CHAPTER IV.

Soon after Easter Mrs. Rakely paid a visit to London. She was a person with a chronic grievance; and though she had done her utmost to bring about Joan’s marriage, she considered it necessary to feel ill-used, because her favourite companion was not at hand to amuse her.

She called on Embrance, and carried her off—almost without asking her consent—to spend a long afternoon.

“I wish I had had you yesterday, my dear. Horace Meade came to dinner. Joan begged me to ask him; and as I met him in Bond Street, I did; otherwise, I think it would have escaped my memory. I took a fancy to him at one time; but he was always eccentric, and he looks more so than ever since he has been in Italy.”

“I did not know that he had been in Italy.”

“Yes. He has only just returned. It was a foolish thing to do, flinging away his chance of getting his picture into the Royal Academy. Joan told me about it. But that’s my objection to young men taking to art—they are so eccentric. Now he is going abroad again—I have forgotten where, my memory is not what it used to be; but he did tell me.”

As long as Mrs. Rakely had someone to listen to her she was quite satisfied. She took Embrance to a picture gallery; trotted her through four or five milliners’ shops in search of an ideal bonnet; asked her advice about umbrellas, and then bought the one she liked best herself; and finally left her, thoroughly exhausted, at the corner of her own street.

A foreign letter was awaiting Embrance’s arrival. Mrs. Clemon was not a regular correspondent, but when she did write she sent a good budget of news, pouring out a complete history of her experiences for the benefit of the niece who had been to her as a daughter. She was happy; her son was doing well. Now and then there came a hint that Embrance would be heartily welcome, if she could make up her mind to come out. In the next page, much blotted and smudged, came the tidings that William was engaged to be married to a neighbour’s daughter, a pretty girl and well brought up; but, ah! it might have been so different! Still, she would not complain, only now would Embrance come? There was room, and to spare. William and his wife would rejoice to see her. Let her think over the proposal, and not decide in haste. Then the letter went on to tell of preparations for the wedding. There were little bits of information concerning the bride’s family, and there was a great deal about an Irish help who had run away and left them at a moment’s notice without rhyme or reason. At the very end of the page came another suggestion, in William’s hand, “Come for a year, and try how you like us”; after which his mother had taken up her pen again to say, “Bless you in all your doings, my child, whatever course you decide upon.”

Embrance kissed the letter and put it away carefully. There was no time to read it again to-night, or to think if she should follow her aunt’s wishes. She was wofully behindhand with her work, and to-morrow morning she had an extra lesson to give to a backward pupil who lived at South Kensington. The long day with Mrs. Rakely had tried her newly-gained strength to its utmost limits, and her ankle was very painful. She limped towards the chiffonier in search of a book; in the glass over the mantelpiece she saw the door open with the familiar jerk that always preluded Annie’s knock.

“Come in,” said Embrance; but the words died away on her lips as she recognised the figure in the doorway, whose shoulders towered above the little handmaiden.

“Mr. Horace Meade.”

There was no sign of eccentricity in Horace’s appearance; even Mrs. Rakely might have been satisfied. He wore a dark, grey coat, and in his hand he carried a hat which was scrupulously glossy and well brushed. When he spoke his manner and voice were very quiet, much of the fun seemed to have died out of him during his sojourn in Italy, and his first remark was commonplace to the last degree.

“I heard from Mrs. Rakely that you had met with an accident. I am exceedingly sorry; I called to inquire how you were before I leave town.”

“You are going away for some time, I suppose?” asked Embrance, when she had invited her visitor to sit down. He took a chair by the window, and seemed interested in the growth of some ferns that Joan had sent from her garden.

“I hardly know. I have several portraits on hand that must be finished as soon as possible. But my studio is not habitable yet; it is being painted, and the workpeople are lamentably slow. When these commissions are disposed of, I may go away for several months, perhaps I shall get as far as Constantinople.”

“I have often thought that Constantinople must be a most interesting city to visit.”

“Oh, very; it is so beautifully situated; there is no other place quite like it.”

“No, I have never seen any place like it.” (“I suppose,” Embrance was thinking while she uttered her brilliant remark, “that he was offended at my writing to him.”)

“I was a fool to come at all,” said Horace to himself, “but I wanted to see her once more; she looks horribly ill.”

“I am sorry to see that you are still lame,” he said, aloud, as Embrance subsided into silence after her last attempt at light conversation.

“I am much better,” she said, quickly; “I’m only a little tired this afternoon. Are you looking at the ferns? Joan sent them; she is very well and happy. I often hear from her.”

