [Dear Cousin Lyn.—Cousin Claude’s riddle seems very easy now you have told me the answer, but I should never have found it out for myself. I am an awful duffer at guessing riddles or puzzles of any kind, so 1 will leave that sum for Claude to answer for himself. You could cut your first cat story out of the "Graphic” and send it. but you would have to send some explanation as to its having been printed before. I think I would writ? it out again. 1 can quite imagine those concerts of Sammy’s. We have been serenaded quite often ourselves, and once is quite enough for most people. Once lx*aid never forgotten. What a narrow escape the poor thing had. hat made vour father think of looking for him amongst the boxes? 1 should think you were truly pleased .to . find something that, would put an end to such niusv?. I did not think your mother would have let the animals come to table, even if they did behave like Christians, if she had been at home. I know my mother would have soon turned them out. T have often seen cats and dogs made great friends; and they are very funny to watch. 1 think. Sammy i eally seems to lune been a wonder. We had a eat that.used to have his meals with the fowls; but he drew the line at sleeping with them. How dreadfully sorry you must have- been, when lie died. You M.m to lie very fond of carpentering; what are yon going to do with the trolly when it is finished? —Cousin Kate.] 4- 4* 4* Dear Cousin Kate. I was very pleased to see my letter in.last week s oraphic. It has been so wet up Imre almost, all this last fortnight. It was not very wet. on Friday, but it was very windy. We have th’ree such dear littl ■ lambs. Aline is called liosie, and my sister’s is called Fluffy, and my brother’s is called Neddy. 1 am very anxious to know how old Cousin Hilda is; she writes such elever letters. I only, wish 1 could write, like her. garden is very pretty -this year,'and Daddy’s vegetables are coming up beautifully.' 1 never feel lonely up here, because wo have phonograph and a camera.’Would you like me to send you a .photograph of all of us and the. pony, the three lambs, and our governess all together? 1 am very fond of reading, are not you. Cousin Kate? My cousin Stewart sent me such a lovely book called “Rqbinsdn Crusoe.” by Daniel -Defoe? ’Fam. collecting stanqis, silver paper, and cards.' Will you give mo Cousin Avinnie’s and Cotisin Jack's address, so thwt T cap.,,exchange post .(Cards .„ wjth them? ‘ Stepping Stones” is by-Sirrah Doudney. I have no mpro to say now, so good-bye.— From your loving coukln, Cicely.

[Dear Cousin Cicely,—Really, if you have any more pets there will be no room on the place for anything else; then what will happen? What will you do with three pet lambs? Cousin Hilda’s letters are very clever, are they not? 1 think we all wish we could write like that; letter-writingwould become a pleasure instead of a bother. I would love to have a photograph of you all. Do you think the pet would keep still long enough to have a good photo taken? What do you do with the silver paper when you get it? I can understand anyone collecting stamps and post cards; they are pretty and interesting; but I can’t think what you ean do with the paper. Unless you are making a silver ball. What a delightful time you will have reading “Robinson Crusoe.” I used to love it, and have read it over and over again. Cousin Winnie’s address is: Miss W. Vincent, Te Kaiilgu? Barratta-road, Christchurch. ’’ 1 will send yon Cousin Jack’s when I find it.— Cousin Kate.] 4- 4- -fr Dear Cousin Kate, —I am so soiry that 1 have been such a long time in writing to you, but my father was ill, and I had to help mother. 1 went to the Military Circus about a month ago, and 1 liked it very much. The trick dogs were very much better than the ponies. 1 did not like the ponies very much, because they were so frightened. The trick dogs were very good, and <Tid a lot of clever things. One little dog was put in a perambulator, and another dog wheeled it along, and the same dog skipped and jumped. Don’t you think that was a clever thing for a little dog to do? There was a clever lady, who danced on wires and jumped through hoops; an I a wonderful man, who balanced a basin on top of an umbrella, and all sorts of other things. Then came Dick Turpin’s Ride to York; that was very interesting. Dick stuck up a coach and robbed it, and the girls inside were screaming because they were so frightened. It was my birthday last month, and I was ten; I will tell you what presents I got—a post card album, a purse, six linen handkerchiefs, three boxes of sweets, some motley, a paint box, and a book, a silver hat whisk, a silver clothes’ brush, a hottie of lavender' smelling salts, and a silver stand to hold it in, all with my name on. Have you got lirany spring Howers out in Auckland just now ? We have had a lot of bulbs out. but they are nearly all over. My little friends, Marjory and Jean, have been away in the country, and they have just come back. Perhaps I am going to Wellington for the Christmas holidays, to stay with my Auntie Trot. I must close now, with lots of love to all the other cousins and lots to yourself.