prosperous urchin-angels of the painters; the one who is hauling up his
little brother by the hand in the "Last Communion of St. Jerome" might be
called Tommy. But there were no "little radiant girls." Now and then an
"Education of the Virgin" is the exception, and then it is always a
matter of sewing and reading. As for the little girl saints, even when
they were so young that their hands, like those of St. Agnes, slipped
through their fetters, they are always recorded as refusing importunate
suitors, which seems necessary to make them interesting to the mediaeval
mind, but mars them for ours.

So does the hurrying and ignoring of little-girl-childhood somewhat
hamper the delight with which readers of John Evelyn admire his most
admirable Mrs. Godolphin. She was Maid of Honour to the Queen in the
Court of Charles II. She was, as he prettily says, an Arethusa "who
passed through all those turbulent waters without so much as the least
stain or tincture in her christall." She held her state with men and
maids for her servants, guided herself by most exact rules, such as that
of never speaking to the King, gave an excellent example and instruction
to the other maids of honour, was "severely careful how she might give
the least countenance to that liberty which the gallants there did
usually assume," refused the addresses of the "greatest persons," and was
as famous for her beauty as for her wit. One would like to forget the
age at which she did these things. When she began her service she was
eleven. When she was making her rule never to speak to the King she was
not thirteen.

Marriage was the business of daughters of fourteen and fifteen, and
heroines, therefore, were of those ages. The poets turned April into
May, and seemed to think that they lent a grace to the year if they
shortened and abridged the spring of their many songs. The particular