“I am glad of that; I only heard of her marriage by chance, about a fortnight after it took place. Well, I hope it is a happy ending to her many troubles.”

“Yes,” said Embrance, quietly, “I hope so.”

“You were in her confidence all along, of course, Miss Clemon?”

“No, I did not know of her engagement.”

“That was really heartless of Joan! I hope you were angry with her?”

“No,” said Embrance again, “but I miss her very much.”

“I hope that you mean to go and stay with her shortly; the change would do you good.”

“I don’t know. I must say good-bye to her, of course, if I go to New Zealand.”

It had not seemed so clear to her a quarter of an hour ago that she would accept her aunt’s invitation as it did now.

“You would go to your relations—to Mrs. Clemon?”

“She wishes it very much,” explained Embrance, remembering how he had once before made a similar question; “if I don’t like it, I am to come back again.”

“I think,” said Horace, with a desperate effort to speak naturally, “that the voyage would be an admirable thing for your health. I hope that you will be very happy there. If I can be of any assistance to you in arranging about your passage—in fact, in any way, pray make use of my services.”

Painfully conscious that he had delivered this speech very much after the manner of a stage father in a heavy melodrama, he rose to take his leave. Embrance sank back into her chair as he left the room. Five minutes by the clock, his visit had lasted, he had been most kind and considerate, but—she wished that she had never written that letter.

Horace met a friend at his club, with whom he dined. It was late when he got back to his own rooms. He opened the door of the studio to see what progress the workmen had made. The room presented a forlorn appearance. The carpets were up, and the furniture was covered with sheets; all about the floor were paint-pots, shavings, and workmen’s tools. A writing-table stood apart in the window; Horace bethought himself of a sketch-book which he had left somewhere about, perhaps in one of the drawers. The top drawer was unlocked, and as he pulled it open he saw a heap of letters and advertisements which had accumulated during his absence. He had opened a great many of them, leaving the rest to a more favourable opportunity. It occurred to him now that the opportunity had arrived. He lighted a cigarette, dragged a chair from a corner of the room, and began tearing up circulars and invitations to parties that had taken place weeks ago; they would have to be answered some day, not now. At last he came upon some bills, and underneath these a grey envelope. He opened it leisurely. The letter was dated, “February 2nd”—the day before he had gone abroad. “Dear Mr. Meade,—Please come and see me. I have made a mistake.—Yours truly, EMBRANCE CLEMON.”

He read it over and over again, turned it backwards and forwards, then he put it down with a sigh. It must have been written shortly after that conversation in the park that he had been trying to forget. It was an apology—a direct appeal to him—and he had taken no notice of it! Nay, worse than that! With a groan, he pushed away the candle and rested his head on his hands, exclaiming, “And _I_ have been advising her to go to New Zealand!”

Never had the backward pupil seemed so backward as she did that day. She had made twelve mistakes in a simple dictation; she had written an essay on Catherine of Arragon, whom she persistently confused with Catherine of Medici; and she had worked her sums on a method of her own, involving one direct certainty—that the answers could not by any possibility be correct. Embrance succeeded in concealing her vexation, and the two hours’ lesson ended more happily than might have been expected. The girl (who was good as gold, though not gifted with a taste for study) helped her dear Miss Clemon into her ulster, and let her out of the hall-door, with many injunctions that she was to take a cab if she got tired, or if it rained too fast.

Embrance pined for a little air, and was determined to walk, in spite of the wet. It was a long way; her umbrella was dripping and her ankle was aching sadly before she reached the corner of the street. In the distance a policeman was slowly pacing along, the pavement was slippery, and the road was shining with puddles. There was not a break in the leaden-coloured sky or a breath of wind to interfere with the steady downpour. Embrance’s umbrella had seen hard work; the rain pattered through the little holes in the silk; she had the greatest difficulty in keeping the book she carried out of the wet.

Well, it was not far now, though the street was long. Number 11, number 12, number 13; that was the house with the door-knocker that Joan had made a sketch of (she said it was like her grandfather). Number 14. There was a quick step behind her, and another umbrella was walking side by side with her.

“Good morning. I have been waiting to speak to you. I am so glad that you are come at last.”

The owner of the umbrella looked excited; his artistic eccentricity was to the fore; he held a scrap of grey paper in his left hand; his gaze was fixed on Embrance.

She said no word of greeting, but dropped the dictionary that she had been guarding with such care.

He picked it up for her. “Let me carry it.”

“Thank you. I do not like to trouble you”—and the rain trickled down on to her gloves and cuffs as she held out her hand towards him.

