There is a little church, near London, known as Perivale. Although

so near to the great metropolis, it is situated in a peculiarly

lonely district. It lies in the valley of the Brent amid expansive

meadows and hay farms. In 1871 there were only seven houses and

thirty-three inhabitants in the parish. The midget church is

situated at the end of a field near a low, semi-Gothic half-timber

parsonage and a farmhouse. Although somewhat desolate, the spot is

a restful one, and the hill and spire of Harrow in the distance

make the scene pleasing to the eye. The little church is in the

Early Perpendicular style, and consists of a nave, a narrow chancel,

a rough wooden tower with short, pyramidal spire at the west,

and porch on the south-west. The interior presents a well-kept

appearance. The church was restored in 1875. In the windows is some

late fifteenth-century glass containing figures of St. John the

Baptist and St. Matthew, in fairly good condition, and of Mary and

Joseph, which are not so well preserved.

The prettily situated ivy-clad church of St. Lawrence, Ventnor,

Isle of Wight, is another edifice which might well be described as

a midget church, although some years ago it was found necessary to

enlarge it. The church originally was thirty feet eight and a half

inches long, it is now forty feet eight and a half inches; and its

breadth was formerly eleven feet, whereas it is now twenty feet.

The height to the eaves is about six feet. The architecture is Old

English, but not at all striking. The church dates back to about the

year 1190.

[Illustration: (_Photo: F. N. Broderick Hyde._)

THE OLD CHURCH AT ST. LAWRENCE.]

We have now exhausted our space, but not our subject. There are

other examples of diminutive churches throughout the country, but we

have made a selection of the more interesting ones. However small

the church, the worshippers have this assurance from the Founder of

the Christian religion: "Where two or three are gathered together in

My name, there am I in the midst of them"; and with that quotation

this little article may fittingly be concluded.

[Illustration: Canon's Daughter]

THE MINOR CANON'S DAUGHTER

_THE STORY OF A CATHEDRAL TOWN._

By E. S. Curry, Author of "One of the Greatest," "Closely Veiled,"

Etc.

CHAPTER IV.

A PREMATURE PROPOSAL.

In the Canons' Court, between Mr. Bethune's and the Deanery, lived

Mr. Warde. He was a pleasant man, well off, artistic, musical--and

happy in a life of little work, which left him leisure for his

artistic pursuits. He had a rosy, kind face and plump figure; the

Bethune children, Marjorie included, went to him before anyone else

in times of need. He had often shielded them from offended law.

It was he who set on foot the literary and drawing guilds,

arranged concerts, and was the universal handy man for games and

social festivities to all the county round Norham. He was about

thirty-five, and had a chivalric devotion to Mrs. Bethune and her

children, since, as a young man, he had first come to Norham.

Marjorie was so accustomed to this that she did not see what was

manifest to other eyes, on her return from school in Munich. She

took all his kindness as a matter of course, having no more relation

to herself individually than the Bishop's or the Dean's. Since her

return, he had been sedulously pursuing his courtship in every way

that occurred to him.

This gentleman was standing beside her under the lime-tree at the

top of the garden, where Marjorie could superintend the pursuits of

her two youngest brothers. They were now busily engaged underground.

For a whole week every minute of David's and Sandy's leisure had

been spent in digging a deep hole in the corner of the garden

devoted to their use. Thence, with infinite patience, passages had

been scooped, and the mound of earth thrown up against the wall had

come in useful as a toboggan ground.

The little boys had received strict orders that morning that all

the earth in the passages of the "cave," which, in a frenzy of

labour, the two schoolboys had burrowed out before breakfast, was

to be removed before their return in the afternoon. As it got

deeper, steps had been conveyed from the house for the descent of

the hole. The utility of division of labour had been impressed upon

the children. Orme was to fill the baskets; Ross, being surer of

his equilibrium, was to carry them up and empty them. If the work

was not done, and done properly, the babies would have to play

elsewhere; no longer would their presence be tolerated by their

elders.

Marjorie was enjoying a new book, whose alluring cover was fit index

to its contents. Now and then, between the pages, dark eyes looked

at her in a strange and wonderful fashion. When this occurred, she

would lift her own, and gaze dreamily over the currant bushes, her

breath coming quickly, the colour fluctuating in her cheeks. Upon

one such moment Mr. Warde had intruded.

"I thought I would come in and talk to you about your sonnet,

Marjorie," he said, looking about for a seat. There was nothing

handy except a cleft log--used by the boys as a block for chopping

sticks. On this uncomfortable seat Mr. Warde poised himself.

[Illustration: The man, looking at her, thought he might take hope.]

"But that wouldn't be fair, would it?" asked Marjorie.

"Oh! we judged the poems yesterday. I didn't propose to alter

anything. Mrs. Adeane's is the best, and Lady Esther's next.

But--your usual imagination was wanting this time," he said gently.

"I thought it was bad--it seemed so prosaic," Marjorie said humbly.

"You see, father's advice always is, not to let imagination go

further than it knows."

"Have you never imagined, never thought about love?" he asked softly.

"Often, lately," frankly. "I thought it was a very silly subject to

choose."

"Not silly, Marjorie. The loveliest poetry has been written about

it, as it is the loveliest subject. Why 'lately'?" he asked.

"To get ideas. They don't come, if you don't think--not to me, at

least."

"That way of putting it is new," he said, considering. "Well,

Marjorie, I want you to think of it, to imagine all you can of what

it means--the new brightness, the new beauty it gives to life;

how it transforms all things, even the commonest, so that----" He

paused. Marjorie was looking at him in wonder.

Was it something in his glance that brought irresistibly back to her

remembrance that look in Mr. Pelham's dark eyes, of which more than

once that afternoon she had been thinking? She coloured brightly,

and her beautiful eyes grew soft.

"Ah! I see you know what I mean," Mr. Warde said gently.

"Oh! I don't," said Marjorie confusedly. But the man, looking at

her, thought he might take hope. He went on:

"It is expressed in all beautiful music, as well as in the best

literature and art. It appeals to everyone, because it is natural to

all, and answers to something in the heart of every one of us. So

you see, Marjorie, knowing you and your gift of imagination, I am

disappointed at this bald little verse."

"Father says it is dangerous imagining on nothing," Marjorie

replied, plucking up her spirit. "First get facts, absolutely

accurate. Then build on them."

"Well, Marjorie, don't you realise that the facts are all about

you, that I----Whatever's the matter?"

A yell broke across the summer air, and Marjorie, springing up, bent

over the edge of the crater-like hole. At the bottom lay Orme, his

basket beside him, its contents upon him. In a second Marjorie had

descended underground, and Mr. Warde was left gazing into space.

When she emerged, Orme was in her arms, muddy tears bedewing his

cherubic cheeks. "Fall'd," he announced, in a self-pitying tone, to

the visitor.

Marjorie reseated herself, her little brother's head upon her

breast. As she comforted him, the man observing her grew more in

love than ever. Marjorie, soft and gentle, unconsciously rehearsing

Madonna attitudes, gave him a thrill of delight. Presently the boy,

his conscience uneasy over neglected work, slipped from her knee,

and, with muttered remarks on "er, nasty ground," descended again

into its bosom.

He had learnt the imprudence of engaging in another man's labour.

Resenting the meaner part of filling the baskets for the more stolid

and surefooted Ross to ascend and empty, he had been promptly

punished for his ambition. His little soul was now sore with the

injustice of things.

"Er, nasty steps slipped poor Orme," he said to Ross, watching his

careful ascent.

"You not big anuff," Ross answered importantly. "Go and fill er

basket. Do what David bidded you."

Meanwhile Mr. Warde had glanced at his watch. Soon, all too soon,

this semi-solitude in which he had been fortunate enough to find

Marjorie would be invaded by the schoolboys. He was no nearer the

end for which he had come, and he could not again drag in Marjorie's

little verse for criticism. She glanced at him, as she drew the

alluring book towards her, and said, not too politely:

"If you are going to stay, I'll just fetch my work," rising as she

spoke.

"No, Marjorie, don't go. There's something I specially wished to

say, to talk to you about," he said, becoming a little confused

under her unconscious gaze. Could he, after all, disturb this

serenity by the suggestion of love and marriage? He felt somehow

that the time was not ripe--that they would seem incongruous to her

in connection with himself. And yet, if he did not speak, and be

quick about it, another man might step in.

"I have had a letter to-day," he said, "offering me a college

living."

"Have you?" said Marjorie in a not altogether flattering manner, and

looking at him rather as though she were much surprised. She stood

poised, ready to fetch the threatened work; her attitude altogether

an unflattering one to a lover who has just made an important

communication.

"You won't go, shall you?" she went on, her glance going past him

to the wall which divided the gardens. Over the top big clusters

of the roses in which Mr. Warde delighted nodded gaily, whilst

further on the square face of his house was gay with bloom, amid

which the two lines of windows stared a little baldly. The blind in

each was arranged symmetrically, and in spite of its prim tidiness,

even its outside showed that no loved woman ruled within. From her

neighbour's house Marjorie's eyes jumped to her own home.

Here there was no symmetry, but its character as a home stood out

plain. The nursery windows, distinguished by their guarding bars,

were wide open, and the blinds drawn to the top, whilst in the three

open windows of her mother's room adjoining the curtains flopped

lazily, and the blinds had been adjusted to the sun. Somehow the

sight and the difference brought a feeling into Marjorie's heart

which had not yet stirred it in connection with Mr. Warde. Hitherto

he had not seemed to her to need pity. But now, when he went

back into his house--away from her and the homely garden, where

vegetables, and currant bushes, and the untidy quarter of the boys,

were of more account than flowers, where little feet pattered, and

boys' voices were never silent--what would he go back to? The blank

windows lit up empty rooms, where no foot but his own stirred. He

would find no companionship but that of his music and his books.

Marjorie never guessed of the visions that peopled his fireside.

"Shall you go?" she asked, looking at him--then speaking out

suddenly the pity her thoughts had called up: "Won't it be very

lonely?"

"Very. Sit down please, Marjorie, and listen to me."

Then, as she complied: "When first I came here, ten years ago, your

father and mother were very kind to me, and I grew so attached to

them and theirs, that I wanted nothing more. I felt no need of the

ties other men have or make, because I had--you." Then his tone

grew tender. "Do you remember how you used to come round and climb

into my study window for your lessons, when the boys began to go to

school? You were a bit forsaken then, Marjorie. And then, when you

were good--as you weren't always--how a little pony accompanied me

on my rides, and then when the pony and the child who rode it had

each grown bigger, one day they both disappeared. The child went

to school, to come back, nearly grown up, with music oozing out of

her fingers' ends. Well, Marjorie" (he had risen, and his face was

paling, his self-control vanishing, as he stood looking down on

her), "I have waited a long time for that little girl--who has yet

seemed always mine--I want her for my wife. Will you go with me,

dear, if I go?"

Marjorie gazed blankly into his face. "I? Of course, it is

me," she said slowly. "I don't know--I didn't think--how can I

leave--everybody?" her voice faltered.

She rose suddenly, putting aside the hand that would have stayed

her. There is nothing so cruel as a young thing who has no notion of

her power and of the devotion she has stirred.

"I didn't think," she said, cuttingly, "that you wanted payment. I

thought--I thought----" And then, not trusting her voice further,

she sprang away from his detaining hand, and fled.

CHAPTER V.

MARJORIE'S TROUBLE.

"Dear Marjorie,--You gave me no answer yesterday, and I am afraid I

took you by surprise, and perhaps shocked you. A girl is a tender

thing, I know. Will you send me just a little line of hope and

forgiveness? I love you--how dearly you cannot guess--and I want you

to be my wife. But I will press nothing against your will, and I

have written 'No' to the offer of that living. I think you will like

to stay near home. Whatever you decide, whether you say 'Yes' or

'No,' believe always that my love is too great to change, and that I

am ever your attached friend,--W. ST. J. WARDE."

* * * * *

Marjorie was reading this letter with an expression which certainly

did not augur well for its writer. She had been seeing to household

matters for her mother, and had sat down with an armful of boys'

clothes to mend, when the note had been handed to her.

"I do not know what to say to him, mother. I wish--oh, I do so wish

he hadn't done it."

"He is a good man, Margie," her mother said simply. "A man, I think,

to make you happy."

[Illustration: "He is a good man, Margie."]

"Happy, mother? I am happy now. What should I do next door? I should

always be running in to see you. And how could you get on without

me?"

"We shall manage. And next door with Mr. Warde would be so much

nicer than a long way off with someone else. It would scarcely be

losing you."

"Do you want me to go, mother?" asked Marjorie, struck by her

mother's tone.

"Not in one sense, dear; but you will go. It is natural for girls to

marry. You will marry, I hope; it is the happiest life, with a good

man you can look up to."

[Illustration: "You have been very good to my boys," Mrs. Bethune

said.]

"But do I look up to him? I think we--Charity and I--often laugh at

him."

"But you can laugh, and yet look up, or life would be very dull. Who

do you go to when you want to know anything that father can't teach

you?"

"To Mr. Warde," acknowledged Marjorie.

