long time; but, alas! this fever has carried off four out of the seven children. This is the news which is on the way to the affectionate father!
When one inquires the precise cause of the epidemic, one medical man says there is no sufficient house-drainage at Windermere; another says the mischief is owing to the quantity of decomposed vegetable matter—to the swamps, in short, on the platform; while another declares that the main evil is the accumulation of filth. Whether it be any one or all of these, the mortality is chargeable on ignorance or carelessness, or worse.
While such things are happening here, there, or everywhere, every year, it is a matter of no small consequence to ascertain the conditions on which our labouring population may be well housed,—as a matter of business, and not of mere charity; that is, under the steady natural laws of society, and not the fluctuating influence of human sensibilities, which have always more calls upon them than they can meet. When it is ascertained that it answers to labourers to pay from 3l. to 6l. rent, rather than have sickness in the house, and that they may have for that rent good dwellings of from four to six rooms, or equivalent attachments, there will be a manifest decrease in the sickness and mortality of the country.
TABLEAUX VIVANS AT NORTH BRAES.
Thursday, the 20th October, 185—, was an important day in our annals domestic. We rose early in the morning, our pulses fluttering in delicious anticipation of the evening, which, as it approached, found us a flushed, trembling, and excited band. What was it all about? What was the meaning of the mysterious whisperings and lengthened absences from the family sitting room, the sly smiles, muffled shrieks, hammerings, slamming of doors, bursts of laughter, or as often of fierce argumentative declamation, that turned the whole household topsy-turvy for twenty-four hours?
Let me present to you the programme of the evening’s performance, and also inform you that it was our maiden effort—very literally so, for we are a wild independent band of young ladies, full of spirits, fun, mischief, love of mystery, and all the other distinguishing traits of young lady-hood from twelve to eighteen.
| Scene | I. | —Statue-scene from the “Winter’s Tale.” |
| Scene„ | II. | —Last interview of King Charles I. with his family. |
| Scene„ | III. | —Queen Eleanor and Fair Rosamond in the Bower. |
| Scene„ | IV. | —Murder of the Princes in the Tower. |
| Scene„ | V. | —Mary Queen of Scots at Supper in Lochleven Castle. |
After this, it is sufficient to say that the evening for representing these telling subjects from history and romance had arrived, and the hearts of the five actors were in quite an unusual state of commotion.
And now you must come with me into the queer, old-fashioned drawing-room at North Braes, where you shall be admitted behind the curtain; and to begin at the beginning, you must observe what a capital old room it is for the purpose. Though not very large, it seems at one time to have been divided into two apartments of unequal size, for there is a large beam in the ceiling, which, while it is no ornament to the room in general, comes in most excellently on the present occasion, for we have hung our red curtain from it very successfully. A door in the wall leads into sister Katy’s bedroom. That is our green-room to-night. Only see what a litter it is in! All my mother’s best gowns and laces, and a heterogeneous collection of the family feathers, jewels, and finery, grease and powder boxes, rouge pots, burnt corks, &c., in most admired disorder; in the midst of which, standing on the end of an old candle-box (which will presently be covered with a crimson table-cloth) Hermione is mounted in her white petticoat, being pinned into a sheet, after the most antique fashion of sculpture, most gracefully draped by Katy, who is “our eldest,” and who, as having travelled on the Continent, and having seen no end of statues in foreign galleries of art, reigns among us with an absolute and undisputed authority in all matters of taste and art—darling Katy, the most charming, beautiful, graceful, and much beloved young female in all our experience.
We all agree that Katy is the flower of our flock, and never saw the girl who could hold a candle to her. But Katy is not in good humour just at this moment, for the statue will not assume just that position that she considers “the thing.” (Jenny, by-the-bye, does the statue.) “Oh, Jenny! you tormenting creature! if you move about so much, all my pins will come out. Stay, that’s it! Gracious, how splendid! See, girls, isn’t Jenny perfection? Did you ever see anything so like marble?” And Hermione stands complete upon her candle-box, surrounded by a grotesque crew of admirers, in all stages of habille and deshabille.
But in a little all is ready. Perdita has donned her yellow silk skirt and purple velvet jacket, and kneels at the feet of the maternal marble. Leontes, who is personated by Bessy (she always does the man’s parts, and has donned a ferocious pair of whiskers and a pink silk opera-cloak, thrown in kingly fashion over one shoulder), stretches out his arms towards the object of his affections. Hermione regards him with a tender smile and right arm crossed statue-wise on her breast. Pauline is in the act of withdrawing the soft white curtain that shrouded the statue, and looks at Leontes with gentle reproach and interest. Now we are all ready, and Katy has run round to the front of the scenes, to marshal in the company to their places. We hear them coming, and our hearts begin to beat rather thick. We look at each other, and say softly, “Will it do?” and think we will just de-attitudinise ourselves for a moment, and the statue is in the act of shaking her fist at Leontes, who is grinning in a very unregal manner, when Katy puts in her anxious face between the curtains, and says, “Now!”