—From Cousin Doreen. [Dear Colisin Doreen, —I am so glad you have made up your mind to write again. I love a circus, and think the animals are wonderful. What a long time it must take to train them, though, to do so many things. Those poor little ponies; it. seems cruel to frighten them so, doesn't it? What a lovely lot of birthday presents you got; you are a lucky girl. I think silver tilings for the dressing-table are the nice-t presents to get. Most of the spring Howers are over now. except the anemones, and they are perfectly lovely this year, and such heaps and heaps of them. T suppose yon missed Marjory and Jean very much and are very glad to have them back again. I hope your father is quite well again now.—Cousin Kate.] 4- 4- 4Dear Cousin Kate, —As you sav in your reply to my last, week’s letter (for which I thank you), long letters take up a lot of time, but in the pleasure that writing gives, time. 'I am afraid, is lost sight of. I think Diekens’ “Tale of Two Cities” the best book he ever wrote. When we were staying in London, we had a great discussion one morning at breakfast (in our boardinghouse in Kensington). We were saying that in spite of its great excellence it was the least read of Dickens’ works. A gentleman present hotly disputed this, so a vote was taken, and out of the twenty-one people present twelve had heard of it, but only seven had read it, and they were all delightful,’ well-informed people, too, so we scored. All Dickens’ works are delightful,. He is so human, and he ' never wrote without a purpose, either to redress some great wrong or alleviate suffering, and,’ like all really

earnest people, had his reward in spring wrongs righted and sufferings lessened. It was the ride in mother’s home, for she, her brother, and sister to read alternately Dickens’ works, and she. looking hack, says that it would seem absurd to anyone in these days the way they used to laugh ami cryover 'them. Mother. too, remembers hearing him lecture in Manchester, and she also' remembers the mornin<* his death, when the papers published the news and a picture of his study at Dad’s Rill. She says* the picture (a very pathetic one) is as fresh in her menjory to-day us then. The topic- is so fascinating that 1 could go on indefinitely, but it is nearly post-time. I shall be exceeding pleased to exchange postcards with Cousin Civile. I have some lovely English ones I could exchange with him. Yes. Aittwerp is, as you say. a very intorestiifg - city. Its Flemish name, Antwerpen, is derived from two Flemish words, “ane't werf.” which mean “At the wharf.’’ I do not think any name could describe it better. it is on the Scheldt, and. seen from the river, seems to be nothing but wharves anil shipping. In the 16th century it was said to be the richest city in the world and is still one of tin* largest shipping centres. It was taken in 1576 and 1588 by the Spanish, and by the French in 1792 and 1794. It is celebrated for its lace.- (Mechlin), its cathedral anil picture gallery, and also because it was the birthplace of Rubens, Teniers, and Van Dyck. The cathedral, which dates from the 15th century, was nearly destroyed by lire in the IBth, and was rebuilt at the beginning of tlie present century. We caught our first sight of its noted tower (403 ft high) from the twer. and were, rather disappointed. ft looked so fragile, and at that distance resembled nothing so much as the sugared top of a bride’s cake, but when we stood at its great door and looked up at it closely, that first impression faded away, never again to be revivedWe attended a mass, and afterwards went over the cathedral. There is an altar piece of the Madonna and child, by Quotin Matsys, the blacksmith who became an artist. The story runs that he fell in love (while a blacksmith.) with an artist’s laughter. and on asking for her hand was told that none but an artist should marry her, so he determined to become one; to which end he studied, until he achieved distinction. Going one day to her father’s house to renew hi, suit, he was shown into the studio. In a corner of the room (on an easel) stood a newly painted portrait, and on the face of this portrait he painted a fly. so cleverly that the artist, coming in and seeing it, tried to brush it oil. thinking it real. He asked Matsys who had painted it. and on receiving the answer that he (Matsys) had