"And when you want to go anywhere?"

"Yes; but only because he has a carriage--and we haven't."

"And when you want to see the picture galleries?"

"He can go; he always has time. But all that doesn't mean that I

want to marry him," she added.

"But it is just that. You already look to him for most of your

pleasures. That is a long way towards loving him. You would find him

a very kind husband and friend."

"Oh! mother, what must I do?" entreated Marjorie, the tears

coming into her eyes. "He has spoilt everything. It is Charity's

garden-party this afternoon, and I shall be so uncomfortable.

Couldn't you go, mother, in your chair?"

Mrs. Bethune's face changed.

"I could, dear. Yes, I will go; perhaps it will be difficult for

you." She sighed softly; she was hardly as yet reconciled to her

helplessness in public, in spite of the cheery spirit which enabled

her to bear suffering with such courage.

Mrs. Bethune's spirit made her the idol and confidante of her boys.

Her fun was unquenched, even when the fire of life would seem to

have gone out for ever; after the terrible fall, when, to save the

infant in her arms, she had laid herself upon her back for life. The

baby--Orme--was found unhurt, folded round, so it seemed, by the

broken body of his mother. Ross, the most thoughtful, she averred,

of her six sons, once said to her:

"Mummie, you do laugh mor'n anybody. Is it 'cos you can't walk?"

"Yes, little son, perhaps it is; to make up, you know."

And Sandy, butting his bright head into her knees one day,

inconsolable about something, was won to laughter by, "Sandy, laugh!

Look at me!"--and he had looked. And the irresistible witchery

of the beautiful dark eyes had cured his woe. She was always the

sunshiny centre of the house, and only her husband, or Marjorie in

rare moments, guessed how sometimes the bright spirit quailed.

* * * * *

The Dean was popular in the county. When Mr. Pelham came into the

Deanery garden somewhat late, he found Mrs. Bethune's chair under

the chestnut trees, a centre of laughter and conversation. Marjorie

was standing by her mother, with a wistful look on her face, he

thought at first sight, wondering at its expression. Love, when

presented first to a girl brought up as Marjorie had been, comes

as a great shock. That it should be Mr. Warde of all men who

should cause her this disquiet filled Marjorie with a sense of the

unsatisfactoriness of the world. It disturbed things that had seemed

to her as settled as the hills round Norham that this old friend

should want to be her lover.

Before going to the Deanery she had sent a little note in answer to

his letter, in which she had said--

"There is nothing to forgive. But you must not think of me like this

any more. You have always been so kind to all of us that it grieves

me to say 'No' to anything you want. Still, it must be 'No.'"

She hoped he would not be present at the Deanery. It was his turn of

duty at the cathedral. She would bring her mother away early, before

he arrived. The afternoon was quite spoilt for her.

And then Mr. Pelham had come up, and she had introduced him to her

mother with a tremulousness and agitation quite unlike her usual

serenity.

"You have been very good to my boys," Mrs. Bethune said gratefully.

"Your boys have been very good to my little girl," he answered,

admiring the delicate beauty of the face, scarcely looking older

than the unquiet one of the tall daughter beside her.

"They're very enterprising," their mother said. "I hope she will not

come to any harm with them. They're apt to give us surprises."

"I wonder if you will give me some advice about her," he went on,

drawn by some magic in the dark eyes to appeal to their owner for

sympathy, "if I may consult you. It is about clothes," he said,

smiling. "My nurse is kind and careful, but surely a baby in the

country does not really need expensive dresses from a Regent Street

outfitter. I should be so grateful if you would tell me where you

get those pretty things your little boys always look so nice in."

"Even when they are grubby?" laughed the mother. "I do not know

where they could be bought. My nurse, and Marjorie, and I make them."

"Then, if you do, surely my nurse ought to have time. I do not like

my baby's over-dressed look; at least, white satin seems to be out

of keeping with mud-pies and digging. She is great on digging just

now."

"Quite so," said Mrs. Bethune. "If you will send your nurse down to

see me, I will have a talk with her."

The Duchess of Norham, a very great person indeed now came up to

greet Mrs. Bethune. She was not one who troubled about dress.

To-day, in her grey silk, and round hat, she was the most plainly

dressed woman on the Deanery lawn. Charity, by her side, was an

effective contrast, in soft, shimmering pink.

"Glad to see you out again, my dear," she said to Mrs. Bethune. "And

this is your girl come back to you--grown past all knowledge. I hear

wonders about her music," kindly. "Charity, may I take her away for

a few minutes, presently? I want to hear this music Mr. Warde extols

so. Where is he?" looking round.

Marjorie's cheeks, in spite of her usual self-control, turned

scarlet. But the Duchess's gaze was arrested by the look on Mr.

Pelham's face. He, still standing with a hand on Mrs. Bethune's

chair, was looking at Marjorie with a surprised appeal in his

expression, as if he, too, was wondering at her sudden flush.

"Oh!" thought the Duchess, "I imagined it was Charity. Was I

mistaken then? Not about the girl, if those rosy cheeks are to be

trusted."

"Why isn't Mr. Warde here?" she asked of Marjorie, who, in obedience

to her gesture, turned with her towards the house.

"He is at the cathedral. It is his week."

And the Duchess thought she guessed rightly the reason of the

agitation she detected in Marjorie's voice.

"The Blackton man will be unsuccessful," she settled. "But Charity

is pretty enough to console him, and it will be a good marriage for

them both."

This great lady was never more happy than when arranging marriages

amongst her friends.

Marjorie did not dream how her sudden flush had betrayed her, and

forgot lovers and the difficulties they caused when she sat down

to the piano. But perhaps it was the perplexity in her mind that

conveyed itself to the listener, through the plaintive melody ending

in a staccato phrase which fell from her fingers.

The Duchess sat at a little distance, viewing with approval the

delicate face, framed in its bright hair.

[Illustration: "Hush! Barbe, don't call!" entreated Sandy.--_p.

168_.]

"Good, pure, true, and strong," she settled; "and," as a sudden

conviction struck her, "she is beautiful, like her mother was ten

years ago. Dressed"--her thoughts following along the same way as

Charity's--"well, she would be a success. She is wasted on Mr.

Warde. Shall I interfere?"

She was so deep in thought, working out a sudden plan, that she did

not notice when Marjorie ceased playing.

Marjorie, glancing at her, asked softly--

"Was that too sad? Shall I try something else?"

But in a moment the Duchess rose briskly, and put her hand kindly on

Marjorie's shoulder.

"No, my dear. I shouldn't like that spoiled by anything else. Mr.

Warde is right. You have a gift. But a girl like you should not be

sad or--or perplexed. Forgive an old woman. Is something troubling

you?"

Marjorie looked up into the keen eyes above her.

"Not troubling," she hesitated, "only things are sometimes

perplexing."

As she spoke her eyes travelled to the window, through which came

the sound of low-voiced chatter and delicate laughter. The older

woman, looking at the girl, saw a sudden arrested look come into her

eyes and, following their direction, was again puzzled. Charity,

standing by Mrs. Bethune's chair, was smiling up into Mr. Pelham's

face. She had the manner of one who is pleased, and who wishes

to please, and her pretty daintiness of pose and dress was very

attractive. Mr. Pelham's whole attention, as he conversed, was given

to her. In his courteous attitude were expressed, in the eyes of the

two lookers-on, both deference and admiration.

"That girl has grown very pretty," the Duchess said, "and Mr. Pelham

seems to think so. He is quite an acquisition here, though I am

amused to hear you sniffed at him at first."

"Yes," agreed Marjorie, a little pang at her heart.

The keen eyes travelled back again to Marjorie's face.

"But your mother was prettier than any of you. The sweetest,

merriest creature ever seen, with you babies at her feet. I am glad

to see her so much better, able to do even this little, poor soul,

poor soul!"

The sudden tears welled up into Marjorie's eyes at the appreciation

and tenderness of the tone.

"And, my dear--forgive an old woman again--but I think I have

guessed Mr. Warde's hopes for a long time, and he is a good man.

There, there"--as Marjorie's face grew agitated--"nothing could have

happened better. Your mother will have you at hand, and though she

is so unselfish and brave, she has missed you sadly; and there is

plenty of money."

Marjorie listened in silence, with a feeling as though chains were

being bound round her. As she walked back by the Duchess's side to

her mother's chair she strove in vain to recall her courage. In the

eyes of the man who watched her, as she came towards him, the shadow

on her face had deepened with that little excursion into the house.

CHAPTER VI.

A MIDNIGHT VISIT.

The boys had seized the opportunity of the attention of their elders

being engaged elsewhere to get into mischief. Although they had

made so much fuss about their right of way to school, it was not

the only way they used. They had, in fact, several ways. One was

by train to Baskerton, a village on the river five miles away, and

thence, by lanes and the parks, home. This, however, required time

and the absence of authorities. Another way was through Easton and

the parks, up the course of the little stream, which at one point

nearly touched the Court gardens. In this stream, its shallow waters

splashing up against their ankles, the boys were walking, and the

baby was prancing between them.

"Should we take Barbe with us?" David had asked, pausing on the

Green.

"If we can get her," Sandy had replied.

The boys reconnoitred, and the piercing whistle, which set the baby

all a-quiver with expectation, sounded through the garden.

"There then, go!" said nurse somewhat crossly, as Barbe began to

stamp; and she went. Her education was proceeding apace. Her father

sometimes listened aghast at the things which, in her baby prattle,

she reported herself to have done.

"See, Barbe, there's a rat!" Sandy said eagerly, as a flop and a

splash made them jump. "See, it's swimmin' away."

"'Wimmin' away," said the baby, stooping to look, her two hands

on her two knees, and the front of her frock sailing on the water

before her.

"Oh, Barbe, you're all wet!" David said, as they landed, and

strolled up the field.

"Wet!" she echoed delightedly. "Foots--f'ock!"

"You'll have to be dried."

"I know," said Sandy cheerfully; "we'll dry you by the Bishop's

fire--almost sure to be a fire."

But the study window, to which they crept warily by sheltered ways,

was shut. The Bishop was absent.

"Now what's to be done?" said David.

"I know where there's a fire," Sandy said. "Was this morning, 'cos

of that lead. Let's take her to the little room."

Again they slipped by leafy ways out of the Palace garden into the

cathedral yard. The baby's wet skirts flopped round her, and David

lifted her into his arms.

The approach of Mrs. Lytchett, returning from the Deanery in

unwonted bravery of attire, prompted them to seek refuge behind a

tomb. Here it took the boys' whole attention to prevent Barbe's

chatter drawing unwished-for notice upon them.

"Hush! Barbe, don't call!" entreated Sandy.

"Barbedie good girl," announced the baby in a loud voice, lifting

herself on tip-toe to see the passer-by.

Mrs. Lytchett's ears were good, and, besides, she felt certain at

this point that her eyes had seen something fluttering. She stepped

off the pathway, and examined a tomb near.

"Hush!--sh--sh!" cautioned David, holding up his finger to his

mouth--a movement which so pleased Barbe that she proceeded to copy

it.

Mrs. Lytchett passed on; the danger was over. David lifted up the

baby and carried her into a little octagon room near by, built in

the wall of the cathedral, and used frequently as a workroom or

office.

Here the boys were at home. It was the head-quarters of their

greatest friends--the masons engaged on the renovations always in

progress at the cathedral.

In the grate were the slowly dying embers of a fire, and the room

was empty.

"Mr. Galton ain't locked up yet, knowed he wouldn't," said Sandy.

"He likes his tea punctual--'spects it's time. Now, Barbe, come an'

get done."

Whilst David was holding the baby to the fire, Sandy disappeared,

presently returning with an excited face.

"They've nearly done," he said. "It's prime up there. Seems to me,

we'd best settle as soon as possible."

"This baby won't get dry," said David, gloomily. "Just look at her!"

"I know," said Sandy, regarding the bedraggled Barbe. "We'll take

it off an' leave it here. An' I'll fetch her somefink. Sure to be

somefink stored in Margie's basket--know Orme made holes in himself

last week."

So it happened that it was a little blue girl--clad in one of Orme's

shabbiest overalls--who met Mrs. Bethune's returning chair, and was

lifted to her knee for a "yide."

"But what has happened? where are her own clothes?" Mrs. Bethune

asked, recognising the substitute.

"We thought they were just a little damp," said Sandy in

explanation, climbing up the back of the chair to kiss his mother.

"Good boy, Sandy!" said his mother, "to take care of her."

"But how did they get damp?" asked Marjorie suspiciously.

"Just a little water p'raps got on them," he replied, feeling the

tone unkind after his mother's praise.

"Then you have been in mischief?" asked Marjorie.

"Barbedie walked in er water," the baby replied, as if she had been

doing a good work.

"You shouldn't have let her," Mrs. Bethune said caressingly.

"Barbe don't want lettin'," answered Sandy philosophically. "She

does wivout."

* * * * *

The sweets of mischief whetted the boys' appetites for more. They

applied themselves with zeal to a work they had in hand, and for the

next few days little was seen of them.

