Chapter I

“I shan’t, won’t, and can’t like Uncle Jasper; it’s quite impossible, I know, for me to do it; if he had any other name I might perhaps try; but Jasper, Jasper, just fancy liking anyone with such a name! He’s quite certain, with a name like that, to keep the windows tight shut in July, and insist on my wearing a fur cape in April, and eating oatmeal porridge for breakfast, and no butter and marmalade; and he’ll be always dressed in a hideous, flaring red dressing-gown, and he’s sure to have a wig, and he’ll never take a walk with me after sunset, because of some horrid old whim about catching cold. No, it’s not to be supposed that I can even tolerate Uncle Jasper; and as for going and living with him, and leaving our bright, jolly life here, it’s quite out of the question.”

The speaker was myself. At that time I was a girl of fourteen, with brown eyes, and little feet that danced in unison; with a slight figure which, in its restless activity, brings to my mind now, as I look back, the ceaseless motion of the pampas grass when the breeze touches it ever so softly; with thick, frizzy, rebellious, dark hair, that utterly refused to accommodate itself to any known fashion of hairdressing whatsoever; with a broad, intelligent brow, which sometimes wrote the word “wilfulness” much too legibly upon itself in certain wrinkles and lines, if contradiction or any kind of supposed indignity stirred up my spirit within me, as was much too often the case; with a little red mouth, which was occasionally much too resolute a mouth for a young lady who had not travelled on very far in her teens.

Both my parents had died when I was quite a little child; they had lived in India, and I had known very little of their love or care. I had no near relations in England to take me under their protection; I had spent my whole life at school, going for my holidays to the houses of different schoolfellows. I was the heiress to a small fortune of my own, which was managed by an old gentleman in the city who had been left my guardian, and who never came to visit me more than twice a year, when he paid a state call at my school, and sat with me and the head schoolmistress in the grand, chill drawing-room—into which no one ever entered save on the most solemn occasions—for two terrible hours, inquiring into my health, my studies, and my expenses, at the end of which periods I always felt as if I had been for a voyage at sea on the top of an iceberg.

Now the one thing wanting in my young life was love. I was a clever girl, and took generally a lion’s share of the prizes in the school for every kind of learning and accomplishment. I was endowed with a fair proportion of good looks, and I had quite as much money allowed me by my guardian as any girl of my age could reasonably desire. I could not say that I wished especially for anything which was not within the reach of my attainment in the circumstances in which I was placed; still, I had a vague consciousness that I did want something, and this something was love. As has been said, I had no near relations, and I was not one of those girls who seem to carry about with them a fairy machine for manufacturing affection wherever they go. My religion was at that time more of a dead form than a living spirit, warming and colouring my whole life; and thus I was wanting in the highest power of all for waking and creating love in those around us.

The two ladies who kept our school and the under-governesses were all, in a certain way, proud of me for my cleverness and good looks. But none of them tried to make their way into my heart. They were all somewhat indolent women, and as I did them credit in their school, they gave me my way far more than was good for me, and so fostered the wilfulness which was one of the worst features of my character. My schoolfellows, most of them, liked me to a certain extent; my lively chatter—for I had always a nimble tongue—made me a pleasant companion and an agreeable visitor. At the same time, however, they were all a little afraid of me, on account of the reputation I had for superior mental gifts, and not one among them ever endeavoured to be intimate with me. They went so far in their acquaintance with me—that is, as far as a thick rind of proud reserve which surrounded the inner recesses of my thoughts and feelings would allow; and when they reached this point they were content to remain without the barrier.

Things went on in this way with me till a new girl, called Lily Greenwood, came to our school. Lily was not either as clever or as pretty as I was; but there was a charm about her which I had not—the charm of a sweet, sympathetic nature, which the high, pure atmosphere of a Christian home had developed early into blossoms of rare beauty. In a month everyone in the school loved Lily. Even the girls with the prickliest tempers, who were always saying “won’t” and “shan’t,” said “will” and “shall” to Lily; and the girls with the dullest brains, who could never be either pulled or driven through the German declensions, brightened up at her magic spells, and grew quite starlike in their gleams and twinkles of intelligence; and the greedy girls got to share their most cherished dainties with her, because she set them such an example of entire, smiling, gracious unselfishness; and the very cat, who used to spit and grumble if but the skirts of our dresses touched her, came to sit on Lily’s knee, and rejoiced in being stroked by her hand.

