^ The ^Afternoon of the Tear $£ 



And how well I remember the sweet, subdued scent of 

 pot-pourri, for as well as flowers there were in every room 

 big open bowls of the pot-pourri she loved to have about 

 her. In many of the bowls there were oranges stuck with 

 cloves. Everyone loves picking these up and sniffing 

 them, yet few people make them nowadays. 1 



My great-aunt only allowed candles for lighting pur- 

 poses, for she always declared she could smell gas in any 

 house where it was laid on, and ' that ill-considered in- 

 vention,' as I once heard her describe a gas-cooker, she 

 would not tolerate. I remember so well the burnished 

 silver candlesticks set out on a side-table in the hall every 

 evening to take up to the bedrooms. Making paper spills 

 (especially very long ones) for lighting the candles was a 

 pleasant occupation when she read aloud to one. She 

 had a wonderful collection of children's books, and though 

 she had read them to two generations of children, she 

 enjoyed them with as much zest as one did oneself. The 

 books one loved in one's childhood are, I think, the books 

 one loves most all through one's life. If I live to be ninety 

 I know I shall still be reading Hans Andersen, Mrs. 

 Ewing, Charlotte Yonge and the four bound volumes of 

 the delightful S. Nicholas'' Magazine, which my father 

 and mother gave me as they came out. (I have many 

 American friends now, both personal friends and those 

 I know only through correspondence with them, but 

 my first American friends were amongst the contributors 

 to the Letter-Box pages of S. Nicholas' Magazine.) Of 

 the many books my great-aunt read to me, I remember 

 amongst others a dumpy calf-bound volume of stories 

 translated from the Hungarian original, and one tale in 



1 For recipe see p. 219. 



l8l 



