CHAPTER IX.

MISSING!

"What's he been doin', Margie?"

Ages had passed, so it seemed to Marjorie, since the departure of Mr. Warde, when Sandy's question reached her ear. All the boys were standing round, looking at her with inquisitive concern. Marjorie, a limp heap, inattentive, unready to listen to them, was a new experience. Ross and Orme had tender hearts, not yet hardened by contact with an unsympathetic world. The latter had dug his elbows into his sister's knees, and was looking up pitifully into the far-away eyes that did not even yet see him. Conscious of the blankness, Orme felt moved to whimper; Ross thumped with sturdy fists the limp knees which, hitherto, for baby weaknesses had provided firm support.

"What's he been doin', Margie?"

As the question reached her far-away consciousness, Marjorie came back to reality with a sudden start. Mr. Warde had forgotten that the boys were still in the garden, so occupied was he and so quiet were they. But as the tea-hour approached, first one, then another, finally all four pairs of eyes had been cautiously lifted above ground to survey the situation.

Something, perhaps, in Mr. Warde's appearance, some intuition of unwonted agitation in the interview going on under their eyes, had warned David against intrusion, and he had held Sandy back until the visitor was gone.

"Seems you're all struck of a heap, Margie," said David now. "Has he been scolding?"

"Not exactly," faltered Marjorie; she could not meet the inquiring glances bent on her from all sides. She felt sore and shaken; and the familiar faces brought back to her recollection the full meaning of the interview through which she had just passed. What had she done? what had she said? With a shock she realised that she had agreed to become Mr. Warde's wife. Her whole soul shrank.

"Ain't we goin' to have any tea?" Sandy inquired, his mind bent on an opportunity for the acquisition of stores.

"Is it tea-time?"

"Bell went ever so long ago."

"Didn't you hear it, Margie?" Ross inquired, much impressed at such absent-mindedness.

"No, Ross. Go in, all of you, and get clean," Marjorie ordered, glancing from one to another, feeling less like a victim under the eyes of her judges now that they too were in a position to be criticised.

"'Stead of eatin' much," Sandy had exhorted beforehand, "you've got to save."

If Marjorie had not been so occupied with her own perplexities, she must have noticed, first, the ravenous appetite of the four; next, the rapidity with which the bread-and-butter and cake disappeared. All the pockets were bulging when Ross was deputed to say grace, but the little boy's face looked very disconsolate indeed. Regardless of Sandy's frowns, after struggling through the formula, in accents of lingering unwillingness, he added--

"Ain't had a good tea--me hungry as hungry."

"Me, too," said Orme hopefully.

Marjorie glanced suspiciously round on the faces of her brothers, and then at the empty board. Even so preoccupied as she was, she could not but suspect that some means, other than natural ones, must have been used to banish all that food. And when the same thing happened the next afternoon also, when a more than usually varied abundance graced the table in honour of Barbara's visit, she spoke.

"I can't think," she was beginning to protest, when, to Sandy's delighted relief, Mrs. Lytchett was announced as being in the drawing-room, and asking specially for her.

"Oh, dear!" sighed Marjorie, her mind travelling back to all her misdemeanours. "What can it be? I hope not the cycling."

But it was. There was an amused flash in her mother's eyes, while Mrs. Lytchett's lips looked as though they were carved in stone, so very determined was her aspect.

"I hope it isn't true, Marjorie, what I hear?" she said in aggrieved tones.

"What is that?" asked Marjorie.

"Three of those horrid bicycles passed me this afternoon close, whirling by at a furious pace. I had been to the Deanery, to tell Charity how sorry the Bishop was to miss her music. She wasn't in; and passing the garden entrance--the garden entrance--ah, I see it is true!"

For Marjorie's aspect was unmistakable. It was one of guilt. She did nothing, but sat down in a somewhat limp manner in the chair near which she stood, and looked blankly at her inquisitor.

"So I asked; I could scarcely believe my eyes. That young footman was lounging near; I suppose he was waiting for the bicycles, wasting his time. And he said you have all been riding a long time."

"Not so very long," Marjorie answered in excusing accents. "Only about a month."

Mrs. Bethune laughed, though she looked at Marjorie anxiously. When they were not too bitter, she enjoyed the humour of the encounters between Mrs. Lytchett and Marjorie. Generally the latter showed fight; but all that day she had been unusually quiet.

"I thought you knew how much the Bishop and I hated the horrid things."

The tones were deeply reproachful.

"I thought--he--had changed," Marjorie stammered.

"No; he will never change, neither shall I"--in accents of certainty. "The Bishop thinks them most unbecoming. How did you learn? I hope that young footman----" She paused, unable to put into words the suspicion she had conjured up.

"We learnt--Mr. Pelham showed us--in the Deanery garden. It isn't difficult."

"I am sorry you didn't think more of your position in Norham before setting such an example. And they cost so much!"

"Mine was a present," murmured Marjorie, unwontedly gentle.

"A present! From Mr. Pelham?"

"It came with Charity's."

"From the Dean. Oh! that is different."

Marjorie's memory went back to the sunshiny afternoon under the chestnuts at the Deanery, when the two new glittering machines--just arrived from the maker--had been brought out to Charity's tea-table.

"One for me!" she had exclaimed, reading the label in delight. "How kind of the Dean!"

But when she thanked the Dean, in pretty gratitude, a little later, he had disclaimed the gift.

"Who sent for it for me? Can it really be for me? Not Mr. Pelham, surely?" (for it was he who, at the Dean's request, had ordered Charity's). He, too, disowned being the giver.

"But you know?" Marjorie asked.

"Yes, I know. The giver is one who has every right to give you pleasure."

Something in his manner put her on the track, and she remembered that the Bishop had been in the garden when the purchase had been talked about. When she saw him next, he did not disavow her thanks.

"I like to see you enjoying yourself, my dear," he answered in his kind tones. "I thought how bright and happy you both looked the other day. Only don't have any accidents."

"I don't think it was the Dean," Marjorie's truthful nature prompted her to answer now. "It was--the Bishop."

"And I asked him not! I begged him not to carry out his intention. Poor Norham!" with a sigh, "it has given in at last, and now you and Charity have started, every girl in the place will follow. I blame the Duchess."

When the visitor had gone, Marjorie stood for a moment at the window, anxiously watching Sandy speeding up the garden as fast as his legs could carry him.

"The boys have got some scheme on, I believe, mother," she said. "Dave and Sandy have been full of mystery all day, and Ross is pompous. I wish we weren't going to leave you alone to-night," she said tenderly.

"I like you to go with your father, dear--he will not stay for the music, so I shall not be alone long. And now--I must expect to lose you gradually, dear."

"Oh, not yet." With passion Marjorie pushed the thought away.

Many little hindrances occurred whilst she was dressing. One knock preceded the entrance of Sandy, an unwonted visitor at such a time. He looked eager and excited; but he stood fidgeting by Marjorie's dressing-table, watching the arrangement of her hair, and did not appear in any hurry to explain what he needed.

"Is all girl's hair done like that? What a bover it must be," he remarked after a little time. "I _should_ like that tiny, squinchy, soft brush, Margie."

"What for?"

"To brush Barbie's hair. It's in a awfle mess."

"Well, take it," said Marjorie kindly. "And it's time you took her home. She goes to bed at seven, and you promised."

"Yes, but"--objected Sandy eagerly--"not to-day. Mr. Pelham said she might stay a bit longer. Is your bed or mine biggest, Margie?"

"Mine. What a funny boy you are, Sandy."

"Could I have a blanket off your bed, Margie? Nurse'll fuss ever so, if I take ours--an' I can't poss'bly do wivout one."

Marjorie's thoughts had passed away from her little brother and his needs; and the absent assent she gave was enough for Sandy. He dragged the blanket from the bed, and ran off, hugging it in his arms. He found always that directness was his best aid. Not often did Sandy beat about the bush.

Marjorie went down, cloak and gloves in hand, a dainty, graceful figure in her soft white dress. Her father was waiting for her, sitting in unwonted idleness by her mother's sofa.

Marjorie looked at them curiously as she crossed the floor, noting, as she would not have noted another time, that her mother's hand was clasped in her father's. Love, the love she had pledged herself to, was theirs. They loved each other well, it was easy to see; though, to Marjorie, it seemed impossible that her dignified father could ever have told his love behind a door.

Her aspect was stern, like that of a young judge, as she looked down upon them now. Somehow, to her, love's outward features were no longer fair.

"You look very nice, Margie," her mother said softly, looking at the tall, slim form, crowned by its cold pure face. "That dress is a success. Look, father."

Mr. Bethune turned his eyes upon his daughter, and smiled.

"Yes," he said; "she looks sweet and clean. She is like you, Alysson," his voice lingering and breaking, "in the old days."

Marjorie heard, wondering. Alysson! How sweet the name sounded with that caressing accent on its second syllable. This was the first time she had ever heard her father call her mother thus.

She walked beside him through the evening sunset, down the Canons' Court, to the music of the cathedral chimes; her cloak cast round her emphasising the youthful slenderness, which made her seem so tall. Mr. Warde, from the Deanery steps, watched them approach, his heart bounding with delight at her fairness. Only when they reached the door, a thought occurred to Marjorie, and she turned to her father in a little concern.

"I saw nothing of the children. I quite forgot them. Did you see them?"

"Mother said"--it was work-a-day "mother" now, not the tenderly breathed "Alysson"--"that they had gone off, she thought, with Pelham's baby."

"Oh! I hope so," said Marjorie, with a little cold thrill of prophetic fear. "How careless of me not to see! However, mother will see that it is all right."

Charity's London friends had been late in arriving, and dinner had been put back a little to give them time to dress. It was about half-finished, and the timepiece on the mantelshelf was chiming half-past nine, when Marjorie saw a footman speaking to her father at the other end of the table.

Mr. Bethune asked a quick question or two, and then rose and slipped away.

Marjorie wondered for a moment, and then again grew interested in her neighbour's talk. When Charity's signal drew the ladies into the hall, she was detained a second by the enveloping skirt of one of the ladies.

