the sequel of this story will show in closer acquaintance with our heroine than anyone else, for the simple reason that she was better capable of understanding her. The acquaintance between Miss Letitia Blemmyketts and Rose Dimpleton was certainly not one of intellectual affinity; it arose merely from the fact that both young ladies were devoted to painting on china, and had already made some little profits by their respective talents, and on this occasion they had brought a jar to exhibit to the Guineabushes, whom they had met at one of Lady Humnoddie’s garden parties, the American being indebted to that lady for her introduction into such county society as the neighbourhood afforded. Miss Dimpleton lived at Wisprill, near Frogmore, of which her father was clergyman, while Miss Blemmyketts, the daughter of a wealthy merchant of New York, had for some time past taken up her residence at Breakdown Villa, Pasteboard Row, New Scampings, an outskirt of the town of Frogmore which had lately sprung up, handy for the railway station.
No sooner were they introduced than our heroine found she had met something of a kindred spirit in the American, who, however, was several years her elder. Mrs Guineabush having the quickness to observe this, proposed to the two girls to take a saunter down the shrubbery together, which they both were wishing at the moment. It will suffice to give the last bit of their conversation as they returned, a reply of Letitia’s to a question of Lesbia’s as to the use of making oneself a martyr to advanced ideas.
‘How then,’ said the American, ‘did any notions in the world ever get a start? How were the to-day triumphs of civilisation won? My dear girl, the reformers of the world have never gained their ends by, Shall I succeed? but by I will succeed. It’s the set purpose and resolve before which the inert mass of social stagnation sooner or later gives away. Besides, if you don’t martyr yourself to a good
