PART IV.

THE MOODY GIRL.

As there are few things more certain than that girls are given for what stars are given—to give light upon the earth—the moody girl fails lamentably to fulfil her vocation.

Some are of the opinion that this girl is a nineteenth century product, but so far is that from being the case, that she figures in a play of a hundred years ago. Says Miss Biddy in Garrick’s comedy “Miss In Her Teens”—

“When I say ‘Heigho,’ it means ‘Yes.’”

Yes could hardly be said in a mournfuller way, and the case of Miss In Her Teens to-day is only by so much more mournful than that of her prototype of Garrick’s day that when she says “Heigho” it as often as not means “No.”

Her cause of grief is what the moody girl is rarely able to state. There are people whom this surprises; yet there is nothing surprising in it. The lives of most pessimists, looked at closely, show these persons to have lived under fair advantages, and not, as they would make out, under unfair disadvantages. Many of them follow a process uncommonly like that followed by certain “sturdy beggars,” who, if rumour concerning them be true, rubbed their skins with blistering plants—wild ranunculus and the like—to cause sores which should excite sympathy. The moody girl is she who picks from life’s full garden wild ranunculus only, and puts it to a wicked use devised by “sturdy beggars.”

Has she no aspirations? In truth, she has no fewer than Ovid had, and, like Ovid, she might say, “I see and approve the better things; I follow the worse”—in Ovid’s language, Video meliora proboque, deteriora sequor.

What is she like to look at? Lean as a rake? Not necessarily. Watts’ famous picture named “Aspirations” is the presentment of a fat-faced, woolly-haired boy. A moody girl known to me has nothing bodeful in her face, and has a little, plump, white hand—Napoleon’s hand. Her wail, too, is Napoleon’s: “Nothing is left to do!” Another has a round, troubleful little face with poco fatto—“little done”—written all over it. One moody girl only known to me looks the part she elects to play. This girl has a thin, pallid face, with thick, straight, black, moist, heavy hair. She says dreamily, and says often, “I know I’m disagreeable.” She says little more than that.

The moody girl has rarely a wide range of conversation. She is apt to end her most voluble narrative with a portentous “But however.” There is a moody girl now living who goes by the name of “But However.” Of another moody girl now living a tradition has it that she never speaks, except to ask, “Is there a letter for me?” Howbeit sometimes a moody girl can string twenty and odd words together, and there is on record a very notable statement in the form of a paradox once made by such a girl; to wit, this—

“When married I shall never know happiness until I have shown my husband that I am master, and then I shall be miserable because I shall despise him.”

Well-a-day!

This is the place perhaps in which to tell of the slaty-blue girl.

Figure to yourself a damsel in a slaty-blue dress and slaty-blue hat, wearing slaty-blue gloves, and having slaty-blue eyes and slaty-blue lips, and figure her to yourself as “footing slow,” to borrow a phase from Milton, and as doing this as one of a party of us making a rush for a train “already in.” And figure us seated in a third-class compartment, a little child in which is drawing his finger down the window-pane. To whom the slaty-blue girl says (as we phase it, “dyingly”) from the end of the seat—

“Don’t, please. That gets on my nerves.”

The moody girl is hyper-nervous.

Here is another story of her. She was my visitor, and I led her to a seat and spoke of this and that. She listened absently, then said, as she glanced at a penny bunch of sweet violets distant from her by the length of a large room—

“Would you mind that bouquet’s being taken away? I smell to agony.”

Rather unamiable that, but not intentionally unamiable. Now there are moody girls who are intentionally unamiable—Baubles, for instance. We call her by that name, because she has the word “baubles” much on her lips, and in sound it is not very remote from Barbara, which is her baptismal name.

Baubles is always in deadly earnest; that one may be in lively earnest she does not dream. Another thing; she knows that there is such a thing as “a foolish face of praise.” She has still to learn that there is such a thing as a foolish face of blame. Bauble’s face is her misfortune. In the following I give a conversation which I once had with another girl regarding her.

“She loves you,” said this other girl.

“Does she?” I asked, pleased, but surprised. “She looks at me as if I were especially abhorrent to her.”

“She always,” was the answer, “looks like that at people whom she loves.”