“Not at all,” said Horace, politely, as he pocketed the book, regardless of the mud. “The fact is, if you don’t mind listening, I’ve come to make an apology.”

Embrance glanced at the piece of paper that he was beginning to unfold, and the blood rushed to her cheeks.

“You see,” explained Horace, speaking very fast, “I don’t want to be a worry to you, only I should like you to know that this got put away with a heap of papers, and I only opened it last night. I hadn’t a notion yesterday that you had written to me. I wish I had. You are getting so wet. Will you let me hold my umbrella over you? It will be better so. Thank you,” as she murmured something that was not a refusal.

She had nothing now to carry; she clasped her hands, and looked straight in front of her down the rainy street.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had written to me?”

“I thought you had had the letter, and would rather not answer it.”

“Why did you write at all?”

“To explain my mistake,” said Embrance, confusedly.

“Then you did make a mistake, and I was the sufferer?”

With a flash, her dark eyes turned to his. The look of joy on his face brought peace and comfort to her.

“I am sorry,” she began.

“Are you?” he asked, tenderly. “Don’t be sorry on my account. If I had come to see you at once, would you have sent me away a second time, Embrance?”

They had passed number 25, and were walking towards the City, unmindful of the rain. In their hearts was the brightest sunshine.

“Would you, Embrance?”

She unclasped her hands; for a second she rested her fingers on his arm, as she answered, “No!”

[THE END.]

OUR TRACTARIAN MOVEMENT.

BY ANNE BEALE.

As the Religious Tract Society never wearies of publishing wholesome literature, so tract distributors should never flag in spreading it abroad. Since our first sketch of work accomplished, we have had some experience, and are thankful to be able to say that religious books are now gladly accepted, where some years ago they would have been scornfully rejected. They are particularly welcomed on Sunday, when policemen, cabmen, firemen, and other public servants who cannot attend a place of worship, say they like to have something to read when they are off duty. Of course, the magazine or book is more acceptable than the mere tract, and when regularly supplied is often eagerly accepted and expected.

“I have had this before,” said a policeman, looking at a picture of _The Cottager and Artisan_. “I haven’t seen you for some weeks, and I thought you’d forgotten me.” The oversight was soon remedied. “You would be surprised if you knew how many of the Force will read this,” said another. “Perhaps a dozen of us. We pass it on, and it does us all good.”

“That’s just what I do,” said a cabman, who chanced to be near. “Perhaps, ma’am, you will read this which was given to me.” He took a well-thumbed book from his pocket, which we subsequently read and “passed on” also.

The railway officials welcome us gladly as they stand or sit at their enforced Sunday work.

“It is better than the papers,” said a young porter, whom we heard with some companions singing hymns below ground.

Even the newsboys, with the Sunday papers under their arms, like to have something profitable for Sunday reading. One ragged, pale little fellow was in the habit of telling us one Sunday what were the contents of the small book he received the previous Sabbath; and another youth of larger growth emphatically demanded “A big’un. I likes a big book, please.” These and sundry others are the hawkers of newspapers. Oh! why cannot people wait till Monday morning for such secular reading, and why are our ears to be deafened with cries of the ‘paipers’? Cannot we give one day in seven to the service of Him who said, “Remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy,” and who added, “I am not come to destroy the law, but to fulfil”?

I wish all those who will not remember it had heard an undeserved rebuke administered to us on a weekday by a railway official; undeserved, because we do not travel on Sunday, either to hear popular preachers or otherwise amuse ourselves.

“I shall be happy to take your book to-day, ma’am; but I never accept one on Sundays,” he said. “Why?” we inquired. “Because you know we have to work all day Sunday for the public, and I don’t think people who travel on Sundays, and break the law themselves, have any right to give us books to teach us how to keep it.” Let Sabbath-breakers take this to heart.

It is very rarely that we meet with a rebuff. On one occasion, however, when distributing illustrated leaflets to a party of scavengers, we were arrested by the words, “No, thankee. I don’t want one.”

“Why?”

“Because I hate cant, and it’s all cant.”

“I am sorry. Do I look like a cant?”

“No; I can’t say as you do.”

“He’s a bad’un, and al’ays rude to the ladies,” whispered a neighbour confidentially.

We often encounter gangs of navvies, who have their own ideas on most subjects, and like to air them.