Among the rest, I fell gradually under the witchery practised by Lily. She seemed to know by instinct that love was what I wanted, and she came and wove a web of sunbeams around me, till at length I was caught in it. I began to open my heart to her, and to let her come in, as I had never done to anyone before; and I began, too, to feel real warm affection for her. Still, I did not let Lily’s influence work upon me for good as much as it ought to have done; my pride forbade it, and I continued in most things my old wilful self.

Some few months before my story begins it had been discovered by the doctors that my chest was delicate, and that it would be beneficial for my health to spend the winter in a warmer climate. My guardian, who was always very eager to atone for his want of affection for me by most scrupulous care for my temporal well-being, at once decided that I should go to the South of France in November, and remain there till April, and came to my schoolmistress to arrange with her as to how the plan could be carried out. It was settled that Miss Dolly, the younger of our schoolmistress’s sisters, who kept the school jointly with her, should occupy, with me, a villa near Cannes, and that I should have one companion of my own age to keep me from being dull. Great was my joy when I heard that this companion was to be Lily. She was not very strong, and her father, who had lately lost his wife (on which account Lily had been sent to school), thought it a good opportunity of getting needful change for her without having to go with her himself, and leave his business as a merchant for a while.

The plan had proved a great success, as far as Lily and I were concerned. Our bodily strength increased in the warm, sweet, southern air; we learned to talk French like natives; we rejoiced in long rambles through the vineyards and among the bands of flowers which soon began to appear in the land as the fair vanguard of spring; but it cannot be said that it was exactly a season of joy and repose for Miss Dolly.

Miss Dolly was one of the mildest, most characterless single ladies that ever put on a cap. When she went into office at the Villa Chantilly, it was, of course, intended that she should rule her pupils; but the fable could not long be kept standing on its feet; it quickly appeared that her pupils, or at least one of her pupils, and that one myself, ruled her entirely. I insisted on all the furniture in the house making the strangest migrations from room to room about twenty times in succession, to suit my fancy; I vexed poor Miss Dolly’s soul by causing the cooks to give warning, one after another, because I would not be satisfied without going down daily into the kitchen to enter into an exhaustive study of the way to make omelettes; I made raids into the garden to gather flowers when I ought to have been practising my scales; I put on a bland air of submission when Miss Dolly made a supreme decree that we were never to be out after the dew began to fall; and then, while she slumbered in her armchair (with Rollin’s History, which she had been reading out loud, in her lap), coolly stepped out through the window on to the turf in the moonlight. Lily endeavoured, it is true, to strengthen Miss Dolly’s hands as far as she could, but at the same time I saw, plainly enough that smiles would now and then, in spite of herself, come creeping round her mouth as she watched my proceedings. The result of all this was, as might be naturally expected, that I grew more wilful than ever, and fonder of my own way in everything.

Such was the state of things in the Villa Chantilly when, one morning early in March, there arrived from Miss Dolly’s elder sister in England a letter which seemed likely to change the whole course of my future. It told how there had come to the school a gentleman making anxious inquiries about me, Beatrice Warmington, and how this gentleman was my uncle, Mr. Jasper Rosebury. I had never heard of such a relation, and at first I simply refused to believe in his existence. A few more sentences of the letter, however, proved most indisputably that Mr. Rosebury had married my mother’s elder sister, that she had died young, before my mother was married herself, and that he had then gone to Australia, where he had remained ever since. I had, of course, never even heard his name; for when my parents were alive I was too young to understand anything about our family history, and my guardian had probably never thought it worth while to trouble himself to make known to me the facts concerning my aunt’s early marriage and death. Besides, Jasper Rosebury had not been heard of for some years, even by his own relations.

The letter, moreover, informed us that my Uncle Jasper was about to come to the villa, and take me away from school and all school authority for good, to live with him. It was against this plan that I was raising up such energetic objections. I did not wish to leave my bright, enjoyable life at the villa; I did not wish to have an old gentleman, such as my imagination represented my uncle, for a constant companion; and, most of all, I did not wish to be separated from Lily. Besides all this, I had taken a whimsical but most resolute dislike to my uncle, simply because I had a prejudice against his Christian name, Jasper.

The scene grew more and more disturbed round the breakfast-table that morning in the Villa Chantilly. Miss Dolly remonstrated, coaxed, cried, made a faint attempt at scolding, and then cried again. As for myself, I did nothing but repeat over and over a most flat and unequivocal refusal ever to live with Uncle Jasper. He would be here to-morrow, Miss Dolly sobbed. Then let him be here; that made no difference to me. I would not go with him.

