have been turned into prayer-meetings.

The latter are better attended than formerly. We feel God's presence in them, and find the strength we need to go through our great task."

Oct. 14.

"God is doing us good; we feel that we are in His hand. It is that Hand which has thrown us down, and which is keeping us in an iron prison. . It is true that we are rationed at 80 grammes (not quite 3 oz.), of meat per day, and that we must wait for this slender pittance for three or four hours till our turn comes, but what is this in comparison with the evils that may yet be awaiting us? This oneness in trial, this equality of the poor and the rich in face of privation, serves to link hearts powerfully together, and will leave beneficial effects after the siege is over.

"A breeze of benevolence, of compassion, of mutual responsibility has passed over Paris. There is more pity for the poor; people give more willingly to the impotent and to the blind. Men, heretofore separated by insurmountable barriers, are brought together; priests and pastors vie with one another in their courage in going to pick up the wounded on the battle-field. The chastisement which has fallen upon us has already caused many to turn their looks heavenward. Men, formerly complete strangers to any sort of religion, recognise openly that God is chastising us because we have offended Him. There is not, as yet, a calling upon the Saviour, but those who have been for long preaching to masses (who did not even believe in the Invisible), hail with joy this first return to God. It is, as it were, the fixed point upon which to place our lever. This God, who is striking us, is the law, and the law is needful as a preparation for grace. I doubt not that our France, ploughed up so deeply, will have a magnificent seed-time. Even now we find the work of evangelisation easier. Hearts are looking out eagerly for consolation; our audiences are more numerous than at this season in former years." We agree with M. Fisch in believing that good for France will ultimately result from her present calamities, but, in the meantime, Protestants and Romanists alike are decided on continuing a war on which they now look as one of self-defence. Several Protestant pastors have just published a protestation in the name of French Protestantism, repudiating all solidarity with the King of Prussia, in his "pretended Divine mission," as well as against the use he makes of the name of God in his official bulletins. "We look upon such words," say the protesters, "accompanied by such actions as a deplorable aberration. We feel bound to stigmatise the invocation of the name of God upon a war of conquest and pillage as an odious blasphemy. For the God of the Gospel is not the God of battles, of force, of proud success, but the God of the liberated conscience, of the humble heart, of holy self-denial.

"In face of an invading army, which is setting up brute force as a right, and abandoning itself unscrupulously to all sorts of crimes, we are grieved to see that Evangelical Protestantism is made to bear · the responsibility of a policy and a behaviour which are condemned by its very principles."

M. Pilatte criticises this protestation very severely on the ground that it has come too late. "It was in July," he says, "that the organs of this Protestant press should have raised their voice." His own paper, the Eglise Libre, was the only one that dared, at that moment, to condemn the war. "Will it be said that it was dangerous to do it? We know that very well, and it is just the reason why we think that after having kept silence then it is not. becoming to protest now. Is it on account of the religious languageused by the King of Prussia that you desire to lift up your voices against the abuse of the name of God and the invocation of His. providence upon horrors that He cannot but detest?

"Here, again, the thing should have been done sooner. The criminal who was still reigning over France in July boasted of being. a Christian. He styled himself the eldest son of the Church, the very Christian Emperor. When he set out to conquer the Rhine, to ravage Germany, to dictate peace at Berlin, he also invoked the name of God. 'God will bless our arms,' said he, and no one protested against his impious words! .

"Have we two weights and two measures to judge of blasphemous speeches according as they come from this or that one? The truth is that at that moment we supposed the greater part of the looked-for evils would fall upon others. We did not expect reverses, and those we were about to inflict weighed but lightly upon us.

"God has not 'blessed our arms.' The calamities of war, ruin, devastation, a conquering foe, have fallen upon us, and now only would it seem have we found out that war is a crime, that it is anti-Christian, and that it is an odious blasphemy to invoke the name of God upon it."

M. Pilatte then proceeds to give his own convictions as to the duty of French Christians at the present moment. "Whatever be the horror," says he, "with which we regard war (any war, and more than any other the one upon which we have entered), we are no longer free to shun it. Powerless to attack, we are condemned to defend ourselves. Protestations, appeals to the world's sympathy, remonstrances to the enemy are useless. The time for all that has gone by. Our misfortune demands of us a greater degree of dignity. Nothing remains for us, at the juncture to which things have come, but to concentrate our strength, to prepare for the greatest sacrifice, and to struggle for the deliverance of our country, till we gain the victory or sink exhausted."

HESTER GOLDERING'S SACRIFICE.

BY MAGGIE SYMINGTON.

CHAPTER XXVIII.-WRITTEN BY JANE GOLDERING.

