during the colder weather, a soup kitchen is in constant operation. There are also other agencies, which we need not enumerate, but we should mention among them a shop for the sale and distribution of pure literature.

Three summers ago a large tent was erected, in which religious services were held every evening, and the simple truths of the gospel preached by those accustomed to deal with the working classes. The kind of persuasion exerted may be inferred from the fact that during these months more than two thousand persons signed the total abstinence pledge; but it is due to say that the claims of spiritual religion were never subordinated to resolutions for social reform. It was at this time that the opportunity offered for acquiring the "Edinburgh Castle," which was at once seized by Dr. Barnardo. The place was offered for sale, and the amount required was forthcoming as soon as the facts were known. Within a fortnight a large sum was sent in to Stepney Causeway; but scarcely had the deposit been paid, and a day fixed for the completion of the transaction, than some one in the interest of the drink-traffic offered another 5007.; and the building would have passed to the highest bidder, if the whole of the purchase-money had not been forthcoming on the appointed day. It is a singular fact that on the morning of that day the sum in hand amounted to 4,0907., but that a gentleman then unexpectedly called and said he wished "to fire a hundred-pounder at the 'Castle," and that the post subsequently brought another 107., making in all 4,2007., the exact sum needed, within the hour required. So the purchase was effected, and the transformation made. A considerable sum has since been contributed and spent in the necessary adaptations. The Coffee Palace is now opened at five o'clock every morning, and working men who are early abroad can have their cup of coffee without the two pennyworth of rum, which is the usual infusion of the public-houses. All day

long its rooms are at their command; but the great "music-hall" is reserved for religious services. The rector of the parish was present at the opening meeting, when the hall was crowded with two thousand people, and expressed his deepest regret that he had not had the honour to stand forth at an earlier period and take part in this work, which filled him now with thankfulness and wonder. The following inscription is emblazoned across the wall of the principal coffee-room: "The Edinburgh Castle,' formerly used as a Gin Palace and Concert Room, was opened on Friday, Feb. 14th, 1873, as a Working Man's Club and Coffee Palace, by the Right Hon. the Earl of Shaftesbury."

W

AUNT PRISCILLA'S PUDDING.

HEN I was a young girl I had a very kind old aunt, who lived

alone, and whom my sisters and I often used to visit.

She was called Aunt Priscilla. Sometimes, indeed, we used to call her, behind her back, "Aunt Precise," because we thought her over-particular about little things.

Not that it troubled her much if we had an accident and tore our frocks, or even spilt the ink, as we once did, on her best tablecover, or came in and marked her carpet with dirty boots.

These things she passed over more lightly than they would have been passed over at home. We were always so very sorry for an accident of that kind, and she used to comfort us by saying, "Never mind, my dears; you will be more careful next time." But there were some things that vexed her very much, in which we saw no harm at all. My sister Fanny was a lively girl, full of fun, and very fond of talking. If she related anything she always

made a grand tale of it, and the simplest event would be magnified by her into something wonderful.

One day she was telling Aunt Priscilla of a visit she had paid to one of her schoolfellows. This girl, whose name was Lydia Stone, lived in a better house than ours, and, according to Fanny's description, it was quite a palace. There was a piano in every room, pictures on the walls for which hundreds of pounds had been given, a garden at least three times the size of our own, and the most splendid furniture.

"And Lydia used to send her lady's-maid every day to dress me for dinner," said Fanny; "and, oh, aunt, it was such fun seeing a footman behind every chair, watching to take our plates."

"Mr. Stone must have altered his style of living since last year when I dined there," said my aunt, quietly.

Poor Fanny did not know that my aunt visited the Stones, and began to feel uncomfortable at her exaggerated descriptions of the splendours of " Willow Lodge.”

"He had only one footman then," continued my aunt, "and there was no lady's-maid, only a little sewing-girl who helped in the nursery. Lydia used to be able to dress herself at that time." "I think she dresses herself now," said Fanny, colouring.

"And how was it you were obliged to have a maid to dress you? Did you get a gathered finger?"

"No, aunt," said poor Fanny, more and more confused. "She only came to help me once when we came in late from a ride."

"I see, child, you have been exaggerating, as usual. I wish you could see that untruth is a very great sin."

"But it isn't untruth, indeed, aunt," said I, beseechingly; "she has got into such a habit of embellishing that she hardly knows when she does it."

"You deceive yourselves, my dears, by the excuses you make," said my aunt. "Call things by their right names. Every untruth

D

is a sin, and we have no right to embellish our conversation with fanciful pictures while professing to describe what has really occurred."

"I don't think there's any great harm in making a good story to amuse people," said Fanny; and my aunt said no more.

Another time, when I was spending a few days with Aunt Priscilla, I was very much taken up with a book which had been borrowed from a circulating library,

"I should be glad, child, if you would read a little of that aloud to me," said my aunt one morning. "It seems very

interesting."

I was twenty-one, but it was my aunt's habit to call me "child."

"I don't think you would like it, aunt," I replied.

"Why not, my dear? I can enjoy a good story as well as anybody," she said, briskly.

"I'm afraid it's not a very good book, though there's not much harm in it," I answered; and, putting it down, I took my sewing in hand, fearful that I had been thinking too much of my own pleasure and neglecting to amuse my aunt.

A little shadow rested on her face, and she said, repeating my words, "Not much harm! Oh, what a device that is of our great enemy to beguile unstable souls!"

Soon afterwards she proposed that we should go out and invite my sister Fanny to spend the next day with us. Fanny was much pleased to come, for, though my aunt thought a great deal of what we called "trifles," she was so kind and good that we all loved her very dearly.

Aunt Priscilla had provided rather a curious dinner, as you shall hear.

When the meat was removed two dishes were placed on the table, one, a large pudding of plain rice, the other, a very little

pudding not much bigger than a tea-cup, which my aunt said was very delicately flavoured.

"But before you eat any of it, my dears, I think I should tell you that I gave the cook leave to put a little poison in it." We both looked horrified, as you may suppose.

Poison, aunt!" I cried; "what can you mean?”

"There's very little poison, my dear. I don't think it would kill you if you were to eat the whole of it. She has only put enough to give it a flavour."

"But is it safe, aunt? Would you eat it?”

"No, my dear; I care too much for my health to risk it in that way. When people get as old as I am, they don't want to be made sick just for a momentary gratification."

Fanny and I declined to be made sick, too, and chose the plain rice pudding. In fact, the other quite lost its attraction when we were told how it was flavoured.

"Will the servants eat it?" asked Fanny.

"No; my servants have too much good sense," answered my aunt, shortly; "it will be put out of the way."

"I wonder you had it made, aunt. Isn't it rather a waste ?" I ventured to ask. 66 Surely you did not think Fanny or I cared so much for eating as to risk being made ill?"

"I see you care more for the health of your bodies than your souls," said my aunt. "Fanny is not afraid to flavour her stories with untruth for the momentary pleasure of seeing people amused; and you, Jane, can spend hours over a book that is flavoured (slightly, perhaps, but still flavoured) with poison. No great harm—this is what young people say, and the soul loses its health and sickens, and at last perhaps dies, from highly-flavoured, poisonous food, for which, if once indulged, it gets a craving."

Neither Fanny nor I have ever forgotten Aunt Priscilla's warning; and I think her little pudding was not wasted after all