A girl like that is scarcely in the possession of her full reason, and what shall be said of a girl like this? She met a woman of her friends some little time since in the street, and responded to her greeting by a stare of blank non-recognition. The following day brought an apology, coupled with the intimation that she had moments when she could not bow.

A case like that becomes interesting in connection with the anatomy of melancholy. The girl who has moments when she cannot bow is suffering from a form of the disease known in mental pathology as “impulsive insanity.” The victims to this disease lapse into states of defective control.

What shall one say to the moody girl? Shall one not tell her to face life cheerily? There has never been known a year of nights on every one of which the stars shone, but no more has there ever been known a year of nights on not one of which the stars shone. The moody girl takes life as if all her years of days had been years of nights, and as if on not one of these nights the stars had shone. She has much to learn, this chiefly, that there are compensations for almost everything.

“Look at my teeth,” so said a moody girl to a German philosopher, “look at my teeth, and I am a singer.”

Her teeth were large and protruding.

“Those teeth are good for a singer,” said the German philosopher.

Envy—this thing may not be said aloud, but it may be said in a whisper to the moody girl—is at the bottom of much self-made misery. The cry of Shakespeare’s Helena is the cry of many Helenas.

“How happy some o’er other some can be!”

This, too, is true of the moody girl. She is pre-eminently a faultfinder. In this she is the more to blame that they who find fault are they who seek fault. She is lavish of her censure and is chary of her praise. She should be told what a Frenchwoman has said—

“’Tis in a sort to participate in good deeds to praise them.” In the Frenchwoman’s language, “C’est en quelque sorte se donner aux belles actions que de les louer.”

The suppositions of a moody girl are sometimes singular. “I suppose,” says one Sybil, “any of us could remember six unpleasant circumstances in our lives more easily than six pleasant.”

This Sybil it was who cited to her father the famous line regarding “the loud laugh,” and who learnt from him that the loud groan shows every whit as much “the vacant mind.”

What makes for moodiness? A life of ease according to the poet to whom belongs the phrase “stretched on the rack of a too-easy chair.” The rich girl who wishes she was poor is full as common as the poor girl who wishes she was rich.

Her brother does not spare the moody girl. Sometimes his gibes are stupid; once in a while they are fairly clever. As boy’s satire, what follows appears to me rather good.

“Any baby can put its finger in its eye and cry.”

As girl’s satire, what next follows—being the speech of a girl not moody on the subject of a moody girl—is excellent.

“She is one of those people who always bring up miserable subjects and—sympathise.”

A rather common type of moody person is that composed of girls who not only themselves wear habitually a dolorous expression, but who admire this expression on the faces of others. I sat to such a girl once for my portrait. She surprised me by her variant of the photographer’s familiar request. “Will you,” she said mellifluously, “please try to think of something—unpleasant?”

I tried my hardest and succeeded, within the limitations set to Irishwomen.

It has been said here that no fixed type of face belongs to a moody girl. Everyone therefore, who could paint such a girl would paint a different face. The one that I would paint would be that of one Maud Mary. It is a wonderful face, even without the smile. Something can be told of it, but all could never be told. The colouring of it is rich brown and red, the lips are the line of scarlet praised by the Psalmist, the eyes are pitch-black in shadow and golden-brown in light, the eye-brows and lashes are black, like the hair, and a black frown is much on the face, this with the result that a smile coming to it is like the flashing of light out of darkness. Maud Mary asked me once for a motto. I gave her one which is from Pythagoras, and has been praised by Bacon: “Cor ne edito,” “Eat not the heart.”

Maud Mary asked for another motto, a motto in rhyme, and in English. I gave her one from Shakespeare—

“Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,

And merrily hent the stile-a;

A merry heart goes all the way,

Your sad tires in a mile-a!”

(To be continued.)

[VARIETIES.]

Foretelling the Weather.

One morning a countryman knocked at the door of the celebrated astronomer, Sir Frederick William Herschell, and requested the favour of a few words with him.

When Sir William entered the hall the countryman said—

“I ask pardon, Doctor, for disturbing you, but I am in a quandary, so I have made bold to call and ask your advice. You must know that my meadows are a great deal too long for cutting, but before I begin I should like to hear whether you think the weather will soon break up?”