One evening they were standing in a disused corner of the Palace

grounds, under the ruined window of the old banqueting hall, which

formed part of the wall enclosing the gardens of the modern wing of

the house. The corner where they stood was immediately adjoining the

wall of their own garden, and was part of an overgrown shrubbery

between the ruins and the parks.

Both boys were exceedingly dirty. Faces, capless heads, fingers,

clothes, all bore traces of the underground work from which they had

just emerged. They had burrowed from their cave, and were mightily

pleased at their point of exit. No place could be more secluded,

nor less likely to be discovered. And from the ruined wall close

by, under the shelter of a spreading elder, they were able to drop

easily either into the cathedral yard or the Bishop's garden.

"Now the game begins. We've got a base of operations," said David

grandly.

"How much?" asked Sandy.

"What you work from, and what you fall back upon, if you get

besieged. And it's a good base too," he added, looking round. "We've

got to make this passage hard and firm, and then hide it from that

prying gardener."

"An' we can pay back Mrs. Lytchett," said Sandy with joy.

"How?"

"Oh, I know! She just hates us going to the Bishop's window. He told

me he'd just got a new tin of gingerbread, an' now we can get in

wivout goin' through the gate. She's made that gate so it clicks."

"But you mustn't let her see."

"Not me! If she comes, we'll just run round the house, and she'll

fink we've come back way. And then she'll run round to catch us, an'

we shan't be there."

Sandy spoke with the certainty of much experience, as, indeed, he

had a right to do.

"Our character is all gone," David said thoughtfully, "so it don't

much matter how bad we are."

"No, s'long as it ain't wicked bad. We'll be highwaymen, but we

won't be thieves and robbers."

"We can get into the cathedral, too," suggested David.

And then, with minds full of revolution and anarchy, the boys bent

earnestly to the preliminary work of making their passage secure.

"Ross and Orme, you're never to go along there without us," David

said to his young brothers, when he had wriggled back to the cave

whence his passage started. Now their services were no longer

needed, they were felt to be rather nuisances.

"If you do, you'll get smacked right hard," said Sandy.

Both children fixed round eyes on their elders, unable to understand

this sudden change. They were dismayed at its injustice. For some

days they had been treated with indulgent kindness, all their faults

overlooked, so long as they did diligent work. They were cleaned

when possible, and consoled when their dirty appearance awoke wrath

in the powers responsible for them. Now, it seemed, all was changed.

There was no mistaking Sandy's attitude, as he stood ready to

administer the smacks alluded to. Nor were David's frowning brows

more encouraging.

Ross tried argument. "We'se scooped, too," he said. "We'se got

dirty, ever so," he added.

"Ever so," echoed Orme.

"No matter! You kids must do as you're bid, and if ever you go a

step along there you'll catch it. See?" said David. And the infants,

with moody brows, averred that they saw.

By this time the hole which formed the entrance to the cave was much

improved. The wooden steps had been replaced by a flight of mud

steps, the making of which had been a joy, not only to the boys,

but to the baby. They had required water as well as mud in their

making--endless paddlings and pattings and treadings down of little

feet before the staircase was complete. David had engineered the

proceedings, and Mr. Warde, now and then hovering about the top, had

conferred advice. He was not encouraged to descend. The boys wanted

no prying grown-ups to mar their schemes. Marjorie, now and then,

had suspicions that some extra mischief was afloat. Never before had

she known them to stick to anything for so long. But she recollected

the fascination of caves and holes, and was, besides, much engaged

with her own concerns.

[Illustration: =The Bishop and the boy.=--_p. 170._]

One evening the Bishop, on leaving the drawing-room, had gone to

his study. It had been a wet day, and the rain had finished in

a thunderstorm an hour or so before, leaving the sky washed and

pellucid under the summer moon.

The shutters had been closed and a little fire lighted; but

presently, finding the room warm, the Bishop opened the window, and

stood gazing over the wide lawn which occupied the space between the

house and the ruins.

The delicate tracery of the ruined window of the banqueting hall,

and the many unevennesses of the walls, stood out black against the

sky. Every object on the lawn--every bush and tree and flower--was

sharply distinct.

As he looked, his eye caught a movement among the distant shrubs.

Some small object was advancing along the gravelled walk surrounding

the lawn. Presently, as if attracted by the light, it turned off the

pathway on to the lawn, in a bee-line for the window.

The Bishop stood watching, wondering a little, when the object

resolved itself first into a small boy, and then into Sandy Bethune.

"Why, Sandy!" he exclaimed, "how did you get here?"

"Is it the middle of the night?" asked Sandy in his usual cheerful

way.

"Nearly. It's half-past eleven. Good gracious! What have you been

doing?"

For, on approaching the light, Sandy was seen to be covered with mud

and otherwise much disarrayed.

Sandy considered. He was in a deep fix--so deep a one as to threaten

the upheaval and overthrow of some well-laid plans, just on the

point of being carried out. The Bishop was an understanding man.

Sandy had confided in him before, and knew his worth. If only

Mrs. Lytchett did not live at the Palace, and spoil everything,

Sandy would have been quite willing to share that residence with

the Bishop. He had once told the Bishop so, artlessly asking when

Mrs. Lytchett was going away to live elsewhere. The Bishop, on his

side, found the children of his friend very charming, specially

so irrepressible Sandy; and was ready to be lenient when their

peccadilloes were in question. He now invited Sandy in, despite the

muddy covering which encased him from head to foot. Sitting down, he

began to question him gravely.

"What is it, Sandy? Why are you in such a mess?"

Sandy sat down on a little stool, as if glad to present his small

person to the fire, and said, "It's the bovering funderstorm. We'd

never thought of that. An' we got caught, an' had to take shelter,

an' when we got back our way was bunged up--all squashy with mud.

An' we hadn't got no spades nor fings out with us. So at last I said

I would go and scout--you know--an' then I saw you."

"Who's 'we'?" asked the Bishop.

"Me an' David."

"And how did you get into my garden?"

"Oh, over the wall. We're highwaymen, and we've got a way of our

own."

"Indeed. And where's David now?"

"Oh, he's over there, all muddy, tryin' to clean himself. He's a

deal worse than me," said Sandy cheerfully.

"He must indeed be bad, then. What do you propose to do?"

"That's it. We can't get back to the pantry window now our way's

gone," said artless Sandy. "Not in at all, not wivout knockin' at

the door. I did think p'raps"--persuasively--"you cud come and

knock."

"I see. And then?"

"Then, when you was talkin' to father, we cud slip in. Don't fink

father would see--not to notice."

"How long have you been highwaymen?" the Bishop asked.

"On'y about a week--and this is a sickener," said Sandy disgustedly.

"We was ghosts for a bit at first--till a woman screeched so we

nearly got caught, stupid fing!"

And the Bishop, remembering certain reports that had been made to

him, was pleased with his acumen in refusing to call in the police.

"If I were you, I should try a better line of business," he

said. "Ghosts frighten silly women, and highwaymen are not very

creditable, on the whole."

"Yes," agreed Sandy. "We're goin' to. Next we're goin' to be

pioneers and settlers."

"Ah, I see. And where are you going to settle?"

Sandy's bright eyes were turned suspiciously to the kind ones

looking down upon him. He fidgeted uneasily, and a smile came across

the Bishop's face.

"I see," he said. "Perhaps you have not yet made up your minds."

Sandy looked uncomfortable. "Not 'zactly," he confessed. "Truth is,

it depends--I don't fink Dave would like me to tell. It's such a

grand plan," he went on enthusiastically, "it 'ud be such a pity----"

"To have it spoilt. Well, don't get into more mischief than you can

help," the Bishop cautioned, "and don't do anything to make your

mother uneasy."

"Mother? Oh, mother'll laugh--she always does. You see, the bother

is," confided Sandy, "there ain't no places to pioneer--every bit's

taken. An' we've on'y just thought on it; an' it's splendid. We

want a girl badly, though. Margie? No, Margie's no good. Settlers

has wives an' squaws," went on Sandy pensively, "and we've on'y got

Barbe lately, an' she's aw'fly little. 'Sides, you have to take such

care on her--she's the on'y one Mr. Pelham's got. There's a lot of

us, but mother says she cudn't spare not the littlest bit of one. So

much less him his one, an' such a little one. It's a 'sponsibility,"

sighed Sandy, "when you want to do fings."

Through the open window came the musical sound of the chimes from

the cathedral. The Bishop, with a quick sigh, rose.

"There is a quarter to twelve. Your father will be going to bed.

Fetch David quickly."

"Should fink he's cleaned by now," said Sandy hopefully. "He was

rubbin' himself wiv the leaves off the trees--drippin' wet."

Mr. Bethune opened his front door in response to a low knocking,

which at first he did not hear. His eyes had the unseeing, far-away

look in them of a man disturbed in a possessing line of thought. The

red light in the hall shone on the face of the Bishop, who entered

and stood on the doormat for a minute, in such a position as to

shield the entrance of the two muddy boys.

"Here is the _Guardian_ for you," he said, "with a very appreciative

notice of your paper." Then he went on, "And tell Marjorie to-morrow

morning not to be too cross with the state of the boys' clothes.

They've been in mischief, but it won't happen again--not the same

sort."

[Illustration: The father pretended not to hear the scuffling of

small feet.]

The two men looked at one another and laughed, and the father

pretended not to hear the scuffling of small feet upon the stairs.

The Bishop went home with no weight on his conscience--only a little

pathetic envy of the man he had just left. Somehow those stifled

scufflings up the stairs had gone straight to the depths of his very

tender and lonely heart.

* * * * *

"The Bishop knows all 'bout it," excused Sandy sturdily, when

confronted by Marjorie the next morning.

"The Bishop knows that all your clothes are in the bath, with both

taps running!"

"Well, he does," Sandy repeated, "proberly. He said we were the

out-an'-outest dirtiest little grubs he'd ever seen."

"That you are--no one will contradict him. But he couldn't know that

your clothes were in the bath."

"Yes, he would. If they were so dirty, where else could they be?

It's all that 'gustin' funderstorm."

"Thunderstorm!" echoed Marjorie suspiciously. "That was at ten

o'clock. What has that got to do with your clothes and the Bishop?"

"Tell you it has. You'd best ask him, if you don't b'lieve me," said

Sandy, hurt at her unbelief. "Anyhow, he does know that they was

dirty. An' just cos we want to save trouble an' wash 'em ourselves,

you're cross an' spiteful. Girls are no good--'cept little uns.

What's there to put on? Best be somefink old, cos there's a deal of

diggin' to be done."

"I shall stop that digging if you make such a mess of yourselves."

"You'd best not," said David meaningly, from his bed in the further

corner. "If you do, you'll be sorry," he said darkly.

END OF CHAPTER SIX.

[Illustration: Three Songs of Birth]

Three

Songs of Birth

A

_Christmas_

_Sermon_

By the Rev. Hugh Miller, M.A.

"Suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host

praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth

peace, good will toward men."--ST. LUKE ii. 13, 14.

Three times are we told in Scripture that the angels sang. At the

birth of the world, when the foundations of the earth were laid, the

morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy.

When Jesus was born into the world a multitude of the heavenly host

praised God and said, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth

peace, good will toward men." And when anyone is born again there is

joy among the angels in heaven over the sinner that repenteth. The

subject of the song in each case is the same: the leading _motif_ of

them all is man.

Man, to begin with, was God's chief end in creation, and the angels

sang not so much because a new world had been made, but rather

because a new being akin to themselves was put into it, to whom

they might minister and with whom they might co-operate in the

doing of God's most holy will; and this season comes to remind us

of our inherent dignity in God's sight, of the noble ideal He has

formed for us, of the value He sets on those whom He sent His Son

to seek and to save. As God made us and as He intends us to be, we

are not a little higher only than the animals, we are rather only

"a little lower than the angels." He has crowned us with glory and

honour and set us over the work of His hands. He has put all things

under our feet. The material universe was made for man, to be his

home, to develop his powers, to be a test and discipline of his

moral character. I refuse to be reduced to the same rank, or to be

placed in the same order, as the beasts that perish. Remembering the

angels' first song, I assert my supremacy.

And man is most of all supreme because God has given him the freedom

to choose the objects of his life, and the means by which he can

secure them. Sun, moon and stars are bound by laws which they cannot

transgress. The movements of the animals are guided by impulses

and instincts over which they have no moral control. To man alone

belongs the power of refusing to bow before God's greatness and of

disobeying God's commands. Man only has this sovereignty; but his

sovereignty led to his servitude, and the chains that bound him were

forged by an angel who fell before man's fall.

If, then, all the angels worshipped and adored when man was made

with the great gift of free choice, how must the holy ones that

remained after the first and great apostasy have grieved when the

fallen angels took man along with them in their fall! For because of

man's disobedience God's idea in making man seemed to be thwarted

and the peace and good will to which he was called appeared no

longer possible. Instead of being the master of creation, he was now

to a large extent its unhappy victim.

