SSC1020C Special crane for wind power

I was an admiring reader of the Albums, the Souvenirs, the Keepsakes, and all that flood of Christmas-present lore29 which yearly irrigated30 England, with pretty covers and engravings, and floods of elegant twaddle — the milk, not destitute31 of water, on which the babes of literature were then fed. On this, my genius throve. I had a little album, enriched with many gems32 of original thought and observation, which I jotted33 down in suitable language. Lately, turning over these faded leaves of rhyme and prose, I lighted, under this day’s date, upon the following sage34 reflection, with my name appended:—

 

“Is there not in the female heart an ineradicable jealousy35, which, if it sways the passions of the young, rules also the advice of the aged36? Do they not grudge37 to youth the sentiments (though Heaven knows how shadowed with sorrow) which they can no longer inspire, perhaps even experience; and does not youth, in turn, sigh over the envy which has power to blight38?

 

MAUD AYLMER RUTHYN.”

 

“He has not been making love to me,” I said rather tartly39, “and he does not seem to me at all impertinent, and I really don’t care the least whether he goes or stays.”

 

Cousin Monica looked in my face with her old waggish40 smile, and laughed.

 

“You’ll understand those London dandies better some day, dear Maud; they are very well, but they like money — not to keep, of course — but still they like it and know its value.”

 

At breakfast my father told Captain Oakley where he might have shooting, or if he preferred going to Dilsford, only half an hour’s ride, he might have his choice of hunters, and find the dogs there that morning.

 

The Captain smiled archly at me, and looked at his aunt. There was a suspense41. I hope I did not show how much I was interested — but it would not do. Cousin Monica was inexorable.