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diff --git a/43768-0.txt b/43768-0.txt index 8cf59f8..6b67809 100644 --- a/43768-0.txt +++ b/43768-0.txt @@ -1,36 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Quiver, 1/1900, by Anonymous - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Quiver, 1/1900 - -Author: Anonymous - -Release Date: September 20, 2013 [EBook #43768] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - - - - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43768 *** The Quiver 1/1900 @@ -6843,359 +6811,4 @@ Alloi, 2s.;" ... The word "Alloi" is unclear. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Quiver, 1/1900 - -Author: Anonymous - -Release Date: September 20, 2013 [EBook #43768] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - - - - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -The Quiver 1/1900 - -Transcriber's note: - -Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - -Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. - -Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). - -Text enclosed by plus signs is a Greek transliteration (+Dunámetha+). - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Our Roll of Heroic Deeds - -The above illustration depicts a notable deed of heroism performed -by the daughter of a Sheffield collier when only seventeen years of -age. It happened that early one morning, when the father and mother -were absent, Charlotte Morewood awoke to find the house in flames. -Escape downstairs was impossible, but, with admirable presence of -mind, she awakened the four younger children, and dropped them one -by one out of a bedroom window into the arms of neighbours below. -Next, by a great effort, she lifted her eldest sister, who had -fainted with the shock, and saved her in the same manner. She then -endeavoured to rescue some of the furniture and clothes in the -attic, but the fire had meanwhile spread so rapidly that she only -saved herself by a hurried jump. By the pluck and coolness of this -brave, devoted girl, the lives of the six inmates of the burning -house were thus saved.] - - - - -FACING DEATH FOR CHRIST. - -_BASED ON AN INTERVIEW WITH THE REV. C. H. GOODMAN._ - -By Our Special Commissioner. - -[Illustration: MR. GOODMAN WITH TEACHERS AND CHILDREN OF DAY SCHOOL, -TIKONKO. - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - - -A terrible adventure befell the Rev. C. H. Goodman, missionary in -the Mendi country, West Africa, in the summer of 1898. It is really -surprising that he is alive to tell the tale, and, indeed, the marks -of great suffering were still visible on his face when, a few months -afterwards, he kindly told me the story. - -[Illustration: THE REV. C. H. GOODMAN. - -(_Photo: Mr. Stephens, Harrogate._)] - -The peril came on him with startling suddenness. No bolt from the -blue could dash from the heavens more unexpectedly. He was stationed -at Tikonko, about two hundred miles inland from Freetown, Sierra -Leone, and had been in charge of the United Methodist Free Church -Mission there for about six years. Suddenly, one morning, he heard -by chance that his life and the lives of his Mission-workers had -been demanded by a neighbouring tribe. - -"Is it really true," he asked his friends, the Tikonko Mendis, "that -the Bompeh people wish me to be killed?" - -"Yes, it is true." - -"And you can give me no protection?" - -"We fear not any." - -"Then I must go back to the coast--to the English?" - -"Yes." - -"Can you give me carriers to accompany me and my helpers, and to -take food for the journey?" - -"Yes, we promise that." - -But Mr. Goodman could not get the promise fulfilled--whether from -insincerity or inability on the part of the Mendis to keep it he -could not discover. - -What was to be done? He was the only white man there: some coloured -people, chiefly from Free Town, and associated with the Mission, -were with him; but the tribes all round were in a state of terrible -unrest and were ripe for war, while, indeed, hostilities had -actually commenced in some districts. - -[Illustration: MR. ROBERTS' RESIDENCE. - -(_Mr. Goodman's house is to be seen in the distance._) - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian. F.R.G.S._) - -SITE OF MURDER OF MR. ROBERTS, MR. PRATT, AND OTHERS. - -(_The mark_ =X= _indicates the well into which their bodies were -thrown_.)] - -Mr. Goodman had hoped that the Tikonkos would have been strong -enough to keep out of the war, but he was disappointed; and it was -now clear to him that he could not rely upon their protection, or -upon any assistance to reach the coast. The children and several of -the workers had left the Mission and had taken refuge in Tikonko -town, which consists of a collection of mud-huts surrounded by a -fence, while he remained quietly at the Mission premises and watched. - -On Monday, May 2nd, he saw many strange men loitering about the farm -in a suspicious manner. It was evident a crisis was impending, and -he steeled himself to prepare for the worst. - -Suddenly, in the afternoon, he heard a great noise. Rushing out, he -found that a lad, named Johnson, who was carrying a box belonging to -some of the Mission people, was surrounded by strange men, who were -seizing the box and ill-treating the boy. - -Johnson and his wife hurried to the rescue, but they were set upon -by the "war-boys" and beaten; their clothes were torn off their -backs, and Mr. Johnson received such a frightful gash across the -face that his nose was nearly severed from his body and fell off -next day. - -Seizing his gun and calling to others, Mr. Goodman hurried out of -the house, and with a yell the "war-boys" rushed to the Mission. -Mr. Goodman's little party were hopelessly outnumbered; and Mr. -Campbell, the native school teacher and Mr. Goodman, seeing that -discretion was the better part of valour, turned to the bush and -escaped in different directions. - -Mr. Goodman did not proceed very far. Hurrying along, he was soon -able to hide in the dense bush, his object being to work his way to -the town and enter by the Bompeh road. If he could reach the town, -he thought the nominal chief, Sandy, might secretly prove his friend. - -Gradually, therefore, he made his way to the road, and then hurried -to the gate, but it was shut in his face. - -[Illustration: THEO. ROBERTS. - -(_Industrial Trainer._)] - -[Illustration: THE REV. J. C. JOHNSON. - -(_Mission Worker._)] - -[Illustration: T. T. CAMPBELL - -(_School Teacher._)] - -[Illustration: _ISHMAEL PRATT. - -(_Carpenter._)_ - -FOUR OF THE MARTYRS. - -(_From Photographs by the Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - -Back, then, to the friendly shelter of the bush he turned, and now -even the elements seemed against him, for a terrible tornado burst, -and in a minute he was drenched to the skin. - -Alone, wet, weary, and foodless, with savage enemies around him -seeking to kill him, his position might well have appalled the -stoutest heart. But an Englishman, whether missionary or soldier, -must never know when he is beaten; and so at night he made his way -again to the town, and entered it through a hole in the fence and -hurried up to the king's compound. - -Now the old chief of Tikonko had died shortly before, and the "cry -for the dead"--that is, the time of mourning--was not yet over, -consequently the new chief or king--whom the missionary called -Sandy--had not been fully invested with his new powers. - -[Illustration: THE MISSION HOUSE BEFORE ITS DESTRUCTION. - -(_From a Drawing by Mrs. Vivian._)] - -"Oh, you have escaped," he cried, when Mr. Goodman came to him. "I -am glad indeed. Yes, I will help you, but it is not safe for you to -remain in the town. The 'war-boys' are eager to kill you. Where -will you go? Ah! you shall appear as one of my wives." - -Thus the palaver was short but decisive. Disguised as a woman--an -expedient forced on him by urgent necessity--the missionary was -conveyed that night out of the town to a hut in the bush belonging -to Sandy. Silently through the darksome night the little party crept -along, and the missionary was left there alone. He was supposed -to be one of the chief's wives, who was ill. In the morning the -imaginary wife sought once more the friendly protection of the dense -bush, and at night he returned again to the hut. - -Stealthily, one of his friendly boys brought him now and again -a little food. The lad had secured one of the Mission boxes and -procured from it a tin of cocoa, and this cocoa he brought to the -missionary, with rice, and occasionally a little fish and meat. - -[Illustration: MR. GOODMAN AND HIS MENDI "BOYS." - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - -Hiding thus, while the yells of the "war-boys" sounded far and near, -the missionary lived through those terrible days. Tuesday came -and went, also the Wednesday and the Thursday. But Friday morning -heralded a change. A message was brought to him that Sandy desired -to see him, and to this day Mr. Goodman does not know whether the -message was treacherous or not. But, trusting to its honesty, he -left the hut to visit the chief, and then, before he had gone -far, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the yelling Bompeh -"war-boys." - -They caught him and shouted round him, but did not then hurt him. -Resistance was useless, and with war-whoops and yells of triumph -they led him forward as though to Tikonko. But when near the fence -they altered their cry: "To Bompeh" they shouted, and to Bompeh he -was turned. - -For three and a half weary hours the missionary marched on in the -blazing sun, and without his white helmet. He was fully surrounded -by the yelling savages, and the leader of the party marched beside -him with drawn sword. The shouts and excitement of his captors -gradually calmed down as they walked along; but, presently, as they -neared Bompeh town, his clothes were pulled off his back, and clad -only in pants and vest, and without even shoes or stockings, he -crept along the burning path with naked and bleeding feet. - -But at length the weary march was over. Bompeh town was reached, and -then the war-horns were blown, and amid much excitement Mr. Goodman -was taken to an open space before the king's hut, where also the -people assembled. - -[Illustration: THE TRIAL.] - -The trial was to be held at once; the white man's fate was to be -decided. - -The chief, whose name was Gruburu, sat on a rude kind of chair in -the middle of the people, his prime minister near, and men and women -and "war-boys" grouped all round, chiefly according to families. Mr. -Goodman, tired with his long journey, sat himself down on a log. - -First, one of his captors spoke. The man came out from the group, -and as he talked he walked up and down in the open space before the -king. An account was being given of the missionary's capture. "And," -said Mr. Goodman, "while this was going on, I prayed that God would -bring about a division in their counsels." - -When the man had finished, up rose an old man, and by his gestures -and the anxiety he displayed, Mr. Goodman saw with pleasure that he -was pleading for him. - -This gleam of friendliness--the first that day, and met with in the -stronghold of his enemies--fell like genial warmth upon his spirits -and encouraged him to hope. - -Then a woman arose. She was a relative of the king; and, advancing -before him, she bent before him and took his foot in her hand as a -sign of submission. "Do not let this man die," she said. "My son at -Tikonko has sent me a message pleading for his life. 'Do not let the -white man die,' says my son; 'he is a good man.'" - -Indeed, many messages had come to the king in the missionary's -favour. "When we were sick," said the messages, "he has mended us; -he has done us good; we like the way he has walked"--_i.e._ they -liked his manner of life. - -It was the old story--conduct and character had impressed the -natives after all, and they were not wholly ungrateful. - -But, see! The king is about to give his judgment. The final decision -is to be made. Is it to be death or life? - -[Illustration: (_From a Water-Colour Drawing by Mrs. Vivian._) - -THE DEVIL HOUSE AT TIKONKO. - -(_Where the town fetish or devil is consulted and propitiated._)] - -The king said: "This white man is our friend. He has come to do us -good, and to give our picken (children) sense. He has nothing to do -with the Government. He shall not die in my town." - -Bravo, King of Bompeh! Thou hast more common-sense and right feeling -beneath thy sable skin than some people would have supposed. - -"I was surprised," said Mr. Goodman modestly, "to find how the -influence of the Mission had spread." - -At once his clothes were returned to him--all save his waistcoat, -which was given to the leader of his captors; he was sheltered in -a hut and allowed a measure of freedom--more freedom, indeed, than -some of the natives who were prisoners. But, alas! he had escaped -one great danger only to fall into another. The hardships he had -undergone, and the malaria from which he had suffered, induced -severe illness. Dysentery and black-water fever seized him; they -shook him in their fell grasp until, from their power and poor food, -he became so weak that he could scarcely stand. - -His bed was a sort of raised platform of beaten mud, about six -inches above the floor, with a mat upon it. Sometimes he slept in -his clothes. But he became so sore from lying so long on such a hard -resting-place that wounds were formed which troubled him for long -afterwards. Such requisites as soap and towel were wholly wanting. -The prospect, indeed, became very dark, and it seemed as though he -had only escaped the savages to fall a victim to fever. - -At first a boy waited on him, then an English-speaking Mendi; but -unfortunately the king wanted this man, and his place was taken by -another. - -The news of Mr. Goodman's illness and imprisonment travelled abroad. -It came to Tikonko, and his Mission boy Boyma sent him some quinine, -which proved very beneficial. Then one day, though he knew it not, a -friendly chief looked in upon him as he lay there so ill, and sent -word to the English that one of their countrymen was a captive up -there at Bompeh town, and Colonel Cunninghame promptly sent a demand -that he should be given up alive. A great force, said the Colonel, -was coming, with plenty of guns, to rescue him. Curiously enough, -a native declared that he had dreamed the same thing; he had seen -in his dream a great English army with "plenty guns" coming for the -captive Englishman. Let him, therefore, be sent to his countrymen. - -But another cause was working in his favour. While Mr. Goodman -had been ill a battle had been fought, and the Mendis had been -disastrously beaten by those terrible English with their "plenty -guns." The "war-boys" were sick of the war. "Send the white man -down," they also said to the king, "to plead that the fighting may -cease." - -So it was decided that he should be sent. He was given boys to -assist him in his journey, and by their help he made his way, though -he could scarcely walk, down to the English camp. He arrived there -on June 26th, eight weeks from that fateful day when he had seen the -strange men loitering so suspiciously about his Mission farm. - -Alas! he found that the Mission premises had been totally destroyed, -and, worse still, that Mr. Campbell had been killed. Mr. Johnson, -after being kept a prisoner, was also slain, as were some other -members of the Mission, who were Sierra Leone men. - -It was therefore with a chastened joy, and gratitude for his own -escape, that Mr. Goodman slowly made his way to the coast. He -remained at the camp but a short time, and was then sent on to -Bonthe, Sherbro', where he recovered a measure of strength under the -care of Commandant Alldridge. Finally, he reached Freetown on July -21st, and presently took ship for England. - -When he returned home some of his friends scarcely knew him. His -beard was marked with grey, his cheeks were hollow, and his bodily -weakness very great. He looked like an old man. He has recovered -wonderfully since then, and appears more like his natural age; but -when I saw him he was still far from well. He suffered from the -effects of malaria even yet, and from the evil results of the poison -in his system. Four times in his nine years of missionary life has -he suffered from the fell "black-water" scourge. - -But since his return he has been manfully doing his duty in speaking -to many audiences of his mission work; and, if the Committee should -so decide, he is fully prepared to return to Africa and reinstate -the Methodist Free Churches Mission in the heart of Mendiland. - -[Illustration: SAMPLES OF WRITING BY TIKONKO SCHOOL CHILDREN. - -(_Arranged by Mrs. Vivian._)] - - - - -GREAT ANNIVERSARIES - -_IN FEBRUARY._ - -By the Rev. A. R. Buckland, M.A., Morning Preacher at the Foundling -Hospital. - - -[Illustration: THE MARQUIS OF SALISBURY. - -(_Photo: J. Phillips, Belfast._)] - -In this democratic age the birthday of Sir Edward Coke (February -1st, 1551-2) can hardly be passed over. We remember him, not so -much as the rival of Bacon and the prosecutor of Raleigh, as for -his share in drawing up the Petition of Rights. Of his works, one -part of his "Institutes of the Laws of England," long known as "Coke -upon Littleton," has a place amongst the few classical law books -which are familiar by name to the general public. Coke married for -his second wife a daughter of Lord Burghley and grand-daughter of -the great Cecil, who, in this same month, was raised to the peerage -by Elizabeth on the suppression of the northern rebellion. His -descendant, the present Marquis of Salisbury, belongs also to this -month, for he was born on February 3rd, 1830. This is not the place -in which to discuss a living statesman: let us pass to other names. - -[Illustration: SIR ROBERT PEEL - -(_After the Portrait by sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A._)] - -"Bob, you dog, if you're not Prime Minister, I'll disinherit you." -That, we are told, was the way in which the father of Sir Robert -Peel stimulated the political ambitions of his son. He became -Prime Minister, and is not likely soon to be forgotten. His Corn -Importation Bill is one of the pieces of legislation which mark an -epoch. In London, too, he will be remembered for his creation of the -present police system. Possibly there are many now who, hearing a -police constable called a "peeler," forget that the name carries us -back to the remodelling of the London police by Mr. Peel in the year -1829. - -[Illustration: BISHOP HOOPER'S MONUMENT. - -(_Photo: Cassell and Co., Ltd._)] - -The same month may speak to us of a statesman who helped to bring -the nation through a crisis of another kind. On the last day of -February, 1856, Lord Canning disembarked at Calcutta, and within -five minutes after touching land proceeded to take the customary -oaths as Governor-General of India. It fell upon him to deal with so -appalling a crisis as the Indian Mutiny; he met it, as one of his -biographers reminds us, in a way that "places him high on the list -of those great officers of State whose services to their country -entitle them to the esteem and gratitude of every loyal Englishman." - -February is not a great month in ecclesiastical anniversaries. -But it was on February 9th, 1555, that John Hooper, Bishop of -Gloucester, was burnt just outside his cathedral, where a monument -to his memory now stands. It was in this month that Robert Leighton, -sometime Archbishop of Glasgow, died in London in the year 1684. His -commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter is still numbered amongst -standard homiletical and expository works. - -[Illustration: BISHOP PATTESON. - -(_From the Portrait in the British Museum._)] - -February has some pathetic associations with the foreign missionary -work of the English Church. It was on February 24th, 1861, that J. -C. Patteson was consecrated at Auckland first Bishop for Melanesia. -The story of his martyrdom is one of the most moving incidents in -the history of modern missions. His successor, J. R. Selwyn, was -consecrated in the same month in 1877. - -On February 8th, 1890, there died at Usambiro, at the south end of -the Victoria Nyanza, Alexander Mackay, the simple layman whose work -and early death did so much to rivet attention, not only on the -Uganda Mission, but also on missionary enterprise in general. No -modern example seems to have been more fruitful; but he saw nothing -of the wonderful development of Uganda. The pioneer often does not -live to look on the results of his own enterprise. - -[Illustration: ALEXANDER MACKAY. - -(_The Pioneer Missionary of Uganda._)] - -[Illustration: THOMAS CARLYLE. - -(_From a Pencil Drawing by George Howard, Esq., M.P._)] - -There are some who tell us that people do not read Dickens now. -More is the pity! Yet the flat stone over the grave of Dickens in -Westminster Abbey so often has a flower upon it, while others of no -less famous men are bare, that the man must still be remembered as -well as his books. He was born in this month in the year 1812, and -died in June, 1870. Much of his character might be summed up in the -benediction he put into the mouth of Tiny Tim, "God bless us every -one." In the same month of February, in the year 1881, there died -an author and philosopher of another type--Thomas Carlyle, one of -the most striking figures in English literature, and one of those -whose reputation was world-wide. "When the devil's advocate has said -his worst against Carlyle, he leaves a figure still of unblemished -integrity, purity, loftiness of purpose, and inflexible resolution -to do the right, as of a man living consciously under his Maker's -eye, and with his thoughts fixed on the account which he would have -to render of his talents." - -On February 23rd, 1807, Wilberforce's Bill for the abolition of the -foreign slave trade was carried by a majority of 283 to 16. Sir -Samuel Romilly contrasted the feelings of Napoleon with that of the -man who would that night "lay his head upon his pillow and remember -that the slave trade was no more." There was still, however, much -to do; but Wilberforce lived to hear the news that the nation was -willing to pay twenty millions for the abolition of slavery. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. - -(_After the Portrait by Joseph Slater._)] - - - - -[Illustration: THE MINOR CANON'S DAUGHTER] - -_THE STORY OF A CATHEDRAL TOWN._ - -By E. S. Curry, Author of "One of the Greatest," "Closely Veiled," -Etc. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE SEARCH. - - -It was Mr. Warde who, before the police arrived, organised and -dispatched search parties. The visitors and servants from the -Deanery, with his own and the Palace household, were scattered -through the immediate neighbourhood, in less than half an hour from -the first summons. - -Marjorie was with her mother. Mr. Pelham--after a distracted visit -to his own house, hoping against hope that he might still find the -toddling child safe and rosy, sleeping in her cot--had brought -servants back with him, whom he put under Mr. Warde's instructions. -For Mr. Warde knew every inch of ground about, every possible danger -into which the little feet might have strayed. - -In the precincts of the cathedral, in the gardens throughout the -neighbourhood, in every nook and secluded place, lights were soon -flashing and voices calling. - -All that anybody knew was little enough. Soon after eight--the hour -at which Mr. Bethune and Marjorie had gone to the Deanery--nurse had -gone to the garden to call the children in. She found it empty, and, -pursuing her search into the cave, found reason to be alarmed. But -she did not then alarm Mrs. Bethune. Returning to the house, which -was strangely still, she had looked into the drawing-room. - -"They have taken Barbara home," Mrs. Bethune explained. "They will -soon be back, nurse. But it is getting late for the little ones." - -She looked so quiet and calm on her sofa, resting, with the sense -of her husband's love folding her round, that the nurse forbore to -disturb her with her own sudden forebodings. But she put on her -bonnet, and ran up to The Ridges, to satisfy herself against her -fears. No Barbara was there; neither she nor the boys had been seen -since the afternoon. Barbara's nurse--forgetting for a time her -airs--accompanied her to the Canons' Court. Together they again -searched the garden; the cathedral yard, where the darkness was -settling down over the numerous graves and tombs; the shady Canons' -Walk--calling anxiously the names of their respective charges. -No signs were to be found of the children. Then nurse, without -troubling her mistress, went to the Deanery, and asked for Mr. -Bethune; and from him, when he reached his wife's side, had come the -summons to Mr. Pelham and Marjorie. - -A thorough examination of the cave, at nurse's suggestion, revealed -the passage and its exit into the Palace grounds; resulting in Mr. -Warde's systematic search throughout the parks and neighbourhood. - -Marjorie recollected Sandy's visit to her room; and the discovery -of the abstraction of the blanket from her bed seemed to prove that -some larger scheme than merely running away must have been in the -boys' heads. - -Then a new fear was started. A visit to the little station at the -bottom of the Green had seemed for a time to furnish a clue. The -station-master reported that within the last week the two boys had -been inquiring the price of tickets to Baskerton for a party of -five. He had been struck with the answer to his question--"All under -twelve." But the children had not travelled by the only train that -evening. The Dean, who had made this inquiry, thereupon went home, -and ordered his carriage, and had himself driven over to Baskerton. -It was five miles away, famous for its picturesque scenery and -fishing, and was the scene of all the picnic parties about. Across -the parks and by-lanes, filled with roses and honeysuckle, it was -only about three miles off. David and Sandy, he knew, were well -acquainted with its delights; they had often been included in his -own parties there. - -The route of the little brook for several miles was explored by a -party of men from the Palace and The Ridges. The boys were known to -frequent it, and a day or two before Sandy had been seen up to his -waist in the water, trying to entice a lively water-rat. - -It was wonderful how many people helped in the search. To all, the -boys were well known, and, now that trouble had come upon them, well -beloved. Their fearlessness and _bonhomie_ were remembered, and -their mischief only with indulgent excuses. And Mr. Pelham was taken -to all hearts that sorrowful night, for the sake of the pretty baby -who was lost. - -No one was more energetic and suggestive than Mrs. Lytchett, no one -kinder, no one more tearful. It was she who headed a search party -through the cathedral, recalling to mind how Marjorie had once got -herself locked up there nearly all night through a fit of obstinacy. -But no children were discovered. - -"If only the Bishop were here--he would know what to do," she sighed -frequently, as news kept coming in that nothing had been found of -the missing ones. They seemed to have vanished as completely as -if the earth had opened and swallowed them up. No one had seen -them--nothing had been heard of them after Sandy's visit to his -sister's room. - -"But what could he want the blanket for?" - -Mr. Warde, after two or three fruitless journeys, had again come -back to the Court for news, hoping that somebody else might have -been more fortunate. It was just on the edge of dawn, in that -stillness when the first faint twitter of the birds is just -beginning. - -As he came down the broad pavement to the Court gate, the eastern -sky was growing clear above the chimney stacks of the Deanery. -Lights were still shining in the windows round, and, as he neared -the gate, Marjorie came forward quickly. - -The sight of her wan face was a shock to him; she was still in the -pretty evening dress, above which, in the twilight of the dawn, -her neck and throat shone white. She had the air of some broken -lily--desolate, woeful. - -Mr. Warde's heart went out to her with a great compassion. His eyes -grew dim as her wistful glance met his. - -[Illustration: The sight of her wan face was a shock to him.] - -"No, dear, I can hear nothing," he said softly, putting his arm -round her. Marjorie rested against him, letting her tired young -limbs collapse against his strength. Inspired by some instinct she -did not understand, she had left her mother's sofa, where Mr. Pelham -was now sitting, waiting for the return of a messenger. They two, -it seemed to Marjorie, with a mutual sorrow could understand each -other. She felt somehow restless, uneasy, unworthy, as she coldly -responded to Mr. Pelham's sympathy and care. At his suggestion she -had come away to prepare some tea for her mother, and in passing -through the hall had been lured to the open door by the sound of -Mr. Warde's footsteps on the flagstones. The quick, firm tread -encouraged hope. She could rest on him. The very sight of his kind, -familiar face seemed to renew her strength and courage. - -[Illustration: "See! on that little tower on the chapel."] - -After a minute's silence, during which his hand had caressed the -soft waves of her hair, he asked, "What could Sandy want the blanket -for? I have been trying to think." - -"So have we--mother and I. Poor mother!" Marjorie sighed. - -"Is she alone?" he asked. - -"No. Mr. Pelham is with her; he understands, he is tender and -careful; and she is full of hope now--she comforts him. Father has -gone to the river." - -Marjorie gave a little shudder. - -"You are cold," Mr. Warde said briskly. "Let me advise you, dear. -Go and change your dress; put on something warm. By that time I -shall have got some food and shall bring it in. I expect you have no -servants left." - -"No. They are all--somewhere." - -She allowed herself to be led back to the house, and as he stood -watching her ascend the stairs, the man's heart gave a bound of -rejoicing. She had come to him willingly, of her own accord. What -though it were sorrow that had brought her? She was his now for -ever, of her own free will. He stood looking after her, with face -upraised, a thanksgiving in his heart. And thus for the last time he -looked on Marjorie, rejoicing. Never again without pain was he to -hear the soft swish of her dress, the soft fall of her foot. But in -those few seconds he lived through an æon of joy. - -He could not guess the force of the feeling which had driven her -from Mr. Pelham's side. The same sorrow that had sent her to Mr. -Warde had also taught her that she must shun the man who could now -be nothing to her. Marjorie's was a very simple nature. When she -realised a fact, she did not play with it. Matter-of-fact duty was -a real power with her. So she had responded to the strong training -which the calm approval or disapproval shining in her father's quiet -eyes had sufficiently imposed. - -As the different search parties came back, all with the same "no -news," Mr. Warde had a table of provisions brought out into the -Court. He was too busy caring for the needs of the many weary -volunteers to go again into Mr. Bethune's house; but nurse had by -this time returned, and was tearfully waiting on her mistress. - -"Nothing could have happened to them all," the Dean said briskly, -"or we must have found some trace. It is the most mysterious thing -I ever knew in my life. They are all together in some safe place, I -feel convinced." - -"My mistress thinks now that they are kept," nurse, overhearing, -said; "she is sure the boys would understand that she would be -anxious, and they are always careful about Miss Barbie. But if only -we could know!" and nurse departed sobbing. - - * * * * * - -The dawn had broadened into morning, the tips of the cathedral -spires were red in the sunlight, and many of the unavailing -searchers were at last going slowly to their homes. Nothing more -could be done than had been done. Mr. Warde's servants were clearing -away the _débris_ of the meal; whilst he himself was again hurrying -along the flagged path to the cathedral, with the intention of again -thoroughly searching its many nooks and crannies in the daylight. He -feared he knew not what, recollecting Sandy's adventurous spirit. - -Mr. Bethune was sitting beside his wife, her hand in his, as once -before that night, looking out upon the still garden. Marjorie, -seeing them thus, noting the far-away look in her father's eyes (as -though visions were being vouchsafed to the weary man, unseen by -other eyes), noting, too, that his calmness was bringing a look of -peace and trust to the wan face of her mother--turned involuntarily -to the other bereaved and, as she remembered, so desperately lonely -man. - -"Come into the garden," she said, her eyes full of pity. "Now that -it is light we have a better chance; we may find something." - -He followed her across the dewy lawn, as she led the way quickly -to the untidy corner so eloquent of the little workers. Spades -and baskets lay scattered about; a cap of Sandy's hung on a -currant-bush, where it had been put to dry after the washing in the -bath; a large fragment of bread and butter, dropped in the hasty -departure, lay in the path. The tears at last welled into Marjorie's -eyes, as she saw Mr. Pelham stoop and pick up a little shoe. - -"It is my baby's," he said softly. "God keep her!" - -They paused together on the garden path, and Marjorie's eyes turned -to the rose-tinged pinnacles of the beautiful cathedral. To all the -dwellers in its precincts it was almost like a living presence, -dominating all their lives and thoughts. - -The length of the choir, terminating in the big central tower, -was before them, whilst in the distance rose the twin spires. The -morning mist was fleeing before the sun, now lighting each finial. -Shadows still lay under the flying buttresses, and along the lower -plane of the south aisle roof and chapel. - -Mr. Pelham, after a moment's look at the girl's rapt face, turned -also to gaze at the scene on which her eyes were resting. - -Suddenly Marjorie gave a little cry, instantly suppressed. - -"What is that?" she said rapidly. "See! on that little tower on the -chapel?" - -"I see," he answered, "something fluttering, you mean--something -blue." - -Both pairs of eyes were concentrated in a fixed and painful gaze. - -"It is a ribbon," Marjorie said hoarsely. "Barbie was wearing----" -She paused, turning her dilated eyes to her companion's face. - -"My baby's sash--it is tied there," he said quickly; "it is a -signal." - -He turned to her, and for a second their encountering eyes were -eloquent. Under the shock of sudden hope, the joy, the emotion, the -agitation of the moment, the man's self-control vanished. His eyes -spoke their message--hers replied--both of them taken unawares. - -"Hush!" said Marjorie, putting up her hands as if answering speech. -"I know the way," she faltered. "Father has keys; wait, don't tell -them yet, till we are sure. It is the chapel roof, where they were -mending. Sandy knew." - -She turned swiftly, the man following with eager strides. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -JUVENILE ADVENTURERS. - - -A big yew-tree hid the corner of the wall, where the adventurers, -on their enterprise, dropped down into the cathedral yard. Numerous -square tombstones and old monuments made splendid hiding-places. -There was only one little bit of open space to cross, where the -evening sunshine cast long shadows, and where for a few moments the -strange little truant procession looked a procession of giants. - -David and Sandy each held a hand of Barbara, she having declined -to be carried. Ross and Orme followed solemnly. If anybody had met -them, the boys would have turned down the path to their home, and -their presence there would have seemed quite natural. But no one -passed--no one was in sight. David had chosen the time for his move -well. The Court households were busy preparing for dinner. And -though windows commanded the cathedral yard, from none, as it turned -out, was the start of the little party into the world observed. Once -across the grass, they were soon hidden by the many projections and -buttresses and corners of the walls. - -In the angle of the south aisle and its chapel was the tiny room -whence the spiral staircase started, in the thickness of the wall, -up to the clerestory of the choir. It also led through a narrow door -lower down, on to the roof of the south aisle. Sandy knew all the -keys of the cathedral, and the place in Mr. Galton's house where -each hung. The door of the little room was, however, open; Mr. -Galton therefore was somewhere about, though he often lingered on -his last look round. They must be quick. - -In a few minutes the excited children were mounting the spiral -staircase. David went first, helping Barbara's unaccustomed feet; -Sandy came last, having closed the little door of communication -at the foot of the stairs. They were embarked on their "climb up -the mountain." Issuing through the narrow door which came first in -sight, the delighted children found themselves in the wide gutter -at the base of the roof. Guarded by its low parapet, it was as safe -as their own garden, provided they did not attempt to climb. David -gave strict orders that they were to keep under the "shelter of the -forts," and on no account to show their faces to the enemy. - -Up here, they were in another world--a delightful, wide, spacious -world, whence they could look down on the earth they had left. The -Palace grounds lay below them; beyond were the parks, intersected by -their hedges, like the sections of a map. From the flat chapel roof -they could see their own garden and Mr. Warde's, with the Deanery -trees beyond. - -"Ross, and Orme, and Barbie, remember you're our family now, and you -must do what you are bid," was David's solemn reminder to them of -the altered condition of things. - -Up and down the children ran, with a pitter-patter of clamouring -feet on the leads. Barbara was a little unhappy because she could -not make as much noise as the boys, owing to the make of her shoes, -and to her misfortune in having lost one in transit. Sandy set this -right. - -"Stop the march!" he ordered. "You'll give notice to the enemy, -you duffers"--this to the wide-eyed boys--"where we are." So they -stopped. Ross then proceeded to clamber on hands and knees up the -incline of the roof, and, turning, to slide down on his other side. -This amusement lasted all three some time. When their clothes looked -pretty well spoilt, the fun palled. Then came supper, the crowning -act of the evening's proceedings. After this, they intended to -return to ordinary life and the earth they had left; abandoning -their fortress till another opportunity arrived. They intended to be -at home before they would be much missed. - -But all this had taken longer than they thought, and when the -"family" was called to its repast the little boys refused to be -hurried. With much self-denial, this meal had been saved. They meant -to enjoy it. By the time they were satisfied, the darkness and cold -were beginning to be appreciably perceived. - -Then Sandy hugged himself for his pioneering knowledge. - -"No settlers goes wivout blankets," he announced. "Knew we should -want it." - -"Hurry up," David urged, beginning to be a little alarmed at the -aspect of things in their aërial world. "We've got to get Barbie -home. It's time to go." - -Ten minutes later the boy turned a white face to the expectant babes -behind him. He and Sandy had pushed with all their might at the -little iron door, which had so easily admitted them to the roof. It -was fast and firm--locked up securely for the night--and they were -prisoners. Probably they would not be released until the workmen -arrived in the morning. - -"I wouldn't mind, if we could let mother know, not to be -frightened," the boy said, "and Barbie's father. Think, Sandy; -couldn't we let 'em know?" - -Sandy desisted from fruitless bangings on the door, propped his -elbows on the parapet, and put his head between his hands in the -most approved attitude of thinking. Possibly, this attitude was -useful for another purpose than thinking. Sandy was only seven, -but he had a fervent belief in his mother's fragility, and in the -power of himself and his brothers to keep her laughing presence -on her sofa or to banish her elsewhere. He had heard things said -which made him realise that a very little thing might transfer -her to a narrower couch--in a sunny, railed-off corner just under -the cathedral walls. Already a little white stone marked the -resting-place of "Archibald, aged one year." Sandy sometimes pitied -Archibald for being all by himself there. He had one day suggested -to his mother that "P'r'aps one of us ought to go and mind him--as -he was so little." For answer, the mother had gathered the bright -head on to her breast, fervently breathing, "No, Sandy, mother can't -let one go, not the very littlest bit of any of you. God is minding -little Archie better than we can." - -So up there in the air, within sight of the familiar garden--within -sound almost of the mother who as yet was not concerned about -him--her little son may be excused if, in process of his thinking, -he blinked away a tear. The responsibility was so great. This had -been his scheme more than David's. And there was Barbie's father, -too. But he wasted no sentiment on him. - -"My finks is all in a mess," he said at last, lifting his face. -"On'y we must signal. It's like a desert island up here. P'r'aps we -might frow down something." - - * * * * * - -The gathering darkness, alas! hid the fluttering signal which, after -some protestations from Barbara, they tied to a carved projection. -It was the longest thing they had about them. How tiny it looked up -there, they did not realise. - -The little feet were growing weary, the "family" by this time were -showing signs of restive discontent. - -"Ain't we got no beds in this home?" asked Ross, his hands in his -pockets, his legs wide apart, surveying the leads, of whose hardness -he had made ample trial. - -"Not yet," said Sandy cheerily. Whatever he felt himself, he was -not going to let the babes be unhappy, if he could help it. "On'y -pioneers to-night. Beds have to be made." - -"Nur' did maked Ross's bed--see'd her--mornin'," announced Ross in a -dissatisfied tone; and he brought his brows together, and signified -generally that he was disgusted. - -"No barf?" inquired Orme, planting himself by his elder brother in a -similar revolutionary attitude. - -"Bar?" echoed Barbara, unwilling to be kept out of whatever anarchy -might be going. "Barbedie's bar?" she inquired of Sandy; and it said -much for Sandy's ability in translating languages that he quite -understood what she was demanding. - -David turned out his pockets, in the hope of finding enough string -to let down a basket, or a letter describing their distressed -condition. But the utmost length they could attain, when every -pocket had been ransacked, and all their ties, and hat ribbons, and -pocket-handkerchiefs tied together, was about midway down the long -windows. No hope that way, even if the darkness of the summer night -had not by this time settled down upon the land. David gave it up at -last. - -[Illustration: David and Sandy pushed with all their might.] - -"Somebody'll p'r'aps remember us," he said with a catch in his -voice. "Mother----"; and then, for the sake of his manhood, he -stopped short. No one remembered having ever seen a tear from David. - -"We'd best put the fam'ly to bed," suggested Sandy at this period. - -"They'll be awful cold," responded David. - -"Not in the blanket, an' us sittin' close round outside to keep out -the cold. Hens sit on their little ones, so do cats--curl round 'em, -that is--and there's our jackets," said Sandy lightly. - -But first there were remonstrances from the babies to combat, when -it was explained to them what they were expected to do. - -"Orme kicks an' frows off all the clothes," objected Ross. - -"So do Ross," eagerly excused Orme. But the novelty of Barbara as a -bed-fellow was some consolation. - -"Barbedie no go bed--in f'ock," remarked Barbara indignantly. - -Sandy plumped down upon the leads, and took her on his insufficient -knees. - -When she was quite settled there, with her arm round his neck to -keep herself from slipping, Sandy explained matters. - -"It's 'stead of your nightie-gown, Barbie," with an entreaty in his -tone, in itself a sufficient betrayal of weakness to the baby's -feminine intelligence. "We forgot to bring your nightie-gown." - -"Fesh it," she ordered, looking up at David, who stood by. - -"Can't, Barbie--very sorry," David said apologetically. - -"Fesh Barbedie's nightie-gown," she said majestically to the two -revolutionaries. - -But not all the boys' chivalric devotion, unstinted through that -troublous night, could produce the desired garment. At last, arrayed -in David's coat as a substitute, over her own dainty garments, -little Barbedie Pelham fell to repose. - -By this time the two little boys, huddled together like kittens or -young-puppies on the outspread blanket, had fallen fast asleep. -Barbara was snuggled in beside them, and the blanket carefully -wrapped round the three. Sandy and David, with their backs against -the parapet--the latter with Barbara's head upon his knees, -whilst Sandy's performed the same office of pillow for his little -brothers--prepared to win through the hours of darkness as patiently -as they might. No word of reproof or bitterness had been said by -either boy. Each bore his share manfully of the difficulty, for -which both were perhaps equally responsible. - -Down below, the lanterns flashed in and out of the ruins, and across -the Palace grounds. Voices called, which, if the boys heard at -all, seemed to them only the distant sounds of the day, to which -they were accustomed. Their own frantic shouts some time ago, even -Sandy's whistle, had been unheard and unheeded. - -When the midnight chimes rang out softly over their heads, Sandy, -rousing, said sleepily, "We forgot somefing, Dave. I've been -dreamin' 'bout it." - -"What?" David asked. He had not yet slept, and his mind had been -busy, thinking, wondering, sorrowing, chiefly about his mother. In -difficulties, hers was the personality which always presented itself -to her children. - -"We've forgot all our prayers." - -"Say them now," suggested David after a pause. - -"It'll wake 'em!" - -"Not if we don't move." - -"Will it be proper prayers sittin' here?" - -"Old Mrs. Jones always sits in church," suggested David. - -"I b'lieve her legs won't bend." - -"Mother can't kneel down," David said in a low voice. - -"More she can." Sandy was hopeful again at this thought. "There's -two apiece," he went on thoughtfully, "and one over. You say yours -an' Ross's--I'll say mine an' Orme's. How 'bout Barbie's? We -couldn't say half each, could we?" doubtfully. - -"No; we will both say Barbie's prayers for her," decided David. - -The low voices stopped. For a space there was silence. Then Sandy -spoke-- - -"Have you nearly done, Dave? I've got as far's Barbie's." - -There was no response, and Sandy, respecting the silence which he -took for the hush of devotion, held his peace, and essayed for the -third time his evening prayer. - - * * * * * - -In a few moments, whilst below was desolation and the anguish of -bereavement--up above, under the stars, all the children slept. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -FOUND! - - -Meeting no one, Marjorie and Mr. Pelham hastily ascended the spiral -stairs. - -Issuing on to the leads, Marjorie glanced hastily round. Together -they hurried, till, under the little turret, they stood beside the, -as yet, unawakened group. It looked very pathetic in the morning -greyness, the little huddled-up party, which the sun had not yet -reached. - -The man's frame trembled as he stooped--doubting, fearing, his keen -eyes noting the care which had been bestowed upon his little child. -Not much of her was visible--only a rosy cheek, under the tangle of -hair which lay across David's knee. The boy's body had sunk slightly -as the muscles relaxed in sleep; and he and Sandy were now propped -together. Both of them were jacketless: Sandy's little body was -covered only by his vest. - -David's hand lay protectingly across Barbara, over whom his jacket -lay outspread. She was warm and rosy; so were the two babies curled -up under the little coat--a scanty covering--of which Sandy had -divested himself. - -Marjorie sank down beside Sandy. He looked white and wan, and there -was a look of disturbance and unrest on his sleeping face. His head -rested uncomfortably against David's shoulder. Solicitously, she -gathered his unprotected little body into her warm arms; and at her -movement he opened startled blue eyes upon her. - -"Is it mornin'?" he asked; then quickly, "Is the fam'ly safe?" - -"How could you, Sandy?" Marjorie asked, tenderly kissing the -impertinent little nose turned up to her. And that was all the -reproach Sandy ever heard. - -[Illustration: "THE LITTLE HUDDLED-UP PARTY."] - -"Didn't mean to, Margie," eagerly. "The door got locked 'fore we got -down. How did you guess we were here?" he went on, the fascination -of the "game," now that he again felt safe and irresponsible, -filling his imagination. "Was it the signal?" - -He listened much gratified, as Marjorie described how the fluttering -sash had caught her sight. - -The children woke one by one, Barbara climbing into her father's -arms to be divested of her strange night-clothes. She returned the -coat to its owner, with a gracious "Barbedie's done." - -Sandy and David listened amazed to the warmth of Mr. Pelham's thanks. - -"You have been good to my baby. I shall never forget it, never. You -are two little men." - -With hurrying, trembling fingers, Marjorie tidied up the -children--some impulse making her wish her mother's first sight -of them to be wholly without alarm. Barbara refused to leave her -father's arms, so her rescued sash was tied on under his eloquent -eyes. Now that they had once delivered their message, they were -masterful and compelling. Marjorie's fell before them; but something -in the quiver of her lip, and the wanness of her face in the -sunlight, under his closer scrutiny, made him hasten to speak. He -caught her fingers, and they lay for a moment pressed close against -his breast. - -"Mine, Marjorie! Mine now," he said. "Dearest, do not shrink," he -whispered, turning hurriedly to see what was producing the startled -change in the kindling face before him. Mr. Warde stood in the -doorway surveying the little scene. - -With just a glance at the two, who for the moment had forgotten -everyone but themselves, he stooped and picked up Orme--a -disconsolate, woe-begone baby, whose ideas would need much -readjusting after this eventful night. - -The others followed, pitter-patter down the stairs, and along the -gravelled path. But it was Marjorie who entered first through the -open door into her mother's presence. - -Mr. Bethune still sat beside his wife's couch. He put up a hand to -hush the intruder, but Marjorie saw beyond him the wide, questioning -eyes and the wave of colour rushing into her mother's face. She did -not know that she herself--radiant, sparkling, with a look upon -her face only to be seen on a maiden's face in presence of her -beloved--was sufficient herald of good news. It scarcely needed her -words. - -"All quite safe, mother," even if Sandy's rush past her restraining -hand had not told the tale. - -The children entered like a conquering army. Mr. Warde slid Orme, -murmuring satisfaction, down on to the sofa beside his mother, and -watched with an unaccountable pang at his heart as she gathered -them all into her arms. The parents accepted David's rapid "Didn't -mean to, father," and his explanation of the mishap which they had -never counted on--too glad to see them safe, too accustomed to their -enterprise, too certain that what they said was true, to give the -scolding they perhaps deserved. - -As the news of their safety spread, sympathisers flocked in. Like -a young turkey-cock lifting up its crest, Sandy stood a captive at -Mrs. Lytchett's knee, his jacket held tightly in her firm grasp. - -"I hope your father's going to whip you," she said severely. - -"Ain't," said Sandy. - -"Then he ought. Do you know you've nearly killed your mother?" - -Sandy's glance crossed the room, his conscience giving a repentant -twinge. - -His mother's laughing, merry eyes met his, and repentance fled. - -"Let me go, please," giving his jacket a tug. "I want to go to -my mother." Sandy always said "My mother" when he wished to be -impressive. - -Mrs. Lytchett watched him insinuate his small body to his mother's -side, where he stood defiant, only the mother guessing all that the -clinging clasp of his fingers round her arm was meant to say. - -Marjorie came down to say that the little ones were safe in bed; and -David and Sandy walked off beside her with uplifted heads. - - * * * * * - -With the house still, and the children of which it had been bereaved -once more within its walls, with the need for exertion and control -giving place to a languor which would not permit sleep, Marjorie -felt a load like lead descend upon her. In spite of visions that -came to her wakeful senses, of ardent eyes and a tender tone, -although her fingers tingled still with the warm clasp of those -stronger ones, she was very unhappy. On her bed, alone with rushing -thoughts, staring with wakeful eyes on to the green bravery outside -her window, she thought over all that had happened, and knew that -she had played a sorry part. An engaged girl--she had let another -man make love to her. Marjorie shrank as she realised her action. - -"What have I done? It came to me upon the roof! Oh! why didn't I -find out before? What can I tell Mr. Warde? How can I tell him that -I never cared for him a bit? Is it I--can it be I, who have behaved -so badly? But I must tell him, straight away. Not a minute longer -than I can help will I be so double-faced." - -At her usual hour she dressed and went downstairs. The empty -breakfast-room added strength to her resolve. Pausing but for a -moment on the doorstep, to catch at her slipping courage, she ran -down the flagged path of the Court, and knocked at Mr. Warde's door. - -Mr. Warde, like herself, had been wakeful. Marjorie's face on the -roof had been a startling revelation. And yet he had to confess to -himself that in his inmost heart he had gauged rightly her love. -Even in the dawn, whilst he had rejoiced at its expression, a cold -hand had seemed to pluck it away. And now--he had seen her kindling -face--he had seen the mounting flush, he had seen the love-light in -her dark eyes, in that glance when he had surprised the lovers. It -was a very different girl who had borne his caresses, when for a few -moments she had leant her tired body against his strength. - -He realised it all. She loved Antony Pelham; she only bore with him. - - * * * * * - -Entering Mr. Warde's house, the door at the end of the hall leading -into the garden stood open before her. Many a time in her childish -life, Marjorie had sought her friend by way of the study window. -Some impulse now made her seek that mode of approach. It was a -French window, not quite open to the ground. She had to mount two -steps, and step over a low framework, which in former days her small -feet had found a sufficient barrier. - -The window was wide open. Marjorie tapped upon the pane. Mr. Warde -was sitting at his bureau, and she could not see his face. - -"May I come in?" - -As the loved voice fell upon his ear, the man rose, and pushed the -letter he was writing aside. - -"Like old days, Marjorie," he smiled, coming forward to meet her, -but his face looked pale and drawn. - -Something in hers, something to him admirable in the courage which -had prompted her visit--for he knew why she had come--some desire to -save her pain made him say: - -"I was writing to you, Marjorie." - -"Yes?" Her troubled eyes sought some comfort from his. - -"But now you have come--it was good of you to come, Marjorie--I did -not like to disturb you, or I would have saved you. Sit there in the -old place--your chair has never been moved." - -But instead, Marjorie moved restlessly to the window, and looked out -upon the trim luxuriance of the rose-filled garden. Her courage was -oozing fast in face of his kindness and the old associations. - -"I came to tell you," she said slowly, "that what I said the other -day was wrong. I have found out--that I cannot----" - -"I know, Marjorie. No need to say it," he said softly. - -"I have behaved very badly," she went on. "I let you think I cared -for you. I did not know--then. I never did care. I never can--I know -now." Unconsciously her tone took a note of triumph, which made her -hearer wince. He forced himself to reply: - -"It was a mistake, dear. I realised that it was only a chance--that -you were but a child whom I have loved very dearly. That is it, -Marjorie. That is how it is between us." - -She lifted her foot over the threshold of the window, and the -straying rose-branches fell about her. She looked very slight and -young, as she stood there for a moment, the sun burnishing the -bright tendrils of her hair into a halo round her face. The man's -soul went out in a sigh of longing as he saw the beauty of the -picture--saw her standing as he had dreamt she would stand, his own -loved possession, in her home. - -"I think you will be happy," he forced himself to say; "I think Mr. -Pelham----" - -[Illustration: She put up her hands to ward off his speech.] - -She put up her hands to ward off his speech, and her face grew -scarlet. - -"Good-bye," she said softly. - -There was a rustle of soft drapery, a hasty footfall, a blank. -The window was vacant. The man stared at it, still for a moment -possessed with the vision of her presence. Then he turned, and -looked painfully round the luxurious room. - -All was there that man could want--every expression of a cultivated -taste. As he looked, his loneliness--the loneliness that would never -now be satisfied--fell in desolation round him. - - * * * * * - -The adventurers were gathered on the lawn on a rug and cushions -Marjorie had found for them. After a long sleep, as school was -out of the question for that day, they had spent some hours in -shovelling the earth back into their hole. - -"Never knew such a funny fing in all my life!" Sandy had exclaimed -during this process. "It all came out, and on'y 'bout half will go -in. How do you splain that, Dave?" - -"Don't want to explain," said David, jumping in and stamping -vigorously. "It's got to go, whether it will or no." - -"It's like a grave," Sandy said, observing him. "On'y there's -nothing buried. You'll get buried in a minute, Orme, if you don't -look out." - -"Me s'ant." - -"You will. There!" as a clatter of earth fell over and around the -busy baby. "Didn't I tell you so?" - -Orme looked round, his chubby moon-face a surprised interrogation. -Then as fast as he could trot, he went off to his mother. To her he -imparted the information that the "'ky had fell, an' it was a dirty -'ky." - -It was after they had tired themselves with digging that the -four had sought Marjorie and a fairy story. In the middle of -this, when the prince and the heroine were engaged in a customary -understanding, Marjorie suddenly broke off in her narrative and -relapsed into thought. - -[Illustration: Marjorie suddenly broke off in her narrative.] - -"Seems, Margie, as if you felt dreffle 'bout something," said David. - -Marjorie did not reply. Her thoughts had ascended the hill, and -there was a dreamy, unseeing look in her eyes. - - * * * * * - -Almost every day Ross and Orme go and stamp upon the mound of earth -in the corner of the garden, the monument of the boys' enterprise. -Ross does it out of hatred, and Orme in the hope of bringing down -the "ky." - -But to Marjorie that mound tells a tale of love, found and won--and -mistakes buried, happily before it was too late. Sometimes her young -brothers wonder at some unlooked-for expression of affection, and -look at her reproachfully, resenting the sudden kiss. Sandy one day -said to her-- - -"Why did you kiss Orme--sudden--like that? He ain't gooder than -usual--an' he's dirty." - -"Yes, I like him dirty. He reminded me----" - -She stopped at the sound of a step. - -"'Minded you? Your cheeks get redder an' redder the nearer Mr. -Pelham comes. 'Minded you--what?" - -"Of that dreadful night," she whispered. - -But it was no "dreadful" reminiscence that shone in the welcome of -her uplifted eye. - - THE END. - - - - -THE POWER OF A GREAT PURPOSE - -"None of these things move me."--ACTS XX. 24. - -A Sermon Preached before the Queen by the Very Rev. the Dean of -Windsor - - -The "things" of which St. Paul spoke were very definite things -indeed. They were the things which befell him as he continued to -fulfill his ministry and to proclaim the Gospel in Jerusalem and -elsewhere. It is true he says that he did not know the things that -would befall him when he reached Jerusalem. He meant that he could -not exactly describe beforehand all that would happen to him. But -his experience of the past could have left him in no doubt as to -the sort of experience that awaited him in the future. Bonds and -imprisonment, persecution in its many different forms, opposition to -the great message which he had to deliver, contempt and ridicule, -hardship and toil, pain and the risk of death--these were the things -with which, his experience had been filled since he became an -apostle of Christ. They were the things which, as he well knew, he -should have to encounter whithersoever he might go. They were the -things which he had clearly before his mind when he declared "None -of these things move me." - -As he speaks the words, we are at once placed in the presence -of that life which is one of the great treasures of the Church -of Christ--that life, the record of which has animated tens of -thousands of the soldiers of Christ, and has encouraged myriads of -sufferers in their times of need, and has, over and over again, made -men heroes and martyrs. Delicate health, unceasing toil, bodily -suffering, constant privations, long journeys by sea and land, long -imprisonments, cruel scourgings, vexations and disappointments, and -the ever-present danger of death--such were the experiences of that -life. We, as we read the record, wonder at the steadfastness and -endurance which made such a life possible. And while we admire the -set purpose and the unflinching courage of the man, we pity him for -the things which made up the experiences of his life. But he does -not for a moment pity himself. On the contrary, he says of it all, -"None of these things move me." - -What did St. Paul really mean by saying that the sufferings of his -life did not move him? - -Is he speaking the language of mere bravado? Have we before us a -man who is merely giving utterance to great swelling words? Is this -some proud and foolish boaster who does not mean what he says? Men -of this sort are not by any means uncommon. We have not to go far -to come across those who, to judge by their fine words and their -swaggering boastfulness, are brave and good, and superior to others, -but who are, in reality, cowardly and mean and contemptible. Such -men are to be met with in all departments of human life--in the -family circle, in society, in politics, in the church. But no one -that ever lived on this earth has been farther from the character of -an empty boaster than the Apostle Paul. There were two reasons why -it was impossible that he could ever have been a mere boaster. One -reason is that he was absolutely true to his very heart's core. The -other reason is that all his thoughts of himself were thoughts of -the very deepest humility. The man who could feel himself to be the -"chief of sinners," and whose whole life was manifestly sincere and -true, was quite incapable of a windy boast. It is plain that mere -bravado could have had nothing whatever to do with the words "None -of these things move me." - -Then, are his words those of a Stoic? Are we listening to the -language of one whose philosophy has taught him that human virtue -could have no more conspicuous triumph than to be able to suppress -every emotion of the soul, and to petrify into a marble death that -warm, living thing which God has given to every man, and which we -call his "heart"? There were those in St. Paul's days who were -philosophers after this sort. They were the men who succeeded in -killing all feeling. They practised their philosophy so well, and -were so obedient to its principles, that they were never conscious -of a real transport of joy, and refused to acknowledge any pangs of -sorrow. They turned themselves from men into marble statues. A Stoic -could move about the world with a cold, contemptuous smile upon his -lips; and as he passed through scenes of joy and happiness, as he -listened to the happy laughter of an innocent maiden, or watched the -bounding joyousness of a young man in the heyday of his youth, as he -looked upon the agonies of bodily suffering, or witnessed the bitter -tears of some bereaved one, or stood in the presence of the terrible -realities of death, he could say--and say it with truth--"None of -these things move me." - -Is it with this stoical indifference that St. Paul speaks? We might -as well imagine that the sun could become cold and dark, as that -the warm, tender heart of the apostle could become stoical. A very -cursory glance at that life, so full of love and tenderness, is -enough to tell us that there could have been nothing of the Stoic -about the apostle. A single moment's recollection will bring to our -memories words that he spoke or wrote, which could only have come -from a nature that was sensitive, tender, and emotional. St. Paul -was one who loved strongly and felt deeply. He was easily lifted -up with joy, and cut to the quick by pain and suffering. His love -and sympathy flowed out to all around him. He welcomed the love and -sympathy of others. The warm heart that was in him spoke to and -influenced the hearts of others; for, as Goethe says, - - "You never can make heart throb with heart - Unless your own heart first has struck the tone." - -Assuredly he was far from being anything approaching to a Stoic. On -the contrary, he was a man who daily grew more and more into the -likeness of Him Who suffered, and felt, and loved more than any -other man, Who, in his wonderful tenderness and boundless sympathy, -is the Great Model for us to copy. - -When, therefore, St. Paul said, "None of these things move me," he -could not possibly have said it out of the cold, passionless heart -of a Stoic. - -What, then, did he really mean by what he said? He himself has made -plain to us what he meant. He says that he must finish his course -with joy, and the ministry, which he has received of the Lord Jesus, -to testify the gospel of the grace of God. Nothing must interfere -with the fulfilment of his ministry. That ministry was his life's -work, to which he had been specially called. There could be no -possibility of mistake about it. From the time of his conversion no -shadow of a misgiving or doubt concerning it had ever for a moment -crossed his mind. He was absolutely certain that he was commissioned -by God to testify the gospel of His grace. His mission was to go -whithersoever the providence of God might lead him--over land or -sea, in sunshine or in storm--in order that he might proclaim the -great message of the love of God. The thought of that mission so -entirely possessed him, so penetrated his whole being, that nothing -in the world could turn him aside from it, even for a moment. And -the steadfast purpose of his heart to fulfil his ministry at all -costs is breathed out in his words, "None of these things move -me." He meant that nothing, however vexatious or disappointing or -painful, could hold him back from his great work. The Holy Ghost had -witnessed to him that bonds and imprisonment awaited him. It made no -difference. Nothing could move him. He had received his charge to -preach the gospel, and preach it he must. - -We cannot but admire this courageous steadfastness of purpose, this -unswerving faithfulness. But behind it all, and inspiring it all, -there was the clear, bright, living faith--the open eye of his -soul--which looked full on the great reality of the love of God. -His faith was absolutely convinced of the love of God to him and to -all mankind. The great certainty lighted up an answering love in -his heart towards God and towards all men; and therefore, come what -might, he must preach Christ. No doubt steadfastness and courage lie -in the words, "None of these things move me." Yet even more are they -the words of faith. He who speaks them is one who _knows_ in Whom he -has believed. - -Why is it that we are not able to do greater things for God? Why -do we so easily lose heart? Why does our energy so quickly flag? -Why are our sacrifices so poor and small? Why does our courage so -soon ebb away? Why do we so cry out when we are hurt? Why is our -endurance so short-lived? Surely the reason is plain. If we had the -strong faith of St. Paul, instead of a faith that is so often feeble -and halting and irresolute, we should be better able to pass through -the varied experiences of human life and say, "None of these things -move me. Nothing can move me from my trust in God and from the work -which He has given me to do." - -But there is a further meaning in the apostle's words. They express -the living faith which inspired the steadfastness of purpose with -which he clung to his life's work. Yet they express more than this. -As he speaks there is a scene before his eyes which, no doubt, he -had often witnessed. He sees the runners in a race striving together -for victory. He sees the one who, when the race is run, receives -the prize. He sees the joy of victory that beams in his eyes as the -chaplet is placed on his brow. - -It is a picture of himself. He is running in a race. He is still in -the midst of the course. And he expects to finish his course with -the joy of victory. That is the hope set before him, and from that -hope nothing could move him. It is out of the assuredness of that -hope, which he knew would not be disappointed, that he can say of -all his troubles and anxieties, "None of these things move me." He -meant that nothing could shake his hope of finishing his course with -joy. For was not that hope founded upon the promises of God? Was it -not bound up with the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead? -Had he not received ten thousand tokens of the faithfulness of God? -His hope was no delusion--no baseless fabric of a dream. It was a -certainty of which nothing could rob him. - -It is a joy to us to remember that what was St. Paul's hope is ours -also. For it is the hope of the Christian. It is the hope of glory -set before all the followers of Christ. Let our faith only grasp the -love of God, and win our lives from sin to the service to God, and -then this blessed hope will become the golden treasure of the lives -that have been renewed. - -We live in a strange and sad world. Dark clouds of mystery are -around us on every side. Vexation, disappointment, suffering, pain, -death, confront us, and we cannot escape them. We are, more or -less, sufferers all and mourners all. Oh, that we might be able -to say, not with the boastfulness of fools, nor yet with the icy -indifference of Stoics, but with humble faith and ever-brightening -hope, "None of these things move me"! Blessed is the steadfastness -which nothing can move either from the conviction of the love of God -which the cross of Christ reveals, or from the path of duty which -lies before us, or from the Christian hope of the life to come. - -[Illustration: Decorative] - - - - -[Illustration: TWICE ROUND THE BIBLE CLOCK] - - -Those travellers who have noticed how turbaned or fezzed native -merchants will gladly wait for half a dozen hours under the -colonnade of some hotel at Tangiers or Cairo on the doubtful chance -of concluding a bargain with the errant Englishman, which does not -involve half a dozen francs, may have some idea of the small value -which the modern Oriental sets upon his time. The sun is his only -clock, and even that suits him rather to bask in than to scrutinise. -The thoughts and habits of men change even less in the East than -the features of Nature, and we are confronted with just the same -easy elasticity as regards anything to do with definite hours when -we restore for ourselves the sacred scenes of the earlier Bible -history, and put back the timepiece of our own contemplation for two -or three thousand years. To the Hebrew or Canaanite of Joshua's day -the phenomenon of the "sun standing still," conveyed into Holy Writ -from the highly wrought poetic imagery of the lost Book of Jasher, -would be little of a miracle--that luminary was often stationary for -the popular convenience. - -Exact notes of time are very hard to discover in the Old Testament. -We have for the most part to depend on such expressions as "dawn," -"morning," "noon," "heat of day," "cool of day," "evening," -"twilight," "night," and no attempt that Hebrew scholars have made -to set those terms in their correct chronological order has met with -more than very partial success. The word "hour" is itself mentioned -only once: Dan. iv. 19. It seems difficult to suppose that some -simple method of measuring the hours was not in use, such as the -trickling of sand or water from a vessel, but our knowledge on the -subject is scanty. We must even resign ourselves to the prosaic -probability that the famous sun-dial of Ahaz was a very different -contrivance from the lichened stone pillar, with weather-beaten -brass face, which we associate in the Western world with the odorous -lawn of some sequestered manor garden. It is more likely that Ahaz -had upon his terrace a slanting tower, upon a certain number of the -steps of which the shadow fell. Such towers were known in ancient -India. The only formal computation of time that we can discover in -the Old Testament is by three watches. There was the "beginning of -watches" (Lam. ii. 19), from sunset to 10 p.m.; the middle watch, -Judges vii. 19 (we speak of this incident later), from 10 p.m. to 2 -a.m.; the morning watch, from 2 a.m. to sunrise (Exodus xiv. 24), -when the Lord looked on the Egyptians, and discomfited them in the -midst of the Red Sea. - -[Illustration: THE BIBLE CLOCK.] - -But the rough and ready indications of hours, supplied by the -progress of the day from dawn to darkness, were quite enough for -the men and women of the earlier Hebrew centuries, and if we are -willing to shake off our Occidental precision and the tyranny of -Greenwich, many a Bible scene would take a place upon the clock -with moderate exactitude. It is in the glow of the rising sun that -Abraham gazes upon the destruction of Sodom, that Jacob beholds -the face of the Unknown who has wrestled with him at Peniel, that -Achan is marked out before the congregation for the doom of his -theft, that Hannah asks God so earnestly for the son for whom she -longs; that poor, over-persuaded Darius hastens to the den of -lions, to see whether his faithful favourite Daniel is alive. It -is in the very early hours that Giant Goliath struts out to defy -the armies of the living God, and that fair Rebekah rides away, -with the day-spring on her face, to meet the love which has been -predestined for her, beyond the plains of Padan-aram. It is in the -heat of the day that the three mysterious Visitors greet Abraham -at his tent door, and that Saul completes the slaughter of the -Ammonites and wins the hearts of his people. It is at high noon that -Joseph provides Benjamin with a dinner five times as large as that -of his other brothers, in the sunny courts of Pharaoh, and that -Ishbosheth's siesta leads to his assassination at the hands of the -sons of Rimmon. It is towards evening that the weary dove returns -to the ark's refuge, that Joshua takes down the bodies of the five -kings from their gibbet, that Ezekiel's wife dies, and that the -haunted life of King Ahab ebbs painfully away. The night scenes are -numerous. It is in the darkness that the hosts of Sennacherib are -destroyed, that the awful cry is heard in Egypt on the death of the -first-born, and that, while Belshazzar banquets, the Angel of Death -"is whetting his sword upon the stones of Babylon." We survey these -pictures, so far as their exact hour is concerned, through the haze -of Oriental indefiniteness, but they have been limned for ever by -the genius of inspiration upon the retina of universal humanity. - -When we come to New Testament times we are, at least by comparison, -on more reliable ground. It was certainly Roman influence which -brought the system of hours into Palestine. That this system existed -in our Lord's day is undoubted. "Are there not twelve hours in the -day?" said Jesus Christ Himself. - -There were two modes of reckoning, one used by St. John and the -other by the rest of the New Testament writers. St. John counts -his hours just as we do, from midnight to noon and from noon to -midnight. His fellow-evangelists reckon from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. and -from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., according to the ordinary Jewish fashion. We -may add in passing that the Romans divided the night not into three -but into four watches. These watches lasted three hours each. Thus, -when Christ appeared to His disciples walking on the sea "in the -fourth watch of the night," it must have been some time between 3 -and 6 a.m. - -Let us now say a few things about the big, bald clock face, with -no hands, with which we have furnished those who are jogging along -with us on our chronological quest. Our clock makes a bold attempt -(the first, so far as we know) to fix a Scripture event on to each -hour of the twenty-four. We do not profess that the proofs which -we can offer for the time of each event are equally sound, but we -have made it a rule that sheer guess-work should never be employed. -Consequently, there is a partial failure. We have succeeded in -discovering no reasonably probable event for 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. May -we console ourselves with the reflection that in Eastern countries -most people during those hours are asleep? Except as regards the -particular incidents we are about to consider, we will leave our -big clock to tick his own tale. Whatever his faults, he is not half -as much of a story-teller as another of his kind would be, who had -been neglected in a lumber room for over twenty centuries. Let -us, however, just defend one or two selections which might seem -groundless or arbitrary. What authority have we for alleging that -our Lord's friends endeavoured to arrest Him, as being "beside -Himself," at 11 a.m.? This. St. Mark shows us in his minute and -vivid way that owing to the insistency of the crowd the Master and -His disciples could not take their meal. The usual hour for this -would be about eleven in the morning. Then we have ventured to place -the feeding of the five thousand about 4 p.m.; for the month was -April, and St. Luke tells us that "the day began to wear away." We -cannot, therefore, be very far out. Again, Jairus would hardly have -come to our Lord before late in the afternoon, for Christ had had a -long day and a voyage over the lake; the people also were waiting -as though they expected Him earlier. And since the two Maries and -Salome would be all eagerness to procure their spices for the -anointing of Christ's body, and could not buy them till the Sabbath -ended at six, they would not accomplish their shopping later than 7 -p.m. - -Now let us take out our watches and check them by our big clock. -We will picture for ourselves some scenes in Old and New Testament -history at the hour in which they happened. For such hours the -evidence is in most of our instances good, and in the rest more than -tolerable. Our selections shall start from 2 a.m. and go on in due -order up to