“Oh, Beatrice!” here put in Lily’s sweet, low voice—she had been making attempts from time to time to still the storm—“if it was only my dear mother’s brother, whom she used to tell me so much about, come back, how happy—”

But here I broke in upon her with, “I wish, Lily, that you and Miss Dolly were tied up in a bag with all the old rusty, musty uncles and aunts going, then, I should think, you’d both have a jolly time of it.”

After that I flounced out of the room, banging the door after me.

It was all very well to flounce and bang, but I knew well enough in my inmost soul that no flouncing and banging could change the fact that Uncle Jasper would be here to-morrow. I meditated and meditated upon this certainty, until out of it, and out of my resolute, headstrong wilfulness, there grew up a firm determination—I would run away.

(_To be continued._)

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

EDUCATIONAL.

WEED OF THE FAMILY.—1. Vinegar should never be taken alone. In salad there should be an equal part of olive oil, or a cream and egg mixture added to it. 2. The worldly rich man, who pampered himself and showed no mercy to the poor creature who crawled to his gate for his charity in vain, was popularly called Dives for lack of a name, which signifies in one word what he was, _i.e._, rich man, the word used in the Vulgate (Latin).

ART.

NINETEEN will find the china sold at Doulton’s, Mortlock’s, and other well-known firms, the most satisfactory for painting upon. The faults she names arise more from the firing and the application of the colour than the foundation.

ADAH.—Bronze painting materials are sold at most artist colourmen’s, and are always procurable if not in stock when required. Each bottle of colour costs from sixpence to a shilling, and the price of a bracket depends on the number of colours used.

S. K. C.—The best apparatus for setting crayon drawings is called Rouget’s fixative. A thin spray of the fixative is dispersed over the surface of the completed work in the same way that scent is thrown about a room.

ALICE.—1. A crayon copy is not eligible for exhibition at the Royal Academy. 2. A little ammonia will clean gilt picture frames and restore their brightness.

PERSEVERANCE.—With regard to the circular you have enclosed to us, it appears to be the same as many others which we have seen, and we should recommend caution regarding it. Many ladies have spent money and time over similar advertisements, and have got nothing by so doing.

P. Z.—Pencil drawings are set by milk and water being poured over their surfaces. The milk used is skim milk largely diluted by water. A dinner dish or large tray is used in which to immerse the drawing by some people; others pour the water over them, and hang the drawings over the back of a wooden chair to drip dry.

LADY OLIVE.—To cover table-tops with Christmas cards, the wood should be first sized with strong size, and when dry the cards affixed to the surface with strong gum. Then re-size and varnish with white hard varnish. The cards should be arranged on the table first with pins.

KINDER GARTNER.—We think that you might extract the grease stains from the paper by covering it with blotting-paper and holding a hot flat-iron near it. But you must do it gradually and watchfully, or you may curl up the tinted paper. You had better lay the blotting-paper at the back of the embossing.

MRS. WAINWRIGHT.—In former times surnames were variously spelt by members of the same families owning them. That of the famous Flemish painter, Sir Anthony Vandyck, or Vandyke, is an exemplification of this fact. In Benjamin Vincent’s “Dictionary of Biography,” in Gorton’s “Biographical Dictionary,” the “Student’s Encyclopædia,” and in Phillip’s “Dictionary of Biographical Reference,” Sir Anthony’s name is spelt with a “c”. So also is that of Daniel Vandyck, a French painter of the seventeenth century, and Philippus Vandyck, a Dutch painter, 1680-1752. A good connoisseur would be able to tell you to which of these masters your picture may be attributed.

ASHE INGEN COURT.—Rosenburg’s “Guide to Flower Painting,” published by Rowney, is a good shilling manual. Noble’s “Guide to Water-colours,” also published by the same, and Green’s “Sketching from Nature,” three volumes, one shilling each, are all satisfactory, and would fulfil your requirements.

MITTIE SMITH.—To transfer prints to glass you must lay a thin coating of Venice turpentine over the face of the print, and then proceed as if you were doing decalcomanie.

HOUSEKEEPING.