“I don’t want tracts; I have heaps of books at home, and read all Sunday and every evening,” said one. “I’ll warrant me I have some you haven’t. Have you got ‘Heaven is my Home’? and ‘Paradise Lost’?” He enumerated many others, after which he poured forth his feelings on political matters, inveighing against the Poor Law, the School Board, the distraint system, and saying what he would do if he were in power. When we ventured to suggest that he would not mend matters if he went the lengths he proposed, he began an argument that we were obliged to cut short both for his employer’s sake and our own; but he was a fair example of “The British Workman.” The navvy is a shrewd discriminator.

“Is that in favour of Bradlaugh?” asked one; “because, if it is, I must decline it.

“Oh, if it isn’t I’ll read it with pleasure.”

Another stood considering his small offering, and volunteered, “This don’t tell us to throw away one’s pipe and backy; somebody gave me a tract as did. They’ve kept many a man from doing a rash act. If I was without my backy I should sometimes be inclined to destroy myself. It calms one down, somehow, and makes one more contented. ’Tis all very well to preach against drinking, but as to backy, that’s different.”

A fine, stalwart-looking young man lamented that he had had scarcely any schooling, and feared that the reading we offered him might be too abstruse for him. He had taught himself to write a little by copying letters, and could spell out easy sentences; but his education had ceased when he was six years old. His home was in Devonshire, but his navvy work had taken him far afield. We recommended him to go to a night-school, and he was well inclined to do so. We fell in with him several times afterwards, and found that he had followed our advice, and went three times a week. He said the teacher would not let him rest after he had spoken to him, but made him go at once.

All young men are not so amenable, and sometimes make a jest of what is meant to help them.

“Have you anything to suit me? I am an atheist,” asked one, glancing at our wares.

“They are sure to suit you; take which you like,” we replied.

He chose one haphazard, and the title was “Cross-bearing.”

“What’s an atheist?” asked a burly looking bystander of his mate.

“Oh, one of them Bradlaughites,” was the answer, as they both came forward for a book.

On another occasion a flippant young mason inquired if “it was about love.”

“Yes, the best kind of love; about Jesus,” we replied.

“Oh! I don’t know Him. I only love those I know,” he said, but he took the book.

It is melancholy to see how many youths seem to know little of Him who died to save them. One Easter Sunday we ventured to attack a knot of them who were holiday-making. The pictures always attract, so they were soon engaged in contemplating them.

“Is it about Jesus?” asked one.

“Yes.”

“Ah! He was a good man,” he continued.

“He was your Saviour, and mine,” we added.

“Do you believe it?” he inquired, with real earnestness.

“Yes; the little book will tell you so.”

What was the result? Who shall say?

We are sometimes astonished at the eagerness of the men and boys, working in scores or even fifties, to secure the tract, leaflet, or magazine. The supply rarely answers the demand, for even from the tops of high houses in process of being built, we hear a shout of “Don’t forget us, please,” while the workmen on _terra firma_ volunteer to distribute as many as we can spare. All seize with avidity on _The Child’s Companion_, for all, or most, have families at home, and “something for the little ones” is a boon.

“I read them out while my wife sees to the house,” said one. “I can’t afford to buy them, but I carry home all I can get.”

“I read it to father, and father reads it to mother, and mother reads it to me,” was the satisfactory acknowledgment of a little girl who came in for one.

“Here are two young gentlemen who would like to study them, I am sure,” said a master mason, indicating his juvenile aids, he having accepted one himself.

The other day we were arrested by an old man, a scavenger, who said we couldn’t give him too many good books, for he loved them. “I was fifty-two years without entering a place of worship,” he added. “I was guard to a travelling wagon, and worked Sundays and weekdays. Four years ago I had a bad illness, and a lady converted me. I promised God, if He was pleased to restore me, that I would serve Him for the rest of my days. I thought I was dying, but I got better, thanks be to Him; and I have kept my word ever since. I have been to church three times a Sunday, and to mission-hall twice a week. I have been on my knees night and morning for twenty minutes, and I thank and praise the Lord.”

It is this Sunday working which is the cause of so much irreligion. Turn where you will, those employed have the same tale to tell. They all say that if only they could be ensured every other Sunday they would be satisfied, but to have no Day of Rest was bad both for body and soul. Indeed, one of them argued that the soul perished with the body, and that he could prove it from Scripture. Here and there we find men brave enough to refuse all Sunday work, and they say they have not lost by it.

“I never turn a wheel on Sunday,” said a cabman. “Many of us stand out against it, and all who do say they are better off than those who work.”

He was certainly a good specimen. His cab was his own; he was well dressed, and his horse as brisk as himself. It was evident that “the one day in seven” agreed with them. It is well known that the life both of man and beast is shortened by the breach of the fourth commandment, and it is clear that the Great Legislator blesses its observance.