midnight. - -[Illustration: 2 A.M.] - -At this hour, when the stay-at-home often awakes for a little after -his "first sleep," and the modern roysterer is thinking about his -pillow, St. Peter stood in the glare of the coal fire, while -darkness still shrouded the most dreadful night in history. St. -Luke (xxii. 59) clearly tells us that there was an hour's interval -between the denials. We may well believe that the nerves of the -sturdy but emotional apostle were all on edge from the surprises and -horrors through which he had already passed. Scared or nettled by -the inquiry of a sharp maid-servant, he takes the primary step in -a sin of which the very blackness is a beacon for aftertime of the -far-reaching power of divine forgiveness. - -[Illustration: 4 A.M.] - -"The musky daughter of the Nile, with plaited hair and almond eyes." -This is how Oliver Wendell Holmes prettily, if too fancifully, -describes Hagar. The pathetic dismissal by the patriarch of this -ill-starred Egyptian and her son Ishmael, has always been a theme -dear to poetry and art. We are not astray in shedding over the -picture the grey tints of earliest dawn. "Abraham," we are told, -"rose up early in the morning," and it seems probable, from the -narrative, that the unhappy business was concluded before Sarah was -about. The wife of an Arab sheik would rise betimes. - -[Illustration: 5 A.M.] - -We are fairly secure in fixing this for the hour on that memorable -Sabbath when, after the six days' single investiture, Joshua ordered -the seven priests, with the seven trumpets of rams' horns, to bear -the Ark seven times round the walls of Jericho. "They rose early, -about the dawning of the day." The date, calculating from the -previous Passover, was about April 23rd. The dawn at this season -would bring us roughly to 5 a.m. Jericho was a city of considerable -extent, and allowing that it took the procession an hour and a half -or more to finish each of the seven circuits, it is not likely that -the leader would be able to exclaim, "Shout, for the Lord hath given -you the city," and to command the massacre, till 6 p.m., when the -Sabbath would be over. - -The old method of the commentators, which made St. John reckon his -hours like the other three evangelists, would place the call of -himself and St. Andrew at 4 p.m. The theory that St. John counted -his hours as we do is supported by the high authority of Bishops -Wordsworth and Westcott, and many others. It surely gives a more -natural sense to this passage: The two apostles abode with their -Master, after their call, "that day." It would be a short day which -began at four in the afternoon, instead of ten in the morning, and -St. Andrew's search for his brother, together with St. Peter's -subsequent call, are recorded in "that day" besides. - -[Illustration: 10 A.M.] - -It was at noon, upon the knees of his mother, that the son of the -Shunammite lady died. We remember how the little boy, the cherished -child of many prayers, toddled out to meet his aged father in one -of those rich harvest fields which nestled round the base of Mount -Carmel; and how, smitten by the fierce Syrian sun, he called out -to his father, "My head, my head!" and a lad carried him home to -his mother. The picture is none the less fresh because we look upon -it blurred by the tears of many generations, and the simple story -ends in smiles, for God, through Elisha, graciously gave back the -treasured life. - -[Illustration: 12 NOON.] - -[Illustration: 3 P.M.] - -The hour of prayer at the Temple. Here we are chronologically as -secure as if we had heard three o'clock struck by the clock at -Westminster Abbey, where the week-day service is held at the same -hour. When we read this account of the miraculous healing, at the -Beautiful Gate, of the cripple who was over forty years old, we may -recall the story of Pope Innocent III. and St. Thomas of Aquinum. -"You see, son," said the Pontiff, as they surveyed the massive -ingots being carried into the Vatican, "the day has gone by when -the Church need say, 'Silver and gold have I none.'" "Yes, holy -father," responded the honest saint, "and the day has gone by, too, -when the Church could say to the paralytic, 'Arise, take up thy bed -and walk.'" - -[ILLUSTRATION: 6 P.M.] - -"God is a Spirit" was the sublime revelation made by Christ to the -woman of Samaria by Jacob's well at Sychar. If St. John counted his -hours according to the Jewish habit, the sixth would, of course, -be noon, but a woman would be more likely to come to draw water, -according to Eastern custom, ancient and modern, in the cool of the -day, than during the burning heat. - -[Illustration: 9 P.M.] - -Nine o'clock at night was a judicious hour for the dispatch of -St. Paul, under an armed escort, from Jerusalem to Cæsarea. The -apostle's young nephew had bravely divulged to the Roman captain, -Lysias, a plot on the part of some Jews to assassinate his uncle. In -this matter, Lysias acted as a man of wisdom and honour. - -[Illustration: 11 P.M.] - -With the exception of noon and midnight, there is no hour so exactly -marked as this in the whole of the Old Testament. The noble and -heroic Gideon and his three companies blew their three hundred -trumpets, and crashed their pitchers, and flashed their firebrands, -"in the beginning of the middle watch, and they had but newly set -the watch." The middle watch, as we have said before, lasted from 10 -p.m. to 2 a.m. This terrific signal for the attack on the Midianites -must have been given, therefore, about 11 p.m. - -Of the many midnight scenes that are available, we will choose one -that is remarkable, not for its profound ethical teaching, its -tenderness, its tragedy, but, if we may say so with reverence, its -humour. Samson lifting the gates of Gaza upon his back, and carrying -them up "to the top of the mountain that is before Hebron" (R.V.), -is one of those stories which delighted our childhood, and which -will never be displaced by any recital of the glories of latter-day -athleticism. The gist of this incident is to be found in the -cleverness with which the Philistines, proverbial then as now for -their stupidity, are outwitted by the prisoner, whom they fancied -they had trapped so securely. - -[Illustration: 12 MIDNIGHT.] - -It may be that, as we lay our big clock aside, and return our -watches to our pockets, some scenes of the sacred Long Ago will -shape themselves more clearly and definitely for the future in our -remembrance, because we shall associate them with the hour at which -they occurred. We have not sought to disguise the fact that, so far -as time goes, a mist of incertitude must always cling round events, -however momentous, which took place in any Oriental country, and at -a remote age. But we shall understand our Bible all the better, and -its unchangeable and imperishable essence will be the more vital to -our souls, as we realise that the Almighty was pleased to reveal -Himself to a people whose modes of thought and whose ways of life -were widely different from our own. - -As might be expected, the languorous and unpractical Orient soon -lost the impress of Roman preciseness in the matter of hours. The -average native of Palestine to-day is as careless about time as he -was when Abraham completed his pilgrimage from Ur of the Chaldees. -Nor is this truth without its curious analogy in that life immortal -into which we believe those holy men of old are entered, with whose -earthly deeds we have been concerned. There is no time where they -have gone. In the sight of the King before Whose presence they -stand, "a thousand years are but as yesterday, seeing that is past -as a watch in the night." And we think, too, of that Dial, hidden -somewhere in the archives of the Eternal, whose awful Hand points to -the Hour, unknown even to the angels in heaven, "when the Son of Man -cometh." - - - - -[Illustration: Their Little Manouvre] - -_A LOVE-STORY._ - -By Evelyn Everett-Green. - - -The _Auguste-Victoria_ was steaming with dignified deliberation into -the harbour of Gibraltar. The exquisite lights of a clear February -morning were shining over land and sea; and Dulcie, at her port-hole -window, was gazing with eager eyes over the smooth, shining ripples -of the sea, and longing for a run on deck and a good look about her. - -But Dulcie's cabin-companion, a frail invalid, who had been -wintering in Madeira, and was on her way to the Riviera, where the -spring months were to be spent, was still lying prostrate and wan -in her berth. She had suffered severely during the thirty hours' -passage from Funchal to Gibraltar; and Dulcie would not leave her -till she had had some breakfast and had been made comfortable for a -quiet sleep. - -She crossed the cabin and bent over her. - -"We are in now, Aunt Mary. There, do you hear? That is the rattle -of the anchor chain going down. I have sent for your tea and toast. -They will be here directly. Let me make you comfortable; and after -you have had something to eat you will get off to sleep, and wake up -quite brisk. We have no more Atlantic to face now. Only the blue, -blue Mediterranean. Oh, it does look so calm and beautiful!" - -Dulcie fairly danced about the floor as she waited on the invalid. -This cabin was in itself a luxury--not just a gangway, with berths -on one side and lounge on the other; but a small room with space -to walk about, and a fixed wardrobe in which to hang clothes--as -different as possible from the accommodation on the mail-boat -which had taken them from Southampton to Madeira in October. This -was a great pleasure steamer, which had left New York ten days or -so ago, touched at Madeira, and was bound on a cruise through the -Mediterranean to the Orient. - -Dulcie had come out with a party of rich relations, mainly to -take charge of Miss Martin, the semi-invalid "Aunt Mary." The -Meredith party had wearied of Madeira by this time, and Miss -Martin unspeakably dreaded the return journey in the mail, with -the horrors of the Bay of Biscay and the perils of Ushant to face. -They had eagerly availed themselves of the chance of returning by -this splendid German-American pleasure steamer; and Dulcie's heart -was all in a flutter at the prospect of what she was to see. To-day -Gibraltar, to-morrow Malaga; and thence a trip up to Granada, the -place, of all others in the world, that she longed to see! Then -Algiers, then Genoa; and so to the Riviera, whence she was to be -sent home; as, when once in Europe, and with no more sea voyage -to face, her company could be dispensed with. But what a lot of -the world she would have seen by that time! Certainly there were -compensations sometimes in being a poor relation whose services -could always be commanded. - -Just as Miss Martin was sipping her tea, and finding relief at last -in the steadiness of the great vessel at anchor, handsome Arabella -Meredith came bustling in, in travelling trim, with a light cloak -over her arm. - -"Oh, Dulcie," she said, "we find that we leave for Granada at once. -We do not do it from Malaga; but only join the boat again there. -It is an affair of three nights. I'm sorry you will miss it; but, -of course, Aunt Mary cannot be left all that time, and before she -has got over her sea-sickness. Good-bye; we'll tell you all about -it when we meet. I daresay you'll manage to join a shore-going -party here and at Malaga, and you'll have the boat nice and quiet. -Everybody's off on shore for Granada." - -She was gone. There was trampling and calling overhead. The agent -who arranged the shore excursions was marshalling his recruits. -People were rushing down for wraps and hand-bags; all was hurry -and confusion. Mrs. Meredith just ran in to kiss her sister and -warn Dulcie to look well after her. Then she, too, disappeared, and -Dulcie was left biting her lips to keep back the tears. She realised -that Miss Martin could not be left for so long, and that before she -had recovered the tossing in the Atlantic. But to miss Granada! Oh! -it did seem hard when she was so near, and Aunt Mary had promised to -pay the expenses of the trip for her. - -Miss Martin settled to sleep, the sleep of exhausted nature. -Dulcie went on deck to find the huge boat almost empty. Even those -passengers who had not cared for the fatigues of the Granada -expedition had gone to spend the day ashore. The steamer was not to -leave the anchorage till seven o'clock that night, and then only -steam gently under lee of the shore to Malaga. - -Dulcie's was a happy nature; despite the keenness of her -disappointment, the beauty of the scene before her eyes did much to -chase sorrow away. Was she not looking upon one of the grand sights -of the world? Was not that the lion-faced rock she had longed to -see? And oh, how glorious were those solemn African mountains! and -what an exquisite view she had of the wonderful harbour, the town -climbing up the steep heights, and the white Moorish city crowning -one of the low hills! There was Algeciras; she recognised it from -its position, but she longed to know more of her surroundings. Oh, -if Mr. Carlyon were but here, what interesting things he would tell -her! - -Dulcie felt her cheek suddenly glow, and she leaned over the rail, -looking down into the water and growing dreamy. How was it that it -was always that face which came between her and the page of her -book when she read, or intruded itself into her visions, waking and -sleeping, at night? Why was it that the thought of missing _that_ -companionship on the Granada trip was the real trouble to her, -though she scarcely dared admit it? What was Mr. Carlyon to her? - -He had only been three weeks in the hotel with them at Funchal; -he had come from the Cape, and it was rumoured that he had made -a fortune there. He was evidently a great traveller. He seemed -acquainted with every land under the sun. His thin face was very -brown; and the dark hair was silvered at the temples, though -the fine silky moustache was still quite black. He was tall and -well-knit in figure, with regular features and very penetrating eyes -of a rather dark blue; a handsome and distinguished-looking man, -said to belong to a good old family. But he had lived a life of -travel and adventure, and had known hard times. If he had made his -fortune now, at the age of forty or under, he had known plenty of -buffeting about in his earlier life. - -"I wonder if he will come back engaged to Arabella?" mused Dulcie; -"I know the people, at the hotel talked about it. He was so much -with us. Does Arabella care for him? He attracts her. That very -gentle chivalrous way he has with all women is so different from -what one meets with generally in these days. Oh, I do hope, if it -is to be, that she really cares. I think he is a man who would give -everything without reserve, if once he loved. And she? Oh, it is -not for me to judge; perhaps I am a little jealous. Sometimes she -seems to have so much--more than she can use. But I must not let -myself think unworthy thoughts. I have had a lovely time. A winter -of sunshine and happiness, and now this wonderful trip home. To let -things be spoiled for me, just because _he_ has gone with them and I -am left behind! Oh, that would be ridiculous! ungrateful! horrid!" - -[Illustration: That day was like a dream to Dulcie.--_p. 322._] - -With a brave effort Dulcie flung away disappointment. After her -sleep and dinner Miss Martin was well enough to come and lie out -on deck, wrapped up in rugs, and enjoy the sunshine; and, hearing -of a party of American ladies going for an hour or two ashore in -the afternoon, she sent Dulcie off with them; so that, if she did -not see what others did, at least she wandered up the narrow, busy -main street of the town, saw the jostling crowds of semi-Moorish -and mixed European nationality; drove out to Catalan Bay and -Europa Point, and sipped delicious chocolate in a delightfully -Moorish-looking restaurant before getting back to the ship. - -"We have had a perfectly charming afternoon," she told Miss -Martin when she got back. "We had not time or energy for the -fortifications; but I don't think I mind that. That great lion rock -is enough for me. I have seen Gib'; and made a few little sketches. -I am quite, quite happy and content." - - -II. - -"How perfectly exquisite!" exclaimed Dulcie. - -The great vessel was lying at her anchorage in the beautiful harbour -of Malaga. The smooth water lay almost without a ripple, dreaming -beneath the misty glories of the spring sunrise, the delicate opals -melting into the deeper green and blue of the ocean away towards the -horizon, but nearer at hand so tender and pearly in tint that Dulcie -held her breath to watch; and seemed as though she would never move -again. - -"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Grey!" - -Dulcie wheeled round with a great start, the colour flushing her -face from brow to chin. - -"Mr. Carlyon!" she almost gasped. - -"Well, not his ghost certainly, though you seem to think so." - -"But--but--I thought you had gone to Granada?" - -"I started off yesterday, certainly, with that intention; but I -found I could not stand being one of three hundred tourists! I -had not realised that sort of travelling before. It has wonderful -advantages for untravelled folk, but somehow it did not suit me. I -went with them to Ronda; I wanted to see that. But Granada is an -old friend of mine. I did not want its memories desecrated. I think -I am not exactly a gregarious animal. I made my way to Malaga by -night, and found the _Auguste-Victoria_ had already arrived. So, -you see, I have turned up like a bad halfpenny, and, if Miss Martin -is well enough, I should like very much to be allowed the pleasure -of showing her and you what there is to see in Malaga. It is not a -great deal--not enough to be fatiguing; but, if you have not been in -Spain before, it will give you an idea of a pleasant Spanish town." - -Dulcie's face was all in a glow; her heart seemed dancing with joy. -The sunshine took a new brightness, the flocks of white sea-gulls -circling round the vessel and about the harbour seemed to be crying -joyously one to the other. The soft breeze blew the loosened -tendrils of hair about her happy face and sparkling eyes. - -The thin face of the traveller brightened as he watched. - -"Let us see if we cannot get some breakfast first. We will make love -to the head steward and ask if they will not let us have it in that -little boudoir, as they call it, on the top deck. I hate going below -on a morning like this, and I am just starving after my night's -travel." - -Mr. Carlyon was one of those men who always get things done in their -own way. The beauty of the morning and the news of Mr. Carlyon's -plan quite roused Miss Martin, who had now recovered from the -effects of the Atlantic, and after her day's rest was disposed to -bestir herself. She was quite ready even at that early hour to let -Dulcie dress her, and help her up the many stairs to the upper -deck; and there in the pleasant little "boudoir" was an appetising -breakfast awaiting them. - -That day was always like a dream to Dulcie, and, indeed, so were -those that followed, for Mr. Carlyon proved himself the most -charming and entertaining of companions. They had a boat ashore, -and then a carriage, and they drove through the white town, and -over the wide stony bed of the almost empty river to some exquisite -gardens, belonging to Spanish grandees, now absent in Madrid, and -wandered about them, whilst Miss Martin rested in the many arbours, -seeing beautiful views and delighting in the flowers, which, if not -so plentiful now as they would be later on, were fair and sweet and -abundant. - -On the day following they visited the grand cathedral and examined -its many pictures, some of which were of no small interest, and -drove out to the red buildings of the great bull-ring, and saw -the curious structure and the weapons and saddles of the riders. -Everything was empty and deserted at that time of year, for the -bull-fights only begin in April. But Dulcie could picture the scene -in all its splendour and horror, under the golden Southern sunshine, -and gave a little shudder, feeling glad when her companion told her -that he had never seen a bull-fight, though he had lived for a time -in Spain. - -"They are always on Sunday, for one thing," he said, "and I--well, -I have had a rough-and-tumble life, and there have been times when -Sundays have been strange days with me. But I could never bring -my mind deliberately to go to such a scene on such a day; even if -I could have made up my mind to witness the brutal spectacle as -a matter of curiosity, or from the feeling that it was one of the -sights of the country." - -And Dulcie liked and respected him the more for this confession. It -seemed to make a fresh link between them. - -Miss Martin watched them as they paced to and fro upon the long deck -at such times as they were not ashore; and sometimes a sparkle would -come into her eyes as she observed the way in which Mr. Carlyon's -glance would dwell upon Dulcie's bright face. - -"It looks to me very much like----And really I should not be sorry. -Poor child! she is so much alone in the world; and I can do nothing -for her. All my money goes to Arabella and her brothers--that's the -worst of being an unmarried woman; one has no control over one's -money; if I had, I would have made a little provision for the child. -She is a good little thing. But I don't think Janet will be best -pleased. Arabella, with all her good looks, does not go off. As I -tell Janet, it is her temper--she has been so spoiled. Everybody -can see it; she is absolutely selfish. I did begin to think that -Mr. Carlyon was attracted; but I suspect now the attraction was -in another direction. Well, I only hope there won't be a terrible -rumpus when they get back. They were reckoning, I know, on this -trip. They meant to make him their special escort; and when they -learn what has really happened! Well, they can't bully him, that is -one comfort; and I'll try to protect Dulcie. But Arabella is a minx -when her blood is up; and Janet knows how to make me afraid. It's -ridiculous to be afraid of one's sister; but sometimes I am." - -Just about sunset that evening the shore became black with hurrying -forms, and the harbour was crowded with boats. The Granada party -was returning to the _Auguste-Victoria_, to the strains of "Home, -Sweet Home" played by the band; and Mr. Carlyon with Dulcie stood -laughingly watching the embarkation of the weary, travel-stained -tourists. - -"I expect they have only enjoyed it very moderately; Granada would -be bitterly cold at this season, April or May is the time to see -it. Ah! here comes your party! They don't look very happy in their -minds. I'm not sure, after all, Miss Dulcie, that we unenterprising -people haven't had the best of it!" - -"I have had a perfectly lovely time!" cried Dulcie with one of her -sweet, direct glances; "you have been so kind to me!" - -[Illustration: Arabella swept fiercely past, carrying Dulcie with -her.--_p. 324._] - -His face lighted; it was such a kind one when it did, though it -could be stern, too, on occasion. - -"And you must see Granada another time--at the right season." - -"Ah me! I fear not!" answered Dulcie, with a little laugh. "But -never mind; one can't be more than perfectly happy!" - -"Dulcie, is that you? Do take my bag; I'm so tired I don't know what -to do with myself. Oh, Mr. Carlyon, there you are! I wonder you have -the face to speak to me again, after your base desertion in our hour -of need!" - -She tried to speak archly; but temper and spite were in her tone, -and the gleam in the eyes that rested first on Dulcie and then on -him was not at all pretty to see. - -"I left you under most capable guardianship; but I found my own -enthusiasm unequal to the demand made upon it. There is such a thing -as making a labour of a pleasure. Old fellows like me get beyond -that in time." - -Arabella swept fiercely past him, carrying Dulcie with her. - -"When did he join the ship again?" she asked fiercely. - -"On Tuesday morning," answered Dulcie quietly. - -Arabella, red and pale by turns, cross-questioned her as to every -event of the past days, which Dulcie gave truthfully, though with a -sense of coming trouble. - -Then the storm burst. She had seen Arabella angry before; but this -was a unique outburst, and before it she stood dumb. - - -III. - -"Oh, Dulcie, my dear, we are in sad disgrace," cried Miss Martin, -half laughing, but distinctly agitated as well; "really, Janet is -unreasonable. As if we had anything to do with Mr. Carlyon's change -of plan! As if a man like that would not have gone with Arabella if -he had wanted her! But Janet can never see things fairly, and, oh! -the scolding I have had! And now, my dear, there is only one thing -for us to do, if we don't want our heads snapped off. We shall weigh -anchor almost at once, and they say it will be rather rough when -we lose the shelter of the Spanish coast. I am just going to bed -quietly at once, and you are to stop down and take care of me, and -not show yourself above deck at all until to-morrow midday, when -everybody has got off at Algiers, and Janet has made sure of Mr. -Carlyon's escort." - -Dulcie's cheeks were burning; her eyes were indignant. - -"What have I done that I should be mewed up like this? Of course, as -long as you are ill and want me, auntie, I don't mind anything, but -you are not ill yet, and I do love seeing the ship move off, and all -Malaga is collecting upon the two great breakwaters to see us steam -away!" - -"Oh, my dear child, don't begin to argue. My nerves won't stand -another scene with Janet. If we do as she says we shall have peace, -and 'Peace at any price' is my motto. We shall be at Algiers -to-morrow midday; they will go ashore with Mr. Carlyon. He will take -them to Mustapha Supérieur, and they will all stay the night there. -We can do our little sight-seeing quietly by ourselves, and be back -on board and out of sight before the rest get back. The crossing to -Genoa takes from Saturday evening to early Monday morning, and I -shall be glad enough to lie down all that time. I am afraid it will -be dull for you, poor child! but it's no good crossing your Aunt -Janet. You had better keep quietly here with me, and then at Genoa, -as you know, you are to take the train back to England, and we go -on to the Riviera. I should have liked to keep you all the while. I -shall miss you sadly; but Janet----" - -Dulcie was busying herself over her aunt's belongings, to hide the -tears that would come welling up. She had so looked forward to -seeing something of the life on board the big boat during the days -at sea in the peaceful Mediterranean; but here she was compelled -to remain a prisoner in the cabin, dependent upon the port-hole -for light and air; and all because----But that would scarcely bear -thinking of: it was humiliating, unbearable. - -Pride, however, and a sort of maidenly shame kept Dulcie below, and, -as the passage to Algiers was really rather rough, she had her time -taken up by attendance on her aunt. Miss Martin was not well enough -to get up till they had been two hours or more at anchor, and then -did not feel equal to going ashore that day. - -But, at least, Dulcie could pace the almost deserted deck from end -to end, and gaze her fill at the beautiful town built up and up -against the side of the hill. She could see the Arab dresses of -the motley crowd upon the quay and along the handsome boulevard in -full view, and distinguish between the fine houses and towers and -spires of the French town, and the white walls and minarets of the -Arab quarter away on the right. She longed for the next day to come, -when they would go ashore and explore the wonders of the place. - -Miss Martin was quite recovered by the morrow, and anxious to see -something of the town. They procured a carriage and a guide, and -drove for many hours, and, though the elder lady did not feel equal -to the exertion of walking through the native quarter, whose streets -were far too steep and narrow for the carriage, she sent Dulcie -with the guide, who showed it to her very well, and she gazed about -her with breathless interest at the strange veiled women, and brown -turbaned men, and the little dark-eyed children playing in the -gutters. - -Yet throughout the day Dulcie was conscious of a heaviness at heart, -a sense of unsatisfied longing which she was afraid to analyse or -think about. All that she saw was wonderful, much more so than what -she had seen in Malaga, but to compare her pleasure in the two was -impossible. One day seemed all sunshine; this other was overcast and -dull by comparison. She was conscious of being always on the watch -for one face--a face of which she caught no glimpse the whole day. -She found herself constantly wondering what the rest were doing, -and whether Arabella was finding out what a delightful guide and -cicerone Mr. Carlyon could be. - -They went back to the _Auguste-Victoria_ before the bulk of the -passengers; for Miss Martin was really tired, and Dulcie agreed with -her that it might be well for her to go to her berth before the -vessel started, since there was the prospect of a mild tossing when -they were once outside the harbour. - -Mrs. Meredith came in presently, a good deal more gracious than -before, but still a little tart in her manner towards Dulcie. - -"We shall meet a head-wind when we get out of harbour," she -observed. "You must take care of your aunt, Dulcie, and remain with -her. With her weak heart, she should not be left alone when there is -any fear of sickness coming on. When we reach Genoa, I will put you -and your baggage into the hands of some competent guide or porter, -who will take you to the train, and you will book yourself straight -through to England." - -Dulcie understood perfectly. Arabella had thought her in the way. It -was a planned thing that she should not see Mr. Carlyon again, even -to say good-bye. And she was quite helpless. She could not seek -him out--her girlish pride and modesty alike prevented that; nor -could he try to see her. He would be told that she was either laid -low herself or attending upon one who was in such case. Upon that -crowded boat, when its complement of passengers was on board, there -would be only a remote chance of encountering him even were she to -steal up for a mouthful of air. At meals she might have met him; -for he was certain to sit in the same saloon with her relations, -even though the pleasant "boudoir" might not now be available; but -to meals she was practically forbidden to come. And, indeed, Miss -Martin was sufficiently ill during the whole of the next day to keep -Dulcie in pretty constant attendance upon her. - -Nearly all that night Dulcie lay awake in her berth, thinking -strange yearning thoughts; and wondering whether she would ever -cease to feel that weary sense of heartache. Miss Martin slept -soundly at last--so soundly that she heard none of the noises of the -vessel's slow approach to its moorings in the magnificent harbour -of Genoa; was not aware when Dulcie slipped out of her berth and -dressed herself with dainty precision in her neat blue travelling -costume. She slept on and on so peacefully that the girl felt -no scruple in leaving her. She must get a little fresh air and -have her breakfast above deck. She must watch the entrance of the -stately vessel into the wonderful historic harbour. The hour was -very early yet. Nobody else would be astir. It was her last chance -of seeing the world. She slipped out of the cabin, ran up the many -flights of steps to the promenade deck, and looked about her with -wide, wondering eyes at the forest of shipping by which they were -surrounded, and the buildings of the town stretching away in all -directions. - -"Dulcie!" She started and faced about, the colour flooding her face; -he was close beside her, holding out both his hands. In his eyes -there was a look of purpose she had never seen there before; her -own fell before it, her heart was beating so fast she could find no -voice in which to answer. - -He came and took her hands in his; he bent over her and spoke in -quick, vibrating tones that thrilled her through and through. - -[Illustration: "Dear me--how things do turn out!"] - -"Dulcie, forgive me if I am too hasty--too bold; but what am I to -do? They have kept you away from me, child; and I have tried in vain -to get speech with you. There is so little time to say what I would. -I would have spoken it all so differently if I could. But yet I can -say it all in a few little words. I love you, Dulcie--I love you. -I cannot live my life without you. You are young, child, and I am -getting old; but I think, with you beside me, I could learn to be -young again. Dulcie, will you give me something to hope for? Do you -think you could let me come and try to win your love?" - -She looked up at him for one dazzling moment, and in that moment -read the half-discovered secret of her own heart. - -"I--I--love you already," she answered very simply; and then she -felt herself being drawn, close, close to his side. - -Was it minutes or hours later that she heard a sharp voice calling -her name. - -"Dulcie, Dulcie, where are you? Is your luggage ready? Have you had -your breakfast? Be quick. Oh----" - -Mr. Carlyon stepped forward, smiling. - -"Congratulate me, Mrs. Meredith. Your niece has done me the -honour to promise to be my wife. Would it be possible under the -circumstances for her to remain with you at Mentone? I know Miss -Martin favours that plan." - -Mrs. Meredith was woman of the world enough to know when she was -beaten; and, after all, was it not better to have such a man as her -niece's husband than as a mere acquaintance? Besides, her hopes of -securing him for a son-in-law had materially diminished during the -past eight-and-forty hours. - -"Dear me!" she exclaimed, "how very interesting and romantic! -Dulcie, my dear, I congratulate you. Yes, certainly, you shall -remain with us. I will go and speak to Mary about it. I am sure she -will be pleased. Dear me--how things do turn out!" - - - - -_American Country Parsons and their Wives._ - -By Elizabeth L. Banks. - - -"The parson's coming!" - -I remember well the pleasurable excitement that announcement used to -cause in our farming neighbourhood. We children, sometimes swinging -upon the topmost railing of the wicket gates, from which height we -could espy the parson's "buggy" afar off, were often proud to be -the first bearers of the tidings of his approach. But it was not -always we who saw him first. There were times when, obeying the -commands of our elders that we must never swing on the "front yard -gate because it loosened the hinges," we felt chagrined over the -fact that, though we were good, obedient children, we were denied -the privilege of first noting the parson's horse round the hedge, -in his slow, safe, jog-trot style--a style, by the way, that we all -thought the proper equipment of a minister's horse. There were days -when our fathers and our brothers and the "hired men," ploughing in -the farm fields, hastily dropped their work, tying their horses to -the fence-posts, and strode hurriedly to the house with the bit of -always welcome news that the parson was making his quarterly round -of country visits and might shortly be expected at that particular -house, which must forthwith be "tidied up" most especially in his -honour. Orders were straightway given that the manufacture of -mud-pies in the back yard must be at once abandoned. There was a -scurrying to the garden pump or the wash-basin, hands and faces were -scrubbed, straying locks were plastered back from our foreheads; -soiled, dark gingham aprons were exchanged for clean, stiffly -starched, light print ones; and then we were led into the "parlour" -and bidden to "sit still and quiet and nice and tidy" in readiness -for the parson's visit. If, when the parson was espied, it was near -the noon dinner-hour or the night supper-time, extra preparations -were made for the approaching meal. Slices of highly valued "pound -cake" were brought from the larder, the cellar was ransacked for -the choicest jar of home-made jam, and, if time allowed, an unlucky -chicken was chased into a corner of the barn-yard and assassinated, -to help provide a feast deemed worthy to set before the parson. - -[Illustration: There was a scurrying to the garden pump.] - -The parson lived in the village, some five miles distant. He -preached every Sunday morning and evening in the village church to -a congregation of perhaps fifty souls, and received from them a -salary of five hundred dollars a year. Once in two weeks he drove -out to our school-house on the Sunday afternoon to preach to the -farmers and their families, who did not attend the village church -because they considered it a cruelty to horses that had worked all -the week to be obliged to carry the family to church on Sunday. We -in our district added one hundred dollars "and a donation party" to -the minister's salary. The inhabitants of another farming district, -six miles on the other side of the village, rewarded the parson in -the same way for preaching to them on the alternate Sundays when he -did not come to us; so the minister had, all told, seven hundred -dollars a year (£140), _and_ two "donation parties"--not a large sum -on which to support a family of five, yet considerably more than -Goldsmith's village preacher, who was "passing rich on forty pounds -a year." - -[Illustration: A WEDDING FEE!] - -Four times a year the minister visited all his country parishioners. -It generally took him two or three days to go the rounds in one -neighbourhood--a neighbourhood, I may say, extended over several -miles. He would leave "town" (there were six hundred inhabitants in -the place where he presided over the only steepled meeting-house of -his three charges!) early in the morning, and reach the first house -where he was to call at about ten o'clock. At noon he would have his -dinner with some one of the farmer folk, being careful to select for -his noon call a family with whom he had not partaken bread on his -previous visit of three or six months back; for to have the parson -to dinner or supper or to "put him up for the night" was an honour -for which there was great rivalry, and he tried to be impartial -in his distribution of such favours. During the meal hours, the -minister's horse fared as sumptuously as did his good master. Apples -and sugar and turnips and carrots and all the luxuries that the farm -produced were given to the animal by the children of the place, -while the farmer or his hired help brought out their choicest corn -and bran and oats and fragrant hay. Nothing was too good for the -minister and his horse. Indeed, even the "buggy" would be washed up -and made "fit" during the interval of the meal hour. - -Happy was that house and its dwellers with whom the minister elected -to call late in the evening. The "spare bedroom," which adjoined the -parlour and was only opened and aired on great occasions, was given -over to him, and he slept upon the softest feather bed, amid the -snowiest linen, and beneath a white-fringed canopy. In the morning -the usual six o'clock breakfast would be delayed on his account -until 6.30, and an hour later the minister was jogging along in his -buggy to the next farmhouse. - -I have written this much about the country parson with whom my -own childhood was associated, because he was a typical American -country parson then, and he is typical now. His round of duties -and pleasures during his country visits are identical with that of -hundreds of others of our country parsons. The practice of taking -charge of a village church and then preaching on Sunday afternoons -in the neighbouring country schoolhouses, is followed to a very -great extent throughout the United States. The salary received is -sometimes more, sometimes less, than what I have mentioned. What -these men and their wonderful wives are able to do for themselves -and their children on salaries ranging from six hundred to a -thousand dollars a year is little less than miraculous. I have -spoken of the "wonderful wives" of our country parsons. Here is a -description of the wife of the country parson who preached in our -school-house. She was not and is not unique. There are very many -like her. - -When she married the parson, she was a graduate of one of our best -"mixed colleges." She took her diploma on the day that the man -whom she afterwards married took his. She had taken the course in -Greek and Latin, the higher mathematics, French, and German. When I -knew her as the parson's wife, she gave lessons in French, music, -and painting. The young mother of three children, she not only had -no nursemaid to look after them, but she had no servants in her -kitchen. She did all the housework, including the family washing -and ironing, and the baking of the bread and cakes and pies. She -made her children's dresses and her own. The parson's shirt front -and his spotless white lawn ties were "laundered" by her. At ten -o'clock in the morning she presided over the wash-tub, and at three -in the afternoon she read Cicero, perhaps in the same kitchen -while waiting for the bread to bake in the oven. She never looked -untidy, our parson's wife! Even when hanging over the wash-tub or -the bread-tray, she wore a smart-looking stuff dress, kept always -clean by the donning of an immense bibbed apron. She had not an -"at home" day, nor even an "at home" hour. She was always at home -when she was in the house, at whatever hour of the day or night a -visitor might knock at her front door. If, while in the kitchen, -she heard the knocking that announced callers, the bibbed apron -was thrown off, and in less than a minute later she appeared at -the door, well-dressed and smiling. She was the confidante of all -those in trouble; she gave advice to those married and those about -to marry; she was president of the Ladies' Aid Society; she led the -sewing circle, she played the church organ every Sunday morning and -led the singing of the choir as well; she taught a class in the -Sunday-school, and then went home and got dinner in time for her -husband to start for his school-house preaching. Sunday night she -presided over the young people's prayer meeting which preceded the -regular preaching service. Twice a year she gave her own children a -"party," to which all the other village children were invited. She -formed "Bands of Mercy" in all the country round, and wrote little -stories for the children to read at their meetings on the subject of -kindness to dumb animals. - -[Illustration: OUR PARSON'S WIFE.] - -Her house was often the scene of weddings, for those young women -who could not be married at home (church weddings were a rarity), -went to the parsonage to be married. There was always cake in the -parsonage, and on these occasions the lady of the house would bring -forth a bit of it from the larder for the bride and groom, for whom -it served as the "wedding cake." - -Country parsons--indeed, I think I may say nearly all American -clergymen in both city and country--give the fees they receive at -weddings to their wives. It is understood that the wedding fee is -the perquisite of the minister's wife. Five dollars (£1) is looked -upon by the ordinary country parson as a liberal fee. The very -rich village grocer or country farmer occasionally astonishes the -officiating clergyman with ten dollars, but such a happening is -an event that could not be expected to occur oftener than once in -a country parson's lifetime. The young man for whom the parson -performs the all-important ceremony usually gives what he thinks he -can afford. He may give two dollars. He would scarcely give less -than that amount in money. - -Then there is "payment in kind." A young couple frequently drive -up to the parsonage in a "lumber waggon" filled with potatoes, -or turnips, or firewood, or flour, beans, pickled pork--in fact, -anything of an edible nature that grows on the farm. I have a -schoolgirl friend married to a village clergyman, who recently -regaled me with a story of a young countryman, who, with his bride, -drove up to the parsonage with a large chicken coop, full of -cackling hens, which he proudly delivered over to her husband as -his fee for performing the marriage ceremony, with the information -that "them was as good layin' hens as ever lived, and calc'lated to -pervide eggs for a year an' more!" - -There are numerous instances of enthusiastic and grateful -bridegrooms who have presented the officiating clergyman with live -pigs as wedding fees. - -But it is not only as a reward for performing the marriage ceremony -that the country parson is "paid in kind." Sometimes he receives -a large part of his salary in this way. The members of his -congregation each subscribe a certain amount of money towards the -salary that is guaranteed the minister. Farmer Brown will, he says, -contribute four dollars as his share. In the winter, when Farmer -Brown should hand over his four dollars to the church treasurer, he -finds himself short of ready cash, but with an abundant supply of -wood on hand, having in the autumn felled many trees in his forest. -Nothing can be more certain than that the minister needs fuel in the -winter; therefore, Farmer Brown loads his waggon with logs of wood, -drives to the parsonage, and deposits it in the minister's back -yard, announcing to the minister that he "reckons thar 's mor'n four -dollars wirth of wood in that thar load!" - -The minister can, perhaps, make use of that one load of wood very -conveniently; but when, as is frequently the case, a dozen frugal -farmers among his parishioners are struck with the same sort of -notion--that of paying their subscriptions in wood instead of -money--the unfortunate parson has more wood than he can burn for -many winters to come, and his back yard is entirely taken up with -it. He needs sugar, and paraffin, and rice, and butter, as well as -a cheerful fireside. Did I say butter? Well, sometimes he gets more -butter than he wants, too. Says the farmer to his wife: "Jane, I -promised to pay three dollars towards the parson's salary. Bein' as -you're makin' fine butter this summer, you jes' take him a couple -o' pounds a week till you've made three dollars' worth." Two pounds -of fresh yellow butter weekly from the dairy of a parishioner would -be appreciated by the parson's family. They would rather have it -than the stale butter from the village shop; but since butter is -made on all farms, and many farmers' wives send the parson butter -to pay off their subscriptions, the parson's larder overflows with -butter, while many other necessaries are scarce. It is the same with -potatoes and cabbages and beetroots, with eggs, and with hay for the -minister's horse, which, by the way, is not forgotten when the time -for paying subscriptions comes round. The minister loves his horse, -and is glad to have plenty of hay and oats for it to eat; but to -have in his barn enough of these articles to last a horse through -several lifetimes, while the children are needing boots and coats -for the present winter, is not a state of affairs that appeals to -his sense of the fitness of things. Some of our country parsons, -with an instinct for business, not inborn, but thrust upon them -by a stern necessity, have been known to become dealers in wood, -potatoes, hay, and other things of which they have an over-supply, -selling their surplus stock off to their neighbours. In this way -they are able to get a little ready cash with which to purchase such -necessary commodities as do not "grow on the farm." - -In the beginning of my article I have referred to "donation -parties," and have said that some ministers are guaranteed a certain -number of dollars _and_ a "donation" as a yearly salary. The -donation party is, I believe, a strictly American institution, which -originated about a century ago in the very thinly settled regions -of the United States among the pioneers. It is still extremely -popular in country towns and farming neighbourhoods. Say that a -clergyman receives eight hundred dollars a year and a "donation," or -it may be that he is promised two donations. That means that besides -his money, he will be surprised one night or two nights in the year -by fifty or a hundred, or perhaps two or three hundred, people -marching into his house with bundles of every size and description. -His visitors will bring with them pounds of sugar, barrels of flour, -jars of pickles, bags of salt, tinned meats and vegetables, remnants -of calicoes, muslins, cloths, and silks, from the village "general -store," white lawn neckties, cooking utensils, bed-clothing, -pictures to hang upon the wall, patent medicines (including soothing -syrups for the babies), shoes and stockings, a few live chickens--in -fact, everything that the minds of his parishioners can conceive of -his needing. Besides all these things, a "proper" donation party is -expected to carry along its own supper, during which, sometimes, a -collection is taken up and a purse of money presented to the parson. -A good donation party, given by a generous lot of church people, -is a thing not to be despised by the recipient. Store-cupboards, -cellars, and wardrobes are frequently stocked for a whole year to -come, and the minister is thus able to put by, for the education of -his children, a goodly sum of money out of his cash salary. - -[Illustration: A DONATION PARTY. - -(_Bringing the parson's "stipend."_)] - -But there is another kind of donation party that is by no means -welcome at the parson's house. There are country churches who -promise the pastor seven hundred dollars a year, without saying -anything about a donation party. But in midwinter the donation -party makes its appearance, the members of it bringing along -anything they happen to have on hand which they do not want for -themselves. Sometimes the things are useful, sometimes not. They do -not bring along their own supper; instead, they eat up everything -the minister has in the house, often necessitating his sending out -to shops for a sufficiency of provisions. When they have enjoyed -their suppers, a man who is designated as the "donation spokesman" -stands on a kitchen chair, and in a loud voice "appraises the -value" of each article that has been "donated": a pair of boots -so much, a few yards of calico so much, a jar of jam so much, a -bale of hay so much; and thus the list of things is gone through. -Then the appraised values are added up and the sum deducted from -the ministers salary. If the appraiser considers that one hundred -dollars' worth of things have been "donated," he then and there -declares that sum to have been paid on account of the salary. -Perhaps an etching, handsomely framed, has been among the articles. -The poor parson does not stand in particular need of an etching, yet -nevertheless the picture is counted as fifteen or twenty dollars -towards his salary! A clergyman's wife who, during the first years -of her married life, had been the victim of such donation parties, -once told me this pathetic story. A young woman invalid, a member of -her husband's church, hearing that a donation party was to be given -to her pastor, and not knowing of the existence of such a personage -as a donation "appraiser," wove a watch-guard from her own black -hair that had been cut off during her illness; the guard was mounted -in gold, and sent to the minister on the evening of the donation -party. It was placed among the other articles, and at the end of the -evening its value was appraised at ten dollars! - -[Illustration: A DONATION SPOKESMAN. - -(_Appraising the value of each article._)] - -One of the things about our small-salaried country parsons that has -always excited my surprise and admiration is the way they contrive -to give their children the benefits of a college education. No -matter what their own struggles, no matter that the parson's wife -must be her own cook and housemaid and washerwoman, no matter -that her husband wears a shiny coat and a frayed shirt-front, a -little sum of money is always laid by--an "education fund"--to be -devoted to the education of the boys and girls of the family. In -a great many of our colleges, especially those which are known -as "denominational schools," a minister's daughter is charged -only half the usual yearly college fee, which, of course, greatly -facilitates matters. Then, at the colleges where the domestic system -prevails--that of allowing the students to pay a part of their -expenses by working in the domestic department, the minister's -daughter, along with the farmer's daughter and the mechanic's -daughter, helps to wash and wipe dishes and thus pays a part of her -own expenses. - - - - -[Illustration: REAL PROPERTY.] - -By the Rev. R. F. Horton, M.A., D.D., Chairman of the London -Congregational Union. - - -In the original Law of Moses it would seem that the most favoured -tribe, the tribe of Levi, had no landed property. Even in that code -of the law which came into operation at the end of the seventh -century B.C., the regulation still ran: "The priests, the Levites, -even all the tribe of Levi, shall have no portion nor inheritance -with Israel: they shall eat the offerings of the Lord made by fire, -and his inheritance. And they shall have no inheritance among -their brethren: the Lord is their inheritance, and He hath spoken -unto them." (Deut. xviii. 1-2). The Lord was their inheritance. -Better than cities, and fields, and the gratifying sense of landed -proprietorship, here was the notion of real property, the possession -of the Eternal God, a personal part in the One Person, who is the -Author and Giver of all possessions temporal and eternal. In the -book of the Law this really magnificent idea is not developed. It -seems rather to be a hint, a type, a suggestion for more spiritual -times. The only application of it actually made, that certain parts -of the sacrifices should belong to the priests (Deut. xviii. 3), -a portion gradually in the process of time increased (see Lev. -vii. 34, and Num. xviii. 12-24), gives but a poor and starved idea -of what might be implied by "The Lord is their inheritance." As -between a solid portion of the land, yielding its regular dues of -corn and wine and oil, and the joints of meat, and first fruits -of the crops and of the fleece, appointed for the priests, they -might be pardoned for choosing the more substantial and permanent -provision. But under the phrase "The Lord is their inheritance" lay -hidden a mystical truth, which possibly priests and Levites as such -never appropriated. It requires the Psalmist, or inspired poet, to -liberate the promise from its merely official reference, and in -liberating it to deepen it into a universal religious truth. In the -sixteenth Psalm a far richer meaning is given to the notion that -God Himself may be a portion preferable to broad acres and secured -rents. This poet, some landless saint, we may surmise, in the time -when the land of Israel was taken away from the people that they -might learn to find a more inalienable property elsewhere, turns to -his God in unreserved confidence: "I have said unto the Lord, Thou -art my Lord"--that is the note of personal possession--"I have no -good beyond Thee"--that is the note of a sufficient and satisfying -possession. "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance and of my -cup; thou maintainest my lot"--that is the renunciation of outward -possessions and sacraments in favour of the inward personal relation -with God which suffices. This spiritual heritage is all that heart -could wish; it is a prompter of blessing and thanksgiving even in -the night season. Nay, more than this, in times of tumult when -others are moved, and in the hour of death, when prosperity is -stripped away, the saint is rejoicing with joy unspeakable, because -the path of life is plain through the grave; the presence of God who -is his portion cannot be taken from him, and that is joyful, and for -ever (Psalm xvi. 5-11). - -Here we enter upon a truth which well repays a careful study. First, -we have to seek a definite meaning to the idea that the Lord is the -portion of those who trust in Him. Then we have to observe how and -by whom this portion is secured. - -No idea is at the first blush so definite as that of property, or -at least of real property. Here is a stretch of country, accurately -delimited on the ordnance map; I say of it, it is mine. I may build -on it or I may till it; I may grow what I will, or what the soil -allows, or I may turn it into pasture. I may sell it or give it or -leave it to my heirs. So definite is the idea, that a nobleman is -called after his estate--he is So-and-so of So-and-so. He belongs -to the land in something of the same sense that the land belongs -to him, a small human entity so identified with the big estate -that he becomes great; the lord, but also the product of these -thousands of acres; a man with a stake in the country, a personality -realising himself in this territorial way. You look at him and you -see the vast and solid domain latent in him. You find it difficult -or impossible to think that he and his landless valet are in any -sense equal. The valet stands for six feet of flesh and blood, -and his monthly wage. The lord stands for a considerable slice of -the earth's surface in fee-simple, with royalty rights over what -underlies of mineral or other wealth down to the centre. It is not -my desire to cast any suspicion on the value or reality of this -kind of property. I do not dwell on the fact that it cannot become -part of the man, nor he a part of it until he is buried in the -family vault at the centre of it. I do not wish even to remember -that a trifling accident to his sensitive organism puts him out of -possession for ever. Rather I desire to enlarge on this perfectly -definite and distinct idea, which is nowhere so absolute and -unquestionable as in England. We can have no difficulty in fixing -the thought of a man's estate, his property, his possessions. Now -we have to transfer this clear idea to God as the inheritance or -portion of the soul. "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance." - -Possibly we may all have known a person, rich or poor, who has -given us much the same impression of the estate in God which lies -behind him as the landed proprietor gives us of his unseen spreading -acres. The person may be like the poor woman who held up to Bishop -Burnet the crust, exclaiming with gratitude, "All this and Christ!" -Or think of David Elginbrod, or of that more real Scottish saint, -the father of David Livingstone, bequeathing to his children on -his deathbed no property, but the fact that in the generations of -the family preserved in memory there was no dishonourable man. -Such a person as I am speaking of is far more secure and serene -than the owner of large estates, seems to find far more enjoyment -in the beauty and interest of even this passing world, and dwells -in the perpetual contemplation of an unseen domain which cannot by -any possibility be taken from him. This is the person who has made -the Lord his portion, and we want to realise what it is that has -happened to him, the lines which have fallen to him in pleasant -places. God is real to him, as landed property is to the landowner, -not limited as the estate is, suggesting always a land-hunger for -the fields beyond, but definite and certain. So definite and -certain, that it is possible to say, "This is my God," very much as -the landowner says of his estate, "This is my land." - -But God presents to him also a security of salvation and of life, -of progress and of joy. He finds in God a subject of endless -contemplation, and a source from which he derives all things that -are necessary for this world and for a world to come. God is his -occupation. The will of God is his delight. The universe presents -itself to him as the works of God, history as the development of a -Divine thought, man as the shadow or image of God, religion as the -relation between God and man, heaven as the goal of the knowledge -and love which relate God to man. - -If he is a thinker, like Spinoza, all things are seen in God. If he -is a poet, God Himself appears the best poet, and the real is His -song. If he is a man of science, he studies everything in nature, as -thinking the thoughts of God after Him. - -But if he is a plain man, innocent of abstract thought, none the -less his business and his pleasure, his family and his friends, -all present themselves as material furnished by God in which he is -to work out the Divine will, and win the Divine approval. Nothing -is dissociated from God, whom he recognises everywhere, and at all -times. But as God who is thus all in all to him is Light and Life -and Love, the problem of his own and of the world's existence is -implicitly solved for him. God is all he wants, more than all in -God he finds. Every question is brought up into the presence of -God; in His light he sees light. Death disappears; for God is seen, -the possessor of immortality, imparting life to him who possesses -God. And as God is absolute love, there can be no question that all -things are working together for good to those who love Him. - -This sovereign presence and power of the Divine will make earthly -possessions and station and success quite indifferent. They do not -lose their value; but they find their value only in relation to God -and His will, so that, if only a man's ways please God, and he lives -in the reconciliation and obedience to the will of God, he must be -sure that he has as much earthly property, as good a station, and as -great a degree of success, as God thinks good for him. If all things -seem taken from him, he reflects, God is my portion, and with Him I -have all things. And if all things are his, he does not feel that he -possesses any more than God; the things are temporary appearances -within the bounds of his inheritance, which is God; they lie latent -there always, appearing or disappearing as the wisdom and love of -God determine. - -As this portion is distinct and tangible enough, so it is obviously -both larger and more satisfying than any earthly inheritance. It -leaves none of the aching hunger for things beyond. It brings all -things at once, and leaves to the soul the plain and endless task -of developing the inexhaustible treasures that are contained in it. - -But how and by whom is this portion to be obtained? In the typical -arrangement of the Jewish law it fell to an order, the tribe of -Levi. In the psalm it fell to one who trusted in the Lord. That -furnishes the key to the new covenant, in which all that once fell -to a privileged nation, or order, or office, falls to those who -believe. By faith a man becomes a child of Abraham. By faith the -believer becomes a priest and a king unto God. By faith the portion -of this Divine inheritance is appropriated, and may be appropriated -by whosoever will! - -By faith, however, we are not to understand a vague and general act -of the mind, which simply assumes that it has what it desires. The -faith which appropriates the Divine inheritance is specific, it is -faith which is in Jesus, a recognition and a reception of Christ -as the Son of God entering into the sphere of human life in order -to give to men God as their portion. "He that heareth My word, and -believeth in Him that sent Me," said Jesus, "hath everlasting life." -By faith in Jesus each of us inherits what was promised to Abraham, -to Israel, to David, to Levi. Jesus has said that He will not cast -out any that come to Him; and that who comes to Him comes to God. -Now it is certainly remarkable--considering the universal desire for -property, for real property, for lasting and inalienable property, -and considering the definiteness and certainty of the possession of -God, and the universality of the offer to every human being--that -comparatively few persons exert themselves to become possessed -of God, or bestow anything like the same energy and eagerness of -endeavour on securing God as their portion which men show in the -acquisition of a great earthly property. It is this remarkable -fact to which Jesus alludes when He says that many are called but -few are chosen, or that many walk in the broad way which leads to -destruction, but few will come to Him that He may give them life. - -[Illustration: (_Photo: F. Hollyer, Pembroke Square, W._) - -R F Horton (hand written signature)] - -But the Divine method of thus putting the great possession within -the choice and reach of all, but forcing it on none, is in strict -analogy with God's way of offering all other boons to men. The -kingdom of Nature lies in the same way open for all who will exert -themselves and take possession. The endless interest of the almost -infinite variety of species is an open door which any investigator -may enter. The bewitching beauty of sun and stars, of drifting -cloud and summer skies, of all the changes of the earth and of -the sea, is accessible to all, but it must be owned that only a -few avail themselves of the opportunity. It seems to be the same -with all the gifts of God, Who makes the sun to shine on the good -and the evil alike. And thus His own being as the portion and -inheritance of the soul is proffered--like the wonder and beauty -of His creation--to all who will take and go in to possess it. It -stretches away like the land of promise, a pleasant land flowing -with milk and honey, a land of broad views and of fruitful fields, -of vineyards and oliveyards, and of far distances, luminous in the -fresh glory of sunrise, hazy with softened charm in the hot noon, -transformed under the evening sky of crimson and gold at sunset, -a land which one would have thought all might desire to possess; -but, like the promised land, it is treated with scorn by those who -will not believe (Ps. cvi. 24). To them the flesh-pots of Egypt -are pleasanter; the very dearth and dreariness of the desert are -preferred before it. A thousand excuses, imaginary fears, and -obstinate depreciations are cited to evade the efforts of conquest. -And this great inheritance, the portion of the human soul, God, -remains unpossessed except by a handful of enterprising souls. - -It should, however, be frankly acknowledged that entering into -possession of this inheritance is by no means the matter of a -single moment. We annex our property field by field and province -by province. By searching we do not find out God unto perfection, -though every further search gives us a greater joy and hope in the -prosecution of it. - -It is for want of this vigorous entrance into the possession that -many have professed themselves disappointed with God as their -portion. They have left their property unexplored and unrealised. -They have neglected to pray--and prayer is the onward march into -the promised land, the exercise by which the being and fulness of -God are appropriated. They have forgotten to worship, and worship -is the relish of possession, the discovery by gratitude and praise -of what is given and what God still has to give. They have omitted -the self-discipline by which the will is kept in harmony with God, -and the thoughts and purposes of God take possession of the soul; -and yet it is only by this kind of sustained discipline that one -can have any feeling of apprehension, and progressive discovery, of -God. They have forsaken the assembling of themselves together for -worship, which is the forming of the host of invasion. They have -ceased to study the Word, which is the chart of the land, showing -all the approaches, the fastnesses to be taken, and the heights -to be won. Or they have given up those good works of charity and -helpfulness, the love of men, the love of souls, which are the very -footsteps by which we come into the possession of God. It is this -which explains the common discontent about that rich portion--God -Himself--offered to the soul. The good land has only been surveyed -for a moment from Pisgah; faith has flashed out as an intuition, -or as a vision; but the actual and determined conquest of piece by -piece, to which faith is intended to lead, has been overlooked. -There are multitudes of persons who seemed to choose God as their -portion in moments of religious excitement and apparent decision, -but never arose to enter into possession; and they remain, in -consequence, disinherited. - -But this leads us to a last point which has to be observed. For -one cause or another--the one just named is probably the most -common--men conceive a discontent with their inheritance in God, -and seek to supplement it with possessions which are regarded as -more tangible and immediate. This was apparently what occurred with -the priests, the Levites. Originally, as we saw in the Deuteronomic -code, they were content with the Lord as their inheritance, and -were fed with the meat which came from the offerings of the altar. -But in a later code we find the Levites claiming cities to dwell -in. There were to be forty-eight cities in all, given by the other -tribes, cities of considerable size, with their corn lands and -meadows (the suburbs) extending 2,000 cubits, or between a half -and three-quarters of a mile, on all sides of the city; these were -to be the possession of the Levites. And though six of the cities -were to serve a certain religious purpose as asylums of refuge -for the shedders of blood, the whole forty-eight were to be the -landed property of the priests, the Levites. These forty-eight -domains constituted a territory scattered throughout the tribes, as -solid, and almost as bulky, as the possessions of Dan, or Asher, -or Naphtali. But when we come to the book of Ezekiel, this real -property of the disinherited tribe is found to be increased and -consolidated; a vast district, 25,000 reeds long by 25,000 reeds -broad, was to form the oblation assigned to the priests; this would -be quite as large as the territory of any except the largest tribes -(Ezek. xlviii. 8-30). And thus gradually, they who were to have -no inheritance in the land, because the Lord Himself was their -inheritance, laid claim to as large an inheritance as the rest of -their brethren had. - -That is a process to which the whole history of Christianity -presents a series of parallels. We begin in God, in faith, in -heavenly realities; we decline upon the world, and sight, and the -fleeting shows of the earth. - - "'Tis the most difficult of tasks to keep - Heights which the soul is competent to win." - -When we have got God for our portion and inheritance, we insensibly -slip away, and fix our attention on things below. We would make the -security of God doubly sure, by having earthly property as well; we -would depend upon God, and yet lean on an arm of flesh; we would -have our treasures in heaven--for heaven when we get there; but our -hoard on earth--for earth while we are here. - -Poor human nature! This is our delusion. The two portions cannot be -ours. If God is our inheritance, He must be all in all to us. If -He gives us Christ, He freely with Him gives us all things. "All -this and Christ!"