A. W.—Cocoa is made from the nibs in a tin-pot like a coffee-pot. Put in half a teacupful each morning, fill the pot with cold water, and keep it on the stove all day, so that the goodness may stew out of the nibs. Use it at breakfast, or when required, each day, and when empty fill as directed, leaving each day’s cocoa nibs in the pot till the end of the week.

RALE CEARNEY.—The cheese course comes before the dessert.

YARMOUTH BLOATER.—1. Steaming is considered the best way of cleaning feathers, but in the country, where they must be done at home, they should be put into warm water, to which should be added a little soda or chloride of lime. After this wash they are rinsed in cold water and put to dry on a clean cloth. If dried in a stove, they must be put into bags of clean muslin, and placed in the oven with the door open till the drying is complete and they are fit for use. We are sorry to hear you do not lend the volumes of the G.O.P. even to your sisters; it seems like an old story many times read and told, but not often taken to heart—the talents laid carefully by in a napkin. Read the verse at 1 Tim. vi. 18, and be willing to communicate even your most cherished articles.

MUSIC.

FIVE YEARS SUBSCRIBER.—Rubbing the hands and fingers well with oil will render them supple, and also scale practice.

MISCELLANEOUS.

M. S. K.—You must make your own choice; we could not lay down any dogmatic rule as to the merits of one Christian community over another. God had an elect people in the Israelites, and to those who did not live up to the Divine privileges they enjoyed, our Lord said it would be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for them. God has, in His wisdom and goodness, elected you into some division of the Christian Church—His fold on earth—which is composed of many communities (united on the main though differing respectively on the minor doctrines of the Christian faith). You might have been born a Jew, heathen, Mahommedan, Red Indian, or of any other parentage outside the pale of His fold, but you were elected to enjoy special privileges, a knowledge of Divine truth, and all the precious means of grace. Under such circumstances, if you be not devout, your judgment will be the more severe; for, like Esau, you will have thrown away your birthright, and thus your blessing, for you are a responsible being.

MAGGIE MARY.—We sympathise much with you in the sentiments you express, and the experiences you have had, and we quite agree with you that prayer, offered in faith in the special divine promises to which you refer, will do more for the sick than any human means. Have recourse to the former, and have nothing to do with mesmerism. If you write again, give your address.

MARY L. SAUNDERS is thanked for informing us of the institution of a school at Haldon View, Topsham, Devon, for children of weak intellect. We are gratified to hear that a suggestion of ours caused the carrying out of this charitable plan. The premises are excellent, and there is accommodation for eight pupils. The promoters of the scheme are sisters of the writer, and have a licence.

GWENDOLIN MARZIPAN.—The Odd Minutes Society might suit you; sec., Miss Powell, Luctons, Buckhurst-hill, Essex. The particulars will be sent you in print.

SHIRLEY.—See page 192, Part for January. A man’s money does not go to any brother or sister should he die intestate and leave a widow or children. In the latter case the widow has a third of his property, and the rest is divided equally between his children. Should he die leaving only one child, the widow still has her third and the one child (whether son or daughter) inherits all the rest—that is, two-thirds. His brothers and sisters cannot claim a farthing when he leaves a widow and child, excepting by will.

IVY LEAF.—James Mason has given a series of articles on the subject of your letter—“Every Girl a Business Woman,” beginning in vol. viii., p. 118. No stamp was necessary on the I.O.U. given you as a receipt for your £30 loan to some man. How disgraceful on the part of one of his sex to borrow such a sum of a girl, and require to be sued for its recovery!

CARELESS ONE.—Refer to our indexes for our instructions entitled “How to Remove Inkstains from Ivory,” etc.

BLACK TOM.—1. The girl you name as being hopelessly attached to a man she has never met but only seen at concerts, should be sent away from the foreign town where you both are staying, either to a friend’s house and care or to a good school. The story is of a most humiliating character; she disgraces the sex, the members of which should be sought, not themselves the seekers. Certainly you should not make any such revelations and overtures to a stranger. If she have no self-respect herself, her friends should not betray such a deplorable state of things. It would be like dragging her through the gutter. 2. We could not hazard an opinion on what was your disease. Your writing slopes the wrong way.

PERPLEXED.—Go to receive the Holy Communion in charity with all, in humility and repentance, with a steadfast resolution, by the help of the Holy Spirit, to amend your life and cherish no wilful sin, nor any omission of duty. Confess your utter unworthiness and accept Christ as your only hope. Thus you will not present yourself unworthily.

