COUSINS’ CORRESPONDENCE.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XL, Issue 11, 14 March 1908, Page 68

COUSINS’ CORRESPONDENCE.

Dear Cousin Kate, —I haven’t written to you for a long time. It has been very hot up here. We have not had rain for such a long time, but on Sunday it rained. Our tank had been empty for a good while, and other people’s here, too. I have got a little kitten, which I call Tommy Taylor; just like the one that died. He is the same colour, too—■ grey. My brother has a black one called Darkie. There is not much snow on the mountains now. They look nicer in winter than in summer. I must .stop now, as it is time to go to bed. Hoping all the cousins are well. With love. From Cousin OLIVE. [Dear Cousin Olive, —It is, indeed, a long time since 1 heard from you last, and I hope that now you will write, often. I suppose you have quite settled down to school work by this time, though I expect you would often like to take a holiday in this hot weather. It makes me very lazy, and I am looking anxiously forward to the winter months. What did you do for water all the time your tank was empty? I saw in the paper this morning that people had been taking tanks of water for miles by sea. One wouldn’t like to use very much when it is so hard to get, I should think. Tommy Taylor seems rather a funny name to give a cat. Why did you eall him that? Write again soon, —Cousin Kate.) ♦ * ♦ Dear Cousin Kate, —I am very sorry not to have written for so long. We are having a lovely little playhouse made, It has a verandah and a balcony round two sides. Grannie gave us some flowered curtains and a mat for it. We are going to nail up our pictures inside. Won't it be lovely? We have chickenpox just now, and it is so horrid to miss school again. Isn't it a pity? Our doves were stolen when we were away, but Daddy is going to get us some more. Have you ever read "The Hill?’’ It is about Harrow, the big English school. Can you guess this riddle—What monkeys make the best wine? I must stop now.—With love from Cousin GWEN. |Dear Cousin Gwen, — I really was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me, and was going to ask Guy to persuade you to write again. I have had one or two letters from Guy since I heard from you. What a lovely playhouse you are going to have. How big are »ho rooms, and is there a stove in it, ■o that you can learn to do your own cooking? It would be grand fun to be able to ask your father and mother to have dinner with yon on Sundays, wouldn't it? I should very much like to sec it. so next time you have a party will you a»k me to come? I am so sorry to hear that you have chicken pox. It is horrid to be ill in hot weather. I think—far worse than being ill in the winter

time. I suppose you will have to miss several weeks’ school, because it is very catching, isn’t it? Never mind, Gwen, you will soon catch up to the others in your class, I’m sure. It was horrid losing your doves like that? Who was looking after them lor - you while you were away? Yes, I have read "The Hill,” and liked it immensely, but I did not think you were old enough to read it yet. I cannot guess the answer to the riddle. I am as stupid as an owl about answering riddles, so will you please tell me the answer next time you write? —Cousin Kate.l 4- 4- 4? 1 Dear Cousn Kate, —I suppose you think I have quite forgotten you? But such is not the case. 1 am in standard six now. We went to see the diving pictures of Uncle Tom’s Cabin” last Tuesday night. They were very nice. I suppose you have seen Uncle Tom’s Cabin? Nearly everyone has seen it, don’t you think so? We are having a change in the weather now. It has been very hot lately, hasn’t it? The stereoscope views are very nice, aren’t they? They look so real. We have cricket down at our place now’. It is nice to see them playing cricket. The men practice playing every Sunday. I must close now, with love. From Cousin KATHLEEN. [Dear Cousin Kathleen, —I am very glad indeed that you have not forgotten me. 1 do not like losing my cousins at all. First of all, I must congratulate you on passing into the sixth standard. Are you going to leave school when you have passed the sixth ? I am ashamed to have to confess it, but I never have seen “Unde Tom’s Cabin.” Of course, I have read the book. You are luckier than we are if you are having cooler weather. We have only had a sprinkle Of rain so far—not nearly enough to do us any good; and I really believe it is hotter than ever. The last few days have been almost unbearable. I like watching a good cricket match, too, but I think I like football better. It is much more exciting, especially if vou know any of the players.—Cousin Kate.l * * 4Dear Cousin Kate, —Thanks for your last, whieh, I need hardly say, was very welcome. If the grown-up cousins do not respond to that generous offer of several columith in which to exchange greetings, thoughts ideas ami fancies then they are not the cousins I take them for; and the more so that the "Graphic” is already such a full paper. I have no doubt that there are many older cousins like myself (in faet I know there are) who lead far too busy lives to have time to go into what is called society; rnd though good books are the next best thing to congenial society, there is always the danger of not only becoming too critical, but of losing human touch, a thing not to be thought of, so nearly does it affect real happiness. Interchanges of thought, experience, and humour, no matter how trivial, are so charged with personal magnetism that the next best thing to personal intercourse is to exchange an account of our thoughts and doings, except, of course, those matters that are sacred to privacy. Therefore I reiterate the hope that not only all the old cousins will join, but that new ones will join. What a delightful story that was last

