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. Δυνάμεθα--"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), Δυνάμεθα, "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 Δυνάμεθα, "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

manœuvres 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

90

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.