“First look round,” said the astronomer, “and tell me what you see.”

“See,” said the countryman; “why hay that is not worth saving. What dunderhead owns it that lives so near you and cuts it without asking your advice?”

“I am the dunderhead,” said Sir William, “and had it cut the very day before the rain came on.”

Work for all.—No girl is born into this world whose work is not born with her; there is always work and tools to work withal for those who will.

Returning Good for Evil.

An old man of the name of Guyot lived and died in the city of Marseilles. He amassed a large fortune by the most laborious industry and the severest habits of abstinence and privation. What appeared his miserly ways made him anything but popular, and the populace pursued him with hootings and execration whenever he appeared.

In course of time he died, and when his will was opened the following words were found: “Having observed from my childhood that the poor of Marseilles are ill-supplied with water, which can only be procured at a great price, I have cheerfully laboured the whole of my life to procure for them this great blessing, and I direct that the whole of my property be laid out in building an aqueduct for their use.”

Let the Flowers Live.—“I like to see flowers growing,” writes Charlotte Brontë, “but when they are gathered they cease to please. I look upon them as rootless and perishable; their likeness then to life makes me sad. I never offer flowers to those I love; I never wish to receive them from hands dear to me.”

Railways were Novelties then.

When railway travelling was in its infancy an old Scotch woman was about to make her first railway journey. While waiting at the station she began to ask the passengers, one after the other, “Are you gaun to Perth?”

On receiving from each one an answer in the negative she exclaimed in amazement, “Guidness me! Will the railway folk send a train a’ the road to Perth juist wi’ a’ puir auld wife like me?”

The Secret of his Simple Style.

When Charles Dickens was editing Household Words, he one day wrote to a contributor asking him to call.

The contributor came with an uneasy feeling that he was going to get a scolding about something, but it turned out that his chief wished to compliment him.

“I am constantly struck,” said Dickens, “by your admirable simple style. How did you attain it?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Dickens,” said the contributor, “there are so many words I don’t understand, and so many words I can’t spell, that I have to use a very simple sort of language.”

[OUR LILY GARDEN.]

PRACTICAL AIDS TO THE CULTURE OF LILIES.

By CHARLES PETERS.

Lilium Candidum.

The genus lilium is a large one, containing as it does over fifty species. The species themselves are very distinct and differ remarkably from each other in their forms and habits. It has therefore been thought advisable to sub-divide the genus into certain groups or sections which are distinguished chiefly by the shape of the flower.

There have been many divisions of the genus, and, as in every other classification of natural objects, all are very imperfect. It is extraordinary the contempt that nature has for human classifications and statistics! However you may divide any set of objects, you will find that there are many of them which will stick on the wall and refuse to be included in any one of your orders. And so it is in the present instance. The most approved division is given below; but you will see that there are grave objections to it. Personally we cannot see the scientific reason for the division of the genus at all. This is our excuse for not following the generally received classification. The arrangement of lilies which we are going to adopt does not pretend to be scientific. It is merely adopted in order that we can group together species which are more or less like each other. It is a classification for the flower grower and not for the botanist.

One of the latest, best, and most generally accepted classifications is the following division of the genus into six groups thus—

Section I.—Cardiocrinum.

Perianth[3] funnel-shaped, with oblanceolate[4] segments, falcate[5] only at the apex. Leaves heart-shaped, ovate, and stalked, 1. Cordifolium. 2. Giganteum.

Section II.—Eulirion.

Perianth same as Cardiocrinum. Leaves linear or lanceolate, not stalked.

(a) Tube scarcely widened from base to middle. 3. Philippinense. 4. Wallichianum. 5. Longiflorum. 6. Neilgherrense.

(b) Tube widened from neck to base, (α) Leaves scattered. 7. Japonicum Odorum. 8. Brownii. 9. Krameri. 10. Nepaulense. 11. Candidum. 12. Belladonna. (β) Leaves in whorls. 13. Washingtonianum. 14. Parryi.

Section III.—Archelirion.

Perianth open and funnel-shaped. Segments deeply spreading and broadest about the middle. Stamens diverging from the style, which is curved.

(a) Leaves sessile. 15. Tigrinum. 16. Oxypetalum.

(b) Leaves stalked. 17. Speciosum. 18. Auratum.