YUM-YUM wishes to obtain the publication of a story which she has written. We cannot altogether comply, but give an extract. A young man was given over in decline, induced by the refusal of his suit to a girl called Gwendolyne. But the latter being hungry one day, “Alexander took her to an eating house, and treated her to a sausage, and then, indeed, gratitude won the day, for Gwendolyne leaned her head on Alexander’s shoulder, and she was his.” We cannot undertake to insert Yum-yum’s nor Gwendolyne’s photographs in the G.O.P. in return for her story, as desired.

ONE PERPLEXED has jilted her intended husband after some years’ engagement, and this without giving him the full explanation he had a right to demand. She has left him, moreover, for a whole year without one word of such explanation. There is so great a diversity in opinion amongst religious, God-fearing people as to a sincere Christian’s liberty (in such matters as that which has led her to cast off her intended) that we consider her conduct the more reprehensible.

M. E. B. (Charnwood).—Apply to our publisher. The Editor has nothing to do with his department.

MARITZBURG.—Write to Miss E. Faithfull, who conducts the Institution for female emigration in Manchester, 10, Albert-square (Scottish Insurance Buildings). State your case, and we think the matter might be arranged for you, if you said any opening was ready for you.

ABITUR OF THE HILLS.—The name cayenne is French, and should be pronounced kay-en.

VIOLET.—We do not enter into nor discuss subjects of the kind about which you inquire. If your parents really object to your receiving the Holy Communion oftener than once a month, why should you cross their wishes? You would show good feeling in consulting them on all occasions short of an infringement of a positive duty, and no divine command prescribes the frequency of your availing yourself of this spiritual privilege.

IVY.—Were you of full age, it would still be your duty to please and requite your parents, and to stretch a great point so to do; but as a mere minor of eighteen, it is an act of rebellion on your part to keep company and flirt with any man. The next time he presumes to address you, say he can do so no more, as your parents object to it, and then walk resolutely away. As he is above you in position, your parents are wise in their view of the case.

INVESTOR is reading, we hope, Mr. James Mason’s articles on business for women, in the present numbers of the G.O.P. We do not know anything of the company you mention, and should advise you to write and make inquiries from them; and we also recommend you to divide what money you have, to avoid having “all your eggs in the same basket.” Put £50 each into two things, for instance. Is there not some old and respectable building society where you live that you could inquire about?

EMMA HAY.—1. The 23rd April, 1865, was a Saturday. 2. Your writing might be improved.

ETHILD MYA B.—We do not know what to suggest, save to teach knitting to all your little class, and then get them some clothing for poor children to make. Boys are taught both plain sewing and knitting in Board schools now.

KATHLEEN.—The quotation, “They also serve who only stand and wait,” is from Milton’s poem on his blindness.

WILD ROSE L.—1. The numbers are sixpence each. Six would be 3s., and the parcels post about 6d. 2. The 23rd of January, 1863, was a Friday. The word “truly” does not need an “e” in it.

SYNGE.—We are much obliged for your letter and its quotation, which we know well. We do not suppose that the writer intended more than half a truth in what he said, probably in allusion to the single watch-notes of the robin. In the limits of a short article it is not possible to go into many particulars. We know many people who never heard a robin sing, as his tones in the spring and summer are always drowned in the general chorus.

LILIAN has our sincere sympathy on the three accounts named. May she find rest in the knowledge of that “Friend that sticketh closer than a brother.” We regret that she gave no address. Has Lilian a movable desk to accommodate to her convenience as she reclines? If so, she might sometimes prepare scrap-books for hospitals, with every sort of picture and card. Such books are made very entertaining both to the maker and the receiver by decapitating figures and making an exchange of heads, especially in the case of old photographs; also in introducing figures into landscapes and interiors. Such books are a real boon to sufferers in hospitals.

S. E. P.—You seem to need a tonic. As your general health must be weak, perhaps some cod-liver oil would answer. Keep your feet dry and warm, and wear flannels next the skin.

GINGERBOTTLE.—1. Handel, the composer, was buried in Westminster Abbey. 2. The best thing to do about colds, we think, is not to catch them.

HOPEFUL YUM-YUM.—You should say, “None of us have,” and “Neither of us is.” We regret that your letter was not answered before.

E. O.—1. The 17th February, 1862, was a Monday. 2. The tale of “Only a Girl-Wife” was begun in the G.O.P. for October 3rd, 1885.

ISABEL.—The Editor regrets to decline Isabel’s poem, but is much obliged for her good opinion of the G.O.P.