We know from hints thrown out here and there in Scripture with what

absorbing interest the angels followed the plans of God to bring

order once more out of the chaos caused by sin, and the effort He

put forth to create a new heaven and a new earth, wherein dwelleth

righteousness. No wonder, then, that when the fulness of the time

was come, and God sent His Son, made of a woman, made under the

law to redeem man, the angels should have sung a second time, and

anticipated for man at last a happy time of peace and good will.

The angels had a clear perception of the purpose of Christ's coming.

One of the chief of them said to Joseph, "Thou shalt call His name

JESUS: for He shall save His people from their sins." And they all

sang when He came, because they knew that God was now dealing in a

special and most effective way with that dark thing which cast its

shadow on heaven as well as on earth. And it becomes us to remember

that it is the sin of man which in the mind of God and His holy

angels is associated with the coming of Jesus Christ. To this end

was He born, and for this cause came He into the world.

The sin of our first parents had passed on from generation to

generation, and each one of the millions of mankind had to say,

"Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother conceive

me"; and each fulfilled in his own life all too truly the sad

promise of his birth. How was the tradition to be broken, and yet

broken by one who really belonged to the race? The instincts of man

himself foreshadowed the truth. Stories of a virgin birth here and

there discernible in paganism show the deep intuition which was

realised in Jesus Christ. He came into the world to fight with sin,

to redeem a race steeped in a terrible heritage of evil, and that He

might redeem it He Himself was born, and yet was free from evil.

He fought sin and He conquered it. Why, then, has the angels' song

not been fulfilled? Why does sin still cast its shadow on earth and

heaven alike? Why does God's loving purpose in sending His Son seem

still to suffer so wide defeat? Because in his recovery as in his

fall, man's will must play its part. I can only be saved from sin

when I _will_ to be saved; I only become a partaker of the benefits

which Christ brought from heaven to earth when, yielding to the

inspiration of the Holy Spirit, I turn with full accord to Jesus

Christ as my Saviour. Marvel not, therefore, that we say to you with

peculiar emphasis on the day in which Christ was born, "Ye must be

born again." Otherwise, His birth is of no avail to you and me. We

are not honouring Him, we are putting Him rather to an open shame,

if we keep out of our thoughts at this time the supreme purpose of

His coming, if we are not personally dealing with Him even now as to

the burden and guilt of our sin.

But we can set the angels a-singing in the sky, and the melody of

their music can be felt in our own hearts, if we turn in lowly

penitence to Him who came to save His people from their sins, and to

quicken them to a new life of righteousness and peace and joy. Only

when a man comes to himself in lowly penitence, and then goes to his

Father with a lofty faith, does he enter into the full purpose of

his manhood; and only then, also, is there not only joy among the

angels in heaven over the sinner that thus repenteth, but there is

music and dancing on the earth as well, and the old life ends in

which sin reigned, and the new begins in which Christ reigns; and

His reign means "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace,

good will to men."

"There is no peace, saith my God, to the wicked."

O Wondrous Night!

A NEW CHRISTMAS CAROL.

_Words by_ ARTHUR BRYANT. _Music by_ CHARLES BASSETT.

1. O wondrous night! O wondrous night! we fain would tell

The news the Angel told;

The holy vision which befel

The Shepherds by their fold.

With fear they saw, with gladness heard

The heav'nly minstrelsy,

With hope each trembling heart was stirred

At that sweet harmony: ...

"We bring good news Which ne'er shall cease;

To God be praise, to God be praise,

On earth be peace."

2. O wondrous sight! O wondrous sight for simple swains,

With hasty steps who sped;

The music of those joyous strains

To that poor manger led.

With awe they gazed on Christ the Lord

Amid that happy throng,

And Israel at His feet adored,

Taught by the Angels' song: ...

"We bring good news,

Which ne'er shall cease;

To God be praise, to God be praise,

On earth be peace."

3. O wondrous night! they homeward turned

To where their flocks did lay,

And sang the song they late had learned

To cheer them on their way.

The timid dawn began to peer

Across the dewy wold;

Their lips in accents loud and clear

The gladsome tidings told:

"We bring good news," &c.

4. O wondrous sight, that God should live

In robe of flesh for man!

O wondrous Love, Himself to give

When closed His mortal span!

Sing, O ye skies! be joyful, earth!

Ye winds, bear o'er the seas

The news of blessèd Jesu's birth,

And those sweet harmonies:

"We bring good news," &c.

THE HOUSE COMFORTABLE.

By Lina Orman Cooper, Author of "The House Beautiful," Etc.

The House Beautiful must needs be also the House Comfortable, if

we take true loveliness to consist of perfect fitness for service.

Thoroughness is the keynote of each. In order to strike it we

must have entered heart and soul into Ruskin's translation of St.

Ursula's Room. Carpaccio himself painted the useful in the beautiful

in this famous picture. From the princess's book, set up at a slope

fittest for reading, to the shelf which runs under the window,

providing a place to put things on--from a silver lamp on the white

wall to the little blue slippers beside her bed, each detail ensures

comfort of the first quality.

Comfort is a thing quite apart from fashion. So it is easier to

indicate the road which leads to the House Comfortable than it

was to point out details in the House Beautiful. We most of us

agree about the essentials required for real comfort: chairs upon

which you can sit fearlessly; beds which rest and do not bruise;

arms that support without cramping; pokers that bend not; strong

tables and sharp knives, these are a sample of the things I mean.

But true comfort depends on more than surface surroundings. It is

indissolubly linked with attention to detail. The houses to which

guests return time after time is the one in which soap is never

absent from its tray, and where pillows are not only covered with

frilled slips, but also stuffed with down and interlined with soft

covering in place of waxed ticking.

I would say, first of all, that the House Comfortable must stand

in a sunny situation. This ensures warmth and light, without which

our bodies are ill-nourished and miserable. "Where the sun never

comes the doctor does" is a much-to-be-quoted proverb. We cannot all

live exactly where we like. Circumstances of business, and means,

generally determine locality. But common-sense must guide us in the

selection of our houses. If we would be really comfortable, we must

live in light, dry, airy, and clean homes. Never take a house on

the sole recommendation of its pretty appearance. To have a really

beautiful house we must first see that it is essentially built for

comfort. The really useful and good is generally ornamental, for

it possesses the realistic beauty of _fitness_. A north and south

aspect for the chief sitting rooms, with east and west windows,

secures both sunshine and shade. We want afternoon coolness as well

as morning light. If our apartment looks towards the sun rising,

heavy curtains should be ready to draw when east wind rages. A stick

to effect this noiselessly is a small boon much appreciated. If our

casement faces the golden gates of the west, no such protection

is called for. But all windows should have double blinds--white

outside, to absorb heat, and dark inside, to veil the sun when

necessary. The comfort of lying in bed, facing a dark green blind

can only be estimated by those who have reluctantly been disturbed

by the too early shafts of the god Phoebus.

There should be a triple water supply in the House Comfortable;

ewers always filled from the soft-water pump. Every well and tank

should be tested ere we take up residence. Pure water, and plenty

of it, is essential to the health (and therefore comfort) of every

household. It should be perfectly clear and bright, and free from

taste or smell. Yet impurity may lurk even in the most sparkling

water. Therefore science must decide as to its desirability. If

only iron or lime water is procurable, jars of lump ammonia, or a

bottle of cloudy liquid ammonia, a bag of oatmeal or a bundle of

bran should lie on every washstand. The hot-water boiler not only

supplies unlimited baths, but may be devised to heat the house. In

every Canadian home a stove in the cellar warms the rooms above

by means of drums and fans. We might do much the same in England

with our hot-water pipes. These should certainly run through the

linen-press and clothes cupboards, and terminate in bathroom

spirals. On these, towels and rough sheets could be dried and

aired. A face cloth always warm is one of the luxuries in our House

Comfortable.

After sanitation, ventilation takes its place in the home.

How to secure a constant supply of fresh air is a question

which demands most serious consideration. In ages past, houses

were unintentionally ventilated by the ill-fitting doors and

window-frames, wide chimneys, and open fire-places. But in our

modern buildings comfort is secured by almost air-tight doors and

windows. Ventilators at the top of such are delightful and necessary

for real comfort, or a Queen Anne casement may have a swing in its

upper frame. It is not always easy, however, to secure exemption

from draught in our modern mansions. When the brick-and-mortar fiend

has placed door, window, and fireplace exactly opposite each other,

screens must be judiciously used. A brass rod from which hangs a

curtain, screwed into the door jamb and suspended by a tiny chain

from the ceiling, is a good thing, or an ordinary _portière_ may be

allowed. The former plan, however, enables us to keep the door open

without feeling a wind.

Padded stair-carpets secure noiseless ascent in the House

Comfortable. Cork mats by the big bath are welcome to bare feet.

Many cupboards are a necessity. A place for everything and

everything in its place is one of the initial rules for everyone's

comfort. It is also Divine law. Hanging presses, medicine cupboards,

butler's pantry, housemaid's closets, keep dresses from dust,

poisons from the unwary, silver and glass intact, and brushes unworn.

The House Comfortable must not be over-servanted. Neither must it

be undermanned. Of the two evils, the latter is preferable, as the

mistress herself then looks after the minutiæ of her house. With all

deference to Matthew Prior, comfort does not flow on a line with

ignorance. It requires a cultivated intelligence to provide such in

our homes.

Education has done much for us on this point. How not to do it

in the House Comfortable is exemplified by the abodes of our

forefathers. Going over Beaumaris Castle the other day, I noted

the small apertures for exit; the high caverns of chimneys; the

windows of horn; the crooked stairs. Nowadays we find stoves and

slow combustion grates quite a necessity for comfort--whilst lofty

ceilings, broad staircases, and wide windows can be quite as

picturesque, and are far more to be desired.

The dictionary definition of the word "comfort" implies enlivenment

and capability for dispensing bodily ease. For this, moral qualities

are as necessary as well-planned, well-equipped houses.

Punctuality, for instance, is an ingredient required to secure a

comfortable home.

When breakfast and dinner are movable feasts, served up at the whim

of a lie-a-bed or a gad-about, they can only be make-believes,

after all. Cold coffee is unpalatable even when partaken of in a

sunny room. Whitey-brown sausages are unappetising unless piping

from the pot. Yet this--like all other virtues--may be strained

too far. Nothing is more uncomfortable than to feel no latitude is

allowed to a weary guest, or to find one's host at marmalade three

minutes after the time appointed for the disappearance of a savoury.

Courtesy in this must be our rule. Neatness is another necessity.

No house can be really comfortable that is littered with papers,

or in which boots lie in the drawing-room--yet finickiness in

arrangement makes the home unbearable. The most uncomfortable visit

I ever paid was to the most scientifically correct house. Chairs

were not allowed to touch the wall-paper; footstools never shifted.

A towel for wiping down the varnish of the bath was provided, and--I

was made miserable! By all means keep paint and paper in as much

primitive purity as possible, but let unobtrusive service guard

these points.

Much more could I discourse of the House Comfortable, but space

forbids. Let me only remind you that the veriest cottage--plenished

with wisdom and lovingly provided--may fulfil all its conditions

just as well as the most luxurious castle.

Told in Sunshine Room.]

[Illustration: DONKEY BOY]

DONKEY BOY TO THE QUEEN

_A TRUE INCIDENT._

By Alfred T. Story

Part II.

A week passed before anything further was heard. Then a summons came

for Tam to appear before her Majesty on the following afternoon. He

was duly in attendance, and had not long to wait before a man in

Highland costume came into the room where he was seated and said--

"Noo, my braw laddie, her Most Gracious Majesty and his Royal

Highness the Prince Consort will come in through that door in twa

seconds. When they enter all you hae to dy is ta stan' up an' mak'

yer obeisance. An' when they ax ye a question jist ye say yes or

nae, your Majesty, or your Royal Highness, as the case may be. An'

if they ax ye naething--weel, jist ye say naething in return."

With these words the wise servitor withdrew. Barely had he gone out

of one door ere the other opened, and the same lady he had seen

before, leaning on the arm of the gentleman he likewise remembered,

appeared before friend Tam. They were both dressed much more richly

than when he had previously seen them, the lady having a brilliant

star on her breast, and the gentleman wearing a silken sash over his

shoulder.

For a moment the boy was confused, but he recovered himself

sufficiently to recollect that he had to make an "obeisance." He had

omitted to ask the Highland gentleman what that was, but he thought

it must be something like the soldier's salute, and so he stood

perfectly upright and saluted.

"So you have come, my lad, to see her Majesty about the position of

donkey-boy?" said the gentleman.

"Yes, sir--your Royal Highness," replied Tam. Only when he had got

out the word "sir" did it flash upon him that he was standing before

the Queen and her Royal Consort.

"Well, her Majesty has caused inquiries to be made about you, and

she finds that, although you are a little wayward and sometimes

disobedient to your grandparents, you are not on the whole a bad

boy."

"No, your Royal Highness," said Tam.

"Does that mean that you are not a bad boy, or that you do not

sometimes disobey your grandparents?"

This question, though backed by a genial smile, somewhat

disconcerted the would-be donkey-boy. He was silent for a moment,

then he answered, looking first at one and then at the other, with

that straight glance of his, "I hae sometimes been disobedient to

my grandparents, but I think I have learned better now."

