File:Henrietta Stannard (John Strange Winter).jpg

Identifier: ridpathlibraryof21ridp (find matches)
Title: The Ridpath library of universal literature : a biographical and bibliographical summary of the world's most eminent authors, including the choicest extracts and masterpieces from their writings ...
Year: 1899 (1890s)
Authors: Ridpath, John Clark, 1840-1900
Subjects: Literature
Publisher: New York : The Fifth avenue library society
Contributing Library: University of California Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: MSN

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uted to the Yorkshire Chronicle.Among her books are Rcgijuental Martyrs (1878);The Ordeal by Paint (1879); Cavalry Life (1881);RegimentalLegetids (1882); Mignon, or Booties Baby,on which her fame chiefly rests (iSS^,) ; Mignon sSecret (1887); Garrison Gossip and yi Siege Baby(1887); Beautiful Jim of the Blankshire Regiment(1888), and Mrs. Bob (1890). Mrs. Stannard, says Ruskin, is the author towhom we owe the most finished and faithful ren.dering ever yet given of the character of the Brit-ish soldier. *This writer, says Percy Russell,in his Guide to British and American Novels^ mostcertainly possesses much exact acquaintance withbarrack life. She does not in the least depend onthe pomp and circumstance ot war, but interestsus in the daily life and the domestic affairs of offi-cers and men living in barracks, and that gener-ally under conditions of peace. She has, too, theart of introducing little children and renderingthem naturally, and therefore making them reallyInteresting. (360J
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HENRIETTA STANNARD. ffENRIETTA ELIZA VAUGHAN STANNARD 361 LETTER VERSUS SPIRIT. For hours after he left the ante-room Booties kept outof everyones way—indeed until Lacy came to tell himthat Gilchrist was dead. Then, it being close upon thehour of eleven, he went and knocked at the door ofMignons nursery. The nurse opened it a few inches^and seeing who it was, set it open wide. Is Miss Mignon asleep? he asked. Yes, sir ; hours ago, the woman answered. He passed into the inner room, where the child waslying. A candle burned on a table beside the cot, cast-ing its light on the fair baby face, now flushed in sleep,and on the tangled coverlet one hand grasping the whipwith which he had ridden and won that day, the otherholding the card of the races. Booties bent and scannedher face closely, but not one trace could he discern oflikeness to the father—not one—and he drew a deepbreath of relief that it was so. Well he remembered Lacys puzzled scrutiny of theyear-old baby. Theres a liken

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