eager for information, the gravity did not leave her, nor did she speak at once when they emerged into the Close. "It is very impressive," said John. "I suppose you have seen a great many cathedrals ?" "Yes, many foreign ones, and a few English." "I wonder whether seeing many makes one feel the same as seeing one." "How do you mean?" "I do not think I could ever care for another like this "As your first ?" "Yes. It has made me understand better what books say about churches, and their being like "" Like ?" " She changed her sentence. "It makes one think, and want to be good." "It is what all truly beautiful things should do," said John. "Oh! I am glad you say so," exclaimed Violet. "It is like what Annette and I have wondered about-I mean why fine statues or pictures, or anything of that kind, should make one feel half sad and half thoughtful when one looks at them long." "Perhaps because it is a straining after the only true beauty." Lord St. Erme is "I must tell Annette that. It was she that said it was so," said Violet; "and we wondered Greek statues gave one that feel, but I see it must be the reason." "What statues have you seen ?" "Those at Wrangerton House. always sending cases home, and it is such a festival day to go up and see them unpacked, and Caroline and Annette go and take drawings, and I like to wander about the rooms, and look at everything," said Violet, growing talkative on the theme of home. "There is one picture I like above all, but that is a sacred subject, so no wonder it should have that feeling in it." "What is it ?" "It is a Madonna," she said, lowering her voice. "A stiff old-fashioned one, in beautiful bright clear colouring. The Child is reaching out to embrace a little cross, and His mother holds Him towards it with such a sad but such a holy face, as if she foreboded all, and was ready to bear it." "Ah! that Ghirlandajo!" "That is the name !" "cried Violet, enchanted. you seen it ?" "I saw Lord St. Erme buy it." "Have "Do you know Lord St. Erme ?" said Violet, rather awestruck. "I used to meet him in Italy." "We wish so much that he would come home. We do so want to see a poet." John smiled. "Is he never at home ?" "O, no; he has never been at Wrangerton since his father died, twelve years ago. He does not like the place, so he only comes to London when he is in England, and papa goes up to meet him on business; but he is too poetical to attend to it." "I should guess that." "I have done wrong," said Violet, checking herself. "I should not have said that. Mamma told us we ought never to chatter about his concerns. Will you, please, not remember that I said it ?" "As far as the outer world is concerned, I certainly will not," said John, kindly. "You cannot too early learn discretion. So that picture is at Wrangerton !" "I am so glad you liked it." "I liked it well enough to wish for a few spare hundreds, but it seems to have afforded no more pleasure to him than it has given to me. I am glad it is gone where there is some one who can appreciate it." "Oh," said Violet, "Matilda knows all about the best pictures. We don't appreciate, you know, we only like." And your chief liking is for that one ?" "It is more than liking," said Violet; "I could call it loving. It is almost the same to me as Helvellyn. Annette and I went to the house for one more look, my last evening at home. I must tell her that you have seen it!" and the springing steps grew so rapid, that her companion had to say, "Don't let me detain you, I am obliged to go gently up hill." She checked her steps, abashed, and presently with a shy but very pretty action, held out her arm, saying timidly, "Would it help you to lean on me? I ought not to have brought you this steep way. Matilda says I skurry like a school-girl." THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE. "Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him, shall never thirst."-S. John iv. 14. I DROOP. O give me of the crystal stream, That fairest stream o'erflows with wisdom's richest ore- I droop. Sustain me blessed fount of life- I droop. Redeemer-only Fount of joy- Give one sweet drop to cool life's burning pain There is no healing spring on earth below. They search in vain for aid—who search for aught but Thee- SCHOOLBOY LIFE. ANOTHER book from the pen of Mr. Monro will be gladly welcomed by our readers, as it has been by ourselves. This time he has directed his powerful mind not to paint the trials, and troubles, the hopes, fears, and disappointments of a schoolmaster, but the several incidents of schoolboy life. And this he has done with a 1 Basil, the Schoolboy; or the Heir of Arundel. Masters. London : master's hand, and with a power of description which causes the reader to follow him with breathless interest, and not unfrequently with a tear-dimmed eye to the end of the tale. Some may doubt whether our public schools now-a-days contain many, or any examples of the Dance and Crawshay class-whether