"I am glad to hear that," said the Prince.

Then, speaking for the first time, the Queen said, "Well, Tam, if I

make you my donkey-boy, will you promise to be obedient to all my

slightest wishes and commands? Do not answer lightly. I am a severe

mistress in that I expect the strictest obedience and attention

to duty. But I, in return, am strict in doing my duty to those I

employ."

"And if you prove a worthy and trustworthy servant," added the

Prince, "your position is secure for life."

"Not, however, as a mere donkey-boy all your days," put in the Queen

with a smile.

Said Tam with a faltering tongue: "If ye'll try me, your Majesty,

I'll do my best, and," he added, as though struck with a sudden

thought, "I'll no need to lick the donkeys, 'cos I ken hoo ta mek

'em run 'thout the stick."

[Illustration: Yetta threw up her hands in amaze.]

"And how do you do that?" asked the Prince with a smile.

"I meks 'em carry a bunch o' thistles afore 'em."

"Well, we will see," replied her Majesty, smiling. "Now you may run

home and tell your grandparents you are to be ready to begin duty

this day week. But before you go you will see the gentleman who

spoke to you a minute or two ago."

With these words and a kindly smile the Sovereign and her Royal

Consort withdrew.

The one door closed, the other immediately opened, and again entered

the Highland gentleman. "Sae ye hae been engagit ta look after ta

cuddies, eh?" he questioned.

Tam said he had.

"Aweel, it's a verra guid step in life for a young callant to

begin wi', an' if ye tek heed there's nae telling whereto it may

lead--ablins even to the primiership, if ye ken what that is. For ye

mun know, the gift o' the heaven-made Prime Minister is just to ken

hoo ta manage a' th' human cuddies that are sent to Parliament to

bother 'em. But mebbe a' that's a wee bit abune yer understanding as

yet, and sae we'll just leave it an' speer aboot yer claes."

Needless to say how surprised Donal and Yetta were to hear Tam's

story, how thankful to reflect that their boy was to have such a

start in life. He reported to them what had been said, and the

promise he had given, and they believed that, like the Jamison he

was, he would be true to his word. All the same, they did not omit

to pray for that guidance and support for him without which his own

efforts would be vain.

The evening before Tam's week was up a parcel was delivered at

Jamison's door, addressed to his grandson. It contained a complete

new suit, as the Highland gentleman had said, "from the skin

outwards." Never was seen such a brave outfit, to Tam's thinking. He

turned it over and admired it, article by article, for at least a

couple of hours, but would not try it on, or any part of it, until

he had had a good wash. The tub was never a thing he was shy of, but

on this occasion it was used as though he intended to wash out his

every fault, as well as all the merely superficial smuts and stains

that had accumulated, so as to appear before his Queen a spotlessly

clean cuddy-tender.

When the operation was completed, Tam indued himself in his new

garments and went on parade, so to speak, before his grandmother.

Yetta was busy stirring the matutinal porridge when he walked into

the ben and said:

"How do I look, granny?"

Yetta, turning round, threw up her hands in amaze. She hardly knew

him, so great was the transformation effected by the new clothes and

the scrubbing he had given himself. Donal was no less surprised when

he came in from his morning milking. Tam looked two inches taller

and a lot sprucer.

"Ye mind me of yer puir father," said the old man as he sat down to

breakfast.

That was a note of sad recollection which brought tears to Yetta's

eyes; but a smile was soon gleaming through them when Tam, getting

sight of Meg, who was eyeing him as it were askance, said drily,

"Meg looks as if she hardly kenned what ta mek of her handiwark; for

the beginning o't was a' her doing."

Just then the noise of wheels was heard on the road, and as the

messenger who brought the clothes left word that one of the Queen's

carriages would pick him up on the morrow, Tam thought surely this

was the one. But it was not. Indeed, he ran to the door at least

twenty times ere, towards eleven o'clock, his vehicle arrived. It

was a quaint affair, half carriage, half wash-basket, drawn by two

asses, creatures as beautiful of their kind as could be found. It

was driven by her whom he knew, and by her side were several bright

little faces, while the Highland gentleman, riding behind on one

pony, as sturdy and Hielan' as himself, led another by the bridle.

Donal and Yetta came out and with bowed heads thanked the august

though simple-hearted lady for the great kindness she had shown to

their boy. She replied with a kindly smile:

"There appears to be the making of a good man in him, and, with

God's help, we will do our best to make him one."

Little more was said, and, mounting the led pony, Tam rode off by

the side of the faithful retainer, who never got further away from

the carriage than the dust raised by its wheels.

* * * * *

Thus commenced Tam's career in life. Though he served the noblest

lady in the land, he did not find his way one altogether of buttered

parsnips and cream. The one thing abhorrent to his royal mistress

was idleness and indifference. The motto of her establishment--of

all her establishments--was "The diligent eye." In this principle

she found not only the best interests of her own house, but the best

interests also of those who served her.

Tam could not be called idle, nor could he be called exactly

indifferent; but during the years of his tending of cattle and

sheep on the brae-side he had got into the habit of liking to loll

about, to saunter and dream, and then to make up, or try to make

up, the leeway of work or duty by a spurt of energy. Another fault

he had was to leave things about--for others to "side" or put in

order. This arose, no doubt, from the narrow dimensions of his home,

where there was hardly room for everything to have its particular

place. It was, however, neither a very grievous nor a deeply rooted

fault; and a little sharp drilling, not unfrequently at the hands

of the Highland gentleman--a sort of major of the household, who

possessed "the diligent eye" _par excellence_--soon corrected Tam's

delinquency in this regard.

But the other fault was more deeply rooted and cost the young

donkey-boy many a bad quarter of an hour. Indeed, on one occasion it

nearly cost him his place. He had been given a task to do, and in

place of doing it with all diligence he had been found with his feet

growing to the ground, as it were. The consequence was an interview

with the Highland gentleman, who told him, "Tam, ye have either ta

pe punisht or to leave her Majesty's service: which shall it pe?"

"I'll tek the punishment, sir, if you please," he answered.

"Tam, ye are a wise poy, an' we'll mebby mek a man o' ye yet," said

the major-domo.

Tam took his punishment, and was the better for it; but he still

failed to come up to his royal mistress's ideal of a servant. Like

his fellow-servitors, he had plenty of time for rest and recreation:

hours of labour were by no means long. So much time had he, indeed,

for himself, that the Highland gentleman put suitable books before

him, and counselled him to improve his mind by reading and study.

He failed, however, to profit by the advice, and was presently made

aware of his error by a violent thunder-clap.

He was in attendance on his royal mistress one day, when she and

the children were out for a drive. A poor body was met, in apparent

distress, by the wayside. Inquiry was made as to her condition,

present help was extended, and a promise of future beneficence given

if further investigation should warrant its bestowal. Hence the

necessity arose for an address to be written down, and Tam, who was

that day the only person in attendance, was requested to do it.

When Tam entered the royal service he could read a bit and write

very imperfectly; but there had been time, had he followed the

counsel given him, to have greatly improved himself in both those

accomplishments. Not having done so, he fumbled egregiously over the

task set him, and, in short, made such a hash of it that an eye of

wrath was turned upon him.

Tam had seen that eye in all its moods--of laughter and smiles, of

grief, of earnestness, of affection, even of solemnity and awe, but

he had never as yet beheld it flash in indignant wrath. He felt as

though the muscles of his knees had been cut away and the ground

was sinking from under his feet. What would he not have given to be

miles away! But he had to face the storm, and it came in this way:

"Were not books and paper and ink put before you? And were you not

advised to improve your reading and writing?"

Tam falteringly admitted that such was the case.

"Why did you not attend to the advice?"

"I--I----" stammered the ease-loving Tam.

"Had you not the time?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you not do as you were wished?"

Tam hung his head in shame.

"Tam Jamison, listen to me. I will have those in my employ attend

to my wishes, and attend to them with all their might. Do you wish

to be ignorant all your life, when the time and the means for

improvement are placed at your command? In three months' time I

shall expect you to read and write in such a way that you will be

able to fulfil in a creditable manner a simple duty like that you

have to-day so grievously failed in. Now we'll go on."

Tam Jamison wanted no more speaking to. He was now thoroughly awake:

and he went to work with all his might to do the behest of his

mistress and Sovereign, and, in truth, he made prodigious progress;

so that when it happened one day--he being then in attendance on her

Majesty in another part of the country--that she required the names

of several rare plants to be written down for her future use, he did

it so cleverly that he was rewarded with a pleased smile.

Tam felt that he had acquired wings that afternoon, and the

strangest part of the affair was, that when he came to reckon up

precisely, he discovered that it was three months to a day since his

"royal earwigging," as the Highland gentleman called it.

To that worthy man Jamison communicated his delight. "Ah," said he,

"ye thocht, like many anither, that ye were doing a great service to

her gracious Majesty by your few hours of daily labour; but, guid

faith, she does a mighty deal mair for ye than ye, or ony the likes

o' ye, can do for her. Serve 'maist onybody else in the kintra, an'

they'll take yer service an' gie ye yer wage, an' there's an end.

But when her Majesty teks ye intil her household she teks ye to mek

a man o' ye--if it's in ye, ye ken. An' weel she knows hoo ta do

it--nane better. Sae ye just go on as ye've begun, Tam Jamison, an'

ye'll mebbe no bide a feckless cuddy-callant till ye're auld an'

blind."

Jamison did not need to be taught his lesson a second time. He made

diligent use of his opportunities, and improved so much and so

visibly that when he was fifteen he was raised to the position of

page. A greater mark of appreciation could hardly be given to one

in the royal employ; for her Majesty's pages are amongst the most

trusted of her servants.

At first the humbler duties of a page fell to his lot; but as he

improved in thoughtfulness and intelligence, and in his knowledge

of the manifold and delicate duties which fell to his care--in which

he had the aid and instruction of one of her Majesty's oldest and

most experienced pages, a man who had been in her service ever since

she ascended the throne--he rose higher and higher in the royal

service and the royal consideration, until at last his services were

rarely required except on State and exceptional occasions only.

[Illustration: Tam hung his head in shame.]

Scarcely a week passed that he did not recall the words of him we

have called the Highland gentleman, when he said that the Queen

did more for those in her service than they could ever do for her,

in that she not only made men and women of them, but treated them

more as gentlemen and ladies than as mere domestics. There were no

servants in her employ, no matter how humble their sphere, but she

knew them by name and had their welfare at heart; and if they served

her well, she never lost sight of them, or forgot them--no, not even

when the grave took them into its transitional embrace.

Jamison had had abundant opportunities to note and set these

things down in his heart, but he was never so much impressed by

her Majesty's deep regard for those who served her faithfully and

well as when, one dripping autumn day, he was required to accompany

her to the churchyard of a rural village, halfway betwixt London

and Windsor--in which, a day or two before, the aged servant above

referred to had been buried--in order that she might lay a wreath

upon his grave. It bore the words, "In grateful remembrance of a

devoted and faithful servant, V.R.," and as she bent down to place

it with her own hand upon the grave a tear fell upon the flowers

that outshone the brightest jewel of her crown.

TEMPERANCE NOTES AND NEWS.

By a Leading Temperance Advocate.

THE TEMPERANCE HOSPITAL.

[Illustration: DR. J. J. RIDGE.

(_Photo: J. Bacon, Newcastle-on-Tyne._)]

The story of the Temperance Hospital in Hampstead Road forms one

of the most interesting chapters in temperance history. When

the experiment of treating accidents and disease without the

administration of alcohol was first mooted, the idea was assailed

with a storm of criticism in which the medical profession found a

most active ally in the public Press. A quarter of a century has

now elapsed since the first patient was received in the temporary

premises in Gower Street, and although the medical staff have full

permission, under certain regulations, to administer alcohol if

deemed expedient, the last Report states that out of a total of

13,984 in-patients, alcohol has only been resorted to in twenty-five

cases. The percentage of recoveries compares most favourably with

the ordinary hospitals, and the cases include every variety of

disease and accident. The present head of the medical staff is Dr.

J. J. Ridge, who has been connected with the institution from the

first. For many years it has been the custom of the United Kingdom

Band of Hope Union to organise a Christmas collection in aid of

the Temperance Hospital. The amount thus realised has reached many

thousand pounds, and it is hoped that this year's collection will

prove the best of the series. The body of evidence in favour of

total abstinence which the Temperance Hospital has accumulated

certainly entitles the institution to the cordial support of the

temperance public.

[Illustration: THE TEMPERANCE HOSPITAL, HAMPSTEAD ROAD, LONDON.

(_Photo supplied by the Press Studio._)]

COMING EVENTS.

Among the fixtures worth noting may be named the New Year's Meeting

of the United Kingdom Band of Hope Union on Saturday, January 7th;

the Annual Meeting of the London United Temperance Council, to be

addressed by the Archbishop of Canterbury, on February 13th, in the

Queen's Hall; a great Industrial Exhibition, promoted by the Hackney

and East Middlesex Band of Hope Union, on April 10-13; Temperance

Sunday for London Diocese April 23rd (St. George's Day, a grand

opportunity for the clergy to strike a national note); and, as it is

well to look ahead, a World's Temperance Convention to be held under

the auspices of the National Temperance League in 1900.