We have occasionally fallen in with the regular _colporteurs_, and been convinced of the good done by the sale of their religious literature. Once at a coffee-stall we were greeted by an emphatic “God bless you and your work,” and the gratuitous contribution did not seem to interfere with the monetary. The holders of these stalls are always glad of something to read, and are willing to distribute wholesome reading to their customers. Strange incidents sometimes occur when you take a poor, wearied, out-of-work yet respectable fellow-creature, for a cup of coffee and a plate of cake or bread and butter, to one of these wayside restaurants. One evening at dusk we encountered a glazier, who, having received the tract, said he had not tasted food since daybreak. He was a foreigner, a Pole, who had been in England ever since the Polish insurrection of some thirty years ago. His father was a gentleman. He had a wife and children, and had been looking for work all the day. A trifle for them and refreshment for him opened his heart, and he gave his address. Subsequently a district visitor found it, and discovered that he was a Polish Jew. He was not in, but his wife said that it was contrary to their faith to receive relief from one not of their own religion; but in his hunger food was heaven-sent through “a sister,” and he could not refuse it. Neither did she reject a shilling. The family were subsequently placed under the protection of a charitable Jewish lady, who said, with truth, “That her people took such care of their own poor, that they had no need to apply to the Christian.” Still, it is well that Jew and Gentile should meet, as they now do, happily, in works of general benevolence. The reign of Christ will begin when universal love takes the place of sectarian hate, and religious persecution ceases.

Time and space would fail us to tell how the men of the Fire Brigade love reading, and how they showed us with pride a number of _The British Workman_, sent to them monthly by Miss Weston—for are not the brave fellows mostly sailors? Or how other public servants speak gratefully of monthly gifts of religious books sent by friends interested in them, and circulated amongst them. Let no one imagine that either tract, magazine, or book is thrown away, though a kindly discretion, and, perhaps, a cheerful manner are needed for their distribution. We have made an inroad into one of the great laundries, and find that both men and women employed rejoice at “something to read” during their brief leisure. Text cards are always welcomed.

“I shall have this framed. It just suits me,” said one.

“I wonder that ladies do not visit our large laundries,” remarked the superintendent.

This visitation has been begun by members of the Y.W.C.A. May it prosper! These workers in the steam laundries have a hard life of it, and stand for long, long hours over their laborious toil. Here are elderly women and young girls, ready to welcome anyone who will say a kind word to them, and, perhaps, benefit them thereby.

“I like a whole story that I can read all through,” said one of the latter, and the cheap reprints of good stories published by the Religious Tract Society are invaluable. Moreover, they can be lent from one to another.

It is strange that one still meets with people comparatively young who cannot read. Much of their religious knowledge is often due to hymns. A man said he liked the old hymns best, and had known “Glory to Thee” by heart ever since he was a boy. Others are proud of the fact that their children will read to them whatever we are pleased to give them, and sometimes even beg for a book apiece for all the olive branches—“For fear one should be jealous of the other,” said a cabman. To which we replied that “jealousy was expensive.”

The other day we fell in with a gipsy encampment: vans and tents settled on a bit of waste land, having been turned out of a neighbouring holding for building purposes. In one of the tents we found a young man and woman, a lovely three-year-old child, and an infant not yet a fortnight old. The father of the family, aged twenty-two, had been to night-school once upon a time, but his learning was nil; the mother, seated on the ground, baby in arms, could not read; but a ragged urchin who had crept in was going to school the following Monday. The young couple were strangely handsome, and rejoiced in the gipsy name of Loveridge. The woman said she had prayed to the Lord when she was ill. “What else was there to do? I have never been a great sinner; you know what I mean, ma’am. A gentleman comes here to preach on Sunday.”

She did not seem fully to apprehend her need of a Saviour, but acknowledged that we were all sinners. It was a strange, sad scene. She, seated on her bed of rags at one end of the small, dark, smoky, stifling tent; her husband also on the ground making skewers at the other, and apologising for untidiness; the infant apparently dying, the little girl affectionately stroking our garments. The mother said she had had no food that day, for the times were bad; and the trifle we offered was instantly despatched to a shop at some distance for “a little oatmeal and arrowroot,” the husband being the joyful messenger. Still, she said she liked tent-life better than she should life within stone walls. “I have been used to it, and I suppose it is what we are brought up in that we like best,” she added, simply, and in perfect English.