A colloquy was going on at the hall door. The soft night air streamed in, feeling cool and grateful to Marjorie's heated cheek. As she lingered, she caught the hurried words in a familiar voice--

"Tell Mr. Pelham, please, immediate! Mr. Bethune is gone to the police--but he is to go, and Miss Bethune, at once to Mrs. Bethune. Poor lady, she is----"

With a little cry, Marjorie was at the door.

"What is it, nurse?" she asked breathlessly. "Barbara?"

Almost with a note of triumph at the importance of her news, the woman said, "Neither Miss Barbara nor any of the young gentlemen can be found anywhere, miss. They have all clean disappeared. Oh, sir," in accents of direful import, as Mr. Pelham reached Marjorie's side, "Miss Barbara is lost!"

Down the steps, waiting for no wrap, sped Marjorie; and the twilight, now descending on the Canons' Court, closed her in. For a second, through the dimness, Mr. Pelham saw the hasty, flying figure in its soft white robe, and caught a glimpse of her face. It was a vision that burnt itself on his memory.

Mr. Warde leapt with him down the wide steps.

"We shall soon find her, never fear," he said kindly--he had only heard the end of nurse's message. "I will call my servants, and be with you directly."

[END OF CHAPTER NINE.]

PROSPECT AND RETROSPECT.

By the Rev. George Matheson, M.A., D.D., F.R.S.E., St. Bernard's, Edinburgh.

"But many of the priests and Levites and chief of the fathers, who were ancient men, that had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy."--EZRA iii. 12.

One of the finest and most poetic touches of human nature occurs in the most prosaic book of the Bible--the Book of Ezra. It is like a single well-spring in a dry, parched land, like one lingering leaf of autumn in the heart of winter. It is found at that scene where the foundation of the new Temple is laid. The passage thus records the mingled feelings of the spectators: "But many of the priests and Levites and chief of the fathers, who were ancient men, that had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy."

The passage is suggestive for all time. We see it repeated at the opening of every January. Nay, it is not limited to inauguration days; it recurs wherever youth and age are found side by side. At the presentation of every new thing there are two attitudes among the crowd--the young shout and the old weep. They are looking through two different glasses--hope and memory. Neither of them is worshipping in the building in which they stand. Youth sees the house gilded by the rays of to-morrow; age beholds it overshadowed by the light of yesterday. Youth claps its hands over its coming possibilities; age says, "It is nothing to what used to be in the old days." Youth disparages the first temple, and says the new is better; age exclaims with the Scottish poetess:--

"There ne'er shall be a new house Can seem so fair to me."

You will observe that in neither of these cases is the attitude pessimistic. Both see roses; both are agreed that a happy time is somewhere; but they differ as to where the roses lie. Youth sees them at the end; age beholds them at the beginning. The one has placed its Garden of Eden in the future; the other has planted it in the past. Both are optimists; but they seek their goal by opposite ways. Youth is for advance; it cries with a loud voice, "Speak to the children of Israel, that they go forward." Age is for retreat, for regress toward a former day; it would say with the ancient poet, "Return unto thy rest, O my soul."

Which is right? Neither. Both are one-sided; each ignores something in the other. Let us begin with youth--the tendency to disparage the past, to set hope against memory. It forgets something--that hope is itself an inheritance of the past. Why does youth clap its hands previous to experience? It is because the young man has got in his blood the experience of past generations, and the result has been on the side of happiness rather than of misery. If the result had been on the side of misery, youth would not have hoped; it would have despaired. Instinct is the fruit of past habit; instinctive hope must come from long prosperity. Christianity itself has propagated from sire to son an inheritance of hope; Christ in us becomes the hope of glory. Paul declares that the highest ground for hope is to be found in the past: "He that spared not His own Son, shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" He means that nothing in the future need be too much to expect after this exhibition of love in the past. The handing down of such a thought is alone sufficient to create sunshine. It causes the average child in a Christian population to be born an optimist--to come into the world with an expectation of blue sky, and to dream of a good for which he has no warrant in personal experience.

But if youth is one-sided in disparaging the past, age is also so in disparaging the future, in dwelling on the past exclusively. The old man tends to say that the former days were better than these. If he could get back to these former days, he would make a discovery. He would find that, in point of fact, there was not one of them which was not lit by to-morrow's sky. Take the boy's game. To one looking back through the years, it seems to have been a pure enjoyment of the hour; in truth, it was never so. What the boy saw was more than the game of play; it was the game of life. To him the game was an allegory: it represented something beyond itself--the chances of the world. That which made him glad in his success, that which made him sad in his defeat, was not mainly the fact but the omen. The game was to him rather a sign of the future than an event of the hour. Or take the girl's doll. Was that purely a pleasure of the hour? Nay; the hour had very little to do with it. She was living in a world of imagination--a world to come. The doll to her represented motherhood. She had already in fancy a house of her own. She reigned; she administered; she managed; she had put away childish things. There are no moments so speculative as our real moments; no sphere is so full of to-morrow as what we call the events of the hour.

But, although each view separately is one-sided, there is an extreme beauty in their union. It is one of the finest laws of Providence that youth should see the end at the beginning, and that age should see the beginning at the end. Let us glance at each in turn. Let us begin with youth. And let us remember what is the problem before youth: it is, how to advance. Now, I have no hesitation in saying that nothing causes us to advance but a vision of the future. Paradoxical as it may sound, if there is to be progress, the end must get behind the beginning and push it on. No other vision will impel us forward. The past will not. I do not think the effect even of _bright_ memories is stimulating; they tend rather to make us fold the hands. The present will not. How short is the effect of any actual joy! If a windfall comes to you, you contemplate it perhaps for a few moments exclusively; presently you say, "What will my friend think when he hears of it?" The thing itself is not sufficient. It cannot bear the weight even of five minutes. It is incapable of self-sustenance. It would die at its birth if it were not supported by to-morrow.

Therefore it is that God leads on the youth of individuals and communities, not by a sight of their environment, but by a vision of the end. He shows them the end without perspective--without the years between. He knows that by nature the child ignores all between--that in the presence of any coming joy he cries, "Not to-morrow, nor to-morrow, nor to-morrow, but the next day." And so our Father has always begun by showing us the next day. He came to Abraham and said, "Get thee out of thy country, and I will make of thee a great nation." He did not tell him that Egypt and the desert and the Jordan lay between. If He had, his steps would have been paralysed on the threshold. Did you ever ask yourself what is the earliest revealed doctrine of the New Testament? Is it justification, sanctification, effectual calling, the perseverance of the saints? No, it is none of these: it is the second coming of Christ--the completed glory of redeeming love. When Paul sat down to write his first epistle to the Thessalonians--the earliest book of the New Testament--he began at the end. He let the world hear the final bells ringing across the snow. He concealed the snow; he veiled the intervening years; he said, "To-morrow." He did not tell that a Red Sea of trouble and a desert of visionless waiting lay between. And he was right. Men heard only the bells, and the bells lured them on. They helped them to tread the snow; they nerved them to cross the sea. They sustained them to meet the desert. They sounded nearer than they were; they rang ever the one refrain, "Christ is coming"; and the persistent strain of to-morrow hid the jarring of the passing day.

But if it is benevolent that youth should see the end at the beginning, it is no less a bounteous provision that age should see the beginning at the end. "Say not that the former days were better than these" is a counsel wise and true. But it is none the less wise and true that to the eye of the old man the past ought to be _glorified_. It ought to be glorified because it _needs_ to be glorified. The past never got justice while it was passing. Childhood ignored it; youth disparaged it. The hour laid gems at our feet which we did not see, or which, seeing, we despised. We kept asking when Elias would come; and Elias had come already. To us, as to Moses, the hand of God was laid over the face while God was passing by; we did not discern the actual blessings of the day. Are we never to discern them here below? Must we go hence without seeing the world in which we dwell? Shall we be sent forth to gaze on things unseen before we have looked at the objects which have been actually in our hands? God says "No." He says the past must be righted, righted on the earth, righted _by_ the earth. He has appointed a day even here in which each man shall judge the world in which he has dwelt--in which he shall reverse his former judgment. The crooked shall be seen straight, the rough places shall appear plain, the glory of the Lord, which was veiled in passing, shall be recognised in retrospect; and the end will pronounce the beginning to have been indeed very good.

Therefore it is that the eyes of the aged men rest more on the old house than on the new. The old is to them really a new house. They have seen it for the first time. They did not see it when they were living in it; their eyes were then on the _coming_ temple, and the voice of the present God spoke to them unheard. Therefore, on the quiet road to Emmaus--the road of life's silent afternoon--God shows them the disappearing form of yesterday; and, like Jacob, they exclaim in deep surprise, "Surely the Lord was in this place, and we knew it not; this was none other than the house of God."

And this explains something which otherwise I could not understand. In the Book of Revelation the host of the redeemed in heaven are represented as singing two songs--the song of Moses and the song of the Lamb. Why two? The song of Moses I can readily understand; it is the triumph of the _future_--the shout over the coming emancipation. But why sing the song of the Lamb? Why chant a pæan over the sacrifices of yesterday? Why allow the dark memories of the past to dim the glory of the approaching day? Is there not something which jars upon the ear in the union of two anthems such as these?

No; there would be something jarring without it. All other heavens but that of the Bible sing the song of Moses alone; they ask nothing more than to be free from the pain of yesterday. The heaven of Christ would be content with no such aspiration. It deems it not enough to promise the joys of to-morrow--the golden streets, and the pearly gates, and the luscious fruits of an unfading summer's bloom. It seeks to connect the future with the past, to show that in some sense the glory had its birth in the gloom. It would reveal to us that the golden streets have arisen from our desert, that the pearly gates have opened from our brick walls, that the luscious fruits have sprung from the very ground which we used to deem barren. It would tell us that the crown has been made from the materials of our cross, that the day has come out of our dusk, and that we have climbed the heights of Olivet by ascending the steps of Calvary.