done it. embraced him. and called him a greater artist than himself and worthy to marry his daughter. Now. to us in these days, from blacksmith to artist, and such a great artist as Maisys. seems a long step, but when one takes into consideration that in those days Ibero was practically no machinery, that every thing was hand-wrought, and that a smith not only executed, but conceived, his own designs, the step is not so great as it seems. Some of the ornamental ironwork attributed to Matsys is just as beautiful in its way as the greatest picture ever painted. Hix pictures are noted for their realism, glowing colours, total absence of light and shade, and their exquisite lini-h and minor detail. We saw also several pictures of Rubins and the tombstone erected to his memory. Wo saw a very beautiful statue of Rubens in what is called the Rubens Pin z. a beautiful -quare quite close to the cathedral. We were delighted with the quaint architecture of the houses and shops. Even with London shops in <mr minds we had to confess them beautiful. The bric-a-brac, picture, jewellers’, and lingerie shops notably. And the lace! Mother was fearfully afraid lest the disease known as kleptomania should seize her, and to this day she declares that it was only her splendid constitution that saved her from succumbing to it. Another thing we could not. help noticing were the draught horses in 1 he streets. Of immense size, with Roman noses, curiously arched necks and hind-quarters. and huge cavernous snare between fore and hind-quarters, they were truly re-

markable. On inqtiii \ we wen l told that they were of a renowned Flemish Lrccd, famous for their im'nyji-e strength, and I should think ugliness and clumsiness. Mother said she had never fully comprehended the satire contained in the remark of (I think) Henry VII.. who. on being offered the hand of a certain Flemish prime-s. refused it, an<l compared her to a great Flanders mare. J admired very much tlie beautifully dressed hair of the Bel-, gian working girls, and cannot rrmein-. ber seeing one in hat or bonnet. Itseemed so odd io see such elaborately, dressed coiffures in conjunct ion with Sabots. If they had ail worn Welling-, ton boots, or gone on stilts. I shouldnot have been at all surprised, as th«\ streets are the filthiest. I have ever seen. Cnforlmiaiely for the entire, enjoyment of our trip, it rained iiico*-. santly the whole time we were there, and this, together with the filthy state, of the streets, constituted our < rumpled, rose-leaf, but in spite of ibis we were si.rry to leave Antwerp. The impression left cn our minds, both in Antwerp. and indeed, all the other Continental towns we visited, was that, though wo English may be giants in matters utilitarian, we are as babes in our conception of ar.. We embarked in the City of Bru-sols. had a fearfully rough passage, and landed at? Harwich very earls in the morning; had breakfast, and took train for Romford, breaking our journey on the way to lumh with friends in Witham. We left there in the afternoon, and reached Romford jiPt in time to see the Indian Contingent, who. at the invitation of the Mayor and Corporation of Rom : ford, had • come down from Loudon 'on a da vs visit there, it being the yearly agricultural show day. Poor fellows; they looked for once rhoer’ful. All Roniford seemed to Imre come down to the station to give them a good send off, and the cheering was ear-splitting, but .all the same it Was good’ to svp the good feeling that existed between them and ourselves. I suit! “Poor fellows,” and must explain my remark by referring to the extraordinary weather that prevailed all through that dreadful summer, when the King lay in such a Critical slate, that people were afraid to open thrir newspaper* for fear of their recording the shortest reign that ever King of England had. It was a second deluge, and at Alexandra Park, where the Indian Contingent were quartered, the mud was almost knee-deep, and n» < old. and it seemed as though even the sun were mourning, as there were days and <ki\x when he never even showed his I’ner. And this nmiiiuls me of a story I wae told that seems to be in keeping with this description: One of the Queeirrf maids of honour asked one of Ihe Per - sian nobles who repre ented the >nah at, the King’s Coronation whether it was true that the Persians were Sun worshippers. “Yes, madame,” ho replied. “And so would \on if ever \ ot: saw it.” And Ihe poor Indians, coming from the hint and dazzling sun of India, had a dreadfully uncomfortable time, and must have carried awa\ a dreadful idea of our English climate, but everyone made up, a- far as it wa>? possible in warmth of feeling, lor lack of warmth in weather- Some time I should like to tell you how we in