"Fine silk stockings he wore." "And his green coat?"

"As green and smart as a bottle when ye polish it with a cloth."

"Did ye notice the fine frills that he has to his shirt? I've tried to make my fawther's shirts look as fine, but they never have the same look." The hands of the old dame would work nervously as if eager to get at the goffering-irons and try once more.

"An' he'd lay his hat on the floor beside him; it's a way he has. Did my mither tell him that I was ailing ? His eyes would be shining the while. Do ye notice how his eyes shine, Jeanie ?"

"Ay, do I; his eyes shine and his hair curls."

fawther to-day; have they put their pink coats on, Jeanie Trim?"

The relations between Kinaird and the father and mother appeared to be indefinite rather than unfriendly. There were times, it is true, when he came round by the dairy and gave private messages to Jeanie Trim, but at other times he figured as one of the ordinary guests of a large and hospitable household. No special honor seemed to be paid him; there was always the apprehension in the lovesick girl's heart that such timely attentions as the offer of proper refreshment or of the use of the spring-cart might be lacking. The parents were never in the daughter's confidence. She always feared their interference. There was no beginning to the story, no crisis, no culmination.

"Now tell me when ye first saw Mr. Kinaird ?" asked the maid.

It

"Ye're mistaken there, his hair doesna curl, Jeanie Trim-ye've no' obsairved rightly; his hair is brown and straight; it's his beard and whiskers that curl. Eh! but they're But to this there was no answer. bonny! There's a color and shine in had not been love at first sight, its the curl that minds me of the lights I small beginnings had left no imprescan see in the old copper kettle when sion; nor was there ever any mention my mither has it scoured and hung of a change in the relation, nor of a up on the nail; but his hair is plain parting, only that suggestion of a long brown." and weary waiting, given in the begin"He's a graun' figure of a man!"ning of this phase of memory, when cried the blithe maid, ever sympa- she refused to touch her food, and said thetic. she was "sair longing" to see him

"Tuts! What are ye saying, Jeanie ! | again. He's no' a great size at all; the shortest of my brothers is bigger than him! Ye might even ca' him a wee man; it's the spirit that he has with it that I like."

The household at Kelsey Farm had flourished in the palmy days of agriculture. Hunters had been kept and pink coats worn, and the mother, of kin with the neighboring gentry, had kept Thus, by degrees, touch upon touch, her carriage to ride in. There had the portrait of Kinaird was painted, been many pleasures, no doubt, for the and whatever misconceptions they daughter of such a house; but only one might form of him were corrected one | pleasure remained fixed on her memby one. There was little incident de-ory - the pleasure of seeing little Kipicted, yet the figure of Kinaird was naird's eyes shining upon her. These never drawn passive, but always in days of the lady's youth had happened at a time when religion, if strong, was "Did my fawther no' offer to send a sombre thing; and to those who held him home in the spring-cart? It's sair the pleasures of life in both hands, it wet for him to be walking in the wind was little more than a name and a and the rain the day." Or: "He had rite. So it came to pass that no relia fine bloom on his cheeks, I'll war- gious sentiment was stirred with the rant, when he came in through this thought of this old joy and succeeding morning's bluster of wind." Or again: sorrow. "He'll be riding to the hunt with my

action.

The minister never failed to read

but did not wholly obscure its misty presence. They all stood there — the minister, the doctor, the grey-haired daughters sobbing, looking and longing for one glance of recognition, the nurse, and the new maid.

some sacred texts when he sat beside | dews of night. Outside, the moon was her; and when he found himself alone riding among her clouds; the night with the old dame, he would kneel and was white. The budding trees shook pray aloud in such simple words as he their twigs together in the garden. thought she might understand. He Inside the room, firelight and lampdid it more to ease his own heart be-light, each flickering much because of cause of the love he bore her than the wind, mingled with the moonlight, because he supposed that it made any difference in the sight of God whether she heard him or not. He was past the prime of life, and had fallen into pompous and ministerial habits of manner; but in his heart he was always pondering to find what the realities of life might be, and he seldom drew false conclusions, although to many a question he was content to find no answer. He wore a serious look - people seldom knew what was passing in his mind; the doctor began to think that he was anxious for the safety of the old dame's soul.

"I am not without hope of a lucid interval at the end," he said; "there is wonderful vitality yet, and it's little more than the power of memory that is impaired."

At this hope the daughters caught eagerly. They were plain women, narrow and dull, but their mother had been no ordinary woman; her power of love had created in them an affection for her which transcended ordinary filial affection. They had inherited from her such strong domestic feelings that they felt her defection from all family ties for the sake of the absent father and brothers, felt it with a poignancy which the use and wont of those winter months did not seem to blunt.

No sudden shock or fit came to bring about the end. Gradually the old dame's strength failed. There came an hour in the springtime it was the midnight hour of an April night when she lay upon her bed, sitting up high against white pillows, gasping for the last breaths that she would ever draw. They had drawn aside the oldfashioned bed-curtains, so that they hung like high, dark pillars at the four posts. They had opened wide the windows, and the light spring wind blew through the room fresh with the

They all knelt, while the minister said a prayer.