THE NEW ENGLISH DICTIONARY.

It may be news to some of our readers that Dr. James A. H. Murray,

the editor-in-chief of the monumental literary work which has been

in progress for so many years, is an earnest total abstainer and a

Vice-President of the National Temperance League. Dictionary-making

and total abstinence seem to run together. In William Ball's "Slight

Memorials of Hannah More" is this remark: "I dined last week at

the Bishop of Chester's. Dr. Johnson was there. In the middle of

dinner I urged Dr. Johnson to take a _little_ wine. He replied:

'I can't drink a _little_, child, therefore I never touch it.

Abstinence is as easy to me as temperance would be difficult.'" It

is rather curious to note that it is only within recent years that

our dictionaries have taken any cognisance of the meaning which

temperance people give to the word "pledge." More than this, in

the early dictionaries the word was almost exclusively given up to

the other side of the drink question. For instance, in Bailey's

Dictionary (1736) we have the following definition of the word

"pledged":--"Having drank by the recommendation of another."...

"The custom of pledging in drinking was occasioned by the Danes,

who, while they had the superiority in England, used to stab the

English or cut their throats while they were drinking; and thereupon

they requested of some sitter-by to be their pledge and security

while they drank; so that 'I will pledge you' signifies 'I will be

your security that you shall drink in safety.'"

[Illustration: "DICTIONARY" MURRAY.]

Contrast this with the definition given in the last edition of

Webster's Dictionary:--

"A promise or agreement by which one binds one's self to do, or to

refrain from doing something; especially a solemn promise in writing

to refrain from using intoxicating liquors or other liquor; as to

sign the pledge."

No doubt, when Dr. Murray reaches the letter "P," we shall have a

definition even still more illuminating. The New English Dictionary

viewed from a temperance standpoint would make a delightful study.

Take, for instance, volume one, in which "Alcohol" has more than

a column to itself, while "Ale" has two columns, "Beer" two and

a half columns, and "Abstain," "Abstainer," and "Abstaining" are

treated with a wealth of illustration and meaning derived from such

authorities as Wyclif in 1382 down to J. W. Bardsley (the present

Bishop of Carlisle) in 1867, who is pressed into the service in this

form:--

"ABSTAINING.--Practising abstinence (from alcoholic beverages) 1867.

J. W. BARDSLEY in 'Clerical Testimony to Total Abstinence' 30: 'The

bride was the daughter of an abstaining clergyman.'"

[Illustration: MADAME ANTOINETTE STERLING.

(_Photo: Walery, Ltd., Regent Street, W._)]

Now we will leave it to our fair readers to puzzle over until next

month as to who the blushing bride was who is thus assured of

immortality in the greatest Dictionary the world has ever seen.

"TWO QUEENS OF SONG."

"Example is better than precept," says the old adage, and there

can be no doubt that the example of Madame Antoinette Sterling and

Mrs. Mary Davies in the matter of total abstinence has been of the

utmost value. It was at a reception given by Mr. and Mrs. Frederick

Sherlock at Hackney, in 1892, to the Archbishop of Canterbury

(then Bishop of London), that Madame Sterling, to the surprise of

a delighted audience, volunteered "a few words." The gifted singer

remarked that "she had been nearly all her life a total abstainer.

When on long tours with members of her profession, it had been

rather an aggravation to them to see, when they were pretty well

prostrated, that she was almost or quite as fresh at the end of the

journey as at the beginning. They also complained of the quality of

the wine furnished to them, as well as of water. She took milk and

cocoa, and also water, of which she did not complain, and scarcely

missed one engagement in the seventeen years during which she had

been before the public. She had never had a day's bad health, and

had not suffered from those aches and pains of which she had heard

other people complaining continually." Like Madame Sterling, Mrs.

Mary Davies has upon many occasions shown a deep and practical

interest in philanthropic work.

[Illustration: MRS. MARY DAVIES.

(_Photo: H. S. Mendelssohn, Pembridge Crescent, W._)]

[Illustration: (_Photo supplied by the Press Studio._)

MUSCULAR TRAINING AT THE NAVAL SCHOOL, GREENWICH.]

[Illustration: (_Photo supplied by the Press Studio._)

BUCKET-OF-WATER RACE AT THE NAVAL SCHOOL.]

A FAMOUS BAND OF HOPE.

Possibly the most unique Band of Hope in the world is that which is

held in the Royal Naval School, Greenwich. It was founded so far

back as 1871, by Samuel Sims, an honoured agent of the National

Temperance League, and upon his death, in 1892, was taken over by

Mr. W. S. Campbell, as the League's representative. No pressure at

all is put upon the lads to induce them to join the Band of Hope,

but, as a matter of fact, most of the lads in the school readily do

so, and the present membership is fully a thousand strong. Regular

weekly meetings are held, and the annual gathering, which is held

in the great gymnasium, is a most inspiriting spectacle. A visit

to the Royal Naval School, if it should happen to be in recreation

time, cannot fail to afford considerable satisfaction to those who

like to see Young England at play. Every type of healthy pastime is

encouraged in its turn, and these young abstainers have frequently

shown that they are well able to hold their own. It is encouraging

to know that the principles of total abstinence are not discarded

when the lads pass out into the Royal Navy or Mercantile Marine,

for every year large numbers of them are drafted into Miss Weston's

well-known temperance society.

TEMPERANCE SUNDAY.

The appointment of a special Sunday for the preaching of sermons on

temperance originated with the Church of England Temperance Society

many years ago. Owing to various circumstances, it is not possible

for the Church of England clergy to take one Sunday simultaneously

for the whole country, but each diocesan Bishop makes choice of

a day and issues a pastoral letter to his clergy, so that at one

period of the year or another the whole country is covered, so far

as the Church of England is concerned. The Nonconformist bodies

have, however, for some years past, fixed upon the last Sunday in

November for Temperance Sunday, and as we go to press we learn that

this year special reference will be made to the importance of Sunday

Closing.

SCRIPTURE LESSONS FOR SCHOOL & HOME INTERNATIONAL SERIES

With Illustrative Anecdotes and References.

DECEMBER 18TH.--=The Captivity of Judah.=

_To read--Jer. lii. 1-11. Golden Text--Jer. xxix. 13._

This chapter describes the fate of Judah. Later kings were all

wicked. Warnings of Jeremiah and other prophets all been in vain.

Time has come for judgment. Captivity in Babylon, long foretold,

now about to commence. Came about in reign of Zedekiah. The eleven

verses of this lesson almost identical with Jer. xxxix. 1-10.

I. =The King= (1-3). _His name._ Originally Mattaniah, was son of

good King Josiah and uncle of late King Jehoiachin. Jeremiah had

prophesied of a future king (Jer. xxiii. 5-7) as the "Lord our

righteousness." The king assumed that name, and was called Zedekiah.

_His acts._ "Did evil," but had not always been altogether evil.

Had made covenant with nobles and priests to abolish slavery

(xxxiv. 8-10). But his great wrong was breaking his solemn oath of

allegiance to king of Babylon (2 Chron. xxxvi. 13). This looked upon

as his crowning vice (Ezek. xvii. 8), for which God's anger was upon

him (ver. 3).

=Lesson.= When thou vowest a vow defer not to pay it.

II. =The Siege= (4-7). City besieged for last time. Jews never

forgot day it began. Was January--tenth day of their tenth month.

Great mounds or (earth-works) outside walls to shoot burning arrows,

etc.; houses outside thrown down (Jer. xxxiii. 4). Famine and

pestilence soon ravaged crowded population inside.

_The assault._ City, after eighteen months, taken by assault at

northern gate (B.C. 587). King and his family and royal guard

escaped by passage between two walls (Jer. xxxix. 4), by royal

gardens, down steep descent towards Jericho. There he was overtaken

and made prisoner. His broken oath caused his destruction (Ezek.

xvii. 20).

=Lesson.= Evil shall hunt the wicked to overtake him.

III. =Babylon.= He was taken to Babylon. His sons killed in his

sight, then his eyes put out, bound with chains, kept in prison till

death. Feeble in will, faithless in promise, judgment came upon him.

=Lesson.= 1. The word of the Lord standeth sure.

Bargains.

He who buys the truth makes a good bargain. Zedekiah dealt in

falsehood and lost his throne. Esau sold his birthright for a basin

of soup. Judas made a bad bargain when he sold his Lord for the

price of a slave. Take heed to the thing that is right, for that

alone shall bring peace at the last.

DECEMBER 25TH.--=A Christmas Lesson.=

_To read--Hebrews i. 1-9. Golden Text--St. Luke ii. 11._

This letter written to the Hebrews, i.e. Christians of Jewish birth

who clung to the priesthood and services of the Temple as well as

to Christianity. St. Paul shows how far the Christian system was

superior to and superseded the Jewish. The types and ceremonies of

the Law fulfilled in Christ, whose birthday is kept at Christmas.

I. =God's Revelation= (1-2). _Past._ God revealed or unveiled

Himself of old. This revelation inferior in three ways, viz. (1) It

was given gradually, in portions, a part at a time. (2) Given in

divers manners, under many figures and types. (3) Given by prophets,

only human.

_Present._ Final revelation of God's truth--once for all given to

the saints (Jude 3). Given by His Son--the Word of God (St. John i.

1, 2); heir of all things--God's agent in creation of the universe.

II. =God's Son= (3-9). _Great in Himself._ Has Divine glory--the

outshining of the Father's glory. He is God's image, the counterpart

of the Father. To see Christ is to see God (St. John xiv. 9).

_Great in His work._ (1) _Upholder_ of the universe as well as its

Creator. (2) _Saviour._ Came not only as prophet to reveal God's

will, but to purge man's sin. This He did by Himself with His own

blood (ix. 12, 14).

_Greater than angels._ In His person, His work. His exaltation to

glory; testified by Scripture, _e.g._ Psalm ii. 3 tells of Christ's

eternal Sonship--also referred to by St. Paul as fulfilled in His

resurrection (Acts xiii. 33).

_King over all._ Christ also a King. Rules in righteousness (Psalm

xlv. 6, 7); received throne as victor over His enemies--sin, death,

and the devil (xii. 2). Raised high above all.

=Lesson.= Christ is King--honour Him; He is Saviour--love Him; He

is God--fear Him. Kiss the Son, lest He be angry, and so ye perish.

Blessed are all they that put their trust in Him.

Christ in the Old and New Testaments.

A weaver, who had made an elaborate piece of tapestry, hung it

upon the tenterhooks in his yard. That night it was stolen. A

piece of tapestry was found by the police, which seemed to answer

the description; but, as the pattern was not unlike that of other

pieces, they wanted more definite proof. It was brought to the

weaver's yard, and there the perforations in the fabric were found

to correspond exactly to the tenterhooks. This was proof positive.

In like manner, if we place the life and character of Christ against

all the prophecies of Him in Scripture, they will be found to

correspond exactly.

1899.

_New Series. The Gospel according to St. John._

JANUARY 1ST.--=Christ the True Light.=

_To read--St. John i. 1-14. Golden Text--Ver. 4._

New Year--new course of lessons. This Gospel records the deeper

spiritual truths of Christ's teaching, especially about His own

Nature and Person. It sets Christ forth as God. St. John tells his

object in writing a fourth Gospel in chap. xx. 31, which the class

should read.

I. =The Nature of Christ= (1-3). _Eternal._ In the beginning, not of

the world, but before all creation, from everlasting. _Divine Word._

Christ is the expression of the mind of God. Came to reveal God to

man (xv. 15). _Living Person._ The Word not a mere attribute or

power of God but a distinct Person. "With God" from everlasting. Not

inferior to the Father, but very God Himself. _Creator._ As well as

Saviour and Governor of the world (read Col. i. 16, 17; Heb. i. 2).

II. =The Office of Christ= (4-13). _Source of Life._ As very God He

had life in Himself, which He poured forth on His creation (vv. 25,

26; xvii. 2). _Source of light._ The life from Son of God is cause

of man's inward spiritual light by which he is saved. _Himself the

light._ World was in spiritual darkness at Christ's coming. _Giver

of light._ No man has light in himself, however great his natural

powers. All true light is from Christ.

_Rejected._ By His own. The world He made knew not its Creator (1

Cor. i. 21). The nation He chose to be His own special people (Deut.

vii. 6) received Him not.

_Received._ By a few--both Jews and Gentiles; such as Nicodemus the

ruler (iii. 1, 2), the disciples from Galilee (ii. 11), and others.

How did they receive Him? By believing in Him. This faith, itself

the gift of God, rewarded by further privilege of becoming God's

sons--born into God's family by a new and spiritual birth (iii. 3).

III. =The Glory of Christ= (14). Word was made flesh by taking to

Himself man's human nature. He dwelt (_literally_ "pitched His

tent") with men, full of mercy to heal bodies and souls, full of

God's truth to teach.