--yes, but in the sense that God in Christ is -everything. Never can it mean that our inheritance is partly God and -partly this world, that we lean, one arm on Him and the other on -uncertain earthly riches. - -Therefore the choice lies before us all. Can we choose Him as our -portion, can we pray and trust Him to maintain our lot? Can we -renounce the arm of flesh as weakness and vanity, can we disregard -the alluring securities of what is considered here real property? -If so we may have real property indeed: God will be ours, an -inexhaustible mine of life and love, of interest and beauty, of -peace and joy. - - - - -MISS CRANE'S FORTUNE. - -A Complete Story. By A. B. Romney. - -[Illustration: Miss Crane was too much astonished to speak.] - - -Miss Crane lived in No. 13, King's Parade. Doubtless at some remote -period King's Parade was a street of fashion and celebrity, but at -the time we speak of its chief characteristic was that air of shabby -gentility inseparable from houses in whose windows at intervals -appear cards announcing "Furnished Apartments." - -Miss Crane was teacher of music by profession, and had what is -termed "a good connection." By turns, music was her chief pleasure -and pain. During the day she patiently listened to endless varieties -of mistakes in the same exercises and scales; in the evening, seated -at her own piano, she forgot all the cares and worries of her daily -round of duty. - -Everyone has a sacred ambition, as well as a secret romance, hidden -in his heart. Miss Crane's ambition was to save up enough money to -ensure independence, and she believed that to possess an income of -£100 per annum would be the realisation of her dreams. For many -years she had steadily saved and worked for this purpose, and now, -at the age of forty-five, was not very far from having her desire -fulfilled. - -Miss Crane was a little woman, with very pretty hands, small and -white. Years of patient drudgery had left some lines on her forehead -and had taken the colour from her cheeks, but had not been able to -spoil the sweet kindliness of her eyes and smile. She usually wore -black gowns, made simply of soft, fine materials, her lace frill -fastened by a small silver brooch, which she always pinned in with -loving care. - -One day, towards the end of the summer term, she came in more than -usually tired, and sat leaning back wearily in her chair, waiting -for the maid to bring in her supper. She heard below stairs the -scolding voice of the landlady and the querulous crying of children. -Through the open window came the strains of a barrel-organ playing -with irritating liveliness. She closed her eyes wearily as the -servant came clattering up the stairs and burst open her door with -noisy familiarity. - -"Please, miss," began the servant, laying down the tray, "there were -a gentleman t'see you when you was out." - -"Indeed!" cried Miss Crane, opening her eyes with a start and -sitting upright. "A gentleman to see me! Did he leave his card?" - -"No, miss," answered the girl. "He seemed disappointed like when -I told 'im you was _h_out, and 'e said e'd call back again in th' -evenin', as 'e wanted to see you particular." - -"Very strange," cried Miss Crane. "Well! that will do now. Will you -please come up in about ten minutes to clear away the tea-things, -as I shouldn't like the room to look untidy if the gentleman calls -again?" - -Miss Crane drank her tea in great perplexity. A gentleman to see -her! Such a thing had not happened for more than twenty years. Who -could it be? Miss Crane's hand instinctively touched her silver -brooch, as her thoughts turned to days long past. - -A knock, a loud and impressive knock, at the hall-door roused her -from her reverie. She stood up, listening eagerly, expecting she -knew not what. The maid came slowly upstairs from the kitchen and -opened the hall-door. There was an indistinct sound of a gruff -voice, and then the footsteps of two people coming up the stairs. - -The servant opened the door, saying-- - -"Mr. Spinner, miss." - -A tall, imposingly rotund man walked in, hat in hand, his fat and -rosy face all smiling affability. - -"So sorry to disturb you, madam," he began, bowing. - -"Not at all," murmured Miss Crane, wondering greatly who he could -be. "Won't you sit down?" - -"Thank you. I think I will." - -He took a chair, sat down, carefully spreading out the skirts of his -frock-coat, and, crossing his legs, looked condescendingly round the -room. - -Miss Crane, with heightened colour, waited expectantly. - -"I am well aware," began Mr. Spinner presently, "that the name of -business has to ladies a very unpleasant sound; but I venture to say -that Miss Crane will find the little matter which has brought me -here this evening far from being a disagreeable subject." - -"Indeed!" murmured Miss Crane. - -"But before I proceed further, allow me to consult my notes." Mr. -Spinner took out a spectacle case, placed his glasses carefully on -the bridge of his nose, glanced at Miss Crane through them, then -taking a note-book from his breast pocket, opened it, and taking out -a paper, cleared his throat and continued: "You are, I believe, Miss -Letitia J. Crane, eldest daughter of the late Rev. Joshua Crane, -M.A., formerly curate of St. Mary, in the parish of Tulberry." - -"Yes, certainly, I am," cried Miss Crane. - -"Then, madam, without troubling you about details, partly because -business details are unwelcome to ladies, and partly because I am -obliged to catch the 7.25 train up to town, I shall briefly tell you -what I am certain, from my previous knowledge of human nature, will -be welcome news to you, and that is----" - -"What?" demanded Miss Crane with some impatience. - -"It is that your uncle, the late John Crane, of No. 8, Harbourne -Street, Liverpool, who died on the 27th of last month, has left -you a sum which, invested as it is at present, brings in an income -of £700 per annum--of," reiterated Mr. Spinner with impressive -solemnity, "£700 per annum." - -Miss Crane was too much astonished to speak. - -"It is a fact, I assure you, madam," continued Mr. Spinner, rising -from his chair and placing a card on the table. "Allow me to give -you my card with the address of my place of business. Perhaps you -could find time to call to see me some time to-morrow, when I shall -be most happy to show you your uncle's will, and, in short, make -myself useful in helping you in any way in my power." - -"I cannot believe it," cried Miss Crane. "Are you quite sure there -is no mistake?" - -Mr. Spinner smiled indulgently. - -"None whatever, and if it should be a convenience to you," he said, -with a glance round the neat poverty of the room, "I shall be happy -to advance you any reasonable sum as a proof of the truth of my -statement." - -"No, thank you," replied Miss Crane, flushing somewhat proudly. "I -do not require it." - -"Quite right! Quite proper!" said Mr. Spinner, taking up his hat. -"Then I may expect to have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at, -let us say, 11.30 a.m." - -"Yes," said Miss Crane, "I shall certainly call at that hour." - -"Then I may say good-bye, and," he added, shaking her hand with -impressive fervour, "pray accept my heartiest congratulations on -your good fortune." - -The bang of the hall-door as Mr. Spinner closed it after him awoke -Miss Crane from her stupor of astonishment. - -For a few moments she sat motionless. Then she burst into a fit of -violent weeping. Good fortune had come at last, but had come too -late to bring happiness. All her youth had been crushed beneath the -weight of poverty, and, bitterest remembrance of all! she had seen -those dearest to her die before their time, fading uncomplainingly -away, for want of a little of the sunshine of prosperity. During -all these years she had thought of them as happy to be at rest from -toil and misery. In her poverty she had never felt as lonely as she -did now, in time of her prosperity. Especially, a passionate longing -seized her for her mother. What delight to have been able to gratify -those simple wishes so often repressed! How happy they could have -been together! She had wanted so little, but that little had been -ever denied her. - -And Frank Whitman! The force of poverty had swept him far apart. He -had not been strong enough to battle against the stream. She heard -of him sometimes as a man rising in his profession, prosperous -and respected. His marriage with the daughter of a rich shipowner -had been, everyone said, "the making of him." And yet Miss Crane -remembered the evening he had given her that silver brooch, and the -words he had then spoken. - -"Instead of thanking God for His goodness to me," sobbed Miss Crane, -"I am wickedly ungrateful, but I do wish I had mother with me now." - - * * * * * - -Next morning, Miss Crane took a more cheerful view of things. She -sent word to her pupils that she could not see them that day, but -she had not yet sufficient belief in her good fortune to feel -justified in telling them of it. It was so near the end of term that -she did not like putting them to the disadvantage and inconvenience -of changing to another teacher, and besides, she had not courage to -cut herself adrift from her usual routine. Custom is a very strong -rope indeed. - -As she travelled up to town, she constructed castles in the air of -all the delights now possible to her--the house in the country, the -really good piano, a silk dress, a thing she had always secretly -desired, for she had an instinctive love of dainty dress, and the -sight of a beautiful thing gave her positive joy. - -The further she went, the grander she became: until after her -interview with Mr. Spinner, she actually felt bold enough to enter a -fashionable shop, and, unawed by the magnificence of the attending -maidens, she chose, paid for, and put on "the sweetest little French -bonnet possible." - -On leaving the shop, she met an old pupil, who, after a preliminary -stare, greeted her warmly, declaring she had never seen Miss Crane -looking so well, and asked her home to lunch. - -Altogether, Miss Crane's day in town was a complete success. She -had been more wildly extravagant than she could have believed it -possible the day before: there was something positively intoxicating -in the fact that there was now no need any more to count every penny. - -She knew it was false charity to give money indiscriminately to -beggars, and yet she could not resist brightening, even for the -moment, the face of misery and want. "To-morrow, I shall be prudent -again," she declared, as over and over again she stopped to slip a -silver coin into some grimy hand. - -In the evening, she sat, tired but very contented, considering where -she ought to go for her holidays. The world was open to her now; -it was difficult to decide which part to visit first. Entrancing -visions of Italy especially bewildered her, but she felt still too -timid to venture far from home, though that home was but two shabby -little rooms in a cheap lodging-house. Like a bird caged for long, -though the door stood open, she feared to fly away. - -Presently a thought struck her, her cheeks glowed--she stood up and -walked uneasily about the room. At length she muttered to herself, -"I shall go there! I should like to see him once again!" - -The place she had decided to go to was Stockton, the seaside town in -which Doctor Frank Whitman lived. She had known his wife long ago, -when a girl. She had heard there were a number of children. Perhaps -the family would receive her kindly, and she would find in them the -friendship and companionship without which her money was valueless. - -Stockton was by the sea: to sit in the sunshine, on the sands, -looking on the waves, would in itself be a delight. Miss Crane -wished she could start on the morrow, but this, of course, was not -possible. Ten days more of drudgery must be first endured, then -liberty at last! - -These last days passed rapidly enough, for they were fully occupied, -and at length, on the 1st of August, Miss Crane found herself -seated in the train, with a ticket to Stockton in her hand, a new -portmanteau beside her, and her heart beating with excitement at -being off at last. - -When she reached Stockton and was driving from the station to her -lodgings, she eagerly looked out of the window, half hoping, half -fearing to recognise Frank Whitman in each passer-by. - -She remained indoors that evening and the following morning, but -in the afternoon she unpacked the contents of the portmanteau and -dressed to go out. - -"After all, how little dress can do!" she murmured to herself, as -she stood critically examining her reflection in the looking-glass. -"I wonder if he will remember me!" - -[Illustration: The blood rushed to Miss Crane's face.] - -The day was brilliantly bright, with a fresh breeze blowing strongly -from the sea. The shadows of the fleeting clouds passed swiftly by. -The sunshine glittered on the dazzling waters rippling in one long -white line along the margin of the bay. Along the horizon stood the -ruddy sails of the fishing-smacks. - -Miss Crane walked on slowly, enjoying the warmth, brightness, and -freshness of the day. She had little difficulty in finding Victoria -Villa, the residence of Doctor Frank Whitman. It was a large -red-brick house, square, well-built and prosperous-looking, standing -in its own grounds, with greenhouses, tennis-grounds, and all the -usual belongings of provincial respectability and wealth. - -Miss Crane's courage failed her as she came up to its entrance. - -"What shall I do," she thought, "if Frank and Bessie have forgotten -me, or if they should not like to know a poor little music teacher -like me?" - -She stood, hesitating, fearing to push open the massive iron gate. - -"I cannot go in to-day," she said half aloud, and turned nervously -away. - -At this moment, a girl came quickly up the road, a pretty girl of -some eighteen summers, wearing a white dress and shady hat, and -carrying a tennis racket in her hand. As she passed, she glanced at -Miss Crane, and the expression of her eyes was precisely like that -of Frank Whitman's twenty years ago. - -Miss Crane started. The thought, "It is his daughter!" flashed -across her brain. She turned and hurried after her. The girl, -hearing the footsteps behind, stopped, and looked inquiringly at -Miss Crane, who hesitatingly began, "Might I trouble you to direct -me to Doctor Whitman's house?" - -"There it is," answered the girl smilingly. "And I am almost sure -father is in at present. Will you come with me? I am just going -home." - -She spoke with a strangely familiar accent, she smiled with the same -merry glance, quick and soft, which Miss Crane had remembered so -long. - -By the time they had reached the hall-door Miss Crane had confided -how she had come hoping to find old friends, and then had felt too -timid to enter their house. "And," she ended, "if I had not met you, -my dear, I believe I should have gone straight home." - -The girl laughed merrily, and then warmly assured Miss Crane that -Mrs. Whitman would be sure to be delighted to see her. "And," she -asked, "you said you used to know papa also a little, long ago, -didn't you?" - -"Yes," replied Miss Crane. "I knew him also." - -"Here, mother," cried Miss Whitman, as she opened the drawing-room -door; "here is an old friend to see you!" - -Miss Crane advanced into the room. A tall, fashionably-dressed woman -came to meet her with outstretched hand. - -"What!" she exclaimed. "Letitia Crane! Well! I am glad to see you. -What a time it is since we've met. But you've hardly changed at all. -I should have known you anywhere. Sit down here and let us have a -good long chat about the old days. Ida! go and tell your father that -Miss Crane is here; I'm sure she'd like to see him." - -Miss Crane sat down, grateful for being received with such -cordiality. It was difficult to talk, her whole being seemed -concentrated in listening. She heard Ida go downstairs, open the -study door, and then came the sound of a voice she had not heard for -twenty years. - -"How silly I am!" she thought, as she tried to concentrate her -attention on what Mrs. Whitman was saying. - -Presently footsteps came up the stairs. The door opened, and Ida, -followed by her father, came into the room. The blood rushed to -Miss Crane's face, and for a second she could not see. - -"So glad to see you again," said Doctor Whitman, in tones of bland -cordiality. - -Miss Crane could scarcely reply, her astonishment was so -complete. Where was the man she remembered? The young fellow with -the merry laughing eyes, the thick curling hair, the careless -dress, the active step! The man who now stood before her was a -portly, middle-aged figure, all immaculate linen and broadcloth; -bald-headed, red-faced, with bland affability smilingly displaying -an excellent set of false teeth. The ideal which Miss Crane had -worshipped so long faded away for ever like some phantasm that had -never had any being, save in her own mind. Only in Ida's eyes and -Ida's smile lingered a mocking image of the past. - - * * * * * - -Miss Crane's time passed very pleasantly at Stockton. Most of the -day she sat on the beach watching the children bathe and play about -the sands. - -Ida came down to bathe every morning, and afterwards used to sit -talking to Miss Crane while drying and brushing her beautiful hair -in the sunshine. One day, after sitting thoughtfully quiet for some -time, Ida, in a somewhat embarrassed tone of voice, began-- - -"Are you fond of going to evening service, Miss Crane?" - -"Well! my dear, you know that usually I have not time to do so on -week-days. But why do you ask?" replied Miss Crane. - -"Because," said Ida, "there is such a sweet little church not very -far from here out in the country, and such a delightful service -every evening, and," she added with heightened colour, "the curate, -Mr. Archdale, preaches such beautiful sermons that I would like you -to hear him!" - -"I should like to hear him very much indeed," replied Miss Crane, -smiling. "If you will not expect me to praise him too much!" Then, -pitying Ida's confusion, she continued: "Perhaps, sometimes, he will -allow me to play the organ in his church. It is the only thing I -miss here. At home there is a little church quite close by, where -the organist allows me to practise whenever I choose." - -"Oh! I shall ask Cyril--I mean Mr. Archdale," cried Ida, blushing -deeply. "I'm sure he will be delighted to allow you to practise -whenever you like." - -Thus it happened that almost every evening Miss Crane and Ida walked -together to the little country church; and then, after service was -over, Miss Crane sat down at the organ and played, while Ida and Mr. -Archdale listened to her, as they sat in the porch or strolled about -beneath the lime-trees; though it was curious, thought Miss Crane, -how seldom it was, for people who professed to love music, that they -remembered what she had played. Then in the increasing twilight the -three walked back to Stockton together quietly, too happy to talk or -laugh much. - -The mornings on the beach were spent in talking of "Cyril," for the -subject interested Miss Crane almost as much as it did Ida. She was -touched by the young people's confidence in her, and their love -revealed their characters in the most favourable light to her. Her -love for Ida equalled her admiration of her, and she believed Mr. -Archdale to be almost worthy of her. - - * * * * * - -The holidays were drawing to a close, and Miss Crane decided that -she ought to delay no longer in telling her pupils of her change of -circumstances; but, always reticent about her own concerns, she put -off doing so from day to day. Even to Ida she had never spoken of -her good fortune. - -There was a charming house quite close to the church, which Miss -Crane had determined to buy--quite an ideal old maid's cottage, she -thought it, with its red-brick walls hidden by climbing roses, its -garden sloping down to the riverside, and its cosy little rooms -quaintly furnished with old oak. Its late owner had died and it was -now to be sold, with all its belongings. - -Miss Crane determined to buy it, and then, when everything was -arranged, to astonish Ida, Mr. Archdale, and the Whitmans by -inviting them to dinner in her new house, and then telling them the -delightful news of her good fortune. - -She felt very happy in anticipation of this coming pleasure. - -She was never tired of imagining the joyful surprise Ida would be -sure to show, and the merry days they would have together, arranging -the new house. - -On the day fixed for seeing the house-agent and finally deciding on -the purchase, Miss Crane had asked Ida not to expect to see her, -"for," she said gaily, "though but a humble little music teacher, I -have some business matters to see about." - -"Then," cried Ida, "I shall come and see you in the evening, for -Cyril has determined to speak to father in the morning, and I must -tell you how everything goes off, though I'm not in the least -afraid, notwithstanding all Cyril's forebodings." - -"Why? What is he afraid of?" asked Miss Crane. - -"Well, you know," said Ida, in melancholy tones, "Cyril is not very -rich. Clergymen never are, are they?" - -"But," remonstrated Miss Crane, "surely he has some means or he -wouldn't think of marrying?" - -"He has," answered Ida; "he has £300 a year, which seems to me -a great deal of money, but whether it will do so to papa is the -question." - -"Oh!" cried Miss Crane cheerfully. "Your father is a rich man, and -very proud of his pretty little daughter; he will make it all right -for you, never fear." - -Ida flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck, called her "the dearest -old thing in the world," and at last, promising to come the -following evening, hurried away. - -The next day was very stormy. The wind blew in great gusts from the -east, rolling the waves in dashing breakers against the rocks. The -rain descended in torrents. It was one of those days which sometimes -come in autumn, precursor of the deadly tempests of the winter. - -Miss Crane sat indoors, a shawl over her shoulders, writing letters -round to her various employers and pupils, announcing the change in -her circumstances. She had just closed the last envelope, and was -putting the stamp on it, when the door burst open, and Ida rushed -wildly into the room, her hair blown about her shoulders by the -wind, and her waterproof cloak streaming with rain. - -"Why, Ida, my dear!" exclaimed Miss Crane, aghast. "What is the -matter?" - -Ida threw herself on the sofa, sobbing violently. - -"Oh! I don't know whatever I shall do," she began, as Miss Crane -knelt down in alarm beside her. "Papa has been most dreadfully cross -and angry with me, and he called Cyril a----" She stopped, her voice -choked with sobs. - -"A what?" demanded Miss Crane. - -"He--he called him a----" said Ida, with another burst of indignant -sobs, "a beggarly curate!" - -"Then he does not personally object to Mr. Archdale?" said Miss -Crane soothingly. - -"How could anybody object to Cyril personally?" cried Ida, angrily -rolling up her pocket-handkerchief into a tight, wet little ball -and rubbing her eyes with it. "No; it is all on account of him not -having enough money. He says he will never let me marry a man that -has not at least £1,000 a year. And where is Cyril to get all that! -Unless he is made a bishop, and he hasn't a chance of being made -that until after years and years _and years_ of waiting, when he is -old and quite bald!" - -At this mournful idea Ida's face again squeezed up into dismal lines -and puckers, and her sobs broke forth with renewed strength. - -Suddenly Miss Crane became so motionless, so quiet, that at -last Ida's curiosity overcame her grief; she put down her -pocket-handkerchief and looked at Miss Crane with pained -astonishment at her want of sympathy. - -Miss Crane came out of her reverie with a start. - -"Don't cry any more, it will all come right," she said, with a -forced smile. - -"That's what everyone says!" cried Ida in the tone of injured -friendship. "But I did think you would have sympathised with one." - -She arranged her hair, put on her hat, and stood up as if to go -away, expecting Miss Crane would make her stay; but Miss Crane sat -motionless, staring fixedly out of the window. - -"Good-bye, then!" said Ida stiffly. - -"Good-bye, my dear," replied Miss Crane. - -"I never saw anyone so horrid and unsympathising," muttered Ida, as -she closed the door after her. "I wouldn't have believed it." - -Miss Crane sat for more than an hour motionless, thinking. She -sighed deeply now and again. - -At length she stood up, and, taking the pile of letters she had -written, tore them all up into fragments; then, putting on her -bonnet and waterproof cloak, she went out and did not return home -until late at night. - -"Why, miss!" cried the landlady, as she came in white, tired, and -wet; "you'll get your death stayin' out of doors such a day as this!" - -"No," said Miss Crane gently. "It will do me no harm. I was obliged -to go to town on business. I am sorry to have to tell you that I -must leave you on Saturday." - -"I'm sorry indeed to hear it," said the landlady. "Isn't that very -suddint like?" - -"Yes," agreed Miss Crane; "it is very sudden." - -On Saturday, as Miss Crane was packing her trunk, suddenly Ida came -bounding up the stairs into the room, all radiant with smiles and -gaiety and flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck, exclaiming-- - -"What do you think has happened I Oh! it's just too delightful. -Somebody has given Cyril £700 a year--somebody who refuses to give -his name. We're all dying with curiosity to find out who it can be. -I'm certain it is somebody who has heard Cyril preach. Don't you -think it is?" - -"Yes," agreed Miss Crane. "Very likely it is." - -"And now," continued Ida, "everything is settled so nicely, and -we're to be married at once. I only wish we had room at home to ask -you to stay with us for the wedding. You dear old thing! I believe -I was cross and horrid to you the other day, but really I was so -distracted that I didn't know what I was saying. And now, dear, I -must be off, for Cyril is waiting for me." - -She kissed Miss Crane and hurried off. - -[Illustration: Ida flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck.] - -Miss Crane stood in the window watching, with dim eyes, the young -pair walking down the street. A kitten came and, mewing, rubbed its -soft little head against her foot. She stooped, stroked it gently, -saying-- - -"Pussy, are you lonely too? for I am--very." - - - - -PARABLES IN MARBLE. - - -A story is told of a late Bishop of Peterborough, to the effect that -at a public dinner he said that he once bought a picture of a sunset -on a river, which he hung in his study; it was a bad picture, but it -had a beautiful influence over him, and he confessed that when he -looked at the picture "a curate might play with him." - -[Illustration: FAITH. - -(_By Alfred Drury._)] - -The Bishop without doubt knew a good work of art when he saw one, -and his knowledge informed him that technically his "sunset on a -river" was bad; but it appealed to his sentiment and occupied its -place on the study wall in spite of its defects. In this respect, -most people are with the Bishop; it is not so much the quality of -a work of art that makes it popular, but the particular strain of -sentiment it contains that touches a responsive chord in the hearts -of those who look at it. The English public are sentimentalists -first and foremost in art, and the artist who receives the greatest -acclamation is he who is most skilful in this direction. And if this -is so in respect to painting, how much more so is it with regard to -sculpture. Public enthusiasm is rarely roused by the sculptor's art. -Next to the architectural room at the Royal Academy, the sculpture -hall is the least frequented, and we fear it must be said that the -majority of those who do go there go because it is the coolest place -in the exhibition. - -This, of course, is matter for regret, for there are as ennobling -and inspiriting works of art to be seen there as in the picture -galleries. The sculptor has the power to appeal to our ideals and -aspirations to as great an extent as the painter, limited though he -be by his materials. (It can at once be realised that the worker in -marble has not the same freedom as he who uses paint and canvas--he -has greater difficulties to surmount, less subjects to choose from, -and far narrower scope in which to express his thoughts.) We have -had "sermons in stones" which have been quite as powerful as any -preached by painter or poet. - -The classical tradition has undoubtedly affected the sculptor more -than it has his brother-artist of the brush; it has weighed him -down, and made his work cold and lifeless; and men and women of -to-day want art that is living, helpful in their daily straggles, -responsive to those aspirations which every one of them possesses in -a measure. As a distinguished member of the Royal Academy, now dead, -once wrote, "We have aspirations, we reverence something more than -the ordinary life of mortals; we have before our eyes an ideal of -truthfulness, piety, honour, uprightness, love, and self-sacrifice -greater than any which exists on earth." To appeal to these -emotions by a beautiful and living art should be the object of our -artists, and those who do can be sure of receiving the approval and -the gratitude of the toilers of the world. This has been proved -over and over again by the votes taken at Canon Barnett's picture -exhibitions as to the most popular works shown, when men like Mr. G. -F. Watts, R.A., and the late Sir Edward Burne-Jones have been first -favourites. And this probably accounts in a measure for the public -indifference to works of sculpture. The sculptor has for the most -part neglected subjects which appeal to the hearts of the people of -his day, and based his work on classic models and precepts. - -In saying this we do not in any wise belittle the great works of the -past. It is impossible to look on the mighty works of the ancient -Egyptian workers in stone without feeling the sense of awe which -the people of those days must have experienced--and were intended -to experience--when gazing upon them. Mystery is the keynote of -Egyptian sculpture, mystery deep and unfathomable. Look upon those -inscrutable, gigantic faces in the British Museum; coldly inhuman; -giants of stone, indifferent to the passions which pulsate in -the human breast. Mighty works indeed--parables impossible of -interpretation! - -Look, too, at the works in the Assyrian galleries of the same -collection. Marvellous of execution, they again draw forth -admiration for the skill of their creators, for their dexterous -records of the life of those far-off days, for the massive and -imposing decorativeness of the semi-human lions and bulls. And then, -coming down the ages, consider the beauty of form of the works of -the sculptors of classic days; the wondrous productions of the -Greeks, the perfection of line and grace of these representations in -stone of the "human form divine." Masterpieces of the world which -will never be excelled as works of art, they, nevertheless, do not -appeal to the hearts of the people, and in adhering to the style of -ancient Greece our sculptors have themselves to blame for the lack -of popular sympathy. - -[Illustration: MOTHERHOOD. - -(_By Alfred Gilbert, R.A. In the possession of Sir Henry Doulton._)] - -The sculptors of Italy who shared in the revival of art in the -fifteenth century understood this. Without sacrificing in the least -the beauty of the classic artists, they infused into their work -that touch of sentiment--either religious or frankly human--which -won for them the admiration of their contemporaries, and enables -them, though long since dead, to speak to us through their art. The -charming creations of Donatello, the delightful child-forms of Lucca -della Robbia, the gigantic creations of Michelangelo--gigantic both -in conception and execution--appeal to us primarily for the humanity -which they reflect: admiration for their beauty follows in due -course. - -[Illustration: THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. - -(_By Warrington Woods._)] - -Until comparatively recent years English sculptors have failed to -appreciate this public taste, and the public work all through our -country has been deplorably lacking either in sentiment or art. -The ghastly figures which are exposed in London streets rouse no -enthusiasm, and only claim attention because of the men of which -they are memorials. Curiously enough the only really beautiful piece -of allegorical sculpture in our city is the work of a Frenchman, and -that is smothered under a hideous cupola! I refer to the charming -little group symbolising "Charity," on the drinking fountain by the -Royal Exchange. This beautiful figure of a woman and two children -the work of Dalou, was originally shown in stone, but the ravages -of the London climate destroyed the features of the figures, and it -was only when replaced by a bronze cast of the original model a year -or two ago that its full beauty could be appreciated by the present -generation. The symbolism is not intricate, the parable can be read -by the most ignorant, and understood by all, but it is "a thing of -beauty," and therefore a joy for ever. - -The English sculptors who are claiming attention to-day are men -influenced largely by the spirit of "modernity." They are giving -us works which appeal to our sentiment as well as to our sense of -beauty. Look, for instance, at the charming group by Mr. Alfred -Gilbert, R.A., which is illustrated on page 345. One wishes that the -original could be placed in position where people could see it every -day. It is a simple subject, but what greater lesson can be enforced -upon us than that of the holiness and purity of a mother's love and -solicitude for her child? There is in one of the public squares of -Paris a group very similar to this by Delaplanche. A mother is again -giving her child its first lesson in reading. Tender and pure in -sentiment, it is an object lesson to all who behold it. - -The nobleness and dignity of labour provide our sculptors with -a manifold variety of subjects, but there are not many English -artists who have availed themselves of it. Among these, however, -is the distinguished Royal Academician, Mr. Hamo Thornycroft. "The -Sower Scattering Seed" is but the representation of an English farm -"hand," but it would be difficult to find a piece of work among -English sculptures to excel it in grace and beauty of line. The -artist has executed another work of "A Mower"--again an English -farm-labourer, leaning on his scythe--which is another example of -his skill in the adaptation of a subject which can be understood and -appreciated by every man, down to him who actually wields the scythe. - -[Illustration: ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST. - -(_By W. Goscombe John._)] - -[Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN OF FAME. - -(_By A. C. Lucchesi._)] - -Biblical subjects have found exponents in sculpture to a very -large extent from the days of the Renaissance downwards. The old -Italians decorated their churches with such to almost as great an -extent as the painters of their time did; and many sculptors to-day -find their inspiration in Scripture in like manner. We have chosen -some for illustration in this paper--two by living artists, and -one by Warrington Woods, a sculptor who lived some years ago, when -"classic" style and subject were deemed necessary by the workers -in the sculpturesque arts. "The Sisters of Bethany" is infected by -this spirit, but is, nevertheless, pleasing to a certain extent. -The "Faith" of Mr. Alfred Drury, is, on the other hand, distinctly -pictorial and frankly illustrative of the subject. The "St. John the -Baptist," by Mr. Goscombe John, another of our rising sculptors, is -a beautiful figure which belongs to the Marquis of Bute, and stands -in the centre of a fountain basin in the garden of St. John's Lodge, -Regent's Park. - -[Illustration: THE SOWER. - -(_By W. Hamo Thornycroft, R.A._)] - -On page 347 is the most ambitious of the allegorical works among -our illustrations, and is the work of Mr. A. C. Lucchesi, a young -sculptor of whom great things may be expected. "The Mountain of -Fame" represents a warrior, who, struggling to acquire the laurel -wreath, has in his efforts thrown away sword and shield and is -reaching after the honour which is held temptingly before him by the -figure of Fame. Almost within his grasp, it yet eludes him, and the -rough path up which he has stumbled has not yet brought him to the -summit. His weapons, cast aside in the assurance of victory, are -left behind; but the wreath is still not his, and he is helpless -against further dangers which may await him; the eagerness for fame -may prove his ruin and all his strivings end in disaster. Readers -of Miss Olive Schreiner's "Story of an African Farm" will remember -the beautiful parable upon this subject, and I asked the sculptor -if this had influenced him at all in the work. The suggestion was -almost a revelation to him, for, although he had read the book -and remembered vividly this particular passage, yet confessed that -it was quite out of his mind when he modelled this group. But the -influence of the story is distinctly visible. - -[Illustration: (_Photo: York and Son, Notting Hill, W._) - -THE NIGHTINGALE MONUMENT IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. - -(_By Roubiliac._)] - -Memorial sculpture, of course, forms a large part of a sculptor's -work, and the example by Mr. Armstead illustrated on this page -is typical of a great many of the kind. The most beautiful and -dignified monument we possess is without doubt Alfred Stevens' -great work in St. Paul's Cathedral in memory of the Duke of -Wellington--one that can never be sufficiently admired, contrasting -as it does with the grandiose monuments of the last century in the -same building and at Westminster Abbey. - -We illustrate on this page one of the most curious monuments in the -latter building. It is the work of Roubiliac, a Frenchman who worked -in England in the eighteenth century. The tomb is that of Joseph -Gascoigne Nightingale, of Minehead, Somersetshire, and of the Lady -Elizabeth, his wife, who died soon after her marriage. From the dark -recesses of the tomb below issues the skeleton form of Death, in -the act of hurling his lance at the wife, while the husband leans -forward with extended arm to ward off the fatal blow from his loved -partner, who is sinking to rest beside him. - -[Illustration: MEMORIAL TO AN ONLY DAUGHTER. - -(_By H. H. Armstead, R.A._)] - -Death, however, can be represented far better than by a ghastly -skeleton, as Mr. George Frampton, A.R.A., has proved in his -dignified "Angel of Death" which stands in the Camberwell Art -Gallery. This figure of a young man, carrying the traditional scythe -across his shoulder and an hour-glass in his hand, reminds us of Mr. -Watts' constant representation of the "grim messenger"--no longer -"grim," however, but beautiful, erect, inviting--the harbinger of -the land where there shall be no more tears, neither sorrow nor -sighing. - - ARTHUR FISH. - - - - -[Illustration: PLEDGED] - -By Katharine Tynan, Author of "A Daughter of Erin," Etc. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND. - - -London was under drizzle when the four-wheeler containing Mr. -Graydon and Pamela drew up at Lady Jane Trevithick's house in Brook -Street. - -As the time came for saying good-bye to her father, Pamela's heart -sank lower and lower. By the time the cab stopped it was a mere dead -weight of foreboding and depression. - -One minute she looked at her father with blank despair. It was in -her heart to put her arms about his neck and cling to him and refuse -to leave him, as she had done when a small child and insubordinate -to nursery rule. But the minute's glance checked the impulse. He was -not thinking of her: he was wholly preoccupied: as she watched him, -his lips moved as if in conversation with someone. - -"'Ere you are, sir. This is the 'ouse," said the old cabman, not -offering to budge from his box. - -Mr. Graydon jumped out and knocked at the door. While his hand yet -held the knocker the door was flung open by a pompous servant. - -"Here, my man, lend me a hand with this lady's luggage. The jarvey -seems old and incapable," he said brightly to the functionary. - -The man came out unwillingly into the rainy street. The sight of the -four-wheeler with its poor little trunk brought a look of amazed -contempt to his face. But Mr. Graydon was not thinking of him. - -When the luggage had gone in, he took his daughter from the cab. - -"No, thank you. You need not wait," he said to the cabman as he -followed Pamela up the steps. - -"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room, sir," said the servant, -impressed, despite himself, by the shabby visitor's easy air of -command. - -"Ah, thank you, I am not coming in. Good-bye, Pam, darling. I'll get -the night-mail back. Be sure and enjoy yourself, and give Lady Jane -my kindest regards." - -He kissed her hastily, unconscious of the supercilious eyes of the -footman. Then he turned towards the wet street. - -Pamela stood in the hall, looking after him with her miserable heart -in her eyes. He went down the steps with his hands deep in his -shabby overcoat pockets--for he carried no umbrella--and his soft -hat pulled down over his eyes. Another minute and he would be out of -sight. A wave of intolerable loneliness rushed over his daughter's -heart as she saw him vanishing and leaving her alone among strangers. - -"Papa, papa!" she cried. - -The genial, kind face was turned back to her for an instant. Her -father's hand waved a farewell. Then he was out of sight, and she -became conscious that the weary footman, forcedly polite, was -holding the door open for her. - -"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room," he repeated, and there was -rebuke in his voice. Pamela drew back, and he shut the door. - -"Poor little Pam!" said her father as he walked along briskly. "She -will be home-sick to-night; to-morrow she will be better content, -and the day after she will begin to enjoy herself." - -"And now, let me see," he said. "This turn is it, for Hill Street? -I ought to know the way, though it is so many years since I took -it. I hope I shall catch his lordship before dinner. If I'm obliged -to disturb him, he'll be in a horrible rage, and things won't be -propitious. Anyhow, at the worst, I'll have time to eat something at -the station before I catch the mail. Perhaps his lordship will ask -me to dinner if things go well." - -He smiled so cheerfully, showing a row of even white teeth, that -a wretched girl, carrying an infant, was moved to beg of him. He -handed her a shilling, to her unbounded amazement. - -"There goes part of my dinner," he said to himself. "Never mind: -she needs it." And then to the astonished beggar: "Go home, my -girl, with that poor little chap. It is no night for him--or you -either--to be out." - -Presently he came to a huge house, showing a dim light here and -there in its black front. He knocked with a tremor of heart. When -last he had knocked there he had stood at the threshold of new life -and joy. The rain dripped from his soft hat and hung in beads of -moisture on his grey moustache. It soaked unheeded into his thin -overcoat. - -The door was opened by an old man-servant. He peered in wonder at -the shabby-looking stranger, who stepped so unquestioningly within -those gloomy portals. - -"Is his lordship in town?" asked the intruder. "Why, Thorndyke! It -is surely Thorndyke?" - -"Yes, I am Thorndyke," said the man. "But I don't think I know you, -sir. Let me see." - -He turned on the electric light into the front part of the hall, and -brought his dim old eyes nearer to Mr. Graydon's face. - -"Why, it is Master Archie!" he said quaveringly. "Master Archie -after all those years! And how are you, sir? Are you well?" - -"Quite well, Thorndyke. Can I see my uncle? I want very particularly -to see him." - -"He's none too pleasant," whispered the old man. "He has a touch -of gout, and the little master's been ill. They've ordered him to -Cannes." - -"Indeed! I'm sorry for that. I thought he was a hearty little chap." - -"So he was, so he was, till a few months gone. He's never recovered -a heavy chill he took at the beginning of the winter. His lordship's -bound up in him, and it do fret him to see Master Lance dwindle." - -"Ah! I am very sorry," said Mr. Graydon, and a cloud came over his -face. "I am sorry for the boy and for his lordship, too. Health is a -great blessing, Thorndyke." - -"It is, indeed, sir. I am glad you have yours. Come in here, sir, -and I'll let his lordship know." - -He opened the door of a room lined with books in heavy bindings, -and motioned Mr. Graydon to enter. The atmosphere was close and -warm, though the fire was low in the grate. But Mr. Graydon did not -notice that his wet coat was steaming, and that he felt damply and -uncomfortably warm. He had other things to think of. - -[Illustration: "Papa, papa!" she cried.] - -Presently the door was sharply opened, and a red-faced, -irascible-looking old man came in. He glared fiercely at his -visitor as he hobbled to a chair. - -"Well, Archibald," he said, using the name as if it were distasteful -to him. "To what am I indebted for the honour of your visit after -all those years?" - -"I would have come before, sir, but for your own words." - -"I'm not unsaying my words. They are as good now as they were then." - -"Twenty-five years is a long time. Can't you forget and forgive?" - -"I neither forget nor forgive. You did me an injury past -forgiveness." - -"It was no injury; Mary had chosen me." - -"You chose your own lot in life. I have not interfered with it. Why -do you come here?" - -[Illustration: "Go!" said the old lord.] - -The old man grinned fiercely as if he had had a spasm of pain, and -bit his under lip hard. - -"I am sorry to have come when you are not well." - -"Your visit would have been unpleasant at any time. Why do you come?" - -Mr. Graydon took up his soft hat. - -"I came partly out of hard necessity, partly because I hoped that -after all the years you would have forgiven me. But there is no use -in my staying, I see. I am sorry to have troubled you, sir." - -"Say out what you have got to say, man. I don't know whether you -know that I have an heir in your place? You have buried yourself so -that you may well not know." - -"I am glad you have a son, sir." - -The old lord grunted. - -"Your business, man, your business. I can't wait on you all night, -and in five minutes the dinner-bell will ring." - -"My business is very simple. I have three girls. One of them would -marry after my own heart and hers; but poverty stands in the way. -I was brought up as your heir. I thought perhaps that, remembering -that fact, you would help my girl." - -"You mean by giving her a dowry?" - -"You are very rich." - -"The time was, Archibald, when I would have given ten years of life -to have heard you ask this and to have refused you. I refuse you -now, but it is because everything is for the boy. I am old, and even -my appetite for revenge has deserted me." - -"You owe me no revenge, sir." - -"We think differently. Why did you cross my path? Why didn't you -marry that woman who wanted you--Dunallan's daughter?" - -Mr. Graydon looked thunderstruck. - -"You have forgotten, sir; Lady Jane married my friend Gerald -Trevithick." - -"Because she couldn't marry you. He was an idiot to marry her. -Everyone saw her infatuation but he and--am I to believe?--you." - -"Impossible," muttered Mr. Graydon; "I barely knew her. I never -thought of her." - -The old lord waved away his words contemptuously. - -"She had no money, but she had connections, and she would have had -ambitions if she had married you and not Trevithick. The woman was -head over ears in love with you, man." - -"I can't believe it, sir. But let it be. It is all five-and-twenty -years ago." - -"And Mary is dead, and you have three girls." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are they strong--are they healthy?" - -"Yes, thank God. They are all a father's heart could desire." - -"Ah! you have scored again. You married the woman we both desired. -You have strong children, and I--my boy is not strong." - -His face twitched with more than the pain of his gout. - -"I am very sorry, sir. I hoped he was strong." - -"I didn't ask for your pity, Archibald." - -"I can't help being sorry, all the same." - -"But you've outwitted me. I married a peasant--almost a -peasant--that my heir in your place might be strong. He is--not -strong." - -Again the bitter spasm crossed his face, and the sight of it wrung -Mr. Graydon's kind heart. - -"I pray that he may become strong," he said earnestly; "God is good." - -"Anyhow," cried the old man with sudden fury, "I shall not break up -his inheritance. If he lives to do that himself one day, let him. -It is like enough he would. He does not take after me. But he is my -only son." - -The dinner-bell pealed loudly through the house. - -"Go!" said the old lord. "You have upset me. I shall not be the -better of your visit for a week. Go back to your girls, and come -here no more. Be thankful they are strong. Money is not everything." - -He shuffled out of the room, and Mr. Graydon followed him. - -"Show this gentleman out, Thorndyke," he said, and went without a -word of farewell. - -"Let me get you a little refreshment, Mr. Archie," said the old -servant. "Do, sir! Dear, dear! you are very wet, and to think you -have to turn out again without your dinner!" - -"No, thank you, Thorndyke. I shall do very well till I get to -Euston. I shall have some dinner there before the train starts." - -"You are going back to Ireland to-night, sir?" - -"Yes, Thorndyke, I must." - -"Dear, dear! and you are very wet. Can we do nothing for you, sir? -My wife--I married Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper; you remember, -sir?--would be so fretted to see you going off like this. Do let me -get you something, sir?" - -"Nothing, thank you, Thorndyke, nothing. But it is very kind of you, -all the same. I remember your wife very well. She was good to me in -old days. Give her my love, Thorndyke, and good-bye." - -"Good-bye, till happier times, sir," said the old servant, as Mr. -Graydon went out in the streaming night. - -The lights of a hansom blinked through the rain as he turned -north-eastward. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a few -coins, and looked at them. - -"No," he said, "I can't afford it. I must walk part of the way, and -'bus the rest. I shall just have time to do it." - -But by the time he got to Euston he could only snatch a few -fragments of food. And so it was wet, chilled, and half-fed that he -made his return journey. - -His uncle's suggestion about Lady Jane disturbed him oddly, though -he tried to thrust it from him as impossible; but it recurred again -and again. - -"After all," he thought at last, "it might explain why she sought -us out, and why she wanted Pamela. If I unwittingly did her the -injury that she should have cared for me, who had no love to give -her, it would be like a woman's generosity to repay me in that way. -Ah! but women are better nowadays. She must have been a happy woman -with Gerald, happier than with a worthless fellow like me, who could -bring her neither honour nor glory. Ah! if it is true, and she -should repay my Pam with happiness, how wonderful it would be! And -there is no goodness which is impossible to a woman, praise be to -the Source!" - -Despite the damp and discomfort, his thoughts made him fall asleep -with a smile on his face. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -AN EVENTFUL EVENING. - - -"Why did you do it, Auntie Janie?" asked Lady Kitty. - -"Do what, darling?" answered Lady Jane in the tone that was reserved -especially for her pet. - -[Illustration: "Better leave her to me, Auntie Janie."] - -"Why, ask that poor little thing here. You know you don't like her a -bit, and she's as home-sick as ever I saw anyone. Why don't you pack -her off home again?" - -"I asked her because--because--they were kind to Anthony, and it was -only civil to do it, and because it ought to be a pleasure to the -girl herself." - -"Now you know you didn't, Auntie Janie, and you needn't tell me. -It's not like you to do a shady thing first, and then tell a story -about it." - -"Kitty!" - -"Yes, I know it's shocking of me. But I've always found you -straight. Where you disliked you disliked, and made no pretence -about it. But now you're playing a part for some reason or other, -and I don't like you in a part." - -"I think you're a rude, spoilt child, Kitty." - -"I know I'm spoilt by you, and you're forcing me to be rude. It -isn't like you, as I said before, and so I thought I'd ask you why -you did it. You've become tortuous, Auntie Janie, ever since the day -Anthony left for Washington. I don't recognise you as a tortuous -person, and, frankly, it makes me uncomfortable." - -"What fault have you to find, Kitty, with me as hostess?" - -Lady Jane put down the pen she had been holding in her hand all this -time, and came over from her writing-table as though she foresaw -that the discussion would take time. - -She looked down at Lady Kitty, who was basking in front of the fire, -and her cold eyes grew maternal. - -"You're fond of me, Kitty, I believe." - -"It would be odd if I wasn't. I'm selfish to the heart's core, but -I'm really not bad enough not to be fond of you." - -"I don't think you're selfish, Kitty. It is only a pose of yours. -But I am glad you are fond of me. Few people are. My life has been -a mistake, Kitty. I was not formed for happiness. If I had to do it -over again, perhaps I would make an effort to live otherwise. But -this is not what I meant to say. You think that child unhappy?" - -"Anyone can see it with half an eye." - -"She went off cheerfully enough with Mrs. Molyneux to see the -flowers." - -"Yes, it was a relief to her. Mrs. Molyneux is an old dear, and she -won't feel out of it with her. She has been feeling horribly out of -it with you and me." - -"Perhaps, Kitty, I _mean_ her to feel out of it. Perhaps I mean her -to be unhappy." - -"Oh! say you didn't, Auntie Janie," said Lady Kitty, suddenly -lifting up a flushed face. "Say you didn't. If you really meant -that, I think I should have to throw you over, and take up the -cudgels for the girl. Only my loyalty to you has kept me from doing -it before. She's a nice little thing, and I am sure she is as jolly -as a kitten when she gets fair play." - -Lady Jane winced. - -"We are both talking nonsense, Kitty. But if what I said were true, -how would you defend your--your new friend against me?" - -"Upon my word I don't know. I couldn't dress her up in my frocks and -jewels; for she's as proud as she's poor. And I couldn't tell her to -stand up against going to places where she's perfectly unhappy. And -I couldn't say what would be the kindest thing--'Run away, little -baa-lamb, to your woods and mountains; the world is no place for -you.'" - -"Yet you expect me to say it." - -"No, I suppose I really don't. Let me see. Her visit is half-way -through. Let _me_ take her round now to places she'll enjoy. She'd -simply love to see the Tower and Hampton Court, and to look at the -shops in Regent Street, and have tea at Winter's." - -"I hardly know you in this amiable mood, Kitty." - -"I hardly know myself. Still, there it is. Perhaps I'm rather sick -of the world, and have a longing for Arcadian pleasures." - -"I can't very well go out and leave my guest alone. Yet we are -pretty full for the next couple of weeks. I have been thinking -myself very good-natured for taking a brace of young women about." - -"I daresay," said Lady Kitty. "Yes, we are rather full. I don't mind -shirking some of the engagements." - -"And I, others?" - -"Better leave her to me, Auntie Janie. She's afraid of you." - -"Do you begin to-night?" - -Lady Kitty's face fell. - -"I'm afraid I can't stay at home to-night without perjuring myself." - -"Mildred Sefton is going. Let her take you, and I shall stay at -home--if, indeed, you think Miss Graydon would not enjoy the 'at -home.'" - -"She wouldn't without a proper frock. You'll be good to her, Auntie -Janie?" - -"I shall try to, my dear." - -"And to-morrow she and I will take up our _rôle_ of town mouse and -country mouse." - -"Poor Kitty!" - -"I shall like it. She likes me already, and I have an odd fancy to -make her like me better." - -"You amazing Kitty! But are you going to carry out those -extraordinary expeditions from east to west unchaperoned?" - -"I shouldn't mind at all. We aren't so particular nowadays, you -know. However, I daresay Captain Leslie would go with us with joy. -He admires the little Pam." - -"And he is Anthony's friend." - -"Yes, of course, one doesn't mind bothering him any more than one -would Anthony." - -When Lady Kitty announced at dinner that she was going to take -Pamela a round of sight-seeing, Pamela's weary face brightened. - -"You would like it better than meeting a lot of dull people who are -desperately uninteresting to you." - -"I should love it," said Pam, with two sudden dimples dancing into -her cheeks. - -"We haven't been doing our duty by you," went on Lady Kitty. "It -would be an everlasting disgrace to us if you went home without -seeing the sights." - -"But won't it be a great bother for you?" - -"On the contrary. I have long desired to see the Tower." - -"You don't mean to say you never have?" said Pamela, staring. - -"Well, you know, the people in a place never see the sights of it, -unless they are obliged to by an amiable visitor." - -"You will have such gay times with Kitty, to-morrow," said Lady -Jane, with the faintest suggestion of enmity underlying the smooth -words, "that you will not mind, I hope, having only my society for -to-night?" - -"Is Lady Kitty going out?" asked Pamela, and a cloud fell on her -face. - -"She must," said Lady Jane shortly. "We shall have some music," she -went on, "and afterwards you must get to bed early to prepare for -a tiring day to-morrow. So we shall not find the evening too long -without Kitty." - -Yet after dinner, when Lady Kitty, radiant, in her smartest gown, -floated into the drawing-room and found Pamela alone, it was not the -face of one who anticipated a pleasant evening that she beheld. - -"How exquisite you look!" cried Pamela, forgetting her bad quarter -of an hour to come. "I never thought anyone could look so beautiful." - -Lady Kitty kissed her emphatically. - -"There," she said, "I'm not the kissing sort, but you are a dear -little thing to admire another girl so rapturously. Not but what you -can afford to." - -Pamela still gazed at her with eyes of wonder, and said nothing. - -"We are going to have such a lovely day to-morrow, and don't forget -it," whispered Lady Kitty; for there was the _frou-frou_ of Lady -Jane's skirt in the distance. Then quite suddenly she kissed Pamela -again. - -"Thank you," she said, "for what your eyes are saying. I don't mind -telling you, as a great secret, that I want very particularly to -look well to-night." - -She laughed as she floated away towards Lady Jane, who was just -coming in, and, taking up her warm cloak, wrapped herself in it. - -"Good-night, you people, and be happy," she called back to them. - -Lady Jane gazed rather uneasily after her as she went. - -"Kitty seems excited," she said. "I hope she hasn't been overdoing -it lately." - -"I think she looks very well and happy," said Pamela. - -"Ah!" replied Lady Jane, as if it were hardly Pamela's business to -have an opinion, and vouchsafed no further remark. - -After she had turned over an evening paper, and tea had been -brought, she went to the piano and began to play. She was a good -musician, and Pamela, who had never heard good music, listened -entranced. Then Lady Jane sang song after song, as if she had no -listener; and as Pamela watched her, warmed with the emotion of the -music, she felt that she could understand Lady Kitty's affection for -the proud and cold woman. - -At last Lady Jane stopped abruptly and came over to the fire. Pamela -sat with bent head in the firelight till suddenly she lifted her -eyes like wet violets. A sharp pang of memory shot through Lady -Jane's heart. She turned away, and when she looked at Pamela her -eyes were cold and cruel. - -"You don't get much music at--at--I'm afraid I've forgotten the -name?" - -"Carrickmoyle," said Pamela. - -"Ah! Carrickmoyle." - -"No, we never hear any--except the squeaky old harmonium on Sundays. -We have no piano." - -"Nor newspapers, nor books, nor society, nor pictures?" - -"Very few novels," said Pamela, "except old ones, but plenty of -books. My father always says that newspapers are worthless reading, -that they divide one's interest into snippets. But," she made haste -to add, "he only really cares for classical literature. I suppose we -have no society and no pictures. But the country is delightful." - -Lady Jane yawned as if Pamela's answer did not interest her. - -"What a pity!" she went on in tones of subtle disparagement. "What -a great pity that your father cannot give his daughters the things -which make life really worth living." - -Pamela flushed. - -"Our lives are very happy. But that our dear mother died young, I -should say we are the happiest girls alive." - -Again Lady Jane stifled a yawn. - -"Anthony must have missed his music," she went on, "while he was -with you. He is devoted to music." - -"He never said----" began Pamela lamely. - -"Of course he wouldn't," said Lady Jane. "By the way," she went on, -"has Kitty told you how things are between her and Anthony?" - -Pamela flushed, and then grew pale again. Fortunately she was not -called upon for an answer. - -"No, I see she hasn't," went on Lady Jane; "and, of course, the boy -would be equally reticent. He has been in love with Kitty all his -life. She is his ideal. Anthony cannot bear your modern damsel, -romping about among the pursuits of men till she has neither voice -nor complexion left. A delicate and graceful creature like Kitty is -his ideal." - -Pamela made no comment on this confidence. She never thought of not -believing it, as a more sophisticated girl might. - -"Ah!" she said in her own heart, "I was the entanglement, after all, -and she was the true love." - -And then she remembered oddly Sylvia's contemptuous disbelief in the -love of young men. - -"I'm afraid you are tired," said Lady Jane, as the conversation -threatened to become more and more difficult. "Shall we say -'Good-night'? You must be fresh for Kitty to-morrow." - -Pamela accepted her release thankfully. When she had reached her own -room, and was alone, she knelt and hid her face in the bed-clothes, -and considered Lady Jane's astounding disclosure. - -It did not seem to her that it admitted of doubt. Anthony's own -conduct bore it out fully. For the moment he had had a fancy for -her. She was not yet at the point of doubting its genuineness--but -when he went away he forgot her, and his allegiance returned to its -lawful owner. - -The humiliation was bitter, but it did not stir her resentment at -the moment nearly so much as Lady Jane's insolence about her father. - -"And to think," cried Pamela hotly, "that I have eaten the woman's -bread and endured such a horrible time here simply because I would -not go home and let them know things had not been right! And to -think how my father loved Sir Gerald Trevithick and his people for -his sake! I shall never cease to hate the name from henceforth." - -And yet her thoughts took a sudden turn, in spite of her; and, in -spite of herself, her heart cried out for Anthony, and again for -Anthony. And though she poured seas of scorn upon herself, her heart -still betrayed her. - -The next morning Lady Kitty knocked at her door very early for that -fashionable damsel. - -"Are you up, stay-a-bed?" she cried. "It is an enchanting day, and -we have the loveliest programme for it." - -"Come in," said a voice, unlike Pamela's. - -Lady Kitty came in on a scene of confusion. Pamela had her small -trunk open on the floor, and was ramming things into it wildly. She -had her hat on, and her face seemed to have become pinched with -trouble out of its usual soft beauty. Her lips were set, and her -eyes looked unutterable woe. - -[Illustration: Lady Kitty came in on a scene of confusion.] - -"My father is very ill," she said in a dull voice. "I am going to -catch the express at Euston. You will tell Lady Jane I could not -wait to see her." - -"You poor child! When did you hear it?" - -"The letter came by the first post." - -"You are not going without breakfast? Those lazy creatures must have -it ready to time for once." - -She rang the bell sharply, and a maid came. - -"Breakfast immediately for Miss Graydon," she said. "We shall be in -the dining-room in three minutes. Tell Dibber it _must_ be on the -table." - -And it was. Pamela ate a few mouthfuls and swallowed a cup of tea. -Then the cab was at the door, and her miserable eyes were looking -out on the sunshiny street. - -"Good-bye, good-bye," she said. - -"When you can, send me a word to say how he is," said Lady Kitty. - -Pamela stepped back into the dining-room, and put her arms round -Lady Kitty's neck. - -"No matter, no matter!" she cried. "I love you. You've been human to -me in this house, and I love you." - -And then Pamela was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -PAMELA SAYS "YES." - - -It was May now, and the evenings were long and sweet. Eight o'clock -rang from the clock-tower at Glengall, and Pamela Graydon stood by -the Wishing Well in the woods and looked down into the little cup -of clear water. Memory was very keen in her this delicious, scented -evening. - -No word had come from Anthony Trevithick, and Pamela had ceased to -expect any long ago. On her father's account as much as on her own -she was filled with dull anger against him--an anger that hurt. - -She had had no communication with the house in Brook Street, except -her hastily scribbled line to Lady Kitty when Mr. Graydon began to -creep back out of the shadow of death, and the answering letter, -full of a sympathy which would have surprised some in Lady Kitty's -world, if they could but have read it. - -"Anthony thinks of getting his Uncle Wilton moved home as soon as -possible," was one of Lady Kitty's bits of news. "He will never -be very strong again, but he is out of danger. Of course, they -will have to go warily, so Anthony will hardly be here before full -summer." - -"He, may stay away for ever, so far as I am concerned," had been -Pamela's comment as she thrust the letter into her little old desk. -Indeed, at the time, in the extremity of her relief at her father's -illness having taken a turn for the better, her love affair seemed a -paltry thing and not worth thinking upon. - -But now that the strain was over her loneliness returned. She -looked with sad eyes upon the summer landscape, and the moan of May -wood-doves from near and far seemed to be the voice of her pain. - -She often wondered if she could be the Pamela of a year ago--so gay -and careless. Her sadness of late had passed unnoticed--they had all -been sad--but whereas Sylvia's spirits had gone up with a bound, -and Mary's mood was one of quiet and thankful joy, the great fear -being removed, Pamela, after the first relief, felt only a flatness -and dulness of the spirit which seemed never likely to lift; for -Pam looked to her future with all the hopelessness of very young -girlhood. - -She sat down on a mossy tree trunk and listened with her chin in her -hand to the last song of the thrush. - -"Pamela," said a voice close by her, "the dews are falling, child, -and you will take cold." - -"Oh, Lord Glengall!" Pamela looked up startled, and then stretched a -friendly hand to him. - -"No; it is not a bit damp," she said. "Just feel it. I am going home -presently. Sit down here. There is room for you." - -But he stood watching her seriously and made no response to her -invitation. - -"You have been to Carrickmoyle?" she said. - -"Yes, I saw him for a few minutes." There was no necessity to -specify who the "him" was. He had been so much in all their minds. - -"He was very comfortable," Lord Glengall continued. "Sylvia was -reading to him, and his little fire was bright. He grows every day -more like himself." - -"Yes," said Pamela simply. "It is good to see him growing stronger. -One can rest in it, and be glad, without looking forward too much." - -"You mean to the winter?" - -"Yes; twenty things may happen before then to help us. We have -nearly five months before the doctor says he must go abroad. I am -not going to think about it." - -"Lord Downside may even yet find a human heart in him," said -Glengall, watching her seriously. - -"Lord Downside--who turned him into the street, wet and hungry, to -meet almost his death!" cried Pain, with an angry sob. 'The tender -mercies of the wicked.' I shall always think of Lord Downside when I -hear that." - -"You look as if you needed a change yourself, Pam." - -The deep-sunk eyes looked at her with an anxious tenderness, but -Pamela did not notice. - -"I shall pull up now," she said. "Carrickmoyle in summer is good -enough for anyone." - -"But the winter, Pam--the winter?" - -"Let us forget the winter for a little while," answered Pamela, -surprised at his insistence. - -"I am very rich, Pam," he said, and then stopped. - -"Ah! that is what you are aiming at," said Pam, looking up at him -with repentant affection; "and I was feeling cross with you because -you wouldn't let the winter be." - -"He won't mind taking--a loan--from his old friend? At interest, if -he likes. Eh, Pam?" - -"Oh! a thousand per cent., if you like," cried Pam airily, but her -eyes were dewy. "You may as well charge a big interest, for you know -it would be a loan that would hardly have the faintest chance of -ever being repaid." - -"Oh! I don't know about that," said Lord Glengall, digging a hole in -the ground with the toe of his boot. - -"You are an optimist," laughed Pam, and her tone was tender. - -"He will take it, you think?" - -"He never will." - -"I have neither chick nor child. Is my gold to lie rotting while the -friend I love--wants for it?" - -He substituted "wants" at the last moment for another word, and -Pamela understood. - -"I daresay it is foolish," she said, "but I am afraid we shall not -be able to persuade him." - -"If not, Pam, there is one other way." - -"Ah! no," she cried, putting out both hands as if to push him off; -"not that way, Lord Glengall." - -She closed her eyes at the moment, and like a sudden stab there came -the thought of the young lover who had kissed her in this place, -deadly sweet and deadly cruel as well. - -"I beg your pardon, Pam," said Glengall's quiet and patient voice. -"Of course, I am too old." - -"Oh! no, but I am not the right person--that is all. You must marry -someone who loves you. I--I am the wrong person." - -"We won't talk about it, then," said Glengall, turning away his -head. "We must find some other way, Pam." - -Pamela jumped up and ran to him, and, as she had often done, thrust -her arm into his. - -"You are a thousand times too good for a stupid, ungrateful girl -like me." She hugged his arm to her unconsciously. "I should be a -thousand times a happier girl if I did love you and married you. -Indeed, it oughtn't to be hard to love you." - -Lord Glengall patted her head. - -"Thank you, Pam," he said, "for being sorry for me. I don't deserve -your goodness; I am a selfish old fellow for wanting a lovely young -creature like you. Ah! Pam, we should form those ties when we are -young. Then we should not feel useless and lonely old blocks when we -have left our youth behind." - -"You're not going to be unhappy?" cried Pam, still hugging his arm. - -Lord Glengall laughed. - -[Illustration: Pamela looked up startled.] - -"No, Pam," he said. "I don't pretend to be like a young fellow, all -fire and despair. I should have liked to take care of you, little -girl, and to have the right to take care of you all. But we must -find another way." - -They walked back together to Carrickmoyle in the old friendly -fashion, and no one seeing them could have guessed that Glengall was -a rejected lover; but that night Pam was thoughtful. - -The next morning she was alone with her father. Mr. Graydon lay on -a couch, from which he could see the mountains through the open -window, and Pamela, on the rug by his side, was trying to teach Mark -Antony to balance a straw on his nose. - -"Let him alone, Pam," said her father. "He's too old and fat to -learn tricks." - -[Illustration: "Is it 'Yes'?" said Lord Glengall.] - -"Then he shan't have his bone; Pat deserves it better. Pat has -learned three new tricks since you've been getting well." - -"It is good to be getting well again. I don't think I realised -before how beautiful the world is." - -"Our bit of it," said Pam. - -"And yet I am no coward. When my time comes, I shall not be afraid -to go. If only I could feel that you children were provided for!" - -"Did that trouble you--then?" said Pam, in a low voice. - -"It did," answered her father, "though I tried hard for faith and -trust." - -"Dear, darling dad!" cried Pamela suddenly. "Would it make you -happier if I were to marry Lord Glengall?" - -"I thought we had settled all that, Pam." - -"Oh, yes, in that old life," said Pamela dreamily, "before you were -ill. But things are altered now. It is just as well we don't know -what's before us." - -"But I am getting well, my little Pam." - -"Ah, yes, thank God! You are getting well," said Pam. "But you -haven't told me if it would make you happier for me to marry Lord -Glengall." - -"You would be safe," said Mr. Graydon wistfully, "and he would take -care of the others. But--but--it is not a question of making me -happy, or of anyone but yourself, little Pam. Could you be happy?" - -"Sometimes I think I could," said Pamela. "It would be an end of -trouble; it would be peace." - -"Poor Pam! you talk as if you had been through storms." - -Pam shook her head. - -"Never mind, darling dad. I think I shall say 'Yes' then, after all." - -"He has asked you, Pam?" - -"Yes, he has asked me. You don't think, dad, that he would like -Sylvia just as well?" - -"He seems to prefer you, Pam." - -"I should _love_ him for a brother-in-law." - -"If you feel like that, don't think of him for a husband." - -"He would never deceive nor betray me," said Pamela, with a sigh. - -"Poor little girl!" said her father, and then said no more. - -A day or two later, as Lord Glengall was leaving Carrickmoyle, he -was overtaken by Pamela. - -"I'm coming with you a bit," she said. "I want to give the dogs a -run." - -"I'll be proud of your company. Shall we take the wood-path?" - -"No," said Pamela, with a little shudder. "I hate the wood. Let us -cross the bog." - -"Why, what has come to you, child? I thought you were a perfect -wood-nymph." - -"I'm tired of the wood," said Pam, shortly. - -They walked on till they were out in the road through the bog. Then -Pamela suddenly spoke what was in her mind. - -"Lord Glengall," she said, "do you still want me to marry you?" - -"Why, it was only on Wednesday I asked you. You don't suppose I've -had time to change my mind?" - -"Because--I've changed mine. I want to say 'Yes.'" - -"'Yes,' Pam? Is it 'Yes'?" said Lord Glengall, turning and facing -her. "Are you quite sure you mean 'Yes'?" - -"Quite, quite sure," said Pam. - -"What's come over you to make you say it, when you said 'No' the -other day? You're doing it of your own free will, Pam?" - -"Quite of my own free will." - -Lord Glengall stooped and kissed the cool cheek, almost as her -father might. - -"And you won't want to unsay it later on, Pam?" - -Pam shook her head. - -"I'll be very good to you, little Pam--God helping me." - -"I know you will," said Pain. "But why did you like me instead of -Sylvia?" - -"I don't know, I'm sure. Pam. I never thought of that." He laughed -out. "It's lucky I didn't. Pam. What chance should I have had with -Sylvia, and all those boys about her?" - -"What, indeed?" said Pamela, but she looked mysterious. - -A moment later she pulled up again sharply. - -"Now that we're engaged," she said, "I've something to tell you. -Lord Glengall." - -A wave of the loveliest rose flowed over her face, but her eyes were -down. - -"What is it, Pam?" he said quietly, but he felt a sharp pang as he -watched her. She would never flush like that for him, he felt sure. -Ah, his lost youth! What would he not have given to recall it? - -"I think I ought to tell you," she said, looking on the ground at -her feet, "that I have cared for someone else." - -"Very much, Pam?" - -"Very much." - -"Is it all over, Pam?" - -"It is all over." - -"Was it--a matter of money, Pam? Could nothing be done? I don't -want you to marry me at the cost of your own happiness." - -Pamela was pulling a wild yellow iris to pieces. He put his hand -under her chin, and lifted her face till he could look into her eyes. - -"Tell me, tell me, Pam. Be brave and truthful with me. It is my -happiness as well as yours. Is there nothing that can be done?" - -"There is nothing." - -He let her go, and stood away again, and his face was full of -trouble. Pamela looked at him for a moment. Then she made a step -forward, and drew his arms about her. - -"I told you because I thought I must," she said. "But it is all over -and done with. I am going to be so happy with you, so happy!" He -looked down at her and his face was transformed. - -"Don't make _me_ too happy, Pam," he said. "It is too much for an -old hulk like me." - -And so they went home through the summer evening, Pamela saying -to herself over and over again that she was really happy. Now she -need not dread the autumn for her father, for had not Glengall said -that together they would take him to the Riviera, or farther afield -to Algiers, and so would make him strong again? And had he not -thought, even in his first content, of poor Mary and her hopeless -love affair? Mick was to exchange into a home regiment, and a little -money would smooth the way for their marriage, so that the two need -not wait till some day far distant, when they should look in each -other's faded faces and feel that this was not the love of long -ago. Sylvia, too, was to have fine frocks and gaiety as befitted -her beauty and her youth. And to think that she, Pamela, was the -wonder-worker, the magician, to give her beloved ones the things -that lay nearest their hearts--she, Pamela, who had always desired -to give! - -Only Sylvia, of them all, did not congratulate Pamela with approval. - -"I don't believe you'll make him half as happy as I should have -done," she said. "But never mind--it is your score, and I accept it." - -And then she went off with a frown to refuse young St. Quentin for -the fifth time, as she had already refused his superior officer. - -"I'll do my best to make him happy," Pamela said, remembering before -she slept. "Help me to make him happy," she cried, lifting her heart -and her eyes. - -And so she fell asleep placidly, quite unlike a girl who had been -asked in marriage and had accepted only a few hours ago. Just -for that one night she was troubled with no thought of Anthony -Trevithick. - - -[END OF CHAPTER TWELVE.] - - - - -[Illustration: WE CAN.] - -A Short Address to the Members of the Fourth Form at Harrow. - -By E. W. Howson, M.A. - - -Let me try to picture a scene for you. It is a spring day, towards -the end of March, and a group of friends are walking along one of -the high roads leading to Jerusalem. They are going, like many -others, to attend the Feast of the Passover, in the Holy City, -during the following week. Slightly in front of the rest walks -Jesus Christ. There is something unusual, almost alarming, in His -aspect, and the disciples who are following behind are watching -Him with awe and wonder as He strides along with rapid steps. He -is evidently possessed and agitated by some deep emotion, some -inflexible purpose, which they do not fully comprehend. His thoughts -are not their thoughts. They do not know what He knows--that in a -few short days He, their Lord and Master, whom they fondly dream is -destined to win an earthly crown, will be tried like a common felon -and nailed to the bitter cross. They are thinking of a triumph and -a throne, and are already discussing the honours which they hope -to share. He is thinking of something widely different--of agony, -desertion, and death. - -Presently, two of His disciples--James and John--step forward, with -their mother, Salome, to ask Him a question. Jesus looks round and -says to her, "What wilt thou?" Salome, who, like many mothers, was -ambitious for her sons, replies, "Grant that these my two sons may -sit, the one on Thy right hand, and the other on Thy left, in Thy -kingdom." The other disciples, who overheard her words, are annoyed -at the request, which appears to them pushing and selfish. Why -should James and John be singled out for special favour? They expect -and hope that Jesus will rebuke them. Instead of which, He says -gently, but very seriously, "Ye know not what ye ask. Can ye drink -of the cup that I drink of? and be baptised with the baptism that -I am baptised with?" It was a stern and searching challenge, and a -coward would have hesitated to meet it. But James and John were no -cowards. They took up the challenge at once, and simply and promptly -they answered. +Dunámetha+--"We can." The request may have been -selfish, but the answer was brave; and, what was more, they were -destined to seal that promise with their blood. - -It is this answer--this one word (for in the Greek it is but one -word), +Dunámetha+, "We can"--which I wish to consider with you for -a few minutes this evening. - -For an answer like this is a key to character, and shows of what -sort of stuff the men were made who gave it. You will find as you -grow older that men may be roughly divided into two classes--those -who face difficulty with a _can_, and those who face it with a -_can't_. The former are the material from which heroes are made; the -latter may be good, kind and pure, but sooner or later they fall -behind, and become the followers, not the leaders, in the work of -life. - -There is an old Latin proverb--"_Possunt quia posse videntur_," -"They can because they think they can." Nothing could be more true. -For let a man only believe he can do a thing, and he is already -half-way to the achievement of his purpose. It is the half-hearted, -the faint-hearted, who fail. Belief is the thing we want. "All -things are possible to him that believeth." You know this is true in -your games. You know that the boy who goes shivering and shaking to -the wicket is pretty sure to return after a few overs clean bowled. -But it is equally true of every department of life. Napoleon said -that the word "impossible" ought to be removed from the dictionary, -and the boy or man who, when duty calls him, can answer calmly and -deliberately, "I can," is the one who not only deserves but commands -success. - - "So nigh is grandeur to our dust, - So near is God to man, - When duty whispers low 'Thou must,' - The youth replies--'I can.'" - -You remember, no doubt, the old Greek fable of Perseus--how, when he -was a boy of fifteen, the goddess Athene appeared to him in a dream -and showed him the hideous head of the Gorgon writhing with snakes. -"Can you," she asked him, "face this wicked monster, and will you -some day try to slay it?" "Yes," he said, "I can; if thou wilt help -me, I can." And though Athene told him of all the long journey, and -all the terrible perils in the way, he did not shrink or falter, -but when he came to be a man he nobly fulfilled his resolution and -promise. And this is only an allegory. It means, that if a man or -boy has sufficient will and determination, there is no danger, -no difficulty, no temptation, which he may not overcome by the -assistance of divine support. Pray, every one of you, for God's best -gift of a strong will. It is worth, believe me, all the knowledge, -wealth, and popularity in the world. - -Now, of course, I do not pretend that you and I are called on in -our daily school life to act the hero or the martyr on the grander -scale. Our life is cast in quiet ways. And yet, as surely as our -Lord asked James and John, so He asks each one of us, "Can you drink -of My cup? Can you be baptised with My baptism?" - -What, then, is this cup, what is this baptism in your school life -here at Harrow? For if we dare not share it we cannot be called His -disciples. "No pain, no gain." "No sweat, no sweet." So ran the old -sayings, and if we cannot bear His cross most assuredly we shall not -deserve His crown. Let me, then, take a few homely instances to show -what I think is the meaning of Christ's question here at Harrow for -you. - -You are, let us suppose, in your house with three or four other -boys. You have all been talking together about your games, when -suddenly the conversation takes a bad turn, and something is said, -perhaps in jest, which is coarse or irreverent. The speaker is an -influential boy, and you are rather proud to claim his acquaintance. -It would be easy for you to join in the laugh; it will please him, -it will show that you are as "knowing" as the rest. There is the -temptation--it is a very common one; but the question is, can you -resist it? Can you refuse the expected smile? Can you sacrifice the -cheap popularity? Can you boldly say "Shut up"? Can you walk quietly -out of the room? Can you? Very well, then, if so, you can drink the -cup of Christ. - -Do you think this is asking too much of you? Let me tell you, then, -a story--it is a well-known one, but it will bear repetition--of -an Eton boy. He was captain of the boats at Eton about fifty years -ago, and it was the custom then at boat suppers for coarse and -indecent songs to be sung. Patteson (for that was the boy's name) -said that if he was present those songs should not be sung. He went -to the supper as usual, and a boy got up to sing one of those songs. -Patteson jumped up then and there and walked out of the room. I have -not a doubt he was laughed at for his pains, and that he lost some -of his popularity; but the protest was successful, and, so far as I -know, the practice has never, from that day to this, been revived. -Some thirty years later Patteson, who had learnt to drink the cup -of Christ at school, became a bishop--a missionary bishop--and met -a martyr's death in the far islands of the Pacific Ocean, a loyal -servant of his Master to the last. - -Or again--to take another instance--you have been playing a game and -you have come back in a hurry rather late. You have an exercise to -show up, and you have not left yourself time to finish it. Another -boy in the house has already done his, and the work lies there on -the table before your eyes. You are tempted to take it and copy it. -It will save you from punishment. No one will be the wiser--except -God (and for the moment you forget that). Other boys have often -done it. Perhaps your friend offers to lend it you, and would think -you something of a prig and simpleton to say no. Can you reject the -temptation and refuse to look at it? Can you show up your exercise -unfinished and bear the punishment it involves? Can you? If so, you -can drink the cup of Christ. - -Or, once more, we will say that you are waiting with your form for a -master outside the form-room door. While you wait, an unpopular and -helpless boy is being teased and pestered. I daresay his appearance -is odd, and he is sensitive and excitable and easily provoked. -You are tempted to join with the rest and add one more jest at his -expense. It will, perhaps, sting him to the quick and make the tears -start to his eyes, but you will earn a laugh and get the credit of -being thought amusing. Can you check that jest? Can you speak up -in defence of the weaker side? Can you take his part and protect -him? Can you do more? Can you take the trouble, when the rest are -gone, to say that you are sorry for him and give him a word of -encouragement and sympathy? Can you? If so, you can drink the cup of -Christ. - - "They are slaves who fear to speak - For the fallen and the weak; - They are slaves who dare not be - In the right with two or three." - -I know it is the fashion to say that the life of a boy at a public -school is one long round of unbroken pleasure. There could not be -a greater mistake. You are not all--you are not any of you--always -happy. You have every now and then a cup of bitterness to drink. You -may have had a quarrel with your best friend, and you find it hard, -almost impossible, to forgive. You are too proud to make the first -apology: he would think he had gained his point; and so bad blood -gets worse, and soon you are barely on speaking terms. You have been -trying to turn over a new leaf, to break off some bad habit which -is growing on you like a creeper on a tree--to give up swearing, -perhaps; to say your prayers more regularly--and then someone says, -with a sneer, that you are turning "pi." You know how the sneer -tells. Or perhaps you have been idle and you determine to make a -fresh start. You prepare your work carefully, but when you are put -on to construe your memory fails; you get turned, and your master -thinks you still idle and will not believe that you have tried. - -Such are some of your common trials. They may make you very unhappy, -but they are God's way of