Thanks to Mr. George Smith, tent and barge are becoming alive to the teaching of the Gospel; and soon, we hope, the Testament or tract will be legible by all their long-neglected inmates. At present, comparatively few, of the seniors especially, can read them. Nevertheless, we will scatter the seed far and wide, convinced that it will bring forth fruit if sown to enlarge and to sustain the kingdom of our Lord and Master, Jesus Christ.

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

EDUCATIONAL.

MAUD BELIN.—You do not say whether you have been trained as a nurse. Write to the secretary, Nightingale Fund, H. B. Carter, Esq., 5, Hyde Park-square, W., or to the secretary of St. Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, giving full information.

B. K. I. O.—We never heard of lady clerks being employed at the Law Courts, but in America we hear that women are in full practice as lawyers.

MOTHERLESS JEAN’S writing shows her to be very young, and so do her questions. 2. Where does she live? How could we give her the information she requires about the Kindergarten, not knowing that, when she says, “she cannot leave home”?

PSYCHE.—If you be going in for “hard reading,” as you say, you had better look out for a Lemprière’s Classical Dictionary to teach you something about mythology. Your questions are too many and long.

QUI POSSE VIDETUR POTEST.—Copying is only to be obtained by the personal inquiry and exertions of those who require it. Your writing does not appear good enough.

COMPLEX.—We recommend you to apply direct to the secretary or matron of the Holloway College for the prospectus, and ask for any further information you require as to Government clerkships. Look through our answers under the heading “Educational,” and you will soon find the particulars you require.

ANNIE B.—We have read your thoughtful and well-expressed letter with much interest, and we think as long as you are of use at home you are where God needs you, for in our service we do His will the best. But, as your education has been a little neglected, a certificate will be valuable to you, and you will be happier in the feeling that you are doing something to improve yourself for future work. We should advise you to go in for the examination of the College of Preceptors, fee 10s.; secretary, 42, Bloomsbury-square, W.C.

COPY CAT.—We mention with pleasure the correspondence class conducted by Miss Pearce, Ledwell House, Steeple Aston, Oxon, for English history and literature. We regret that it is little known, or would have been named in the manual of girls’ clubs of an educational character and otherwise, just published (Messrs. Griffith and Farran, St. Paul’s-churchyard, E.C.), compiled by one of our writers for the benefit of a large number of our girls who are inquiring about them.

MISCELLANEOUS.

NAN and NANCY.—The letters are nicely made, and a little box full of them, with plenty of duplicates, might sell at a bazaar for the purpose of guessing the words to be produced by a given number of letters. But you would not get very much for a box. We thank you for your kind letter. Your wise friends deserve to be complimented on their powers of discrimination, really above their tender years. We hope the parents of these phenomenal geniuses are prudent and do not press them in their studies.

ONE IN TROUBLE.—Your good or plain looks were given you by your Maker, and you are only responsible for the expression you wear. Nothing could be more unjust and unkind than to let a plain girl see that she is neglected or set aside on that account. But some plain girls are touchy, and see slights where none are intended, and show discontent and resentment, which are met with ill-feeling in return. Beware of falling into this error, and bear the cross laid upon you as you should, who owe so great a debt of gratitude to Him who made you what you are. You are not fit for heaven in your present state of mind!

SAPERE AUDE tells us that her friends have written to us on about every subject “under the globe.” Pray explain what the subjects are that are connected with that locality? Have they to do with Atlas, the giant, or the big turtle on which our globe is said, in fable, to be supported? 2. If the German parents you name were naturalised in France, their children are French. The latter, we suppose, have been registered as such at their birth, in any case.

CLARICE E. A. inquires, “What is the meaning of Mount Moriah and Mount Ararat?” The former was a hill to the north-east of Jerusalem, and formed a part of the cultivated ground of Araunah, the Jebusite, from whom David bought it, and on this spot Solomon built the temple (2 Chron. iii. 1). The latter is situated in Armenia, consisting of two peaks about seven miles apart, the point of the highest being 17,000 feet above the level of the sea. It has been generally believed that upon one of these mountains the ark rested after the Flood, but this fact is scarcely sufficiently proved. 2. Berlin black, or artist’s black, is preferable to brunswick black for application to grates.

ONE OF EIGHT.—Your verses show good religious feeling, and, as you are so young, you may write better by-and-by.

UNICA.—“God save the mark” is a phrase found in Shakespeare’s _Henry IV._ i. 3. Hotspur, speaking of the messenger, calls him a “popinjay” who talked of guns, drums, and wounds in an unmanly way, and it would be sad if “his mark,” who has been in battle, were displaced by this court butterfly. In archery, when a good arrow was sent, it was usual to cry out “God save the mark,” meaning, “prevent anyone following to displace my arrow” in the “gold.”