EILEEN.—Is the poem meant for blank verse? If so, it is incorrect in its construction, and many of the expressions used are very unpoetical.

MISS GREENWOOD.—The lines you send us are fairly correct, and show cleverness and a certain facility in writing. With practice you ought to do much better.

ANNIE MAGGS.—Water for drinking should always be filtered; but the impurities in it would vary in different localities. In some they would arise from decayed vegetation. Boiled water is the safest to drink.

MAUD MORLEY.—A vamper means one who vamps, or pieces an old thing with something new. It is not always applied to shoes and boots, for in some parts of England “to vamp” means to bully or bluster, and in others it means to travel, while in Swift’s writings we find the sentence, “I never had much hopes of your _vamped-up_ play.”

R. M. A. and Others.—1. None of the handwritings are pretty, but all distinct and easy to read. 2. Sir John Lubbock’s “Best Hundred Books” would serve as a guide; also two very good articles in the _Leisure Hour_ of last year, on the same subject, would contain all the information needful.

LADY IRENE DALE had better send for our paper-pattern of “a bodice to take the place of stays,” which she will see advertised in the monthly list given at the end of every article on “Dress: in Season and in Reason,” by the “Lady Dressmaker.”

N. WALES.—We recommend you to have nothing to do with the description of experiments to which you refer. As our magazine is not a medium for any kind of controversy, we do not name the subject to which you refer; but we may tell you that we highly disapprove of them. We are glad that your father and brothers like our magazine.

GOODY TWO-SHOES.—1. We think you must have made a mistake, and that your bad dreams were the results of your suppers, not of your abstinence from them. As a rule, they are by no means wholesome. The digestive powers are weary after their due work of the day, just as your legs and your brain. They should not be taxed when they need repose. If set to work when tired, the work is only half done, and headaches and blotches in the face, as well as unpleasant dreams, may be expected. A biscuit and a cup of milk might be excepted from this charge, and, possibly, be even desirable. 2. The 16th of August, 1865, was a Wednesday.

MARY WRIGHT (New South Wales).—Your kind letter was very gratifying to us, and we heartily wish you the same blessings that you desire for us.

AN IRIS.—1. We thank you for the recipe for preserving flowers in a vase—_i.e._, to put a good pinch of salt in the water, and more if the vase be large. It counteracts the bad effect produced by a hot room. If your mother-in-law be kindly disposed towards you, as evidenced by subscribing herself “affectionately,” and even “very affectionately yours,” you may sign yourself “your affectionate daughter.” 2. The operation, as performed in the sad case you describe, is indeed most horrible. Happily, all cases and all modes of treatment are not alike.

BERYL.—You need complete change of air. If living inland, go to the seaside; if on a plain, exchange to an elevated situation. If this change be accompanied by a complete rest from intellectual work, and from use of the eyes in reading, writing, or fine needlework; and, added to this, you go out twice a day, abstaining from walks that will fatigue you, and you take cod-liver oil or plenty of cream, we think you will recover in a few months.

VIZER.—Friction is good for the liver, not “blows.” The use of a skipping-rope is desirable, and brown wholemeal bread should be taken for breakfast and tea—not mere ordinary bread with an admixture of bran.

FLAKE.—Hot potatoes and hot carrots are very wholesome; not so when cold. Your digestion appears out of order. Consult a doctor.

TRING.—Perhaps tannin lozenges and alum and water gargle might be serviceable to you; but we cannot prescribe for perfect strangers.

A LITTLE LAMB.—We sympathise much with you in the religious sentiments you express, and we wish you God-speed.

PUZZLED ONE.—The word “glebe” has more than one meaning. Webster gives four. It is derived from the Latin—_Gleba_, clod, land, soil. In mining it means a piece of earth containing mineral ore; in ecclesiastical law it means the land belonging to as parish church or benefice. It was used to mean a meadow or field in your quotation.

TWO FERN LEAVES have no business to correspond with any young men without their parents’ express sanction, and unless engaged to them.

JUNO.—Certainly, women can sign as witnesses to a will or any legal document, provided they be of age.

MARY BROOKS.—We could not possibly tell you what salary you might obtain at a fancy-work shop, as so much depends on the style of place, situation, facility in obtaining hands, state of trade, and amount of competition in that line of business, added to which must be your own efficiency and experience. Inquire at several shops, and so discover the average salary given.