And is not the heaven of Christ true in this to human nature? What you and I are seeking is not merely nor even mainly emancipation. That would be something, but not all; I want a justification of my past bonds. It is not enough to be able to say "I am all right _now_." Have I not wasted time? Are there not years which the locusts have eaten? Might not this emancipation have come sooner? Why should I not always have been free? Is it any vindication of God's dealings with Job that at the end he gets back houses and brethren and lands? No; that is a mere appendage to the story. The patriarch wants to learn, and _we_ want to learn, why he was afflicted at all. We are not satisfied merely because the grey is followed by the gold. We wish to know that the grey has _made_ the gold. The song of Moses may tell how the peace came _after_ the storm; but the song of the Lamb alone can say, "God answered Job _out of_ the whirlwind."

Our future, then, like our present, must be a blending of memory and hope. The stones of the heavenly temple must be stones that have been hewn in the quarry of time; otherwise they will _not_ sparkle in the sun. The marriage supper of the Lamb is a union of to-morrow and yesterday; no other bells will ring Christ in for me. Grace is not enough; it must be justifying grace--grace that vindicates my past. In vain shall I walk by the crystal river, in vain shall I stand upon the glassy sea, if the light upon each be only the sun of to-morrow. My sea must be "glass mingled with _fire_"--calm that has been evolved by tempest, rest that has grown out of struggle, beauty that has shaped itself through seeming anarchy, joy that has been born of tears. To-morrow morning and yesterday evening must form together one day--a day in which the imperfections of the old house will explain the symmetry of the new, and in which the symmetry of the new will compensate for the short-comings of the old. So shall the first and second temple receive a common glory, and memory and hope shall be joined for evermore.

"NOT TOO LATE."

By the late Rev. Gordon Calthrop, M.A.

The cords were knotted round me fast, I writhed and plucked them as I lay; But Sin too well her net had cast-- I could not tear myself away. Then hissed a voice, "Give up the strife; Too late thou seek'st to change thy life." Another spake--"Make God thy Friend, And then 't is not too late to mend."

But I had scorned the proffered love, And bidden Heav'n's angels from me flee; How could I think that Heaven would move To stretch a helping hand to me? So hissed the voice, "Give up thy hope: Some paths to hell _must_ downward slope." The other said, "God is thy Friend; Why should it be too late to mend?"

The time was bitter. Ah! how oft I almost dashed aside the cup! But Hope her banner waved aloft, And God's great Son still held me up. And if the voice hissed, "Thou art long In conqu'ring foes so old and strong," The other cried, "With God thy Friend It cannot be too late to mend."

And when the bitter day was done, And forth the demons howling fled, I went to strengthen many a one Whom, like me, Sin had captive led: I told them, though a voice of fear Might speak of ruin in their ear, Another said, "God is thy Friend, It cannot be too late to mend."

AN AMERICAN BOY-EDITOR

AND HIS "BAREFOOT MISSION."

By Elizabeth L. Banks.

"_The Sunny Hour_--A Monthly Magazine for Boys and Girls. Published and Edited by Tello d'Apery, a Boy twelve years old."

This was the inscription which appeared on the title-page of a new periodical which made its appearance in New York a few years ago. Editors of important daily and weekly newspapers, finding the pretty brown-covered magazine on their desks along with more ambitious-looking first numbers of other periodicals, stopped in the midst of their work to glance over the result of a twelve-year-old editor's work. Accustomed as they were to reading and hearing of prodigies in America, the land of prodigies, they were yet surprised at the enterprise, not to say the audacity, of the young boy who essayed to put himself before the public as the editor and proprietor of a magazine.

"The commercial instincts of the American nation show themselves in its very infants!" they reflected amusedly. "A few years hence that twelve-year-old, grown to be a man, is likely to make Wall Street hum."

Commercial instincts! Well, yes, perhaps, but of an order more likely to bring about results in the neighbourhood of Baxter Street and the other poverty-stricken haunts of the lowly East Side than among the brown-stone business palaces of Wall Street.

Turning to the first "leader" written by the young editor on his editorial page, the literary critics were told in childish language why so small a specimen of humanity had dared to venture into the world of letters.

"I am twelve years old," ran the leading article, "so I hope all the public will excuse any mistakes I make in my paper. I am publishing it to earn money to buy new boots and shoes and get old ones mended for poor boys and girls in New York who have to go barefooted. That's what I'm going to do with all the profits. I want to make enough money to rent a house where I can have my offices and lots of room for a Barefoot Mission, where the boys and girls in New York can come and get boots for nothing. I hope the public will buy my paper, which is a dollar a year and ten cents for single copies."

How to Manage Fathers and Mothers.

BY THE EDITOR.

I have had a father and mother twelve years, and I am said to manage them pretty well, and I am going to tell all boys and girls just how I do it, and it would do no harm for them to try the same plan and see how it works in their cases.

FACSIMILE OF AN EXTRACT FROM NO. 1 OF "THE SUNNY HOUR."

So it happened that when the important editors of New York and other large cities read the leading article in the first copy of _The Sunny Hour_, there was a kindness and gentleness in their tones as they threw the little periodical over to the "exchange editors," saying, "Here, this little thing isn't a bad idea at all! Be sure you notice it in your reviews."

I doubt if any other new paper ever published received from its contemporaries such kind and encouraging "press notices" as did _The Sunny Hour_, and when it appeared upon the stalls for sale the newsdealers sold a great many copies.

When the first number of his magazine was off his hands, little Tello began to think of ways and means for insuring its success and getting as much money as he could for his Barefoot Mission. He decided that he must have patrons, and so with his own hands he folded up and addressed copies of his paper to many great people of whom he had heard. One of the papers went to the Queen of England, and along with it was posted a letter to her Majesty telling her all about his paper and his mission and asking her to let her name go first on his list of patrons. What mattered it to the Queen that she was simply addressed as "Dear Queen" by the little American boy who wanted her for his patron! In the reply which she sent through Sir Henry Ponsonby, she told him of her interest in his noble work and gladly became his first patron.

Letters and papers were also sent to the Empress of Russia, the Queen-Regent of Spain, Queen Olga of Greece, Queen Elizabeth of Roumania, the Khedive, and numerous other royalties, all of whom wrote to him and became his patrons and subscribers. The great Church dignitaries of America, Europe, and Asia, wrote charming letters to the boy-editor, subscribing for his paper and saying that they would like to be considered patrons of _The Sunny Hour_ Mission.

After the first number of the magazine appeared, the list of contributors became a very notable one indeed. The Queen of Roumania (Carmen Sylva) wrote several autograph poems for it, and sent an autographed photograph for publication. The Prince of Montenegro, Prince Albert of Monaco, Prince Roland Bonaparte, Osman Pasha (Grand Master of Ceremonies to the Sultan), Pierre Loti, Sir Edwin Arnold, Mr. Justin McCarthy, Sully-Prudhomme, the Rev. Edward Everett Hale, Marion Harland, and many other literary celebrities, had articles, stories, and poems in _The Sunny Hour_, for which they asked no reward, except the knowledge that they were helping to sell the paper and thus putting shoes on little bare feet.

With the money that came in from the subscriptions and advertisements for the paper, a building on Twenty-fourth Street was rented as an editorial and mission house. It was fitted up in the most practical way possible, with a play-room for the very little "Barefoots," a library for the older ones, a reception-room for "Barefoots," a storeroom for boots and shoes, and the editorial and publishing offices of _The Sunny Hour_. Though the help of grown-up people was always gladly received, only little folks were employed about the headquarters of the boy-editor and missionary. His assistant editor was a boy of his own age, Jack Bristol, whose happy face and manner gained for him the title of "Jolly Jack." Three small boys, friends of the editor, were the type-setters and printers. They had a small steam press on which they printed the magazine. Florencia Lewis, a young girl, acted as secretary and general manager.

I must not forget to mention another very important employee of the mission, who acted as carrier and distributer of boots and shoes to the little "Barefoots." He also was of very tender years--or rather I should say months, for Prince Roland Bonaparte, the St. Bernard puppy, though very much larger than many of the children who took the shoes he carried to them in his mouth, was only a few months old when the mission was started. "Prince," as he was called for short, was (and is) one of the most indefatigable and enthusiastic supporters of the Barefoot Mission in New York. As a puppy he always had a place of honour in the reception-room where the barefooted children went to make their requests. By the time he was four months old "Prince" learned to tell a "Barefoot" on sight, so that, as soon as a poor little shivering tot made its appearance, the puppy would wag his tail and gravely trot into the storeroom, procure a pair of boots, and, returning, lay them at the bare feet of the applicant. It must be confessed that "Prince's" sagacity, great though it was, did not always enable him to select just the right-sized boot for the would-be wearer. There were also a few occasions, during his initiation into his new duties, when he disgraced himself by chewing up one shoe while the "Barefoot" was putting on the other, but he has outgrown these puppyish proclivities. He now weighs one hundred and seventy-five pounds, and is one of the finest and most useful St. Bernards in New York. When out walking with his young master, he always stops in front of any shops where boots and shoes are displayed in the windows, and with a worldly-wise look in his eyes and numerous wags of his huge tail seems to be trying to calculate in his mind just how many applicants at the Barefoot Mission could have their feet shod if the shopkeepers did their duty. It takes all Tello's powers of coaxing and persuasion to keep him from entering the shop and carrying off by force (in his mouth) some of the wares displayed for sale.

Not all, perhaps only a very few, new enterprises in the literary world are able to meet all their expenses and show a profit during the first year of their existence, but the twelve-year-old boy's enterprise was able to do this. Beside meeting all his expenses, he had at the end of the first year been able to distribute 760 pairs of shoes to the poor children of New York. Not all of these were new. Some were old ones mended by Tello's special shoemaker in such a way as to make them almost as good as new in the matter of usefulness, if not in appearance. Then people began to send in stockings (some new, some old), dresses, boys' suits, underwear, old playthings, etc., until the Barefoot Mission became indeed a blessed place to the poor of New York. When Christmas came, the boy-editor provided a great Christmas tree and festival, where not only boots and shoes and clothing were distributed to the needy, but turkeys and ham, and cakes and "candies" were given out, to the great delight of the 700 children who attended it. Here is one of the many pathetic little letters the young editor received just before one of the Christmas festivals. It was published at the time in _The Sunny Hour_:--

"DEAR MR. TELLO,--Me and my little sister and the baby can't have no crismus this year 'cause our father is dying and granma is sick with perelisis and our little bruther died two weeks ago and the city had to bury him. Mother is not working 'cause the baby is too little--there's ten of us all counted. So if you have any crismus won't you let us come, for we all haven't got clothes to keep us warm nor shoes, and no coal except what my big brother picks up--nothing to eat hardly. Yours respecfully."