week in our pages, that was founded on a nursery rhyme. Looking through a book in whieh I paste newspaper clippings I came across the origin of “The House that Jaek Built.” The writer of this explanation says that to repeat it in its present form may seem to be sacrilegious when one knows that it is an altered translation of an ancient parabolical hymn sung by the Jews at the feast of the Passover, and commemorative of the principal events in the history of that people. Each person, animal, and element mentioned has its own special signification. The original was written in Chaldee, and the interpretation was written by a German of Leipsic, as long ago as 1731. The interpretation is too long to be included in this letter, but perhaps some day room may be found in the cousins’ pages for it. But I cannot conclude without giving you the Rev. Mr. Kirby’s notes. He says: “With such information the old legend may be more interesting to the mother who teaches and the child who bears the familiar words. ‘This is the house that Jack built.’ ” Can you, I wonder, or can any of the cousins tell me the origin of Punch and Judy? That its origin is political I know; but it must embrace European politics in general, as France, Italy, etc., has its Punch. That wretched pony Gadzooks has been distinguishing himself again. He seems to have a perfect mania—or shall I say genius?—for getting out of places. The other morning, on drawing up my blind, my attention was drawn to the devastated state of the back garden. All the eosmea I had planted with my own hands, and which, in spite of the dry season, had grown up sturdy and tall, thanks to my watering and care, had disappeared. More than half of my giant sunflowers had gone, and on looking across their stalks I saw that equine fiend Gadzooks at work, or, I should say, at feed, on a particularly fine elump of bamboo fern. Do you remember that scene in “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” where “Legree” comes to the St. Clair mansion to take Uncle Tom away? If you do, you will remember the melSe that ensued after" Andy” placed the hickory nut under the saddle of “Degree's” horse. Well, we had a scene something like that. I screamed out to my eldest brother, who was not yet up. Where Lyn was I do not know, but he was nowhere within call. It was raining heavily, and, moreover, I was in what Mrs Jarley calls “dishabille.” I am not at all sure whether I have got Mrs Jarley’s spelling right, but it must pass for lack of time to verify it. Out rushed my brother, clad in a long overcoat, the legs of his pyjamas flapping wildly in the wind and rain, brandishing the kitchen broom, whieh had been the weapon nearest to his hand, and followed by Jaek (our terrier), barking furiously, the cat and the kitten bringing up the rear. And Gadzooks was wandering in and-out of those derelict sunflower stalks with the skill of a polo poqy entered for a bending competition. Eventually the pony came to a dead stop behind a little shed, and, poking his head round the shed corner, looked as plainly as human being ever said, “What’s all the fuss about?” It was interesting to read what you said about the Barrier. Some years ago there was some thought of our buying a piece of it. But I do not think I should like to winter there, should you? My letter has, I am afraid, exceeded the limit, so

I must keep my other news for my next. With love to yourself and all the cousins,—l remain, your loving eousia. HILDA. Ponsonby. ♦ * * • » [Dear Cousin Hilda, —I sincerely hope that your enthusiasm for an elder Cousin correspondence page may rouse that of many erstwhile writers to this page who have dropped off, perhaps feeling that they had passed the age limit. If it does, the matter is settled. The art of letter, writing has been pretty well killed by the telegram, the telephone, and of course the picture post card, which has probably done most mischief of all. Why, I have friends abroad now, bright, clever people too, who before the modern craze would, I am sure, have written us amusing and perchance instructive descriptions of their journeyings, but who now confine themselves to (say) half-a-dozen view post cards of Venice or Rome, as the case may be, with the laconic message, “grand time here, weather fine.” The cards it is true are pretty, but they are poor substitutes for the personal impressions of a friend of al place or scene which may be familiar or of interest to ourselves. How pictures, books, people or places which we personally have either liked or disliked, strike other people, must always be of acutest interest to intelligent minds, and this interchange of ideas could be made quite a feature of the “Graphic’’ if some of you only chose. Only, remember, it is yourselves who must do it. The Editor has now done his part. Punch and Judy was of very early Italian origin, and according to Brewer was political, but religious. The impression that Pontius Pilate and Judas Iscariot were originally represented is upheld by some, but discredited by Chambers, usually a reliable authority. —Cousin Kate.] + ♦ 4- ‘ Dear Cousin Kate, —I was very pleased to get your letter. I have not received my badge yet. Cousin Kate, did you send my badge this mail ? Mother and Miss Aitken, our governess, went to Wanganui yesterday, and left George, Dad, and myself at home. My little lamb, called Nancie, died. Cousin Tai writes often; I like her letters very much. George, my brother, is very fond of riding. We went for a ride yesterday; I was dad’s shepherd. When W’e were out for a ride we saw such a lot of peacocks, and some little ones. We tried to catch some, but could not. We have a new ealf. I must close now. Love to all the cousins and yourself.—From COUSIN BERYL. [Dear Cousin Beryl,—l am sorry you have not got your badge yet; it must have gone astray. I have not got your full address, you know, so very likely it is still wandering round the countryside looking for you. Next time you write, just put your full name and address on a separate slip of paper, and I will see that you get your badge by return mail. Are you far from Wanganui ? It is such a dear little place, I think. I am sorry Naneie died. Pet lambs always seem delicate little things. My little nieces had one that followed them about everywhere, even into the house, and they were very sorry when it died. I expect peacocks would be rather bard to catch. I would Jove to have one though, wouldn’t you? They are so pretty. Don’t forget your address next time, will you?— Cousin Kate.]