=Lessons.= 1. _Hold fast the Christian faith._ Jesus Christ one for

ever with the Father. _God_--eternal, glorious, Creator, Giver of

light and life to the soul--yet _Man_, like one of us.

2. _Live the Christian life._ Jesus is our example, that we should

follow His steps.

Christians walking in the Light.

A little girl in a London slum won a prize at a flower-show. Her

flower was grown in a broken teapot in a back attic. When asked how

she managed to grow the beautiful flower, she said her success came

from always keeping the plant in the only corner of the room ever

favoured by a sunbeam. Only by walking in the light and sight of God

can Christians truly grow and bear fruit.

JANUARY 8TH.--=Christ's first Disciples.=

_To read--St. John i. 35-46. Golden Text--Ver. 36._

Christ now thirty years old; has been baptised and received special

outpouring of Holy Ghost (ver. 33), and also been tempted in the

wilderness (St. Matt. iv. 1). Is now ready for His public work and

ministry. Now begins to win disciples.

I. =The first two Disciples= (35-40). _Heard of Him._ Picture Christ

walking near the Jordan. St. John, who had baptised Him, points Him

out to his followers. Describes Him: this the Lamb of God to Whom

all the sacrifices pointed; the innocent lamb slain told of the

death of the spotless Son of God for man's sin. His words went home.

_Followed Him._ Who were they? Andrew, Simon Peter's brother, and

probably St. John, writer of the Gospel, brother of James. Why did

they follow? To learn more of Him. Had been baptised with baptism of

repentance. Sense of sin led them to seek the Saviour. Christ knew

their thoughts, encouraged them to learn more of Him (St. Matt. xi.

28, 29).

II. =The third Disciple= (41, 42). The two friends separate the next

day, each in search of his brother. Andrew soon finds his--eagerly

tells the news. They have found the long-expected Messiah, the

Anointed of God. Brings Simon to Christ. No greater proof possible

of having really found Christ than bringing another to Him. Christ

looks with eager and searching eye at Simon--reads his very heart,

sees his longing after truth; gives him a new name, Cephas (Hebrew)

or Peter (Greek), meaning "a rock" or "stone." What did this

signify? His bold and determined character, strong in the faith (St.

Matt. xvi. 16), eager in defence of Christ (xviii. 10), and, after

his fall and forgiveness, strong in love (xxi. 15).

III. =The fourth Disciple= (43, 44). Philip of Bethsaida. Must have

heard his friends talking of Christ. Probably stirred in his heart.

Christ found him, as He afterwards found Zacchæus St. (Luke xix. 5).

His mission to seek as well as to save. Happy they who obey Christ's

call and follow Him.

IV. =The fifth Disciple= (45, 46). Philip soon shows marks of

discipleship. He finds Nathanael. Tells him how Christ fulfilled

prophecies, such as of a "prophet" like unto Moses, a "king" whose

name should be "the Lord our righteousness" (Jer. xxiii. 5, 6).

Nathanael asks in honest doubt if it can be possible for the Messiah

to come from despised Nazareth. Philip did not argue, but bade him

"Come and see"--the best cure for all doubts.

=Lessons.= From the Baptist: The dying Saviour the greatest magnet

for drawing souls.

From Andrew: Show religion first at home.

From Simon: Taste and see how gracious the Lord is.

From Philip: Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the Word of God.

From Nathanael: Hearken unto me, and I will teach you the fear of

the Lord.

"There's Another."

A traveller lost in the snow on the Alps was rescued by one of the

famous dogs of St. Bernard. When restored to consciousness his first

words were, "There's another." The monks to whom the dogs belonged

continued their search, and "the other" was found and saved. "Are

you saved?" Is there not another whom you can rescue from sin and

bring to the life of God?

[Illustration: Short Arrows]

Short Arrows

NOTES OF CHRISTIAN LIFE AND WORK.

The Quiver Santa Claus.

Last month we published full particulars of our scheme to provide

Christmas Stockings for the many poor and friendless little ones who

are not on Santa Claus's visiting list, and we appeal to our readers

for their hearty practical co-operation in this work. Each stocking

will contain wholesome goodies, in the shape of cake and sweets, in

addition to an unbreakable toy and a Christmas card. The Proprietors

of THE QUIVER have headed the subscription list with a donation of

£25, which is sufficient to provide the contents of

FIVE HUNDRED CHRISTMAS STOCKINGS FOR

POOR AND FRIENDLESS CHILDREN,

a sum of =one shilling= being sufficient to furnish a stocking and

pay the postage. But, as we can profitably distribute _thousands_ of

such presents, we confidently look to all lovers of the children to

lend their generous aid, in order that as many as possible of the

destitute little mites may have their Christmas brightened by such a

welcome gift. We shall also be glad to receive recommendations from

our readers of suitable cases for the receipt of the stockings, and

for this purpose the special application form to be found in our

Extra Christmas Number ("Christmas Arrows") should be used. As the

time is short, contributions for the Christmas Stocking Fund should

be sent =at once= to the Editor of THE QUIVER, La Belle Sauvage,

London, E.C., and all amounts of one shilling and upwards will be

thankfully acknowledged in our pages.

[Illustration: CURIOUS ALMS-BOX IN PINHOE CHURCH.]

A Curious Alms-box.

In the interesting parish church of Pinhoe, near Exeter, appears a

very curious alms-box surmounted by the figure of a man who seems,

from his costume and general character, to date from the period of

James I. He holds two books in his hand--representing most probably

Bible and Prayer Book--one of which bears the inscription, "Y^e Poor

Man of Pinhoo, 1700," but from information with which the vicar of

the parish, the Rev. Frederick W. Pulling, has kindly supplied us,

it appears that the books were added in 1879-80, when the church was

restored. Previously the figure held a small flimsy box in front of

him. He was, however, placed on the present handsome oak box bearing

the inscription, "Remember y^e Poor," and the old flimsy box was

removed. The present box was constructed from some very ancient

timber from the roof of Salisbury Cathedral, when under repair.

What the figure was originally intended to represent--whether a

beadle, the dispenser of charities, or a relieving officer--is not

known. Curiously enough, the parish records are quite silent as to

the figure, and when, some time since, it was repaired it was sent

to the eminent antiquary and ecclesiologist, the Rev. Mackenzie

Walcott, who said he had seen only two such figures before. The

wooden backing is of Jacobean style, and was designed by the

architect in 1879 to strengthen the whole structure.

"God Bless the Kernel."

After the marvellous achievements in his two Chinese campaigns,

which were sufficient to have made the reputations of a dozen

ordinary colonels, Gordon came back to England in 1865 as poor as

when he left home. During the next six years, which he spent in

Gravesend as an engineer, the future keeper of Khartoum devoted a

large portion of his leisure to visiting the sick and to teaching

and training many of the ragged and neglected boys of the rough

neighbourhood. So truly did these poor lads love their colonel that

it was not uncommon to see chalked up on the walls the singular

inscription, "God bless the Kernel." Their gratitude was apparently

stronger than their orthography. When Englishmen reflect how Gordon

placed his Divine Master first in every enterprise of his life, they

must feel that no institution intended to honour the dead hero at

Khartoum can be a worthy memorial which is not grounded on the rock

of Christianity.

Christmas Cards and Gift-Books.

Christmas is pre-eminently the season of universal good-will,

and the custom of conveying seasonable greetings by means of the

attractive Christmas card is every year becoming more general.

Amongst the publishers of these mementoes Messrs. Raphael Tuck and

Sons take front rank, and the specimen box of cards, calendars,

story-books, and illustrated texts, recently received from them,

affords ample proof that the variety and artistic excellence which

have always characterised their productions are well maintained this

year. Some of the cards are veritable works of art, and deserve more

than the temporary appreciation usually accorded to such; but the

palm for novelty, both in design and treatment, must be accorded

to the calendars, many of which are most original in conception,

and all are daintily and tastefully produced.--For years past we

have been accustomed to look for a Christmas book from Mr. Andrew

Lang, and this season he has edited an edition of "The Arabian

Nights Entertainments," which Messrs. Longmans have published in a

charming cover, and with a number of clever illustrations by Mr.

H. J. Ford.--Another suitable gift-book for children is "His Big

Opportunity" (Hodder and Stoughton), a brightly written story by

Amy Le Feuvre; whilst for young people what more inspiriting and

interesting work could be presented to them than the life-story of

the pioneer missionary, "Mackay of Uganda," of whose biography a new

illustrated edition has just been issued by the same publishers.--We

have also received the current yearly volumes of our contemporaries,

_Good Words_ and _The Sunday Magazine_ (Isbister & Co.). These would

both form valuable additions to any Sunday-school library, and are

also admirably adapted for use as prizes or presents.

[Illustration: (_From a Photograph._)

THE LAUGHING GOD OF CHINA.]

Compensation.

An Irishman being bound over to keep the peace against all the

Queen's subjects, said, "Then Heaven help the first foreigner I

meet!" We are reminded of this when we see people civility itself to

a good servant they are afraid of losing, or to the strongest-willed

person in their home, and then relieving their pent-up feelings by

being rude to the rest of the family.

Laughter and War.

"Have you any gods around here?" inquired an English traveller in

rural China. "Oh, yes," replied a venerable Celestial; "the three

Pure Ones, the God of the Fields, and the Goddess of Mercy." "My old

friend, I am afraid your gods are not a few." "Foreign teacher,"

said the old man, "verily, verily, our gods are ten thousand and

thousands of thousands." Some are of stone, others of wood, clay,

or bronze. One may be purchased for a farthing, another will cost

£200. The Laughing God in our illustration is a representation in

coarse pottery of Quantecong, supposed to be the first emperor.

There are laughing Buddhas for sale, and some few images of

beneficent mien; but the great horde are intended to inspire awe

or terror. The second illustration is a well-executed terra-cotta

figure of a deified warrior. The drawn sword and beard are similar

to those of Kwante, the God of War, regarded as the head of the

military department in China. In 1,600 state temples dedicated

to him the mandarins worship once a month, and in thousands of

smaller temples he is honoured with sacrifices of sheep and oxen.

His worshippers believe that he was a general, who just about the

time that the Prince of Peace came to this world in great humility

made the enemies of China to tremble. The elevation or manufacture

of gods is a simple affair. The keeper of an idol shop collects

the heads, limbs, and trunk that he has moulded out of mud, unites

them in one ill-proportioned figure, slips a frog, snake, lizard,

or centipede into the hole in the back, and the idol is ready for

dedication and worship! The calm, colossal Buddha at Peking is

seventy feet high, but it can only witness to a blind feeling after

God.

An Ancient Manuscript of St Matthew.

The romance of New Testament manuscripts is again enlarged; this

time by the discovery of a papyrus fragment containing a part of

the Gospel according to St. Matthew. The precious sheet was found

in the Libyan desert, about one hundred and twenty miles south of

Cairo, by Messrs. Grenfell and Hunt, the discoverers of the _Logia_.

It is thought that this fragment may be older by a hundred years

than any other manuscript of the New Testament hitherto available.

Its value, had it been a whole book instead of two leaves, would

have been priceless. Even so, it is of singular interest. Its

actual history, of course, is beyond discovery, but its appearance

amongst the world of scholars reminds us of the strangely varied

channels through which Greek manuscripts of the New Testament have

come down to us. There is the romantic story of the discovery,

in a monastery on Mount Sinai, of the priceless manuscript known

as the _Codex Sinaiticus_. There is the scarcely less valuable

_Codex Alexandrinus_ which the British Museum now guards; that

came to England as a gift to King Charles I. from a Patriarch of

Constantinople. There is the great manuscript which is one of the

glories of the Vatican Library at Rome, where it is believed to

have been ever since that library was founded. There is the _Codex

Ephraemi_ at Paris, its ancient writing partly legible beneath a

much later work written over it--a manuscript which once belonged

to Catherine de Medicis. There is another palimpsest brought to

England from a convent in the Nubian desert. There is the manuscript

presented by Laud to the Bodleian, and supposed to have been used

by the Venerable Bede. In truth, the history of these treasures is

full of romance, and it is but fitting that new discoveries should

furnish other examples of the strange ways in which the text of the

Holy Scriptures in various parts and forms has been preserved for us.

[Illustration: (_From a Photograph._)

A GOD OF WAR.]

Humours of Hymen.