"She's looking differently now," whispered the home-keeping daughter. She had drawn her handkerchief from her eyes and was looking with awed solicitude at her mother's face.

"Yes, there's a change coming," said the married daughter; her large bosom heaved out the words with excited emotion.

"Speak to her of my father - it will bring her mind back again," they appealed to the minister, pushing him forward to do what they asked.

The minister took the lady's hands in his and spoke out clearly and strongly in her ear; but he spoke not, at first, of husband or children, but of the Son of God.

Memories that had lain asleep so long seemed slowly to awaken for one last moment.

"You know what I am saying, auntie ?" The minister spoke strongly, as to one who was deaf.

There was a smile on the handsome old face.

"Ay, I know weel: The Lord is my Shepherd; I shallna want though I walk through the valley o' the shadow of death.'"

"My uncle, and Thomas, and William have gone before you, auntie." "Ay" with a satisfied smile "they've gone before."

"You know who I am?" he said again.

She knew him, and took leave of him. She took leave of each of her daughters, but in a calm, weak way, as one who had waded too far into the

river of death to be much concerned much damaged, and required to be got with the things of earth.

The doctor pressed her hand, and the faithful nurse. The minister, feeling that justice should be done to one whose wit had brought great relief, bid the maid go forward.

She was weeping, but she spoke in the free, caressing way that she had used so long.

"Ye know who I am, ma'am?" The dying eyes looked her full in the face, but gave no recognition.

"It's Jeanie Trim."

"Na, na, I remember a Jeanie Trim long syne, but you're not Jeanie Trim!"

The maid drew back discomfited.

back into working condition before traffic could be reorganized and provisions brought in; and it was imagined, additionally, that a good many people would have no money to pay for bread. For these various reasons it seemed certain to outsiders that a period of serious want would have to be bridged over. The gaze of the world was fixed on Paris; everybody felt personal sorrow for it; the deepest interest in the griefs of its inhabitants was everywhere expressed. In England, as elsewhere, the talk of the time was full of sympathy; and in England — though not elsewhere active measures were taken to show the reality of that symapathy. The lord mayor of London called a meeting at the Mansion House, as he usually does when a great suffering claims alleviation, appealed to the British public to help Paris, and opened a subscription. With the product of that subscription (which was large), food was bought in quantities in anticipation of the surrender, and was sent off to Havre and Dieppe, in the hope that, by effort and good luck, it might, somehow, be got up to Paris in time to be of use.

The minister began to repeat psalm that she loved. The daughters sat on the bedside, holding her hands. So they waited, and she seemed to follow the meaning of the psalm as it went on, until suddenly

She turned her head feebly towards a space by the bed where no one stood. She drew her hands from her daughters' and made as if to stretch them out to a new-comer. She smiled.

"Mr. Kinaird!" she murmured; then she died.

"You might have thought that he was there himself," said the daughters, awestruck.

"Who knows but that he was there?" And the minister thought. L. DOUGALL.

From Blackwood's Magazine.

THE ENGLISH FOOD GIFTS AFTER THE up to the Belgian frontier, were in Ger

SIEGE OF PARIS.

WHEN the siege of Paris was drawing to its end, and when lamentable reports of the starvation that was going on inside were circulating about Europe, everybody took it for granted that, for a time after the opening of the gates and until regular supplies could be obtained once more, a considerable portion of the population would be in serious straits for food. The stocks in the place were known to be on the point of exhaustion; the railways had been

man hands, and as German regiments had stretched out beyond Normandy in the west, and beyond Burgundy in the south, supplies for the capital could only be practically sought in distant departments. But the Germans, very generously, did not enforce this clause, and allowed food to be bought for Paris wherever it could be found, even at Versailles, where they really required it for their own people. The result was that, as the railways were patched up wonderfully fast, stocks got in with.

a relative abundance and a positive | National Guards, while the women speed which astonished the beholders.