testing you. Can you, He seems to say, -do this and that for Me? Can you give up that bad habit, can you -bear ridicule, can you do your duty patiently in spite of failure? -Oh! answer boldly, "Yes--with Thy help we can." Never give up hope. -Fight on and on. Despair is the devil's triumph. When he sees you -throw up your hands and give way, he chuckles; for he knows that you -are, or soon will be, at his mercy. - -The fact is, we cannot go to heaven in an easy-chair, and these -trials are, indeed, the hammer strokes which harden the metal of -your character. Shirk and evade them, and you will never be a strong -and useful man. Bear them, and you will be able to tackle other and -fiercer temptations in the larger battle of life--to be brave and -pure in your regiment, honest in business, valiant and self-denying -in the Church. - -But more than this lies in this little word +Dunámetha+, "We can." -For perhaps, as you grow older, you will be called upon to fill -some high office of trust and responsibility. Will you, then, at -that critical moment, prove worthy of the opportunity, or will you -let false modesty, indolence, or nervousness, tempt you to decline -it, and let the chance slip by which God has given you of useful -service? Will you be one of those contemptible people who say, "No, -thank you, it isn't good enough," or, "No, I'm afraid of what others -would think or say of me"? Will you not rather rise to the occasion, -in a spirit of alacrity, and say, "Yes, I can. I will not be content -to lag in the poor-spirited ruck, who die unwept, unhonoured, and -unsung. I, too, will take my part in the front rank, and strike as -stout a blow as I can for the cause of truth and right"? - -But if you are to give such an answer as this (and I trust you -will), remember that you must give it relying on that strength -which is greater than your own. If you don't, you will be ambitious -and selfish, and I daresay successful, and nothing better. Listen -to what Christ says: "Without Me ye can do nothing." It is His -strength, His spirit, which alone can give the full force and the -right direction to our wills. With Him everything, without Him -nothing. "I can," said St. Paul in one of his bursts of enthusiasm, -"I can do all things," but then he is careful to add, "through -Christ which strengtheneth me." There is the secret, that is the -only talisman of true success. Let us, then, pray to Him morning by -morning, evening by evening, to give us His help. - - "Be Thou our guard on peril's brink, - Be Thou our guide through weal and woe, - And make us of Thy cup to drink, - And teach us in Thy path to go. - For what is earthly shame or loss? - His promises are still our own, - The feeblest frame can bear His cross, - The lowliest spirit share His throne." - -This, then, as I understand it, is the message contained in the -words "We can." And whenever a fierce temptation comes upon you, -as it will, perhaps, even to-morrow, and you are inclined to say -to yourself, "No, I can't face this unpopularity; I can't do this -irksome duty; I can't resist this temptation any longer; I can't go -on fighting any more," then turn a deaf ear to Satan's whispers, and -answer boldly, "I can." - - - - -[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL PURSE] - -A FAIRY PARABLE FOR THE CHILDREN. - -By Myra Hamilton. - - -"Caleb! Where are you?" - -"Here, mother," he cried, suddenly rising from one of the hay-cocks -upon which he had been resting. He took the little bundle from her -hand without one word of thanks, and then he slowly untied the red -cotton handkerchief and began to eat his dinner. - -"What is the matter with you, my lad?" his mother asked him. "You -seem very cross to-day." - -Caleb nodded his head moodily. - -"I feel cross," he assented. Then he looked searchingly at his -mother. - -"Don't you want to be rich?" he demanded. - -The old woman was horrified at the thought of it. - -"Rich? Heaven forbid! I am quite content to live in our little -cottage by the stream. I do not dread the cold winter approaching, -for you are such a good son to me that I know I shall lack naught." - -Caleb moved uneasily. This simple statement did not correspond with -his preconceived notion of prosperity, so he tried to explain his -views more fully to his mother. - -"I want gold," he said firmly. "Bushels and bushels of it! Enough to -buy me fine clothes, horses, carriages and food--heaps of different -kinds of food that I might eat continuously. That is what I call -being rich!" - -The old woman packed the empty plate up in the handkerchief before -she spoke. - -"You will never be happy with those thoughts in your head," she -said, sadly. "Money is not the only thing to live for in the world, -dearie." Then she walked to his side and laid a wrinkled hand upon -his arm. "Don't you bother about the hay any more to-day," she said -kindly. "You go and have some fishing. I will give it a toss over." - -So this discontented young man walked off to amuse himself, and left -his mother to labour under the burning sun to finish his work, and -as he sat on the bank patiently waiting for a fish to bite, a shrill -voice suddenly addressed him. - -"A penny for your thoughts," the voice said. - -Caleb looked about him in amazement. The only living thing he could -see was a frog, and, of course, he was aware that frogs had not -the gift of conversing with human beings; so he went on with his -meditation and paid no attention to the mysterious question. - -The frog hopped angrily about, and then it repeated its remark. - -"I did not know that a frog could speak," said Caleb, feeling very -astonished; "I have never heard one do so before." - -"Oh, really!" said the frog patronisingly. "You do not know -everything yet. You are far too young. A friend of mine, who is a -most cultivated sparrow, tells me you were grizzling for money this -afternoon. Money indeed! What good could it do you, do you think?" - -"Money buys everything worth having," replied Caleb promptly. - -"No, it doesn't," snapped the frog, looking very important. "For it -does not buy ME! When you are older and wiser, you will find there -are many things in the world that gold cannot purchase. Wealth has -many advantages certainly," he went on reflectively. "It was through -money that I lost my first wife." - -"Indeed," said Caleb, politely. "How was that?" - -"The frog I selected to wed," explained his companion, "was a very -well-bred frog, though unfortunately rather greedy. She was always -delighted to discover fresh food at the bottom of the stream, and -one day she thought she had found quite a new kind of dainty. As she -did not wish to give me a share of it, she swallowed it hurriedly, -and it stuck in her throat and choked her. Just before she died, she -confessed to me what she had done, and I, from her description of -it, knew it was a penny-piece she had attempted to eat. Now, what -would you say," the frog went on calmly, "if I gave you the power to -be as rich as you liked, to possess more gold than you knew how to -spend, to gratify every wish your heart contains?" - -"Can you really do this?" gasped Caleb, incredulously. "I have not -met you before. I cannot understand why you are so good to me." - -The frog puffed himself out with pride. "I am accustomed to judge -character by faces," he replied. "I can see that you will never -settle down here or be content without money. I, as the head of our -family, am allowed to offer our wonderful purse to any mortal I may -choose to confer such an honour upon. If you like to accept it, you -are welcome to do so." - -Caleb was quite bewildered at this stroke of good luck. "For how -long may I keep it?" he asked. - -"Until you realise there are certain things in the world that cannot -be bought by gold; until you weary of the sight of riches, until you -loathe the purse," said the frog solemnly. - -"Then I shall keep it for ever!" declared Caleb. - -But the old frog shook his head. "No you won't," he replied gravely. -"You will want to get rid of it very soon, I think." - -"Where shall I find this extraordinary gift?" asked Caleb cautiously. - -"When you get home, look under the pillow of your bed and you will -discover a shabby green purse lying there," said the frog. "As long -as you desire money, you will be able to take out of it as much as -you require, but when you have learnt your lesson thoroughly the -purse will cease to supply you. Then it must be returned to me, -and I will guard it until I meet another mortal as discontented as -yourself. Farewell! I wish you a short period of wealth, for you -will never enjoy it." - -Caleb hastened back to the cottage, and ran up to his room, where -he easily found the wee purse. It was so small that the young man -felt dubious when he opened it, and he was greatly relieved to see -that there was one gold piece inside. He drew it out and peered -in again. There was another coin waiting in precisely the same -place. This he also removed, but still there came another. When he -found the supply of gold did not fail him, he rushed downstairs to -tell his mother of his good fortune. But she, poor soul, did not -appreciate the change in his position. - -"There is trouble to come, lad," she prophesied, as she heard of his -wealth. "I suppose you will leave your old mother now, and go out -into the world. You won't want to waste your riches here." - -"I was thinking," Caleb admitted nervously, "that it would be fine -to go about a little, but you must come too." - -His mother shook her head decidedly. "No, I shall stay here," she -replied, "for I am too old to wander amid strange scenes. Let me -hear of you, dearie, from time to time, for I shan't live much -longer, I know. I shall have Volta the orphan to live with me, and -then we shall be able to manage the work." - -"No, mother, no," interrupted Caleb. "You forget I am rich now. I -will engage servants to labour for you. You must never do anything -again." - -But his mother declared she wished to live as she had done hitherto. -Servants and fine clothes would worry her, she told him, and she -could not bear to be idle all day long. Her way of participating -in her son's good fortune would be to hear of his grand doings -occasionally, and to look forward to the time when he would return -to sit by her side and describe the wonderful things he had seen. - -Caleb bought a suit of clothes from the village tailor and a horse -from the landlord of the inn, and then he set off. As he rode down -the lane the birds sang to one another, "Here comes silly Caleb!" -but he was too full of his own importance to realise they were -mocking him, and when the tall branches of the trees bent forward -and whispered to him, "Go back! Go back!" he set spurs to his horse -and galloped on. His mother watched him out of sight. She hoped he -would wave his hand to her from the top of the hill, but he was -so occupied with his own thoughts that he only remembered he had -promised to do so when it was too late. - -Caleb rode for many hours, until he reached a beautiful town, where -he arranged to purchase a castle. He installed himself in one that -stood deep in the shadow of the wood, and he supplied himself with -servants, horses, and carriages. He had decided not to travel, for -he did not want to learn anything about foreign lands--he only -desired to live grandly, to eclipse his neighbours and make them -envious of his wealth. - -He had almost forgotten his mother. He never sent her news of -himself, although, at first, he occasionally ordered one of his -servants to ride to the cottage and carry her some gold. He was so -ashamed of her humble origin that he would not admit he was her son, -and when the man returned from his errand Caleb used to avoid him, -for fear he had discovered the secret of his birth. - -At last the young fellow grew very discontented, for he had no -interests in his life; so he determined to marry. He was sure that -no high-born lady would wed him, for, in spite of his riches, he was -only the son of a peasant woman, so he made up his mind to select a -poor girl who would be properly impressed with his position. - -As he had no acquaintances, he decided to walk slowly over the land -and ask the first damsel he met to be his wife. So he called his -dogs together, and away they went upon this extraordinary search for -a bride, but for a long time they saw nobody. - -On the way home, however, Caleb encountered a young maiden, who -was tripping merrily along with a bundle of sticks balanced upon -her head. As she stood aside to allow this grand gentleman to pass -her, her face seemed so familiar that Caleb thought he had seen her -before. He looked at her critically; she was certainly very pretty, -young, and graceful, so he promptly raised his plumed cap and -addressed her. - -"I fear those sticks are too heavy for you," he remarked. "Will you -allow me to carry them for you?" - -But she shook her head. "I am used to them," she explained. -"Besides, I could not trouble you so much. You are a great lord, and -I am only a poor country girl." - -Caleb was not very quick with his tongue, and as he wondered what to -say she gave him a little nod and hastened away. - -The next day he met her again, and the day following also; for he -was really in love with this peasant girl. - -One day he brought her a handsome silver casket full of rare jewels, -but she just glanced at them and then laid them aside. - -"What are they?" she asked innocently. "Bits of glass?" - -"Bits of glass?" he exclaimed in astonishment at her ignorance. -"No; they are precious stones, and worth a fortune. I hope you will -accept them," he added. - -But she shook her head. "They are useless to me," she declared -candidly. "If they are so valuable, why do you wish to part with -them? I should not know what to do with such jewels if they were -mine." - -Caleb could not understand his companion at all. For the first time -since he possessed the wonderful purse he had encountered somebody -who did not appreciate his wealth. - -She looked so fascinating as she sat in the sunshine, with the -contents of the jewel-case glittering in her lap, that Caleb fell on -his knees before her and entreated her to marry him. He talked of -his estate and his money, but his words made no impression. - -"I do not care for you, my lord," she said. "Neither do you really -love me. It is my beauty that attracts you." - -"But I am rich," he objected; "I have----" - -"Yes, I know," she interrupted impatiently; "you have gold, land, -and jewels--in fact, everything that money can purchase. But you -cannot buy affection. If we loved each other, I would marry you, -even though you were the poorest beggar in the land. Although I am -honoured by your proposal, it cannot be. Besides, I should not be a -fit wife for one so great." - -[Illustration: "I do not care for you, my lord."] - -So Caleb went back to his lonely castle and she to her cottage in -the wood, but he did not despair. He could not believe that he was -to take her refusal seriously, so the next day he sent her many -valuable presents, but when she returned them all he knew she was -in earnest. - -That evening, as he sat by his solitary fireside brooding over his -disappointment, he recalled the girl's words, and then he realised -that he was pining for something that money was powerless to give -him. He looked at the presents she had rejected, and, at last, he -understood the limit of wealth. - -In his loneliness and sorrow his thoughts recurred to his aged -mother. He felt he had neglected her, and determined to pay her an -unexpected visit. So early the next morning he called for his horse -and rode quickly away. - -[Illustration: Sitting by his mother's bedside.] - -But when he reached the little cottage he thought it was deserted. -The garden was overgrown, the gate flapped uneasily on its broken -hinges, and the hens scratched among the flowers. He drove them out, -and then he opened the door and peeped inside. His mother lay upon -her bed; her face was very thin, and her breath came in quick, short -gasps, and she seemed very ill. - -"Mother, what has happened?" Caleb asked, as he sat by her bedside -and gently stroked her hand. "Did you never receive the money I sent -to you and Volta?" he added, as he looked in vain for the pretty -little orphan. - -"The gold your servant brought us stands untouched on the -mantelpiece," explained the old woman proudly. "It was useless to -me. I only needed news of you, my dear boy. I sent Volta to watch -over you, for I hoped she would be able to influence you, but now -that you have returned I am sure she will hasten back. Did you not -see her?" - -Then Caleb realised who the beautiful maiden had been. It was his -little playfellow, but his wealth had made him forget his past -life so completely that he had not recognised her. He understood -everything now. His gold could not buy health for his mother, nor -could he use it to win Volta's love. He longed to begin his old life -over again, so he rose to his feet and walked to the door. - -"Mother, dear," he said, "I am tired of my wealth. I am going to the -stream to throw back my purse. It has been a curse to me." - -When he drew near the water, he pulled the shabby little case out -of his pocket and opened it curiously. All had happened as the frog -prophesied. The purse was empty now, for he had learnt his lesson -thoroughly. As he threw it into the stream he saw a little frog dive -hurriedly down after it, and, while he watched, all his fine clothes -slipped away from him and he was once more clad in his peasant's -rags. - -He wanted to see his beautiful maiden again, and, as he opened the -cottage door, he was delighted to find her sitting by his mother's -bedside. - -"Volta," he said as he approached her, "I am poor now. Will you be -my wife, although I have neither a fine castle nor jewels to offer -you?" - -She smiled sweetly at him as she replied shyly, "Your wealth was -nothing to me, Caleb. When I refused to marry you, it was because I -felt you did not care for me. I was afraid, too, of your grandeur. I -know I should not have been a suitable bride for you, but now all is -changed." - -Very soon they were married, and the young couple settled down -to live in the cottage with Caleb's mother. The old woman was -completely contented with the love her son and daughter-in-law -bestowed upon her. And later on, in the winter evenings, everybody -would gather round the fire, and Caleb would take his children upon -his knees as he related the strange things he used to do while he -was the possessor of the wonderful purse. - - - - -_Illustrated from Photographs._] - -[Illustration: VANISHED ARTS FROM THE CHRISTIAN HOME. - -LEATHER-WORK FRAME (1850).] - - -We who live in the present generation of this best of all possible -worlds, as we may well deem it, considering that we have no -experience of any other, are apt to look back on those who preceded -us as benighted beings who walked by very dim lights, had few -artistic perceptions, and only the most humdrum of occupations. -Girls who were born before Waterloo were not very much educated, -and not at all emancipated, and when we think of them we are apt to -wonder how their lives dragged on without railways, without gas, -without circulating libraries, magazines, or tennis. - -[Illustration: WAX FLOWERS (1853).] - -On the whole, however, these old-fashioned lasses had no time to -be dull. One whose brain was as bright as ever when Queen Victoria -celebrated her first Jubilee in 1887 was questioned by a girl of the -period as to her occupations when in her teens and afterwards. "My -dear," she said, "there were always babies in our old house at home, -and your father was the youngest of them. I had the baby clothes to -make, and they wore out so fast! When I was tired of plain hemming -and sewing, I used to embroider the cap crowns or quill up the clean -cap borders." And this woman's mind was not in the least dwarfed or -stunted by much needlework; she lived and travelled a good deal on -the Continent afterwards, and kept well abreast of the literature of -her day to the very end. - -Fine needlework may certainly be counted among the vanished arts, -for our muslin embroidery is now Swiss, and made by machine, and -our delicate stitchery accomplished by a "Singer" or a "Willcox -and Gibbs'." No longer, like the Martineaus of Norwich and their -contemporaries, do we make the fine linen shirts of our fathers and -brothers; and no longer, happily, are middle-class girls obliged -to laboriously copy the new music and songs that their wealthier -relatives and friends have purchased. That is a distinct change for -the better. - -A kind of work that late in the last and early in this century -was thought very highly of, and occupied a good deal of time, was -called filigree. A Christmas present for Grandmamma or for Mamma's -birthday might be a tea-caddy or a workbox, the frame of which was -produced by the cabinetmaker in rosewood or mahogany and lined with -tinfoil, or lead, or satin paper, as the case might be. Rims of -polished wood were seen at the corners, and received the lock and -hinges, but the surface was sunk and had to be filled in with tiny -rolls of gilt-edged paper made in long lengths for the purpose. -These rolls were closely packed together, and produced an appearance -of fine gilt tracery, as seen in the illustration below. Unless very -roughly treated, or kept in a palpably damp place, they did not come -out of position. In the absence of all Oriental goods, which were -never seen in those days unless in families connected with the East -India Company, they were considered handsome, and no one not in the -secret could have guessed how the effect was obtained. - -[Illustration: FILIGREE WORK (1795).] - -Here and there in great houses a few fine lacquered or Chinese -cabinets might be seen, principally brought home as loot, for they -were most plentiful in military and naval families. They were much -admired and very highly esteemed, and some ingenious individual hit -on a mode of making very passable imitations of them in a small -way; and it was not entirely a feminine industry, but one in which -the sterner sex could find indoor occupation during wet weather and -long evenings without loss of dignity. Small tables and the doors of -corner cupboards were frequently treated in this manner, especially -the latter, which were seldom looked at very closely and did not -get much handled. The work was called imitation lacquer, and the -materials were collected during summer and autumn. - -Very thin leaves were selected, such as the crimson foliage of the -Herb Robert when it grows in stony places, silver-weed, which is to -be found in hilly districts such as Derbyshire and the Lake Country, -and the leaves of the sloe or blackthorn, which in late autumn turn -yellowish and assume curious _fade_ green tints. They were most -carefully and smoothly dried between sheets of blotting-paper under -heavy weights or in the thick volumes of bound-up music then to be -found in every house, and when quite dry they were so thin that -the ordinary finger might be passed over them without feeling an -inequality of surface. The piece of wood--table top, cupboard door, -or what not--intended to be ornamented was made perfectly smooth, -and the delicate leaves were fixed on it as taste dictated with -clean, strong gum. If any stalks were required to connect leaves, -they were painted in; and when this was done, well pressed, and -quite dry, all the interstices were filled up by means of a small -camel's-hair brush with a black or dark brown varnish, probably -shellac. Another coat very often had to be put on, and when all was -perfectly smooth and flat two or three coats were laid all over by -way of finish, and when perfectly dry and hard the article looked -remarkably well. - -[Illustration: A SAMPLE OF BERLIN WOOL WORK.] - -Berlin wool work on canvas, either in raised cross or tent stitch, -was a great resource to ladies, and largely used for furnishing -purposes. Of course, it was the latter-day equivalent of the old -tapestry, and tent stitch was usually worked in frames, while really -good workers could accomplish cross stitch in their hands without -drawing up or cockling. Figure-pieces were often framed and hung as -pictures, and fearful and wonderful they generally were. Many of -the floral wreaths, however, were really artistic, especially those -that depicted carnations, tulips, and poppies. Some designs were -absurdly impossible, and a writer in the 'forties describes them as -peacocks or birds of Paradise resting on their talons on the petals -of passion-flowers. Shading was a matter of taste--good, bad, and -indifferent. - -The bride of that day generally took many monuments of her own and -her family's industry to her new home in the shape of wool-worked -cushions, chair seats, screens, and sometimes borders to table -covers and curtains. Preparing them was a great pleasure, and she -was very proud of them when done. They were quite in the taste of -the day, and none of us in such matters lives twenty years before -our time. - -Another kind of decorative furnishing very highly prized was the -leather work which made such handsome frames for mirrors and was -also much used for brackets, and those dark articles formed a very -welcome relief to the amount of gilding in vogue during the days of -the Third Empire in France, which was copied almost _ad nauseam_ -in England. They entailed an amount of attention from duster and -feather brush that would drive modern mistresses and maids crazy; -but that is a detail. - -[Illustration: TENT-STITCH FIGURE PICTURE (1797). - -(_Christ and the Woman of Samaria._)] - -The modelling and cutting of leaves, flowers, and berries in leather -was really hard work, and required hands endowed with a good deal -of muscular strength. The skilled worker was always a student of -nature, and found models in some of her loveliest forms. Vine leaves -and tendrils, with or without bunches of grapes, oak leaves and -acorns, convolvulus blossoms and leaves (see illustration at head -of article), passion-flowers and roses, were great favourites. The -leather used was tanned sheepskin and cowhide, technically known -as basil and skiver; the tools were few, being principally a sharp -strong pair of scissors, a stout penknife, a stiletto and a veiner. -The best work was often accomplished with the fewest tools, for -it is very rarely that the craftsman or artist who can afford to -buy every possible accessory turns out anything worth looking at. -A large board or old deal table, a basin of water, sponge, wire, -tacks, hammer, stain, glue, and varnish, were all needed, and the -work was not quite of a kind for the family circle, as it was best -pursued in a room with no carpet to spoil, and where no one could be -disturbed by the tap-tapping of the hammer. Very good work may be -seen from time to time at the various "Arts and Crafts" exhibitions, -and leather embossing is a good deal used. Professor Herkomer has -some wonderful embossed leather on the dining-room chairs in his -House Beautiful at Bushey, and it was all done by a lady. Work in -leather cannot therefore be classed altogether among the lost arts; -it is being modified, and may some day be revived in all its glory -by women who have plenty of leisure and love to have something to -show for their handiwork. It must not be forgotten that even in an -age that has witnessed such a revival of learning as this there are -still girls of active temperament who are neither students nor great -readers. - -[Illustration: TENT-STITCH FLOWER PICTURE (1825).] - -Shell work was accomplished by sticking small shells, chiefly the -halves of little pink or white bivalves on to a coloured background -with very strong glue. A shallow box was the favourite article, -and it was then glazed and used as an ornament much as cases of -stuffed birds are. How long it lasted is proved by the specimen -photographed, which was worked in 1805. - -[Illustration: SHELL WORK (1805).] - -The wealth of flowers in the present day is quite a modern feature -of luxury. Even twenty years ago, except in summer, they were the -prerogatives of the wealthy who had gardeners and greenhouses and -plenty of artificial heat. Lovers of flowers consequently had wax -models of them, and very beautiful they were when natural, though -unfortunately they had to be covered with glass shades. The lady who -could make them really well was very much thought of, and it was an -occupation that could be pursued at any time, except in severely -cold weather and a hard frost. The Pantheon in Oxford Street was the -great place for obtaining the sheets of wax, shaved off a block with -a sharp plane, which was a delicate operation seldom attempted by an -amateur. The rose wax was peculiarly thin, almost of the consistence -of a real rose petal. The chief tools were small, sharp scissors and -a few bone or steel pins with solid glass heads, some dry colours -and cotton wool to rub them on with. The worker simply took a rose, -snowdrop, violet, or whatever flower she preferred, pulled it -carefully to pieces, laid each portion on her sheet of wax and cut -out by it as closely as possible, previously wetting her scissors. -The petals were moulded in the hollow of the hand with the head of a -pin after being coloured, and curled over where desirable, with the -steel part wetted like the scissors. The wire stalk was covered by a -narrow strip of green wax neatly rolled and rubbed smooth, crooked -over at the top and a sort of little wax centre formed on this crook -on which the flower was literally built petal by petal. Experience -taught which flowers were feasible and which were not. Roses usually -turned out well, so did scarlet japonica, apple blossom, snowdrops, -and daffodils. Primroses were almost unattainable. Lilies of the -valley had each separate blossom made in a tiny mould. All scraps -of wax were collected in a stone jar (a strong jam-pot), and, as -the great crux was to obtain natural-looking leaves, this wax was -carefully melted over or near the fire, well mixed and coloured -with indigo and ochre in proportion to the tint of green required. -Suppose a few violet leaves were wanted, fresh ones of two or three -sizes were gathered and the upper side thoroughly, but not lavishly, -moistened with sweet or salad oil. Then a brush was dipped in the -liquid green wax and passed over the surface, which was allowed to -cool and then a wire stalk was laid on to form the mid-rib of the -leaf. Two or three more layers of wax were added, and when quite -cold the natural leaf was removed, and a very exact facsimile made -its appearance. A well-arranged vase (see illustration on page 309) -or basket of wax flowers, closely copied from nature was very pretty -and acceptable in the absence of the real blossoms. The wax was -rather expensive, though the tools were not, the average price being -from one shilling to one shilling and sixpence per dozen small -sheets. - -Sampler-making was a fine art practised in silk or wool on fine -woollen or silk canvas. Its primary use was to teach how to make -capital and small letters and figures, which were practically -applied to the marking of linen; but occasionally the geography -of England was attempted, as shown in the illustration below, and -probably no girl who had marked in the outlines and names of the -counties ever forgot their respective positions. - -All these home occupations had their day and fulfilled their -purpose. They added to the household attractions, and made the rooms -look as if women lived there and took a pride in them. Very often -the nimble fingers worked all the more quickly and efficiently while -an interesting book was being read aloud. - -[Illustration: OLD SAMPLER MAP (1810).] - -We often say that in those days--which, after all, are not so -very long ago--girls were delicate and unhealthy, took but little -exercise, and were too much given to sedentary occupations. But it -was only the foolish (who carry everything to excess) of whom this -was true. There was a good deal of running about the house, and the -sons and daughters would have known very little of their relations -and friends a few miles off, if they had not walked to see them, -perhaps to spend the day, or to go one day and return the next. -Few families were without sundry poor people in whom they were -interested, and if they lived at the other end of the parish, it -was an object for a walk to take an old woman a milk pudding, or a -little delicacy to a sick child. Houses were more roomy than they -are now, certainly the population was not quite so thick on the -ground, and in persistent bad weather, when outdoor exercise was -impossible for the girls, there were fine games of battledore and -shuttlecock in the hall or schoolroom or some half-empty apartment -cleared for the purpose. And it was a point of skill, as well as -honour, to see who could keep up longest with a skipping-rope, and, -though the little ones shared the fun, it was by no means confined -to them. - -Small daily duties well done, and the change of work that is as good -as play, made life satisfactory as well as pleasant. Amusements were -rare and costly; they are not invariably cheap now, but apparently -we must have them, whatever may be neglected in consequence. We -cannot exactly go back to all the ways of our "foremothers," but we -need not despise them, and already there are signs that the finger -of common-sense is pointing back to that lost era of domesticity in -which so many English virtues grew up and nourished. - - E. C. - - - - -TEMPERANCE NOTES AND NEWS - -By a Leading Temperance Advocate. - -[Illustration: _Photo: Gillman and Co., Ltd., Dublin._ - -THE HON. CONRAD DILLON.] - - -TEMPERANCE AND THE SOLDIERS. - -What a fascinating book might be written about the story of -temperance work in the Army! Long before any attempt at organised -effort, the gallant Havelock had seen the necessity of inculcating -"sober habits" among our brave defenders. Coming to our own times, -Miss Sarah Robinson, Mrs. Daniells and her daughter at home, and -the Rev. J. Gelson Gregson in India, have laboured with more or -less success to bring about a change in the state of affairs. The -National Temperance League did a vast amount of pioneer work through -its military agent, the late Samuel Sims. The formation of the -Army Temperance Association a few years back, gave the movement -a position which even the most sanguine of its friends would not -have ventured to expect. There can be little doubt that this result -is largely due to the far-seeing intelligence which its devoted -Honorary Secretary, the Hon. Conrad Dillon, has brought to the -work. His sagacious counsels, unfailing tact, and extraordinary -power of attracting the sympathetic co-operation of the commanding -officers, have combined to place the work upon a footing from -which it is scarcely likely to be displaced. At the autumn -manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain the Army Temperance Association -was much in evidence, and a number of most successful meetings were -addressed by the Hon. Conrad Dillon and the popular secretary of -the Association, Mr. Clare White. The Patron of the Association -is the Duke of Cambridge; the President is the Duke of Connaught; -the Chairman of the Council is Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, and the -Chairman of the Executive Committee is General Sir Martin Dillon, -K.C.B. The Association publishes an attractive periodical entitled -_On the March_, and its comparatively small subscription list is -supplemented by a Government grant of £500. It speaks volumes -for the thoroughly satisfactory nature of the work done that the -Government actually parts with this little plum annually. The amount -might easily be doubled in view of the saving to the nation which -the improved stamina of the Army has effected, an improvement most -certainly traceable to the efforts of temperance workers. - -[Illustration: ON SALISBURY PLAIN. - -(_Working the Field Telegraph._)] - - -VETERAN STANDARD BEARERS. - -The close of the year was marked by the death of some notable -pioneers of temperance. The Rev. G. H. Kirwood, M.A., was for -upwards of fifty years identified with the cause in Hereford, and -the Rev. Isaac Doxsey for even a longer period in the metropolis. -Charles Pollard, of Kettering, could be credited with sixty years' -untiring advocacy; John Faulkner, of Derby, had been an abstainer -for fifty-five years; and William Symington, of Market Harborough, -had reached the patriarchal age of eighty-nine. Apart altogether -from the noble work which these lamented worthies accomplished, -their long lives present a concrete argument as to the benefits of -total abstinence which it will take a great deal to explain away. -May the example of their consistent perseverance prove an incentive -to young men to follow in their steps! - -[Illustration: THE COLONY FOR INEBRIATE WOMEN, DUXHURST.] - - -AN INTERESTING EXPERIMENT. - -The Industrial Farm Colony at Duxhurst, Reigate, which owes its -establishment mainly to the self-sacrificing devotion of Lady Henry -Somerset, is an experiment which cannot fail to command the sympathy -of everyone interested in the reclamation of inebriate women. -To take the poor creatures away from their sordid surroundings, -and place them in village homes with the attraction of out-door -occupation, are the salient features of the work. Floriculture, -gardening, bee-keeping, and poultry-keeping, are all engaged in; -and, as some of the poor women must perforce bring their very -young babies with them, a "Children's Nest" is part of the scheme. -Dr. Walters, the medical officer, in a recent report gives some -interesting particulars of sixty-four inmates:-- - -"Forty-eight were married women; sixteen were single. - -"Twenty-nine drank spirits alone; fifteen drank beer and malt -liquors; eleven drank any form of alcohol; four drank wine and -spirits; three drank beer and spirits; one drank beer and wine; one -took opium. - -"Sufficient time has not yet elapsed to be able to speak with -confidence regarding the ultimate cure of the thirty-three cases -that are now marked as doing well. - -"Regarding the failures:--Ten only stayed the full time: two of -these had been in homes previously; one had been in an asylum, four -were so broken in health that they were removed by the medical -officer as unfit for treatment, seven were removed by their friends -before the full period had expired." - -The members of the National British Women's Temperance Association -raise a considerable sum annually in aid of this beneficent -institution, but financial help is much needed if the work is to be -maintained with anything like efficiency. - -[Illustration: ONE OF THE KITCHENS AT DUXHURST.] - - -THE PARLIAMENTARY OUTLOOK. - -The reassembling of our legislators at St. Stephen's will once again -give interest to the legislative aspect of the temperance question. -The friends of Sunday closing are lending all their energies to -a determined effort to "get something" in the new session of -Parliament. We may also expect the usual crop of private members' -notices dealing with varied phases of legislative control; and -then the Report of the Royal Commission, from which great things -are anticipated, will be sufficient to keep all interested parties -on the alert. As if this were not enough, Sir Wilfrid Lawson may -be counted upon to peg away at his project for bringing the House -itself under the operation of the licensing laws; so for the next -few months we shall find our morning papers liberally besprinkled -with items of interest from a temperance standpoint. - - -A LITERARY MAN'S TESTIMONY. - -As considerable interest has been taken in our recent references to -the editor-in-chief of the New English Dictionary, we may remark -that Dr. Murray makes no secret of his views. Speaking at a public -meeting of teachers held in Oxford in 1894, he said that he claimed -to be a teetotaller of more than fifty years' standing; and the -great dictionary-maker added:--"I am perfectly convinced that I have -been able to do my work in the world to a large extent owing to this -fact; and that if I were to take stimulants I should be less able to -do my work, and certainly my brain would be less fitted to deal with -the complicated and somewhat difficult questions which often puzzle -me a good deal." - - -COMING EVENTS. - -Workers may like to make a note of the following important -fixtures:--The annual meeting of Miss Weston's Royal Naval -Temperance Society, Town Hall, Portsmouth, February 1st; Sunday -Closing Demonstration, Birmingham, February 6th; Sunday Closing -Mission, Sheffield, February 1st to February 15th; Sunday Closing -Mission, Salisbury, February 13th to February 28th; a lecture on -"The Scientific Evidence for Total Abstinence," by Dr. William -Carter, at Liverpool, February 6th; and the annual meetings of the -Church of England Temperance Society, Memorial Hall, Islington -(March 13th), Exeter Hall (April 25th), and the People's Palace (May -2nd). - - - - -Who can Forbear to Sing? - - _Words by_ JOSEPH SWAIN, 1792. - - _Music by_ ROLAND ROGERS, MUS. D., OXON. - (_Late Organist of Bangor Cathedral._) - - - 1. Who can forbear to sing, - Who can refuse to praise, - When Zion's high, celestial King - His saving power displays? - - 2. When sinners at His feet, - By mercy conquer'd, fall; - When grace, and truth, and justice meet, - And peace invites them all. - - 3. When heaven's opening gates - Invite the pilgrims' feet; - And Jesus, at their entrance, waits - To place them on His seat. - - 4. Who can forbear to praise - Our high, celestial King, - When sovereign, rich, redeeming grace - Invites our tongues to sing! - - - - -[Illustration: SCRIPTURE LESSONS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME - -INTERNATIONAL SERIES] - -With Illustrative Anecdotes and References. - - -FEBRUARY 19TH--=Christ Feeding the Five Thousand.= - -_To read--St. John vi. 1-14. Golden Text--Ver. 35._ - -Christ and disciples have returned to Galilee. The fame of His -miracles and teaching spreads. Multitudes crowd to see and hear Him. -The annual Feast of Passover is coming on. Large bodies of pilgrims -going up to Jerusalem attract Christ's notice. They are fed and -taught. - -I. =The Multitude= (1-7). _Their desire for Christ._ Why did -they come to Him? Some from _curiosity_--to see this famous -Man; or because _sick_, hoping they might be healed; or from -_gratitude_--having received benefits from Him. Christ does not -court popularity; seeks retirement; goes up a hill with disciples -for privacy and rest; there sits down and talks with them. From -there sees crowd of pilgrims. Must do something for them. - -_Christ's desire for them._ Their _wants_ call out His -sympathy--they need food. Their _helplessness_ moves His pity. -Whence obtain supplies in wilderness far from home? Their -_ignorance_ makes Him long to teach them (St. Matt. ix. 36). What -does He do! Tests His disciple Philip of Bethsaida (i. 44), who -ought to know the resources of the district. Philip makes mental -calculation of cost of feeding them. It will take two hundred pence -(about £7, taking the _denarius_ or penny as worth 7d., an ordinary -day's wages, Matt. xx. 2). But the Lord knew what He would do. - -II. =The Miracle= (8-13). Many points to be noticed. _The lad's -offering_--probably the meal provided for Christ and disciples. Five -barley-bread loaves and two small fishes. But five thousand to be -fed! Man's extremity is God's opportunity. - -_Christ's command._ People to rest, sit in rows. - -_Giving thanks_ to God Who giveth food to all. - -_Distribution_ by disciples, His almoners to the poor. - -_Sufficient_ and to spare. None went empty away. - -_Gathering up_ fragments to avoid any waste. - -III. =The Result= (14). Acceptance of Christ by the multitude as the -expected Messiah. - -=Lessons.= 1. Blessed is he who considereth the poor. - -2. Give thanks unto the God of heaven. - - Food Comes from God. - - We are in want of food, and we buy a loaf at a baker's shop. - Whence does a baker get the flour to make that loaf? You say at - once--"From the miller"; but how does the miller get the corn - to grind into flour? He buys it of the farmer. But how does the - farmer get it? With infinite pains he prepares the ground with - plough and harrow. Then he sows the seed and--leaves it. He can - do no more. The soil in which it grows, the sunshine to warm it, - the rain to moisten it, and the wind to blow upon it--all these - are God's doing, not man's. So a wonder is seen in thousands - of harvest fields every year. One grain has produced a hundred - grains by the almighty power of God. Christ, the Son of God, - passed over all the intermediate processes, and made one loaf to - be multiplied into many. "He giveth food to all flesh, for His - mercy endureth for ever." - - -FEBRUARY 26TH.--=Christ at the Feast.= - -_To read--St. John vii. 14, 28-37. Golden Text--Ver. 37._ - -Scene again changes to Jerusalem. Spring Feast of Passover long -over, autumn Feast of Tabernacles begun. Christ at first decided -(ver. 8) not to attend, but (ver. 14) changed His mind and went up, -in the middle of the eight days, quite privately (ver. 10), and -began teaching in the Temple. - -I. =A Sermon= (28, 29). Christ now preaches openly and proclaims His -authority. They by this time know Him well. How? By His miracles, -which proclaim Him as sent from God. Had healed the impotent man -here at Jerusalem (ch. v. 8), also had been testified to by God at -His baptism (St. Matt. iii. 17), and by John the Baptist afterwards -as the Son of God (i. 33, 34). They knew not God, and therefore -would not receive Him. - -II. =An Attempt at Arrest= (30-36). Many believed on Him--mostly -common people. Why? Because of His miracles, His loving words, His -holy life. But chief priests and Pharisees hated Him. Why? For His -increasing popularity, while theirs was becoming less. Also for His -so openly rebuking sin. So they sought to take Him prisoner, but -failed. Why? Because His time for being tried not yet come. - -Christ continued His talk. He is now with them as Teacher and -Saviour, but will soon go where they cannot follow, _i.e._ back to -God. They who reject Him will then seek Him too late, and not find -Him (Prov. i. 26). Christ is believed, accepted, loved by some. -Rejected, hated, despised by others. How is it with us? - -III. =An Offer= (37). Last day of feast. Great procession to Temple. -Water brought from Pool of Siloam and poured out. Isaiah xi. sung by -priests and Levites. Christ applies it to Himself. Notice the steps-- - -_Thirst_, or desire for satisfaction, common to all. - -_Coming_ to Christ for free gifts of salvation (Is. lv. 1) follows. -This is succeeded by-- - -_Believing_ or throwing ourselves entirely on Him. - -=Lesson.= Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. - - A Dry Well. - - I once saw a picture in which the artist had represented a - party of travellers in the desert. They had travelled far and - long. The water was spent in their bottles, and their thirst - was maddening. They were tired and footsore, and could scarce - drag themselves along, when lo! joy of joys they descried a - well in the distance. Gathering up their little remaining - strength, they joyfully hastened to it. But, alas! for their - bitter disappointment, when they reached it, there was no water - there! The well was dry! In attitudes of utter despair the - unhappy party laid themselves down beside the deceitful well to - die. Never, oh never, can it be so with Christ. His water will - never fail. He is the well of life. That living stream is from - the throne of God, always full of life and grace for thirsting - souls.--REV. GORDON CALTHROP. - - -MARCH 5TH.--=Christ Freeing from Sin.= - -_To read--St. John viii. 12, 31-36. Golden Text--Ver. 36._ - -Christ still at Jerusalem. Feast over. Country people gone home. -He teaches daily in Temple courts. Tells of the union between -His Father and Himself, and of His being lifted up on the cross -(ver. 28). Result, that many professed to believe in Him. He tells -them first of Himself as the Light of the World and then of their -position as God's free children. - -I. =Christ the Light of the World.= _The figure._ Light is from God -(Gen. i. 3), is bright and shining. Lights up darkness, reveals -hidden things, makes all clear. - -_The meaning._ Christ came from God, to dispel world's darkness (St. -Matt. iv. 16) and ignorance, and to reveal God (ch. xiv. 9). - -II. =Christ's People Free= (31-36). _Bondage._ New disciples put -to the test. They must do two things--continue in His word, _i.e._ -learn more of Him, and act upon the truth in their lives. The -result will be that they will break their bondage and be free. The -Jews object that they have never been in bondage. What have they -forgotten? Their bondage in Egypt for four hundred years (Acts -vii. 6); their seventy years' exile in Babylon (Dan. ix. 2); their -present submission to the Romans. Christ tells them of a greater -bondage than any other--that of sin and Satan. To live a life of sin -is to be a slave of sin, which involves expulsion from the house -(ver. 35). - -_Examples._ Cain the murderer became a wanderer (Gen. iv. 12). -Hagar, mocking Sarah, had to leave home (Gen. xvi. 6). Prodigal son -went to strange land (St. Luke xv. 13). No rest for the wicked. - -_Freedom._ Given to Christ's people. The Son shared Father's home -from all eternity--so do His brethren. They are ever with Him, share -His home and love (St. Luke xv. 31); they are free from sin (Rom. -vi. 22); they cannot wilfully sin, being children of God (1 John -iii. 9). Free to serve Him with loving service. - -_Examples._ Martha (St. Luke x. 40), Mary (St. John xii. 4), and St. -Paul (Phil. iii. 7). - -=Lessons.= 1. The wages of sin is death. - -2. Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? - - Burden of Sin. - - We have a picture of the Arabs dragging huge loads for Mr. - Layard, the great explorer, and we can imagine how Pharaoh's - slaves, the Israelites, must have sweated and smarted under - their burdens when in Egypt. And I (writes an eminent preacher) - seemed in my youth to have just such a load behind me, and it - would not stir. My burden of inward sin when I was fifteen was - such that I knew not what to do. I prayed, and it would not - stir. I read my Bible, but it would not move. I cried to God - in my agony; I trusted Him. I looked to the Lamb of God, the - sin-bearer, and lo! the burden was gone. I obtained pardon and - peace through Jesus Christ, "Who bore our sins." - - -MARCH 12TH.--=Christ Healing the Blind Man.= - -_To read--St. John ix. 1-11. Golden Text--Ver. 25._ - -Three months since conversation in last lesson. Christ one Sabbath, -on His way with disciples to or from Temple, sees a man blind from -birth, probably asking alms from worshippers. - -I. =The Disciples' Question.= _Why this blindness?_ A babe born -blind--terrible calamity. Unable to care for self, avoid danger, or -work for living. Was it a punishment in advance for some after-sin? -Was it because of some sin of parents? - -_The answer._ No. Unusual suffering must not be connected with -some particular sin. True, if there were no sin there would be no -suffering. But all suffering for some good end (Heb. xii. 7. 11). -Calls forth pity, love, sympathy, help. Example: Good Samaritan -caring for traveller in trouble (St. Luke x. 33). This blind man's -misfortune would prove to be for the glory of God. - -_Christ's message._ 1. To do works of mercy. Therefore "went about -doing good." Proving Himself "sent from God," Who shows love for -all--evil and good (St. Matt. v. 45). - -2. To be Light of the world. To teach the ignorant, to reveal to men -their sin and Himself as Saviour (Heb. i. 2), to show the principles -underlying the commandments as He did about observance of the -Sabbath (vii. 23). - -II. =The Miracle= (6-11). Notice--_The use of means._ Christ could -have cured him by a word, as He did the sick of the palsy (St. Matt. -ix. 6), but He put clay on his eyes and bade him go and wash--thus -teaching use of healing ointment and cleanliness in cure of bodily -ailments--but useless without His blessing; also a test of the man's -faith, as with Naaman (2 Kings v. 14). - -_The neighbours' interest._ Such a wonderful cure seemed incredible, -caused discussion--could it be the same man? How were his eyes -opened? So the man was questioned and told his story. He believed, -obeyed, and was cured. - -III. =The Teaching.= A Parable of the Sinner and Saviour. - -_The sinner_, born in sin, cannot see the light. Is bidden to wash -in the fountain always open. Believes, obeys, and is cleansed. - -_The Saviour_, full of compassion, gives light, knowledge, hope, -salvation, to those who believe. - -=Lesson.= Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see. - - Light and Joy. - - A poor boy in a coal-mine, whose work it was to close the door - after the coal-waggons had passed, was forced to sit there alone - hour after hour in the dark. He was a dear lad, and when someone - said to him, "Are you not tired of sitting so long in the dark?" - he answered, "Yes, I do get tired, but sometimes when the men - give me a bit of candle I sing." So do we. When we get a light - in our hearts we sing. Glory to God Who is our light as well as - our salvation! We see our sin and our Saviour, and, saved by - grace, we shall one day see the dear face of Him we love, and - behold the land which is far off. - - - - -[Illustration: Short Arrows] - -NOTES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE AND WORK. - - -The Cost of a Bible. - -The striking diagram here shown is an attempt to represent the -different prices a buyer would have had to pay in times past for an -ordinary English Bible which he can get to-day for sixpence! In 1804 -such a Bible could not be bought under ten times that sum, and in -1650 the purchaser would have had to pay no less than a sovereign, -or, forty times to-day's price, for a similar Bible. In 1450 it -could not have been bought, except as a written copy, and would have -cost over five pounds, money then, as compared with now, having -greater purchasing power, too! So that it is practically impossible -to give a true representation of this last case, compared with the -former; but the diagram clearly shows that a silver coin which would -buy such a Bible to-day would have to be represented by the ten -coins to buy the same Bible in 1804, and by the forty coins to buy -it in 1650! - -[Illustration: (_Photo: London Stereoscopic Co., Limited._) - -THE EARL OF HARROWBY. - -(_President of the Bible Society._)] - -[Illustration: THE COMPARATIVE COST OF A BIBLE IN 1650, 1804, AND -1899.] - - -The Children's Rest. - -In the pretty neighbourhood of Roehampton stands a useful -Convalescent Home rejoicing in the bright name of Hope Cottage, -or The Children's Rest. The Home is intended for girls requiring -country air and good food, and once again more than sixty little -visitors have passed through the Home in twelve months, and -delighted in the love and the sunshine, the treats and the toys, -they found awaiting them there. From April 1st to September 30th -girls between four and thirteen years of age are received for -three weeks; but during the winter months children from hospitals -requiring continued care are admitted, also chronic invalids and -young servants up to sixteen years of age needing the benefits of -the Home, the time of their visit being longer or shorter according -to circumstances. Small payments weekly are taken in some cases. -Twenty of the children have come from the Ragged School Union's -Cripple department, all with some burden of suffering to bear -through life; and Miss B. M. Galpin, the lady superintendent, would -be glad if a new wheeled chair could be sent by some kind friend -to supply the place of the wickerwork hand carriage that has so -frequently journeyed up Putney Hill with the afflicted children, and -which has lately become very frail. Any number of dolls seem wanted, -and Miss Pretty, the matron, looking to stern realities, asks for -children's boots. The "paper-soled apologies" that come with the -patients too often are reduced to pulp at the first real country -jaunt. Wet feet for convalescents do not conduce to recovery. Of -course, subscriptions are also required, for though small payments -are made by some of the children, yet there are free beds and many -cases which have to be met half-way. Miss Galpin would welcome -more visitors also, to take an interest in the children; and one -lady, Miss M. Pollock (who has left the neighbourhood) has made -an afternoon every week pass very quickly in games, while several -others have given donations of toys or arranged picnics. Perhaps -some others would do likewise. - - -Korea's Crisis. - -January 8th, 1895, was an eventful day for Korea. From a hill in -the grounds of the Mulberry Palace at Seoul a vast crowd of men, -white-robed, black-hatted, looked down in silence and gravity on -a scene which marked a new era in its history. In the presence of -his court and the dignitaries of his kingdom, assembled at the most -sacred altar in Korea, the king took an oath to reform internal -administration, and remedy accumulated abuses. "All thoughts of -dependence on China shall be cut away and a firm foundation for -independence secured," was the first of fourteen clauses in the -Great Charter. There was nothing alarming on the surface of this -royal undertaking enforced by Japan. Yet the king was ill with -anxiety, and old and serious men had fasted and mourned for two -previous days. The king and the officers had probably a very shrewd -impression what this action involved. Sprinkled amongst the gorgeous -costumes of Korean officers were Japanese policemen in blue ulsters, -and newly created Seoul police in a blue European uniform. These -and other apparent trifles indicated an incoming wave of Western -civilisation which could not fail to sweep away old and cherished -institutions. The hermit kingdom of Korea has been roughly dragged -out of obscurity. It stands dazzled and faint with the glare. A -transition stage has inevitable trials. It was during this crisis in -its history that the well-known traveller, Mrs. Bishop, visited the -country and had four royal audiences. On one of these occasions the -queen, who was shortly afterwards assassinated with great brutality, -spoke with admiration of Queen Victoria. "Does she ever in her glory -think of poor Korea?" she inquired. "She does so much good in the -world; her life is so good. We wish her long life and prosperity." -The king added, "England is our best friend." Poor Korea, rich by -nature, but ruined by man, with its thirty-four million inhabitants, -has a claim on English consideration. Already Chemulpo, the treaty -port, is a bustling foreign settlement, open both to the good and -evil influence of Western power. Which of the two is to predominate? - -[Illustration: - - (_From a Photograph._) - -KOREAN CIVIL OFFICERS.] - - -Some Miscellaneous Works. - -One of the most interesting books of the season is Mr. Richard -Kearton's "Wild Life at Home" (Cassell and Co.), in which he treats -in a bright and informing manner of many phases of bird, animal, and -insect life of the United Kingdom. A special value is given to the -work by the numerous unique photographs, taken direct from nature, -by Mr. Cherry Kearton, many of which were secured only after hours -of patient waiting and by means of most ingenious devices (of which -full particulars are given) to overcome the natural shyness and -timidity of the "subjects." - -From Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton comes a series of short stories -by Ian Maclaren, under the title of "Afterwards." The author's -abounding sympathy with, and extensive knowledge of, human nature -are abundantly manifested throughout the book; but we cannot help -expressing a wish that the stories had been, as a whole, less -melancholy in character, and more on the lines of "The Right Hand -of Samuel Dodson," which is the most interesting of the series. -The same publishers are also responsible for a biography of "John -Stoughton, D.D.," by his daughter, Mrs. King Lewis. Dr. Stoughton's -own "Recollections" were issued a few years before his death and -widely read, and consequently this biography is limited in its -scope, but all the same it contains much that will be read with -interest by the many friends of the late veteran divine. Our -contributor, the Rev. Professor Bernard, D.D., has just issued, -through Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, a volume of sermons under the -title "Via Domini," more than one of which originally appeared in -our pages. It is quite unnecessary to introduce Dr. Bernard to our -readers, to whom we heartily commend this helpful and suggestive -volume.--"Beneath the Banner" (Cassell and Co.) is a work which -ought to be in the hands of every boy and girl, and on the shelf of -every young people's library. It consists of a number of interesting -and instructive "narratives of noble lives and brave deeds," -compiled by Mr. F. J. Cross, and we give a special word of welcome -to the new and enlarged edition which has just been issued.--For -young men and women no more earnest and stimulating work could be -found than the recently published addresses by the late Charles -Haddon Spurgeon, which appear under the appropriate title "A Good -Start" (Passmore and Alabaster); whilst young people, as well as -their elders, will doubtless be specially attracted by the new -volume of "Anecdotes, Incidents, and Illustrations," which Mr. D. -L. Moody has just issued through Messrs. Morgan and Scott. From the -same publishers also comes a volume of graceful and pathetic poems -by S. Trevor Francis, entitled "Whence--Whither," and also another -of the Rev. F. B. Meyer's popular booklets of daily homilies, the -latest of which deals with the Psalms and Canticles.--We have also -to acknowledge the receipt of "A Study of the Types of the Bible," -by Ada Habershon (Morgan and Scott), and of a new shilling edition -of "Cassell's Miniature Cyclopædia," which should have a place in -every home, where also Phyllis Browne's new work, "The Dictionary -of Dainty Breakfasts" (Cassell and Co.), would be found exceedingly -useful by every housewife in search of information respecting new -dishes and reliable hints regarding old ones. - -[Illustration: AN OLD SERMON. - -(_See "Were Young Folk Wiser Then?"_)] - - -Were Young Folk Wiser Then? - -The sermon of which we have reproduced the dingy title-page seemed -worthy of rescue from half a dozen handfuls of booksellers' rubbish. -The treatise itself is solid, and a trifle heavy according to our -modern ideas, but its existence proves that a solution was found -in London nearly two hundred years ago for a difficulty which -to-day perplexes ministers of all denominations. Young men would -come to church, and were willing to be taught and, even further, -to be questioned when they got there. "Consideration" is hardly a -subject that would appeal to a youthful audience at the close of the -nineteenth century. But there are signs that the strenuous efforts -made in every department of the Church are winning back young men -to exhortation and worship, though the methods pursued are probably -more lively than those adopted with such apparent success by the -Rev. Mr. Billingsly of the Old Jewry. That divine, however, had not -to cope with the comparative secularisation of Sunday, and with what -somebody has cleverly called the "era of cyclisation." - - -"A Mother's Bible." - -In our December number we published some touching lines under the -above title, which were sent to us by a correspondent who was -unaware of the authorship of the poem. Since their publication we -have received several inquiries as to the author's identity, and -if any of our readers should be aware of the name of the author, -we should be very glad to hear from such, and to pass on the -information to the inquirers. - - -ROLL OF HONOUR FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL WORKERS. - -The =Special Silver Medal= and =Presentation Bible= offered for the -longest known Sunday-school service in the county of =Wiltshire= -(for which applications were invited up to December 31st, 1898) have -been gained by - - MR. MATTHEW HENRY TRENT, - Berry Cottage, Holt, near Trowbridge, - -who has distinguished himself by =fifty-nine= years' service in Holt -Congregational Sunday School. - -As already announced, the next territorial county for which claims -are invited for the =Silver= Medal is - -DURHAM, - -and applications, on the special form, must be received on or before -January 31st, 1899. We may add that =Devonshire= is the following -county selected, the date-limit for claims in that case being -February 28th, 1899. This county, in its turn, will be followed by -the territorial county of =Kent=, for which the date will be one -month later--viz. March 30th, 1899. - - - - -[Illustration: _OUR INTERNATIONAL LEAGUE OF PEACE._] - - -The full particulars of our League of Peace were published in our -last number, and we would impress upon those readers who desire to -obtain the distinction of being the first to send in a thousand -signatures that such names and addresses should reach us as soon -after the 1st of March as possible--or even before. Since the -January part went to press we are glad to hear that other movements -have been set on foot with the special object of rousing up the -nations to a sense of their responsibilities in strengthening the -hands of all who desire to secure permanent peace, and we heartily -wish "God-speed" to these schemes. But the individual, personal -responsibility of every man and woman in this momentous matter must -not be overlooked, and for this reason we desire to obtain the -signature to our memorial of every interested person. The following -is the form in which it has been issued:-- - - "We, the undersigned, desire to express our earnest sympathy - with the peace proposals contained in the recent Rescript of his - Imperial Majesty the Czar of Russia, and hereby authorise the - attachment of our names to any International Memorial having for - its object the promotion of Universal Peace upon a Christian - basis." - -This may be copied at the head of blank sheets of paper, and the -signatures placed beneath, but we shall be very pleased to send -(post free) any number of printed forms on receipt of an application -addressed to the Editor of THE QUIVER, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C. - -The objects of our League have already been endorsed, amongst -other prominent men, by the Lord Bishop of London, the Rev. Hugh -Price Hughes (President of the Wesleyan Conference), the Rev. -Samuel Vincent (President of the Baptist Union of Great Britain and -Ireland), and Pastor Thomas Spurgeon of the Metropolitan Tabernacle. - - - - -[Illustration: decorative] - -THE QUIVER BIBLE CLASS. - -(BASED ON THE INTERNATIONAL SCRIPTURE LESSONS.) - - -QUESTIONS. - -37. Where did the miracle of feeding the five thousand take place? - -38. By what name was the Sea of Galilee known in olden times? - -39. Why was it our Lord inquired of St. Philip how to obtain food -for the multitude? - -40. What was one of the great hindrances to the Jews acceptance of -Christ? - -41. What act of open opposition to Christ did the Jews commit during -the Feast of Tabernacles? - -42. Why was the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles called "the -Great Day"? - -43. Why were the Pharisees so offended when Jesus spake of Himself -as the "Light of the World"? - -44. What expression did our Lord use to signify to the Jews that -they would crucify Him? - -45. In what way did Jesus escape from the Temple when the Jews -sought to stone Him? - -46. The disciples said to our Lord, "Who did sin, this man or his -parents, that he was born blind?" What do we infer from this? - -47. In what way did our Lord test the faith of the blind man? - -48. How did the Jews manifest their displeasure against Christ for -healing the blind man on the Sabbath day? - - -ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 288. - -25. Because there was another place called Cana, situate in Samaria -(St. John ii. 1; Josh. xvi. 8 and xix. 28). - -26. Because the Jews always washed before partaking of any food, and -sometimes three or four times during a meal (St. John ii. 6; St. -Mark vii. 3). - -27. Five (St. John i. 40-45 and ii. 2). - -28. Nicodemus is spoken of as a ruler, and was present when the -council met to decide what they should do to Jesus (St. John iii. 1 -and vii. 38, 50, 51). - -29. St. John iii. 14. - -30. The piece of land which Jacob bought of Hamor (St. John iv. 5; -Josh. xxiv. 32; Gen. xxxiii. 19). - -31. The children of Israel were at one time the inhabitants of -Samaria, and though the poor who were left after the Captivity -became mixed up with the other inhabitants, they still claimed to be -Israelites (St. John iv. 12). - -32. St. John iv. 42. - -33. When the nobleman (an officer in the king's court) came to -Jesus at Cana of Galilee, He refused to go and heal his son, simply -telling the nobleman, "Go thy way, thy son liveth" (St. John iv. 50). - -34. Neh. iii. 1; St. John v. 2-5. - -35. St. John v. 22, 27. - -36. Because the Jews thereby understood that Jesus claimed to be the -Son of God (St. John v. 17, 18). - - - - -OUR CHRISTMAS STOCKING DISTRIBUTION. - - -It is with great pleasure that we acknowledge the prompt and -generous assistance accorded by our readers to our scheme for -providing destitute children with a little Christmas cheer, and by -their help we were enabled to distribute - - =Sixteen Hundred Stockings= - -to really deserving cases in all parts of the kingdom. The following -letter from Paris is but a sample of the many kindly messages sent -to us by those interested in the scheme. The writer says:-- - - "I have just seen in the Christmas number of THE QUIVER about - your Christmas stockings. Although it is too late to propose - any children, I hope it is not too late for you to make use of - the enclosed towards supplying the 'stockings.' I hope it may - make four children happy, and only regret that I cannot see - their joy. To bring a ray of sunshine to children who have none - in their lives is the work among all others to which I would - lend a willing hand, and do more if I were able.--Praying for - every success and blessing on your work, believe me one of your - faithful readers abroad.--F. L.--Enclosed please find P.O. 4s." - -It is quite impossible to reproduce the many letters of -acknowledgment, but to all those who contributed to the fund we -can only say that they would feel amply repaid for their kindly -remembrance of the little ones, could they see the numerous -spontaneous expressions of thanks which we have received. We may add -that the balance sheet of the fund will be duly published when our -various yearly statements are made for the twelve months ending at -midsummer next. - - -THE QUIVER FUNDS. - -The following is a list of contributions received from December 1st -up to and including December 31st, 1898. Subscriptions received -after this date will be acknowledged next month:-- - - For ="The Quiver" Christmas Stocking Fund=: Anon., Gilford, - Ireland, 1s. 6d.; C. B. Grove, Exmouth, 1s.; J. A. B., Grantham, - 2s.; G. B. H., Paddington, 5s.; A Friend, Stalybridge, 2s.; - A. Gadie, Bradford, 3s.; Cyril Manley, Oxford, 1s.; D. R. H., - Liverpool, 2s.; E. F., Birkenhead, 10s.; A Friend, 1s.; Mrs. - G. Sandeson, Heskington, 2s. 6d.; J. Frazer, Dublin, 1s.; H. - E. F., Forest Gate, 1s.; K. Thomerson, Upper Clapton, 2s.; - Mrs. Grimesthorpe, 10s.: E. Jones, Exmouth, 1s.; A Reader of - THE QUIVER, Stafford, 1s.; Anon., Margate, 3s.; W. Brindley, - Boscombe, 2s.; A Friend, Leytonstone, 1s.; A. H., Glasgow, - 1s.; H. S., St. Leonards, 1s.; J. E. H., Henbury, 5s.; B. M., - Darlington, 3s.; C. Burton, Morpeth, 6s.; A. Bamber, Cheltenham, - 5s.; A Friend, Southport, 1s.; Mrs. Tyler, Forest Hill, 2s.; - Winnie, Nellie, and Marie, Clapham, 5s.; E. B. Mitchell, Kensal, - 1s.; Marie Louyse, Norwood, £1; J. B., Hayward's Heath, 5s.; - B. Burston, Moreland Court, 1s.; A. H., Ripon, 1s.; Ealing, - 1s.; M. Smith, Blackheath, 2s.; An Ayrshire Reader, 3s.; A - Scotch Lassie, 1s.; Mrs. Crossley, Warrington, 5s.: Miss Firth, - Cleckheaton, 2s.; Grace T. H. Sim, 5s.; Miss Lacey, Eastbourne, - £1; A Manx Reader, Ramsey, 2s.; "For Jesu's Sake," 1s. 1d.; - N. Wilke, Leyton, 1s.; T. R. Brockbank, Carlisle, 2s.; W. - Bradfield, Buckingham, 1s. 6d.; Tivia, Glasgow, 3s.; Freddy, - 1s.; E. A. G., Barnsley, 2s.; Miss Sharpley, 1s.; Miss Clarke, - Belfast, 2s.; Miss L. Clarke, Belfast, 2s.; Miss E. Marshall, - Brighton, 5s.; E. M. B., Weedon, 2s.; A. Hone, Bristol, 2s.; - Anon., Bristol, 1s.; W. B. J. A. C. and W. J. W. C, 5s.; M. W. - and M. L., Cobham, 2s.; Mrs. Gowlett, Great Caufield, 10s.; - E. L., Grampound Road, 2s.; L. V. D., 1s.; A. W., Lymington, - 1s.; Two Lovers of Children, 2s.; Mrs. C. M. Waterfall, Hull, - 5s.; M. Ling, Ipswich, 1s.; Memories, Dartford, 1s.; E. E. T., - South Norwood, 1s.; Hettie and Eva Neirson, Wadhurst, 2s.; Mr. - Catlee, Bristol, 1s.; Anon., Sheffield, 1s.; J. R., Alloi, - 2s.; Anon., Ipswich, 1s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, Hartlepool, - 10s.; S. V., Blackheath, 1s.; L. E. B., 2s.; Daisy, Dorothy, - and Edgar, 1s.; M. Moore, Birkdale, 5s.; L. R., Newcastle, 2s.; - Mrs. M. M. Thomas, Rodborough, 5s.; H. M. Matthews, Blaenavon, - 1s.; A. B. Scott, Hawick, 1s.; E. A. and A. H., 2s.; A Lover of - Children, Bramin, 1s.; H. L. P., Belfast, 2s.; Douglas, Dorothy, - and Moncrieff, 4s.; Mrs. Turner, Bournemouth, 5s.; Two Sisters - in Stirling, 2s.; E. M. H., Stratford-on-Avon, 5s.; Mrs. M. - Hollis, Newport, 1s.; E. F., Gainsborough, 1s.; B. Bibby, Crouch - End, 2s.; E. Bailey, Ipswich, 1s.; A Reader, Peterborough, 1s.; - H. Reeve, Westminster, 10s.; Mrs. A. W. Arnold, Eastbourne, - 10s.; Lettie, Exeter, 2s.; Mrs. T. Barber, 1s.; Miss Tinne, - Aigburth, 5s.; Mother, Ernest, and Baby Kathleen, Lincoln, - 3s.; H. B., Balham, 2s.; Mrs. A. M. Braley, Sutton, 1s.; Two - Friends, Tulse Hill, 3s. 6d.; Jessie, Bournemouth, 10s.; Anon., - Salisbury, 1s.; Winifred and Frankie Mattock, 2s.; Reggy, - Hornsey Rise, 2s.; Mrs. Clark, Dunstable, 2s.; Anon., Grimsby, - 1s.; Forest Gate, 1s.; Anon., Bromley, 1s. 6d.; Wabba and - Little Three, 2s.; Anon., Glasgow, 1s.; Miss C. Combes, Clapham - Common, 10s.; Winifred and Ruth, Green Lanes, 1s.; L. E W., - 5s.; H. Peel, Redditch, 2s.; Mrs. T. Barber, Eastwood, 3s.; - Nemo, Leeds, 5s.; Mr. and Mrs. W. R. Shaw, Southport, 2s. 6d.; - Abbey House, Hexham, 1s.; Winifred Berry, Liverpool, 2s.; C. - and L. Clutterbuck, 2s.; Master Macdonald, Northwood, 3s.; B. - A. Watson, Havant, 5s.; In Memory, Leicester, 1s.; N. E. A., - Stowmarket, 10s.; A Constant Reader, Westmorland, 1s.; M. M. - P., Sydenham Hill, 1s.; C. Stanhope, Darlington, 3s.; Elgie, - Glasgow, 1s.; A. B. J., Gainsboro', 1s.; A. M. Foster, Croydon, - 14s. 6d.; W. Day, Pimlico, 10s.; C. B. Ellison, Liscard, 5s.; - Mrs. Travers, Altringham, 3s.; A. S., Stocksfield, 9s.; M. B. - R., 2s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, Highbury, 2s.; G. Morris, - Windsor, 10s.; Larkie, 3s.; G. S. H., 5s.; J. R. D. G., 5s.; - M. S. B., North Walsham, 2s.; A Well-Wisher, Ulverston, 5s.; - Ada and Gladys, Billingshurst, 5s.; L. G., Falmouth, 1s.; J. G. - Hunter, Bradford, 1s.; A. E. Willis, Edinburgh, 5s.; H. Fife, - East Dulwich, 1s.; Pat Turney, Carrickmacross, 1s.; Aileen - Fleming, 2s. 6d.; M. H. R., 10s.; Sydney, Rochester, 1s.; Ruth - and Mary Beynon, Rock Ferry, 2s.; R. S. J. A. B., Brighton, 2s. - 6d.; R. E. Longsight, 5s.; "Inasmuch," Berkeley, 3s.; Walter - and Stanley Hewett, Stroud, 2s.; M. D. and K. C., 2s.; Grannie, - Edinburgh, 1s.; W. P. Thorne, Woburn, 5s.; E. S. S., Empingham, - 8s.; F. E., D. M. E., and A. F. E., 4s.; E. Johnston, Essex - Road, 2s.; J. G. H. C., Ventnor, 2s.; T. J. G., Rochester, 3s.; - Lily and Jackie, Dulwich, 2s.; E. J. E. B., 5s.; A Reader of - THE QUIVER, Bristol, 1s.; L. D., Lower Clapton, 4s.; F. L., - Paris, 4s.; D. Benson, Grenoble, 1s.; Anon., Sunderland, 2s.; - Miss E. Scott, Pateley Bridge, 1s.; Nelloff, Bandon, 2s.; Mrs. - Hall, Miss, and Miss F. Hall, 3s.; E. S., Plymouth, 1s.; B. S. - A., Groombridge, 2s.; A Friend, Fife, 2s.; M. Price, Commercial - Road, 1s.; Maggie Crighton, Turriff, 1s.; Two Little Girls, - Sherborne, 2s.; L. A. Garner, Burton-on-Trent, 1s.; Lovers of - Children, Wolverhampton, 5s.; Two Members, League of Christian - Compassion, 2s.; Mrs. H. F. Hall, Bournemouth, 2s.; H. B., - Hornsey Rise, 5s.; Mrs. Bashford, jun., Croydon, 1s.; Devonian, - 2s.; L. Tilley, Warwick, 5s.; C. Todd, Headingley, 5s.; Anon., - Lincoln, 9d.; H. J. M., Tunbridge Wells, 2s. 6d.; M. D., 2s.; - Anon., Bournemouth, 3s.; Mrs. Poole, Ealing, 1s.; Mrs. Bonham, - Cleveland, 4s.; M. Hamlin, Sevenoaks, 7s. 6d.; Mrs. H., Hougham, - 1s.; Jean Noll, Bristol, 2s.; J. J. Hill, Ashton-under-Lyne, 4s. - 6d.; Anon., Stirling, 2s.; F. I. B., Norwich, 2s.; Children's - Friend, Doncaster, 10s.; Anon., Wolverhampton, 2s.; The Sisters - Smith, Guernsey, 2s.; Two Little Girls, Barnsley, 4s.; Three - Friends, Weybridge, 3s.; Help, Berkeley, 2s. 6d.; A. Arnold, - New Malden, 1s.; M. B., Knutsford, 1s.; Jack and Eva, Troon, - 2s.; Anon., Tring, 1s.; G. K. Eyre, Boxmoor, 5s.; Admirer, 1s.; - Mrs. Swan, Cullercoats, 5s.; M. S. T., Newcastle, 3s.; Anon., - Warwick, 1s.; E. M. B., Hythe, 1s.; J. Hepworth, Huddersfield, - 2s.; Elsie, Guernsey, 5s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, 1s.; Mrs. G. - Ireland, Davos Platz, 5s.; Anon., Brightlingsea, 1s.; Mrs. B., - Gainsboro', 5s.; A Daily Governess, Windsor, 1s.; C. Salt and R. - Heeles, 2s.; Miss Stirling, 3s.; Anon., 2s. 6d. - - For "_The Quiver_" _Waifs' Fund_: J. J. E. (133rd donation), - 5s.; In Loving Remembrance of a Little One, 10s.; E. F., - Birkenhead, 10s.; Bill and Joe, 3s.; G. T. Cooper, St. John's - Wood, 5s.; Grace T. H. Sim, 10s.; A Friend, Kilburn, £1; A - Glasgow Mother (103rd donation), 1s.; H. D., 5s.; Maudie, - Brighton, 2s. 6d.; C. B. Ellison, Liscard, 5s.; H. E. H., - Brockley, 5s.; Mrs. Travers, Altringham, 7s.; M. H. R., £1; - The Misses Richards, 6s.; C. A. Moore, Huntingdon, 2s. 6d.; - A Widow, 5s.; A Lover of Children, 2s. 6d.; Mrs. Rivett, 2s. - 6d.; M. H. R., Robertsbridge, 2s.; E. A. Lyne, 1s.; E. G., - Stourbridge, 5s.; A Thank-Offering, 4s.; W. R., Nottingham, 2s.; - M. A. L., Chiswick, 2s. 6d.; W. W., Glasgow, 2s.; M. S. Canway, - Port Talbot, 2s.; J. Chatterton, Horncastle, 10s. 6d.; N. R., - Primrose Hill, 3s.; J. W. E., Wells, 2s. 6d. - - For _Dr. Barnardo's Homes_: An Irish Girl, £1 6s.; Jennie, - Henry, Albert, and Edna Newby, 4s.; A Thank-Offering, 5s.; G. R. - Nyte, 5s.; E. H., 2s. 6d.; Ranceby, 5s.; Devonian, 2s. 6d.; G. - S. H. and J. R. D. G., 5s.; A. S., £1 0s. 3d.; C. B. Ellison, - 10s.; L. E. W., 5s.; A Constant Reader, 4s.; A Swansea Mother, - 5s. The following amounts, which we are asked to acknowledge, - were sent direct: M. J. C, 5s.; Dux, 10s.; F. B., 2s.; A. F., - 2s.; M. E. C., 10s.; A South Ayrshire Dairy Farmer £50; X. Y. - Z., 2s. 6d. - - For _Miss Sharman's Orphan Homes_: E. H., 2s. 6d. - - For "_The Quiver_" _Lifeboat Fund_: N. R., Primrose Hill, 2s.; - K. E. H., 5s. - - For _The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children_: M. - Moore, 10s. - - For _The St. Giles' Christian Mission_: M. E. S., 3s. - - For _The Indian Leper Mission Fund_: A Thank-Offering, 5s. - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's note: - -Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. -Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as -printed. - -Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the -original text. - -The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up -paragraphs. - -Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where -the missing quote should be placed. - -The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the -transcriber and is placed in the public domain. - -Page 384: "Catlee, Bristol, 1s.; Anon., Sheffield, 1s.; J. R., -Alloi, 2s.;" ... The word "Alloi" is unclear. - -"A Thank-Offering, 5s.; G. R. Nyte" ... The word "Nyte" is unclear. