Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1890-12-28
UNDER CLASSIC OAKS
Lillian Spencer and Her Companion
Visit the Forest Of Arden
AND PIN SONNETs ON THE TREES
Pathetic Story Of Cri-Cri, an 0yerworked
Maiden Of Belgium.
STARVING FOR WANT OF A BANK
CORRESPONDENCE OF THE D1srArcH.I

fOREST. OF ARDEN, december Il.
Mimi-On, Jupiterl How weary are my
spiritsl
"But this is the Forest of Arden"
Mimi-Aye, now I am in Arden; the
more fool I. When I was at home was in a
better place. But travellers must be con-
tent.
''There can be no better place than under
these oaks, whose antique roots peep out
upon the brook that brawls along this
wood"
Mimi-Walking through Europe is not
all that it is painted. for one am weary
of the life.
"Oh, Mimi, ill-conditioned grumbler that
thou art This our life, exempt from public
hsunts, finds tongues in trees, books, In the
running brooks, sermons in stones, and
good in everything. L would not change
| it."
"Happy are you that can translate the stub
bornest of fortune into so quiet and sweet a
style. cannot, I'm tired to death. And,
say what you will, shan't stir step until
I'm rested"
And down sat this unimaginative Ameri-
can spinster under an old tree which may
have sheltered Rosallnd and Orlando in the
days gone by, and mildly proceeded to take
nap. The only excuse that can possibly be
| urged for this Mimi is a corn. l am happy
to say have none, so 1 wander on through
the melancholy shades seeking for Kosalind
and alasl finding her not. But she is sure to
come around some time in the course of o
year or so, for no one ever heard of her ont
OF the forest OF Arden, SO 1 pin up some
sonnets on one of the trees, hoping that my
civil savings" shall fatter her vanity, as
Orlando's won her heart.
Hang there. my verse. in witness of my love.
sAnd thou thrice-crowned queen Of night sur
With thy, chaste eye from thy pale sphere
above
Thy huntress' name. that my full life doth
Oh, Rosaiind these trees shall be my books.
And in their barks my thoughts I'll char
That every eye which in this forest looks,
Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere.
Run, run, Orlando. carve on every tree,
The fair. the chaste. the inexpensive the!
There are some of Orlando's verses scat
tered about the forest Mine are ever so
much better! But 1 haven't time to write
them out. They are hanging on the trees,
though any 'eye which in that forest looks"
can see them.
MOST BEAUTIFUL IN THE WORLD.
Any one proposing to walk through Bel
glum must not on any account forego the
pleasure of exploring the "Ardennes."
It is one of the most beautiful bits of coun.
try In the world. Tomorrow we leave Bel
gium for France. We have notified our
landlady and packed our knapsacks, aud
have bought a string of beads for Cri-Cri.
By the way, that reminds me have not
spoken yet of Cri-Cri. Cri-CrI is only a
little grill No one, bar myself, has ever
paid the least heed to her. Why should
| they, when there are hundreds of children
like her in Belgium?
Mrs. Francis Burnett would not have
passed her by unnoticed, though. She
| would have put her into book, and later
on play, and who knows but that she
! might have become as famous as Lord
Fauntleroy. But such tate is not in store
I for Cri.Cri.
To proceed: Cri-cri is little household
drudge and maid of all work. She is a
plump, rosy little girl, but she has never
known a holiday in her life. From early
dawn until dusky night Cri-Cri has to toll
The house is big one. There are five
foors-all uncarpeted, and they must be
scrubbed down at least once day. Then
there are the dodgers. Cri-Cri must tidy
their rooms and run their errands and at
tend them in all their wants. Besides,
there is the kitchen. Maman (big, fat,
lazy woman) gets the meals, but Cri-Cri has
them to clear away. There are piles and
piles Of dishes to wash and pots and pans
without number. And there is the brick
floor to mop and the windows to rub, and
Cri-Cri hates it the worst-the big stove to
polish.
ALL WORK AND NO PLAY.
Then there is the marketing, Cri-Cri
buys it all. She is only II, but quicker
one at 4 bargain was never seen. No use
trying to impose upon her. She knows the
price of the meat, and the butter and veee-
tables and she claps it down on the huck-
sters stands and sails off with her purchases
without a word. -.-'
All day Cri.Cri works. She runs up and
down the long flights of stairs 80 times at
least. Maman is not severe or cruel at all,
but Maman is fat and lazy and children in
Belgium are raised to do the work.
At 9 o'clock in the evening Cri-Cri gener-
ally gets down to the front pavement-down
to scrub 1t, that is to say-and by this time
she Is about as dirty Cri-Cri as one can
possibly conceive. Her gingham frock is
wet and draggled, her torn boots down at the
heels and her mass of yellow curls a fright
full turmoil of disorder. Her rosy cheeks
are begrimed with stove polish and her
pinafore is covered with SCOT.
There is this to be said for Cri-Cri, how
ever. She starts out clean and fresh in the
morning. 1t is not her fault, poor little
drudge, if she comes in untidy at night.
AND NEVER A HOLIDAY.
''Do you always work like this, Cri-
Grip" l asked her, as she poured a big
bucket of water over the front steps.
"Surely, Madame; why not7'
"Don't you get tired?"
II haven't time.
"Do you never have holiday"
Cri-Cri's blue eyes grew wide. "a holt
day." she repeated the words.
''You don't understand Cri-Cri. You
don't know the word. 1 mean u fete day; a
day when you put on fresh, clean frock |
and go to the pantomime or park?"
"Oh, no. have no time tor that" Cri- |
Cri replied. "Maman goes on a Sunday.
But who would prepare the tea and dry the |
dishes, and attend the dodgers if went too. |
Oh no, that would never do" Aud Cri-Cri |
snatched up her broom, dipped it into pail |
of water and set about washing the steps |
with a vim and energy remarkable to be- |
hold.
And this is her life, this small, unselish |
Cri-Cri with the big, blue eyes and sunny hair. |
This is her world. Scrubl scrubl scrubl |
through childhood to youth and youth to |
old age. And never word of complaint. |
Poor pretty Cri-Cri you should have been |
born to better things. You have good in
teiligence, and u quick wit, else how did |
you pick up your French and German and |
your few words OF English. Fat, lazy
Maman never taught you, for she speaks
only her own Flemish. And how did you
learn to cipher and count and make out a |
bill and read and write and sew and sing as