200 MORE POT-POURRI 



they real or imaginary, go with us, and our only useful- 

 ness is at home. Here is a poem written by one of that 

 brave trio, the Bronte sisters — Ellis Bell (Emily Bronte) 

 — which, if not so subtle as Lionel Tennyson's ' Sym- 

 pathy,' has a strong ring about it — that hand-shake in 

 life's way which helps so many : 



SYMPATHY 



There ehould be no despair for you 



While nightly stars are burning, 

 While evening pours its silent dew, 



And sunshine gilds the morning. 



There should be no despair, though tears 



May flow down like a river. 

 Are not the best beloved of years 



Around your heart for ever ! 



They weep, you weep; it must be so: 



Winds sigh as you are sighing. 

 And winter sheds its grief in snow 



Where autumn leaves are lying. 



Yet these revive, and from their fate 



Your fate cannot be parted. 

 Then journey on, if not elate. 



Still never broken-hearted I 



I am told by young married women that so very 

 much attention has been given to cooking of late that 

 most girls of the leisured classes now know something 

 about it, or, at any rate, turn to books or go to some 

 school of cookery to learn; but thatthey are quite ignorant 

 about training servants in other work, especially inex- 

 perienced girls who have done more schooling than 

 cleaning in their childhood, and who think anyone can 

 be a housemaid. There is excellent instruction on many 

 points in that book I named before, ' How to be Happy 