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Quiver, 1/1900, by Anonymous - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - -***** This file should be named 43768-8.txt or 43768-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/7/6/43768/ - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Quiver, 1/1900 - -Author: Anonymous - -Release Date: September 20, 2013 [EBook #43768] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - - - - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43768 ***</div> <hr class="tb" /> @@ -10530,379 +10494,6 @@ Moore, 10s.</p> <p>"A Thank-Offering, 5s.; G. R. Nyte" ... 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Quiver, 1/1900 - -Author: Anonymous - -Release Date: September 20, 2013 [EBook #43768] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - - - - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - - - - - - - - -The Quiver 1/1900 - -Transcriber's note: - -Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). - -Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals. - -Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=). - -Text enclosed by plus signs is a Greek transliteration (+Dunametha+). - - * * * * * - -[Illustration: Our Roll of Heroic Deeds - -The above illustration depicts a notable deed of heroism performed -by the daughter of a Sheffield collier when only seventeen years of -age. It happened that early one morning, when the father and mother -were absent, Charlotte Morewood awoke to find the house in flames. -Escape downstairs was impossible, but, with admirable presence of -mind, she awakened the four younger children, and dropped them one -by one out of a bedroom window into the arms of neighbours below. -Next, by a great effort, she lifted her eldest sister, who had -fainted with the shock, and saved her in the same manner. She then -endeavoured to rescue some of the furniture and clothes in the -attic, but the fire had meanwhile spread so rapidly that she only -saved herself by a hurried jump. By the pluck and coolness of this -brave, devoted girl, the lives of the six inmates of the burning -house were thus saved.] - - - - -FACING DEATH FOR CHRIST. - -_BASED ON AN INTERVIEW WITH THE REV. C. H. GOODMAN._ - -By Our Special Commissioner. - -[Illustration: MR. GOODMAN WITH TEACHERS AND CHILDREN OF DAY SCHOOL, -TIKONKO. - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - - -A terrible adventure befell the Rev. C. H. Goodman, missionary in -the Mendi country, West Africa, in the summer of 1898. It is really -surprising that he is alive to tell the tale, and, indeed, the marks -of great suffering were still visible on his face when, a few months -afterwards, he kindly told me the story. - -[Illustration: THE REV. C. H. GOODMAN. - -(_Photo: Mr. Stephens, Harrogate._)] - -The peril came on him with startling suddenness. No bolt from the -blue could dash from the heavens more unexpectedly. He was stationed -at Tikonko, about two hundred miles inland from Freetown, Sierra -Leone, and had been in charge of the United Methodist Free Church -Mission there for about six years. Suddenly, one morning, he heard -by chance that his life and the lives of his Mission-workers had -been demanded by a neighbouring tribe. - -"Is it really true," he asked his friends, the Tikonko Mendis, "that -the Bompeh people wish me to be killed?" - -"Yes, it is true." - -"And you can give me no protection?" - -"We fear not any." - -"Then I must go back to the coast--to the English?" - -"Yes." - -"Can you give me carriers to accompany me and my helpers, and to -take food for the journey?" - -"Yes, we promise that." - -But Mr. Goodman could not get the promise fulfilled--whether from -insincerity or inability on the part of the Mendis to keep it he -could not discover. - -What was to be done? He was the only white man there: some coloured -people, chiefly from Free Town, and associated with the Mission, -were with him; but the tribes all round were in a state of terrible -unrest and were ripe for war, while, indeed, hostilities had -actually commenced in some districts. - -[Illustration: MR. ROBERTS' RESIDENCE. - -(_Mr. Goodman's house is to be seen in the distance._) - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian. F.R.G.S._) - -SITE OF MURDER OF MR. ROBERTS, MR. PRATT, AND OTHERS. - -(_The mark_ =X= _indicates the well into which their bodies were -thrown_.)] - -Mr. Goodman had hoped that the Tikonkos would have been strong -enough to keep out of the war, but he was disappointed; and it was -now clear to him that he could not rely upon their protection, or -upon any assistance to reach the coast. The children and several of -the workers had left the Mission and had taken refuge in Tikonko -town, which consists of a collection of mud-huts surrounded by a -fence, while he remained quietly at the Mission premises and watched. - -On Monday, May 2nd, he saw many strange men loitering about the farm -in a suspicious manner. It was evident a crisis was impending, and -he steeled himself to prepare for the worst. - -Suddenly, in the afternoon, he heard a great noise. Rushing out, he -found that a lad, named Johnson, who was carrying a box belonging to -some of the Mission people, was surrounded by strange men, who were -seizing the box and ill-treating the boy. - -Johnson and his wife hurried to the rescue, but they were set upon -by the "war-boys" and beaten; their clothes were torn off their -backs, and Mr. Johnson received such a frightful gash across the -face that his nose was nearly severed from his body and fell off -next day. - -Seizing his gun and calling to others, Mr. Goodman hurried out of -the house, and with a yell the "war-boys" rushed to the Mission. -Mr. Goodman's little party were hopelessly outnumbered; and Mr. -Campbell, the native school teacher and Mr. Goodman, seeing that -discretion was the better part of valour, turned to the bush and -escaped in different directions. - -Mr. Goodman did not proceed very far. Hurrying along, he was soon -able to hide in the dense bush, his object being to work his way to -the town and enter by the Bompeh road. If he could reach the town, -he thought the nominal chief, Sandy, might secretly prove his friend. - -Gradually, therefore, he made his way to the road, and then hurried -to the gate, but it was shut in his face. - -[Illustration: THEO. ROBERTS. - -(_Industrial Trainer._)] - -[Illustration: THE REV. J. C. JOHNSON. - -(_Mission Worker._)] - -[Illustration: T. T. CAMPBELL - -(_School Teacher._)] - -[Illustration: _ISHMAEL PRATT. - -(_Carpenter._)_ - -FOUR OF THE MARTYRS. - -(_From Photographs by the Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - -Back, then, to the friendly shelter of the bush he turned, and now -even the elements seemed against him, for a terrible tornado burst, -and in a minute he was drenched to the skin. - -Alone, wet, weary, and foodless, with savage enemies around him -seeking to kill him, his position might well have appalled the -stoutest heart. But an Englishman, whether missionary or soldier, -must never know when he is beaten; and so at night he made his way -again to the town, and entered it through a hole in the fence and -hurried up to the king's compound. - -Now the old chief of Tikonko had died shortly before, and the "cry -for the dead"--that is, the time of mourning--was not yet over, -consequently the new chief or king--whom the missionary called -Sandy--had not been fully invested with his new powers. - -[Illustration: THE MISSION HOUSE BEFORE ITS DESTRUCTION. - -(_From a Drawing by Mrs. Vivian._)] - -"Oh, you have escaped," he cried, when Mr. Goodman came to him. "I -am glad indeed. Yes, I will help you, but it is not safe for you to -remain in the town. The 'war-boys' are eager to kill you. Where -will you go? Ah! you shall appear as one of my wives." - -Thus the palaver was short but decisive. Disguised as a woman--an -expedient forced on him by urgent necessity--the missionary was -conveyed that night out of the town to a hut in the bush belonging -to Sandy. Silently through the darksome night the little party crept -along, and the missionary was left there alone. He was supposed -to be one of the chief's wives, who was ill. In the morning the -imaginary wife sought once more the friendly protection of the dense -bush, and at night he returned again to the hut. - -Stealthily, one of his friendly boys brought him now and again -a little food. The lad had secured one of the Mission boxes and -procured from it a tin of cocoa, and this cocoa he brought to the -missionary, with rice, and occasionally a little fish and meat. - -[Illustration: MR. GOODMAN AND HIS MENDI "BOYS." - -(_Photo: The Rev. W. Vivian, F.R.G.S._)] - -Hiding thus, while the yells of the "war-boys" sounded far and near, -the missionary lived through those terrible days. Tuesday came -and went, also the Wednesday and the Thursday. But Friday morning -heralded a change. A message was brought to him that Sandy desired -to see him, and to this day Mr. Goodman does not know whether the -message was treacherous or not. But, trusting to its honesty, he -left the hut to visit the chief, and then, before he had gone -far, he suddenly found himself surrounded by the yelling Bompeh -"war-boys." - -They caught him and shouted round him, but did not then hurt him. -Resistance was useless, and with war-whoops and yells of triumph -they led him forward as though to Tikonko. But when near the fence -they altered their cry: "To Bompeh" they shouted, and to Bompeh he -was turned. - -For three and a half weary hours the missionary marched on in the -blazing sun, and without his white helmet. He was fully surrounded -by the yelling savages, and the leader of the party marched beside -him with drawn sword. The shouts and excitement of his captors -gradually calmed down as they walked along; but, presently, as they -neared Bompeh town, his clothes were pulled off his back, and clad -only in pants and vest, and without even shoes or stockings, he -crept along the burning path with naked and bleeding feet. - -But at length the weary march was over. Bompeh town was reached, and -then the war-horns were blown, and amid much excitement Mr. Goodman -was taken to an open space before the king's hut, where also the -people assembled. - -[Illustration: THE TRIAL.] - -The trial was to be held at once; the white man's fate was to be -decided. - -The chief, whose name was Gruburu, sat on a rude kind of chair in -the middle of the people, his prime minister near, and men and women -and "war-boys" grouped all round, chiefly according to families. Mr. -Goodman, tired with his long journey, sat himself down on a log. - -First, one of his captors spoke. The man came out from the group, -and as he talked he walked up and down in the open space before the -king. An account was being given of the missionary's capture. "And," -said Mr. Goodman, "while this was going on, I prayed that God would -bring about a division in their counsels." - -When the man had finished, up rose an old man, and by his gestures -and the anxiety he displayed, Mr. Goodman saw with pleasure that he -was pleading for him. - -This gleam of friendliness--the first that day, and met with in the -stronghold of his enemies--fell like genial warmth upon his spirits -and encouraged him to hope. - -Then a woman arose. She was a relative of the king; and, advancing -before him, she bent before him and took his foot in her hand as a -sign of submission. "Do not let this man die," she said. "My son at -Tikonko has sent me a message pleading for his life. 'Do not let the -white man die,' says my son; 'he is a good man.'" - -Indeed, many messages had come to the king in the missionary's -favour. "When we were sick," said the messages, "he has mended us; -he has done us good; we like the way he has walked"--_i.e._ they -liked his manner of life. - -It was the old story--conduct and character had impressed the -natives after all, and they were not wholly ungrateful. - -But, see! The king is about to give his judgment. The final decision -is to be made. Is it to be death or life? - -[Illustration: (_From a Water-Colour Drawing by Mrs. Vivian._) - -THE DEVIL HOUSE AT TIKONKO. - -(_Where the town fetish or devil is consulted and propitiated._)] - -The king said: "This white man is our friend. He has come to do us -good, and to give our picken (children) sense. He has nothing to do -with the Government. He shall not die in my town." - -Bravo, King of Bompeh! Thou hast more common-sense and right feeling -beneath thy sable skin than some people would have supposed. - -"I was surprised," said Mr. Goodman modestly, "to find how the -influence of the Mission had spread." - -At once his clothes were returned to him--all save his waistcoat, -which was given to the leader of his captors; he was sheltered in -a hut and allowed a measure of freedom--more freedom, indeed, than -some of the natives who were prisoners. But, alas! he had escaped -one great danger only to fall into another. The hardships he had -undergone, and the malaria from which he had suffered, induced -severe illness. Dysentery and black-water fever seized him; they -shook him in their fell grasp until, from their power and poor food, -he became so weak that he could scarcely stand. - -His bed was a sort of raised platform of beaten mud, about six -inches above the floor, with a mat upon it. Sometimes he slept in -his clothes. But he became so sore from lying so long on such a hard -resting-place that wounds were formed which troubled him for long -afterwards. Such requisites as soap and towel were wholly wanting. -The prospect, indeed, became very dark, and it seemed as though he -had only escaped the savages to fall a victim to fever. - -At first a boy waited on him, then an English-speaking Mendi; but -unfortunately the king wanted this man, and his place was taken by -another. - -The news of Mr. Goodman's illness and imprisonment travelled abroad. -It came to Tikonko, and his Mission boy Boyma sent him some quinine, -which proved very beneficial. Then one day, though he knew it not, a -friendly chief looked in upon him as he lay there so ill, and sent -word to the English that one of their countrymen was a captive up -there at Bompeh town, and Colonel Cunninghame promptly sent a demand -that he should be given up alive. A great force, said the Colonel, -was coming, with plenty of guns, to rescue him. Curiously enough, -a native declared that he had dreamed the same thing; he had seen -in his dream a great English army with "plenty guns" coming for the -captive Englishman. Let him, therefore, be sent to his countrymen. - -But another cause was working in his favour. While Mr. Goodman -had been ill a battle had been fought, and the Mendis had been -disastrously beaten by those terrible English with their "plenty -guns." The "war-boys" were sick of the war. "Send the white man -down," they also said to the king, "to plead that the fighting may -cease." - -So it was decided that he should be sent. He was given boys to -assist him in his journey, and by their help he made his way, though -he could scarcely walk, down to the English camp. He arrived there -on June 26th, eight weeks from that fateful day when he had seen the -strange men loitering so suspiciously about his Mission farm. - -Alas! he found that the Mission premises had been totally destroyed, -and, worse still, that Mr. Campbell had been killed. Mr. Johnson, -after being kept a prisoner, was also slain, as were some other -members of the Mission, who were Sierra Leone men. - -It was therefore with a chastened joy, and gratitude for his own -escape, that Mr. Goodman slowly made his way to the coast. He -remained at the camp but a short time, and was then sent on to -Bonthe, Sherbro', where he recovered a measure of strength under the -care of Commandant Alldridge. Finally, he reached Freetown on July -21st, and presently took ship for England. - -When he returned home some of his friends scarcely knew him. His -beard was marked with grey, his cheeks were hollow, and his bodily -weakness very great. He looked like an old man. He has recovered -wonderfully since then, and appears more like his natural age; but -when I saw him he was still far from well. He suffered from the -effects of malaria even yet, and from the evil results of the poison -in his system. Four times in his nine years of missionary life has -he suffered from the fell "black-water" scourge. - -But since his return he has been manfully doing his duty in speaking -to many audiences of his mission work; and, if the Committee should -so decide, he is fully prepared to return to Africa and reinstate -the Methodist Free Churches Mission in the heart of Mendiland. - -[Illustration: SAMPLES OF WRITING BY TIKONKO SCHOOL CHILDREN. - -(_Arranged by Mrs. Vivian._)] - - - - -GREAT ANNIVERSARIES - -_IN FEBRUARY._ - -By the Rev. A. R. Buckland, M.A., Morning Preacher at the Foundling -Hospital. - - -[Illustration: THE MARQUIS OF SALISBURY. - -(_Photo: J. Phillips, Belfast._)] - -In this democratic age the birthday of Sir Edward Coke (February -1st, 1551-2) can hardly be passed over. We remember him, not so -much as the rival of Bacon and the prosecutor of Raleigh, as for -his share in drawing up the Petition of Rights. Of his works, one -part of his "Institutes of the Laws of England," long known as "Coke -upon Littleton," has a place amongst the few classical law books -which are familiar by name to the general public. Coke married for -his second wife a daughter of Lord Burghley and grand-daughter of -the great Cecil, who, in this same month, was raised to the peerage -by Elizabeth on the suppression of the northern rebellion. His -descendant, the present Marquis of Salisbury, belongs also to this -month, for he was born on February 3rd, 1830. This is not the place -in which to discuss a living statesman: let us pass to other names. - -[Illustration: SIR ROBERT PEEL - -(_After the Portrait by sir Thomas Lawrence, P.R.A._)] - -"Bob, you dog, if you're not Prime Minister, I'll disinherit you." -That, we are told, was the way in which the father of Sir Robert -Peel stimulated the political ambitions of his son. He became -Prime Minister, and is not likely soon to be forgotten. His Corn -Importation Bill is one of the pieces of legislation which mark an -epoch. In London, too, he will be remembered for his creation of the -present police system. Possibly there are many now who, hearing a -police constable called a "peeler," forget that the name carries us -back to the remodelling of the London police by Mr. Peel in the year -1829. - -[Illustration: BISHOP HOOPER'S MONUMENT. - -(_Photo: Cassell and Co., Ltd._)] - -The same month may speak to us of a statesman who helped to bring -the nation through a crisis of another kind. On the last day of -February, 1856, Lord Canning disembarked at Calcutta, and within -five minutes after touching land proceeded to take the customary -oaths as Governor-General of India. It fell upon him to deal with so -appalling a crisis as the Indian Mutiny; he met it, as one of his -biographers reminds us, in a way that "places him high on the list -of those great officers of State whose services to their country -entitle them to the esteem and gratitude of every loyal Englishman." - -February is not a great month in ecclesiastical anniversaries. -But it was on February 9th, 1555, that John Hooper, Bishop of -Gloucester, was burnt just outside his cathedral, where a monument -to his memory now stands. It was in this month that Robert Leighton, -sometime Archbishop of Glasgow, died in London in the year 1684. His -commentary on the Epistles of St. Peter is still numbered amongst -standard homiletical and expository works. - -[Illustration: BISHOP PATTESON. - -(_From the Portrait in the British Museum._)] - -February has some pathetic associations with the foreign missionary -work of the English Church. It was on February 24th, 1861, that J. -C. Patteson was consecrated at Auckland first Bishop for Melanesia. -The story of his martyrdom is one of the most moving incidents in -the history of modern missions. His successor, J. R. Selwyn, was -consecrated in the same month in 1877. - -On February 8th, 1890, there died at Usambiro, at the south end of -the Victoria Nyanza, Alexander Mackay, the simple layman whose work -and early death did so much to rivet attention, not only on the -Uganda Mission, but also on missionary enterprise in general. No -modern example seems to have been more fruitful; but he saw nothing -of the wonderful development of Uganda. The pioneer often does not -live to look on the results of his own enterprise. - -[Illustration: ALEXANDER MACKAY. - -(_The Pioneer Missionary of Uganda._)] - -[Illustration: THOMAS CARLYLE. - -(_From a Pencil Drawing by George Howard, Esq., M.P._)] - -There are some who tell us that people do not read Dickens now. -More is the pity! Yet the flat stone over the grave of Dickens in -Westminster Abbey so often has a flower upon it, while others of no -less famous men are bare, that the man must still be remembered as -well as his books. He was born in this month in the year 1812, and -died in June, 1870. Much of his character might be summed up in the -benediction he put into the mouth of Tiny Tim, "God bless us every -one." In the same month of February, in the year 1881, there died -an author and philosopher of another type--Thomas Carlyle, one of -the most striking figures in English literature, and one of those -whose reputation was world-wide. "When the devil's advocate has said -his worst against Carlyle, he leaves a figure still of unblemished -integrity, purity, loftiness of purpose, and inflexible resolution -to do the right, as of a man living consciously under his Maker's -eye, and with his thoughts fixed on the account which he would have -to render of his talents." - -On February 23rd, 1807, Wilberforce's Bill for the abolition of the -foreign slave trade was carried by a majority of 283 to 16. Sir -Samuel Romilly contrasted the feelings of Napoleon with that of the -man who would that night "lay his head upon his pillow and remember -that the slave trade was no more." There was still, however, much -to do; but Wilberforce lived to hear the news that the nation was -willing to pay twenty millions for the abolition of slavery. - -[Illustration: WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. - -(_After the Portrait by Joseph Slater._)] - - - - -[Illustration: THE MINOR CANON'S DAUGHTER] - -_THE STORY OF A CATHEDRAL TOWN._ - -By E. S. Curry, Author of "One of the Greatest," "Closely Veiled," -Etc. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE SEARCH. - - -It was Mr. Warde who, before the police arrived, organised and -dispatched search parties. The visitors and servants from the -Deanery, with his own and the Palace household, were scattered -through the immediate neighbourhood, in less than half an hour from -the first summons. - -Marjorie was with her mother. Mr. Pelham--after a distracted visit -to his own house, hoping against hope that he might still find the -toddling child safe and rosy, sleeping in her cot--had brought -servants back with him, whom he put under Mr. Warde's instructions. -For Mr. Warde knew every inch of ground about, every possible danger -into which the little feet might have strayed. - -In the precincts of the cathedral, in the gardens throughout the -neighbourhood, in every nook and secluded place, lights were soon -flashing and voices calling. - -All that anybody knew was little enough. Soon after eight--the hour -at which Mr. Bethune and Marjorie had gone to the Deanery--nurse had -gone to the garden to call the children in. She found it empty, and, -pursuing her search into the cave, found reason to be alarmed. But -she did not then alarm Mrs. Bethune. Returning to the house, which -was strangely still, she had looked into the drawing-room. - -"They have taken Barbara home," Mrs. Bethune explained. "They will -soon be back, nurse. But it is getting late for the little ones." - -She looked so quiet and calm on her sofa, resting, with the sense -of her husband's love folding her round, that the nurse forbore to -disturb her with her own sudden forebodings. But she put on her -bonnet, and ran up to The Ridges, to satisfy herself against her -fears. No Barbara was there; neither she nor the boys had been seen -since the afternoon. Barbara's nurse--forgetting for a time her -airs--accompanied her to the Canons' Court. Together they again -searched the garden; the cathedral yard, where the darkness was -settling down over the numerous graves and tombs; the shady Canons' -Walk--calling anxiously the names of their respective charges. -No signs were to be found of the children. Then nurse, without -troubling her mistress, went to the Deanery, and asked for Mr. -Bethune; and from him, when he reached his wife's side, had come the -summons to Mr. Pelham and Marjorie. - -A thorough examination of the cave, at nurse's suggestion, revealed -the passage and its exit into the Palace grounds; resulting in Mr. -Warde's systematic search throughout the parks and neighbourhood. - -Marjorie recollected Sandy's visit to her room; and the discovery -of the abstraction of the blanket from her bed seemed to prove that -some larger scheme than merely running away must have been in the -boys' heads. - -Then a new fear was started. A visit to the little station at the -bottom of the Green had seemed for a time to furnish a clue. The -station-master reported that within the last week the two boys had -been inquiring the price of tickets to Baskerton for a party of -five. He had been struck with the answer to his question--"All under -twelve." But the children had not travelled by the only train that -evening. The Dean, who had made this inquiry, thereupon went home, -and ordered his carriage, and had himself driven over to Baskerton. -It was five miles away, famous for its picturesque scenery and -fishing, and was the scene of all the picnic parties about. Across -the parks and by-lanes, filled with roses and honeysuckle, it was -only about three miles off. David and Sandy, he knew, were well -acquainted with its delights; they had often been included in his -own parties there. - -The route of the little brook for several miles was explored by a -party of men from the Palace and The Ridges. The boys were known to -frequent it, and a day or two before Sandy had been seen up to his -waist in the water, trying to entice a lively water-rat. - -It was wonderful how many people helped in the search. To all, the -boys were well known, and, now that trouble had come upon them, well -beloved. Their fearlessness and _bonhomie_ were remembered, and -their mischief only with indulgent excuses. And Mr. Pelham was taken -to all hearts that sorrowful night, for the sake of the pretty baby -who was lost. - -No one was more energetic and suggestive than Mrs. Lytchett, no one -kinder, no one more tearful. It was she who headed a search party -through the cathedral, recalling to mind how Marjorie had once got -herself locked up there nearly all night through a fit of obstinacy. -But no children were discovered. - -"If only the Bishop were here--he would know what to do," she sighed -frequently, as news kept coming in that nothing had been found of -the missing ones. They seemed to have vanished as completely as -if the earth had opened and swallowed them up. No one had seen -them--nothing had been heard of them after Sandy's visit to his -sister's room. - -"But what could he want the blanket for?" - -Mr. Warde, after two or three fruitless journeys, had again come -back to the Court for news, hoping that somebody else might have -been more fortunate. It was just on the edge of dawn, in that -stillness when the first faint twitter of the birds is just -beginning. - -As he came down the broad pavement to the Court gate, the eastern -sky was growing clear above the chimney stacks of the Deanery. -Lights were still shining in the windows round, and, as he neared -the gate, Marjorie came forward quickly. - -The sight of her wan face was a shock to him; she was still in the -pretty evening dress, above which, in the twilight of the dawn, -her neck and throat shone white. She had the air of some broken -lily--desolate, woeful. - -Mr. Warde's heart went out to her with a great compassion. His eyes -grew dim as her wistful glance met his. - -[Illustration: The sight of her wan face was a shock to him.] - -"No, dear, I can hear nothing," he said softly, putting his arm -round her. Marjorie rested against him, letting her tired young -limbs collapse against his strength. Inspired by some instinct she -did not understand, she had left her mother's sofa, where Mr. Pelham -was now sitting, waiting for the return of a messenger. They two, -it seemed to Marjorie, with a mutual sorrow could understand each -other. She felt somehow restless, uneasy, unworthy, as she coldly -responded to Mr. Pelham's sympathy and care. At his suggestion she -had come away to prepare some tea for her mother, and in passing -through the hall had been lured to the open door by the sound of -Mr. Warde's footsteps on the flagstones. The quick, firm tread -encouraged hope. She could rest on him. The very sight of his kind, -familiar face seemed to renew her strength and courage. - -[Illustration: "See! on that little tower on the chapel."] - -After a minute's silence, during which his hand had caressed the -soft waves of her hair, he asked, "What could Sandy want the blanket -for? I have been trying to think." - -"So have we--mother and I. Poor mother!" Marjorie sighed. - -"Is she alone?" he asked. - -"No. Mr. Pelham is with her; he understands, he is tender and -careful; and she is full of hope now--she comforts him. Father has -gone to the river." - -Marjorie gave a little shudder. - -"You are cold," Mr. Warde said briskly. "Let me advise you, dear. -Go and change your dress; put on something warm. By that time I -shall have got some food and shall bring it in. I expect you have no -servants left." - -"No. They are all--somewhere." - -She allowed herself to be led back to the house, and as he stood -watching her ascend the stairs, the man's heart gave a bound of -rejoicing. She had come to him willingly, of her own accord. What -though it were sorrow that had brought her? She was his now for -ever, of her own free will. He stood looking after her, with face -upraised, a thanksgiving in his heart. And thus for the last time he -looked on Marjorie, rejoicing. Never again without pain was he to -hear the soft swish of her dress, the soft fall of her foot. But in -those few seconds he lived through an aeon of joy. - -He could not guess the force of the feeling which had driven her -from Mr. Pelham's side. The same sorrow that had sent her to Mr. -Warde had also taught her that she must shun the man who could now -be nothing to her. Marjorie's was a very simple nature. When she -realised a fact, she did not play with it. Matter-of-fact duty was -a real power with her. So she had responded to the strong training -which the calm approval or disapproval shining in her father's quiet -eyes had sufficiently imposed. - -As the different search parties came back, all with the same "no -news," Mr. Warde had a table of provisions brought out into the -Court. He was too busy caring for the needs of the many weary -volunteers to go again into Mr. Bethune's house; but nurse had by -this time returned, and was tearfully waiting on her mistress. - -"Nothing could have happened to them all," the Dean said briskly, -"or we must have found some trace. It is the most mysterious thing -I ever knew in my life. They are all together in some safe place, I -feel convinced." - -"My mistress thinks now that they are kept," nurse, overhearing, -said; "she is sure the boys would understand that she would be -anxious, and they are always careful about Miss Barbie. But if only -we could know!" and nurse departed sobbing. - - * * * * * - -The dawn had broadened into morning, the tips of the cathedral -spires were red in the sunlight, and many of the unavailing -searchers were at last going slowly to their homes. Nothing more -could be done than had been done. Mr. Warde's servants were clearing -away the _debris_ of the meal; whilst he himself was again hurrying -along the flagged path to the cathedral, with the intention of again -thoroughly searching its many nooks and crannies in the daylight. He -feared he knew not what, recollecting Sandy's adventurous spirit. - -Mr. Bethune was sitting beside his wife, her hand in his, as once -before that night, looking out upon the still garden. Marjorie, -seeing them thus, noting the far-away look in her father's eyes (as -though visions were being vouchsafed to the weary man, unseen by -other eyes), noting, too, that his calmness was bringing a look of -peace and trust to the wan face of her mother--turned involuntarily -to the other bereaved and, as she remembered, so desperately lonely -man. - -"Come into the garden," she said, her eyes full of pity. "Now that -it is light we have a better chance; we may find something." - -He followed her across the dewy lawn, as she led the way quickly -to the untidy corner so eloquent of the little workers. Spades -and baskets lay scattered about; a cap of Sandy's hung on a -currant-bush, where it had been put to dry after the washing in the -bath; a large fragment of bread and butter, dropped in the hasty -departure, lay in the path. The tears at last welled into Marjorie's -eyes, as she saw Mr. Pelham stoop and pick up a little shoe. - -"It is my baby's," he said softly. "God keep her!" - -They paused together on the garden path, and Marjorie's eyes turned -to the rose-tinged pinnacles of the beautiful cathedral. To all the -dwellers in its precincts it was almost like a living presence, -dominating all their lives and thoughts. - -The length of the choir, terminating in the big central tower, -was before them, whilst in the distance rose the twin spires. The -morning mist was fleeing before the sun, now lighting each finial. -Shadows still lay under the flying buttresses, and along the lower -plane of the south aisle roof and chapel. - -Mr. Pelham, after a moment's look at the girl's rapt face, turned -also to gaze at the scene on which her eyes were resting. - -Suddenly Marjorie gave a little cry, instantly suppressed. - -"What is that?" she said rapidly. "See! on that little tower on the -chapel?" - -"I see," he answered, "something fluttering, you mean--something -blue." - -Both pairs of eyes were concentrated in a fixed and painful gaze. - -"It is a ribbon," Marjorie said hoarsely. "Barbie was wearing----" -She paused, turning her dilated eyes to her companion's face. - -"My baby's sash--it is tied there," he said quickly; "it is a -signal." - -He turned to her, and for a second their encountering eyes were -eloquent. Under the shock of sudden hope, the joy, the emotion, the -agitation of the moment, the man's self-control vanished. His eyes -spoke their message--hers replied--both of them taken unawares. - -"Hush!" said Marjorie, putting up her hands as if answering speech. -"I know the way," she faltered. "Father has keys; wait, don't tell -them yet, till we are sure. It is the chapel roof, where they were -mending. Sandy knew." - -She turned swiftly, the man following with eager strides. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -JUVENILE ADVENTURERS. - - -A big yew-tree hid the corner of the wall, where the adventurers, -on their enterprise, dropped down into the cathedral yard. Numerous -square tombstones and old monuments made splendid hiding-places. -There was only one little bit of open space to cross, where the -evening sunshine cast long shadows, and where for a few moments the -strange little truant procession looked a procession of giants. - -David and Sandy each held a hand of Barbara, she having declined -to be carried. Ross and Orme followed solemnly. If anybody had met -them, the boys would have turned down the path to their home, and -their presence there would have seemed quite natural. But no one -passed--no one was in sight. David had chosen the time for his move -well. The Court households were busy preparing for dinner. And -though windows commanded the cathedral yard, from none, as it turned -out, was the start of the little party into the world observed. Once -across the grass, they were soon hidden by the many projections and -buttresses and corners of the walls. - -In the angle of the south aisle and its chapel was the tiny room -whence the spiral staircase started, in the thickness of the wall, -up to the clerestory of the choir. It also led through a narrow door -lower down, on to the roof of the south aisle. Sandy knew all the -keys of the cathedral, and the place in Mr. Galton's house where -each hung. The door of the little room was, however, open; Mr. -Galton therefore was somewhere about, though he often lingered on -his last look round. They must be quick. - -In a few minutes the excited children were mounting the spiral -staircase. David went first, helping Barbara's unaccustomed feet; -Sandy came last, having closed the little door of communication -at the foot of the stairs. They were embarked on their "climb up -the mountain." Issuing through the narrow door which came first in -sight, the delighted children found themselves in the wide gutter -at the base of the roof. Guarded by its low parapet, it was as safe -as their own garden, provided they did not attempt to climb. David -gave strict orders that they were to keep under the "shelter of the -forts," and on no account to show their faces to the enemy. - -Up here, they were in another world--a delightful, wide, spacious -world, whence they could look down on the earth they had left. The -Palace grounds lay below them; beyond were the parks, intersected by -their hedges, like the sections of a map. From the flat chapel roof -they could see their own garden and Mr. Warde's, with the Deanery -trees beyond. - -"Ross, and Orme, and Barbie, remember you're our family now, and you -must do what you are bid," was David's solemn reminder to them of -the altered condition of things. - -Up and down the children ran, with a pitter-patter of clamouring -feet on the leads. Barbara was a little unhappy because she could -not make as much noise as the boys, owing to the make of her shoes, -and to her misfortune in having lost one in transit. Sandy set this -right. - -"Stop the march!" he ordered. "You'll give notice to the enemy, -you duffers"--this to the wide-eyed boys--"where we are." So they -stopped. Ross then proceeded to clamber on hands and knees up the -incline of the roof, and, turning, to slide down on his other side. -This amusement lasted all three some time. When their clothes looked -pretty well spoilt, the fun palled. Then came supper, the crowning -act of the evening's proceedings. After this, they intended to -return to ordinary life and the earth they had left; abandoning -their fortress till another opportunity arrived. They intended to be -at home before they would be much missed. - -But all this had taken longer than they thought, and when the -"family" was called to its repast the little boys refused to be -hurried. With much self-denial, this meal had been saved. They meant -to enjoy it. By the time they were satisfied, the darkness and cold -were beginning to be appreciably perceived. - -Then Sandy hugged himself for his pioneering knowledge. - -"No settlers goes wivout blankets," he announced. "Knew we should -want it." - -"Hurry up," David urged, beginning to be a little alarmed at the -aspect of things in their aerial world. "We've got to get Barbie -home. It's time to go." - -Ten minutes later the boy turned a white face to the expectant babes -behind him. He and Sandy had pushed with all their might at the -little iron door, which had so easily admitted them to the roof. It -was fast and firm--locked up securely for the night--and they were -prisoners. Probably they would not be released until the workmen -arrived in the morning. - -"I wouldn't mind, if we could let mother know, not to be -frightened," the boy said, "and Barbie's father. Think, Sandy; -couldn't we let 'em know?" - -Sandy desisted from fruitless bangings on the door, propped his -elbows on the parapet, and put his head between his hands in the -most approved attitude of thinking. Possibly, this attitude was -useful for another purpose than thinking. Sandy was only seven, -but he had a fervent belief in his mother's fragility, and in the -power of himself and his brothers to keep her laughing presence -on her sofa or to banish her elsewhere. He had heard things said -which made him realise that a very little thing might transfer -her to a narrower couch--in a sunny, railed-off corner just under -the cathedral walls. Already a little white stone marked the -resting-place of "Archibald, aged one year." Sandy sometimes pitied -Archibald for being all by himself there. He had one day suggested -to his mother that "P'r'aps one of us ought to go and mind him--as -he was so little." For answer, the mother had gathered the bright -head on to her breast, fervently breathing, "No, Sandy, mother can't -let one go, not the very littlest bit of any of you. God is minding -little Archie better than we can." - -So up there in the air, within sight of the familiar garden--within -sound almost of the mother who as yet was not concerned about -him--her little son may be excused if, in process of his thinking, -he blinked away a tear. The responsibility was so great. This had -been his scheme more than David's. And there was Barbie's father, -too. But he wasted no sentiment on him. - -"My finks is all in a mess," he said at last, lifting his face. -"On'y we must signal. It's like a desert island up here. P'r'aps we -might frow down something." - - * * * * * - -The gathering darkness, alas! hid the fluttering signal which, after -some protestations from Barbara, they tied to a carved projection. -It was the longest thing they had about them. How tiny it looked up -there, they did not realise. - -The little feet were growing weary, the "family" by this time were -showing signs of restive discontent. - -"Ain't we got no beds in this home?" asked Ross, his hands in his -pockets, his legs wide apart, surveying the leads, of whose hardness -he had made ample trial. - -"Not yet," said Sandy cheerily. Whatever he felt himself, he was -not going to let the babes be unhappy, if he could help it. "On'y -pioneers to-night. Beds have to be made." - -"Nur' did maked Ross's bed--see'd her--mornin'," announced Ross in a -dissatisfied tone; and he brought his brows together, and signified -generally that he was disgusted. - -"No barf?" inquired Orme, planting himself by his elder brother in a -similar revolutionary attitude. - -"Bar?" echoed Barbara, unwilling to be kept out of whatever anarchy -might be going. "Barbedie's bar?" she inquired of Sandy; and it said -much for Sandy's ability in translating languages that he quite -understood what she was demanding. - -David turned out his pockets, in the hope of finding enough string -to let down a basket, or a letter describing their distressed -condition. But the utmost length they could attain, when every -pocket had been ransacked, and all their ties, and hat ribbons, and -pocket-handkerchiefs tied together, was about midway down the long -windows. No hope that way, even if the darkness of the summer night -had not by this time settled down upon the land. David gave it up at -last. - -[Illustration: David and Sandy pushed with all their might.] - -"Somebody'll p'r'aps remember us," he said with a catch in his -voice. "Mother----"; and then, for the sake of his manhood, he -stopped short. No one remembered having ever seen a tear from David. - -"We'd best put the fam'ly to bed," suggested Sandy at this period. - -"They'll be awful cold," responded David. - -"Not in the blanket, an' us sittin' close round outside to keep out -the cold. Hens sit on their little ones, so do cats--curl round 'em, -that is--and there's our jackets," said Sandy lightly. - -But first there were remonstrances from the babies to combat, when -it was explained to them what they were expected to do. - -"Orme kicks an' frows off all the clothes," objected Ross. - -"So do Ross," eagerly excused Orme. But the novelty of Barbara as a -bed-fellow was some consolation. - -"Barbedie no go bed--in f'ock," remarked Barbara indignantly. - -Sandy plumped down upon the leads, and took her on his insufficient -knees. - -When she was quite settled there, with her arm round his neck to -keep herself from slipping, Sandy explained matters. - -"It's 'stead of your nightie-gown, Barbie," with an entreaty in his -tone, in itself a sufficient betrayal of weakness to the baby's -feminine intelligence. "We forgot to bring your nightie-gown." - -"Fesh it," she ordered, looking up at David, who stood by. - -"Can't, Barbie--very sorry," David said apologetically. - -"Fesh Barbedie's nightie-gown," she said majestically to the two -revolutionaries. - -But not all the boys' chivalric devotion, unstinted through that -troublous night, could produce the desired garment. At last, arrayed -in David's coat as a substitute, over her own dainty garments, -little Barbedie Pelham fell to repose. - -By this time the two little boys, huddled together like kittens or -young-puppies on the outspread blanket, had fallen fast asleep. -Barbara was snuggled in beside them, and the blanket carefully -wrapped round the three. Sandy and David, with their backs against -the parapet--the latter with Barbara's head upon his knees, -whilst Sandy's performed the same office of pillow for his little -brothers--prepared to win through the hours of darkness as patiently -as they might. No word of reproof or bitterness had been said by -either boy. Each bore his share manfully of the difficulty, for -which both were perhaps equally responsible. - -Down below, the lanterns flashed in and out of the ruins, and across -the Palace grounds. Voices called, which, if the boys heard at -all, seemed to them only the distant sounds of the day, to which -they were accustomed. Their own frantic shouts some time ago, even -Sandy's whistle, had been unheard and unheeded. - -When the midnight chimes rang out softly over their heads, Sandy, -rousing, said sleepily, "We forgot somefing, Dave. I've been -dreamin' 'bout it." - -"What?" David asked. He had not yet slept, and his mind had been -busy, thinking, wondering, sorrowing, chiefly about his mother. In -difficulties, hers was the personality which always presented itself -to her children. - -"We've forgot all our prayers." - -"Say them now," suggested David after a pause. - -"It'll wake 'em!" - -"Not if we don't move." - -"Will it be proper prayers sittin' here?" - -"Old Mrs. Jones always sits in church," suggested David. - -"I b'lieve her legs won't bend." - -"Mother can't kneel down," David said in a low voice. - -"More she can." Sandy was hopeful again at this thought. "There's -two apiece," he went on thoughtfully, "and one over. You say yours -an' Ross's--I'll say mine an' Orme's. How 'bout Barbie's? We -couldn't say half each, could we?" doubtfully. - -"No; we will both say Barbie's prayers for her," decided David. - -The low voices stopped. For a space there was silence. Then Sandy -spoke-- - -"Have you nearly done, Dave? I've got as far's Barbie's." - -There was no response, and Sandy, respecting the silence which he -took for the hush of devotion, held his peace, and essayed for the -third time his evening prayer. - - * * * * * - -In a few moments, whilst below was desolation and the anguish of -bereavement--up above, under the stars, all the children slept. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -FOUND! - - -Meeting no one, Marjorie and Mr. Pelham hastily ascended the spiral -stairs. - -Issuing on to the leads, Marjorie glanced hastily round. Together -they hurried, till, under the little turret, they stood beside the, -as yet, unawakened group. It looked very pathetic in the morning -greyness, the little huddled-up party, which the sun had not yet -reached. - -The man's frame trembled as he stooped--doubting, fearing, his keen -eyes noting the care which had been bestowed upon his little child. -Not much of her was visible--only a rosy cheek, under the tangle of -hair which lay across David's knee. The boy's body had sunk slightly -as the muscles relaxed in sleep; and he and Sandy were now propped -together. Both of them were jacketless: Sandy's little body was -covered only by his vest. - -David's hand lay protectingly across Barbara, over whom his jacket -lay outspread. She was warm and rosy; so were the two babies curled -up under the little coat--a scanty covering--of which Sandy had -divested himself. - -Marjorie sank down beside Sandy. He looked white and wan, and there -was a look of disturbance and unrest on his sleeping face. His head -rested uncomfortably against David's shoulder. Solicitously, she -gathered his unprotected little body into her warm arms; and at her -movement he opened startled blue eyes upon her. - -"Is it mornin'?" he asked; then quickly, "Is the fam'ly safe?" - -"How could you, Sandy?" Marjorie asked, tenderly kissing the -impertinent little nose turned up to her. And that was all the -reproach Sandy ever heard. - -[Illustration: "THE LITTLE HUDDLED-UP PARTY."] - -"Didn't mean to, Margie," eagerly. "The door got locked 'fore we got -down. How did you guess we were here?" he went on, the fascination -of the "game," now that he again felt safe and irresponsible, -filling his imagination. "Was it the signal?" - -He listened much gratified, as Marjorie described how the fluttering -sash had caught her sight. - -The children woke one by one, Barbara climbing into her father's -arms to be divested of her strange night-clothes. She returned the -coat to its owner, with a gracious "Barbedie's done." - -Sandy and David listened amazed to the warmth of Mr. Pelham's thanks. - -"You have been good to my baby. I shall never forget it, never. You -are two little men." - -With hurrying, trembling fingers, Marjorie tidied up the -children--some impulse making her wish her mother's first sight -of them to be wholly without alarm. Barbara refused to leave her -father's arms, so her rescued sash was tied on under his eloquent -eyes. Now that they had once delivered their message, they were -masterful and compelling. Marjorie's fell before them; but something -in the quiver of her lip, and the wanness of her face in the -sunlight, under his closer scrutiny, made him hasten to speak. He -caught her fingers, and they lay for a moment pressed close against -his breast. - -"Mine, Marjorie! Mine now," he said. "Dearest, do not shrink," he -whispered, turning hurriedly to see what was producing the startled -change in the kindling face before him. Mr. Warde stood in the -doorway surveying the little scene. - -With just a glance at the two, who for the moment had forgotten -everyone but themselves, he stooped and picked up Orme--a -disconsolate, woe-begone baby, whose ideas would need much -readjusting after this eventful night. - -The others followed, pitter-patter down the stairs, and along the -gravelled path. But it was Marjorie who entered first through the -open door into her mother's presence. - -Mr. Bethune still sat beside his wife's couch. He put up a hand to -hush the intruder, but Marjorie saw beyond him the wide, questioning -eyes and the wave of colour rushing into her mother's face. She did -not know that she herself--radiant, sparkling, with a look upon -her face only to be seen on a maiden's face in presence of her -beloved--was sufficient herald of good news. It scarcely needed her -words. - -"All quite safe, mother," even if Sandy's rush past her restraining -hand had not told the tale. - -The children entered like a conquering army. Mr. Warde slid Orme, -murmuring satisfaction, down on to the sofa beside his mother, and -watched with an unaccountable pang at his heart as she gathered -them all into her arms. The parents accepted David's rapid "Didn't -mean to, father," and his explanation of the mishap which they had -never counted on--too glad to see them safe, too accustomed to their -enterprise, too certain that what they said was true, to give the -scolding they perhaps deserved. - -As the news of their safety spread, sympathisers flocked in. Like -a young turkey-cock lifting up its crest, Sandy stood a captive at -Mrs. Lytchett's knee, his jacket held tightly in her firm grasp. - -"I hope your father's going to whip you," she said severely. - -"Ain't," said Sandy. - -"Then he ought. Do you know you've nearly killed your mother?" - -Sandy's glance crossed the room, his conscience giving a repentant -twinge. - -His mother's laughing, merry eyes met his, and repentance fled. - -"Let me go, please," giving his jacket a tug. "I want to go to -my mother." Sandy always said "My mother" when he wished to be -impressive. - -Mrs. Lytchett watched him insinuate his small body to his mother's -side, where he stood defiant, only the mother guessing all that the -clinging clasp of his fingers round her arm was meant to say. - -Marjorie came down to say that the little ones were safe in bed; and -David and Sandy walked off beside her with uplifted heads. - - * * * * * - -With the house still, and the children of which it had been bereaved -once more within its walls, with the need for exertion and control -giving place to a languor which would not permit sleep, Marjorie -felt a load like lead descend upon her. In spite of visions that -came to her wakeful senses, of ardent eyes and a tender tone, -although her fingers tingled still with the warm clasp of those -stronger ones, she was very unhappy. On her bed, alone with rushing -thoughts, staring with wakeful eyes on to the green bravery outside -her window, she thought over all that had happened, and knew that -she had played a sorry part. An engaged girl--she had let another -man make love to her. Marjorie shrank as she realised her action. - -"What have I done? It came to me upon the roof! Oh! why didn't I -find out before? What can I tell Mr. Warde? How can I tell him that -I never cared for him a bit? Is it I--can it be I, who have behaved -so badly? But I must tell him, straight away. Not a minute longer -than I can help will I be so double-faced." - -At her usual hour she dressed and went downstairs. The empty -breakfast-room added strength to her resolve. Pausing but for a -moment on the doorstep, to catch at her slipping courage, she ran -down the flagged path of the Court, and knocked at Mr. Warde's door. - -Mr. Warde, like herself, had been wakeful. Marjorie's face on the -roof had been a startling revelation. And yet he had to confess to -himself that in his inmost heart he had gauged rightly her love. -Even in the dawn, whilst he had rejoiced at its expression, a cold -hand had seemed to pluck it away. And now--he had seen her kindling -face--he had seen the mounting flush, he had seen the love-light in -her dark eyes, in that glance when he had surprised the lovers. It -was a very different girl who had borne his caresses, when for a few -moments she had leant her tired body against his strength. - -He realised it all. She loved Antony Pelham; she only bore with him. - - * * * * * - -Entering Mr. Warde's house, the door at the end of the hall leading -into the garden stood open before her. Many a time in her childish -life, Marjorie had sought her friend by way of the study window. -Some impulse now made her seek that mode of approach. It was a -French window, not quite open to the ground. She had to mount two -steps, and step over a low framework, which in former days her small -feet had found a sufficient barrier. - -The window was wide open. Marjorie tapped upon the pane. Mr. Warde -was sitting at his bureau, and she could not see his face. - -"May I come in?" - -As the loved voice fell upon his ear, the man rose, and pushed the -letter he was writing aside. - -"Like old days, Marjorie," he smiled, coming forward to meet her, -but his face looked pale and drawn. - -Something in hers, something to him admirable in the courage which -had prompted her visit--for he knew why she had come--some desire to -save her pain made him say: - -"I was writing to you, Marjorie." - -"Yes?" Her troubled eyes sought some comfort from his. - -"But now you have come--it was good of you to come, Marjorie--I did -not like to disturb you, or I would have saved you. Sit there in the -old place--your chair has never been moved." - -But instead, Marjorie moved restlessly to the window, and looked out -upon the trim luxuriance of the rose-filled garden. Her courage was -oozing fast in face of his kindness and the old associations. - -"I came to tell you," she said slowly, "that what I said the other -day was wrong. I have found out--that I cannot----" - -"I know, Marjorie. No need to say it," he said softly. - -"I have behaved very badly," she went on. "I let you think I cared -for you. I did not know--then. I never did care. I never can--I know -now." Unconsciously her tone took a note of triumph, which made her -hearer wince. He forced himself to reply: - -"It was a mistake, dear. I realised that it was only a chance--that -you were but a child whom I have loved very dearly. That is it, -Marjorie. That is how it is between us." - -She lifted her foot over the threshold of the window, and the -straying rose-branches fell about her. She looked very slight and -young, as she stood there for a moment, the sun burnishing the -bright tendrils of her hair into a halo round her face. The man's -soul went out in a sigh of longing as he saw the beauty of the -picture--saw her standing as he had dreamt she would stand, his own -loved possession, in her home. - -"I think you will be happy," he forced himself to say; "I think Mr. -Pelham----" - -[Illustration: She put up her hands to ward off his speech.] - -She put up her hands to ward off his speech, and her face grew -scarlet. - -"Good-bye," she said softly. - -There was a rustle of soft drapery, a hasty footfall, a blank. -The window was vacant. The man stared at it, still for a moment -possessed with the vision of her presence. Then he turned, and -looked painfully round the luxurious room. - -All was there that man could want--every expression of a cultivated -taste. As he looked, his loneliness--the loneliness that would never -now be satisfied--fell in desolation round him. - - * * * * * - -The adventurers were gathered on the lawn on a rug and cushions -Marjorie had found for them. After a long sleep, as school was -out of the question for that day, they had spent some hours in -shovelling the earth back into their hole. - -"Never knew such a funny fing in all my life!" Sandy had exclaimed -during this process. "It all came out, and on'y 'bout half will go -in. How do you splain that, Dave?" - -"Don't want to explain," said David, jumping in and stamping -vigorously. "It's got to go, whether it will or no." - -"It's like a grave," Sandy said, observing him. "On'y there's -nothing buried. You'll get buried in a minute, Orme, if you don't -look out." - -"Me s'ant." - -"You will. There!" as a clatter of earth fell over and around the -busy baby. "Didn't I tell you so?" - -Orme looked round, his chubby moon-face a surprised interrogation. -Then as fast as he could trot, he went off to his mother. To her he -imparted the information that the "'ky had fell, an' it was a dirty -'ky." - -It was after they had tired themselves with digging that the -four had sought Marjorie and a fairy story. In the middle of -this, when the prince and the heroine were engaged in a customary -understanding, Marjorie suddenly broke off in her narrative and -relapsed into thought. - -[Illustration: Marjorie suddenly broke off in her narrative.] - -"Seems, Margie, as if you felt dreffle 'bout something," said David. - -Marjorie did not reply. Her thoughts had ascended the hill, and -there was a dreamy, unseeing look in her eyes. - - * * * * * - -Almost every day Ross and Orme go and stamp upon the mound of earth -in the corner of the garden, the monument of the boys' enterprise. -Ross does it out of hatred, and Orme in the hope of bringing down -the "ky." - -But to Marjorie that mound tells a tale of love, found and won--and -mistakes buried, happily before it was too late. Sometimes her young -brothers wonder at some unlooked-for expression of affection, and -look at her reproachfully, resenting the sudden kiss. Sandy one day -said to her-- - -"Why did you kiss Orme--sudden--like that? He ain't gooder than -usual--an' he's dirty." - -"Yes, I like him dirty. He reminded me----" - -She stopped at the sound of a step. - -"'Minded you? Your cheeks get redder an' redder the nearer Mr. -Pelham comes. 'Minded you--what?" - -"Of that dreadful night," she whispered. - -But it was no "dreadful" reminiscence that shone in the welcome of -her uplifted eye. - - THE END. - - - - -THE POWER OF A GREAT PURPOSE - -"None of these things move me."--ACTS XX. 24. - -A Sermon Preached before the Queen by the Very Rev. the Dean of -Windsor - - -The "things" of which St. Paul spoke were very definite things -indeed. They were the things which befell him as he continued to -fulfill his ministry and to proclaim the Gospel in Jerusalem and -elsewhere. It is true he says that he did not know the things that -would befall him when he reached Jerusalem. He meant that he could -not exactly describe beforehand all that would happen to him. But -his experience of the past could have left him in no doubt as to -the sort of experience that awaited him in the future. Bonds and -imprisonment, persecution in its many different forms, opposition to -the great message which he had to deliver, contempt and ridicule, -hardship and toil, pain and the risk of death--these were the things -with which, his experience had been filled since he became an -apostle of Christ. They were the things which, as he well knew, he -should have to encounter whithersoever he might go. They were the -things which he had clearly before his mind when he declared "None -of these things move me." - -As he speaks the words, we are at once placed in the presence -of that life which is one of the great treasures of the Church -of Christ--that life, the record of which has animated tens of -thousands of the soldiers of Christ, and has encouraged myriads of -sufferers in their times of need, and has, over and over again, made -men heroes and martyrs. Delicate health, unceasing toil, bodily -suffering, constant privations, long journeys by sea and land, long -imprisonments, cruel scourgings, vexations and disappointments, and -the ever-present danger of death--such were the experiences of that -life. We, as we read the record, wonder at the steadfastness and -endurance which made such a life possible. And while we admire the -set purpose and the unflinching courage of the man, we pity him for -the things which made up the experiences of his life. But he does -not for a moment pity himself. On the contrary, he says of it all, -"None of these things move me." - -What did St. Paul really mean by saying that the sufferings of his -life did not move him? - -Is he speaking the language of mere bravado? Have we before us a -man who is merely giving utterance to great swelling words? Is this -some proud and foolish boaster who does not mean what he says? Men -of this sort are not by any means uncommon. We have not to go far -to come across those who, to judge by their fine words and their -swaggering boastfulness, are brave and good, and superior to others, -but who are, in reality, cowardly and mean and contemptible. Such -men are to be met with in all departments of human life--in the -family circle, in society, in politics, in the church. But no one -that ever lived on this earth has been farther from the character of -an empty boaster than the Apostle Paul. There were two reasons why -it was impossible that he could ever have been a mere boaster. One -reason is that he was absolutely true to his very heart's core. The -other reason is that all his thoughts of himself were thoughts of -the very deepest humility. The man who could feel himself to be the -"chief of sinners," and whose whole life was manifestly sincere and -true, was quite incapable of a windy boast. It is plain that mere -bravado could have had nothing whatever to do with the words "None -of these things move me." - -Then, are his words those of a Stoic? Are we listening to the -language of one whose philosophy has taught him that human virtue -could have no more conspicuous triumph than to be able to suppress -every emotion of the soul, and to petrify into a marble death that -warm, living thing which God has given to every man, and which we -call his "heart"? There were those in St. Paul's days who were -philosophers after this sort. They were the men who succeeded in -killing all feeling. They practised their philosophy so well, and -were so obedient to its principles, that they were never conscious -of a real transport of joy, and refused to acknowledge any pangs of -sorrow. They turned themselves from men into marble statues. A Stoic -could move about the world with a cold, contemptuous smile upon his -lips; and as he passed through scenes of joy and happiness, as he -listened to the happy laughter of an innocent maiden, or watched the -bounding joyousness of a young man in the heyday of his youth, as he -looked upon the agonies of bodily suffering, or witnessed the bitter -tears of some bereaved one, or stood in the presence of the terrible -realities of death, he could say--and say it with truth--"None of -these things move me." - -Is it with this stoical indifference that St. Paul speaks? We might -as well imagine that the sun could become cold and dark, as that -the warm, tender heart of the apostle could become stoical. A very -cursory glance at that life, so full of love and tenderness, is -enough to tell us that there could have been nothing of the Stoic -about the apostle. A single moment's recollection will bring to our -memories words that he spoke or wrote, which could only have come -from a nature that was sensitive, tender, and emotional. St. Paul -was one who loved strongly and felt deeply. He was easily lifted -up with joy, and cut to the quick by pain and suffering. His love -and sympathy flowed out to all around him. He welcomed the love and -sympathy of others. The warm heart that was in him spoke to and -influenced the hearts of others; for, as Goethe says, - - "You never can make heart throb with heart - Unless your own heart first has struck the tone." - -Assuredly he was far from being anything approaching to a Stoic. On -the contrary, he was a man who daily grew more and more into the -likeness of Him Who suffered, and felt, and loved more than any -other man, Who, in his wonderful tenderness and boundless sympathy, -is the Great Model for us to copy. - -When, therefore, St. Paul said, "None of these things move me," he -could not possibly have said it out of the cold, passionless heart -of a Stoic. - -What, then, did he really mean by what he said? He himself has made -plain to us what he meant. He says that he must finish his course -with joy, and the ministry, which he has received of the Lord Jesus, -to testify the gospel of the grace of God. Nothing must interfere -with the fulfilment of his ministry. That ministry was his life's -work, to which he had been specially called. There could be no -possibility of mistake about it. From the time of his conversion no -shadow of a misgiving or doubt concerning it had ever for a moment -crossed his mind. He was absolutely certain that he was commissioned -by God to testify the gospel of His grace. His mission was to go -whithersoever the providence of God might lead him--over land or -sea, in sunshine or in storm--in order that he might proclaim the -great message of the love of God. The thought of that mission so -entirely possessed him, so penetrated his whole being, that nothing -in the world could turn him aside from it, even for a moment. And -the steadfast purpose of his heart to fulfil his ministry at all -costs is breathed out in his words, "None of these things move -me." He meant that nothing, however vexatious or disappointing or -painful, could hold him back from his great work. The Holy Ghost had -witnessed to him that bonds and imprisonment awaited him. It made no -difference. Nothing could move him. He had received his charge to -preach the gospel, and preach it he must. - -We cannot but admire this courageous steadfastness of purpose, this -unswerving faithfulness. But behind it all, and inspiring it all, -there was the clear, bright, living faith--the open eye of his -soul--which looked full on the great reality of the love of God. -His faith was absolutely convinced of the love of God to him and to -all mankind. The great certainty lighted up an answering love in -his heart towards God and towards all men; and therefore, come what -might, he must preach Christ. No doubt steadfastness and courage lie -in the words, "None of these things move me." Yet even more are they -the words of faith. He who speaks them is one who _knows_ in Whom he -has believed. - -Why is it that we are not able to do greater things for God? Why -do we so easily lose heart? Why does our energy so quickly flag? -Why are our sacrifices so poor and small? Why does our courage so -soon ebb away? Why do we so cry out when we are hurt? Why is our -endurance so short-lived? Surely the reason is plain. If we had the -strong faith of St. Paul, instead of a faith that is so often feeble -and halting and irresolute, we should be better able to pass through -the varied experiences of human life and say, "None of these things -move me. Nothing can move me from my trust in God and from the work -which He has given me to do." - -But there is a further meaning in the apostle's words. They express -the living faith which inspired the steadfastness of purpose with -which he clung to his life's work. Yet they express more than this. -As he speaks there is a scene before his eyes which, no doubt, he -had often witnessed. He sees the runners in a race striving together -for victory. He sees the one who, when the race is run, receives -the prize. He sees the joy of victory that beams in his eyes as the -chaplet is placed on his brow. - -It is a picture of himself. He is running in a race. He is still in -the midst of the course. And he expects to finish his course with -the joy of victory. That is the hope set before him, and from that -hope nothing could move him. It is out of the assuredness of that -hope, which he knew would not be disappointed, that he can say of -all his troubles and anxieties, "None of these things move me." He -meant that nothing could shake his hope of finishing his course with -joy. For was not that hope founded upon the promises of God? Was it -not bound up with the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead? -Had he not received ten thousand tokens of the faithfulness of God? -His hope was no delusion--no baseless fabric of a dream. It was a -certainty of which nothing could rob him. - -It is a joy to us to remember that what was St. Paul's hope is ours -also. For it is the hope of the Christian. It is the hope of glory -set before all the followers of Christ. Let our faith only grasp the -love of God, and win our lives from sin to the service to God, and -then this blessed hope will become the golden treasure of the lives -that have been renewed. - -We live in a strange and sad world. Dark clouds of mystery are -around us on every side. Vexation, disappointment, suffering, pain, -death, confront us, and we cannot escape them. We are, more or -less, sufferers all and mourners all. Oh, that we might be able -to say, not with the boastfulness of fools, nor yet with the icy -indifference of Stoics, but with humble faith and ever-brightening -hope, "None of these things move me"! Blessed is the steadfastness -which nothing can move either from the conviction of the love of God -which the cross of Christ reveals, or from the path of duty which -lies before us, or from the Christian hope of the life to come. - -[Illustration: Decorative] - - - - -[Illustration: TWICE ROUND THE BIBLE CLOCK] - - -Those travellers who have noticed how turbaned or fezzed native -merchants will gladly wait for half a dozen hours under the -colonnade of some hotel at Tangiers or Cairo on the doubtful chance -of concluding a bargain with the errant Englishman, which does not -involve half a dozen francs, may have some idea of the small value -which the modern Oriental sets upon his time. The sun is his only -clock, and even that suits him rather to bask in than to scrutinise. -The thoughts and habits of men change even less in the East than -the features of Nature, and we are confronted with just the same -easy elasticity as regards anything to do with definite hours when -we restore for ourselves the sacred scenes of the earlier Bible -history, and put back the timepiece of our own contemplation for two -or three thousand years. To the Hebrew or Canaanite of Joshua's day -the phenomenon of the "sun standing still," conveyed into Holy Writ -from the highly wrought poetic imagery of the lost Book of Jasher, -would be little of a miracle--that luminary was often stationary for -the popular convenience. - -Exact notes of time are very hard to discover in the Old Testament. -We have for the most part to depend on such expressions as "dawn," -"morning," "noon," "heat of day," "cool of day," "evening," -"twilight," "night," and no attempt that Hebrew scholars have made -to set those terms in their correct chronological order has met with -more than very partial success. The word "hour" is itself mentioned -only once: Dan. iv. 19. It seems difficult to suppose that some -simple method of measuring the hours was not in use, such as the -trickling of sand or water from a vessel, but our knowledge on the -subject is scanty. We must even resign ourselves to the prosaic -probability that the famous sun-dial of Ahaz was a very different -contrivance from the lichened stone pillar, with weather-beaten -brass face, which we associate in the Western world with the odorous -lawn of some sequestered manor garden. It is more likely that Ahaz -had upon his terrace a slanting tower, upon a certain number of the -steps of which the shadow fell. Such towers were known in ancient -India. The only formal computation of time that we can discover in -the Old Testament is by three watches. There was the "beginning of -watches" (Lam. ii. 19), from sunset to 10 p.m.; the middle watch, -Judges vii. 19 (we speak of this incident later), from 10 p.m. to 2 -a.m.; the morning watch, from 2 a.m. to sunrise (Exodus xiv. 24), -when the Lord looked on the Egyptians, and discomfited them in the -midst of the Red Sea. - -[Illustration: THE BIBLE CLOCK.] - -But the rough and ready indications of hours, supplied by the -progress of the day from dawn to darkness, were quite enough for -the men and women of the earlier Hebrew centuries, and if we are -willing to shake off our Occidental precision and the tyranny of -Greenwich, many a Bible scene would take a place upon the clock -with moderate exactitude. It is in the glow of the rising sun that -Abraham gazes upon the destruction of Sodom, that Jacob beholds -the face of the Unknown who has wrestled with him at Peniel, that -Achan is marked out before the congregation for the doom of his -theft, that Hannah asks God so earnestly for the son for whom she -longs; that poor, over-persuaded Darius hastens to the den of -lions, to see whether his faithful favourite Daniel is alive. It -is in the very early hours that Giant Goliath struts out to defy -the armies of the living God, and that fair Rebekah rides away, -with the day-spring on her face, to meet the love which has been -predestined for her, beyond the plains of Padan-aram. It is in the -heat of the day that the three mysterious Visitors greet Abraham -at his tent door, and that Saul completes the slaughter of the -Ammonites and wins the hearts of his people. It is at high noon that -Joseph provides Benjamin with a dinner five times as large as that -of his other brothers, in the sunny courts of Pharaoh, and that -Ishbosheth's siesta leads to his assassination at the hands of the -sons of Rimmon. It is towards evening that the weary dove returns -to the ark's refuge, that Joshua takes down the bodies of the five -kings from their gibbet, that Ezekiel's wife dies, and that the -haunted life of King Ahab ebbs painfully away. The night scenes are -numerous. It is in the darkness that the hosts of Sennacherib are -destroyed, that the awful cry is heard in Egypt on the death of the -first-born, and that, while Belshazzar banquets, the Angel of Death -"is whetting his sword upon the stones of Babylon." We survey these -pictures, so far as their exact hour is concerned, through the haze -of Oriental indefiniteness, but they have been limned for ever by -the genius of inspiration upon the retina of universal humanity. - -When we come to New Testament times we are, at least by comparison, -on more reliable ground. It was certainly Roman influence which -brought the system of hours into Palestine. That this system existed -in our Lord's day is undoubted. "Are there not twelve hours in the -day?" said Jesus Christ Himself. - -There were two modes of reckoning, one used by St. John and the -other by the rest of the New Testament writers. St. John counts -his hours just as we do, from midnight to noon and from noon to -midnight. His fellow-evangelists reckon from 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. and -from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m., according to the ordinary Jewish fashion. We -may add in passing that the Romans divided the night not into three -but into four watches. These watches lasted three hours each. Thus, -when Christ appeared to His disciples walking on the sea "in the -fourth watch of the night," it must have been some time between 3 -and 6 a.m. - -Let us now say a few things about the big, bald clock face, with -no hands, with which we have furnished those who are jogging along -with us on our chronological quest. Our clock makes a bold attempt -(the first, so far as we know) to fix a Scripture event on to each -hour of the twenty-four. We do not profess that the proofs which -we can offer for the time of each event are equally sound, but we -have made it a rule that sheer guess-work should never be employed. -Consequently, there is a partial failure. We have succeeded in -discovering no reasonably probable event for 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. May -we console ourselves with the reflection that in Eastern countries -most people during those hours are asleep? Except as regards the -particular incidents we are about to consider, we will leave our -big clock to tick his own tale. Whatever his faults, he is not half -as much of a story-teller as another of his kind would be, who had -been neglected in a lumber room for over twenty centuries. Let -us, however, just defend one or two selections which might seem -groundless or arbitrary. What authority have we for alleging that -our Lord's friends endeavoured to arrest Him, as being "beside -Himself," at 11 a.m.? This. St. Mark shows us in his minute and -vivid way that owing to the insistency of the crowd the Master and -His disciples could not take their meal. The usual hour for this -would be about eleven in the morning. Then we have ventured to place -the feeding of the five thousand about 4 p.m.; for the month was -April, and St. Luke tells us that "the day began to wear away." We -cannot, therefore, be very far out. Again, Jairus would hardly have -come to our Lord before late in the afternoon, for Christ had had a -long day and a voyage over the lake; the people also were waiting -as though they expected Him earlier. And since the two Maries and -Salome would be all eagerness to procure their spices for the -anointing of Christ's body, and could not buy them till the Sabbath -ended at six, they would not accomplish their shopping later than 7 -p.m. - -Now let us take out our watches and check them by our big clock. -We will picture for ourselves some scenes in Old and New Testament -history at the hour in which they happened. For such hours the -evidence is in most of our instances good, and in the rest more than -tolerable. Our selections shall start from 2 a.m. and go on in due -order up to midnight. - -[Illustration: 2 A.M.] - -At this hour, when