Childish letters of appeal similar to the above have been coming in ever since the mission was started, and they have acted as a continual spur to the young missionary. The distributions increased until one day 3,032 pairs of shoes and stockings were given out, and about 2,000 flannel garments as well.

Meanwhile _The Sunny Hour_ magazine increased in interest and circulation. The list of eminent contributors and patrons became larger every month. Very busy men and women, for the product of whose pens the editors of the best periodicals were willing to pay liberally, sent in gratis to _The Sunny Hour_ stories and poems to be edited by a little boy.

When the mission and the magazine had been running for about three years Tello d'Apery's health broke down from overwork, and through the kindness of a friend he made a trip round the world, leaving his paper and mission in the care of "Jolly Jack," the assistant editor. The boy carried copies of his little paper along with him, his object being to interest everyone he met in his work, and this object was attained to such an extent that on his return he numbered among his subscribers nearly every Oriental potentate. He was received in audience by the Sultan and the Khedive. The latter was especially kind to him, delegating one of his sons to show him about Cairo, and became so interested in the Barefoot Mission that he contributed one hundred dollars towards it. It was during his visit to Egypt that Tello d'Apery became distinguished as the only American boy who has ever been decorated by a foreign potentate. The Khedive conferred upon him the Order of the Medjidieh, which carried with it the title of Bey. Other orders, medals, and titles have been showered upon the young American. He is a Chevalier of the Order of Bolivar, conferred upon him by the President of Colombia. The Order of Umberto was also conferred upon him in Italy. He is also a Chevalier of the Order of St. Katherine, and another order gives him the title of "Don." He has received in all eighteen decorations and medals, and it is by special request that he has had his portrait taken with a number of his decorations fastened to his coat. In writing to me recently concerning this portrait, he says: "Of course, being an all-round and patriotic American boy, I could not use a title, and care only for my decorations because of the good friends who gave them to me and the interest that they show has been taken in my work by great people abroad."

With this issue I present the initial number of THE SUNNY HOUR, modestly, as becomes so young an editor, but hopefully, because I mean to try and make it worthy of a place in every home where there are children.

If I find as much encouragement in my subscription list and advertising patronage, as I hope, I shall enlarge my paper every three months, and add new features. In any case it has come to stay one year.

I shall devote my paper to such literature as mothers will approve, and there will be no Indian Scalping, nor pistols, nor any such thing. I shall always uphold the cause of temperance and morality and so shall not touch upon politics, and it shall be my earnest endeavor to deserve well of the public.

If my paper ever falls below expectations, please remember that I am only twelve years old.--THE EDITOR.

_____________

SPECIAL NOTICE.

All paying subscribers, who desire it, are entitled to a cabinet photograph of the editor, with his autograph. This is not done from vanity, but because he thought perhaps some persons might like to see what the youngest editor and publisher in the world looks like.

FROM NO. 1 OF "THE SUNNY HOUR."

When Tello returned from his travels, much improved in health, his boy friends took a notion to call him "Chevalier d'Apery," but on pain of his sore displeasure the title was dropped, he declaring that it was not for publication but only as an evidence of good faith on the part of his decorators. A medal that he very highly prizes is a gold one given him by the venerable Patriarch of Alexandria, Sophronius, who had it struck when he had been fifty years in office. There are only four others like Tello's in the world. The Patriarch presented one to Tello, one to the Queen of Greece, one to the late Queen of Denmark, and one to the Empress Dowager of Russia. Sophronius is now one hundred and six years old, and is one of Tello's most devoted friends, writing frequent letters to him in Apostolic Greek.

Many also are the presents Tello d'Apery has received from noted people. Don Carlos of Spain, the Queen of Greece, and many other royalties, have sent him tokens of their interest and esteem, so that, besides his medals and decorations, he has a number of interesting and valuable scarf-pins, rings, etc. While in Athens the Queen of Greece entertained him at the palace, and begged him to make her a member of _The Sunny Hour_ Mission Club, which he did by himself pinning at her throat the pretty little badge of the Order of _The Sunny Hour_, the Queen repeating after him the promise made by all those who join the Club: "I promise to give one hour each week to some good action. I will be kind to my parents, to my brothers and sisters, to the poor and the unfortunate, and to animals."

These _Sunny Hour_ Mission Clubs are auxiliaries of _The Sunny Hour_ and Barefoot Mission, and have been formed in different parts of the world. There is one in Paris, which has been very prosperous, and there has also been one in London. There are a number of little persons belonging to royal families who wear the badge of _The Sunny Hour_. Among them are the little Lady Alexandra Duff, and the tiny Prince Boris of Bulgaria.

After his return from abroad Tello d'Apery published an account of his experiences in a book called "Europe Seen through a Boy's Eyes," all the profits of which went to buy shoes for the barefooted children of New York. He also, in order to get more money for his work, started a little book and stationery shop, spending a part of his time there behind the counter and a part of it behind his editorial desk. Recently his health has again failed, and he has been obliged to lessen some of his arduous labours. He is now trying to establish a mammoth boot- and shoe-mending shop of his own, where old foot-gear may be repaired at less expense than it is now. When this object is accomplished, some of the "Barefoots" themselves will learn the cobbler's trade and work in the establishment, thus helping others while helping themselves.

The idea is to rent a building, or at least a part of a building, for the purpose, and issue circulars to the residents of New York and vicinity, asking them to send their old boots and shoes to the building, or, better still, to have a horse and cart go about from house to house to collect them. Then two or three expert cobblers will be hired for a few months to mend them and to take a certain number of apprentices from among the "Barefoots" and teach them the trade of cobbling. Only such boys as show a liking and aptitude for the work will, of course, be chosen as apprentices. They will spend the whole day or only a few hours a day at the work, as their other duties permit. Not only will they be taught to mend boots--they will also be taught to make them. When they have learned their trade they will receive the same wages as other workmen are paid. Of course, when _The Sunny Hour_ "Barefoots" (or, rather, those who have been "Barefoots" in times gone by) become expert shoemakers, there is no reason why they should confine their efforts to making and mending boots for the New York poor alone. Tello d'Apery hopes that many orders for men's and women's and children's footgear will be received from well-to-do New Yorkers, so that not only will the expenses of the establishment be met, but an extra amount of money taken in for the mission. It is a magnificent scheme, and we can but hope that this noble American boy may be able to carry it out.

LITTLE LADY WILMERTON.

By the Rev. P. B. Power, M.A., Author of "The Oiled Feather," Etc.

Hard by the village of Hopedale, away from railways and their whistles, and indeed pretty nearly from the world in general, was a very beautiful castle, surrounded by pleasure grounds, and gardens for both fruit and flowers.

The place had been well kept up, because old Lord Wilmerton, the grandfather of the little lady of whom I am going to tell you, was a proud man; and he would not have it said that any of his properties were allowed to go to ruin, or even to run wild. But the old Lord himself never went there nor did his son, the father of the present little Lady Wilmerton. The place was too dull for them; they liked the gaieties of London and the Continent, and the country had no charms for them.

Little Lady Wilmerton's father and grandfather were now both dead. Her father died first, and her grandfather soon followed him to the grave. And now our little lady was a Countess, for in her family the title did not die out with the males, but, when there were no sons, passed on to the daughters, if there were any. And as with the title went most of the estates, the little Countess, who was only twelve years old, became the mistress of Hopedale Castle, and the village and, indeed, the country for, I might almost say, many miles round.

The last thing that anyone in Hopedale would have ever thought of was her little ladyship's coming to live at the Castle. Great, therefore, was the astonishment of everyone when they heard that she was to live there for a large part of the year--and, moreover, that she was coming almost at once.

At first the report was treated as an idle rumour, but when a carriage arrived one day at the Castle with an elderly gentleman and a much younger man, and a second carriage with a lady and her maid, there could be no doubt that something was about to take place. Moreover, the agent had been summoned to meet this old gentleman, and he and the new arrivals were known to have gone all over the Castle. This gentleman was the little Countess's guardian, and the younger man was his solicitor; and the lady was a distant relative of the little Countess, and was to be her caretaker--for her mother had been dead now three years.

Such a possibility as the Castle being inhabited could not take place without causing much talk in the village. Old and young had their say about it--some of the old, I am sorry to say, at the "Green Dragon," the village ale-house; and some at their cottage doors, or when they met in the street.

The children too had their ideas and speculations--very different, of course, from the older people's, but very decided, nevertheless.

As to the folk at the "Green Dragon," some were for the lady's coming and some were not, and each party were positive.

"I tell you," said old Joe Crupper, the saddler, "there ain't no good a-comin' out of this. We've got on very well hereabouts for many a year, without having anyone to worrit us from that place. Why can't they let it be as it has been so long? It don't want anyone to live in it to keep it warm. Why, I'm told that they've burnt thirty ton of coal in a winter to keep the place aired. We don't want no great people down here in these parts; we can get on well enough by ourselves. I didn't never know any good come of the haristockracy," said the saddler, giving the table a thump.

"But I'm told," chimed in a meek little man, who frequented the "Green Dragon" more for gossip than for drink, "that the new 'lord' is a little lady, and is only twelve years old."

"Joseph Simmons," said the saddler, looking witheringly into the little man's face, "you are a man of edication, and ought to know better. As to the little 'lord' being a lady, I ask you and all the company"--here the saddler looked round--"what difference does that make? Isn't a goose a goose, whether it's a goose or a gander? Would you say, when 'tis roasted, 'Who'll take a bit of gander?' No, goose or gander, 'tis a goose. In like manner, it don't matter whether 'tis a boy or girl, a man or a woman"--and here the saddler paused, evidently seeking for a further variety in sex, which he could not find--"excuse me," said he, looking deprecatingly round, "if I stop for a moment, for the argument is deep, and one's liable to get tangled a bit--a man or a woman. Yes, the argument is plain, and I defy you, Joseph Simmons, to beat it. A haristocrat is a haristocrat, whether it be man or woman, boy or girl."