TOOTSIE.—There are homes for invalids and convalescents at 7s., and from 8s. to 12s. 6d. a week. You might get into the Female Convalescent Home, Crescent House, Marine Parade, Brighton. For this home no letter or nomination is required, but the charge is 8s. a week, paid in advance, and you may remain there for a month. Address Mrs. Marshman, 4, Ladbroke-square, W. If you take 5s. previously to going there, to Mrs. Marshman, she will give you a voucher, which must be shown to the ticket clerk at the station, and he will give you a third-class free ticket to and from Brighton. Mrs. Marshman is at home every day till noon to see candidates for admission.

M. SCHWARTZENBERG.—Write to our publisher, Mr. Tarn, for the index, frontispiece, and title-page, enclosing thirteenpence for the same and for postage.

OLD-FASHIONED.—If your mother approve of your engagement at so early an age, and to a lad yet in his teens and younger than yourself, we have nothing to say against it. Still, you should remember that it would not be to his discredit if he were to change his mind when he became a man and knew his own mind and character. But in this special case it may be otherwise. You have our best wishes, and we thank you for your kind letter.

PRINCESS LOUISE.—No, the lines are not poetry, but rhymed prose, and not very good as that.

AGATE.—The case you name is indeed a very sad one; but within our own experience we have known two or three exactly such. They were persons of undoubted piety. Yet God’s ways are often inscrutable and “past finding out,” and why He permits His people to be visited with such a terrible affliction, terminating thus their usefulness to others, we cannot explain. Possibly it may be for the trial of the faith and submission of others. “When one member suffers, all the other members suffer with it.” Those that have been deprived of reason are no longer responsible for their words or acts; those that retain their reason are fully responsible for rebellion against the calamity laid upon them, and for any consequent shipwreck of faith. Your afflicted relative is now, without doubt, at peace, and enjoying the presence of the Saviour whom she loved and served so long as He preserved her senses.

HOPE.—Pronounce Mendelssohn as “Mendle-soan”; Gluck, as spelt; “Bach,” guttural “ch”; Gounod, as “Goo-no”; Schubert, as “Shoo-bert”; Franz Liszt as “Frantz List”; and Maupréty as “Mo-pray-te.”

GRACIE.—The schoolroom-maid cleans the schoolroom and the grate, attends to the fire, lays the table, brings up the meals, and waits and attends to the bell, making herself generally useful to the governess.

SARA.—You might obtain information about a home of rest near the sea during vacation, at about 10s. weekly, if you applied to the Governesses’ Benevolent Institution; secretary, Charles W. Klugh, Esq., 32, Sackville-street, London, W. Inquire about a home of rest at Ramsgate. We have heard of one there which might suit you. There is also a home of rest at Sunninghill, Staines, about which inquire also.

INQUISITIVE GIRL.—Your quotation is not correct. It is, “One touch of nature makes the whole world kin,” which places the spectator in sympathy with the actor, since we all have the same feelings, weaknesses, and emotions, one as the other, in greater or less degrees. If you saw a mother parting in great grief with a child, you, as a mother, would experience a kindred feeling. 1. The great composer, Karl Maria Baron von Weber, did not die in prison; he was found dead in his bed when on a visit to Sir George Smart, who had entertained him during his stay in England, June 3rd, 1826.

SYDNEY.—The Early English style in architecture dates from 1190 to 1245; the Perpendicular from 1360 to 1550. There are three varieties under the name Romanesque, and four known as Gothic. The former comprises the Saxon, Norman, and Transition; the latter comprises the Early English, Geometrical, Decorated, and Perpendicular. All churches subsequently built are true or debased imitations of these, excepting in cases where Byzantine or Greek models have been adopted.

WINNIE.—An apology should be received graciously, and there should be no reference thereafter made to the quarrel; but everything must depend on the cause which produced it, so far as your future relations with each other are concerned. The character of the offender might have been exhibited in a new and unsatisfactory light, rendering confidence misplaced and dangerous. Thus, your relations one with the other might be very materially and wisely changed, notwithstanding the full forgiveness accorded and the apology rendered.

EVELYN wants to know how to make the whites of her eyes white. They become yellow in cases of jaundice, or bilious disturbance, and they become red from a cold or blast in them, or from crying, over-work, or intemperance in drink. She must be the best judge as to which of these causes her yellow or red eyes owe their colour, and deal with the trouble accordingly. If from a cold in the eye, hold it in an eggcup of as hot water as can be borne without scalding, and this will force back the red particles in the blood vessels, which should not be present in the eyeballs. If Evelyn be a girl of colour, of course, the balls of the eyes, that should be of a blue-white in white people, are naturally yellow, and nothing will change it.