the vulgar bully and the polished black-leg are longer tolerated. We are amongst the number, yet none can question the deep insight into human character, which his able portraitures present in every feature. Basil, the hero of the tale, whose birth is shrouded in mystery, is a noble character. The high sense of moral and religious bearing which he manifests at school, bore fruit afterwards in his noble bearing as a man. The same may be said of Talbot. For the plot of the tale we must refer to the work itself. Amongst the schoolboys was one, a little Willie of whom no one knew anything, and who was soon made a butt for the bully Dance. In every imaginable way was this poor fellow tormented, though borne up mid all by the religious principles his mother had instilled into him, and the generous protection of Talbot. At length his persecution reached its height and one day he was thrown by his cowardly tormentors into a river, not far from a mill-pond. The danger was greater than had been anticipated, and Talbot who had opportunely come up, nearly lost his life in the attempt to save that of the little one. Willie, though saved from drowning, had yet received his death-blow. And in drawing the final scene of this young Christian's life, Mr. Monro gives us some descriptions which we think have never been surpassed. Who unmoved can mark the simple child-like faith and resignation of the dying lad-cheered by the blessed anticipation of meeting his mother who had taught him so well, and left him a poor orphan to struggle with the world? There is something so beautiful in this scene-the reception of the first and the last Communion-and the peaceful going home-that we are sure Mr. Monro describes what he has seen, and our readers will be pleased to peruse the following extracts, long though they be: "Mr. Morris came, and all was ready for the last Feast, the farewell Feast. Oh, how many bid farewell there for a long, long time, and yet to meet again at last! JESUS bade farewell at that Feast, and so do we. There was a large company gathered round the door through which Willie was going home-a large company-a happy company of guests. Talbot was to receive it for the first time, and Willie for the first and last; and Basil and one or two of the boys had asked to come, all full of holy resolutions to overcome self and serve God; and that was to be their seal. Willie was not going alone to heaven; he was leading more than one in his track. A schoolboy can do that a young, weak, uncared-for schoolboy-by the mere weight of example. "Ella sat on the bed; her hand was in Willie's, her warm dry one in his cold clammy one, and he was propped on pillows; he, with his sunk, pale, ashy face, and large, sparkling, intense eye, without a tear, against her blushing child-like face, and eyes full of scalding tears ready to fall; his long, damp, dark hair falling back over the pillow, and her long fair ringlets mingling with his. "Mr. Morris had been with Willie alone three or four times dur ing his short illness, and had questioned him deeply and closely as to his state of mind, and was more than satisfied with it all. Willie had longed for these moments. It is wonderful what GOD will do for the soul; how a child can look calmly on the rolling of that cold, chill. ing stream, and really yearn for the blessed feast of love, as the great satisfying object of the soul; but so it is. It was a hallowed scene that night; and the eyes of the little sufferer often wandered round on the little company with delight as he saw them round him. "It was over-that first and last Communion. "Dear Nelly," said he, looking at her while she held his hand in hers. His breath grew very heavy, and he could not say more; but he smiled very happily. "It's so-so happy-dear Ella-is it not?—to be-to be going to heaven.' "Oh, Willie, Willie, why can't I go too? why should we be divided?' 666 'Up-there,' said Willie with difficulty, and trying to lift up his hand, which fell weak on the bed. "He means you will be together in heaven, Ella,' said Talbot, wiping off the large drops which hung on his dewy forehead. His head was leaning on Basil's breast; the candle was a little behind him, and cast the shadow on his face; the window was opened to admit air, and the moon shone sweetly and softly on the floor and on the bed, on the wall and on Willie's forehead. There were three or four boys in the room, standing rather behind, but deeply silent, and full of many thoughts. There came a long silence-very long; and there was not a sound, except the long-drawn breathing; that long silence in which no one ever dares scarcely to breathe-so long that it seems hours, and each little thought leaves a deep impression on the sand of the memory. "Strange scenes, in one house, to go on at once under one roof! And the moon looked on all, and made no difference in its gentle shining-shone on the pillow, where a soul was just going to meet BB 2. |