Section IV.—Isolirion.

Perianth erect. Segments falcate, but not revolute. Stamens diverging on all sides.

(a) Leaves in whorls. 19. Philadelphicum. 20. Medeoloides.

(b) Leaves scattered, (α) Style shorter than ovary. 21. Concolor. (β) Style longer than ovary. 22. Bulbiferum. 23. Croceum. 24. Davuricum. 25. Elegans. 26. Catesbaei.

Section V.—Martagons.

Perianth cernuous with the segments very revolute. Stamens diverging on all sides.

(a) Leaves in whorls. (α) American species; bulbs annual bearing rhizomes. 27. Canadense. 28. Pardalinum. 29. Superbum. 30. Lucidum. 31. Roezlii. 32. Columbianum. 33. Humboldti. (β) Old world species. 34. Martagon. 35. Avenaceum. 36. Hansoni.

(b) Leaves scattered, (α) Leaves lanceolate. Many-nerved. (i.) Perianth falcate above middle. 37. Monadelphum. (ii.) Perianth revolute to below middle. 38. Polyphyllum. 39. Ponticum. 40. Carniolicum. (β) Leaves narrow. With one or few nerves. (i.) Segments of the perianth from six to twelve lines broad in the middle. 41. Testaceum. 42. Leichtlini. 43. Batmanniae. 44. Pseudo-Tigrinum. 45. Wallacei. (ii.) Segments of the perianth from three to six lines broad in the middle. 46. Pomponium. 47. Chalcedonicum. 48. Callosum. 49. Tenuifolium.

Section VI.—Notholirion.

50. Hookeri. 51. Roseum.

We said that in all divisions of natural objects there were “aberrant” types which refused to be located in any one group and remained sitting on the wall between several of the divisions. And in this group there are likewise some which stick upon the wall. The chief reasons we have for not using this classification will be apparent from the following criticism of it.

The first section, Cardiocrinum, forms a very natural group. L. Cordifolium and L. Giganteum, though distinct species, are yet very near akin and are totally different from any other lilies.

Of the Eulirion section, the first or Longiflorum group, containing L. Longiflorum, L. Wallichianum, L. Philippinense, L. Neilgherrense, and the new L. Formosanum, forms as natural a division as is Cardiocrinum. But the other members of the Eulirion group are by no means so easy to classify.

L. Japonicum Odorum and L. Brownii are very nearly allied. L. Krameri, with the new L. Rubellum, more nearly resemble the Archelirion than the present group.

In certain characters L. Nepaulense nearly resembles L. Monadelphum, a member of the Martagon group.

L. Candidum bears but little resemblance to the other Eulirions. Its flowers are short and numerous, and the bulb sends up an autumn crop of leaves. In the last characteristic it differs very markedly from every known lily.

L. Belladonna is unknown to us.

L. Washingtonianum and its varieties resemble L. Candidum in bearing numerous small short flowers. Its bulb is very similar to that of L. Humboldti in being an oblique, almost rhizomatose, structure.

L. Parryi resembles L. Nepaulense in some particulars, and L. Washingtonianum in others. Its bulb, however, is more like that of L. Pardalinum than that of any other species.

Of the Archelirion section, L. Auratum and L. Speciosum have much in common. But L. Tigrinum has but little relation to the former two lilies; its drooping flowers strongly suggest that this lily should be placed with the Martagons.

L. Leichtlini and Pseudo-Tigrinum are placed among the Martagons; yet these two lilies bear a very strong resemblance to L. Tigrinum.

L. Oxypetalum differs from all other lilies in many respects. It resembles the fritillaries in most points and was formerly included with those plants.

As regards the Isolirion group, in which the flowers are erect, we would place L. Medeoloides with the Martagons, next to L. Hansoni—the plant which it most resembles.

L. Umbellatum. (Showing abnormal development of aerial bulblets.)

L. Concolor and its varieties should form a group of themselves.

L. Batmanniae[6] and L. Wallacei should certainly be included with the Isolirions, and not with the Martagons.

LILY LEAVES. (From a photograph. Quarter diameter.)