BUTTERCUP.—You should have mentioned the book you were reading, as we think the word is a manufactured one, _alma_ being “soul,” and _cinere_ “ashes,” in Italian. Perhaps it has something to do with Ash Wednesday and Lent. There seems no other clue.

E. B. B. should read Sir John Lubbock’s recent account of teaching his dog to read cards, with certain words on them indicating “out,” “food,” etc. 2. Lilith is fabled by the Talmudist as having been the first wife of Adam, but, refusing to obey him, she left Paradise for the regions of the air.

ISOLDE.—The meaning of the word _nehustan_ (2 Kings xviii. 4) is given by Bishop Hall as “a piece of brass,” and by Dr. Hales as “a brazen bauble,” designed to be a term of contempt. The brazen serpent was made an idol, and was worshipped, and Hezekiah spoke of it in its real character as a mere piece of metal. We acknowledge your kind letter with many thanks.

MISS MALAPROP, FIVE TOES, X. Y. Z.—At sixteen you should be attending to your lessons. If wise, you would not be in such a hurry to begin the troubles and anxieties of life.

MAY.—Even if the brigade of artillery had been moved from Bellary, all letters and papers would be forwarded to the troops, wherever they were. We can find no mention of anything recent.

M. L. W. A.—The great diamond called the Koh-i-noor, or “mountain of light,” was found in the Mines of Golconda in 1550, and is said to have belonged in turn to Shah Jehan Aurungzebe, the Afghan rulers, and afterwards to the Sikh Chief Runjeet Singh. Upon the abdication of Dhuleep Singh, the last ruler of the Punjab, and the annexation of his dominions in 1849, the Koh-i-noor was surrendered to the Queen, and was brought over and presented to her, July 3rd, 1850. Its original weight was nearly 800 carats, but it was reduced, by the unskilfulness of the artist, to 279 carats. Its shape and size was like the pointed end of a small hen’s egg. The value is hardly to be computed, but appraising it at two millions has been considered reasonable, if calculated on a trade scale. It was re-cut in 1852, and was reduced to 102½ carats. It is worn by Her Majesty as a brooch on all State occasions.

LAURA.—Of course, your pale semi-opaque amber will turn darker and lose its beauty if exposed to light and heat. Whenever taken off, wipe your necklace and earrings carefully with a soft handkerchief to remove any greasiness, and put them by in a cool, dark place.

R. E. F.—A woman married after the 1st of January, 1883, is qualified to dispose by will of all property belonging to her at the time of her marriage, and of all property acquired thereafter, in all respects as if she were an unmarried woman. If married previously to the date above named, she must obtain her husband’s consent to any will she may desire to make, and all property accruing to her after marriage, unless by settlement, becomes his to surrender to her or to retain, as his perceptions of honour or feeling of generosity may dictate.

AWKWARD SIXTEEN would make a very awkward mistake if she burned her face with aquafortis on account of a few moles! Methylated spirits should not be packed into a trunk. Better to place it in a basket; and still wiser to buy what is required on arrival.

HELEN ADA.—The game of tennis, as all others with a ball, is of very remote origin. The Greeks played such. Tennis seems to have originated in or before 1300 in France, and in Charles II.’s reign it was very fashionable. The game of lawn tennis has been evolved out of the old game. A statue was erected to Aristonicus, in commemoration of his superior skill in playing with a ball.

ENGLAND, SCOTLAND, and WALES.—St. Mary Magdalene was not the sinner you name, but one afflicted with devil possession, seven of which were cast out of her by our Lord.

FATHER’S PRIDE AND MOTHER’S JOY.—You cannot show your dislike to anyone in a more innocent and godly manner, especially if they be proved enemies to you, than by kindness and love. If you can do any kindness towards them, you must look for and seize the occasion to do it. This is Christ’s way, and would be your way and all our ways if we were only like Him.

GERTRUDE’S question is too wide for our space. There are dozens of pretty watering-places in England. But where does she live, and what does she require in a watering-place—quiet or noise? It would be impossible even to suggest a residence unless we had more data to guide us.

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[Transcriber’s Note—the following changes have been made to this text:

Page 195: ununwonted to unwonted—“unwonted sight”.

suceeeds to succeeds—“succeeds in being”.

Page 206: be to he—“he began”.]