"I humbly beg pardon if I've given any offence," said the meek little man. "You were once in London for a day, and you ought to know more than I do."

"Ah, you're now coming to your senses," said the saddler. "I always knew that you were a sensible man; the best of us forget ourselves at times, as you did just now. You just mind what I say: no good will come of this haristocrat." And as the saddler led most of the company by the nose, they all went away with a terrible prejudice against the little Countess.

The children, too, had their ideas and their talks. They had heard that the new "lord" was a lady, and that she was only twelve years old.

This was a puzzle to them, and no effort of their mental powers enabled them to understand it; but they could--each according to their own cast of mind--have their ideas on the subject, and talk of and debate about them amongst themselves.

And so it came to pass that they, as well as their elders at the Green "Dragon," had their argument about the newcomer.

We often form our ideas of people out of our own fancies; and we are very often wrong, and I would recommend all young people not to be in too great a hurry in forming their opinion about others, until they have something to go on.

In the present instance Dolly Strap, who hated lessons, and whose one desire was to run wild, said she "was sure that the little haristocrat that was coming" (for the saddler's word had got all over the village) "was a girl who never learned any lessons, who never did and never would be obliged to; who was allowed to jump over hedges and ditches, and never got whacked for tearing her frock. Look here!" said Dolly, exhibiting a long rent in her frock; "that means smackers to-night, girls, at eight o'clock; and as like as not there will be smackers to-morrow night too. And haristocrats jump over hedges and ditches, and tear their frocks to pieces every day, and they only gets new ones for their pains, and never a smack get they; and if the day was wet, and they couldn't get out of doors to tear them, then you may be sure they does it somehow indoors, leaping over chairs, or somehow. You know," said Dolly, with a leer in her eye, "when you want to do a thing, you can always do it--somehow."

"I don't know about dress," said Martha Furblow; "but you may be sure she's dressed very grand--lots of feathers and flowers in her hat, and plenty of lace and beads all over her."

"And she has dozens of dolls, you may be sure," said Mary Mater. "I've heard say that there are dolls that say 'Papa' and 'Mamma,' and that open their eyes and shuts 'em too, and winks when they wants to look knowin'. She'll have some that asks you how you are, and says, 'Very well, thank ye, and how are you?'"

"Ah," said Jenny Giblet, "and her sweets--do you think of them? Hard-bake every morning for breakfast, and ginger-pop, and bottles of peardrops, and boxes of peppermints--she don't go in for pennorths, not she."

"And a gold crown--only not quite so grand as the Queen's," said Dolly. "All the haristockracy wear gold crowns when they go to see the Queen, and on Sundays when they go to church."

Thus the village children settled amongst themselves all about the little Countess, and the outcome of it all was that, as she was so much better off than they, she was to be disliked, and when she came into the village--if, indeed, she ever did--they were to turn up their noses at her, just as they made sure she would turn up her nose at them.

There was one, however, amongst the group who ventured to put in a word for the poor little Countess--this was Patience Filbert--whom, in spite of themselves, everyone liked, for Patience was good to all. The child was a little younger than the Countess. She had long fair hair, and round grey eyes which seemed to open wide when she talked to you and looked you, as she often did, so honestly, so wonderingly, so lovingly in the face.

Patience ventured to say that, perhaps the little Countess might be very nice, and if she was born a countess that was not her fault; but poor Patience was told that she was a silly little thing.

"Yes, yes," said Dolly Strap; "you was hatched out a little goose, and you'll be a little goose until you die. Now you go and give your Bullie his dinner; you sat up with him half the night, and I hope he won't die."

"Yes," they all said, "we hope he won't die," for they all liked Patience--as, indeed, who could help doing?--and they knew that her bullfinch was her great pleasure in life.

Poor Bullie! he was indeed ill, drawing near his end. He no longer sang when Patience sang, nor hopped from his cage to eat out of her mouth. He had fulfilled his mission in life, by making the delicate child happy in what would have been many lonely hours, for she could seldom play with other girls; and now in his death Bullie was about to play a greater part than he had ever done in his life.

Bullie lingered two or three days, during which time he had three warm baths and apoplectic fits, to the last of which he succumbed, and, turning himself on his back and throwing his legs up into the air, he departed this life. As Bullie had nothing to leave--at least, so far as he knew--he died without a will, though in reality he left a good deal, which was divided amongst all the inhabitants of Hopedale, making them ever so much richer than they had been before.

And it all came about in this way.

When Bullie died, it was determined amongst the children that he should have a public funeral. Patience Filbert would have liked to bury him just by herself; but two considerations induced her to let her little neighbours have their way. There was first the kindly feeling shown to herself, and then there was the honour done to Bullie. And so Bullie was carried to his burial; his body was wrapped in a clean pocket-handkerchief, and his coffin was an old cigar box with wadding and sweet herbs inside. There was a long avenue of trees leading up to the Castle gate, beneath a particular one of which it was decided the body should be buried. Here it was interred.

There was one more at the funeral than was expected. The little Countess was there. She had seen the small procession as she was out for her morning walk, and followed respectfully at a little distance all the way. Moreover, she was at the ceremony of interment, only standing a little way behind the rest.

The child was dressed in a simple holland frock, with a black ribbon round her waist, and another round her plain straw hat. Her servant was so far behind that she seemed to be quite by herself.

The funeral over, the little Countess came forward, and the tears came into her eyes when she saw how the chief mourner cried, for poor Patience Filbert was very sad; and although she was a countess, she put her arm round Patience's neck, and wiped away her tears.

Who was she?

"Lady," said Dolly Strap, who was rather rude, "what's your name?"

"They call me 'the Countess,'" said the child, "but my name is Mary. Should you all like to come up to the garden? There is plenty of fruit."

And they went, wondering that a countess could be so plainly dressed, and so feeling, and so kind.

Our feelings in this life are very mingled--joy and sorrow, sorrow and joy. So was it in this case. For the funeral party (now replenished with gooseberries) returned with a new Bullie in a gilt cage; it was the little Countess's own pet which she gave Patience to make up her loss.

The little Countess's treatment of Patience--her sympathy, the tears which came into her eyes when she saw another's distress--knocked the bottom out of all the saddler's arguments against the "haristockracy," and the little man cock-a-doodle-doo'd over him tremendously at the "Green Dragon." And every door in Hopedale was open at once to the little Countess, and every child in the place was ready to put his hand to his hat or curtsey to her. One kind act of real sympathy had opened all hearts to her; and who knows how much prejudice against us will be done away with, and how many hearts will be opened to us, even by one act of sympathy and love?

Heavenly Cheer.

_Words by_ THOMAS KELLY, 1806. H. WALFORD DAVIES, MUS.D. (_Organist of the Temple Church._)

1. On the mountain-top appearing, Lo! the sacred herald stands, Welcome news to Zion bearing-- Zion long in hostile lands: Mourning captive! God Himself will loose thy bands.

2. Has thy night been long and mournful? Have thy friends unfaithful proved? Have thy foes been proud and scornful, By thy sighs and tears unmoved? Cease thy mourning! Zion still is well-beloved.

3. God, thy God, will now restore thee; God Himself appears thy Friend! All thy foes shall flee before thee-- Here their boasts and triumphs end: Great deliverance Zion's King vouchsafes to send.

Amen.

TEMPERANCE NOTES AND NEWS.

By a Leading Temperance Advocate.

A HAPPY NEW YEAR.

The good old wish which we offer to all our readers points its own moral. There was great practical sagacity in Joseph Livesey's method of arranging to send a temperance tract to every family in Preston on New Year's Day. Christian men and women, who are in sympathy with the efforts of those who are fighting against our national vice, would give a great lift to the work by starting the New Year as total abstainers themselves. As New Year's Day falls on a Sunday, we trust the clergy and ministers will "remember not to forget" to drop a word for temperance in their Watch Night and New Year's Day sermons.

A DISTINGUISHED RECORD.

For upwards of sixty-two years the Dublin Total Abstinence Society has perseveringly held on its way, a record not surpassed by any temperance association in the sister country. When one remembers the "storm and stress" through which Ireland has passed during this eventful period, the fact that this ancient society still survives is a tribute to the enthusiastic labours of its executive officers of which they may well be proud. The old-fashioned method of "signing the pledge" is still kept in the forefront at all the meetings of the society. It rejoices in a coffee palace with a commodious public hall, in the very heart of the city of Dublin, and from year's end to year's end there is one attractive round of lectures, entertainments, clubs, and popular festivities, variously adapted to meet the requirements of the young and old alike. It was at a meeting under the auspices of this association that the late Sir Benjamin Ward Richardson, F.R.S., made the memorable deliverance: "The sale of drink is the sale of disease; the sale of drink is the sale of poverty; the sale of drink is the sale of insanity; the sale of drink is the sale of crime; the sale of drink is the sale of death." The president of the society is a well-known Dublin physician, Dr. E. MacDowell Cosgrave, and the hon. secretary is Mr. Thomas Willson Fair, whose devotion to the cause has made his name a household word in Irish temperance circles.

THE "DICTIONARY" BRIDE.