could earn nothing, and suffered, conIt happened in reality, after all this sequently, more. There were, of apprehension, that Paris had scarcely course, many cases of exceptional disstarved at all, in the strict sense of the tress; many persons were unable to term. Everybody who had money to digest, or even to swallow, the abomspend was able, throughout the siege, inable bread that was supplied to the to obtain necessaries in sufficient quan- public during the concluding weeks tity, and even certain luxuries. The (those who could afford it did their starvation that was so much talked of baking at home with flour they had by commiserating Europe rarely meant, laid up at the beginning, or else ate for the mass of the population, any rice instead of bread); of course the absolute absence of food. I did not scarcity of fuel and the bitter cold of hear of one proved case of death from the winter of 1870 added to the sufferhunger; but, of course, I do not pre- ing; but that suffering, though occatend that none occurred, for, even in sionally intense, was not universal, ordinary times, people in large agglom- and, especially, it never presented the erations die frequently from want. character of true siege famine. AnThroughout the siege, too, charity was other fortnight would have produced at work with open hands; the richer that famine; but the capitulation was people contributed abundantly to the signed in time, and, taking the popula relief of the needs around them. tion as a whole, and putting aside the There was discomfort for the wealthy; exceptions, Paris went through only there was scantiness for the middle the earliest stages of the consequences classes; there was privation for the of a prolonged investment. Occasional poor; all sorts of unaccustomed nour- instances of acute misery cannot be ishment were utilized; but there was counted for anything under such ciralways food of some sort, though gen- cumstances and amidst so vast a poperally inferior in quality, and in many ulation. Considering what war really cases insufficient in quantity. A cer- is, what it really means, and what it tain number of persons, especially may entail, Paris made scarcely any women, had, towards the end, great acquaintance with its limitless horrors. difficulty in obtaining bread at all, be- There was a good deal of illness, but cause at that time it had to be fetched, no general starvation properly so called. with tickets, from the bakers' shops, a For a city of brightness and pleasure process which involved hours of wait- the trial was very painful and humiling in the cold. Various forms of dys- iating; but for a beleaguered fortress pepsia, and even of organic diseases, it could scarcely be regarded as a trial. were brought on by bad eating; in- As a moral and material hardship inflammations of the chest were numer- flicted suddenly on people who had ous; but, so far as I could learn on the always lived in insouciance, the siege spot (and I took a great deal of trouble was extremely worrying and painful; to inquire, at the time), most of the but as a military operation, involving damage done was to persons of pre- possibly all the frightful followings of vious weak health. I must say, also, battle, it induced, comparatively, very that the consequences did not always few woes at all. The situation might manifest themselves at once, in have been so immeasurably worse than many cases they appeared months it was that, putting aside isolated cases, afterwards; deaths from illnesses it cannot be regarded as having been caused by the siege were heard of thoroughly bad. more frequently perhaps in 1872 than in 1871. The men were better off than the women, because, during the whole duration of the investment, nearly all of them could get two francs a day as

At the immediate moment, however, nothing of this truth was known; the facts only came out by slow degrees. The exact contrary, indeed, was believed outside. And that was why the

world wept for Paris, and why the English of the period desired to aid in mitigating her sorrows.

could have given a whole cheese to one, a whole ham to a second, a box of biscuits to a third, and a bag of coffee to a fourth, and have left them to settle the sharing between them, we should have got on much faster; but, as it was, we were often forced to keep the people waiting while hundreds of heaps of varied provisions, in a transportable condition, were prepared in rows. When once that was done, the handing out went on very fast. At each depot a staff was installed, and, during the earlier days, the task of giving went on uninterruptedly, even at night. Paris knew within twenty-four hours that food was to be had for the asking, and Paris came in crowds to ask for it. The crowds, in themselves, supplied no reliable testimony of the existence of great want, for they would appear again to-day, in equal numbers, if food were once more offered for

The capitulation and the armistice were signed about 27th January, and on 4th February (if I remember correctly) Colonel Stuart Wortley and Mr. George Moore arrived in Paris as delegates of the lord mayor's committee, bringing with them a first small supply of stores. They set themselves at once to prepare for the distribution of "the English gifts" that were following them, formed a Paris committee to help in the work, and were good enough to ask me to join it. I had just come in from Versailles, where I had passed the siege time; I was very curious to see with my own eyes the state of Paris, and was particularly glad of this opportunity to examine, in a special and practical form, the true condition of things inside. The work on that committee made me acquainted nothing; but in their aspect and their with details which I could scarcely have got to know in any other way, and my recollection of it enables me to tell some of the points of a story which at the time attracted much attention, but which is now, I presume, almost forgotten.

composition there were details which showed, in some degree at least, that the nature of the occasion was special. Again, the food was, of necessity, distributed haphazard, and the process in itself revealed little on the surface; but on the rare occasions when it was Our committee had nothing to do favorable to penetrate into it, to learn with the transport of the stores to the secrets of the starvelings, and to Paris; its function was limited to their discover the personal causes which distribution when they got there. I led them to come and beg, it assumed knew, therefore, nothing, except in a a totally different character, and bevery general way, about the difficulties came at moments intensely interestof carriage and the labor of surmount-ing. ing them; I remember only that great energy was employed, that much credit was due to those who had charge of the forwarding from the forts, and that Colonel Wortley and Mr. Moore were indefatigable. Their first act was to organize depots all over the town, especially in the poorer districts. I forget how many there were, but I am under the impression that the number was between a dozen and twenty. There were, frequently, delays in conveying the stores from the railway station to the depots, because of the scarcity of horses; and the unpacking and division into portions for each applicant took up a good deal of time. If we VOL. VI. 296

LIVING AGE.

For many days I passed a considerable portion of my time in the depots, or outside them talking to the waiting mob, and I heard a quantity of tales of suffering, the majority of which were, I fancy (judging from the manner of telling, or from the nature of the statements), mainly imaginary, while some few of them were, I dare say, painfully true. I repeat, however, before narrating stories, that I regarded the authentic ones as exceptions, and that the famine provoked by the siege alone, and not by general or accidental causes, was not so serious as the European public had supposed. Other witnesses may, possibly, hold a precisely