the stay-at-home often awakes for a little after -his "first sleep," and the modern roysterer is thinking about his -pillow, St. Peter stood in the glare of the coal fire, while -darkness still shrouded the most dreadful night in history. St. -Luke (xxii. 59) clearly tells us that there was an hour's interval -between the denials. We may well believe that the nerves of the -sturdy but emotional apostle were all on edge from the surprises and -horrors through which he had already passed. Scared or nettled by -the inquiry of a sharp maid-servant, he takes the primary step in -a sin of which the very blackness is a beacon for aftertime of the -far-reaching power of divine forgiveness. - -[Illustration: 4 A.M.] - -"The musky daughter of the Nile, with plaited hair and almond eyes." -This is how Oliver Wendell Holmes prettily, if too fancifully, -describes Hagar. The pathetic dismissal by the patriarch of this -ill-starred Egyptian and her son Ishmael, has always been a theme -dear to poetry and art. We are not astray in shedding over the -picture the grey tints of earliest dawn. "Abraham," we are told, -"rose up early in the morning," and it seems probable, from the -narrative, that the unhappy business was concluded before Sarah was -about. The wife of an Arab sheik would rise betimes. - -[Illustration: 5 A.M.] - -We are fairly secure in fixing this for the hour on that memorable -Sabbath when, after the six days' single investiture, Joshua ordered -the seven priests, with the seven trumpets of rams' horns, to bear -the Ark seven times round the walls of Jericho. "They rose early, -about the dawning of the day." The date, calculating from the -previous Passover, was about April 23rd. The dawn at this season -would bring us roughly to 5 a.m. Jericho was a city of considerable -extent, and allowing that it took the procession an hour and a half -or more to finish each of the seven circuits, it is not likely that -the leader would be able to exclaim, "Shout, for the Lord hath given -you the city," and to command the massacre, till 6 p.m., when the -Sabbath would be over. - -The old method of the commentators, which made St. John reckon his -hours like the other three evangelists, would place the call of -himself and St. Andrew at 4 p.m. The theory that St. John counted -his hours as we do is supported by the high authority of Bishops -Wordsworth and Westcott, and many others. It surely gives a more -natural sense to this passage: The two apostles abode with their -Master, after their call, "that day." It would be a short day which -began at four in the afternoon, instead of ten in the morning, and -St. Andrew's search for his brother, together with St. Peter's -subsequent call, are recorded in "that day" besides. - -[Illustration: 10 A.M.] - -It was at noon, upon the knees of his mother, that the son of the -Shunammite lady died. We remember how the little boy, the cherished -child of many prayers, toddled out to meet his aged father in one -of those rich harvest fields which nestled round the base of Mount -Carmel; and how, smitten by the fierce Syrian sun, he called out -to his father, "My head, my head!" and a lad carried him home to -his mother. The picture is none the less fresh because we look upon -it blurred by the tears of many generations, and the simple story -ends in smiles, for God, through Elisha, graciously gave back the -treasured life. - -[Illustration: 12 NOON.] - -[Illustration: 3 P.M.] - -The hour of prayer at the Temple. Here we are chronologically as -secure as if we had heard three o'clock struck by the clock at -Westminster Abbey, where the week-day service is held at the same -hour. When we read this account of the miraculous healing, at the -Beautiful Gate, of the cripple who was over forty years old, we may -recall the story of Pope Innocent III. and St. Thomas of Aquinum. -"You see, son," said the Pontiff, as they surveyed the massive -ingots being carried into the Vatican, "the day has gone by when -the Church need say, 'Silver and gold have I none.'" "Yes, holy -father," responded the honest saint, "and the day has gone by, too, -when the Church could say to the paralytic, 'Arise, take up thy bed -and walk.'" - -[ILLUSTRATION: 6 P.M.] - -"God is a Spirit" was the sublime revelation made by Christ to the -woman of Samaria by Jacob's well at Sychar. If St. John counted his -hours according to the Jewish habit, the sixth would, of course, -be noon, but a woman would be more likely to come to draw water, -according to Eastern custom, ancient and modern, in the cool of the -day, than during the burning heat. - -[Illustration: 9 P.M.] - -Nine o'clock at night was a judicious hour for the dispatch of -St. Paul, under an armed escort, from Jerusalem to Caesarea. The -apostle's young nephew had bravely divulged to the Roman captain, -Lysias, a plot on the part of some Jews to assassinate his uncle. In -this matter, Lysias acted as a man of wisdom and honour. - -[Illustration: 11 P.M.] - -With the exception of noon and midnight, there is no hour so exactly -marked as this in the whole of the Old Testament. The noble and -heroic Gideon and his three companies blew their three hundred -trumpets, and crashed their pitchers, and flashed their firebrands, -"in the beginning of the middle watch, and they had but newly set -the watch." The middle watch, as we have said before, lasted from 10 -p.m. to 2 a.m. This terrific signal for the attack on the Midianites -must have been given, therefore, about 11 p.m. - -Of the many midnight scenes that are available, we will choose one -that is remarkable, not for its profound ethical teaching, its -tenderness, its tragedy, but, if we may say so with reverence, its -humour. Samson lifting the gates of Gaza upon his back, and carrying -them up "to the top of the mountain that is before Hebron" (R.V.), -is one of those stories which delighted our childhood, and which -will never be displaced by any recital of the glories of latter-day -athleticism. The gist of this incident is to be found in the -cleverness with which the Philistines, proverbial then as now for -their stupidity, are outwitted by the prisoner, whom they fancied -they had trapped so securely. - -[Illustration: 12 MIDNIGHT.] - -It may be that, as we lay our big clock aside, and return our -watches to our pockets, some scenes of the sacred Long Ago will -shape themselves more clearly and definitely for the future in our -remembrance, because we shall associate them with the hour at which -they occurred. We have not sought to disguise the fact that, so far -as time goes, a mist of incertitude must always cling round events, -however momentous, which took place in any Oriental country, and at -a remote age. But we shall understand our Bible all the better, and -its unchangeable and imperishable essence will be the more vital to -our souls, as we realise that the Almighty was pleased to reveal -Himself to a people whose modes of thought and whose ways of life -were widely different from our own. - -As might be expected, the languorous and unpractical Orient soon -lost the impress of Roman preciseness in the matter of hours. The -average native of Palestine to-day is as careless about time as he -was when Abraham completed his pilgrimage from Ur of the Chaldees. -Nor is this truth without its curious analogy in that life immortal -into which we believe those holy men of old are entered, with whose -earthly deeds we have been concerned. There is no time where they -have gone. In the sight of the King before Whose presence they -stand, "a thousand years are but as yesterday, seeing that is past -as a watch in the night." And we think, too, of that Dial, hidden -somewhere in the archives of the Eternal, whose awful Hand points to -the Hour, unknown even to the angels in heaven, "when the Son of Man -cometh." - - - - -[Illustration: Their Little Manouvre] - -_A LOVE-STORY._ - -By Evelyn Everett-Green. - - -The _Auguste-Victoria_ was steaming with dignified deliberation into -the harbour of Gibraltar. The exquisite lights of a clear February -morning were shining over land and sea; and Dulcie, at her port-hole -window, was gazing with eager eyes over the smooth, shining ripples -of the sea, and longing for a run on deck and a good look about her. - -But Dulcie's cabin-companion, a frail invalid, who had been -wintering in Madeira, and was on her way to the Riviera, where the -spring months were to be spent, was still lying prostrate and wan -in her berth. She had suffered severely during the thirty hours' -passage from Funchal to Gibraltar; and Dulcie would not leave her -till she had had some breakfast and had been made comfortable for a -quiet sleep. - -She crossed the cabin and bent over her. - -"We are in now, Aunt Mary. There, do you hear? That is the rattle -of the anchor chain going down. I have sent for your tea and toast. -They will be here directly. Let me make you comfortable; and after -you have had something to eat you will get off to sleep, and wake up -quite brisk. We have no more Atlantic to face now. Only the blue, -blue Mediterranean. Oh, it does look so calm and beautiful!" - -Dulcie fairly danced about the floor as she waited on the invalid. -This cabin was in itself a luxury--not just a gangway, with berths -on one side and lounge on the other; but a small room with space -to walk about, and a fixed wardrobe in which to hang clothes--as -different as possible from the accommodation on the mail-boat -which had taken them from Southampton to Madeira in October. This -was a great pleasure steamer, which had left New York ten days or -so ago, touched at Madeira, and was bound on a cruise through the -Mediterranean to the Orient. - -Dulcie had come out with a party of rich relations, mainly to -take charge of Miss Martin, the semi-invalid "Aunt Mary." The -Meredith party had wearied of Madeira by this time, and Miss -Martin unspeakably dreaded the return journey in the mail, with -the horrors of the Bay of Biscay and the perils of Ushant to face. -They had eagerly availed themselves of the chance of returning by -this splendid German-American pleasure steamer; and Dulcie's heart -was all in a flutter at the prospect of what she was to see. To-day -Gibraltar, to-morrow Malaga; and thence a trip up to Granada, the -place, of all others in the world, that she longed to see! Then -Algiers, then Genoa; and so to the Riviera, whence she was to be -sent home; as, when once in Europe, and with no more sea voyage -to face, her company could be dispensed with. But what a lot of -the world she would have seen by that time! Certainly there were -compensations sometimes in being a poor relation whose services -could always be commanded. - -Just as Miss Martin was sipping her tea, and finding relief at last -in the steadiness of the great vessel at anchor, handsome Arabella -Meredith came bustling in, in travelling trim, with a light cloak -over her arm. - -"Oh, Dulcie," she said, "we find that we leave for Granada at once. -We do not do it from Malaga; but only join the boat again there. -It is an affair of three nights. I'm sorry you will miss it; but, -of course, Aunt Mary cannot be left all that time, and before she -has got over her sea-sickness. Good-bye; we'll tell you all about -it when we meet. I daresay you'll manage to join a shore-going -party here and at Malaga, and you'll have the boat nice and quiet. -Everybody's off on shore for Granada." - -She was gone. There was trampling and calling overhead. The agent -who arranged the shore excursions was marshalling his recruits. -People were rushing down for wraps and hand-bags; all was hurry -and confusion. Mrs. Meredith just ran in to kiss her sister and -warn Dulcie to look well after her. Then she, too, disappeared, and -Dulcie was left biting her lips to keep back the tears. She realised -that Miss Martin could not be left for so long, and that before she -had recovered the tossing in the Atlantic. But to miss Granada! Oh! -it did seem hard when she was so near, and Aunt Mary had promised to -pay the expenses of the trip for her. - -Miss Martin settled to sleep, the sleep of exhausted nature. -Dulcie went on deck to find the huge boat almost empty. Even those -passengers who had not cared for the fatigues of the Granada -expedition had gone to spend the day ashore. The steamer was not to -leave the anchorage till seven o'clock that night, and then only -steam gently under lee of the shore to Malaga. - -Dulcie's was a happy nature; despite the keenness of her -disappointment, the beauty of the scene before her eyes did much to -chase sorrow away. Was she not looking upon one of the grand sights -of the world? Was not that the lion-faced rock she had longed to -see? And oh, how glorious were those solemn African mountains! and -what an exquisite view she had of the wonderful harbour, the town -climbing up the steep heights, and the white Moorish city crowning -one of the low hills! There was Algeciras; she recognised it from -its position, but she longed to know more of her surroundings. Oh, -if Mr. Carlyon were but here, what interesting things he would tell -her! - -Dulcie felt her cheek suddenly glow, and she leaned over the rail, -looking down into the water and growing dreamy. How was it that it -was always that face which came between her and the page of her -book when she read, or intruded itself into her visions, waking and -sleeping, at night? Why was it that the thought of missing _that_ -companionship on the Granada trip was the real trouble to her, -though she scarcely dared admit it? What was Mr. Carlyon to her? - -He had only been three weeks in the hotel with them at Funchal; -he had come from the Cape, and it was rumoured that he had made -a fortune there. He was evidently a great traveller. He seemed -acquainted with every land under the sun. His thin face was very -brown; and the dark hair was silvered at the temples, though -the fine silky moustache was still quite black. He was tall and -well-knit in figure, with regular features and very penetrating eyes -of a rather dark blue; a handsome and distinguished-looking man, -said to belong to a good old family. But he had lived a life of -travel and adventure, and had known hard times. If he had made his -fortune now, at the age of forty or under, he had known plenty of -buffeting about in his earlier life. - -"I wonder if he will come back engaged to Arabella?" mused Dulcie; -"I know the people, at the hotel talked about it. He was so much -with us. Does Arabella care for him? He attracts her. That very -gentle chivalrous way he has with all women is so different from -what one meets with generally in these days. Oh, I do hope, if it -is to be, that she really cares. I think he is a man who would give -everything without reserve, if once he loved. And she? Oh, it is -not for me to judge; perhaps I am a little jealous. Sometimes she -seems to have so much--more than she can use. But I must not let -myself think unworthy thoughts. I have had a lovely time. A winter -of sunshine and happiness, and now this wonderful trip home. To let -things be spoiled for me, just because _he_ has gone with them and I -am left behind! Oh, that would be ridiculous! ungrateful! horrid!" - -[Illustration: That day was like a dream to Dulcie.--_p. 322._] - -With a brave effort Dulcie flung away disappointment. After her -sleep and dinner Miss Martin was well enough to come and lie out -on deck, wrapped up in rugs, and enjoy the sunshine; and, hearing -of a party of American ladies going for an hour or two ashore in -the afternoon, she sent Dulcie off with them; so that, if she did -not see what others did, at least she wandered up the narrow, busy -main street of the town, saw the jostling crowds of semi-Moorish -and mixed European nationality; drove out to Catalan Bay and -Europa Point, and sipped delicious chocolate in a delightfully -Moorish-looking restaurant before getting back to the ship. - -"We have had a perfectly charming afternoon," she told Miss -Martin when she got back. "We had not time or energy for the -fortifications; but I don't think I mind that. That great lion rock -is enough for me. I have seen Gib'; and made a few little sketches. -I am quite, quite happy and content." - - -II. - -"How perfectly exquisite!" exclaimed Dulcie. - -The great vessel was lying at her anchorage in the beautiful harbour -of Malaga. The smooth water lay almost without a ripple, dreaming -beneath the misty glories of the spring sunrise, the delicate opals -melting into the deeper green and blue of the ocean away towards the -horizon, but nearer at hand so tender and pearly in tint that Dulcie -held her breath to watch; and seemed as though she would never move -again. - -"A penny for your thoughts, Miss Grey!" - -Dulcie wheeled round with a great start, the colour flushing her -face from brow to chin. - -"Mr. Carlyon!" she almost gasped. - -"Well, not his ghost certainly, though you seem to think so." - -"But--but--I thought you had gone to Granada?" - -"I started off yesterday, certainly, with that intention; but I -found I could not stand being one of three hundred tourists! I -had not realised that sort of travelling before. It has wonderful -advantages for untravelled folk, but somehow it did not suit me. I -went with them to Ronda; I wanted to see that. But Granada is an -old friend of mine. I did not want its memories desecrated. I think -I am not exactly a gregarious animal. I made my way to Malaga by -night, and found the _Auguste-Victoria_ had already arrived. So, -you see, I have turned up like a bad halfpenny, and, if Miss Martin -is well enough, I should like very much to be allowed the pleasure -of showing her and you what there is to see in Malaga. It is not a -great deal--not enough to be fatiguing; but, if you have not been in -Spain before, it will give you an idea of a pleasant Spanish town." - -Dulcie's face was all in a glow; her heart seemed dancing with joy. -The sunshine took a new brightness, the flocks of white sea-gulls -circling round the vessel and about the harbour seemed to be crying -joyously one to the other. The soft breeze blew the loosened -tendrils of hair about her happy face and sparkling eyes. - -The thin face of the traveller brightened as he watched. - -"Let us see if we cannot get some breakfast first. We will make love -to the head steward and ask if they will not let us have it in that -little boudoir, as they call it, on the top deck. I hate going below -on a morning like this, and I am just starving after my night's -travel." - -Mr. Carlyon was one of those men who always get things done in their -own way. The beauty of the morning and the news of Mr. Carlyon's -plan quite roused Miss Martin, who had now recovered from the -effects of the Atlantic, and after her day's rest was disposed to -bestir herself. She was quite ready even at that early hour to let -Dulcie dress her, and help her up the many stairs to the upper -deck; and there in the pleasant little "boudoir" was an appetising -breakfast awaiting them. - -That day was always like a dream to Dulcie, and, indeed, so were -those that followed, for Mr. Carlyon proved himself the most -charming and entertaining of companions. They had a boat ashore, -and then a carriage, and they drove through the white town, and -over the wide stony bed of the almost empty river to some exquisite -gardens, belonging to Spanish grandees, now absent in Madrid, and -wandered about them, whilst Miss Martin rested in the many arbours, -seeing beautiful views and delighting in the flowers, which, if not -so plentiful now as they would be later on, were fair and sweet and -abundant. - -On the day following they visited the grand cathedral and examined -its many pictures, some of which were of no small interest, and -drove out to the red buildings of the great bull-ring, and saw -the curious structure and the weapons and saddles of the riders. -Everything was empty and deserted at that time of year, for the -bull-fights only begin in April. But Dulcie could picture the scene -in all its splendour and horror, under the golden Southern sunshine, -and gave a little shudder, feeling glad when her companion told her -that he had never seen a bull-fight, though he had lived for a time -in Spain. - -"They are always on Sunday, for one thing," he said, "and I--well, -I have had a rough-and-tumble life, and there have been times when -Sundays have been strange days with me. But I could never bring -my mind deliberately to go to such a scene on such a day; even if -I could have made up my mind to witness the brutal spectacle as -a matter of curiosity, or from the feeling that it was one of the -sights of the country." - -And Dulcie liked and respected him the more for this confession. It -seemed to make a fresh link between them. - -Miss Martin watched them as they paced to and fro upon the long deck -at such times as they were not ashore; and sometimes a sparkle would -come into her eyes as she observed the way in which Mr. Carlyon's -glance would dwell upon Dulcie's bright face. - -"It looks to me very much like----And really I should not be sorry. -Poor child! she is so much alone in the world; and I can do nothing -for her. All my money goes to Arabella and her brothers--that's the -worst of being an unmarried woman; one has no control over one's -money; if I had, I would have made a little provision for the child. -She is a good little thing. But I don't think Janet will be best -pleased. Arabella, with all her good looks, does not go off. As I -tell Janet, it is her temper--she has been so spoiled. Everybody -can see it; she is absolutely selfish. I did begin to think that -Mr. Carlyon was attracted; but I suspect now the attraction was -in another direction. Well, I only hope there won't be a terrible -rumpus when they get back. They were reckoning, I know, on this -trip. They meant to make him their special escort; and when they -learn what has really happened! Well, they can't bully him, that is -one comfort; and I'll try to protect Dulcie. But Arabella is a minx -when her blood is up; and Janet knows how to make me afraid. It's -ridiculous to be afraid of one's sister; but sometimes I am." - -Just about sunset that evening the shore became black with hurrying -forms, and the harbour was crowded with boats. The Granada party -was returning to the _Auguste-Victoria_, to the strains of "Home, -Sweet Home" played by the band; and Mr. Carlyon with Dulcie stood -laughingly watching the embarkation of the weary, travel-stained -tourists. - -"I expect they have only enjoyed it very moderately; Granada would -be bitterly cold at this season, April or May is the time to see -it. Ah! here comes your party! They don't look very happy in their -minds. I'm not sure, after all, Miss Dulcie, that we unenterprising -people haven't had the best of it!" - -"I have had a perfectly lovely time!" cried Dulcie with one of her -sweet, direct glances; "you have been so kind to me!" - -[Illustration: Arabella swept fiercely past, carrying Dulcie with -her.--_p. 324._] - -His face lighted; it was such a kind one when it did, though it -could be stern, too, on occasion. - -"And you must see Granada another time--at the right season." - -"Ah me! I fear not!" answered Dulcie, with a little laugh. "But -never mind; one can't be more than perfectly happy!" - -"Dulcie, is that you? Do take my bag; I'm so tired I don't know what -to do with myself. Oh, Mr. Carlyon, there you are! I wonder you have -the face to speak to me again, after your base desertion in our hour -of need!" - -She tried to speak archly; but temper and spite were in her tone, -and the gleam in the eyes that rested first on Dulcie and then on -him was not at all pretty to see. - -"I left you under most capable guardianship; but I found my own -enthusiasm unequal to the demand made upon it. There is such a thing -as making a labour of a pleasure. Old fellows like me get beyond -that in time." - -Arabella swept fiercely past him, carrying Dulcie with her. - -"When did he join the ship again?" she asked fiercely. - -"On Tuesday morning," answered Dulcie quietly. - -Arabella, red and pale by turns, cross-questioned her as to every -event of the past days, which Dulcie gave truthfully, though with a -sense of coming trouble. - -Then the storm burst. She had seen Arabella angry before; but this -was a unique outburst, and before it she stood dumb. - - -III. - -"Oh, Dulcie, my dear, we are in sad disgrace," cried Miss Martin, -half laughing, but distinctly agitated as well; "really, Janet is -unreasonable. As if we had anything to do with Mr. Carlyon's change -of plan! As if a man like that would not have gone with Arabella if -he had wanted her! But Janet can never see things fairly, and, oh! -the scolding I have had! And now, my dear, there is only one thing -for us to do, if we don't want our heads snapped off. We shall weigh -anchor almost at once, and they say it will be rather rough when -we lose the shelter of the Spanish coast. I am just going to bed -quietly at once, and you are to stop down and take care of me, and -not show yourself above deck at all until to-morrow midday, when -everybody has got off at Algiers, and Janet has made sure of Mr. -Carlyon's escort." - -Dulcie's cheeks were burning; her eyes were indignant. - -"What have I done that I should be mewed up like this? Of course, as -long as you are ill and want me, auntie, I don't mind anything, but -you are not ill yet, and I do love seeing the ship move off, and all -Malaga is collecting upon the two great breakwaters to see us steam -away!" - -"Oh, my dear child, don't begin to argue. My nerves won't stand -another scene with Janet. If we do as she says we shall have peace, -and 'Peace at any price' is my motto. We shall be at Algiers -to-morrow midday; they will go ashore with Mr. Carlyon. He will take -them to Mustapha Superieur, and they will all stay the night there. -We can do our little sight-seeing quietly by ourselves, and be back -on board and out of sight before the rest get back. The crossing to -Genoa takes from Saturday evening to early Monday morning, and I -shall be glad enough to lie down all that time. I am afraid it will -be dull for you, poor child! but it's no good crossing your Aunt -Janet. You had better keep quietly here with me, and then at Genoa, -as you know, you are to take the train back to England, and we go -on to the Riviera. I should have liked to keep you all the while. I -shall miss you sadly; but Janet----" - -Dulcie was busying herself over her aunt's belongings, to hide the -tears that would come welling up. She had so looked forward to -seeing something of the life on board the big boat during the days -at sea in the peaceful Mediterranean; but here she was compelled -to remain a prisoner in the cabin, dependent upon the port-hole -for light and air; and all because----But that would scarcely bear -thinking of: it was humiliating, unbearable. - -Pride, however, and a sort of maidenly shame kept Dulcie below, and, -as the passage to Algiers was really rather rough, she had her time -taken up by attendance on her aunt. Miss Martin was not well enough -to get up till they had been two hours or more at anchor, and then -did not feel equal to going ashore that day. - -But, at least, Dulcie could pace the almost deserted deck from end -to end, and gaze her fill at the beautiful town built up and up -against the side of the hill. She could see the Arab dresses of -the motley crowd upon the quay and along the handsome boulevard in -full view, and distinguish between the fine houses and towers and -spires of the French town, and the white walls and minarets of the -Arab quarter away on the right. She longed for the next day to come, -when they would go ashore and explore the wonders of the place. - -Miss Martin was quite recovered by the morrow, and anxious to see -something of the town. They procured a carriage and a guide, and -drove for many hours, and, though the elder lady did not feel equal -to the exertion of walking through the native quarter, whose streets -were far too steep and narrow for the carriage, she sent Dulcie -with the guide, who showed it to her very well, and she gazed about -her with breathless interest at the strange veiled women, and brown -turbaned men, and the little dark-eyed children playing in the -gutters. - -Yet throughout the day Dulcie was conscious of a heaviness at heart, -a sense of unsatisfied longing which she was afraid to analyse or -think about. All that she saw was wonderful, much more so than what -she had seen in Malaga, but to compare her pleasure in the two was -impossible. One day seemed all sunshine; this other was overcast and -dull by comparison. She was conscious of being always on the watch -for one face--a face of which she caught no glimpse the whole day. -She found herself constantly wondering what the rest were doing, -and whether Arabella was finding out what a delightful guide and -cicerone Mr. Carlyon could be. - -They went back to the _Auguste-Victoria_ before the bulk of the -passengers; for Miss Martin was really tired, and Dulcie agreed with -her that it might be well for her to go to her berth before the -vessel started, since there was the prospect of a mild tossing when -they were once outside the harbour. - -Mrs. Meredith came in presently, a good deal more gracious than -before, but still a little tart in her manner towards Dulcie. - -"We shall meet a head-wind when we get out of harbour," she -observed. "You must take care of your aunt, Dulcie, and remain with -her. With her weak heart, she should not be left alone when there is -any fear of sickness coming on. When we reach Genoa, I will put you -and your baggage into the hands of some competent guide or porter, -who will take you to the train, and you will book yourself straight -through to England." - -Dulcie understood perfectly. Arabella had thought her in the way. It -was a planned thing that she should not see Mr. Carlyon again, even -to say good-bye. And she was quite helpless. She could not seek -him out--her girlish pride and modesty alike prevented that; nor -could he try to see her. He would be told that she was either laid -low herself or attending upon one who was in such case. Upon that -crowded boat, when its complement of passengers was on board, there -would be only a remote chance of encountering him even were she to -steal up for a mouthful of air. At meals she might have met him; -for he was certain to sit in the same saloon with her relations, -even though the pleasant "boudoir" might not now be available; but -to meals she was practically forbidden to come. And, indeed, Miss -Martin was sufficiently ill during the whole of the next day to keep -Dulcie in pretty constant attendance upon her. - -Nearly all that night Dulcie lay awake in her berth, thinking -strange yearning thoughts; and wondering whether she would ever -cease to feel that weary sense of heartache. Miss Martin slept -soundly at last--so soundly that she heard none of the noises of the -vessel's slow approach to its moorings in the magnificent harbour -of Genoa; was not aware when Dulcie slipped out of her berth and -dressed herself with dainty precision in her neat blue travelling -costume. She slept on and on so peacefully that the girl felt -no scruple in leaving her. She must get a little fresh air and -have her breakfast above deck. She must watch the entrance of the -stately vessel into the wonderful historic harbour. The hour was -very early yet. Nobody else would be astir. It was her last chance -of seeing the world. She slipped out of the cabin, ran up the many -flights of steps to the promenade deck, and looked about her with -wide, wondering eyes at the forest of shipping by which they were -surrounded, and the buildings of the town stretching away in all -directions. - -"Dulcie!" She started and faced about, the colour flooding her face; -he was close beside her, holding out both his hands. In his eyes -there was a look of purpose she had never seen there before; her -own fell before it, her heart was beating so fast she could find no -voice in which to answer. - -He came and took her hands in his; he bent over her and spoke in -quick, vibrating tones that thrilled her through and through. - -[Illustration: "Dear me--how things do turn out!"] - -"Dulcie, forgive me if I am too hasty--too bold; but what am I to -do? They have kept you away from me, child; and I have tried in vain -to get speech with you. There is so little time to say what I would. -I would have spoken it all so differently if I could. But yet I can -say it all in a few little words. I love you, Dulcie--I love you. -I cannot live my life without you. You are young, child, and I am -getting old; but I think, with you beside me, I could learn to be -young again. Dulcie, will you give me something to hope for? Do you -think you could let me come and try to win your love?" - -She looked up at him for one dazzling moment, and in that moment -read the half-discovered secret of her own heart. - -"I--I--love you already," she answered very simply; and then she -felt herself being drawn, close, close to his side. - -Was it minutes or hours later that she heard a sharp voice calling -her name. - -"Dulcie, Dulcie, where are you? Is your luggage ready? Have you had -your breakfast? Be quick. Oh----" - -Mr. Carlyon stepped forward, smiling. - -"Congratulate me, Mrs. Meredith. Your niece has done me the -honour to promise to be my wife. Would it be possible under the -circumstances for her to remain with you at Mentone? I know Miss -Martin favours that plan." - -Mrs. Meredith was woman of the world enough to know when she was -beaten; and, after all, was it not better to have such a man as her -niece's husband than as a mere acquaintance? Besides, her hopes of -securing him for a son-in-law had materially diminished during the -past eight-and-forty hours. - -"Dear me!" she exclaimed, "how very interesting and romantic! -Dulcie, my dear, I congratulate you. Yes, certainly, you shall -remain with us. I will go and speak to Mary about it. I am sure she -will be pleased. Dear me--how things do turn out!" - - - - -_American Country Parsons and their Wives._ - -By Elizabeth L. Banks. - - -"The parson's coming!" - -I remember well the pleasurable excitement that announcement used to -cause in our farming neighbourhood. We children, sometimes swinging -upon the topmost railing of the wicket gates, from which height we -could espy the parson's "buggy" afar off, were often proud to be -the first bearers of the tidings of his approach. But it was not -always we who saw him first. There were times when, obeying the -commands of our elders that we must never swing on the "front yard -gate because it loosened the hinges," we felt chagrined over the -fact that, though we were good, obedient children, we were denied -the privilege of first noting the parson's horse round the hedge, -in his slow, safe, jog-trot style--a style, by the way, that we all -thought the proper equipment of a minister's horse. There were days -when our fathers and our brothers and the "hired men," ploughing in -the farm fields, hastily dropped their work, tying their horses to -the fence-posts, and strode hurriedly to the house with the bit of -always welcome news that the parson was making his quarterly round -of country visits and might shortly be expected at that particular -house, which must forthwith be "tidied up" most especially in his -honour. Orders were straightway given that the manufacture of -mud-pies in the back yard must be at once abandoned. There was a -scurrying to the garden pump or the wash-basin, hands and faces were -scrubbed, straying locks were plastered back from our foreheads; -soiled, dark gingham aprons were exchanged for clean, stiffly -starched, light print ones; and then we were led into the "parlour" -and bidden to "sit still and quiet and nice and tidy" in readiness -for the parson's visit. If, when the parson was espied, it was near -the noon dinner-hour or the night supper-time, extra preparations -were made for the approaching meal. Slices of highly valued "pound -cake" were brought from the larder, the cellar was ransacked for -the choicest jar of home-made jam, and, if time allowed, an unlucky -chicken was chased into a corner of the barn-yard and assassinated, -to help provide a feast deemed worthy to set before the parson. - -[Illustration: There was a scurrying to the garden pump.] - -The parson lived in the village, some five miles distant. He -preached every Sunday morning and evening in the village church to -a congregation of perhaps fifty souls, and received from them a -salary of five hundred dollars a year. Once in two weeks he drove -out to our school-house on the Sunday afternoon to preach to the -farmers and their families, who did not attend the village church -because they considered it a cruelty to horses that had worked all -the week to be obliged to carry the family to church on Sunday. We -in our district added one hundred dollars "and a donation party" to -the minister's salary. The inhabitants of another farming district, -six miles on the other side of the village, rewarded the parson in -the same way for preaching to them on the alternate Sundays when he -did not come to us; so the minister had, all told, seven hundred -dollars a year (L140), _and_ two "donation parties"--not a large sum -on which to support a family of five, yet considerably more than -Goldsmith's village preacher, who was "passing rich on forty pounds -a year." - -[Illustration: A WEDDING FEE!] - -Four times a year the minister visited all his country parishioners. -It generally took him two or three days to go the rounds in one -neighbourhood--a neighbourhood, I may say, extended over several -miles. He would leave "town" (there were six hundred inhabitants in -the place where he presided over the only steepled meeting-house of -his three charges!) early in the morning, and reach the first house -where he was to call at about ten o'clock. At noon he would have his -dinner with some one of the farmer folk, being careful to select for -his noon call a family with whom he had not partaken bread on his -previous visit of three or six months back; for to have the parson -to dinner or supper or to "put him up for the night" was an honour -for which there was great rivalry, and he tried to be impartial -in his distribution of such favours. During the meal hours, the -minister's horse fared as sumptuously as did his good master. Apples -and sugar and turnips and carrots and all the luxuries that the farm -produced were given to the animal by the children of the place, -while the farmer or his hired help brought out their choicest corn -and bran and oats and fragrant hay. Nothing was too good for the -minister and his horse. Indeed, even the "buggy" would be washed up -and made "fit" during the interval of the meal hour. - -Happy was that house and its dwellers with whom the minister elected -to call late in the evening. The "spare bedroom," which adjoined the -parlour and was only opened and aired on great occasions, was given -over to him, and he slept upon the softest feather bed, amid the -snowiest linen, and beneath a white-fringed canopy. In the morning -the usual six o'clock breakfast would be delayed on his account -until 6.30, and an hour later the minister was jogging along in his -buggy to the next farmhouse. - -I have written this much about the country parson with whom my -own childhood was associated, because he was a typical American -country parson then, and he is typical now. His round of duties -and pleasures during his country visits are identical with that of -hundreds of others of our country parsons. The practice of taking -charge of a village church and then preaching on Sunday afternoons -in the neighbouring country schoolhouses, is followed to a very -great extent throughout the United States. The salary received is -sometimes more, sometimes less, than what I have mentioned. What -these men and their wonderful wives are able to do for themselves -and their children on salaries ranging from six hundred to a -thousand dollars a year is little less than miraculous. I have -spoken of the "wonderful wives" of our country parsons. Here is a -description of the wife of the country parson who preached in our -school-house. She was not and is not unique. There are very many -like her. - -When she married the parson, she was a graduate of one of our best -"mixed colleges." She took her diploma on the day that the man -whom she afterwards married took his. She had taken the course in -Greek and Latin, the higher mathematics, French, and German. When I -knew her as the parson's wife, she gave lessons in French, music, -and painting. The young mother of three children, she not only had -no nursemaid to look after them, but she had no servants in her -kitchen. She did all the housework, including the family washing -and ironing, and the baking of the bread and cakes and pies. She -made her children's dresses and her own. The parson's shirt front -and his spotless white lawn ties were "laundered" by her. At ten -o'clock in the morning she presided over the wash-tub, and at three -in the afternoon she read Cicero, perhaps in the same kitchen -while waiting for the bread to bake in the oven. She never looked -untidy, our parson's wife! Even when hanging over the wash-tub or -the bread-tray, she wore a smart-looking stuff dress, kept always -clean by the donning of an immense bibbed apron. She had not an -"at home" day, nor even an "at home" hour. She was always at home -when she was in the house, at whatever hour of the day or night a -visitor might knock at her front door. If, while in the kitchen, -she heard the knocking that announced callers, the bibbed apron -was thrown off, and in less than a minute later she appeared at -the door, well-dressed and smiling. She was the confidante of all -those in trouble; she gave advice to those married and those about -to marry; she was president of the Ladies' Aid Society; she led the -sewing circle, she played the church organ every Sunday morning and -led the singing of the choir as well; she taught a class in the -Sunday-school, and then went home and got dinner in time for her -husband to start for his school-house preaching. Sunday night she -presided over the young people's prayer meeting which preceded the -regular preaching service. Twice a year she gave her own children a -"party," to which all the other village children were invited. She -formed "Bands of Mercy" in all the country round, and wrote little -stories for the children to read at their meetings on the subject of -kindness to dumb animals. - -[Illustration: OUR PARSON'S WIFE.] - -Her house was often the scene of weddings, for those young women -who could not be married at home (church weddings were a rarity), -went to the parsonage to be married. There was always cake in the -parsonage, and on these occasions the lady of the house would bring -forth a bit of it from the larder for the bride and groom, for whom -it served as the "wedding cake." - -Country parsons--indeed, I think I may say nearly all American -clergymen in both city and country--give the fees they receive at -weddings to their wives. It is understood that the wedding fee is -the perquisite of the minister's wife. Five dollars (L1) is looked -upon by the ordinary country parson as a liberal fee. The very -rich village grocer or country farmer occasionally astonishes the -officiating clergyman with ten dollars, but such a happening is -an event that could not be expected to occur oftener than once in -a country parson's lifetime. The young man for whom the parson -performs the all-important ceremony usually gives what he thinks he -can afford. He may give two dollars. He would scarcely give less -than that amount in money. - -Then there is "payment in kind." A young couple frequently drive -up to the parsonage in a "lumber waggon" filled with potatoes, -or turnips, or firewood, or flour, beans, pickled pork--in fact, -anything of an edible nature that grows on the farm. I have a -schoolgirl friend married to a village clergyman, who recently -regaled me with a story of a young countryman, who, with his bride, -drove up to the parsonage with a large chicken coop, full of -cackling hens, which he proudly delivered over to her husband as -his fee for performing the marriage ceremony, with the information -that "them was as good layin' hens as ever lived, and calc'lated to -pervide eggs for a year an' more!" - -There are numerous instances of enthusiastic and grateful -bridegrooms who have presented the officiating clergyman with live -pigs as wedding fees. - -But it is not only as a reward for performing the marriage ceremony -that the country parson is "paid in kind." Sometimes he receives -a large part of his salary in this way. The members of his -congregation each subscribe a certain amount of money towards the -salary that is guaranteed the minister. Farmer Brown will, he says, -contribute four dollars as his share. In the winter, when Farmer -Brown should hand over his four dollars to the church treasurer, he -finds himself short of ready cash, but with an abundant supply of -wood on hand, having in the autumn felled many trees in his forest. -Nothing can be more certain than that the minister needs fuel in the -winter; therefore, Farmer Brown loads his waggon with logs of wood, -drives to the parsonage, and deposits it in the minister's back -yard, announcing to the minister that he "reckons thar 's mor'n four -dollars wirth of wood in that thar load!" - -The minister can, perhaps, make use of that one load of wood very -conveniently; but when, as is frequently the case, a dozen frugal -farmers among his parishioners are struck with the same sort of -notion--that of paying their subscriptions in wood instead of -money--the unfortunate parson has more wood than he can burn for -many winters to come, and his back yard is entirely taken up with -it. He needs sugar, and paraffin, and rice, and butter, as well as -a cheerful fireside. Did I say butter? Well, sometimes he gets more -butter than he wants, too. Says the farmer to his wife: "Jane, I -promised to pay three dollars towards the parson's salary. Bein' as -you're makin' fine butter this summer, you jes' take him a couple -o' pounds a week till you've made three dollars' worth." Two pounds -of fresh yellow butter weekly from the dairy of a parishioner would -be appreciated by the parson's family. They would rather have it -than the stale butter from the village shop; but since butter is -made on all farms, and many farmers' wives send the parson butter -to pay off their subscriptions, the parson's larder overflows with -butter, while many other necessaries are scarce. It is the same with -potatoes and cabbages and beetroots, with eggs, and with hay for the -minister's horse, which, by the way, is not forgotten when the time -for paying subscriptions comes round. The minister loves his horse, -and is glad to have plenty of hay and oats for it to eat; but to -have in his barn enough of these articles to last a horse through -several lifetimes, while the children are needing boots and coats -for the present winter, is not a state of affairs that appeals to -his sense of the fitness of things. Some of our country parsons, -with an instinct for business, not inborn, but thrust upon them -by a stern necessity, have been known to become dealers in wood, -potatoes, hay, and other things of which they have an over-supply, -selling their surplus stock off to their neighbours. In this way -they are able to get a little ready cash with which to purchase such -necessary commodities as do not "grow on the farm." - -In the beginning of my article I have referred to "donation -parties," and have said that some ministers are guaranteed a certain -number of dollars _and_ a "donation" as a yearly salary. The -donation party is, I believe, a strictly American institution, which -originated about a century ago in the very thinly settled regions -of the United States among the pioneers. It is still extremely -popular in country towns and farming neighbourhoods. Say that a -clergyman receives eight hundred dollars a year and a "donation," or -it may be that he is promised two donations. That means that besides -his money, he will be surprised one night or two nights in the year -by fifty or a hundred, or perhaps two or three hundred, people -marching into his house with bundles of every size and description. -His visitors will bring with them pounds of sugar, barrels of flour, -jars of pickles, bags of salt, tinned meats and vegetables, remnants -of calicoes, muslins, cloths, and silks, from the village "general -store," white lawn neckties, cooking utensils, bed-clothing, -pictures to hang upon the wall, patent medicines (including soothing -syrups for the babies), shoes and stockings, a few live chickens--in -fact, everything that the minds of his parishioners can conceive of -his needing. Besides all these things, a "proper" donation party is -expected to carry along its own supper, during which, sometimes, a -collection is taken up and a purse of money presented to the parson. -A good donation party, given by a generous lot of church people, -is a thing not to be despised by the recipient. Store-cupboards, -cellars, and wardrobes are frequently stocked for a whole year to -come, and the minister is thus able to put by, for the education of -his children, a goodly sum of money out of his cash salary. - -[Illustration: A DONATION PARTY. - -(_Bringing the parson's "stipend."_)] - -But there is another kind of donation party that is by no means -welcome at the parson's house. There are country churches who -promise the pastor seven hundred dollars a year, without saying -anything about a donation party. But in midwinter the donation -party makes its appearance, the members of it bringing along -anything they happen to have on hand which they do not want for -themselves. Sometimes the things are useful, sometimes not. They do -not bring along their own supper; instead, they eat up everything -the minister has in the house, often necessitating his sending out -to shops for a sufficiency of provisions. When they have enjoyed -their suppers, a man who is designated as the "donation spokesman" -stands on a kitchen chair, and in a loud voice "appraises the -value" of each article that has been "donated": a pair of boots -so much, a few yards of calico so much, a jar of jam so much, a -bale of hay so much; and thus the list of things is gone through. -Then the appraised values are added up and the sum deducted from -the ministers salary. If the appraiser considers that one hundred -dollars' worth of things have been "donated," he then and there -declares that sum to have been paid on account of the salary. -Perhaps an etching, handsomely framed, has been among the articles. -The poor parson does not stand in particular need of an etching, yet -nevertheless the picture is counted as fifteen or twenty dollars -towards his salary! A clergyman's wife who, during the first years -of her married life, had been the victim of such donation parties, -once told me this pathetic story. A young woman invalid, a member of -her husband's church, hearing that a donation party was to be given -to her pastor, and not knowing of the existence of such a personage -as a donation "appraiser," wove a watch-guard from her own black -hair that had been cut off during her illness; the guard was mounted -in gold, and sent to the minister on the evening of the donation -party. It was placed among the other articles, and at the end of the -evening its value was appraised at ten dollars! - -[Illustration: A DONATION SPOKESMAN. - -(_Appraising the value of each article._)] - -One of the things about our small-salaried country parsons that has -always excited my surprise and admiration is the way they contrive -to give their children the benefits of a college education. No -matter what their own struggles, no matter that the parson's wife -must be her own cook and housemaid and washerwoman, no matter -that her husband wears a shiny coat and a frayed shirt-front, a -little sum of money is always laid by--an "education fund"--to be -devoted to the education of the boys and girls of the family. In -a great many of our colleges, especially those which are known -as "denominational schools," a minister's daughter is charged -only half the usual yearly college fee, which, of course, greatly -facilitates matters. Then, at the colleges where the domestic system -prevails--that of allowing the students to pay a part of their -expenses by working in the domestic department, the minister's -daughter, along with the farmer's daughter and the mechanic's -daughter, helps to wash and wipe dishes and thus pays a part of her -own expenses. - - - - -[Illustration: REAL PROPERTY.] - -By the Rev. R. F. Horton, M.A., D.D., Chairman of the London -Congregational Union. - - -In the original Law of Moses it would seem that the most favoured -tribe, the tribe of Levi, had no landed property. Even in that code -of the law which came into operation at the end of the seventh -century B.C., the regulation still ran: "The priests, the Levites, -even all the tribe of Levi, shall have no portion nor inheritance -with Israel: they shall eat the offerings of the Lord made by fire, -and his inheritance. And they shall have no inheritance among -their brethren: the Lord is their inheritance, and He hath spoken -unto them." (Deut. xviii. 1-2). The Lord was their inheritance. -Better than cities, and fields, and the gratifying sense of landed -proprietorship, here was the notion of real property, the possession -of the Eternal God, a personal part in the One Person, who is the -Author and Giver of all possessions temporal and eternal. In the -book of the Law this really magnificent idea is not developed. It -seems rather to be a hint, a type, a suggestion for more spiritual -times. The only application of it actually made, that certain parts -of the sacrifices should belong to the priests (Deut. xviii. 3), -a portion gradually in the process of time increased (see Lev. -vii. 34, and Num. xviii. 12-24), gives but a poor and starved idea -of what might be implied by "The Lord is their inheritance." As -between a solid portion of the land, yielding its regular dues of -corn and wine and oil, and the joints of meat, and first fruits -of the crops and of the fleece, appointed for the priests, they -might be pardoned for choosing the more substantial and permanent -provision. But under the phrase "The Lord is their inheritance" lay -hidden a mystical truth, which possibly priests and Levites as such -never appropriated. It requires the Psalmist, or inspired poet, to -liberate the promise from its merely official reference, and in -liberating it to deepen it into a universal religious truth. In the -sixteenth Psalm a far richer meaning is given to the notion that -God Himself may be a portion preferable to broad acres and secured -rents. This poet, some landless saint, we may surmise, in the time -when the land of Israel was taken away from the people that they -might learn to find a more inalienable property elsewhere, turns to -his God in unreserved confidence: "I have said unto the Lord, Thou -art my Lord"--that is the note of personal possession--"I have no -good beyond Thee"--that is the note of a sufficient and satisfying -possession. "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance and of my -cup; thou maintainest my lot"--that is the renunciation of outward -possessions and sacraments in favour of the inward personal relation -with God which suffices. This spiritual heritage is all that heart -could wish; it is a prompter of blessing and thanksgiving even in -the night season. Nay, more than this, in times of tumult when -others are moved, and in the hour of death, when prosperity is -stripped away, the saint is rejoicing with joy unspeakable, because -the path of life is plain through the grave; the presence of God who -is his portion cannot be taken from him, and that is joyful, and for -ever (Psalm xvi. 5-11). - -Here we enter upon a truth which well repays a careful study. First, -we have to seek a definite meaning to the idea that the Lord is the -portion of those who trust in Him. Then we have to observe how and -by whom this portion is secured. - -No idea is at the first blush so definite as that of property, or -at least of real property. Here is a stretch of country, accurately -delimited on the ordnance map; I say of it, it is mine. I may build -on it or I may till it; I may grow what I will, or what the soil -allows, or I may turn it into pasture. I may sell it or give it or -leave it to my heirs. So definite is the idea, that a nobleman is -called after his estate--he is So-and-so of So-and-so. He belongs -to the land in something of the same sense that the land belongs -to him, a small human entity so identified with the big estate -that he becomes great; the lord, but also the product of these -thousands of acres; a man with a stake in the country, a personality -realising himself in this territorial way. You look at him and you -see the vast and solid domain latent in him. You find it difficult -or impossible to think that he and his landless valet are in any -sense equal. The valet stands for six feet of flesh and blood, -and his monthly wage. The lord stands for a considerable slice of -the earth's surface in fee-simple, with royalty rights over what -underlies of mineral or other wealth down to the centre. It is not -my desire to cast any suspicion on the value or reality of this -kind of property. I do not dwell on the fact that it cannot become -part of the man, nor he a part of it until he is buried in the -family vault at the centre of it. I do not wish even to remember -that a trifling accident to his sensitive organism puts him out of -possession for ever. Rather I desire to enlarge on this perfectly -definite and distinct idea, which is nowhere so absolute and -unquestionable as in England. We can have no difficulty in fixing -the thought of a man's estate, his property, his possessions. Now -we have to transfer this clear idea to God as the inheritance or -portion of the soul. "The Lord is the portion of mine inheritance." - -Possibly we may all have known a person, rich or poor, who has -given us much the same impression of the estate in God which lies -behind him as the landed proprietor gives us of his unseen spreading -acres. The person may be like the poor woman who held up to Bishop -Burnet the crust, exclaiming with gratitude, "All this and Christ!" -Or think of David Elginbrod, or of that more real Scottish saint, -the father of David Livingstone, bequeathing to his children on -his deathbed no property, but the fact that in the generations of -the family preserved in memory there was no dishonourable man. -Such a person as I am speaking of is far more secure and serene -than the owner of large estates, seems to find far more enjoyment -in the beauty and interest of even this passing world, and dwells -in the perpetual contemplation of an unseen domain which cannot by -any possibility be taken from him. This is the person who has made -the Lord his portion, and we want to realise what it is that has -happened to him, the lines which have fallen to him in pleasant -places. God is real to him, as landed property is to the landowner, -not limited as the estate is, suggesting always a land-hunger for -the fields beyond, but definite and certain. So definite and -certain, that it is possible to say, "This is my God," very much as -the landowner says of his estate, "This is my land." - -But God presents to him also a security of salvation and of life, -of progress and of joy. He finds in God a subject of endless -contemplation, and a source from which he derives all things that -are necessary for this world and for a world to come. God is his -occupation. The will of God is his delight. The universe presents -itself to him as the works of God, history as the development of a -Divine thought, man as the shadow or image of God, religion as the -relation between God and man, heaven as the goal of the knowledge -and love which relate God to man. - -If he is a thinker, like Spinoza, all things are seen in God. If he -is a poet, God Himself appears the best poet, and the real is His -song. If he is a man of science, he studies everything in nature, as -thinking the thoughts of God after Him. - -But if he is a plain man, innocent of abstract thought, none the -less his business and his pleasure, his family and his friends, -all present themselves as material furnished by God in which he is -to work out the Divine will, and win the Divine approval. Nothing -is dissociated from God, whom he recognises everywhere, and at all -times. But as God who is thus all in all to him is Light and Life -and Love, the problem of his own and of the world's existence is -implicitly solved for him. God is all he wants, more than all in -God he finds. Every question is brought up into the presence of -God; in His light he sees light. Death disappears; for God is seen, -the possessor of immortality, imparting life to him who possesses -God. And as God is absolute love, there can be no question that all -things are working together for good to those who love Him. - -This sovereign presence and power of the Divine will make earthly -possessions and station and success quite indifferent. They do not -lose their value; but they find their value only in relation to God -and His will, so that, if only a man's ways please God, and he lives -in the reconciliation and obedience to the will of God, he must be -sure that he has as much earthly property, as good a station, and as -great a degree of success, as God thinks good for him. If all things -seem taken from him, he reflects, God is my portion, and with Him I -have all things. And if all things are his, he does not feel that he -possesses any more than God; the things are temporary appearances -within the bounds of his inheritance, which is God; they lie latent -there always, appearing or disappearing as the wisdom and love of -God determine. - -As this portion is distinct and tangible enough, so it is obviously -both larger and more satisfying than any earthly inheritance. It -leaves none of the aching hunger for things beyond. It brings all -things at once, and leaves to the soul the plain and endless task -of developing the inexhaustible treasures that are contained in it. - -But how and by whom is this portion to be obtained? In the typical -arrangement of the Jewish law it fell to an order, the tribe of -Levi. In the psalm it fell to one who trusted in the Lord. That -furnishes the key to the new covenant, in which all that once fell -to a privileged nation, or order, or office, falls to those who -believe. By faith a man becomes a child of Abraham. By faith the -believer becomes a priest and a king unto God. By faith the portion -of this Divine inheritance is appropriated, and may be appropriated -by whosoever will! - -By faith, however, we are not to understand a vague and general act -of the mind, which simply assumes that it has what it desires. The -faith which appropriates the Divine inheritance is specific, it is -faith which is in Jesus, a recognition and a reception of Christ -as the Son of God entering into the sphere of human life in order -to give to men God as their portion. "He that heareth My word, and -believeth in Him that sent Me," said Jesus, "hath everlasting life." -By faith in Jesus each of us inherits what was promised to Abraham, -to Israel, to David, to Levi. Jesus has said that He will not cast -out any that come to Him; and that who comes to Him comes to God. -Now it is certainly remarkable--considering the universal desire for -property, for real property, for lasting and inalienable property, -and considering the definiteness and certainty of the possession of -God, and the universality of the offer to every human being--that -comparatively few persons exert themselves to become possessed -of God, or bestow anything like the same energy and eagerness of -endeavour on securing God as their portion which men show in the -acquisition of a great earthly property. It is this remarkable -fact to which Jesus alludes when He says that many are called but -few are chosen, or that many walk in the broad way which leads to -destruction, but few will come to Him that He may give them life. - -[Illustration: (_Photo: F. Hollyer, Pembroke Square, W._) - -R F Horton (hand written signature)] - -But the Divine method of thus putting the great possession within -the choice and reach of all, but forcing it on none, is in strict -analogy with God's way of offering all other boons to men. The -kingdom of Nature lies in the same way open for all who will exert -themselves and take possession. The endless interest of the almost -infinite variety of species is an open door which any investigator -may enter. The bewitching beauty of sun and stars, of drifting -cloud and summer skies, of all the changes of the earth and of -the sea, is accessible to all, but it must be owned that only a -few avail themselves of the opportunity. It seems to be the same -with all the gifts of God, Who makes the sun to shine on the good -and the evil alike. And thus His own being as the portion and -inheritance of the soul is proffered--like the wonder and beauty -of His creation--to all who will take and go in to possess it. It -stretches away like the land of promise, a pleasant land flowing -with milk and honey, a land of broad views and of fruitful fields, -of vineyards and oliveyards, and of far distances, luminous in the -fresh glory of sunrise, hazy with softened charm in the hot noon, -transformed under the evening sky of crimson and gold at sunset, -a land which one would have thought all might desire to possess; -but, like the promised land, it is treated with scorn by those who -will not believe (Ps. cvi. 24). To them the flesh-pots of Egypt -are pleasanter; the very dearth and dreariness of the desert are -preferred before it. A thousand excuses, imaginary fears, and -obstinate depreciations are cited to evade the efforts of conquest. -And this great inheritance, the portion of the human soul, God, -remains unpossessed except by a handful of enterprising souls. - -It should, however, be frankly acknowledged that entering into -possession of this inheritance is by no means the matter of a -single moment. We annex our property field by field and province -by province. By searching we do not find out God unto perfection, -though every further search gives us a greater joy and hope in the -prosecution of it. - -It is for want of this vigorous entrance into the possession that -many have professed themselves disappointed with God as their -portion. They have left their property unexplored and unrealised. -They have neglected to pray--and prayer is the onward march into -the promised land, the exercise by which the being and fulness of -God are appropriated. They have forgotten to worship, and worship -is the relish of possession, the discovery by gratitude and praise -of what is given and what God still has to give. They have omitted -the self-discipline by which the will is kept in harmony with God, -and the thoughts and purposes of God take possession of the soul; -and yet it is only by this kind of sustained discipline that one -can have any feeling of apprehension, and progressive discovery, of -God. They have forsaken the assembling of themselves together for -worship, which is the forming of the host of invasion. They have -ceased to study the Word, which is the chart of the land, showing -all the approaches, the fastnesses to be taken, and the heights -to be won. Or they have given up those good works of charity and -helpfulness, the love of men, the love of souls, which are the very -footsteps by which we come into the possession of God. It is this -which explains the common discontent about that rich portion--God -Himself--offered to the soul. The good land has only been surveyed -for a moment from Pisgah; faith has flashed out as an intuition, -or as a vision; but the actual and determined conquest of piece by -piece, to which faith is intended to lead, has been overlooked. -There are multitudes of persons who seemed to choose God as their -portion in moments of religious excitement and apparent decision, -but never arose to enter into possession; and they remain, in -consequence, disinherited. - -But this leads us to a last point which has to be observed. For -one cause or another--the one just named is probably the most -common--men conceive a discontent with their inheritance in God, -and seek to supplement it with possessions which are regarded as -more tangible and immediate. This was apparently what occurred with -the priests, the Levites. Originally, as we saw in the Deuteronomic -code, they were content with the Lord as their inheritance, and -were fed with the meat which came from the offerings of the altar. -But in a later code we find the Levites claiming cities to dwell -in. There were to be forty-eight cities in all, given by the other -tribes, cities of considerable size, with their corn lands and -meadows (the suburbs) extending 2,000 cubits, or between a half -and three-quarters of a mile, on all sides of the city; these were -to be the possession of the Levites. And though six of the cities -were to serve a certain religious purpose as asylums of refuge -for the shedders of blood, the whole forty-eight were to be the -landed property of the priests, the Levites. These forty-eight -domains constituted a territory scattered throughout the tribes, as -solid, and almost as bulky, as the possessions of Dan, or Asher, -or Naphtali. But when we come to the book of Ezekiel, this real -property of the disinherited tribe is found to be increased and -consolidated; a vast district, 25,000 reeds long by 25,000 reeds -broad, was to form the oblation assigned to the priests; this would -be quite as large as the territory of any except the largest tribes -(Ezek. xlviii. 8-30). And thus gradually, they who were to have -no inheritance in the land, because the Lord Himself was their -inheritance, laid claim to as large an inheritance as the rest of -their brethren had. - -That is a process to which the whole history of Christianity -presents a series of parallels. We begin in God, in faith, in -heavenly realities; we decline upon the world, and sight, and the -fleeting shows of the earth. - - "'Tis the most difficult of tasks to keep - Heights which the soul is competent to win." - -When we have got God for our portion and inheritance, we insensibly -slip away, and fix our attention on things below. We would make the -security of God doubly sure, by having earthly property as well; we -would depend upon God, and yet lean on an arm of flesh; we would -have our treasures in heaven--for heaven when we get there; but our -hoard on earth--for earth while we are here. - -Poor human nature! This is our delusion. The two portions cannot be -ours. If God is our inheritance, He must be all in all to us. If -He gives us Christ, He freely with Him gives us all things. "All -this and Christ!"