It will be remembered that last month we mentioned that under the word "abstaining" in the new dictionary, Dr. Murray quoted from the "Clerical Testimony to Total Abstinence," published in 1867, in which the present Bishop of Carlisle stated that a certain "bride was the daughter of an abstaining clergyman." Who was she? Well, first of all, let us clear the way by saying that Dr. Bardsley, in his testimony, cited the case of his own family. He said he was the eldest of seven sons, who were brought up as total abstainers by total abstaining parents. He then added, "To some readers who, upon occasions of family festivities, have been perplexed by their abstaining principles, it may not be uninteresting to learn that when, recently, one of the seven entered the happy estate of matrimony, the bride was the daughter of an abstaining clergyman. Here, then, was a difficulty. Should the wedding-day be regarded as an exception, and a little laxity allowed? The question was decided in the negative, and, notwithstanding the little protests as to 'such a thing never having been heard of before,' and the fear as to what that mythical personage Mrs. Grundy would say, the wedding was conducted on total abstinence principles. Amongst the good things of God provided, the spirits of evil were _wanting--but not wanted_, for the general remark was 'How little they are missed!'" We ask again, "Who was the bride?" In view of Dr. Bardsley's reference to the _mythical_ Mrs. Grundy, our reply looks just a trifle piquant, for the bride was a Miss Grundy, the daughter of the Rev. George Docker Grundy, M.A., then (and still) Vicar of Hey, near Oldham. We tender our hearty congratulations to this grand old churchman, who graduated in honours at Brasenose College, Oxford, in 1828, was ordained in 1830, and entered upon his present benefice more than sixty years ago!

THE CHILDREN'S FOUNTAIN.

In the Temple Gardens, on the Victoria Embankment, there is a beautiful drinking-fountain, the work of Mr. George E. Wade. It is an exact facsimile of one executed by the same artist for the World's Women's Christian Temperance Union and erected in a prominent position in the city of Chicago. The funds for the purchase of the London fountain were mainly collected by children of the Loyal Temperance Legions, in response to an appeal from Lady Henry Somerset. At the unveiling ceremony, which took place in May, 1897, her Ladyship presented the fountain to the London County Council, and Miss Hilda Muff, who, of all the children, had collected the largest sum, had the honourable privilege of declaring the fountain free to all.

COMING EVENTS.

The friends in Norwich are organising a Sunday Closing Demonstration, to be held in the historic St. Andrew's Hall, on January 24th. The annual business meeting of the London Temperance Council will take place on January 27th. Temperance Sunday for the diocese of Liverpool has been fixed for January 29th, and Bishop Ryle has issued a letter to all his clergy urging the due observance of the day. The annual New Year's Soirée of the United Kingdom Band of Hope Union has been fixed for January 30th, and the annual meetings of the same institution will be held in Exeter Hall on May 10th. The seventh International Congress against the Abuse of Spirituous Drinks will be held in Paris from April 4th to 9th.

SCRIPTURE LESSONS FOR SCHOOL AND HOME

INTERNATIONAL SERIES

With Illustrative Anecdotes and References.

=JANUARY 15TH.--Christ's First Miracle.=

_To read--St. John ii. 1-11. Golden Text--Ver. 2._

Last lesson told of disciples coming to Christ one by one. John the Baptist pointed to Him as Lamb of God--the sin-bearer. Andrew and John, hearing this, followed Christ. Andrew brought his brother Simon. Christ bade Philip follow Him, and he brought his friend Nathanael. Now Christ works miracle which confirms faith of all.

I. =The Need= (1-5). Third day after call of Nathanael. Cana, his home, near Nazareth, sixty miles from Bethabara (i. 28). A wedding party. Mary, mother of Jesus, evidently a family friend. Christ and His five new disciples among the guests. Supplies ran short, perhaps from poverty or from larger number of guests than expected. Painful position of bridegroom, giver of feast. Mary notices, tells Christ, receives answer, "What is that to Me and thee?" He is best judge of right time for help. She knows His loving heart, is sure He will do something; therefore bids servants obey Christ's orders.

II. =The Supply= (6-11). Waterpots ready, but empty. Been used for washing before meals (St. Mark vii. 3). Christ orders them to be filled--twenty gallons each. Governor of feast tastes first. Finds it excellent wine--such as usually put on table at beginning of feast--commends bridegroom for it. What was the result?

Satisfaction to Mary, who knew her Divine Son.

Faith strengthened in the new disciples of Christ.

Glory to Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God.

III. =Lessons.= 1. _About wine._ God's gift (Ps. civ. 15), to be used sparingly--a little (1 Tim. v. 23).

2. _About Christ._ How was His glory manifested? By sympathy--sharing home-life--its joys and sorrows. Believing wants of His people.

3. _About ourselves._ The benefit of such a Friend (Ps. cxliv. 15). Difference between this world's blessings and those of Christ. This world's come first--health, riches, fame, etc. Christ's come last--glory, honour, immortality. Which are best? Then seek those things which are above (Col. iii. 1).

=God's Bounty.=

On a cold winter's day a poor woman stood at the window of a King's greenhouse looking at a cluster of grapes which she longed to have for her sick child. She went home to her spinning-wheel, earned half a crown, and offered it to the gardener for the grapes. He ordered her away. She returned home, took the blanket from her bed, sold it for five shillings, and offered this sum to the gardener. He repelled her with anger. The Princess, overhearing the conversation and seeing the woman's tears, said to her, "You have made a mistake, my good woman. My father is a king; he does not sell, but gives." So saying she plucked a bunch of the best grapes and placed them in the happy woman's hands.

=JANUARY 22ND.--Christ and Nicodemus.=

_To read--St. John iii, 1-17. Golden Text--Ver. 16._

Christ now in Jerusalem. Probably in retirement because Jews hostile. Picture Him with His new disciples in house in a back street on a windy night (ver. 8). A knock at the door. A Rabbi, member of the Sanhedrim (vii. 50), enters cautiously; he seeks to know more of this new teaching.

I. =Regeneration of Man= (1-8). _The inquiry._ Nicodemus, a searcher after truth, comes to Christ the new Teacher, whom he acknowledges as sent from God, as testified by His miracles. What must he do?

_The answer._ He must have a new birth, _i.e._ be changed into a spiritual state--be concerned with inner things of God. This change only wrought by work of Holy Spirit on soul, of which washing by water, as in baptism, is outward sign. How does the Spirit work? _Invisibly_--seen in effects, as wind on water. _Irresistibly_, its power being divine--as at Pentecost 3,000 converted (Acts ii. 41). But man's will must co-operate.

II. =Lifting up of Christ= (9-15). _Effects of new birth._ The regenerate see the truth revealed desired long (St. Luke x. 24), and bear witness to others--as new converts after Stephen's death (Acts viii. 4).

_Subject of the new teaching._ Christ Himself, His Person, Son of Man--the Perfect Man. His dwelling-place, heaven; not by ascending there, but as being His own eternal home.

_Christ's lifting up._ On a cross--a sacrifice for sin, giving eternal life to those who believe, of which brazen serpent was a type (Num. xxi. 9).

III. =Love of the Father= (16, 17). How shown? He gave, sent, spared not His Son (Rom. viii. 32). Why shown? That man may not die, but live eternally.

=Lesson.= 1. The new birth. Am I changed?

2. Christ lifted up for me. Am I saved?

3. God's love. What am I giving in return?

=A Great Change.=

Queen Victoria once paid a visit to a paper-mill. Among other things she saw men picking out rags from the refuse of the city, and was told that these rags would make the finest white paper. After a few days her Majesty received a packet of the most delicate white paper, having the Queen's likeness for the water-mark, with the intimation that it was made from the dirty rags she had noticed. So our lives, renewed by God's Spirit, can be transformed and bear His likeness.

=JANUARY 29TH.--Christ at Jacob's Well.=

_To read--St. John iv. 5-15. Golden Text--Ver. 14._

Christ leaves Jerusalem, travels north with His disciples, passes through Samaria, reaches Sychar, near Shechem. Rests at Jacob's well while disciples buy food in neighbouring town.

I. =The Story= (5-9). _Time._ Noon by Hebrew reckoning, or 6 p.m. by Roman time.

_Place._ Jacob's well. Bought by him (Gen. xxxiii. 19), burial-place of Joseph (Josh. xxiv. 32).

_Persons._ Jesus and the woman. He wearied, but, ever ready to do His Father's work, opens conversation. Uses the water, thirst, spring, as illustrations of spiritual truths. He asks her for water. She is surprised, because of national hostility.

II. =The Water of Life= (10-15). Christ tells of His power to give living water. She thinks He means deep spring water, and asks how it is to be obtained. He then explains His meaning: water--commonest and simplest of all liquids--emblem of gifts and graces of Holy Spirit.

_Its source._ Gift of God alone. Offered freely to all (Isa. lv. 1).

_Its necessity._ If any have not God's Spirit, they are not His (Rom. viii. 9).

_Its nature._ Pure--from God's throne (Rev. xxii. 1). Refreshing--joy of salvation (Ps. li. 12). Healing (Rev. xxii. 2). Satisfying (Isa. lxi. 1). Unfailing--wells of salvation (Isa. xii. 3).

_Its results._ Everlasting life.

III. =Lesson.= Drink of this living water which Christ offers to-day.

=Living Water.=

The fountain of living waters is God Himself. It is not a mere cistern to hold a little water; it is a running, living stream, and a fountain that springs up perpetually. Now a fountain is produced by the pressure of water coming down from a height, and never rises higher than its source. Our spiritual life has its source in heaven. It came from God, and to God it will return.

=FEBRUARY 5TH.--The Nobleman's Son Healed.=

_To read--St. John iv. 43-54. Golden Text--Ver. 53._

Christ has passed through Samaria, returned to Cana. Now works first miracle of healing.

I. =Faith Beginning= (43-47). _The father._ A courtier of Herod Antipas, King of Galilee. In trouble because of son's sickness. Hears of Jesus and His wonderful doings--will see if He can help him. Leaves his home to go and meet Jesus. Urgently entreats Him to come from Cana down to Capernaum on the Lake of Galilee to visit and relieve his dying son.

II. =Faith Increasing= (48-50). Christ seems to hesitate--makes a difficulty. He wants strong faith. He sees father desires external signs, personal visit. Christ must have implicit faith. What does Christ do? Does not comply with the request nor refuse, but calmly tells him his son lives. The man believes, and returns home.

=III. Faith Perfected= (51-54). Met by his servants on way back. They had noted the change for the better in the boy, hastened to meet the father and tell the good news. What does he ask? The time exactly agreed. So the father knew that Christ was more than man--that He was Lord of life and death--the true Son of God. No more doubts.

=Lessons.= 1. Trouble leads to prayer and prayer to blessings.

