different people and different themes; for here at the end, where the
romance of my life is told, ere I go back to take up the thread of my
life-work, I say sadly and without hope,
FINIS.
_ The Westminster Gazette, 25 September._
A HAMPSTEAD MYSTERY.
The neighbourhood of Hampstead is just at present exercised with a
series of events which seem to run on lines parallel to those of what
was known to the writers of headlines as The Kensington Horror, or
The Stabbing Woman, or The Woman in Black. During the past two or
three days several cases have occurred of young children straying from
home or neglecting to return from their playing on the Heath. In all
these cases the children were too young to give any properly
intelligible account of themselves, but the consensus of their excuses
is that they had been with a bloofer lady. It has always been late in
the evening when they have been missed, and on two occasions the
children have not been found until early in the following morning. It is
generally supposed in the neighbourhood that, as the first child missed
gave as his reason for being away that a bloofer lady had asked him to
come for a walk, the others had picked up the phrase and used it as
occasion served. This is the more natural as the favourite game of the
little ones at present is luring each other away by wiles. A
correspondent writes us that to see some of the tiny tots pretending to
be the bloofer lady is supremely funny. Some of our caricaturists
might, he says, take a lesson in the irony of grotesque by comparing the
reality and the picture. It is only in accordance with general
principles of human nature that the bloofer lady should be the popular
role at these _al fresco_ performances. Our correspondent naively says
that even Ellen Terry could not be so winningly attractive as some of
these grubby-faced little children pretend--and even imagine
themselves--to be.
There is, however, possibly a serious side to the question, for some of
the children, indeed all who have been missed at night, have been
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