--yes, but in the sense that God in Christ is -everything. Never can it mean that our inheritance is partly God and -partly this world, that we lean, one arm on Him and the other on -uncertain earthly riches. - -Therefore the choice lies before us all. Can we choose Him as our -portion, can we pray and trust Him to maintain our lot? Can we -renounce the arm of flesh as weakness and vanity, can we disregard -the alluring securities of what is considered here real property? -If so we may have real property indeed: God will be ours, an -inexhaustible mine of life and love, of interest and beauty, of -peace and joy. - - - - -MISS CRANE'S FORTUNE. - -A Complete Story. By A. B. Romney. - -[Illustration: Miss Crane was too much astonished to speak.] - - -Miss Crane lived in No. 13, King's Parade. Doubtless at some remote -period King's Parade was a street of fashion and celebrity, but at -the time we speak of its chief characteristic was that air of shabby -gentility inseparable from houses in whose windows at intervals -appear cards announcing "Furnished Apartments." - -Miss Crane was teacher of music by profession, and had what is -termed "a good connection." By turns, music was her chief pleasure -and pain. During the day she patiently listened to endless varieties -of mistakes in the same exercises and scales; in the evening, seated -at her own piano, she forgot all the cares and worries of her daily -round of duty. - -Everyone has a sacred ambition, as well as a secret romance, hidden -in his heart. Miss Crane's ambition was to save up enough money to -ensure independence, and she believed that to possess an income of -L100 per annum would be the realisation of her dreams. For many -years she had steadily saved and worked for this purpose, and now, -at the age of forty-five, was not very far from having her desire -fulfilled. - -Miss Crane was a little woman, with very pretty hands, small and -white. Years of patient drudgery had left some lines on her forehead -and had taken the colour from her cheeks, but had not been able to -spoil the sweet kindliness of her eyes and smile. She usually wore -black gowns, made simply of soft, fine materials, her lace frill -fastened by a small silver brooch, which she always pinned in with -loving care. - -One day, towards the end of the summer term, she came in more than -usually tired, and sat leaning back wearily in her chair, waiting -for the maid to bring in her supper. She heard below stairs the -scolding voice of the landlady and the querulous crying of children. -Through the open window came the strains of a barrel-organ playing -with irritating liveliness. She closed her eyes wearily as the -servant came clattering up the stairs and burst open her door with -noisy familiarity. - -"Please, miss," began the servant, laying down the tray, "there were -a gentleman t'see you when you was out." - -"Indeed!" cried Miss Crane, opening her eyes with a start and -sitting upright. "A gentleman to see me! Did he leave his card?" - -"No, miss," answered the girl. "He seemed disappointed like when -I told 'im you was _h_out, and 'e said e'd call back again in th' -evenin', as 'e wanted to see you particular." - -"Very strange," cried Miss Crane. "Well! that will do now. Will you -please come up in about ten minutes to clear away the tea-things, -as I shouldn't like the room to look untidy if the gentleman calls -again?" - -Miss Crane drank her tea in great perplexity. A gentleman to see -her! Such a thing had not happened for more than twenty years. Who -could it be? Miss Crane's hand instinctively touched her silver -brooch, as her thoughts turned to days long past. - -A knock, a loud and impressive knock, at the hall-door roused her -from her reverie. She stood up, listening eagerly, expecting she -knew not what. The maid came slowly upstairs from the kitchen and -opened the hall-door. There was an indistinct sound of a gruff -voice, and then the footsteps of two people coming up the stairs. - -The servant opened the door, saying-- - -"Mr. Spinner, miss." - -A tall, imposingly rotund man walked in, hat in hand, his fat and -rosy face all smiling affability. - -"So sorry to disturb you, madam," he began, bowing. - -"Not at all," murmured Miss Crane, wondering greatly who he could -be. "Won't you sit down?" - -"Thank you. I think I will." - -He took a chair, sat down, carefully spreading out the skirts of his -frock-coat, and, crossing his legs, looked condescendingly round the -room. - -Miss Crane, with heightened colour, waited expectantly. - -"I am well aware," began Mr. Spinner presently, "that the name of -business has to ladies a very unpleasant sound; but I venture to say -that Miss Crane will find the little matter which has brought me -here this evening far from being a disagreeable subject." - -"Indeed!" murmured Miss Crane. - -"But before I proceed further, allow me to consult my notes." Mr. -Spinner took out a spectacle case, placed his glasses carefully on -the bridge of his nose, glanced at Miss Crane through them, then -taking a note-book from his breast pocket, opened it, and taking out -a paper, cleared his throat and continued: "You are, I believe, Miss -Letitia J. Crane, eldest daughter of the late Rev. Joshua Crane, -M.A., formerly curate of St. Mary, in the parish of Tulberry." - -"Yes, certainly, I am," cried Miss Crane. - -"Then, madam, without troubling you about details, partly because -business details are unwelcome to ladies, and partly because I am -obliged to catch the 7.25 train up to town, I shall briefly tell you -what I am certain, from my previous knowledge of human nature, will -be welcome news to you, and that is----" - -"What?" demanded Miss Crane with some impatience. - -"It is that your uncle, the late John Crane, of No. 8, Harbourne -Street, Liverpool, who died on the 27th of last month, has left -you a sum which, invested as it is at present, brings in an income -of L700 per annum--of," reiterated Mr. Spinner with impressive -solemnity, "L700 per annum." - -Miss Crane was too much astonished to speak. - -"It is a fact, I assure you, madam," continued Mr. Spinner, rising -from his chair and placing a card on the table. "Allow me to give -you my card with the address of my place of business. Perhaps you -could find time to call to see me some time to-morrow, when I shall -be most happy to show you your uncle's will, and, in short, make -myself useful in helping you in any way in my power." - -"I cannot believe it," cried Miss Crane. "Are you quite sure there -is no mistake?" - -Mr. Spinner smiled indulgently. - -"None whatever, and if it should be a convenience to you," he said, -with a glance round the neat poverty of the room, "I shall be happy -to advance you any reasonable sum as a proof of the truth of my -statement." - -"No, thank you," replied Miss Crane, flushing somewhat proudly. "I -do not require it." - -"Quite right! Quite proper!" said Mr. Spinner, taking up his hat. -"Then I may expect to have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at, -let us say, 11.30 a.m." - -"Yes," said Miss Crane, "I shall certainly call at that hour." - -"Then I may say good-bye, and," he added, shaking her hand with -impressive fervour, "pray accept my heartiest congratulations on -your good fortune." - -The bang of the hall-door as Mr. Spinner closed it after him awoke -Miss Crane from her stupor of astonishment. - -For a few moments she sat motionless. Then she burst into a fit of -violent weeping. Good fortune had come at last, but had come too -late to bring happiness. All her youth had been crushed beneath the -weight of poverty, and, bitterest remembrance of all! she had seen -those dearest to her die before their time, fading uncomplainingly -away, for want of a little of the sunshine of prosperity. During -all these years she had thought of them as happy to be at rest from -toil and misery. In her poverty she had never felt as lonely as she -did now, in time of her prosperity. Especially, a passionate longing -seized her for her mother. What delight to have been able to gratify -those simple wishes so often repressed! How happy they could have -been together! She had wanted so little, but that little had been -ever denied her. - -And Frank Whitman! The force of poverty had swept him far apart. He -had not been strong enough to battle against the stream. She heard -of him sometimes as a man rising in his profession, prosperous -and respected. His marriage with the daughter of a rich shipowner -had been, everyone said, "the making of him." And yet Miss Crane -remembered the evening he had given her that silver brooch, and the -words he had then spoken. - -"Instead of thanking God for His goodness to me," sobbed Miss Crane, -"I am wickedly ungrateful, but I do wish I had mother with me now." - - * * * * * - -Next morning, Miss Crane took a more cheerful view of things. She -sent word to her pupils that she could not see them that day, but -she had not yet sufficient belief in her good fortune to feel -justified in telling them of it. It was so near the end of term that -she did not like putting them to the disadvantage and inconvenience -of changing to another teacher, and besides, she had not courage to -cut herself adrift from her usual routine. Custom is a very strong -rope indeed. - -As she travelled up to town, she constructed castles in the air of -all the delights now possible to her--the house in the country, the -really good piano, a silk dress, a thing she had always secretly -desired, for she had an instinctive love of dainty dress, and the -sight of a beautiful thing gave her positive joy. - -The further she went, the grander she became: until after her -interview with Mr. Spinner, she actually felt bold enough to enter a -fashionable shop, and, unawed by the magnificence of the attending -maidens, she chose, paid for, and put on "the sweetest little French -bonnet possible." - -On leaving the shop, she met an old pupil, who, after a preliminary -stare, greeted her warmly, declaring she had never seen Miss Crane -looking so well, and asked her home to lunch. - -Altogether, Miss Crane's day in town was a complete success. She -had been more wildly extravagant than she could have believed it -possible the day before: there was something positively intoxicating -in the fact that there was now no need any more to count every penny. - -She knew it was false charity to give money indiscriminately to -beggars, and yet she could not resist brightening, even for the -moment, the face of misery and want. "To-morrow, I shall be prudent -again," she declared, as over and over again she stopped to slip a -silver coin into some grimy hand. - -In the evening, she sat, tired but very contented, considering where -she ought to go for her holidays. The world was open to her now; -it was difficult to decide which part to visit first. Entrancing -visions of Italy especially bewildered her, but she felt still too -timid to venture far from home, though that home was but two shabby -little rooms in a cheap lodging-house. Like a bird caged for long, -though the door stood open, she feared to fly away. - -Presently a thought struck her, her cheeks glowed--she stood up and -walked uneasily about the room. At length she muttered to herself, -"I shall go there! I should like to see him once again!" - -The place she had decided to go to was Stockton, the seaside town in -which Doctor Frank Whitman lived. She had known his wife long ago, -when a girl. She had heard there were a number of children. Perhaps -the family would receive her kindly, and she would find in them the -friendship and companionship without which her money was valueless. - -Stockton was by the sea: to sit in the sunshine, on the sands, -looking on the waves, would in itself be a delight. Miss Crane -wished she could start on the morrow, but this, of course, was not -possible. Ten days more of drudgery must be first endured, then -liberty at last! - -These last days passed rapidly enough, for they were fully occupied, -and at length, on the 1st of August, Miss Crane found herself -seated in the train, with a ticket to Stockton in her hand, a new -portmanteau beside her, and her heart beating with excitement at -being off at last. - -When she reached Stockton and was driving from the station to her -lodgings, she eagerly looked out of the window, half hoping, half -fearing to recognise Frank Whitman in each passer-by. - -She remained indoors that evening and the following morning, but -in the afternoon she unpacked the contents of the portmanteau and -dressed to go out. - -"After all, how little dress can do!" she murmured to herself, as -she stood critically examining her reflection in the looking-glass. -"I wonder if he will remember me!" - -[Illustration: The blood rushed to Miss Crane's face.] - -The day was brilliantly bright, with a fresh breeze blowing strongly -from the sea. The shadows of the fleeting clouds passed swiftly by. -The sunshine glittered on the dazzling waters rippling in one long -white line along the margin of the bay. Along the horizon stood the -ruddy sails of the fishing-smacks. - -Miss Crane walked on slowly, enjoying the warmth, brightness, and -freshness of the day. She had little difficulty in finding Victoria -Villa, the residence of Doctor Frank Whitman. It was a large -red-brick house, square, well-built and prosperous-looking, standing -in its own grounds, with greenhouses, tennis-grounds, and all the -usual belongings of provincial respectability and wealth. - -Miss Crane's courage failed her as she came up to its entrance. - -"What shall I do," she thought, "if Frank and Bessie have forgotten -me, or if they should not like to know a poor little music teacher -like me?" - -She stood, hesitating, fearing to push open the massive iron gate. - -"I cannot go in to-day," she said half aloud, and turned nervously -away. - -At this moment, a girl came quickly up the road, a pretty girl of -some eighteen summers, wearing a white dress and shady hat, and -carrying a tennis racket in her hand. As she passed, she glanced at -Miss Crane, and the expression of her eyes was precisely like that -of Frank Whitman's twenty years ago. - -Miss Crane started. The thought, "It is his daughter!" flashed -across her brain. She turned and hurried after her. The girl, -hearing the footsteps behind, stopped, and looked inquiringly at -Miss Crane, who hesitatingly began, "Might I trouble you to direct -me to Doctor Whitman's house?" - -"There it is," answered the girl smilingly. "And I am almost sure -father is in at present. Will you come with me? I am just going -home." - -She spoke with a strangely familiar accent, she smiled with the same -merry glance, quick and soft, which Miss Crane had remembered so -long. - -By the time they had reached the hall-door Miss Crane had confided -how she had come hoping to find old friends, and then had felt too -timid to enter their house. "And," she ended, "if I had not met you, -my dear, I believe I should have gone straight home." - -The girl laughed merrily, and then warmly assured Miss Crane that -Mrs. Whitman would be sure to be delighted to see her. "And," she -asked, "you said you used to know papa also a little, long ago, -didn't you?" - -"Yes," replied Miss Crane. "I knew him also." - -"Here, mother," cried Miss Whitman, as she opened the drawing-room -door; "here is an old friend to see you!" - -Miss Crane advanced into the room. A tall, fashionably-dressed woman -came to meet her with outstretched hand. - -"What!" she exclaimed. "Letitia Crane! Well! I am glad to see you. -What a time it is since we've met. But you've hardly changed at all. -I should have known you anywhere. Sit down here and let us have a -good long chat about the old days. Ida! go and tell your father that -Miss Crane is here; I'm sure she'd like to see him." - -Miss Crane sat down, grateful for being received with such -cordiality. It was difficult to talk, her whole being seemed -concentrated in listening. She heard Ida go downstairs, open the -study door, and then came the sound of a voice she had not heard for -twenty years. - -"How silly I am!" she thought, as she tried to concentrate her -attention on what Mrs. Whitman was saying. - -Presently footsteps came up the stairs. The door opened, and Ida, -followed by her father, came into the room. The blood rushed to -Miss Crane's face, and for a second she could not see. - -"So glad to see you again," said Doctor Whitman, in tones of bland -cordiality. - -Miss Crane could scarcely reply, her astonishment was so -complete. Where was the man she remembered? The young fellow with -the merry laughing eyes, the thick curling hair, the careless -dress, the active step! The man who now stood before her was a -portly, middle-aged figure, all immaculate linen and broadcloth; -bald-headed, red-faced, with bland affability smilingly displaying -an excellent set of false teeth. The ideal which Miss Crane had -worshipped so long faded away for ever like some phantasm that had -never had any being, save in her own mind. Only in Ida's eyes and -Ida's smile lingered a mocking image of the past. - - * * * * * - -Miss Crane's time passed very pleasantly at Stockton. Most of the -day she sat on the beach watching the children bathe and play about -the sands. - -Ida came down to bathe every morning, and afterwards used to sit -talking to Miss Crane while drying and brushing her beautiful hair -in the sunshine. One day, after sitting thoughtfully quiet for some -time, Ida, in a somewhat embarrassed tone of voice, began-- - -"Are you fond of going to evening service, Miss Crane?" - -"Well! my dear, you know that usually I have not time to do so on -week-days. But why do you ask?" replied Miss Crane. - -"Because," said Ida, "there is such a sweet little church not very -far from here out in the country, and such a delightful service -every evening, and," she added with heightened colour, "the curate, -Mr. Archdale, preaches such beautiful sermons that I would like you -to hear him!" - -"I should like to hear him very much indeed," replied Miss Crane, -smiling. "If you will not expect me to praise him too much!" Then, -pitying Ida's confusion, she continued: "Perhaps, sometimes, he will -allow me to play the organ in his church. It is the only thing I -miss here. At home there is a little church quite close by, where -the organist allows me to practise whenever I choose." - -"Oh! I shall ask Cyril--I mean Mr. Archdale," cried Ida, blushing -deeply. "I'm sure he will be delighted to allow you to practise -whenever you like." - -Thus it happened that almost every evening Miss Crane and Ida walked -together to the little country church; and then, after service was -over, Miss Crane sat down at the organ and played, while Ida and Mr. -Archdale listened to her, as they sat in the porch or strolled about -beneath the lime-trees; though it was curious, thought Miss Crane, -how seldom it was, for people who professed to love music, that they -remembered what she had played. Then in the increasing twilight the -three walked back to Stockton together quietly, too happy to talk or -laugh much. - -The mornings on the beach were spent in talking of "Cyril," for the -subject interested Miss Crane almost as much as it did Ida. She was -touched by the young people's confidence in her, and their love -revealed their characters in the most favourable light to her. Her -love for Ida equalled her admiration of her, and she believed Mr. -Archdale to be almost worthy of her. - - * * * * * - -The holidays were drawing to a close, and Miss Crane decided that -she ought to delay no longer in telling her pupils of her change of -circumstances; but, always reticent about her own concerns, she put -off doing so from day to day. Even to Ida she had never spoken of -her good fortune. - -There was a charming house quite close to the church, which Miss -Crane had determined to buy--quite an ideal old maid's cottage, she -thought it, with its red-brick walls hidden by climbing roses, its -garden sloping down to the riverside, and its cosy little rooms -quaintly furnished with old oak. Its late owner had died and it was -now to be sold, with all its belongings. - -Miss Crane determined to buy it, and then, when everything was -arranged, to astonish Ida, Mr. Archdale, and the Whitmans by -inviting them to dinner in her new house, and then telling them the -delightful news of her good fortune. - -She felt very happy in anticipation of this coming pleasure. - -She was never tired of imagining the joyful surprise Ida would be -sure to show, and the merry days they would have together, arranging -the new house. - -On the day fixed for seeing the house-agent and finally deciding on -the purchase, Miss Crane had asked Ida not to expect to see her, -"for," she said gaily, "though but a humble little music teacher, I -have some business matters to see about." - -"Then," cried Ida, "I shall come and see you in the evening, for -Cyril has determined to speak to father in the morning, and I must -tell you how everything goes off, though I'm not in the least -afraid, notwithstanding all Cyril's forebodings." - -"Why? What is he afraid of?" asked Miss Crane. - -"Well, you know," said Ida, in melancholy tones, "Cyril is not very -rich. Clergymen never are, are they?" - -"But," remonstrated Miss Crane, "surely he has some means or he -wouldn't think of marrying?" - -"He has," answered Ida; "he has L300 a year, which seems to me -a great deal of money, but whether it will do so to papa is the -question." - -"Oh!" cried Miss Crane cheerfully. "Your father is a rich man, and -very proud of his pretty little daughter; he will make it all right -for you, never fear." - -Ida flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck, called her "the dearest -old thing in the world," and at last, promising to come the -following evening, hurried away. - -The next day was very stormy. The wind blew in great gusts from the -east, rolling the waves in dashing breakers against the rocks. The -rain descended in torrents. It was one of those days which sometimes -come in autumn, precursor of the deadly tempests of the winter. - -Miss Crane sat indoors, a shawl over her shoulders, writing letters -round to her various employers and pupils, announcing the change in -her circumstances. She had just closed the last envelope, and was -putting the stamp on it, when the door burst open, and Ida rushed -wildly into the room, her hair blown about her shoulders by the -wind, and her waterproof cloak streaming with rain. - -"Why, Ida, my dear!" exclaimed Miss Crane, aghast. "What is the -matter?" - -Ida threw herself on the sofa, sobbing violently. - -"Oh! I don't know whatever I shall do," she began, as Miss Crane -knelt down in alarm beside her. "Papa has been most dreadfully cross -and angry with me, and he called Cyril a----" She stopped, her voice -choked with sobs. - -"A what?" demanded Miss Crane. - -"He--he called him a----" said Ida, with another burst of indignant -sobs, "a beggarly curate!" - -"Then he does not personally object to Mr. Archdale?" said Miss -Crane soothingly. - -"How could anybody object to Cyril personally?" cried Ida, angrily -rolling up her pocket-handkerchief into a tight, wet little ball -and rubbing her eyes with it. "No; it is all on account of him not -having enough money. He says he will never let me marry a man that -has not at least L1,000 a year. And where is Cyril to get all that! -Unless he is made a bishop, and he hasn't a chance of being made -that until after years and years _and years_ of waiting, when he is -old and quite bald!" - -At this mournful idea Ida's face again squeezed up into dismal lines -and puckers, and her sobs broke forth with renewed strength. - -Suddenly Miss Crane became so motionless, so quiet, that at -last Ida's curiosity overcame her grief; she put down her -pocket-handkerchief and looked at Miss Crane with pained -astonishment at her want of sympathy. - -Miss Crane came out of her reverie with a start. - -"Don't cry any more, it will all come right," she said, with a -forced smile. - -"That's what everyone says!" cried Ida in the tone of injured -friendship. "But I did think you would have sympathised with one." - -She arranged her hair, put on her hat, and stood up as if to go -away, expecting Miss Crane would make her stay; but Miss Crane sat -motionless, staring fixedly out of the window. - -"Good-bye, then!" said Ida stiffly. - -"Good-bye, my dear," replied Miss Crane. - -"I never saw anyone so horrid and unsympathising," muttered Ida, as -she closed the door after her. "I wouldn't have believed it." - -Miss Crane sat for more than an hour motionless, thinking. She -sighed deeply now and again. - -At length she stood up, and, taking the pile of letters she had -written, tore them all up into fragments; then, putting on her -bonnet and waterproof cloak, she went out and did not return home -until late at night. - -"Why, miss!" cried the landlady, as she came in white, tired, and -wet; "you'll get your death stayin' out of doors such a day as this!" - -"No," said Miss Crane gently. "It will do me no harm. I was obliged -to go to town on business. I am sorry to have to tell you that I -must leave you on Saturday." - -"I'm sorry indeed to hear it," said the landlady. "Isn't that very -suddint like?" - -"Yes," agreed Miss Crane; "it is very sudden." - -On Saturday, as Miss Crane was packing her trunk, suddenly Ida came -bounding up the stairs into the room, all radiant with smiles and -gaiety and flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck, exclaiming-- - -"What do you think has happened I Oh! it's just too delightful. -Somebody has given Cyril L700 a year--somebody who refuses to give -his name. We're all dying with curiosity to find out who it can be. -I'm certain it is somebody who has heard Cyril preach. Don't you -think it is?" - -"Yes," agreed Miss Crane. "Very likely it is." - -"And now," continued Ida, "everything is settled so nicely, and -we're to be married at once. I only wish we had room at home to ask -you to stay with us for the wedding. You dear old thing! I believe -I was cross and horrid to you the other day, but really I was so -distracted that I didn't know what I was saying. And now, dear, I -must be off, for Cyril is waiting for me." - -She kissed Miss Crane and hurried off. - -[Illustration: Ida flung her arms round Miss Crane's neck.] - -Miss Crane stood in the window watching, with dim eyes, the young -pair walking down the street. A kitten came and, mewing, rubbed its -soft little head against her foot. She stooped, stroked it gently, -saying-- - -"Pussy, are you lonely too? for I am--very." - - - - -PARABLES IN MARBLE. - - -A story is told of a late Bishop of Peterborough, to the effect that -at a public dinner he said that he once bought a picture of a sunset -on a river, which he hung in his study; it was a bad picture, but it -had a beautiful influence over him, and he confessed that when he -looked at the picture "a curate might play with him." - -[Illustration: FAITH. - -(_By Alfred Drury._)] - -The Bishop without doubt knew a good work of art when he saw one, -and his knowledge informed him that technically his "sunset on a -river" was bad; but it appealed to his sentiment and occupied its -place on the study wall in spite of its defects. In this respect, -most people are with the Bishop; it is not so much the quality of -a work of art that makes it popular, but the particular strain of -sentiment it contains that touches a responsive chord in the hearts -of those who look at it. The English public are sentimentalists -first and foremost in art, and the artist who receives the greatest -acclamation is he who is most skilful in this direction. And if this -is so in respect to painting, how much more so is it with regard to -sculpture. Public enthusiasm is rarely roused by the sculptor's art. -Next to the architectural room at the Royal Academy, the sculpture -hall is the least frequented, and we fear it must be said that the -majority of those who do go there go because it is the coolest place -in the exhibition. - -This, of course, is matter for regret, for there are as ennobling -and inspiriting works of art to be seen there as in the picture -galleries. The sculptor has the power to appeal to our ideals and -aspirations to as great an extent as the painter, limited though he -be by his materials. (It can at once be realised that the worker in -marble has not the same freedom as he who uses paint and canvas--he -has greater difficulties to surmount, less subjects to choose from, -and far narrower scope in which to express his thoughts.) We have -had "sermons in stones" which have been quite as powerful as any -preached by painter or poet. - -The classical tradition has undoubtedly affected the sculptor more -than it has his brother-artist of the brush; it has weighed him -down, and made his work cold and lifeless; and men and women of -to-day want art that is living, helpful in their daily straggles, -responsive to those aspirations which every one of them possesses in -a measure. As a distinguished member of the Royal Academy, now dead, -once wrote, "We have aspirations, we reverence something more than -the ordinary life of mortals; we have before our eyes an ideal of -truthfulness, piety, honour, uprightness, love, and self-sacrifice -greater than any which exists on earth." To appeal to these -emotions by a beautiful and living art should be the object of our -artists, and those who do can be sure of receiving the approval and -the gratitude of the toilers of the world. This has been proved -over and over again by the votes taken at Canon Barnett's picture -exhibitions as to the most popular works shown, when men like Mr. G. -F. Watts, R.A., and the late Sir Edward Burne-Jones have been first -favourites. And this probably accounts in a measure for the public -indifference to works of sculpture. The sculptor has for the most -part neglected subjects which appeal to the hearts of the people of -his day, and based his work on classic models and precepts. - -In saying this we do not in any wise belittle the great works of the -past. It is impossible to look on the mighty works of the ancient -Egyptian workers in stone without feeling the sense of awe which -the people of those days must have experienced--and were intended -to experience--when gazing upon them. Mystery is the keynote of -Egyptian sculpture, mystery deep and unfathomable. Look upon those -inscrutable, gigantic faces in the British Museum; coldly inhuman; -giants of stone, indifferent to the passions which pulsate in -the human breast. Mighty works indeed--parables impossible of -interpretation! - -Look, too, at the works in the Assyrian galleries of the same -collection. Marvellous of execution, they again draw forth -admiration for the skill of their creators, for their dexterous -records of the life of those far-off days, for the massive and -imposing decorativeness of the semi-human lions and bulls. And then, -coming down the ages, consider the beauty of form of the works of -the sculptors of classic days; the wondrous productions of the -Greeks, the perfection of line and grace of these representations in -stone of the "human form divine." Masterpieces of the world which -will never be excelled as works of art, they, nevertheless, do not -appeal to the hearts of the people, and in adhering to the style of -ancient Greece our sculptors have themselves to blame for the lack -of popular sympathy. - -[Illustration: MOTHERHOOD. - -(_By Alfred Gilbert, R.A. In the possession of Sir Henry Doulton._)] - -The sculptors of Italy who shared in the revival of art in the -fifteenth century understood this. Without sacrificing in the least -the beauty of the classic artists, they infused into their work -that touch of sentiment--either religious or frankly human--which -won for them the admiration of their contemporaries, and enables -them, though long since dead, to speak to us through their art. The -charming creations of Donatello, the delightful child-forms of Lucca -della Robbia, the gigantic creations of Michelangelo--gigantic both -in conception and execution--appeal to us primarily for the humanity -which they reflect: admiration for their beauty follows in due -course. - -[Illustration: THE SISTERS OF BETHANY. - -(_By Warrington Woods._)] - -Until comparatively recent years English sculptors have failed to -appreciate this public taste, and the public work all through our -country has been deplorably lacking either in sentiment or art. -The ghastly figures which are exposed in London streets rouse no -enthusiasm, and only claim attention because of the men of which -they are memorials. Curiously enough the only really beautiful piece -of allegorical sculpture in our city is the work of a Frenchman, and -that is smothered under a hideous cupola! I refer to the charming -little group symbolising "Charity," on the drinking fountain by the -Royal Exchange. This beautiful figure of a woman and two children -the work of Dalou, was originally shown in stone, but the ravages -of the London climate destroyed the features of the figures, and it -was only when replaced by a bronze cast of the original model a year -or two ago that its full beauty could be appreciated by the present -generation. The symbolism is not intricate, the parable can be read -by the most ignorant, and understood by all, but it is "a thing of -beauty," and therefore a joy for ever. - -The English sculptors who are claiming attention to-day are men -influenced largely by the spirit of "modernity." They are giving -us works which appeal to our sentiment as well as to our sense of -beauty. Look, for instance, at the charming group by Mr. Alfred -Gilbert, R.A., which is illustrated on page 345. One wishes that the -original could be placed in position where people could see it every -day. It is a simple subject, but what greater lesson can be enforced -upon us than that of the holiness and purity of a mother's love and -solicitude for her child? There is in one of the public squares of -Paris a group very similar to this by Delaplanche. A mother is again -giving her child its first lesson in reading. Tender and pure in -sentiment, it is an object lesson to all who behold it. - -The nobleness and dignity of labour provide our sculptors with -a manifold variety of subjects, but there are not many English -artists who have availed themselves of it. Among these, however, -is the distinguished Royal Academician, Mr. Hamo Thornycroft. "The -Sower Scattering Seed" is but the representation of an English farm -"hand," but it would be difficult to find a piece of work among -English sculptures to excel it in grace and beauty of line. The -artist has executed another work of "A Mower"--again an English -farm-labourer, leaning on his scythe--which is another example of -his skill in the adaptation of a subject which can be understood and -appreciated by every man, down to him who actually wields the scythe. - -[Illustration: ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST. - -(_By W. Goscombe John._)] - -[Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN OF FAME. - -(_By A. C. Lucchesi._)] - -Biblical subjects have found exponents in sculpture to a very -large extent from the days of the Renaissance downwards. The old -Italians decorated their churches with such to almost as great an -extent as the painters of their time did; and many sculptors to-day -find their inspiration in Scripture in like manner. We have chosen -some for illustration in this paper--two by living artists, and -one by Warrington Woods, a sculptor who lived some years ago, when -"classic" style and subject were deemed necessary by the workers -in the sculpturesque arts. "The Sisters of Bethany" is infected by -this spirit, but is, nevertheless, pleasing to a certain extent. -The "Faith" of Mr. Alfred Drury, is, on the other hand, distinctly -pictorial and frankly illustrative of the subject. The "St. John the -Baptist," by Mr. Goscombe John, another of our rising sculptors, is -a beautiful figure which belongs to the Marquis of Bute, and stands -in the centre of a fountain basin in the garden of St. John's Lodge, -Regent's Park. - -[Illustration: THE SOWER. - -(_By W. Hamo Thornycroft, R.A._)] - -On page 347 is the most ambitious of the allegorical works among -our illustrations, and is the work of Mr. A. C. Lucchesi, a young -sculptor of whom great things may be expected. "The Mountain of -Fame" represents a warrior, who, struggling to acquire the laurel -wreath, has in his efforts thrown away sword and shield and is -reaching after the honour which is held temptingly before him by the -figure of Fame. Almost within his grasp, it yet eludes him, and the -rough path up which he has stumbled has not yet brought him to the -summit. His weapons, cast aside in the assurance of victory, are -left behind; but the wreath is still not his, and he is helpless -against further dangers which may await him; the eagerness for fame -may prove his ruin and all his strivings end in disaster. Readers -of Miss Olive Schreiner's "Story of an African Farm" will remember -the beautiful parable upon this subject, and I asked the sculptor -if this had influenced him at all in the work. The suggestion was -almost a revelation to him, for, although he had read the book -and remembered vividly this particular passage, yet confessed that -it was quite out of his mind when he modelled this group. But the -influence of the story is distinctly visible. - -[Illustration: (_Photo: York and Son, Notting Hill, W._) - -THE NIGHTINGALE MONUMENT IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. - -(_By Roubiliac._)] - -Memorial sculpture, of course, forms a large part of a sculptor's -work, and the example by Mr. Armstead illustrated on this page -is typical of a great many of the kind. The most beautiful and -dignified monument we possess is without doubt Alfred Stevens' -great work in St. Paul's Cathedral in memory of the Duke of -Wellington--one that can never be sufficiently admired, contrasting -as it does with the grandiose monuments of the last century in the -same building and at Westminster Abbey. - -We illustrate on this page one of the most curious monuments in the -latter building. It is the work of Roubiliac, a Frenchman who worked -in England in the eighteenth century. The tomb is that of Joseph -Gascoigne Nightingale, of Minehead, Somersetshire, and of the Lady -Elizabeth, his wife, who died soon after her marriage. From the dark -recesses of the tomb below issues the skeleton form of Death, in -the act of hurling his lance at the wife, while the husband leans -forward with extended arm to ward off the fatal blow from his loved -partner, who is sinking to rest beside him. - -[Illustration: MEMORIAL TO AN ONLY DAUGHTER. - -(_By H. H. Armstead, R.A._)] - -Death, however, can be represented far better than by a ghastly -skeleton, as Mr. George Frampton, A.R.A., has proved in his -dignified "Angel of Death" which stands in the Camberwell Art -Gallery. This figure of a young man, carrying the traditional scythe -across his shoulder and an hour-glass in his hand, reminds us of Mr. -Watts' constant representation of the "grim messenger"--no longer -"grim," however, but beautiful, erect, inviting--the harbinger of -the land where there shall be no more tears, neither sorrow nor -sighing. - - ARTHUR FISH. - - - - -[Illustration: PLEDGED] - -By Katharine Tynan, Author of "A Daughter of Erin," Etc. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -STRANGERS IN A STRANGE LAND. - - -London was under drizzle when the four-wheeler containing Mr. -Graydon and Pamela drew up at Lady Jane Trevithick's house in Brook -Street. - -As the time came for saying good-bye to her father, Pamela's heart -sank lower and lower. By the time the cab stopped it was a mere dead -weight of foreboding and depression. - -One minute she looked at her father with blank despair. It was in -her heart to put her arms about his neck and cling to him and refuse -to leave him, as she had done when a small child and insubordinate -to nursery rule. But the minute's glance checked the impulse. He was -not thinking of her: he was wholly preoccupied: as she watched him, -his lips moved as if in conversation with someone. - -"'Ere you are, sir. This is the 'ouse," said the old cabman, not -offering to budge from his box. - -Mr. Graydon jumped out and knocked at the door. While his hand yet -held the knocker the door was flung open by a pompous servant. - -"Here, my man, lend me a hand with this lady's luggage. The jarvey -seems old and incapable," he said brightly to the functionary. - -The man came out unwillingly into the rainy street. The sight of the -four-wheeler with its poor little trunk brought a look of amazed -contempt to his face. But Mr. Graydon was not thinking of him. - -When the luggage had gone in, he took his daughter from the cab. - -"No, thank you. You need not wait," he said to the cabman as he -followed Pamela up the steps. - -"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room, sir," said the servant, -impressed, despite himself, by the shabby visitor's easy air of -command. - -"Ah, thank you, I am not coming in. Good-bye, Pam, darling. I'll get -the night-mail back. Be sure and enjoy yourself, and give Lady Jane -my kindest regards." - -He kissed her hastily, unconscious of the supercilious eyes of the -footman. Then he turned towards the wet street. - -Pamela stood in the hall, looking after him with her miserable heart -in her eyes. He went down the steps with his hands deep in his -shabby overcoat pockets--for he carried no umbrella--and his soft -hat pulled down over his eyes. Another minute and he would be out of -sight. A wave of intolerable loneliness rushed over his daughter's -heart as she saw him vanishing and leaving her alone among strangers. - -"Papa, papa!" she cried. - -The genial, kind face was turned back to her for an instant. Her -father's hand waved a farewell. Then he was out of sight, and she -became conscious that the weary footman, forcedly polite, was -holding the door open for her. - -"Her ladyship is in the drawing-room," he repeated, and there was -rebuke in his voice. Pamela drew back, and he shut the door. - -"Poor little Pam!" said her father as he walked along briskly. "She -will be home-sick to-night; to-morrow she will be better content, -and the day after she will begin to enjoy herself." - -"And now, let me see," he said. "This turn is it, for Hill Street? -I ought to know the way, though it is so many years since I took -it. I hope I shall catch his lordship before dinner. If I'm obliged -to disturb him, he'll be in a horrible rage, and things won't be -propitious. Anyhow, at the worst, I'll have time to eat something at -the station before I catch the mail. Perhaps his lordship will ask -me to dinner if things go well." - -He smiled so cheerfully, showing a row of even white teeth, that -a wretched girl, carrying an infant, was moved to beg of him. He -handed her a shilling, to her unbounded amazement. - -"There goes part of my dinner," he said to himself. "Never mind: -she needs it." And then to the astonished beggar: "Go home, my -girl, with that poor little chap. It is no night for him--or you -either--to be out." - -Presently he came to a huge house, showing a dim light here and -there in its black front. He knocked with a tremor of heart. When -last he had knocked there he had stood at the threshold of new life -and joy. The rain dripped from his soft hat and hung in beads of -moisture on his grey moustache. It soaked unheeded into his thin -overcoat. - -The door was opened by an old man-servant. He peered in wonder at -the shabby-looking stranger, who stepped so unquestioningly within -those gloomy portals. - -"Is his lordship in town?" asked the intruder. "Why, Thorndyke! It -is surely Thorndyke?" - -"Yes, I am Thorndyke," said the man. "But I don't think I know you, -sir. Let me see." - -He turned on the electric light into the front part of the hall, and -brought his dim old eyes nearer to Mr. Graydon's face. - -"Why, it is Master Archie!" he said quaveringly. "Master Archie -after all those years! And how are you, sir? Are you well?" - -"Quite well, Thorndyke. Can I see my uncle? I want very particularly -to see him." - -"He's none too pleasant," whispered the old man. "He has a touch -of gout, and the little master's been ill. They've ordered him to -Cannes." - -"Indeed! I'm sorry for that. I thought he was a hearty little chap." - -"So he was, so he was, till a few months gone. He's never recovered -a heavy chill he took at the beginning of the winter. His lordship's -bound up in him, and it do fret him to see Master Lance dwindle." - -"Ah! I am very sorry," said Mr. Graydon, and a cloud came over his -face. "I am sorry for the boy and for his lordship, too. Health is a -great blessing, Thorndyke." - -"It is, indeed, sir. I am glad you have yours. Come in here, sir, -and I'll let his lordship know." - -He opened the door of a room lined with books in heavy bindings, -and motioned Mr. Graydon to enter. The atmosphere was close and -warm, though the fire was low in the grate. But Mr. Graydon did not -notice that his wet coat was steaming, and that he felt damply and -uncomfortably warm. He had other things to think of. - -[Illustration: "Papa, papa!" she cried.] - -Presently the door was sharply opened, and a red-faced, -irascible-looking old man came in. He glared fiercely at his -visitor as he hobbled to a chair. - -"Well, Archibald," he said, using the name as if it were distasteful -to him. "To what am I indebted for the honour of your visit after -all those years?" - -"I would have come before, sir, but for your own words." - -"I'm not unsaying my words. They are as good now as they were then." - -"Twenty-five years is a long time. Can't you forget and forgive?" - -"I neither forget nor forgive. You did me an injury past -forgiveness." - -"It was no injury; Mary had chosen me." - -"You chose your own lot in life. I have not interfered with it. Why -do you come here?" - -[Illustration: "Go!" said the old lord.] - -The old man grinned fiercely as if he had had a spasm of pain, and -bit his under lip hard. - -"I am sorry to have come when you are not well." - -"Your visit would have been unpleasant at any time. Why do you come?" - -Mr. Graydon took up his soft hat. - -"I came partly out of hard necessity, partly because I hoped that -after all the years you would have forgiven me. But there is no use -in my staying, I see. I am sorry to have troubled you, sir." - -"Say out what you have got to say, man. I don't know whether you -know that I have an heir in your place? You have buried yourself so -that you may well not know." - -"I am glad you have a son, sir." - -The old lord grunted. - -"Your business, man, your business. I can't wait on you all night, -and in five minutes the dinner-bell will ring." - -"My business is very simple. I have three girls. One of them would -marry after my own heart and hers; but poverty stands in the way. -I was brought up as your heir. I thought perhaps that, remembering -that fact, you would help my girl." - -"You mean by giving her a dowry?" - -"You are very rich." - -"The time was, Archibald, when I would have given ten years of life -to have heard you ask this and to have refused you. I refuse you -now, but it is because everything is for the boy. I am old, and even -my appetite for revenge has deserted me." - -"You owe me no revenge, sir." - -"We think differently. Why did you cross my path? Why didn't you -marry that woman who wanted you--Dunallan's daughter?" - -Mr. Graydon looked thunderstruck. - -"You have forgotten, sir; Lady Jane married my friend Gerald -Trevithick." - -"Because she couldn't marry you. He was an idiot to marry her. -Everyone saw her infatuation but he and--am I to believe?--you." - -"Impossible," muttered Mr. Graydon; "I barely knew her. I never -thought of her." - -The old lord waved away his words contemptuously. - -"She had no money, but she had connections, and she would have had -ambitions if she had married you and not Trevithick. The woman was -head over ears in love with you, man." - -"I can't believe it, sir. But let it be. It is all five-and-twenty -years ago." - -"And Mary is dead, and you have three girls." - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are they strong--are they healthy?" - -"Yes, thank God. They are all a father's heart could desire." - -"Ah! you have scored again. You married the woman we both desired. -You have strong children, and I--my boy is not strong." - -His face twitched with more than the pain of his gout. - -"I am very sorry, sir. I hoped he was strong." - -"I didn't ask for your pity, Archibald." - -"I can't help being sorry, all the same." - -"But you've outwitted me. I married a peasant--almost a -peasant--that my heir in your place might be strong. He is--not -strong." - -Again the bitter spasm crossed his face, and the sight of it wrung -Mr. Graydon's kind heart. - -"I pray that he may become strong," he said earnestly; "God is good." - -"Anyhow," cried the old man with sudden fury, "I shall not break up -his inheritance. If he lives to do that himself one day, let him. -It is like enough he would. He does not take after me. But he is my -only son." - -The dinner-bell pealed loudly through the house. - -"Go!" said the old lord. "You have upset me. I shall not be the -better of your visit for a week. Go back to your girls, and come -here no more. Be thankful they are strong. Money is not everything." - -He shuffled out of the room, and Mr. Graydon followed him. - -"Show this gentleman out, Thorndyke," he said, and went without a -word of farewell. - -"Let me get you a little refreshment, Mr. Archie," said the old -servant. "Do, sir! Dear, dear! you are very wet, and to think you -have to turn out again without your dinner!" - -"No, thank you, Thorndyke. I shall do very well till I get to -Euston. I shall have some dinner there before the train starts." - -"You are going back to Ireland to-night, sir?" - -"Yes, Thorndyke, I must." - -"Dear, dear! and you are very wet. Can we do nothing for you, sir? -My wife--I married Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper; you remember, -sir?--would be so fretted to see you going off like this. Do let me -get you something, sir?" - -"Nothing, thank you, Thorndyke, nothing. But it is very kind of you, -all the same. I remember your wife very well. She was good to me in -old days. Give her my love, Thorndyke, and good-bye." - -"Good-bye, till happier times, sir," said the old servant, as Mr. -Graydon went out in the streaming night. - -The lights of a hansom blinked through the rain as he turned -north-eastward. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a few -coins, and looked at them. - -"No," he said, "I can't afford it. I must walk part of the way, and -'bus the rest. I shall just have time to do it." - -But by the time he got to Euston he could only snatch a few -fragments of food. And so it was wet, chilled, and half-fed that he -made his return journey. - -His uncle's suggestion about Lady Jane disturbed him oddly, though -he tried to thrust it from him as impossible; but it recurred again -and again. - -"After all," he thought at last, "it might explain why she sought -us out, and why she wanted Pamela. If I unwittingly did her the -injury that she should have cared for me, who had no love to give -her, it would be like a woman's generosity to repay me in that way. -Ah! but women are better nowadays. She must have been a happy woman -with Gerald, happier than with a worthless fellow like me, who could -bring her neither honour nor glory. Ah! if it is true, and she -should repay my Pam with happiness, how wonderful it would be! And -there is no goodness which is impossible to a woman, praise be to -the Source!" - -Despite the damp and discomfort, his thoughts made him fall asleep -with a smile on his face. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -AN EVENTFUL EVENING. - - -"Why did you do it, Auntie Janie?" asked Lady Kitty. - -"Do what, darling?" answered Lady Jane in the tone that was reserved -especially for her pet. - -[Illustration: "Better leave her to me, Auntie Janie."] - -"Why, ask that poor little thing here. You know you don't like her a -bit, and she's as home-sick as ever I saw anyone. Why don't you pack -her off home again?" - -"I asked her because--because--they were kind to Anthony, and it was -only civil to do it, and because it ought to be a pleasure to the -girl herself." - -"Now you know you didn't, Auntie Janie, and you needn't tell me. -It's not like you to do a shady thing first, and then tell a story -about it." - -"Kitty!" - -"Yes, I know it's shocking of me. But I've always found you -straight. Where you disliked you disliked, and made no pretence -about it. But now you're playing a part for some reason or other, -and I don't like you in a part." - -"I think you're a rude, spoilt child, Kitty." - -"I know I'm spoilt by you, and you're forcing me to be rude. It -isn't like you, as I said before, and so I thought I'd ask you why -you did it. You've become tortuous, Auntie Janie, ever since the day -Anthony left for Washington. I don't recognise you as a tortuous -person, and, frankly, it makes me uncomfortable." - -"What fault have you to find, Kitty, with me as hostess?" - -Lady Jane put down the pen she had been holding in her hand all this -time, and came over from her writing-table as though she foresaw -that the discussion would take time. - -She looked down at Lady Kitty, who was basking in front of the fire, -and her cold eyes grew maternal. - -"You're fond of me, Kitty, I believe." - -"It would be odd if I wasn't. I'm selfish to the heart's core, but -I'm really not bad enough not to be fond of you." - -"I don't think you're selfish, Kitty. It is only a pose of yours. -But I am glad you are fond of me. Few people are. My life has been -a mistake, Kitty. I was not formed for happiness. If I had to do it -over again, perhaps I would make an effort to live otherwise. But -this is not what I meant to say. You think that child unhappy?" - -"Anyone can see it with half an eye." - -"She went off cheerfully enough with Mrs. Molyneux to see the -flowers." - -"Yes, it was a relief to her. Mrs. Molyneux is an old dear, and she -won't feel out of it with her. She has been feeling horribly out of -it with you and me." - -"Perhaps, Kitty, I _mean_ her to feel out of it. Perhaps I mean her -to be unhappy." - -"Oh! say you didn't, Auntie Janie," said Lady Kitty, suddenly -lifting up a flushed face. "Say you didn't. If you really meant -that, I think I should have to throw you over, and take up the -cudgels for the girl. Only my loyalty to you has kept me from doing -it before. She's a nice little thing, and I am sure she is as jolly -as a kitten when she gets fair play." - -Lady Jane winced. - -"We are both talking nonsense, Kitty. But if what I said were true, -how would you defend your--your new friend against me?" - -"Upon my word I don't know. I couldn't dress her up in my frocks and -jewels; for she's as proud as she's poor. And I couldn't tell her to -stand up against going to places where she's perfectly unhappy. And -I couldn't say what would be the kindest thing--'Run away, little -baa-lamb, to your woods and mountains; the world is no place for -you.'" - -"Yet you expect me to say it." - -"No, I suppose I really don't. Let me see. Her visit is half-way -through. Let _me_ take her round now to places she'll enjoy. She'd -simply love to see the Tower and Hampton Court, and to look at the -shops in Regent Street, and have tea at Winter's." - -"I hardly know you in this amiable mood, Kitty." - -"I hardly know myself. Still, there it is. Perhaps I'm rather sick -of the world, and have a longing for Arcadian pleasures." - -"I can't very well go out and leave my guest alone. Yet we are -pretty full for the next couple of weeks. I have been thinking -myself very good-natured for taking a brace of young women about." - -"I daresay," said Lady Kitty. "Yes, we are rather full. I don't mind -shirking some of the engagements." - -"And I, others?" - -"Better leave her to me, Auntie Janie. She's afraid of you." - -"Do you begin to-night?" - -Lady Kitty's face fell. - -"I'm afraid I can't stay at home to-night without perjuring myself." - -"Mildred Sefton is going. Let her take you, and I shall stay at -home--if, indeed, you think Miss Graydon would not enjoy the 'at -home.'" - -"She wouldn't without a proper frock. You'll be good to her, Auntie -Janie?" - -"I shall try to, my dear." - -"And to-morrow she and I will take up our _role_ of town mouse and -country mouse." - -"Poor Kitty!" - -"I shall like it. She likes me already, and I have an odd fancy to -make her like me better." - -"You amazing Kitty! But are you going to carry out those -extraordinary expeditions from east to west unchaperoned?" - -"I shouldn't mind at all. We aren't so particular nowadays, you -know. However, I daresay Captain Leslie would go with us with joy. -He admires the little Pam." - -"And he is Anthony's friend." - -"Yes, of course, one doesn't mind bothering him any more than one -would Anthony." - -When Lady Kitty announced at dinner that she was going to take -Pamela a round of sight-seeing, Pamela's weary face brightened. - -"You would like it better than meeting a lot of dull people who are -desperately uninteresting to you." - -"I should love it," said Pam, with two sudden dimples dancing into -her cheeks. - -"We haven't been doing our duty by you," went on Lady Kitty. "It -would be an everlasting disgrace to us if you went home without -seeing the sights." - -"But won't it be a great bother for you?" - -"On the contrary. I have long desired to see the Tower." - -"You don't mean to say you never have?" said Pamela, staring. - -"Well, you know, the people in a place never see the sights of it, -unless they are obliged to by an amiable visitor." - -"You will have such gay times with Kitty, to-morrow," said Lady -Jane, with the faintest suggestion of enmity underlying the smooth -words, "that you will not mind, I hope, having only my society for -to-night?" - -"Is Lady Kitty going out?" asked Pamela, and a cloud fell on her -face. - -"She must," said Lady Jane shortly. "We shall have some music," she -went on, "and afterwards you must get to bed early to prepare for -a tiring day to-morrow. So we shall not find the evening too long -without Kitty." - -Yet after dinner, when Lady Kitty, radiant, in her smartest gown, -floated into the drawing-room and found Pamela alone, it was not the -face of one who anticipated a pleasant evening that she beheld. - -"How exquisite you look!" cried Pamela, forgetting her bad quarter -of an hour to come. "I never thought anyone could look so beautiful." - -Lady Kitty kissed her emphatically. - -"There," she said, "I'm not the kissing sort, but you are a dear -little thing to admire another girl so rapturously. Not but what you -can afford to." - -Pamela still gazed at her with eyes of wonder, and said nothing. - -"We are going to have such a lovely day to-morrow, and don't forget -it," whispered Lady Kitty; for there was the _frou-frou_ of Lady -Jane's skirt in the distance. Then quite suddenly she kissed Pamela -again. - -"Thank you," she said, "for what your eyes are saying. I don't mind -telling you, as a great secret, that I want very particularly to -look well to-night." - -She laughed as she floated away towards Lady Jane, who was just -coming in, and, taking up her warm cloak, wrapped herself in it. - -"Good-night, you people, and be happy," she called back to them. - -Lady Jane gazed rather uneasily after her as she went. - -"Kitty seems excited," she said. "I hope she hasn't been overdoing -it lately." - -"I think she looks very well and happy," said Pamela. - -"Ah!" replied Lady Jane, as if it were hardly Pamela's business to -have an opinion, and vouchsafed no further remark. - -After she had turned over an evening paper, and tea had been -brought, she went to the piano and began to play. She was a good -musician, and Pamela, who had never heard good music, listened -entranced. Then Lady Jane sang song after song, as if she had no -listener; and as Pamela watched her, warmed with the emotion of the -music, she felt that she could understand Lady Kitty's affection for -the proud and cold woman. - -At last Lady Jane stopped abruptly and came over to the fire. Pamela -sat with bent head in the firelight till suddenly she lifted her -eyes like wet violets. A sharp pang of memory shot through Lady -Jane's heart. She turned away, and when she looked at Pamela her -eyes were cold and cruel. - -"You don't get much music at--at--I'm afraid I've forgotten the -name?" - -"Carrickmoyle," said Pamela. - -"Ah! Carrickmoyle." - -"No, we never hear any--except the squeaky old harmonium on Sundays. -We have no piano." - -"Nor newspapers, nor books, nor society, nor pictures?" - -"Very few novels," said Pamela, "except old ones, but plenty of -books. My father always says that newspapers are worthless reading, -that they divide one's interest into snippets. But," she made haste -to add, "he only really cares for classical literature. I suppose we -have no society and no pictures. But the country is delightful." - -Lady Jane yawned as if Pamela's answer did not interest her. - -"What a pity!" she went on in tones of subtle disparagement. "What -a great pity that your father cannot give his daughters the things -which make life really worth living." - -Pamela flushed. - -"Our lives are very happy. But that our dear mother died young, I -should say we are the happiest girls alive." - -Again Lady Jane stifled a yawn. - -"Anthony must have missed his music," she went on, "while he was -with you. He is devoted to music." - -"He never said----" began Pamela lamely. - -"Of course he wouldn't," said Lady Jane. "By the way," she went on, -"has Kitty told you how things are between her and Anthony?" - -Pamela flushed, and then grew pale again. Fortunately she was not -called upon for an answer. - -"No, I see she hasn't," went on Lady Jane; "and, of course, the boy -would be equally reticent. He has been in love with Kitty all his -life. She is his ideal. Anthony cannot bear your modern damsel, -romping about among the pursuits of men till she has neither voice -nor complexion left. A delicate and graceful creature like Kitty is -his ideal." - -Pamela made no comment on this confidence. She never thought of not -believing it, as a more sophisticated girl might. - -"Ah!" she said in her own heart, "I was the entanglement, after all, -and she was the true love." - -And then she remembered oddly Sylvia's contemptuous disbelief in the -love of young men. - -"I'm afraid you are tired," said Lady Jane, as the conversation -threatened to become more and more difficult. "Shall we say -'Good-night'? You must be fresh for Kitty to-morrow." - -Pamela accepted her release thankfully. When she had reached her own -room, and was alone, she knelt and hid her face in the bed-clothes, -and considered Lady Jane's astounding disclosure. - -It did not seem to her that it admitted of doubt. Anthony's own -conduct bore it out fully. For the moment he had had a fancy for -her. She was not yet at the point of doubting its genuineness--but -when he went away he forgot her, and his allegiance returned to its -lawful owner. - -The humiliation was bitter, but it did not stir her resentment at -the moment nearly so much as Lady Jane's insolence about her father. - -"And to think," cried Pamela hotly, "that I have eaten the woman's -bread and endured such a horrible time here simply because I would -not go home and let them know things had not been right! And to -think how my father loved Sir Gerald Trevithick and his people for -his sake! I shall never cease to hate the name from henceforth." - -And yet her thoughts took a sudden turn, in spite of her; and, in -spite of herself, her heart cried out for Anthony, and again for -Anthony. And though she poured seas of scorn upon herself, her heart -still betrayed her. - -The next morning Lady Kitty knocked at her door very early for that -fashionable damsel. - -"Are you up, stay-a-bed?" she cried. "It is an enchanting day, and -we have the loveliest programme for it." - -"Come in," said a voice, unlike Pamela's. - -Lady Kitty came in on a scene of confusion. Pamela had her small -trunk open on the floor, and was ramming things into it wildly. She -had her hat on, and her face seemed to have become pinched with -trouble out of its usual soft beauty. Her lips were set, and her -eyes looked unutterable woe. - -[Illustration: Lady Kitty came in on a scene of confusion.] - -"My father is very ill," she said in a dull voice. "I am going to -catch the express at Euston. You will tell Lady Jane I could not -wait to see her." - -"You poor child! When did you hear it?" - -"The letter came by the first post." - -"You are not going without breakfast? Those lazy creatures must have -it ready to time for once." - -She rang the bell sharply, and a maid came. - -"Breakfast immediately for Miss Graydon," she said. "We shall be in -the dining-room in three minutes. Tell Dibber it _must_ be on the -table." - -And it was. Pamela ate a few mouthfuls and swallowed a cup of tea. -Then the cab was at the door, and her miserable eyes were looking -out on the sunshiny street. - -"Good-bye, good-bye," she said. - -"When you can, send me a word to say how he is," said Lady Kitty. - -Pamela stepped back into the dining-room, and put her arms round -Lady Kitty's neck. - -"No matter, no matter!" she cried. "I love you. You've been human to -me in this house, and I love you." - -And then Pamela was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -PAMELA SAYS "YES." - - -It was May now, and the evenings were long and sweet. Eight o'clock -rang from the clock-tower at Glengall, and Pamela Graydon stood by -the Wishing Well in the woods and looked down into the little cup -of clear water. Memory was very keen in her this delicious, scented -evening. - -No word had come from Anthony Trevithick, and Pamela had ceased to -expect any long ago. On her father's account as much as on her own -she was filled with dull anger against him--an anger that hurt. - -She had had no communication with the house in Brook Street, except -her hastily scribbled line to Lady Kitty when Mr. Graydon began to -creep back out of the shadow of death, and the answering letter, -full of a sympathy which would have surprised some in Lady Kitty's -world, if they could but have read it. - -"Anthony thinks of getting his Uncle Wilton moved home as soon as -possible," was one of Lady Kitty's bits of news. "He will never -be very strong again, but he is out of danger. Of course, they -will have to go warily, so Anthony will hardly be here before full -summer." - -"He, may stay away for ever, so far as I am concerned," had been -Pamela's comment as she thrust the letter into her little old desk. -Indeed, at the time, in the extremity of her relief at her father's -illness having taken a turn for the better, her love affair seemed a -paltry thing and not worth thinking upon. - -But now that the strain was over her loneliness returned. She -looked with sad eyes upon the summer landscape, and the moan of May -wood-doves from near and far seemed to be the voice of her pain. - -She often wondered if she could be the Pamela of a year ago--so gay -and careless. Her sadness of late had passed unnoticed--they had all -been sad--but whereas Sylvia's spirits had gone up with a bound, -and Mary's mood was one of quiet and thankful joy, the great fear -being removed, Pamela, after the first relief, felt only a flatness -and dulness of the spirit which seemed never likely to lift; for -Pam looked to her future with all the hopelessness of very young -girlhood. - -She sat down on a mossy tree trunk and listened with her chin in her -hand to the last song of the thrush. - -"Pamela," said a voice close by her, "the dews are falling, child, -and you will take cold." - -"Oh, Lord Glengall!" Pamela looked up startled, and then stretched a -friendly hand to him. - -"No; it is not a bit damp," she said. "Just feel it. I am going home -presently. Sit down here. There is room for you." - -But he stood watching her seriously and made no response to her -invitation. - -"You have been to Carrickmoyle?" she said. - -"Yes, I saw him for a few minutes." There was no necessity to -specify who the "him" was. He had been so much in all their minds. - -"He was very comfortable," Lord Glengall continued. "Sylvia was -reading to him, and his little fire was bright. He grows every day -more like himself." - -"Yes," said Pamela simply. "It is good to see him growing stronger. -One can rest in it, and be glad, without looking forward too much." - -"You mean to the winter?" - -"Yes; twenty things may happen before then to help us. We have -nearly five months before the doctor says he must go abroad. I am -not going to think about it." - -"Lord Downside may even yet find a human heart in him," said -Glengall, watching her seriously. - -"Lord Downside--who turned him into the street, wet and hungry, to -meet almost his death!" cried Pain, with an angry sob. 'The tender -mercies of the wicked.' I shall always think of Lord Downside when I -hear that." - -"You look as if you needed a change yourself, Pam." - -The deep-sunk eyes looked at her with an anxious tenderness, but -Pamela did not notice. - -"I shall pull up now," she said. "Carrickmoyle in summer is good -enough for anyone." - -"But the winter, Pam--the winter?" - -"Let us forget the winter for a little while," answered Pamela, -surprised at his insistence. - -"I am very rich, Pam," he said, and then stopped. - -"Ah! that is what you are aiming at," said Pam, looking up at him -with repentant affection; "and I was feeling cross with you because -you wouldn't let the winter be." - -"He won't mind taking--a loan--from his old friend? At interest, if -he likes. Eh, Pam?" - -"Oh! a thousand per cent., if you like," cried Pam airily, but her -eyes were dewy. "You may as well charge a big interest, for you know -it would be a loan that would hardly have the faintest chance of -ever being repaid." - -"Oh! I don't know about that," said Lord Glengall, digging a hole in -the ground with the toe of his boot. - -"You are an optimist," laughed Pam, and her tone was tender. - -"He will take it, you think?" - -"He never will." - -"I have neither chick nor child. Is my gold to lie rotting while the -friend I love--wants for it?" - -He substituted "wants" at the last moment for another word, and -Pamela understood. - -"I daresay it is foolish," she said, "but I am afraid we shall not -be able to persuade him." - -"If not, Pam, there is one other way." - -"Ah! no," she cried, putting out both hands as if to push him off; -"not that way, Lord Glengall." - -She closed her eyes at the moment, and like a sudden stab there came -the thought of the young lover who had kissed her in this place, -deadly sweet and deadly cruel as well. - -"I beg your pardon, Pam," said Glengall's quiet and patient voice. -"Of course, I am too old." - -"Oh! no, but I am not the right person--that is all. You must marry -someone who loves you. I--I am the wrong person." - -"We won't talk about it, then," said Glengall, turning away his -head. "We must find some other way, Pam." - -Pamela jumped up and ran to him, and, as she had often done, thrust -her arm into his. - -"You are a thousand times too good for a stupid, ungrateful girl -like me." She hugged his arm to her unconsciously. "I should be a -thousand times a happier girl if I did love you and married you. -Indeed, it oughtn't to be hard to love you." - -Lord Glengall patted her head. - -"Thank you, Pam," he said, "for being sorry for me. I don't deserve -your goodness; I am a selfish old fellow for wanting a lovely young -creature like you. Ah! Pam, we should form those ties when we are -young. Then we should not feel useless and lonely old blocks when we -have left our youth behind." - -"You're not going to be unhappy?" cried Pam, still hugging his arm. - -Lord Glengall laughed. - -[Illustration: Pamela looked up startled.] - -"No, Pam," he said. "I don't pretend to be like a young fellow, all -fire and despair. I should have liked to take care of you, little -girl, and to have the right to take care of you all. But we must -find another way." - -They walked back together to Carrickmoyle in the old friendly -fashion, and no one seeing them could have guessed that Glengall was -a rejected lover; but that night Pam was thoughtful. - -The next morning she was alone with her father. Mr. Graydon lay on -a couch, from which he could see the mountains through the open -window, and Pamela, on the rug by his side, was trying to teach Mark -Antony to balance a straw on his nose. - -"Let him alone, Pam," said her father. "He's too old and fat to -learn tricks." - -[Illustration: "Is it 'Yes'?" said Lord Glengall.] - -"Then he shan't have his bone; Pat deserves it better. Pat has -learned three new tricks since you've been getting well." - -"It is good to be getting well again. I don't think I realised -before how beautiful the world is." - -"Our bit of it," said Pam. - -"And yet I am no coward. When my time comes, I shall not be afraid -to go. If only I could feel that you children were provided for!" - -"Did that trouble you--then?" said Pam, in a low voice. - -"It did," answered her father, "though I tried hard for faith and -trust." - -"Dear, darling dad!" cried Pamela suddenly. "Would it make you -happier if I were to marry Lord Glengall?" - -"I thought we had settled all that, Pam." - -"Oh, yes, in that old life," said Pamela dreamily, "before you were -ill. But things are altered now. It is just as well we don't know -what's before us." - -"But I am getting well, my little Pam." - -"Ah, yes, thank God! You are getting well," said Pam. "But you -haven't told me if it would make you happier for me to marry Lord -Glengall." - -"You would be safe," said Mr. Graydon wistfully, "and he would take -care of the others. But--but--it is not a question of making me -happy, or of anyone but yourself, little Pam. Could you be happy?" - -"Sometimes I think I could," said Pamela. "It would be an end of -trouble; it would be peace." - -"Poor Pam! you talk as if you had been through storms." - -Pam shook her head. - -"Never mind, darling dad. I think I shall say 'Yes' then, after all." - -"He has asked you, Pam?" - -"Yes, he has asked me. You don't think, dad, that he would like -Sylvia just as well?" - -"He seems to prefer you, Pam." - -"I should _love_ him for a brother-in-law." - -"If you feel like that, don't think of him for a husband." - -"He would never deceive nor betray me," said Pamela, with a sigh. - -"Poor little girl!" said her father, and then said no more. - -A day or two later, as Lord Glengall was leaving Carrickmoyle, he -was overtaken by Pamela. - -"I'm coming with you a bit," she said. "I want to give the dogs a -run." - -"I'll be proud of your company. Shall we take the wood-path?" - -"No," said Pamela, with a little shudder. "I hate the wood. Let us -cross the bog." - -"Why, what has come to you, child? I thought you were a perfect -wood-nymph." - -"I'm tired of the wood," said Pam, shortly. - -They walked on till they were out in the road through the bog. Then -Pamela suddenly spoke what was in her mind. - -"Lord Glengall," she said, "do you still want me to marry you?" - -"Why, it was only on Wednesday I asked you. You don't suppose I've -had time to change my mind?" - -"Because--I've changed mine. I want to say 'Yes.'" - -"'Yes,' Pam? Is it 'Yes'?" said Lord Glengall, turning and facing -her. "Are you quite sure you mean 'Yes'?" - -"Quite, quite sure," said Pam. - -"What's come over you to make you say it, when you said 'No' the -other day? You're doing it of your own free will, Pam?" - -"Quite of my own free will." - -Lord Glengall stooped and kissed the cool cheek, almost as her -father might. - -"And you won't want to unsay it later on, Pam?" - -Pam shook her head. - -"I'll be very good to you, little Pam--God helping me." - -"I know you will," said Pain. "But why did you like me instead of -Sylvia?" - -"I don't know, I'm sure. Pam. I never thought of that." He laughed -out. "It's lucky I didn't. Pam. What chance should I have had with -Sylvia, and all those boys about her?" - -"What, indeed?" said Pamela, but she looked mysterious. - -A moment later she pulled up again sharply. - -"Now that we're engaged," she said, "I've something to tell you. -Lord Glengall." - -A wave of the loveliest rose flowed over her face, but her eyes were -down. - -"What is it, Pam?" he said quietly, but he felt a sharp pang as he -watched her. She would never flush like that for him, he felt sure. -Ah, his lost youth! What would he not have given to recall it? - -"I think I ought to tell you," she said, looking on the ground at -her feet, "that I have cared for someone else." - -"Very much, Pam?" - -"Very much." - -"Is it all over, Pam?" - -"It is all over." - -"Was it--a matter of money, Pam? Could nothing be done? I don't -want you to marry me at the cost of your own happiness." - -Pamela was pulling a wild yellow iris to pieces. He put his hand -under her chin, and lifted her face till he could look into her eyes. - -"Tell me, tell me, Pam. Be brave and truthful with me. It is my -happiness as well as yours. Is there nothing that can be done?" - -"There is nothing." - -He let her go, and stood away again, and his face was full of -trouble. Pamela looked at him for a moment. Then she made a step -forward, and drew his arms about her. - -"I told you because I thought I must," she said. "But it is all over -and done with. I am going to be so happy with you, so happy!" He -looked down at her and his face was transformed. - -"Don't make _me_ too happy, Pam," he said. "It is too much for an -old hulk like me." - -And so they went home through the summer evening, Pamela saying -to herself over and over again that she was really happy. Now she -need not dread the autumn for her father, for had not Glengall said -that together they would take him to the Riviera, or farther afield -to Algiers, and so would make him strong again? And had he not -thought, even in his first content, of poor Mary and her hopeless -love affair? Mick was to exchange into a home regiment, and a little -money would smooth the way for their marriage, so that the two need -not wait till some day far distant, when they should look in each -other's faded faces and feel that this was not the love of long -ago. Sylvia, too, was to have fine frocks and gaiety as befitted -her beauty and her youth. And to think that she, Pamela, was the -wonder-worker, the magician, to give her beloved ones the things -that lay nearest their hearts--she, Pamela, who had always desired -to give! - -Only Sylvia, of them all, did not congratulate Pamela with approval. - -"I don't believe you'll make him half as happy as I should have -done," she said. "But never mind--it is your score, and I accept it." - -And then she went off with a frown to refuse young St. Quentin for -the fifth time, as she had already refused his superior officer. - -"I'll do my best to make him happy," Pamela said, remembering before -she slept. "Help me to make him happy," she cried, lifting her heart -and her eyes. - -And so she fell asleep placidly, quite unlike a girl who had been -asked in marriage and had accepted only a few hours ago. Just -for that one night she was troubled with no thought of Anthony -Trevithick. - - -[END OF CHAPTER TWELVE.] - - - - -[Illustration: WE CAN.] - -A Short Address to the Members of the Fourth Form at Harrow. - -By E. W. Howson, M.A. - - -Let me try to picture a scene for you. It is a spring day, towards -the end of March, and a group of friends are walking along one of -the high roads leading to Jerusalem. They are going, like many -others, to attend the Feast of the Passover, in the Holy City, -during the following week. Slightly in front of the rest walks -Jesus Christ. There is something unusual, almost alarming, in His -aspect, and the disciples who are following behind are watching -Him with awe and wonder as He strides along with rapid steps. He -is evidently possessed and agitated by some deep emotion, some -inflexible purpose, which they do not fully comprehend. His thoughts -are not their thoughts. They do not know what He knows--that in a -few short days He, their Lord and Master, whom they fondly dream is -destined to win an earthly crown, will be tried like a common felon -and nailed to the bitter cross. They are thinking of a triumph and -a throne, and are already discussing the honours which they hope -to share. He is thinking of something widely different--of agony, -desertion, and death. - -Presently, two of His disciples--James and John--step forward, with -their mother, Salome, to ask Him a question. Jesus looks round and -says to her, "What wilt thou?" Salome, who, like many mothers, was -ambitious for her sons, replies, "Grant that these my two sons may -sit, the one on Thy right hand, and the other on Thy left, in Thy -kingdom." The other disciples, who overheard her words, are annoyed -at the request, which appears to them pushing and selfish. Why -should James and John be singled out for special favour? They expect -and hope that Jesus will rebuke them. Instead of which, He says -gently, but very seriously, "Ye know not what ye ask. Can ye drink -of the cup that I drink of? and be baptised with the baptism that -I am baptised with?" It was a stern and searching challenge, and a -coward would have hesitated to meet it. But James and John were no -cowards. They took up the challenge at once, and simply and promptly -they answered. +Dunametha+--"We can." The request may have been -selfish, but the answer was brave; and, what was more, they were -destined to seal that promise with their blood. - -It is this answer--this one word (for in the Greek it is but one -word), +Dunametha+, "We can"--which I wish to consider with you for -a few minutes this evening. - -For an answer like this is a key to character, and shows of what -sort of stuff the men were made who gave it. You will find as you -grow older that men may be roughly divided into two classes--those -who face difficulty with a _can_, and those who face it with a -_can't_. The former are the material from which heroes are made; the -latter may be good, kind and pure, but sooner or later they fall -behind, and become the followers, not the leaders, in the work of -life. - -There is an old Latin proverb--"_Possunt quia posse videntur_," -"They can because they think they can." Nothing could be more true. -For let a man only believe he can do a thing, and he is already -half-way to the achievement of his purpose. It is the half-hearted, -the faint-hearted, who fail. Belief is the thing we want. "All -things are possible to him that believeth." You know this is true in -your games. You know that the boy who goes shivering and shaking to -the wicket is pretty sure to return after a few overs clean bowled. -But it is equally true of every department of life. Napoleon said -that the word "impossible" ought to be removed from the dictionary, -and the boy or man who, when duty calls him, can answer calmly and -deliberately, "I can," is the one who not only deserves but commands -success. - - "So nigh is grandeur to our dust, - So near is God to man, - When duty whispers low 'Thou must,' - The youth replies--'I can.'" - -You remember, no doubt, the old Greek fable of Perseus--how, when he -was a boy of fifteen, the goddess Athene appeared to him in a dream -and showed him the hideous head of the Gorgon writhing with snakes. -"Can you," she asked him, "face this wicked monster, and will you -some day try to slay it?" "Yes," he said, "I can; if thou wilt help -me, I can." And though Athene told him of all the long journey, and -all the terrible perils in the way, he did not shrink or falter, -but when he came to be a man he nobly fulfilled his resolution and -promise. And this is only an allegory. It means, that if a man or -boy has sufficient will and determination, there is no danger, -no difficulty, no temptation, which he may not overcome by the -assistance of divine support. Pray, every one of you, for God's best -gift of a strong will. It is worth, believe me, all the knowledge, -wealth, and popularity in the world. - -Now, of course, I do not pretend that you and I are called on in -our daily school life to act the hero or the martyr on the grander -scale. Our life is cast in quiet ways. And yet, as surely as our -Lord asked James and John, so He asks each one of us, "Can you drink -of My cup? Can you be baptised with My baptism?" - -What, then, is this cup, what is this baptism in your school life -here at Harrow? For if we dare not share it we cannot be called His -disciples. "No pain, no gain." "No sweat, no sweet." So ran the old -sayings, and if we cannot bear His cross most assuredly we shall not -deserve His crown. Let me, then, take a few homely instances to show -what I think is the meaning of Christ's question here at Harrow for -you. - -You are, let us suppose, in your house with three or four other -boys. You have all been talking together about your games, when -suddenly the conversation takes a bad turn, and something is said, -perhaps in jest, which is coarse or irreverent. The speaker is an -influential boy, and you are rather proud to claim his acquaintance. -It would be easy for you to join in the laugh; it will please him, -it will show that you are as "knowing" as the rest. There is the -temptation--it is a very common one; but the question is, can you -resist it? Can you refuse the expected smile? Can you sacrifice the -cheap popularity? Can you boldly say "Shut up"? Can you walk quietly -out of the room? Can you? Very well, then, if so, you can drink the -cup of Christ. - -Do you think this is asking too much of you? Let me tell you, then, -a story--it is a well-known one, but it will bear repetition--of -an Eton boy. He was captain of the boats at Eton about fifty years -ago, and it was the custom then at boat suppers for coarse and -indecent songs to be sung. Patteson (for that was the boy's name) -said that if he was present those songs should not be sung. He went -to the supper as usual, and a boy got up to sing one of those songs. -Patteson jumped up then and there and walked out of the room. I have -not a doubt he was laughed at for his pains, and that he lost some -of his popularity; but the protest was successful, and, so far as I -know, the practice has never, from that day to this, been revived. -Some thirty years later Patteson, who had learnt to drink the cup -of Christ at school, became a bishop--a missionary bishop--and met -a martyr's death in the far islands of the Pacific Ocean, a loyal -servant of his Master to the last. - -Or again--to take another instance--you have been playing a game and -you have come back in a hurry rather late. You have an exercise to -show up, and you have not left yourself time to finish it. Another -boy in the house has already done his, and the work lies there on -the table before your eyes. You are tempted to take it and copy it. -It will save you from punishment. No one will be the wiser--except -God (and for the moment you forget that). Other boys have often -done it. Perhaps your friend offers to lend it you, and would think -you something of a prig and simpleton to say no. Can you reject the -temptation and refuse to look at it? Can you show up your exercise -unfinished and bear the punishment it involves? Can you? If so, you -can drink the cup of Christ. - -Or, once more, we will say that you are waiting with your form for a -master outside the form-room door. While you wait, an unpopular and -helpless boy is being teased and pestered. I daresay his appearance -is odd, and he is sensitive and excitable and easily provoked. -You are tempted to join with the rest and add one more jest at his -expense. It will, perhaps, sting him to the quick and make the tears -start to his eyes, but you will earn a laugh and get the credit of -being thought amusing. Can you check that jest? Can you speak up -in defence of the weaker side? Can you take his part and protect -him? Can you do more? Can you take the trouble, when the rest are -gone, to say that you are sorry for him and give him a word of -encouragement and sympathy? Can you? If so, you can drink the cup of -Christ. - - "They are slaves who fear to speak - For the fallen and the weak; - They are slaves who dare not be - In the right with two or three." - -I know it is the fashion to say that the life of a boy at a public -school is one long round of unbroken pleasure. There could not be -a greater mistake. You are not all--you are not any of you--always -happy. You have every now and then a cup of bitterness to drink. You -may have had a quarrel with your best friend, and you find it hard, -almost impossible, to forgive. You are too proud to make the first -apology: he would think he had gained his point; and so bad blood -gets worse, and soon you are barely on speaking terms. You have been -trying to turn over a new leaf, to break off some bad habit which -is growing on you like a creeper on a tree--to give up swearing, -perhaps; to say your prayers more regularly--and then someone says, -with a sneer, that you are turning "pi." You know how the sneer -tells. Or perhaps you have been idle and you determine to make a -fresh start. You prepare your work carefully, but when you are put -on to construe your memory fails; you get turned, and your master -thinks you still idle and will not believe that you have tried. - -Such are some of your common trials. They may make you very unhappy, -but they are God's way of testing you. Can you, He seems to say, -do this and that for Me? Can you give up that bad habit, can you -bear ridicule, can you