The Martagons fall naturally into several groups. The first group, which we might call the swamp lilies,[7] includes L. Superbum, L. Canadense, L. Pardalinum, L. Roezlii, and one or two new species. All these lilies have but slightly recurved flowers and rhizomatose bulbs. They are all natives of North America.

Another group which we might call the true Martagons would include L. Martagon, L. Pomponium, L. Pyrenaicum, L. Avenaceum, L. Tenuifolium, L. Callosum, L. Chalcedonicum, and L. Hansoni, etc.

L. Humboldti is different from any other lily in many points. Its bulb somewhat resembles that of L. Washingtonianum.

L. Polyphyllum and L. Monadelphum much resemble each other in the form of their flowers.

L. Testaceum is a hybrid. L. Ponticum is a variety of L. Monadelphum. L. Lucidum is unknown to us.

We are not going to adhere to this division. The one we are about to tabulate seems to us to be more useful. It is tentative, and is subject maybe to grave objections; but on the whole we think that it will be more generally useful to the lily grower. Obviously it is founded on the former classification, and we have used the names of the groups which are generally accepted.

We append no description to each group, for, though we could do so if we were pressed, we wish it to be clearly understood that the division is purely experimental, as what classification is not?

Group I.—Cardiocrinum.

1. Giganteum. 2. Cordifolium.

Group II.—Eulirion.

Longiflorum Section: 3. Longiflorum. 4. Formosanum. 5. Philippinense. 6. Wallichianum. 7. Neilgherrense.

Japonicum Section: 8. Japonicum Odorum. 9. Brownii.

Candidum Section: 10. Candidum.

Washingtonianum Section: 11. Washingtonianum. 12. Parryi. 13. Nepaulense. 14. Lowi.

Group III.—Archelirion.

Auratum Section: 15. Auratum. 16. Speciosum.

Krameri Section: 17. Krameri. 18. Rubellum.

Tigrinum Section: 19. Tigrinum. 20. Leichtlini. 21. Maximowiczi. 22. Henryi.

Group IV.—Isolirion.

23. Bulbiferum. 24. Catesbaei. 25. Batmanniae. 26. Wallacei. 27. Philadelphicum. 28. Elegans. 29. Croceum. 30. Davuricum.

Group V.—Martagon.

True Martagon Section: 31. Martagon. 32. Pomponium. 33. Pyrenaicum. 34. Hansoni. 35. Medeoloides. 36. Avenaceum. 37. Callosum. 38. Tenuifolium. 39. Carniolicum. 40. Chalcedonicum.

Swamp-lily Section: 41. Columbianum. 42. Humboldti. 43. Canadense. 44. Parvum. 45. Maritimum. 46. Superbum. 47. Roezlii. 48. Pardalinum. 49. Californicum. 50. Grayi.

Monadelphum Section: 51. Monadelphum. 52. Polyphyllum.

Group VI.

53. Concolor. 54. Davidii.

Group VII.

55. Oxypetalum. 56. Roseum. 57. Hookeri.

There are therefore fifty-seven distinct species of lilies; but of these there are over one hundred and twenty varieties. Besides these there are four double-flowered varieties, and four definite hybrids.

In our next number we will proceed with the description of these various species and varieties. But before we attempt to describe the individual species, let us glance at some of the chief characteristics of the various parts of lilies.

The lily has two sets of roots. One set develops beneath the bulb, the other is given off by the flower shoot above the bulb. Each set serves a definite purpose, and both are absolutely necessary to the welfare of the plant. The lower roots are concerned chiefly with the development of the bulb; the upper roots, or those given off by the flower-shoot, are the main source of supply to the stem and flowers. Unless these roots develop and are well covered with earth, the plant will not flower.

If the flower stem is removed from the bulb and the upper roots are not disturbed, it will continue to grow unchecked. Or, again, if the bulb be destroyed by disease, or its lower roots do not develop, the lily may still flower; but if the stem roots are destroyed, the shoot dies, even though the bulb and lower roots are quite perfect.

All the lilies possess bulbs. These bulbs are exceedingly characteristic, and differ greatly from those of any other plant. The bulbs of all lilies are imbricate—that is, consist of a number of scales united at their bases.

A typical bulb, such as that of Lilium Longiflorum, consists of numerous scales, closely packed together, united to a firm, fleshy part—the base of the bulb. It is from the base that the lower roots spring. In a perfectly sound fresh bulb the outer scales are approximated to the next layer, but in dry bulbs the outer scales wither and are but loosely applied to the inner ones.