2. Belief in Christ brings peace and happiness.

3. He is the same Lord to all them that believe.

=Freemen of the Gospel.=

An old man once said that it took him forty years to learn three simple things. The first was that he could not do anything to save himself; the second was that God did not expect him to; and the third was that Christ had done it all, and all he had to do was to believe and be saved.

=FEBRUARY 12TH.--Christ's Divine Authority.=

_To read--St. John v. 17--27. Golden Text--John iv. 42._

Christ has returned to Jerusalem to keep one of appointed feasts (ver. 1). There He healed a cripple at the Pool of Bethesda on the Sabbath, which caused the Jews to persecute Him for "breaking" or relaxing the Sabbath day. Christ answers them.

I. =The Father's Work= (17, 18). God is Creator of world and Father of all. The Sabbath not a time for inaction. Does everything stop? Earth continues to revolve, winds blow, vegetation grows. Sabbath a rest for man from work by which livelihood gained, but also a day to be spent in works of mercy. Thus Christ works on with the Father. His claim to be equal with God angers the Jews.

II. =The Son's Work= (19-23). Same as the Father's--does nothing by Himself. He shares the Father's counsels--loving bond of sympathy between them. Shares Father's work--giving life to dead (i. 4). Christ already done this when raised Jairus's little daughter (St. Matt. ix. 25). Also raised dead souls by forgiving sins and leading to new life. Example--sick of the palsy (St. Matt. ix. 2) and the woman who had sinned (St. Luke vii. 37, 47).

Christ also appointed as the Judge (Acts xvii. 31). Therefore equally with Father claims honour from men. To dishonour Him is to dishonour God.

III. =Man's Relation to Christ= (24-27). How can he obtain this new life? Must hear and accept Son's word, must believe the Father, Who speaks through the Son (xvii. 3; Heb i. 2). Then he passes from death in sin (Eph. ii. 1) to life in Christ (Col. iii. 3). This a present change. Old things passed--all become new. New faith, hope, love. New life for soul now, for body hereafter.

=Lessons.= 1. It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.

2. If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature.

=Full Salvation.=

Those who trust Christ do not trust Him to save only for a year or two, but for ever. In going a long journey it is best to take a ticket all the way through. Take your ticket for the New Jerusalem, and not for a half-way house. The train will never break down, and the track never be torn up. Trust Jesus Christ to carry you through to glory, and He will do it.--REV. C. H. SPURGEON.

SHORT ARROWS

Notes of Christian Life & Work.

"The Finding of the Saviour in the Temple."

In response to the request of many of our readers, we give the following account of this great picture, a special reproduction of which (in colours and suitable for framing) was presented with our November number. With the idea of the picture in his mind, Mr. Holman Hunt went, in 1854, to Jerusalem to obtain local colour and models for the work. "Truth to Nature" being the principle of his art, he desired to get as near as possible to the probable aspect of the scene he was attempting to depict. The Temple he had to construct for himself, and this he did after studying Eastern, and especially ancient Jewish, architecture, the only part painted from an actual fact being the marble pavement. This he copied from the floor of the Mosque of Omar, which, according to tradition, is the only remaining portion of Herod's Temple. He experienced great difficulty in getting models for his figures, owing to the suspicion having arisen that he was a Christian missionary in disguise. By the end of eighteen months, however, he had painted in all the adult figures from actual models, and, returning to England, he managed, by the help of Mr. Mocatta, to get a boy from the Jewish community in the East-End of London to sit for the figure of Christ. Every detail of the picture has a symbolic interest. The rabbi on the left, clasping in his arms the _Torah_ or sacred roll of the Law, is blind and decrepit, and the other rabbis, with their phylacteries and scrolls, are all characteristic of the proud, self-righteous, sects to which they belonged. Joseph carries his own and Mary's shoes over his shoulders--even in their haste they had remembered the injunction to remove them when entering the house of the Lord--and Mary is clad in robes of grey and white, with a girdle fringed with orange-red, the colours of purity and sorrow. Christ wears a _kaftan_, striped with purple and blue, the colours of the royal house of David. He is pulling the buckle of the belt tighter--"girding up His loins"--and in spite of the "Wist ye not that I must be about My Father's business?" has one foot advanced in readiness to go with His earthly parents. Through the doorway the builders are still at work; they are hoisting into position the block which is to be "the chief corner-stone of the building."

Blind Peter and his Bride.

In spite of his blindness, Peter was a very happy man. A young girl, brought up in the American Presbyterian School in Pekin, emphatically declared that he was the best, the cleverest, and the best-looking of six candidates for her hand. She enjoyed the unheard-of privilege of choosing her husband, and, as her relations approved the selection, settlements were at once arranged. Her hair was cut in a fringe, which in China marks an engaged maiden; the contract was drawn up on a sheet of lucky scarlet paper, and Peter undertook to make a regular allowance to his mother-in-law. Neither the bride nor Peter's relations ever had occasion to regret their decision. He was one of the earliest pupils in the School for the Blind established in Pekin in 1879. As a boy of twelve years old, he was led to the door by his brother aged fourteen. They were orphans, and on their first begging tour, and the elder said that he could support himself by work, but could not gain sufficient food for two without begging. The blind boy was admitted, and he quickly gained a high character. Within two years he was the ablest and best teacher of the blind in Pekin, and he had knowledge and influence which might be the means of bringing light and understanding to untold numbers groping in darkness of mind and body. It is calculated that the blind in China number at least 500,000, and they have the character of being amongst the most depraved of beggars. Miss Gordon-Cumming tells the story of blind Peter in her new book, "The Inventor of the Numeral Type for China." The Chinese Dictionary contains from 30,000 to 40,000 characters. It is true that to read a book so sublimely simple as the Bible it is sufficient to learn 4,000; but the length of this task deters the majority of people from the attempt. Mr. W. H. Murray found it possible to reduce the distinct tones of Mandarin Chinese (used in four-fifths of the Empire) to 408, and to represent them in numerals, embossed in dots according to Braille's system. Miss Gordon-Cumming devotes several pages to explaining the invention and the means by which it has been carried into good effect. The result is that blind men and women have not only been raised from demoralised beggary, but have become teachers of others afflicted like themselves, and in some cases of the sighted illiterate or deaf and dumb.

A Notable Group.

In the course of our last volume we had occasion to refer several times to the remarkable Sunday-school in Manchester which contains no less than forty-five teachers, all of whom have served for over twenty years as active officers of the school. This discovery was made in connection with our Roll of Honour for Sunday-school Workers, and each of the forty-five was awarded THE QUIVER medal. These teachers have since associated themselves in a photographic group, the result of which we reproduce on the opposite page. It forms an interesting and unique memento of an interesting and unique school.

A Quiver Hero.

The latest addition to the Roll of Quiver Heroes and Heroines is Captain James Hood, of the London tug _Simla_, who, on October 17th last, was by his self-sacrificing courage and presence of mind instrumental in saving twelve members of the crew of the _Blengfell_ off Margate. The circumstances attending the conspicuous act of Captain Hood are probably still fresh in the minds of all our readers, and it is only necessary to recall that on the day in question his tug was in attendance on the naphtha ship _Blengfell_, when the latter vessel was suddenly rent in two by a terrific explosion, which resulted in the sudden death of the captain of the doomed ship, his wife and child, and six other persons. Hood immediately saw that the only way to save the men left on the wreck and those struggling in the sea was to steam right alongside the burning ship, there being no time to lower boats. This he courageously did in the face of several minor explosions, and knowing full well that at any moment the remaining barrels of naphtha might ignite and blow his vessel to pieces. Fortunately he was successful in rescuing the survivors, and was able to steam away in safety from the burning ship. Our readers will undoubtedly endorse our opinion that Captain Hood has nobly earned the Silver Medal of THE QUIVER Heroes Fund, which it has been our pleasure to hand to him.

Unusual Diffidence.

An able public man known to the writer was asked the other day to speak at a conference upon one of the subjects to be debated. He replied that he could not do so, as he did not know much about the question and had not time to study it in all its bearings. How much shorter and more profitable would speeches and sermons be if those who deliver them were as conscientious as our friend! But "fools rush in where angels fear to tread," and speak loud and long out of the abundance of their ignorance. When a man has only one idea, has seen only one side of a thing, knows only a limited number of words, and is in possession of good lungs, there is no reason why he should ever stop speaking.

Distributing Mansion House Money.

Four great famines in India have marked the reign of Queen Victoria--each more widespread than the last, but each successively occasioning less loss of life. It was in the famine of 1868-69 that Lord Lawrence initiated, as a working principle for the Administration, a sense of personal responsibility for every life lost. In the last, that of 1896-97, the scarcity extended from the Punjab to Cape Comorin, but the skill in checking starvation was greater than in the preceding one of 1877, and the number of sufferers relieved exceeded three millions. Whilst many of India's sons gazed up at the cloudless sky with the calm desperation of fatalists, the Government and missionaries fought side by side to repel hunger and death. England subscribed £550,000 through the Mansion House Relief Fund alone. The scourge fell most heavily on the Central Provinces, and the paternal Government had not only to deal with present necessity, but to provide for the future. Our illustration is copied from a photograph of a scene in Central India. An English Government servant sits at a table covered with money from the Mansion House Fund, and he is granting fifteen rupees to a cultivator for seed rice. A crowd of applicants for similar relief surround him.

For Old and Young.