England spent Coronation time. Witlr love to yurself and all Ibe eusins. I re» main, your atlcclionatr < ousin. Hilda, Ponsoiiby. | Dear ( onsin Hilda, Ow ing to sex rrix pressure of extra work. I have le t answering your letter which, by the way. arrived 100 late for ia-t week till tin last moment, and am now in somewhat of a quandaiy as to how to do it t.lm justice that it merits. Loth from its interest and length. You must have hah a most delightful time in Antwerp, and. of (inil'se. I quite agri v with all \on say of the dill'creme of an ironworker in those days of Mary’s and the current, idea of a blacksmith now. I am ext ingly fond of wrought iron work, which, as you doubtless noticed in England, i-. coming greatly into vogm* again, ami in much in evi<lence lor lamps, artiMic gav brackets ami cleet rie light lit tings, etc. in cinjimrtion with ♦ -upper, some very beautiful results are achieved. A eoup!« of eoiisins of mine go in extm-ively for 11n* business, and when I wa* in England last I wont to the 1 irg* shop I beg pardon, -tudio is the word (as they told me with some severity) which have in London, as well a- in l.i\erpoo»

and Manchester. In huge fenders, as veil as in lamps, and in all sorts of extraordinary things, we saw the most beautiful work; but when I asked the prices my cousins simply shrieked with laughter at the way my face fell. They were simply huge. I then quite understood how they could be so smart and keep up so important a shop (I mean studio) in so expensive and fashionable a thoroughfare. The same day I remember we went to a (then) new tea-room in Bond-street, kept by very smart folk with aristocratic names, and even titles, 1 believe. They were very high and mighty, and served very ordinary and common, or garden, tea and cakes in a tort of ‘•don’t-you-feel-honoured-and-if-you-don’t-you-ought-to-be-manner,” which •was really funny. They were dressed in large washing silk overall aprons, and some very becoming headdress (cap it couldn't be called). I admired them for doing it—if it was necessary —but, having undertaken the work. I thought the affectation of extra superiority rather ludicrous. But it was all down in the bill, 1 can assure you. I wonder if when you travelled abroad you ever felt as ashamed, as I have so often done, of the shocking lack of manners, nay, even decent feeling, so often shown by our countrymen when abroad? I yield to no one in patriotism And love of country, but one need not blatantly insist that we are “the only people” when we travel. At Mass in Catholic churches I have burned with shame at the incqnaiderate behaviour of people who, when in England, are doubtless gcntleminded enough, but who, for some inscrutable reason, seem to leave their manners in the Channel. Such persons must suffer a mental mal de mer during whatever crossing they take to the Continent. I can only trust they have the other sort very, very badly also. They deserve it. Once at a very big function at St. ■Peter’s, in Home, to which we had obtained cards by kindness of the Embassy, a gentleman, or what should have been one. and Ins party deliberately stood up and stared round during the elevation of the Host, when every other head was bowed and every knee bent. On hotly remonstrating with him at the hotel after we got the answer that he had his principles, and declined to become an idolator for the sake of anyone. I pointed out he need not have attended the function. We naturally quarrelled, and parted for the rest of the tour, but 1 have seen the same sort of thing over and over and over again, and other shocking solecisms, which all make it easy to discover why we are often so disliked on the Continent. Rubens, though marvellous in colour, has never been a favourite of mine. The collection in the Louvre is the one I know best, and the women are so very fleshy, if 1 may so put it. I shall be delighted to hear of your experiences and impressions of London during Coronation time. The day before the original Coronation date a sister of mine and my brother-in-law rose at 4.30 and biked round the entire route. They got a lovely and comprehensive idea of tin decorations, etc., and as the traffic was at those early hours comparatively light had a fine ride, though a long one. My sister’s description of the hu-h which seemed to fall on London when the “bolt burst from the blue” with the unexpected news of the King's illness was, I remember, very graphic. I must stop now, or 1 shall be in trouble with the printers, for, as 1 said, I was abominably late in starting my reply. I am glad your mother and yourself are Pickens lovers; it is always a subject of mutual interest we can fall back on when other topics fail and local matters are Hat. stale and unprofitable.— Cousin Kate.]