While nothing can be so distressing to a clergyman, whose duty it

is to solemnise marriages, as irreverence or flippancy, he can

hardly fail to be amused, if many of his people are poor and his

area is wide, at the occasional results of a genuine ignorance, or

a legitimate nervousness. A well-known church in Central London

can furnish several singular and recent experiences. It is not

often that either of the contracting parties comes furnished with

a prayer-book, but on a certain occasion the bride, a rather

strong-minded-looking lady, did so, and insisted on holding it

sternly and steadily under the nose of her future spouse. In

repeating the passage in which "cherish" occurs, a bridegroom,

in a faltering voice, expressed his willingness "to love and to

'_perish_.'" "Oh, sir, I do feel _that_ nervous!" once pleaded

another embarrassed swain in the middle of the service. A widower,

who was extremely awkward and stupid in making the responses

after the minister, apologised by saying, "Really, sir, it is so

long since I was married last that I forget"! Another bridegroom,

though middle-aged, seemed somewhat diffident with regard to his

responsibilities, and answered to the inquiry, "Wilt thou love,

comfort, honour, etc.?" "To the best of my abilities I will." A

year or two ago, the roof of the particular church of which we

are thinking was being renovated, and the interior was a maze of

ladders. Under these a superstitious bride earnestly begged not

to be compelled to go, so she was considerately conducted to the

chancel by a circuitous route. There was a wedding last year at

which a tiny bridesmaid made her appearance. As he had married her

parents about six summers previously, the clergyman thought he

might venture to take her by the arm and to place her in her proper

position behind the bride. Considerably to his surprise, the small

damsel hit out at him in a most workmanlike manner straight from

the shoulder, and the edifice resounded with a terrific yell of

defiance, "Me _won't_! Me WON'T!"

[Illustration: (_Photo supplied by the Church Missionary Society._)

INDIAN ORPHANS AT A BREAKFAST SUPPLIED BY MISSIONARIES.

(_A scene during the recent famine._)]

Some New Books.

One of the most interesting biographies of the season is that of

Bishop Walsham How, which has just been issued by Messrs. Isbister,

prefaced by an excellent portrait of the late prelate. The Bishop

was principally known by his work in the East of London, where

he was greatly loved by clergy and parishioners alike, and many

excellent stories are related _apropos_ of his cheeriness and

tolerant good nature in dealing with the mixed elements of his

crowded diocese. The memoir seems full and complete, as, indeed,

it should be, the biographer being Mr. Frederick How (a son of

the late Bishop), who had access to all the private memoranda of

his father, and was naturally acquainted with every incident of

interest concerning him. From the same publishers comes an excellent

work by our contributor, Dean Farrar, on "Great Books," in which

he critically reviews the life and works of Bunyan, Shakespeare,

Dante, Milton, and other "master-spirits." Though admittedly written

for young people, the volume contains much that is valuable and

interesting to older readers. Messrs. Isbister have also recently

issued a volume of sermons by the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke, under

the title "The Gospel of Joy." Whilst we do not endorse all the

views expressed by the author, yet at the same time we are bound to

confess that Mr. Brooke's eloquent addresses teem with happy and

suggestive thoughts.--A daintily produced volume reaches us from

the Scientific Press in the form of Mr. J. T. Woolrych Perowne's

account of his recent journey in Russian Central Asia, published

under the comprehensive title "Russian Hosts and English Guests in

Central Asia." In many respects the journey described was quite

unique, and the interest is considerably increased by the number

and variety of the excellent illustrations which are scattered

throughout the book.--"Table-talk with Young Men" (Hodder and

Stoughton) is the title which the Rev. W. J. Dawson gives to his

recently published series of "pen-conversations" with young men.

Mr. Dawson's practical, straightforward and cultured "talk" on

such diverse subjects as "The Art of Living," "Christianity and

Progress," "Civic Responsibility," etc., is not only brilliant but

highly instructive, and the book is one which should find a place

on every young man's bookshelf, for it will richly repay careful

and constant perusal.--We have also to acknowledge the receipt of

"Comfort and Counsel" (Hodder and Stoughton), containing quotations

from the writings of Elizabeth Rundle Charles for every day in the

year; "The Children's Year-Book of Prayer and Praise" (Longmans),

compiled by C. M. Whishaw; a useful and informing little volume on

"Diet and Food" (J. and A. Churchill), by Dr. Alexander Haig; "A

Cluster of Camphire" (Passmore and Alabaster), containing short,

sympathetic addresses by Mrs. C. H. Spurgeon to those who are sick

and sorrowful; and "The Daily Homily" (Morgan and Scott), a series

of brief, pregnant discourses on the books of the Bible from 1

Samuel to Job, by the Rev. F. B. Meyer.

"Out of the Eater came forth Meat."

Samson's riddle is an everlasting proverb. Out of the devouring

famine that last year devastated India blessings have already come

to many provinces. A conquered race find it hard to love and trust

their rulers, but in their trouble dwellers in the famine districts

saw the practical side of Christianity. In the midst of universal

rejoicing England was moved with compassion, and provided food for

the starving. Government, in many instances, entrusted missionaries

with the distribution of grain. The Indian people are slow to act

and strong to endure. Thousands perished because they could not or

would not realise that relief was within reach. Parents gave their

last morsels to their children, and then lay down to die. Orphanages

overflowed, and new ones had to be erected. Where an open shed and

light meals of milk, rice, and curry meet the ideas of home and

housekeeping, this is easier than it sounds. After a famine the

number of Christian adherents to missions is always multiplied, and

the supply of pupils creates new demand for teachers. It must be

acknowledged that the taunt of being "rice-Christians" is sometimes

justified, though there is little doubt that genuine gratitude to

God, who moved His servants to help them, has caused numbers to turn

to Him.

Abraham's Vineyard.

This piece of land is close to the Holy City, and now belongs to

the Society for the Relief of Persecuted Jews. When the necessary

excavation for building was begun, Abraham's Vineyard revealed

signs of former glory and prosperity. Tesselated pavement, vats,

baths, and a columbarium hewn out of the rock, showed that it had

once belonged to a householder with taste for luxury as well as an

eye for exquisite scenery. The baths and vats have been converted

into cisterns for rain-water, and the place has become the scene

of industry. The earth, in past years again and again reddened by

battles, now yields peaceful harvests of grain. All the Jewish

refugees are not, however, cultivators. Soap-making from olive oil

and alkali grown on the Jordan Plain, glue-making, stone-dressing,

quarrying, are industries which offer many of them an honest living.

The idea of the founders of this society was "to give relief and

employment to the Jews, especially in Jerusalem, until they are able

to found colonies on their own account." The experiment of Abraham's

Vineyard has succeeded, and the Jews have carried the work farther,

as the trade in Jaffa oranges and olive-wood ware testify.

OUR CHRISTMAS NUMBER.

"CHRISTMAS ARROWS" (the Extra Christmas Number of THE QUIVER) is

published simultaneously with this part, and contains a complete

one-volume story by M. H. Cornwall Legh, entitled "=The Steep

Ascent=," copiously illustrated by Frank Craig. In addition

will be found a seasonable article by the Rev. Dr. Preston, on

"=Christmas Chimes from Jerusalem=" (illustrated by Mark Zangwill);

a contribution by the Rev. Canon McCormick entitled "=Christian

Hospitality="; and a long fairy-parable by E. H. Strain which bears

the title "=The Star Ruby=," and is illustrated by H. R. Millar.

"Christmas Arrows" also contains full particulars and conditions

of our scheme for providing =Christmas Stockings= for poor and

friendless children, as well as the =Voting Form= which any reader

is at liberty to use to recommend suitable cases for the receipt of

our Christmas gift.

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 =Leicester=

(for which applications were invited up to October 31st) have been

gained by

MISS ANNE HARRISON,

42, Humberstone Gate,

Leicester.

who has distinguished herself by =fifty-eight= years' service in

Harvey Lane Baptist Chapel, Leicester.

As already announced, the next territorial county for which claims

are invited for the =Silver Medal= is

SUSSEX,

and applications, on the special form, must be received on or before

November 30th, 1898. We may add that =Wiltshire= is the following

county selected, the date-limit for claims in that case being

December 31st, 1898. This county, in its turn, will be followed by

=Durham=, for which the date will be one month later--viz. January

31st, 1899.

The names of members recently enrolled will be found in our

advertisement pages.

NEW QUIVER WAIFS.

To be Selected by our Readers.

For many years past our readers have generously taken the

responsibility of maintaining a waif at Dr. Barnardo's Homes, and

another at Miss Sharman's Orphanage in Southwark; but, as the

present waifs are now growing up, and will soon be out in the world,

the time has come for another selection. For this purpose, we have

obtained particulars of eligible cases, which we submit to our

readers, and, as we look to them for a continuance of their kindly

help in supporting THE QUIVER Waifs, we feel that they would prefer

to choose the new little ones who are to be so known. We would,

therefore, request our readers to send a post-card (addressed to

The Editor of THE QUIVER, La Belle Sauvage, London, E.C.), stating

for which waif in each of the two sets they desire to vote, and

the children with the highest number of votes will be elected. The

post-cards should reach the Editor not later than December 31st,

1898. It should be particularly understood that this course will

imply no pecuniary obligation whatever on the part of the voters, as

we shall rely solely upon the voluntary contributions of our readers

to furnish the total requisite sum for the maintenance of the waifs,

which amounts to £31 per year. All donations will be acknowledged in

THE QUIVER month by month.

Particulars of Cases.

I. _For Dr. Barnardo's Homes_ (one vote):--

ALBERT LE VASSEUR.--Eight years of age--mother left a widow with ten

children--totally unable to support them all--when discovered there

was no food or money in the house.

CHARLES SALT.--Seven years of age--mother a "drunken and

disreputable tramp"--father little better--parents without a home

and constantly ill-treating the child.

JOHN HARRISON.--Seven years of age--found in streets begging in

ragged condition--father dead--mother disreputable--John somewhat

lame in walk, owing to injury to the right knee in infancy.

II. _For Miss Sharman's Orphanage_ (one vote):--

ROSE HEELIS.--Aged two years--was born shortly after her father's

death--mother has died of consumption--promises to grow into a very

nice child, and is full of life and spirits.

ETHEL ROBINSON.--Aged six years--father killed by an

accident--mother in lunatic asylum--relatives too poor to help.

LILY PAVITT.--Aged ten years--mother dead--father deserted

children--an aunt took the child, but was unable to support her.

THE QUIVER FUNDS.

The following is a list of contributions received from October 1st

up to and including October 31st, 1898. Subscriptions received after

this date will be acknowledged next month:--

For "_The Quiver_" _Waifs' Fund_: A Glasgow Mother (101st donation),

1s.; J. J. E. (131st donation), 5s.; R. S., Crouch End (7th

donation), 5s.; E. M. B., Jedburgh, 3s.; R. Dendy, Eastbourne, 3s.;

Anon., Alford, 1s.

For "_The Quiver_" _Christmas Stocking Fund_: Jessie, Agnes, and

Cyril, 2s. 6d.; M. T., 5s.

For _The Ragged School Union_: R. H. B., 2s. 6d.

For _The Indian Leper Mission Fund_: A Thank-Offering, 1s.

For _Dr. Barnardo's Homes_: An Irish Girl, 13s. Also 7s. 6d. from

Diomedes sent direct.

For _St. Giles Christian Mission_: Thank-Offering, 1s.

THE QUIVER BIBLE CLASS.

(BASED ON THE INTERNATIONAL SCRIPTURE LESSONS.)

QUESTIONS.

13. What was the great sin of which Zedekiah, king of Judah, was

guilty and for which he was punished?

14. In what way was Zedekiah punished?

15. What prophecy was thereby fulfilled?

16. In what way does the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews

contrast the revelation of God to mankind under the old dispensation

with that of the new?

17. Quote a text which shows the relationship of the angels to the

human race.

18. What is the special characteristic of the Gospel of St. John?

19. Quote text in which St. John asserts the truth of the

Incarnation of our Lord Jesus Christ.

20. What reference to St. John the Baptist was made by the last of

the Old Testament prophets?

21. It is said of our Lord, "He came unto His own, and His own

received Him not." Quote passage from the Old Testament which shows

that this passage refers to the Jewish people.

22. From what circumstance should we gather that Nathanael was a

diligent student of the Old Testament?

23. In what words did our Lord show forth His divinity in speaking

to Nathanael?

24. In what way did St. John the Baptist point out to his disciples

that Jesus was the Messiah?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 96.

1. Manasseh defiled the Temple at Jerusalem by setting up an idol

therein (2 Chron. xxxiii. 7).

2. 2 Chron. xxxiii. 14.

3. Manasseh, having been reinstated in his kingdom by the Assyrians,

gave up his idolatry and did all he could to restore the worship of

God in the land (2 Chron. xxxiii. 14-17).

4. Prov. iv. 14, 17.

5. Prov. iv. 18.

6. In the reign of Josiah the king sent to Huldah the prophetess to

inquire as to God's will concerning the people (2 Kings xxii. 14-20).

7. The copy of the Law which Moses had written was found (2 Kings

xxii. 8; 2 Chron. xxxiv. 14).

8. In the reign of Amon, king of Judah, we are told the people

worshipped the "sun, moon, and stars, and all the host of heaven" (2

Kings xxiii. 5).

9. In the reign of Josiah, who burnt men's bones on the altar at

Bethel (2 Kings xxiii. 15, 16; 1 Kings xiii. 2).

10. Jehoiakim threw on the fire the roll on which Jeremiah had

written at God's command a warning to the king and his people (Jer.

xxxvi. 23).

11. Jer. xxii. 13, 14; 2 Kings xxiv. 4.

12. Jehoiakim was bound in fetters to carry him to Babylon, but was

slain at Jerusalem and his dead body cast outside the city (2 Chron.

xxxvi. 6; Jer. xxii. 19).

* * * * *

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.