By a curious coincidence two of the various works which call for notice this month are by present contributors to our own pages, and two are by future contributors. It is unnecessary to deal with the former at length--even if space permitted--and it is sufficient to state that Dr. Joseph Parker's second volume of his series of "Studies in Texts" (Horace Marshall and Son) is as full of pregnant and forceful thoughts as its predecessor; whilst in "Love to the Uttermost" (Morgan and Scott) our old friend, the Rev. F. B. Meyer, has tenderly and reverently expounded the principal incidents and texts contained in the latter portion of the Gospel of the disciple "whom Jesus loved."--From Mr. Elliott Stock comes a small volume of "Addresses to all Sorts and Conditions of Men," which have been delivered at various times and in various places by Archdeacon Madden, who is well known as an earnest and gifted preacher to young men, and we can but hope that these outspoken truths may, in their more permanent form, be the means of much lasting good. We hope shortly to introduce Archdeacon Madden more directly to our readers by means of our own pages, and also Dr. R. F. Horton, who is responsible for "The Commandments of Jesus," which has just reached us from Messrs. Isbister. It should be emphasised at once that the book does not deal with the commandments given to Moses, but with the commandments delivered by our Lord whilst on earth. Dr. Horton claims that a careful study of these will prove that they form "a sufficient, authoritative, and exact rule of life" at the present day, and he has ably upheld and explained what he so happily terms "the eternal code of Jesus."--To turn from theological to lighter works, we are pleased to draw attention to Mr. S. H. Hamer's "Whys and Other Whys" (Cassell and Co.), which would form an admirable present for little people. The author tells a number of humorous stories of "Curious Creatures and their Tales," which will amuse and delight the children, whilst the many quaint and clever illustrations by Mr. Neilson combine to make this one of the best gift-books of the season.--For the little ones and also to "children of a larger growth" we can heartily commend Mrs. Orman Cooper's life of "John Bunyan, the Glorious Dreamer" (Sunday School Union), which is written from an extensive knowledge of the subject (gained principally from many years' residence in Bedford), and is also copiously illustrated.--We have also to acknowledge the receipt of "Rabbi Sanderson" (Hodder and Stoughton) by Ian Maclaren, which forms a companion to his former short story, "A Doctor of the Old School," though we feel it is not so brilliant as the latter; of "Neil Macleod" (same publishers), an interesting and well-written story of literary life in London; and also of "Silver Tongues" (Morgan and Scott), which consists of a series of talks to the young by the Rev. John Mitchell, based on simple objects of common knowledge, such as a leaf, a thimble, flowers, etc., and enriched by many appropriate lessons.

Four Anchors from the Stern.

These anchors, our Revised Version tells us, the sailors "let go" on St. Paul's disastrous voyage towards Rome, "fearing lest haply we should be cast ashore on rocky ground." There is many a reef of rocks which threatens a young man or woman's barque, as it is pushed off across the waters of life's ocean; and, at the close of this century, one such reef is certainly the neglect and desecration of the Sabbath. It is difficult, perhaps undesirable, to lay down minute rules upon a subject concerning the details of which good folks conscientiously differ; but, in days when the social trend is distinctly towards laxity, there are four main principles which must be binding on all who acknowledge the New Testament as the supreme law of life. Little, comparatively, is said there about the observance of the first day of the week, but that little is very helpful and suggestive. (1) Sunday should be a day of joy. It was "with great joy" that the holy women returned from the sepulchre after the resurrection. Let us try and make Sunday bright and happy, especially to children and to the poor. (2) Sunday must be a day of worship. The disciples were wont to meet together to break bread in remembrance of their Master, and (Acts xx. 7) to hear a sermon. (3) Sunday must be a day of generosity and kindness. The apostle specially enjoins that each one should "lay by him in store, as he may prosper." The spirit of this command must forbid selfish entertainments and recreations, which impose extra toil on hard-worked servants. (4) Sunday should be a day of rest, and (to some extent, at least), of holy contemplation. St. John the Divine at Patmos was "in the spirit on the Lord's Day," when he saw the vision of the New Jerusalem. Sundays upon earth are a preparation for "the Sabbaths of Eternity." Neglect and desecration are "rocks ahead." Young men and maidens who fare forth into the world, and are apt to be driven rockward by the powerful and dangerous currents of public opinion, will find that these four stout scriptural anchors will hold their craft secure and fast.

Crowns of Thorns and Crowns of Righteousness.

A man called upon President Lincoln, introduced himself as one of his best friends, and asked for a Government post, then vacant, on the ground that it was solely through the applicant's exertions that he was elected to the Presidency. "Oh, indeed," said Lincoln; "then I now look upon the man who, of all men, has crowned my existence with a crown of thorns. No post for you in my gift, I assure you. I wish you good-morning." Thus it is that, when we obtain them, we care nothing about things that once were objects of our ambition. It will not be so with the never-fading crowns of righteousness that are the rewards of another and happier world.

The Leicester Silver Medallist.

Many of our readers will be pleased to see the accompanying portrait of Miss Anne Harrison, the veteran Sunday-school teacher of Leicestershire, who was recently awarded the Silver Medal and Presentation Bible for the longest known period of service in that county. Fifty-eight years ago Miss Harrison commenced work in the Sunday-school attached to the Baptist Chapel in Harvey Lane, Leicester, and is still to be found at her post Sunday after Sunday, devoting all her energies to the cause which is so near her heart, and which she has so faithfully served for over half a century.

=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 =Sussex= (for which applications were invited up to November 30th) have been gained by

MR. CHARLES WATTS, 14, Western Road, Hove,

who has distinguished himself by =fifty-one= years' service in the county, forty-nine of which were spent in Christ Church Sunday School, Montpelier Road, Brighton.

As already announced, the next territorial county for which claims are invited for the Silver Medal is

=WILTSHIRE=,

and applications, on the special form, must be received on or before December 31st, 1898. We may add that =Durham= is the following county selected, the date-limit for claims in that case being January 31st, 1899. This county, in its turn, will be followed by =Devonshire=, for which the date will be one month later--viz. February 31st, 1899.

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_Erratum._--Susan Hammond, the Essex County Medallist, was inadvertently described in our November number as Miss Hammond instead of Mrs. Hammond.

=THE QUIVER FUNDS.=

The following is a list of contributions received from November 1st up to and including November 30th, 1898. Subscriptions received after this date will be acknowledged next month:--

For ="The Quiver" Christmas Stocking Fund=: Jessie B., Clerkenwell, 2s. 6d.; A School Girl, Stockport, 3s.; A. Newport, Dorchester, 1s.; L. Holland, Crouch End, 2s.; C. D., Bradford-on-Avon, 2s.; A Sunday Scholar, 1s.; M. T., 3s.; E. E., Newmarket, 3s.; B. Burston, Moreland Court, 1s.; A Few Friends at Hazelwood, 5s.; F. S. T., 1s.; R. S., Crouch End, 5s.; E. M. Ellis, Derby, 1s.; Mrs. S., Newport, 5s.; Mrs. J. Cunningham, West Kensington, 5s.; E. Baylis, Woldingham, 10s.; Violet, 2s.; H. D., 10s.; G. S. Andrews, 3s.; A Reader, 2s.; E. R. Boys, Warlingham, 3s.; M. A., Kilburn, 1s.; Sympathy, 1s. 6d.; Mrs. Anderson, 1s.; Anon., Croydon, 2s. 2d.; M., Horsham, 5s.; S. L. G., Camberwell, 5s.; Anon., East Grinstead, 10s.; Anon., Dublin, 1s.; W. Dellar, 1s.; Little Florrie, Brighton, 2s.

For "_The Quiver_" _Waifs' Fund_: J. J. E. (132nd donation), 5s.; A Glasgow Mother (102nd donation), 1s.; S. A., Newport, 10s.; A Swansea Mother, 5s.

For _Dr. Barnardo's Homes_: An Irish Girl, 6s. 6d.; E. E., Newmarket, 2s.

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The Editor is always pleased to receive and forward to the institutions concerned the donations of any of his readers who wish to help the movements referred to in the pages of THE QUIVER. All contributions of one shilling and upwards will be acknowledged.

THE QUIVER BIBLE CLASS.

(BASED ON THE INTERNATIONAL SCRIPTURE LESSONS.)

QUESTIONS.

25. Why was the place where our Lord performed His first miracle called Cana of Galilee?

26. Why was such a large quantity of water provided at Jewish feasts?

27. How many disciples were with Jesus at the marriage in Cana of Galilee?

28. What proof have we that Nicodemus was a member of the Sanhedrim or great council of the Jews?

29. In what words does our Lord refer to His crucifixion while speaking to Nicodemus?

30. What was the piece of land which Jacob gave to his son Joseph?

31. In what way could the woman of Samaria speak of Jacob as "our father"?

32. How did the Samaritans show their belief in Jesus as the Redeemer of all mankind?

33. In what way did our Lord manifest His Divine power to the nobleman of Capernaum?

34. At what celebrated place in Jerusalem did our Lord heal a man who had been ill for thirty-eight years?

35. Quote words in which Jesus speaks of Himself as the Judge of the quick and dead.

36. Why was it that when our Lord said to the Jews "My Father worketh hitherto, and I work," they sought to kill Him?

ANSWERS TO QUESTIONS ON PAGE 192.

13. He broke the most solemn oath which he had made to the King of Babylon (2 Chron. xxxvi. 13).

14. His eyes were burned out, and he was taken prisoner to Babylon (Jer. lii. 11).

15. The prophecy of Ezekiel, who foretold that Zedekiah should die at Babylon, but should not see it (Ezek. xii. 13).

16. He says the revelation of the Old Testament was given at various times, and in many different ways, but the Gospel was revealed to mankind by the Son of God Himself (Heb. i. 1, 2).

17. "Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?" (Heb. i. 14).

18. It declares the divinity of Christ and records the deeper spiritual truths of His teaching (St. John i. 1-14, and xx. 31).

19. "The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us" (St. John i. 14).

20. "Behold, I will send My messenger, and he shall prepare the way before Me" (Malachi iii. 1, and iv. 5).

21. "For thou art an holy people unto the Lord thy God; the Lord thy God hath chosen thee to be a special people unto Himself" (Deut. vii. 6; St. John i. 11).

22. When his brother, St. Philip, tried to bring him to see Jesus, he said, "We have found Him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write" (St. John i. 45).

23. Jesus said unto him, "Before that Phillip called thee, when thou wast under the fig tree, I saw thee" (St. John i. 48).

24. As Jesus passed by St. John said, "Behold the Lamb of God!" (St. John i. 36).

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Transcriber's note:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.

The carat character (^) followed by letters enclosed in curly brackets indicates that the following letters are superscripted. (Example: March 1^{st.}).

Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been retained as printed.

The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Page 266: "God answered Job out _out of_ whirlwind." The transcriber has change this line to: "God answered Job _out of_ the whirlwind."c domain.