do your duty patiently in spite of failure? -Oh! answer boldly, "Yes--with Thy help we can." Never give up hope. -Fight on and on. Despair is the devil's triumph. When he sees you -throw up your hands and give way, he chuckles; for he knows that you -are, or soon will be, at his mercy. - -The fact is, we cannot go to heaven in an easy-chair, and these -trials are, indeed, the hammer strokes which harden the metal of -your character. Shirk and evade them, and you will never be a strong -and useful man. Bear them, and you will be able to tackle other and -fiercer temptations in the larger battle of life--to be brave and -pure in your regiment, honest in business, valiant and self-denying -in the Church. - -But more than this lies in this little word +Dunametha+, "We can." -For perhaps, as you grow older, you will be called upon to fill -some high office of trust and responsibility. Will you, then, at -that critical moment, prove worthy of the opportunity, or will you -let false modesty, indolence, or nervousness, tempt you to decline -it, and let the chance slip by which God has given you of useful -service? Will you be one of those contemptible people who say, "No, -thank you, it isn't good enough," or, "No, I'm afraid of what others -would think or say of me"? Will you not rather rise to the occasion, -in a spirit of alacrity, and say, "Yes, I can. I will not be content -to lag in the poor-spirited ruck, who die unwept, unhonoured, and -unsung. I, too, will take my part in the front rank, and strike as -stout a blow as I can for the cause of truth and right"? - -But if you are to give such an answer as this (and I trust you -will), remember that you must give it relying on that strength -which is greater than your own. If you don't, you will be ambitious -and selfish, and I daresay successful, and nothing better. Listen -to what Christ says: "Without Me ye can do nothing." It is His -strength, His spirit, which alone can give the full force and the -right direction to our wills. With Him everything, without Him -nothing. "I can," said St. Paul in one of his bursts of enthusiasm, -"I can do all things," but then he is careful to add, "through -Christ which strengtheneth me." There is the secret, that is the -only talisman of true success. Let us, then, pray to Him morning by -morning, evening by evening, to give us His help. - - "Be Thou our guard on peril's brink, - Be Thou our guide through weal and woe, - And make us of Thy cup to drink, - And teach us in Thy path to go. - For what is earthly shame or loss? - His promises are still our own, - The feeblest frame can bear His cross, - The lowliest spirit share His throne." - -This, then, as I understand it, is the message contained in the -words "We can." And whenever a fierce temptation comes upon you, -as it will, perhaps, even to-morrow, and you are inclined to say -to yourself, "No, I can't face this unpopularity; I can't do this -irksome duty; I can't resist this temptation any longer; I can't go -on fighting any more," then turn a deaf ear to Satan's whispers, and -answer boldly, "I can." - - - - -[Illustration: THE WONDERFUL PURSE] - -A FAIRY PARABLE FOR THE CHILDREN. - -By Myra Hamilton. - - -"Caleb! Where are you?" - -"Here, mother," he cried, suddenly rising from one of the hay-cocks -upon which he had been resting. He took the little bundle from her -hand without one word of thanks, and then he slowly untied the red -cotton handkerchief and began to eat his dinner. - -"What is the matter with you, my lad?" his mother asked him. "You -seem very cross to-day." - -Caleb nodded his head moodily. - -"I feel cross," he assented. Then he looked searchingly at his -mother. - -"Don't you want to be rich?" he demanded. - -The old woman was horrified at the thought of it. - -"Rich? Heaven forbid! I am quite content to live in our little -cottage by the stream. I do not dread the cold winter approaching, -for you are such a good son to me that I know I shall lack naught." - -Caleb moved uneasily. This simple statement did not correspond with -his preconceived notion of prosperity, so he tried to explain his -views more fully to his mother. - -"I want gold," he said firmly. "Bushels and bushels of it! Enough to -buy me fine clothes, horses, carriages and food--heaps of different -kinds of food that I might eat continuously. That is what I call -being rich!" - -The old woman packed the empty plate up in the handkerchief before -she spoke. - -"You will never be happy with those thoughts in your head," she -said, sadly. "Money is not the only thing to live for in the world, -dearie." Then she walked to his side and laid a wrinkled hand upon -his arm. "Don't you bother about the hay any more to-day," she said -kindly. "You go and have some fishing. I will give it a toss over." - -So this discontented young man walked off to amuse himself, and left -his mother to labour under the burning sun to finish his work, and -as he sat on the bank patiently waiting for a fish to bite, a shrill -voice suddenly addressed him. - -"A penny for your thoughts," the voice said. - -Caleb looked about him in amazement. The only living thing he could -see was a frog, and, of course, he was aware that frogs had not -the gift of conversing with human beings; so he went on with his -meditation and paid no attention to the mysterious question. - -The frog hopped angrily about, and then it repeated its remark. - -"I did not know that a frog could speak," said Caleb, feeling very -astonished; "I have never heard one do so before." - -"Oh, really!" said the frog patronisingly. "You do not know -everything yet. You are far too young. A friend of mine, who is a -most cultivated sparrow, tells me you were grizzling for money this -afternoon. Money indeed! What good could it do you, do you think?" - -"Money buys everything worth having," replied Caleb promptly. - -"No, it doesn't," snapped the frog, looking very important. "For it -does not buy ME! When you are older and wiser, you will find there -are many things in the world that gold cannot purchase. Wealth has -many advantages certainly," he went on reflectively. "It was through -money that I lost my first wife." - -"Indeed," said Caleb, politely. "How was that?" - -"The frog I selected to wed," explained his companion, "was a very -well-bred frog, though unfortunately rather greedy. She was always -delighted to discover fresh food at the bottom of the stream, and -one day she thought she had found quite a new kind of dainty. As she -did not wish to give me a share of it, she swallowed it hurriedly, -and it stuck in her throat and choked her. Just before she died, she -confessed to me what she had done, and I, from her description of -it, knew it was a penny-piece she had attempted to eat. Now, what -would you say," the frog went on calmly, "if I gave you the power to -be as rich as you liked, to possess more gold than you knew how to -spend, to gratify every wish your heart contains?" - -"Can you really do this?" gasped Caleb, incredulously. "I have not -met you before. I cannot understand why you are so good to me." - -The frog puffed himself out with pride. "I am accustomed to judge -character by faces," he replied. "I can see that you will never -settle down here or be content without money. I, as the head of our -family, am allowed to offer our wonderful purse to any mortal I may -choose to confer such an honour upon. If you like to accept it, you -are welcome to do so." - -Caleb was quite bewildered at this stroke of good luck. "For how -long may I keep it?" he asked. - -"Until you realise there are certain things in the world that cannot -be bought by gold; until you weary of the sight of riches, until you -loathe the purse," said the frog solemnly. - -"Then I shall keep it for ever!" declared Caleb. - -But the old frog shook his head. "No you won't," he replied gravely. -"You will want to get rid of it very soon, I think." - -"Where shall I find this extraordinary gift?" asked Caleb cautiously. - -"When you get home, look under the pillow of your bed and you will -discover a shabby green purse lying there," said the frog. "As long -as you desire money, you will be able to take out of it as much as -you require, but when you have learnt your lesson thoroughly the -purse will cease to supply you. Then it must be returned to me, -and I will guard it until I meet another mortal as discontented as -yourself. Farewell! I wish you a short period of wealth, for you -will never enjoy it." - -Caleb hastened back to the cottage, and ran up to his room, where -he easily found the wee purse. It was so small that the young man -felt dubious when he opened it, and he was greatly relieved to see -that there was one gold piece inside. He drew it out and peered -in again. There was another coin waiting in precisely the same -place. This he also removed, but still there came another. When he -found the supply of gold did not fail him, he rushed downstairs to -tell his mother of his good fortune. But she, poor soul, did not -appreciate the change in his position. - -"There is trouble to come, lad," she prophesied, as she heard of his -wealth. "I suppose you will leave your old mother now, and go out -into the world. You won't want to waste your riches here." - -"I was thinking," Caleb admitted nervously, "that it would be fine -to go about a little, but you must come too." - -His mother shook her head decidedly. "No, I shall stay here," she -replied, "for I am too old to wander amid strange scenes. Let me -hear of you, dearie, from time to time, for I shan't live much -longer, I know. I shall have Volta the orphan to live with me, and -then we shall be able to manage the work." - -"No, mother, no," interrupted Caleb. "You forget I am rich now. I -will engage servants to labour for you. You must never do anything -again." - -But his mother declared she wished to live as she had done hitherto. -Servants and fine clothes would worry her, she told him, and she -could not bear to be idle all day long. Her way of participating -in her son's good fortune would be to hear of his grand doings -occasionally, and to look forward to the time when he would return -to sit by her side and describe the wonderful things he had seen. - -Caleb bought a suit of clothes from the village tailor and a horse -from the landlord of the inn, and then he set off. As he rode down -the lane the birds sang to one another, "Here comes silly Caleb!" -but he was too full of his own importance to realise they were -mocking him, and when the tall branches of the trees bent forward -and whispered to him, "Go back! Go back!" he set spurs to his horse -and galloped on. His mother watched him out of sight. She hoped he -would wave his hand to her from the top of the hill, but he was -so occupied with his own thoughts that he only remembered he had -promised to do so when it was too late. - -Caleb rode for many hours, until he reached a beautiful town, where -he arranged to purchase a castle. He installed himself in one that -stood deep in the shadow of the wood, and he supplied himself with -servants, horses, and carriages. He had decided not to travel, for -he did not want to learn anything about foreign lands--he only -desired to live grandly, to eclipse his neighbours and make them -envious of his wealth. - -He had almost forgotten his mother. He never sent her news of -himself, although, at first, he occasionally ordered one of his -servants to ride to the cottage and carry her some gold. He was so -ashamed of her humble origin that he would not admit he was her son, -and when the man returned from his errand Caleb used to avoid him, -for fear he had discovered the secret of his birth. - -At last the young fellow grew very discontented, for he had no -interests in his life; so he determined to marry. He was sure that -no high-born lady would wed him, for, in spite of his riches, he was -only the son of a peasant woman, so he made up his mind to select a -poor girl who would be properly impressed with his position. - -As he had no acquaintances, he decided to walk slowly over the land -and ask the first damsel he met to be his wife. So he called his -dogs together, and away they went upon this extraordinary search for -a bride, but for a long time they saw nobody. - -On the way home, however, Caleb encountered a young maiden, who -was tripping merrily along with a bundle of sticks balanced upon -her head. As she stood aside to allow this grand gentleman to pass -her, her face seemed so familiar that Caleb thought he had seen her -before. He looked at her critically; she was certainly very pretty, -young, and graceful, so he promptly raised his plumed cap and -addressed her. - -"I fear those sticks are too heavy for you," he remarked. "Will you -allow me to carry them for you?" - -But she shook her head. "I am used to them," she explained. -"Besides, I could not trouble you so much. You are a great lord, and -I am only a poor country girl." - -Caleb was not very quick with his tongue, and as he wondered what to -say she gave him a little nod and hastened away. - -The next day he met her again, and the day following also; for he -was really in love with this peasant girl. - -One day he brought her a handsome silver casket full of rare jewels, -but she just glanced at them and then laid them aside. - -"What are they?" she asked innocently. "Bits of glass?" - -"Bits of glass?" he exclaimed in astonishment at her ignorance. -"No; they are precious stones, and worth a fortune. I hope you will -accept them," he added. - -But she shook her head. "They are useless to me," she declared -candidly. "If they are so valuable, why do you wish to part with -them? I should not know what to do with such jewels if they were -mine." - -Caleb could not understand his companion at all. For the first time -since he possessed the wonderful purse he had encountered somebody -who did not appreciate his wealth. - -She looked so fascinating as she sat in the sunshine, with the -contents of the jewel-case glittering in her lap, that Caleb fell on -his knees before her and entreated her to marry him. He talked of -his estate and his money, but his words made no impression. - -"I do not care for you, my lord," she said. "Neither do you really -love me. It is my beauty that attracts you." - -"But I am rich," he objected; "I have----" - -"Yes, I know," she interrupted impatiently; "you have gold, land, -and jewels--in fact, everything that money can purchase. But you -cannot buy affection. If we loved each other, I would marry you, -even though you were the poorest beggar in the land. Although I am -honoured by your proposal, it cannot be. Besides, I should not be a -fit wife for one so great." - -[Illustration: "I do not care for you, my lord."] - -So Caleb went back to his lonely castle and she to her cottage in -the wood, but he did not despair. He could not believe that he was -to take her refusal seriously, so the next day he sent her many -valuable presents, but when she returned them all he knew she was -in earnest. - -That evening, as he sat by his solitary fireside brooding over his -disappointment, he recalled the girl's words, and then he realised -that he was pining for something that money was powerless to give -him. He looked at the presents she had rejected, and, at last, he -understood the limit of wealth. - -In his loneliness and sorrow his thoughts recurred to his aged -mother. He felt he had neglected her, and determined to pay her an -unexpected visit. So early the next morning he called for his horse -and rode quickly away. - -[Illustration: Sitting by his mother's bedside.] - -But when he reached the little cottage he thought it was deserted. -The garden was overgrown, the gate flapped uneasily on its broken -hinges, and the hens scratched among the flowers. He drove them out, -and then he opened the door and peeped inside. His mother lay upon -her bed; her face was very thin, and her breath came in quick, short -gasps, and she seemed very ill. - -"Mother, what has happened?" Caleb asked, as he sat by her bedside -and gently stroked her hand. "Did you never receive the money I sent -to you and Volta?" he added, as he looked in vain for the pretty -little orphan. - -"The gold your servant brought us stands untouched on the -mantelpiece," explained the old woman proudly. "It was useless to -me. I only needed news of you, my dear boy. I sent Volta to watch -over you, for I hoped she would be able to influence you, but now -that you have returned I am sure she will hasten back. Did you not -see her?" - -Then Caleb realised who the beautiful maiden had been. It was his -little playfellow, but his wealth had made him forget his past -life so completely that he had not recognised her. He understood -everything now. His gold could not buy health for his mother, nor -could he use it to win Volta's love. He longed to begin his old life -over again, so he rose to his feet and walked to the door. - -"Mother, dear," he said, "I am tired of my wealth. I am going to the -stream to throw back my purse. It has been a curse to me." - -When he drew near the water, he pulled the shabby little case out -of his pocket and opened it curiously. All had happened as the frog -prophesied. The purse was empty now, for he had learnt his lesson -thoroughly. As he threw it into the stream he saw a little frog dive -hurriedly down after it, and, while he watched, all his fine clothes -slipped away from him and he was once more clad in his peasant's -rags. - -He wanted to see his beautiful maiden again, and, as he opened the -cottage door, he was delighted to find her sitting by his mother's -bedside. - -"Volta," he said as he approached her, "I am poor now. Will you be -my wife, although I have neither a fine castle nor jewels to offer -you?" - -She smiled sweetly at him as she replied shyly, "Your wealth was -nothing to me, Caleb. When I refused to marry you, it was because I -felt you did not care for me. I was afraid, too, of your grandeur. I -know I should not have been a suitable bride for you, but now all is -changed." - -Very soon they were married, and the young couple settled down -to live in the cottage with Caleb's mother. The old woman was -completely contented with the love her son and daughter-in-law -bestowed upon her. And later on, in the winter evenings, everybody -would gather round the fire, and Caleb would take his children upon -his knees as he related the strange things he used to do while he -was the possessor of the wonderful purse. - - - - -_Illustrated from Photographs._] - -[Illustration: VANISHED ARTS FROM THE CHRISTIAN HOME. - -LEATHER-WORK FRAME (1850).] - - -We who live in the present generation of this best of all possible -worlds, as we may well deem it, considering that we have no -experience of any other, are apt to look back on those who preceded -us as benighted beings who walked by very dim lights, had few -artistic perceptions, and only the most humdrum of occupations. -Girls who were born before Waterloo were not very much educated, -and not at all emancipated, and when we think of them we are apt to -wonder how their lives dragged on without railways, without gas, -without circulating libraries, magazines, or tennis. - -[Illustration: WAX FLOWERS (1853).] - -On the whole, however, these old-fashioned lasses had no time to -be dull. One whose brain was as bright as ever when Queen Victoria -celebrated her first Jubilee in 1887 was questioned by a girl of the -period as to her occupations when in her teens and afterwards. "My -dear," she said, "there were always babies in our old house at home, -and your father was the youngest of them. I had the baby clothes to -make, and they wore out so fast! When I was tired of plain hemming -and sewing, I used to embroider the cap crowns or quill up the clean -cap borders." And this woman's mind was not in the least dwarfed or -stunted by much needlework; she lived and travelled a good deal on -the Continent afterwards, and kept well abreast of the literature of -her day to the very end. - -Fine needlework may certainly be counted among the vanished arts, -for our muslin embroidery is now Swiss, and made by machine, and -our delicate stitchery accomplished by a "Singer" or a "Willcox -and Gibbs'." No longer, like the Martineaus of Norwich and their -contemporaries, do we make the fine linen shirts of our fathers and -brothers; and no longer, happily, are middle-class girls obliged -to laboriously copy the new music and songs that their wealthier -relatives and friends have purchased. That is a distinct change for -the better. - -A kind of work that late in the last and early in this century -was thought very highly of, and occupied a good deal of time, was -called filigree. A Christmas present for Grandmamma or for Mamma's -birthday might be a tea-caddy or a workbox, the frame of which was -produced by the cabinetmaker in rosewood or mahogany and lined with -tinfoil, or lead, or satin paper, as the case might be. Rims of -polished wood were seen at the corners, and received the lock and -hinges, but the surface was sunk and had to be filled in with tiny -rolls of gilt-edged paper made in long lengths for the purpose. -These rolls were closely packed together, and produced an appearance -of fine gilt tracery, as seen in the illustration below. Unless very -roughly treated, or kept in a palpably damp place, they did not come -out of position. In the absence of all Oriental goods, which were -never seen in those days unless in families connected with the East -India Company, they were considered handsome, and no one not in the -secret could have guessed how the effect was obtained. - -[Illustration: FILIGREE WORK (1795).] - -Here and there in great houses a few fine lacquered or Chinese -cabinets might be seen, principally brought home as loot, for they -were most plentiful in military and naval families. They were much -admired and very highly esteemed, and some ingenious individual hit -on a mode of making very passable imitations of them in a small -way; and it was not entirely a feminine industry, but one in which -the sterner sex could find indoor occupation during wet weather and -long evenings without loss of dignity. Small tables and the doors of -corner cupboards were frequently treated in this manner, especially -the latter, which were seldom looked at very closely and did not -get much handled. The work was called imitation lacquer, and the -materials were collected during summer and autumn. - -Very thin leaves were selected, such as the crimson foliage of the -Herb Robert when it grows in stony places, silver-weed, which is to -be found in hilly districts such as Derbyshire and the Lake Country, -and the leaves of the sloe or blackthorn, which in late autumn turn -yellowish and assume curious _fade_ green tints. They were most -carefully and smoothly dried between sheets of blotting-paper under -heavy weights or in the thick volumes of bound-up music then to be -found in every house, and when quite dry they were so thin that -the ordinary finger might be passed over them without feeling an -inequality of surface. The piece of wood--table top, cupboard door, -or what not--intended to be ornamented was made perfectly smooth, -and the delicate leaves were fixed on it as taste dictated with -clean, strong gum. If any stalks were required to connect leaves, -they were painted in; and when this was done, well pressed, and -quite dry, all the interstices were filled up by means of a small -camel's-hair brush with a black or dark brown varnish, probably -shellac. Another coat very often had to be put on, and when all was -perfectly smooth and flat two or three coats were laid all over by -way of finish, and when perfectly dry and hard the article looked -remarkably well. - -[Illustration: A SAMPLE OF BERLIN WOOL WORK.] - -Berlin wool work on canvas, either in raised cross or tent stitch, -was a great resource to ladies, and largely used for furnishing -purposes. Of course, it was the latter-day equivalent of the old -tapestry, and tent stitch was usually worked in frames, while really -good workers could accomplish cross stitch in their hands without -drawing up or cockling. Figure-pieces were often framed and hung as -pictures, and fearful and wonderful they generally were. Many of -the floral wreaths, however, were really artistic, especially those -that depicted carnations, tulips, and poppies. Some designs were -absurdly impossible, and a writer in the 'forties describes them as -peacocks or birds of Paradise resting on their talons on the petals -of passion-flowers. Shading was a matter of taste--good, bad, and -indifferent. - -The bride of that day generally took many monuments of her own and -her family's industry to her new home in the shape of wool-worked -cushions, chair seats, screens, and sometimes borders to table -covers and curtains. Preparing them was a great pleasure, and she -was very proud of them when done. They were quite in the taste of -the day, and none of us in such matters lives twenty years before -our time. - -Another kind of decorative furnishing very highly prized was the -leather work which made such handsome frames for mirrors and was -also much used for brackets, and those dark articles formed a very -welcome relief to the amount of gilding in vogue during the days of -the Third Empire in France, which was copied almost _ad nauseam_ -in England. They entailed an amount of attention from duster and -feather brush that would drive modern mistresses and maids crazy; -but that is a detail. - -[Illustration: TENT-STITCH FIGURE PICTURE (1797). - -(_Christ and the Woman of Samaria._)] - -The modelling and cutting of leaves, flowers, and berries in leather -was really hard work, and required hands endowed with a good deal -of muscular strength. The skilled worker was always a student of -nature, and found models in some of her loveliest forms. Vine leaves -and tendrils, with or without bunches of grapes, oak leaves and -acorns, convolvulus blossoms and leaves (see illustration at head -of article), passion-flowers and roses, were great favourites. The -leather used was tanned sheepskin and cowhide, technically known -as basil and skiver; the tools were few, being principally a sharp -strong pair of scissors, a stout penknife, a stiletto and a veiner. -The best work was often accomplished with the fewest tools, for -it is very rarely that the craftsman or artist who can afford to -buy every possible accessory turns out anything worth looking at. -A large board or old deal table, a basin of water, sponge, wire, -tacks, hammer, stain, glue, and varnish, were all needed, and the -work was not quite of a kind for the family circle, as it was best -pursued in a room with no carpet to spoil, and where no one could be -disturbed by the tap-tapping of the hammer. Very good work may be -seen from time to time at the various "Arts and Crafts" exhibitions, -and leather embossing is a good deal used. Professor Herkomer has -some wonderful embossed leather on the dining-room chairs in his -House Beautiful at Bushey, and it was all done by a lady. Work in -leather cannot therefore be classed altogether among the lost arts; -it is being modified, and may some day be revived in all its glory -by women who have plenty of leisure and love to have something to -show for their handiwork. It must not be forgotten that even in an -age that has witnessed such a revival of learning as this there are -still girls of active temperament who are neither students nor great -readers. - -[Illustration: TENT-STITCH FLOWER PICTURE (1825).] - -Shell work was accomplished by sticking small shells, chiefly the -halves of little pink or white bivalves on to a coloured background -with very strong glue. A shallow box was the favourite article, -and it was then glazed and used as an ornament much as cases of -stuffed birds are. How long it lasted is proved by the specimen -photographed, which was worked in 1805. - -[Illustration: SHELL WORK (1805).] - -The wealth of flowers in the present day is quite a modern feature -of luxury. Even twenty years ago, except in summer, they were the -prerogatives of the wealthy who had gardeners and greenhouses and -plenty of artificial heat. Lovers of flowers consequently had wax -models of them, and very beautiful they were when natural, though -unfortunately they had to be covered with glass shades. The lady who -could make them really well was very much thought of, and it was an -occupation that could be pursued at any time, except in severely -cold weather and a hard frost. The Pantheon in Oxford Street was the -great place for obtaining the sheets of wax, shaved off a block with -a sharp plane, which was a delicate operation seldom attempted by an -amateur. The rose wax was peculiarly thin, almost of the consistence -of a real rose petal. The chief tools were small, sharp scissors and -a few bone or steel pins with solid glass heads, some dry colours -and cotton wool to rub them on with. The worker simply took a rose, -snowdrop, violet, or whatever flower she preferred, pulled it -carefully to pieces, laid each portion on her sheet of wax and cut -out by it as closely as possible, previously wetting her scissors. -The petals were moulded in the hollow of the hand with the head of a -pin after being coloured, and curled over where desirable, with the -steel part wetted like the scissors. The wire stalk was covered by a -narrow strip of green wax neatly rolled and rubbed smooth, crooked -over at the top and a sort of little wax centre formed on this crook -on which the flower was literally built petal by petal. Experience -taught which flowers were feasible and which were not. Roses usually -turned out well, so did scarlet japonica, apple blossom, snowdrops, -and daffodils. Primroses were almost unattainable. Lilies of the -valley had each separate blossom made in a tiny mould. All scraps -of wax were collected in a stone jar (a strong jam-pot), and, as -the great crux was to obtain natural-looking leaves, this wax was -carefully melted over or near the fire, well mixed and coloured -with indigo and ochre in proportion to the tint of green required. -Suppose a few violet leaves were wanted, fresh ones of two or three -sizes were gathered and the upper side thoroughly, but not lavishly, -moistened with sweet or salad oil. Then a brush was dipped in the -liquid green wax and passed over the surface, which was allowed to -cool and then a wire stalk was laid on to form the mid-rib of the -leaf. Two or three more layers of wax were added, and when quite -cold the natural leaf was removed, and a very exact facsimile made -its appearance. A well-arranged vase (see illustration on page 309) -or basket of wax flowers, closely copied from nature was very pretty -and acceptable in the absence of the real blossoms. The wax was -rather expensive, though the tools were not, the average price being -from one shilling to one shilling and sixpence per dozen small -sheets. - -Sampler-making was a fine art practised in silk or wool on fine -woollen or silk canvas. Its primary use was to teach how to make -capital and small letters and figures, which were practically -applied to the marking of linen; but occasionally the geography -of England was attempted, as shown in the illustration below, and -probably no girl who had marked in the outlines and names of the -counties ever forgot their respective positions. - -All these home occupations had their day and fulfilled their -purpose. They added to the household attractions, and made the rooms -look as if women lived there and took a pride in them. Very often -the nimble fingers worked all the more quickly and efficiently while -an interesting book was being read aloud. - -[Illustration: OLD SAMPLER MAP (1810).] - -We often say that in those days--which, after all, are not so -very long ago--girls were delicate and unhealthy, took but little -exercise, and were too much given to sedentary occupations. But it -was only the foolish (who carry everything to excess) of whom this -was true. There was a good deal of running about the house, and the -sons and daughters would have known very little of their relations -and friends a few miles off, if they had not walked to see them, -perhaps to spend the day, or to go one day and return the next. -Few families were without sundry poor people in whom they were -interested, and if they lived at the other end of the parish, it -was an object for a walk to take an old woman a milk pudding, or a -little delicacy to a sick child. Houses were more roomy than they -are now, certainly the population was not quite so thick on the -ground, and in persistent bad weather, when outdoor exercise was -impossible for the girls, there were fine games of battledore and -shuttlecock in the hall or schoolroom or some half-empty apartment -cleared for the purpose. And it was a point of skill, as well as -honour, to see who could keep up longest with a skipping-rope, and, -though the little ones shared the fun, it was by no means confined -to them. - -Small daily duties well done, and the change of work that is as good -as play, made life satisfactory as well as pleasant. Amusements were -rare and costly; they are not invariably cheap now, but apparently -we must have them, whatever may be neglected in consequence. We -cannot exactly go back to all the ways of our "foremothers," but we -need not despise them, and already there are signs that the finger -of common-sense is pointing back to that lost era of domesticity in -which so many English virtues grew up and nourished. - - E. C. - - - - -TEMPERANCE NOTES AND NEWS - -By a Leading Temperance Advocate. - -[Illustration: _Photo: Gillman and Co., Ltd., Dublin._ - -THE HON. CONRAD DILLON.] - - -TEMPERANCE AND THE SOLDIERS. - -What a fascinating book might be written about the story of -temperance work in the Army! Long before any attempt at organised -effort, the gallant Havelock had seen the necessity of inculcating -"sober habits" among our brave defenders. Coming to our own times, -Miss Sarah Robinson, Mrs. Daniells and her daughter at home, and -the Rev. J. Gelson Gregson in India, have laboured with more or -less success to bring about a change in the state of affairs. The -National Temperance League did a vast amount of pioneer work through -its military agent, the late Samuel Sims. The formation of the -Army Temperance Association a few years back, gave the movement -a position which even the most sanguine of its friends would not -have ventured to expect. There can be little doubt that this result -is largely due to the far-seeing intelligence which its devoted -Honorary Secretary, the Hon. Conrad Dillon, has brought to the -work. His sagacious counsels, unfailing tact, and extraordinary -power of attracting the sympathetic co-operation of the commanding -officers, have combined to place the work upon a footing from -which it is scarcely likely to be displaced. At the autumn -manoeuvres on Salisbury Plain the Army Temperance Association -was much in evidence, and a number of most successful meetings were -addressed by the Hon. Conrad Dillon and the popular secretary of -the Association, Mr. Clare White. The Patron of the Association -is the Duke of Cambridge; the President is the Duke of Connaught; -the Chairman of the Council is Field-Marshal Lord Roberts, and the -Chairman of the Executive Committee is General Sir Martin Dillon, -K.C.B. The Association publishes an attractive periodical entitled -_On the March_, and its comparatively small subscription list is -supplemented by a Government grant of L500. It speaks volumes -for the thoroughly satisfactory nature of the work done that the -Government actually parts with this little plum annually. The amount -might easily be doubled in view of the saving to the nation which -the improved stamina of the Army has effected, an improvement most -certainly traceable to the efforts of temperance workers. - -[Illustration: ON SALISBURY PLAIN. - -(_Working the Field Telegraph._)] - - -VETERAN STANDARD BEARERS. - -The close of the year was marked by the death of some notable -pioneers of temperance. The Rev. G. H. Kirwood, M.A., was for -upwards of fifty years identified with the cause in Hereford, and -the Rev. Isaac Doxsey for even a longer period in the metropolis. -Charles Pollard, of Kettering, could be credited with sixty years' -untiring advocacy; John Faulkner, of Derby, had been an abstainer -for fifty-five years; and William Symington, of Market Harborough, -had reached the patriarchal age of eighty-nine. Apart altogether -from the noble work which these lamented worthies accomplished, -their long lives present a concrete argument as to the benefits of -total abstinence which it will take a great deal to explain away. -May the example of their consistent perseverance prove an incentive -to young men to follow in their steps! - -[Illustration: THE COLONY FOR INEBRIATE WOMEN, DUXHURST.] - - -AN INTERESTING EXPERIMENT. - -The Industrial Farm Colony at Duxhurst, Reigate, which owes its -establishment mainly to the self-sacrificing devotion of Lady Henry -Somerset, is an experiment which cannot fail to command the sympathy -of everyone interested in the reclamation of inebriate women. -To take the poor creatures away from their sordid surroundings, -and place them in village homes with the attraction of out-door -occupation, are the salient features of the work. Floriculture, -gardening, bee-keeping, and poultry-keeping, are all engaged in; -and, as some of the poor women must perforce bring their very -young babies with them, a "Children's Nest" is part of the scheme. -Dr. Walters, the medical officer, in a recent report gives some -interesting particulars of sixty-four inmates:-- - -"Forty-eight were married women; sixteen were single. - -"Twenty-nine drank spirits alone; fifteen drank beer and malt -liquors; eleven drank any form of alcohol; four drank wine and -spirits; three drank beer and spirits; one drank beer and wine; one -took opium. - -"Sufficient time has not yet elapsed to be able to speak with -confidence regarding the ultimate cure of the thirty-three cases -that are now marked as doing well. - -"Regarding the failures:--Ten only stayed the full time: two of -these had been in homes previously; one had been in an asylum, four -were so broken in health that they were removed by the medical -officer as unfit for treatment, seven were removed by their friends -before the full period had expired." - -The members of the National British Women's Temperance Association -raise a considerable sum annually in aid of this beneficent -institution, but financial help is much needed if the work is to be -maintained with anything like efficiency. - -[Illustration: ONE OF THE KITCHENS AT DUXHURST.] - - -THE PARLIAMENTARY OUTLOOK. - -The reassembling of our legislators at St. Stephen's will once again -give interest to the legislative aspect of the temperance question. -The friends of Sunday closing are lending all their energies to -a determined effort to "get something" in the new session of -Parliament. We may also expect the usual crop of private members' -notices dealing with varied phases of legislative control; and -then the Report of the Royal Commission, from which great things -are anticipated, will be sufficient to keep all interested parties -on the alert. As if this were not enough, Sir Wilfrid Lawson may -be counted upon to peg away at his project for bringing the House -itself under the operation of the licensing laws; so for the next -few months we shall find our morning papers liberally besprinkled -with items of interest from a temperance standpoint. - - -A LITERARY MAN'S TESTIMONY. - -As considerable interest has been taken in our recent references to -the editor-in-chief of the New English Dictionary, we may remark -that Dr. Murray makes no secret of his views. Speaking at a public -meeting of teachers held in Oxford in 1894, he said that he claimed -to be a teetotaller of more than fifty years' standing; and the -great dictionary-maker added:--"I am perfectly convinced that I have -been able to do my work in the world to a large extent owing to this -fact; and that if I were to take stimulants I should be less able to -do my work, and certainly my brain would be less fitted to deal with -the complicated and somewhat difficult questions which often puzzle -me a good deal." - - -COMING EVENTS. - -Workers may like to make a note of the following important -fixtures:--The annual meeting of Miss Weston's Royal Naval -Temperance Society, Town Hall, Portsmouth, February 1st; Sunday -Closing Demonstration, Birmingham, February 6th; Sunday Closing -Mission, Sheffield, February 1st to February 15th; Sunday Closing -Mission, Salisbury, February 13th to February 28th; a lecture on -"The Scientific Evidence for Total Abstinence," by Dr. William -Carter, at Liverpool, February 6th; and the annual meetings of the -Church of England Temperance Society, Memorial Hall, Islington -(March 13th), Exeter Hall (April 25th), and the People's Palace (May -2nd). - - - - -Who can Forbear to Sing? - - _Words by_ JOSEPH SWAIN, 1792. - - _Music by_ ROLAND ROGERS, MUS. D., OXON. - (_Late Organist of Bangor Cathedral._) - - - 1. Who can forbear to sing, - Who can refuse to praise, - When Zion's high, celestial King - His saving power displays? - - 2. When sinners at His feet, - By mercy conquer'd, fall; - When grace, and truth, and justice meet, - And peace invites them all. - - 3. When heaven's opening gates - Invite the pilgrims' feet; - And Jesus, at their entrance, waits - To place them on His seat. - - 4. Who can forbear to praise - Our high, celestial King, - When sovereign, rich, redeeming grace - Invites our tongues to sing! - - - - -[Illustration: SCRIPTURE LESSONS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME - -INTERNATIONAL SERIES] - -With Illustrative Anecdotes and References. - - -FEBRUARY 19TH--=Christ Feeding the Five Thousand.= - -_To read--St. John vi. 1-14. Golden Text--Ver. 35._ - -Christ and disciples have returned to Galilee. The fame of His -miracles and teaching spreads. Multitudes crowd to see and hear Him. -The annual Feast of Passover is coming on. Large bodies of pilgrims -going up to Jerusalem attract Christ's notice. They are fed and -taught. - -I. =The Multitude= (1-7). _Their desire for Christ._ Why did -they come to Him? Some from _curiosity_--to see this famous -Man; or because _sick_, hoping they might be healed; or from -_gratitude_--having received benefits from Him. Christ does not -court popularity; seeks retirement; goes up a hill with disciples -for privacy and rest; there sits down and talks with them. From -there sees crowd of pilgrims. Must do something for them. - -_Christ's desire for them._ Their _wants_ call out His -sympathy--they need food. Their _helplessness_ moves His pity. -Whence obtain supplies in wilderness far from home? Their -_ignorance_ makes Him long to teach them (St. Matt. ix. 36). What -does He do! Tests His disciple Philip of Bethsaida (i. 44), who -ought to know the resources of the district. Philip makes mental -calculation of cost of feeding them. It will take two hundred pence -(about L7, taking the _denarius_ or penny as worth 7d., an ordinary -day's wages, Matt. xx. 2). But the Lord knew what He would do. - -II. =The Miracle= (8-13). Many points to be noticed. _The lad's -offering_--probably the meal provided for Christ and disciples. Five -barley-bread loaves and two small fishes. But five thousand to be -fed! Man's extremity is God's opportunity. - -_Christ's command._ People to rest, sit in rows. - -_Giving thanks_ to God Who giveth food to all. - -_Distribution_ by disciples, His almoners to the poor. - -_Sufficient_ and to spare. None went empty away. - -_Gathering up_ fragments to avoid any waste. - -III. =The Result= (14). Acceptance of Christ by the multitude as the -expected Messiah. - -=Lessons.= 1. Blessed is he who considereth the poor. - -2. Give thanks unto the God of heaven. - - Food Comes from God. - - We are in want of food, and we buy a loaf at a baker's shop. - Whence does a baker get the flour to make that loaf? You say at - once--"From the miller"; but how does the miller get the corn - to grind into flour? He buys it of the farmer. But how does the - farmer get it? With infinite pains he prepares the ground with - plough and harrow. Then he sows the seed and--leaves it. He can - do no more. The soil in which it grows, the sunshine to warm it, - the rain to moisten it, and the wind to blow upon it--all these - are God's doing, not man's. So a wonder is seen in thousands - of harvest fields every year. One grain has produced a hundred - grains by the almighty power of God. Christ, the Son of God, - passed over all the intermediate processes, and made one loaf to - be multiplied into many. "He giveth food to all flesh, for His - mercy endureth for ever." - - -FEBRUARY 26TH.--=Christ at the Feast.= - -_To read--St. John vii. 14, 28-37. Golden Text--Ver. 37._ - -Scene again changes to Jerusalem. Spring Feast of Passover long -over, autumn Feast of Tabernacles begun. Christ at first decided -(ver. 8) not to attend, but (ver. 14) changed His mind and went up, -in the middle of the eight days, quite privately (ver. 10), and -began teaching in the Temple. - -I. =A Sermon= (28, 29). Christ now preaches openly and proclaims His -authority. They by this time know Him well. How? By His miracles, -which proclaim Him as sent from God. Had healed the impotent man -here at Jerusalem (ch. v. 8), also had been testified to by God at -His baptism (St. Matt. iii. 17), and by John the Baptist afterwards -as the Son of God (i. 33, 34). They knew not God, and therefore -would not receive Him. - -II. =An Attempt at Arrest= (30-36). Many believed on Him--mostly -common people. Why? Because of His miracles, His loving words, His -holy life. But chief priests and Pharisees hated Him. Why? For His -increasing popularity, while theirs was becoming less. Also for His -so openly rebuking sin. So they sought to take Him prisoner, but -failed. Why? Because His time for being tried not yet come. - -Christ continued His talk. He is now with them as Teacher and -Saviour, but will soon go where they cannot follow, _i.e._ back to -God. They who reject Him will then seek Him too late, and not find -Him (Prov. i. 26). Christ is believed, accepted, loved by some. -Rejected, hated, despised by others. How is it with us? - -III. =An Offer= (37). Last day of feast. Great procession to Temple. -Water brought from Pool of Siloam and poured out. Isaiah xi. sung by -priests and Levites. Christ applies it to Himself. Notice the steps-- - -_Thirst_, or desire for satisfaction, common to all. - -_Coming_ to Christ for free gifts of salvation (Is. lv. 1) follows. -This is succeeded by-- - -_Believing_ or throwing ourselves entirely on Him. - -=Lesson.= Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. - - A Dry Well. - - I once saw a picture in which the artist had represented a - party of travellers in the desert. They had travelled far and - long. The water was spent in their bottles, and their thirst - was maddening. They were tired and footsore, and could scarce - drag themselves along, when lo! joy of joys they descried a - well in the distance. Gathering up their little remaining - strength, they joyfully hastened to it. But, alas! for their - bitter disappointment, when they reached it, there was no water - there! The well was dry! In attitudes of utter despair the - unhappy party laid themselves down beside the deceitful well to - die. Never, oh never, can it be so with Christ. His water will - never fail. He is the well of life. That living stream is from - the throne of God, always full of life and grace for thirsting - souls.--REV. GORDON CALTHROP. - - -MARCH 5TH.--=Christ Freeing from Sin.= - -_To read--St. John viii. 12, 31-36. Golden Text--Ver. 36._ - -Christ still at Jerusalem. Feast over. Country people gone home. -He teaches daily in Temple courts. Tells of the union between -His Father and Himself, and of His being lifted up on the cross -(ver. 28). Result, that many professed to believe in Him. He tells -them first of Himself as the Light of the World and then of their -position as God's free children. - -I. =Christ the Light of the World.= _The figure._ Light is from God -(Gen. i. 3), is bright and shining. Lights up darkness, reveals -hidden things, makes all clear. - -_The meaning._ Christ came from God, to dispel world's darkness (St. -Matt. iv. 16) and ignorance, and to reveal God (ch. xiv. 9). - -II. =Christ's People Free= (31-36). _Bondage._ New disciples put -to the test. They must do two things--continue in His word, _i.e._ -learn more of Him, and act upon the truth in their lives. The -result will be that they will break their bondage and be free. The -Jews object that they have never been in bondage. What have they -forgotten? Their bondage in Egypt for four hundred years (Acts -vii. 6); their seventy years' exile in Babylon (Dan. ix. 2); their -present submission to the Romans. Christ tells them of a greater -bondage than any other--that of sin and Satan. To live a life of sin -is to be a slave of sin, which involves expulsion from the house -(ver. 35). - -_Examples._ Cain the murderer became a wanderer (Gen. iv. 12). -Hagar, mocking Sarah, had to leave home (Gen. xvi. 6). Prodigal son -went to strange land (St. Luke xv. 13). No rest for the wicked. - -_Freedom._ Given to Christ's people. The Son shared Father's home -from all eternity--so do His brethren. They are ever with Him, share -His home and love (St. Luke xv. 31); they are free from sin (Rom. -vi. 22); they cannot wilfully sin, being children of God (1 John -iii. 9). Free to serve Him with loving service. - -_Examples._ Martha (St. Luke x. 40), Mary (St. John xii. 4), and St. -Paul (Phil. iii. 7). - -=Lessons.= 1. The wages of sin is death. - -2. Lord, what wilt Thou have me to do? - - Burden of Sin. - - We have a picture of the Arabs dragging huge loads for Mr. - Layard, the great explorer, and we can imagine how Pharaoh's - slaves, the Israelites, must have sweated and smarted under - their burdens when in Egypt. And I (writes an eminent preacher) - seemed in my youth to have just such a load behind me, and it - would not stir. My burden of inward sin when I was fifteen was - such that I knew not what to do. I prayed, and it would not - stir. I read my Bible, but it would not move. I cried to God - in my agony; I trusted Him. I looked to the Lamb of God, the - sin-bearer, and lo! the burden was gone. I obtained pardon and - peace through Jesus Christ, "Who bore our sins." - - -MARCH 12TH.--=Christ Healing the Blind Man.= - -_To read--St. John ix. 1-11. Golden Text--Ver. 25._ - -Three months since conversation in last lesson. Christ one Sabbath, -on His way with disciples to or from Temple, sees a man blind from -birth, probably asking alms from worshippers. - -I. =The Disciples' Question.= _Why this blindness?_ A babe born -blind--terrible calamity. Unable to care for self, avoid danger, or -work for living. Was it a punishment in advance for some after-sin? -Was it because of some sin of parents? - -_The answer._ No. Unusual suffering must not be connected with -some particular sin. True, if there were no sin there would be no -suffering. But all suffering for some good end (Heb. xii. 7. 11). -Calls forth pity, love, sympathy, help. Example: Good Samaritan -caring for traveller in trouble (St. Luke x. 33). This blind man's -misfortune would prove to be for the glory of God. - -_Christ's message._ 1. To do works of mercy. Therefore "went about -doing good." Proving Himself "sent from God," Who shows love for -all--evil and good (St. Matt. v. 45). - -2. To be Light of the world. To teach the ignorant, to reveal to men -their sin and Himself as Saviour (Heb. i. 2), to show the principles -underlying the commandments as He did about observance of the -Sabbath (vii. 23). - -II. =The Miracle= (6-11). Notice--_The use of means._ Christ could -have cured him by a word, as He did the sick of the palsy (St. Matt. -ix. 6), but He put clay on his eyes and bade him go and wash--thus -teaching use of healing ointment and cleanliness in cure of bodily -ailments--but useless without His blessing; also a test of the man's -faith, as with Naaman (2 Kings v. 14). - -_The neighbours' interest._ Such a wonderful cure seemed incredible, -caused discussion--could it be the same man? How were his eyes -opened? So the man was questioned and told his story. He believed, -obeyed, and was cured. - -III. =The Teaching.= A Parable of the Sinner and Saviour. - -_The sinner_, born in sin, cannot see the light. Is bidden to wash -in the fountain always open. Believes, obeys, and is cleansed. - -_The Saviour_, full of compassion, gives light, knowledge, hope, -salvation, to those who believe. - -=Lesson.= Open Thou mine eyes, that I may see. - - Light and Joy. - - A poor boy in a coal-mine, whose work it was to close the door - after the coal-waggons had passed, was forced to sit there alone - hour after hour in the dark. He was a dear lad, and when someone - said to him, "Are you not tired of sitting so long in the dark?" - he answered, "Yes, I do get tired, but sometimes when the men - give me a bit of candle I sing." So do we. When we get a light - in our hearts we sing. Glory to God Who is our light as well as - our salvation! We see our sin and our Saviour, and, saved by - grace, we shall one day see the dear face of Him we love, and - behold the land which is far off. - - - - -[Illustration: Short Arrows] - -NOTES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE AND WORK. - - -The Cost of a Bible. - -The striking diagram here shown is an attempt to represent the -different prices a buyer would have had to pay in times past for an -ordinary English Bible which he can get to-day for sixpence! In 1804 -such a Bible could not be bought under ten times that sum, and in -1650 the purchaser would have had to pay no less than a sovereign, -or, forty times to-day's price, for a similar Bible. In 1450 it -could not have been bought, except as a written copy, and would have -cost over five pounds, money then, as compared with now, having -greater purchasing power, too! So that it is practically impossible -to give a true representation of this last case, compared with the -former; but the diagram clearly shows that a silver coin which would -buy such a Bible to-day would have to be represented by the ten -coins to buy the same Bible in 1804, and by the forty coins to buy -it in 1650! - -[Illustration: (_Photo: London Stereoscopic Co., Limited._) - -THE EARL OF HARROWBY. - -(_President of the Bible Society._)] - -[Illustration: THE COMPARATIVE COST OF A BIBLE IN 1650, 1804, AND -1899.] - - -The Children's Rest. - -In the pretty neighbourhood of Roehampton stands a useful -Convalescent Home rejoicing in the bright name of Hope Cottage, -or The Children's Rest. The Home is intended for girls requiring -country air and good food, and once again more than sixty little -visitors have passed through the Home in twelve months, and -delighted in the love and the sunshine, the treats and the toys, -they found awaiting them there. From April 1st to September 30th -girls between four and thirteen years of age are received for -three weeks; but during the winter months children from hospitals -requiring continued care are admitted, also chronic invalids and -young servants up to sixteen years of age needing the benefits of -the Home, the time of their visit being longer or shorter according -to circumstances. Small payments weekly are taken in some cases. -Twenty of the children have come from the Ragged School Union's -Cripple department, all with some burden of suffering to bear -through life; and Miss B. M. Galpin, the lady superintendent, would -be glad if a new wheeled chair could be sent by some kind friend -to supply the place of the wickerwork hand carriage that has so -frequently journeyed up Putney Hill with the afflicted children, and -which has lately become very frail. Any number of dolls seem wanted, -and Miss Pretty, the matron, looking to stern realities, asks for -children's boots. The "paper-soled apologies" that come with the -patients too often are reduced to pulp at the first real country -jaunt. Wet feet for convalescents do not conduce to recovery. Of -course, subscriptions are also required, for though small payments -are made by some of the children, yet there are free beds and many -cases which have to be met half-way. Miss Galpin would welcome -more visitors also, to take an interest in the children; and one -lady, Miss M. Pollock (who has left the neighbourhood) has made -an afternoon every week pass very quickly in games, while several -others have given donations of toys or arranged picnics. Perhaps -some others would do likewise. - - -Korea's Crisis. - -January 8th, 1895, was an eventful day for Korea. From a hill in -the grounds of the Mulberry Palace at Seoul a vast crowd of men, -white-robed, black-hatted, looked down in silence and gravity on -a scene which marked a new era in its history. In the presence of -his court and the dignitaries of his kingdom, assembled at the most -sacred altar in Korea, the king took an oath to reform internal -administration, and remedy accumulated abuses. "All thoughts of -dependence on China shall be cut away and a firm foundation for -independence secured," was the first of fourteen clauses in the -Great Charter. There was nothing alarming on the surface of this -royal undertaking enforced by Japan. Yet the king was ill with -anxiety, and old and serious men had fasted and mourned for two -previous days. The king and the officers had probably a very shrewd -impression what this action involved. Sprinkled amongst the gorgeous -costumes of Korean officers were Japanese policemen in blue ulsters, -and newly created Seoul police in a blue European uniform. These -and other apparent trifles indicated an incoming wave of Western -civilisation which could not fail to sweep away old and cherished -institutions. The hermit kingdom of Korea has been roughly dragged -out of obscurity. It stands dazzled and faint with the glare. A -transition stage has inevitable trials. It was during this crisis in -its history that the well-known traveller, Mrs. Bishop, visited the -country and had four royal audiences. On one of these occasions the -queen, who was shortly afterwards assassinated with great brutality, -spoke with admiration of Queen Victoria. "Does she ever in her glory -think of poor Korea?" she inquired. "She does so much good in the -world; her life is so good. We wish her long life and prosperity." -The king added, "England is our best friend." Poor Korea, rich by -nature, but ruined by man, with its thirty-four million inhabitants, -has a claim on English consideration. Already Chemulpo, the treaty -port, is a bustling foreign settlement, open both to the good and -evil influence of Western power. Which of the two is to predominate? - -[Illustration: - - (_From a Photograph._) - -KOREAN CIVIL OFFICERS.] - - -Some Miscellaneous Works. - -One of the most interesting books of the season is Mr. Richard -Kearton's "Wild Life at Home" (Cassell and Co.), in which he treats -in a bright and informing manner of many phases of bird, animal, and -insect life of the United Kingdom. A special value is given to the -work by the numerous unique photographs, taken direct from nature, -by Mr. Cherry Kearton, many of which were secured only after hours -of patient waiting and by means of most ingenious devices (of which -full particulars are given) to overcome the natural shyness and -timidity of the "subjects." - -From Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton comes a series of short stories -by Ian Maclaren, under the title of "Afterwards." The author's -abounding sympathy with, and extensive knowledge of, human nature -are abundantly manifested throughout the book; but we cannot help -expressing a wish that the stories had been, as a whole, less -melancholy in character, and more on the lines of "The Right Hand -of Samuel Dodson," which is the most interesting of the series. -The same publishers are also responsible for a biography of "John -Stoughton, D.D.," by his daughter, Mrs. King Lewis. Dr. Stoughton's -own "Recollections" were issued a few years before his death and -widely read, and consequently this biography is limited in its -scope, but all the same it contains much that will be read with -interest by the many friends of the late veteran divine. Our -contributor, the Rev. Professor Bernard, D.D., has just issued, -through Messrs. Hodder and Stoughton, a volume of sermons under the -title "Via Domini," more than one of which originally appeared in -our pages. It is quite unnecessary to introduce Dr. Bernard to our -readers, to whom we heartily commend this helpful and suggestive -volume.--"Beneath the Banner" (Cassell and Co.) is a work which -ought to be in the hands of every boy and girl, and on the shelf of -every young people's library. It consists of a number of interesting -and instructive "narratives of noble lives and brave deeds," -compiled by Mr. F. J. Cross, and we give a special word of welcome -to the new and enlarged edition which has just been issued.--For -young men and women no more earnest and stimulating work could be -found than the recently published addresses by the late Charles -Haddon Spurgeon, which appear under the appropriate title "A Good -Start" (Passmore and Alabaster); whilst young people, as well as -their elders, will doubtless be specially attracted by the new -volume of "Anecdotes, Incidents, and Illustrations," which Mr. D. -L. Moody has just issued through Messrs. Morgan and Scott. From the -same publishers also comes a volume of graceful and pathetic poems -by S. Trevor Francis, entitled "Whence--Whither," and also another -of the Rev. F. B. Meyer's popular booklets of daily homilies, the -latest of which deals with the Psalms and Canticles.--We have also -to acknowledge the receipt of "A Study of the Types of the Bible," -by Ada Habershon (Morgan and Scott), and of a new shilling edition -of "Cassell's Miniature Cyclopaedia," which should have a place in -every home, where also Phyllis Browne's new work, "The Dictionary -of Dainty Breakfasts" (Cassell and Co.), would be found exceedingly -useful by every housewife in search of information respecting new -dishes and reliable hints regarding old ones. - -[Illustration: AN OLD SERMON. - -(_See "Were Young Folk Wiser Then?"_)] - - -Were Young Folk Wiser Then? - -The sermon of which we have reproduced the dingy title-page seemed -worthy of rescue from half a dozen handfuls of booksellers' rubbish. -The treatise itself is solid, and a trifle heavy according to our -modern ideas, but its existence proves that a solution was found -in London nearly two hundred years ago for a difficulty which -to-day perplexes ministers of all denominations. Young men would -come to church, and were willing to be taught and, even further, -to be questioned when they got there. "Consideration" is hardly a -subject that would appeal to a youthful audience at the close of the -nineteenth century. But there are signs that the strenuous efforts -made in every department of the Church are winning back young men -to exhortation and worship, though the methods pursued are probably -more lively than those adopted with such apparent success by the -Rev. Mr. Billingsly of the Old Jewry. That divine, however, had not -to cope with the comparative secularisation of Sunday, and with what -somebody has cleverly called the "era of cyclisation." - - -"A Mother's Bible." - -In our December number we published some touching lines under the -above title, which were sent to us by a correspondent who was -unaware of the authorship of the poem. Since their publication we -have received several inquiries as to the author's identity, and -if any of our readers should be aware of the name of the author, -we should be very glad to hear from such, and to pass on the -information to the inquirers. - - -ROLL OF HONOUR FOR SUNDAY-SCHOOL WORKERS. - -The =Special Silver Medal= and =Presentation Bible= offered for the -longest known Sunday-school service in the county of =Wiltshire= -(for which applications were invited up to December 31st, 1898) have -been gained by - - MR. MATTHEW HENRY TRENT, - Berry Cottage, Holt, near Trowbridge, - -who has distinguished himself by =fifty-nine= years' service in Holt -Congregational Sunday School. - -As already announced, the next territorial county for which claims -are invited for the =Silver= Medal is - -DURHAM, - -and applications, on the special form, must be received on or before -January 31st, 1899. We may add that =Devonshire= is the following -county selected, the date-limit for claims in that case being -February 28th, 1899. This county, in its turn, will be followed by -the territorial county of =Kent=, for which the date will be one -month later--viz. March 30th, 1899. - - - - -[Illustration: _OUR INTERNATIONAL LEAGUE OF PEACE._] - - -The full particulars of our League of Peace were published in our -last number, and we would impress upon those readers who desire to -obtain the distinction of being the first to send in a thousand -signatures that such names and addresses should reach us as soon -after the 1st of March as possible--or even before. Since the -January part went to press we are glad to hear that other movements -have been set on foot with the special object of rousing up the -nations to a sense of their responsibilities in strengthening the -hands of all who desire to secure permanent peace, and we heartily -wish "God-speed" to these schemes. But the individual, personal -responsibility of every man and woman in this momentous matter must -not be overlooked, and for this reason we desire to obtain the -signature to our memorial of every interested person. The following -is the form in which it has been issued:-- - - "We, the undersigned, desire to express our earnest sympathy - with the peace proposals contained in the recent Rescript of his - Imperial Majesty the Czar of Russia, and hereby authorise the - attachment of our names to any International Memorial having for - its object the promotion of Universal Peace upon a Christian - basis." - -This may be copied at the head of blank sheets of paper, and the -signatures placed beneath, but we shall be very pleased to send -(post free) any number of printed forms on receipt of an application -addressed to the Editor of THE QUIVER, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C. - -The objects of our League have already been endorsed, amongst -other prominent men, by the Lord Bishop of London, the Rev. Hugh -Price Hughes (President of the Wesleyan Conference), the Rev. -Samuel Vincent (President of the Baptist Union of Great Britain and -Ireland), and Pastor Thomas Spurgeon of the Metropolitan Tabernacle. - - - - -[Illustration: decorative] - -THE QUIVER BIBLE CLASS. - -(BASED ON THE INTERNATIONAL SCRIPTURE LESSONS.) - - -QUESTIONS. - -37. Where did the miracle of feeding the five thousand take place? - -38. By what name was the Sea of Galilee known in olden times? - -39. Why was it our Lord inquired of St. Philip how to obtain food -for the multitude? - -40. What was one of the great hindrances to the Jews acceptance of -Christ? - -41. What act of open opposition to Christ did the Jews commit during -the Feast of Tabernacles? - -42. Why was the last day of the Feast of Tabernacles called "the -Great Day"? - -43. Why were the Pharisees so offended when Jesus spake of Himself -as the "Light of the World"? - -44. What expression did our Lord use to signify to the Jews that -they would crucify Him? - -45. In what way did Jesus escape from the Temple when the Jews -sought to stone Him? - -46. The disciples said to our Lord, "Who did sin, this man or his -parents, that he was born blind?" What do we infer from this? - -47. In what way did our Lord test the faith of the blind man? - -48. How did the Jews manifest their displeasure against Christ for -healing the blind man on the Sabbath day? - - -ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 288. - -25. Because there was another place called Cana, situate in Samaria -(St. John ii. 1; Josh. xvi. 8 and xix. 28). - -26. Because the Jews always washed before partaking of any food, and -sometimes three or four times during a meal (St. John ii. 6; St. -Mark vii. 3). - -27. Five (St. John i. 40-45 and ii. 2). - -28. Nicodemus is spoken of as a ruler, and was present when the -council met to decide what they should do to Jesus (St. John iii. 1 -and vii. 38, 50, 51). - -29. St. John iii. 14. - -30. The piece of land which Jacob bought of Hamor (St. John iv. 5; -Josh. xxiv. 32; Gen. xxxiii. 19). - -31. The children of Israel were at one time the inhabitants of -Samaria, and though the poor who were left after the Captivity -became mixed up with the other inhabitants, they still claimed to be -Israelites (St. John iv. 12). - -32. St. John iv. 42. - -33. When the nobleman (an officer in the king's court) came to -Jesus at Cana of Galilee, He refused to go and heal his son, simply -telling the nobleman, "Go thy way, thy son liveth" (St. John iv. 50). - -34. Neh. iii. 1; St. John v. 2-5. - -35. St. John v. 22, 27. - -36. Because the Jews thereby understood that Jesus claimed to be the -Son of God (St. John v. 17, 18). - - - - -OUR CHRISTMAS STOCKING DISTRIBUTION. - - -It is with great pleasure that we acknowledge the prompt and -generous assistance accorded by our readers to our scheme for -providing destitute children with a little Christmas cheer, and by -their help we were enabled to distribute - - =Sixteen Hundred Stockings= - -to really deserving cases in all parts of the kingdom. The following -letter from Paris is but a sample of the many kindly messages sent -to us by those interested in the scheme. The writer says:-- - - "I have just seen in the Christmas number of THE QUIVER about - your Christmas stockings. Although it is too late to propose - any children, I hope it is not too late for you to make use of - the enclosed towards supplying the 'stockings.' I hope it may - make four children happy, and only regret that I cannot see - their joy. To bring a ray of sunshine to children who have none - in their lives is the work among all others to which I would - lend a willing hand, and do more if I were able.--Praying for - every success and blessing on your work, believe me one of your - faithful readers abroad.--F. L.--Enclosed please find P.O. 4s." - -It is quite impossible to reproduce the many letters of -acknowledgment, but to all those who contributed to the fund we -can only say that they would feel amply repaid for their kindly -remembrance of the little ones, could they see the numerous -spontaneous expressions of thanks which we have received. We may add -that the balance sheet of the fund will be duly published when our -various yearly statements are made for the twelve months ending at -midsummer next. - - -THE QUIVER FUNDS. - -The following is a list of contributions received from December 1st -up to and including December 31st, 1898. Subscriptions received -after this date will be acknowledged next month:-- - - For ="The Quiver" Christmas Stocking Fund=: Anon., Gilford, - Ireland, 1s. 6d.; C. B. Grove, Exmouth, 1s.; J. A. B., Grantham, - 2s.; G. B. H., Paddington, 5s.; A Friend, Stalybridge, 2s.; - A. Gadie, Bradford, 3s.; Cyril Manley, Oxford, 1s.; D. R. H., - Liverpool, 2s.; E. F., Birkenhead, 10s.; A Friend, 1s.; Mrs. - G. Sandeson, Heskington, 2s. 6d.; J. Frazer, Dublin, 1s.; H. - E. F., Forest Gate, 1s.; K. Thomerson, Upper Clapton, 2s.; - Mrs. Grimesthorpe, 10s.: E. Jones, Exmouth, 1s.; A Reader of - THE QUIVER, Stafford, 1s.; Anon., Margate, 3s.; W. Brindley, - Boscombe, 2s.; A Friend, Leytonstone, 1s.; A. H., Glasgow, - 1s.; H. S., St. Leonards, 1s.; J. E. H., Henbury, 5s.; B. M., - Darlington, 3s.; C. Burton, Morpeth, 6s.; A. Bamber, Cheltenham, - 5s.; A Friend, Southport, 1s.; Mrs. Tyler, Forest Hill, 2s.; - Winnie, Nellie, and Marie, Clapham, 5s.; E. B. Mitchell, Kensal, - 1s.; Marie Louyse, Norwood, L1; J. B., Hayward's Heath, 5s.; - B. Burston, Moreland Court, 1s.; A. H., Ripon, 1s.; Ealing, - 1s.; M. Smith, Blackheath, 2s.; An Ayrshire Reader, 3s.; A - Scotch Lassie, 1s.; Mrs. Crossley, Warrington, 5s.: Miss Firth, - Cleckheaton, 2s.; Grace T. H. Sim, 5s.; Miss Lacey, Eastbourne, - L1; A Manx Reader, Ramsey, 2s.; "For Jesu's Sake," 1s. 1d.; - N. Wilke, Leyton, 1s.; T. R. Brockbank, Carlisle, 2s.; W. - Bradfield, Buckingham, 1s. 6d.; Tivia, Glasgow, 3s.; Freddy, - 1s.; E. A. G., Barnsley, 2s.; Miss Sharpley, 1s.; Miss Clarke, - Belfast, 2s.; Miss L. Clarke, Belfast, 2s.; Miss E. Marshall, - Brighton, 5s.; E. M. B., Weedon, 2s.; A. Hone, Bristol, 2s.; - Anon., Bristol, 1s.; W. B. J. A. C. and W. J. W. C, 5s.; M. W. - and M. L., Cobham, 2s.; Mrs. Gowlett, Great Caufield, 10s.; - E. L., Grampound Road, 2s.; L. V. D., 1s.; A. W., Lymington, - 1s.; Two Lovers of Children, 2s.; Mrs. C. M. Waterfall, Hull, - 5s.; M. Ling, Ipswich, 1s.; Memories, Dartford, 1s.; E. E. T., - South Norwood, 1s.; Hettie and Eva Neirson, Wadhurst, 2s.; Mr. - Catlee, Bristol, 1s.; Anon., Sheffield, 1s.; J. R., Alloi, - 2s.; Anon., Ipswich, 1s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, Hartlepool, - 10s.; S. V., Blackheath, 1s.; L. E. B., 2s.; Daisy, Dorothy, - and Edgar, 1s.; M. Moore, Birkdale, 5s.; L. R., Newcastle, 2s.; - Mrs. M. M. Thomas, Rodborough, 5s.; H. M. Matthews, Blaenavon, - 1s.; A. B. Scott, Hawick, 1s.; E. A. and A. H., 2s.; A Lover of - Children, Bramin, 1s.; H. L. P., Belfast, 2s.; Douglas, Dorothy, - and Moncrieff, 4s.; Mrs. Turner, Bournemouth, 5s.; Two Sisters - in Stirling, 2s.; E. M. H., Stratford-on-Avon, 5s.; Mrs. M. - Hollis, Newport, 1s.; E. F., Gainsborough, 1s.; B. Bibby, Crouch - End, 2s.; E. Bailey, Ipswich, 1s.; A Reader, Peterborough, 1s.; - H. Reeve, Westminster, 10s.; Mrs. A. W. Arnold, Eastbourne, - 10s.; Lettie, Exeter, 2s.; Mrs. T. Barber, 1s.; Miss Tinne, - Aigburth, 5s.; Mother, Ernest, and Baby Kathleen, Lincoln, - 3s.; H. B., Balham, 2s.; Mrs. A. M. Braley, Sutton, 1s.; Two - Friends, Tulse Hill, 3s. 6d.; Jessie, Bournemouth, 10s.; Anon., - Salisbury, 1s.; Winifred and Frankie Mattock, 2s.; Reggy, - Hornsey Rise, 2s.; Mrs. Clark, Dunstable, 2s.; Anon., Grimsby, - 1s.; Forest Gate, 1s.; Anon., Bromley, 1s. 6d.; Wabba and - Little Three, 2s.; Anon., Glasgow, 1s.; Miss C. Combes, Clapham - Common, 10s.; Winifred and Ruth, Green Lanes, 1s.; L. E W., - 5s.; H. Peel, Redditch, 2s.; Mrs. T. Barber, Eastwood, 3s.; - Nemo, Leeds, 5s.; Mr. and Mrs. W. R. Shaw, Southport, 2s. 6d.; - Abbey House, Hexham, 1s.; Winifred Berry, Liverpool, 2s.; C. - and L. Clutterbuck, 2s.; Master Macdonald, Northwood, 3s.; B. - A. Watson, Havant, 5s.; In Memory, Leicester, 1s.; N. E. A., - Stowmarket, 10s.; A Constant Reader, Westmorland, 1s.; M. M. - P., Sydenham Hill, 1s.; C. Stanhope, Darlington, 3s.; Elgie, - Glasgow, 1s.; A. B. J., Gainsboro', 1s.; A. M. Foster, Croydon, - 14s. 6d.; W. Day, Pimlico, 10s.; C. B. Ellison, Liscard, 5s.; - Mrs. Travers, Altringham, 3s.; A. S., Stocksfield, 9s.; M. B. - R., 2s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, Highbury, 2s.; G. Morris, - Windsor, 10s.; Larkie, 3s.; G. S. H., 5s.; J. R. D. G., 5s.; - M. S. B., North Walsham, 2s.; A Well-Wisher, Ulverston, 5s.; - Ada and Gladys, Billingshurst, 5s.; L. G., Falmouth, 1s.; J. G. - Hunter, Bradford, 1s.; A. E. Willis, Edinburgh, 5s.; H. Fife, - East Dulwich, 1s.; Pat Turney, Carrickmacross, 1s.; Aileen - Fleming, 2s. 6d.; M. H. R., 10s.; Sydney, Rochester, 1s.; Ruth - and Mary Beynon, Rock Ferry, 2s.; R. S. J. A. B., Brighton, 2s. - 6d.; R. E. Longsight, 5s.; "Inasmuch," Berkeley, 3s.; Walter - and Stanley Hewett, Stroud, 2s.; M. D. and K. C., 2s.; Grannie, - Edinburgh, 1s.; W. P. Thorne, Woburn, 5s.; E. S. S., Empingham, - 8s.; F. E., D. M. E., and A. F. E., 4s.; E. Johnston, Essex - Road, 2s.; J. G. H. C., Ventnor, 2s.; T. J. G., Rochester, 3s.; - Lily and Jackie, Dulwich, 2s.; E. J. E. B., 5s.; A Reader of - THE QUIVER, Bristol, 1s.; L. D., Lower Clapton, 4s.; F. L., - Paris, 4s.; D. Benson, Grenoble, 1s.; Anon., Sunderland, 2s.; - Miss E. Scott, Pateley Bridge, 1s.; Nelloff, Bandon, 2s.; Mrs. - Hall, Miss, and Miss F. Hall, 3s.; E. S., Plymouth, 1s.; B. S. - A., Groombridge, 2s.; A Friend, Fife, 2s.; M. Price, Commercial - Road, 1s.; Maggie Crighton, Turriff, 1s.; Two Little Girls, - Sherborne, 2s.; L. A. Garner, Burton-on-Trent, 1s.; Lovers of - Children, Wolverhampton, 5s.; Two Members, League of Christian - Compassion, 2s.; Mrs. H. F. Hall, Bournemouth, 2s.; H. B., - Hornsey Rise, 5s.; Mrs. Bashford, jun., Croydon, 1s.; Devonian, - 2s.; L. Tilley, Warwick, 5s.; C. Todd, Headingley, 5s.; Anon., - Lincoln, 9d.; H. J. M., Tunbridge Wells, 2s. 6d.; M. D., 2s.; - Anon., Bournemouth, 3s.; Mrs. Poole, Ealing, 1s.; Mrs. Bonham, - Cleveland, 4s.; M. Hamlin, Sevenoaks, 7s. 6d.; Mrs. H., Hougham, - 1s.; Jean Noll, Bristol, 2s.; J. J. Hill, Ashton-under-Lyne, 4s. - 6d.; Anon., Stirling, 2s.; F. I. B., Norwich, 2s.; Children's - Friend, Doncaster, 10s.; Anon., Wolverhampton, 2s.; The Sisters - Smith, Guernsey, 2s.; Two Little Girls, Barnsley, 4s.; Three - Friends, Weybridge, 3s.; Help, Berkeley, 2s. 6d.; A. Arnold, - New Malden, 1s.; M. B., Knutsford, 1s.; Jack and Eva, Troon, - 2s.; Anon., Tring, 1s.; G. K. Eyre, Boxmoor, 5s.; Admirer, 1s.; - Mrs. Swan, Cullercoats, 5s.; M. S. T., Newcastle, 3s.; Anon., - Warwick, 1s.; E. M. B., Hythe, 1s.; J. Hepworth, Huddersfield, - 2s.; Elsie, Guernsey, 5s.; A Reader of THE QUIVER, 1s.; Mrs. G. - Ireland, Davos Platz, 5s.; Anon., Brightlingsea, 1s.; Mrs. B., - Gainsboro', 5s.; A Daily Governess, Windsor, 1s.; C. Salt and R. - Heeles, 2s.; Miss Stirling, 3s.; Anon., 2s. 6d. - - For "_The Quiver_" _Waifs' Fund_: J. J. E. (133rd donation), - 5s.; In Loving Remembrance of a Little One, 10s.; E. F., - Birkenhead, 10s.; Bill and Joe, 3s.; G. T. Cooper, St. John's - Wood, 5s.; Grace T. H. Sim, 10s.; A Friend, Kilburn, L1; A - Glasgow Mother (103rd donation), 1s.; H. D., 5s.; Maudie, - Brighton, 2s. 6d.; C. B. Ellison, Liscard, 5s.; H. E. H., - Brockley, 5s.; Mrs. Travers, Altringham, 7s.; M. H. R., L1; - The Misses Richards, 6s.; C. A. Moore, Huntingdon, 2s. 6d.; - A Widow, 5s.; A Lover of Children, 2s. 6d.; Mrs. Rivett, 2s. - 6d.; M. H. R., Robertsbridge, 2s.; E. A. Lyne, 1s.; E. G., - Stourbridge, 5s.; A Thank-Offering, 4s.; W. R., Nottingham, 2s.; - M. A. L., Chiswick, 2s. 6d.; W. W., Glasgow, 2s.; M. S. Canway, - Port Talbot, 2s.; J. Chatterton, Horncastle, 10s. 6d.; N. R., - Primrose Hill, 3s.; J. W. E., Wells, 2s. 6d. - - For _Dr. Barnardo's Homes_: An Irish Girl, L1 6s.; Jennie, - Henry, Albert, and Edna Newby, 4s.; A Thank-Offering, 5s.; G. R. - Nyte, 5s.; E. H., 2s. 6d.; Ranceby, 5s.; Devonian, 2s. 6d.; G. - S. H. and J. R. D. G., 5s.; A. S., L1 0s. 3d.; C. B. Ellison, - 10s.; L. E. W., 5s.; A Constant Reader, 4s.; A Swansea Mother, - 5s. The following amounts, which we are asked to acknowledge, - were sent direct: M. J. C, 5s.; Dux, 10s.; F. B., 2s.; A. F., - 2s.; M. E. C., 10s.; A South Ayrshire Dairy Farmer L50; X. Y. - Z., 2s. 6d. - - For _Miss Sharman's Orphan Homes_: E. H., 2s. 6d. - - For "_The Quiver_" _Lifeboat Fund_: N. R., Primrose Hill, 2s.; - K. E. H., 5s. - - For _The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children_: M. - Moore, 10s. - - For _The St. Giles' Christian Mission_: M. E. S., 3s. - - For _The Indian Leper Mission Fund_: A Thank-Offering, 5s. - - - * * * * * - -Transcriber's note: - -Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. -Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as -printed. - -Missing page numbers are page numbers that were not shown in the -original text. - -The illustrations have been moved so that they do not break up -paragraphs. - -Mismatched quotes are not fixed if it's not sufficiently clear where -the missing quote should be placed. - -The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the -transcriber and is placed in the public domain. - -Page 384: "Catlee, Bristol, 1s.; Anon., Sheffield, 1s.; J. R., -Alloi, 2s.;" ... The word "Alloi" is unclear. - -"A Thank-Offering, 5s.; G. R. Nyte" ... The word "Nyte" is unclear. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Quiver, 1/1900, by Anonymous - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE QUIVER, 1/1900 *** - -***** This file should be named 43768.txt or 43768.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/7/6/43768/ - -Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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