The bulb is narrow at the base, whence it rapidly increases towards the middle, being thickest about one third of the way up from the base. From the middle it rapidly dwindles towards the crown, which usually ends in a point. In the centre of the bulb is the flower spike, which is the densest part of the bulb.

Lily bulbs vary in size, in colour, in shape, and in structure, according to the species. The bulb of Lilium Giganteum is from four to five inches in diameter, whereas that of L. Wallacei is barely half an inch across. As a rule, the larger the plant the larger is its bulb; but this is by no means always the case. The bulb of L. Tigrinum var. Fortunei Giganteum is no larger than that of L. Longiflorum, whereas the former plant is quite three times the size of the latter.

When freshly dug up, most lily bulbs are nearly white in colour; but after exposure to the air for a short time, they get tinted with various shades, which differ remarkably in the different species.

The bulbs of L. Elegans, L. Bulbiferum, L. Croceum, and L. Umbellatum, and others usually remain pure white. L. Longiflorum and a great many others become of a yellowish tint. L. Speciosum and L. Auratum usually become a dark brown or purplish colour. The bulb of L. Giganteum is usually a deep russet colour.

Lily bulbs vary greatly in shape and structure. The typical bulb is ovate or pyramidal in shape, with small regular scales. There are many variations from this. Some are more or less rounded, others, notably that of L. Polyphyllum, are very long and narrow. Some have large flat scales, whilst in others the scales are small and rounded. Some bulbs, such as those of L. Superbum, L. Canadense, and many others, are borne upon a perennial rhizome, the bulbs themselves being annual.

The bulbs of L. Humboldti and L. Washingtonianum are curiously unlike those of any other lilies, being flat and oblique. Some bulbs possess a large number of minute scales, others have but a few large scales.

The bulbs of L. Roseum and L. Hookeri are invested with a dense membranous sheath like the bulbs of the tulip. No other lily bulb possesses this sheath. These are some of the varieties of lily bulbs; an accurate description of most will be found in connection with the accounts of the various species.

The stem of the lily is usually straight and unbranched. Very rarely the stem is branched. It varies in diameter and toughness in the various species. In some species it is covered with down.

The leaves are subject to even greater variety than is the bulb. They may be few or many, arranged in whorls or scattered, and of various colours and shapes.

L. Chalcedonicum has many hundred leaves, whilst L. Auratum rarely has more than thirty. In some lilies, such as L. Washingtonianum, L. Humboldti, L. Martagon, etc., the leaves are arranged in whorls, but in most kinds the leaves are irregularly scattered.

In colour the leaves of the lilies present much variety. Usually the leaves are deep glossy green. In L. Longiflorum Foliis Albo-Marginatis the leaves are pale green bordered with white. In one variety of L. Candidum they are edged with yellow.

Lily leaves are usually linear or lanceolate; but they vary in shape from the thin pine-needle-like leaf of L. Pyrenaicum, to the broad heart-shape leaf of L. Cordifolium.

Usually but one kind of leaf is present, but in L. Giganteum at least three distinct forms of leaves are developed. And in Lilium Candidum the autumn or base leaves are totally distinct from the linear leaves borne on the stem.

The leaves of L. Bulbiferum and L. Tigrinum bear bulblets in their axils. Other lilies occasionally bear bulblets in the axils of their leaves, especially if the plant fails to flower. A bulb is only a modified bud, so that it is not surprising it should occasionally develop above ground. L. Umbellatum and L. Longiflorum are the commonest lilies to bear these aerial bulblets, except of course L. Tigrinum and L. Bulbiferum, in both of which lilies they are always present.

The flowers of the lilies vary immensely in most particulars. There are always three sepals, three petals, and six stamens. The flowers are either solitary, or there may be two or three or many borne in a pyramidal inflorescence. The flowers are borne terminally on the stalk. It is upon the characters of the flowers that the classification of the genus is based.

The fruit is a six-sided capsule, and the seeds are flat with broad membranous wings.

(To be continued.)

[OUR PUZZLE POEM REPORT: AN IDEAL GARDEN.]