Ar the time when little Trottie was adopted by those unknown people I was ten years of age, so that I preserve a perfectly distinct recollection of her. I remember the morning my mother set out with her for London as well as though it were but yesterday. Annie and I dressed her in her best for the journey, and I remember thinking it strange mother should choose to take her with her when either Annie or I would have been so much more companionable; we did not know her intention then. It was a fortunate transaction in every respect, for by it mother is made independent for life with the income settled upon her by Sir William Trevor; without that we should undoubtedly have suffered much privation, for nothing remained for us out of the wreck of father's affairs. Annie was goose enough to say that we had better have remained poor and have kept little Trottie; I remember she cried a great deal when mother returned from London without the child; I thought it was rather a relief, for Trottie had been terribly spoiled, and at times was very troublesome.

Mother never told us who had adopted little Trottie, nor where she was living; it was as though she were dead to us. I remember foreign letters coming for mother for several years, how she always retreated to her room to read them, and remained in seclusion for an hour or more afterwards, but she never communicated any portion of their contents to Annie and me.

Mother opened a school, and, through Mr. Paston's recommendation, soon obtained six day pupils to educate with Annie, Charlie, and me. This helped out her income nicely; then Charlie was sent to an excellent school in the town. When Annie and I were old enough to assist in it, our school was increased, Mr. Paston still remaining our firm friend. Then Annie was married. The boys grew up and ceased to be an expense to mother, so she gave the entire proceeds of the school to me; as my tastes did not seem to incline me towards a married life, she said it would be well for me to be able to save a little money against the time when, in the natural course of things, she would leave me alone, and her income would cease. Now I am independent of her, and dependent solely upon my own exertions. She still assists me in the school, but has ceased to take a very active part in its management.

Our lives together, mother's and mine, have been very mono

tonous; one day has been an exact fac-simile of another, each year has been so like the one preceding it, that the discovery I made by dint of my own individual perseverance and patience seemed suddenly to stop the tenor of my life's current. When I knew where she was living, when I had traced her beyond a doubt, I could not resist the desire that made me long to see my sister in her present position, to look upon the face Charlie described as so perfectly beautiful. I knew it would be but a melancholy satisfaction L should have in doing so; that, though seeing it, I should grudge her her easy, pleasant life, and the enjoyment of which it is full, I could not deny myself the execution of my design. I had received an invitation from Kate Ward to visit her at Castleton; I did not care to accept it, but I did so because I could not leave without accounting for my absence to mother. Priorston is within two miles of Castleton, and from there it was easy to take the train to Eversley; a return ticket would give me plenty of time there. I went; I saw her; and I almost hated her for her pretty, inane, baby face, that looked so little calculated to appreciate or make the most of her many advantages. If I were in her position, I thought how much I could achieve, how much respect I would win, how much good I would do. All her many advantages seem thrown away upon her; she has no more consciousness of her exaltation than though she were a waxen-faced doll; she is absurdly small and slight, and I should say is as much wanting in mental as in bodily stamina. Had I found her more worthy I could have respected her, now I despise her; and to think that she is the one cruel fate has raised! How could Charlie laud her so?

A serious accident happening to Sir William Trevor kept back the unwelcome intelligence I longed to give her; I wonder how she would have looked had I suddenly appeared before her, claiming relationship, and telling her she was no more fitted to wed with the young lord by her side than I? Fancy my drudgery in the schoolroom day after day and year after year, and she rolling in her carriage and styled "my lady;" yet we are both children of one mother!

The explanation was postponed. I heard before I left Castleton that Sir William Trevor had died at his residence, Crowland Abbey, of wounds received from an accident in the hunting-field, and upon the Monday after I reached home came the intelligence of Lady Trevor's death also. I communicated it to mother myself, for I thought it was perfectly ridiculous for silence to be observed between us on the subject any longer. She said there was not the slightest need for reserve now that both Trottie's guardians were dead, on account of which she intended, in a week's time, to go to Crowland, and claim Martha's duty and affection.

Mother told Annie and the boys what I had discovered for myself, and communicated to them the purport of her intended journey. "And will she come home here, mother?" Annie asked.

"I do not know. Lady Trevor promised that the child of her adoption should be left duly provided for at her death. Martha is sure to have been kept in ignorance of her true parentage up to the latest moment, but I can hardly think Lady Trevor would continue that reserve to the very last. I can make no arrangements for the future; it appears to me that it is my duty to go to her; after that she must decide what shall be done."

So mother went.

The day after her departure I received a telegram from her :"Martha returns with me at six this evening."

:

I dismissed my school earlier than usual that the house might be set in readiness for the reception of my lady sister; I wondered how it would seem to her after the magnificence of Crowland. I was glad that at last she was returning to the life she had been born to. I wondered what she would think of me in my homely dress after the ladies in their silks and jewels whose society she had been accustomed to. Would she like the prospect before her of seeing no one but mother and me day after day and week after week? and the notion that all the mighty people of Hartford, who must seem so terribly small to her, will look down upon her without condescending to notice her? Charlie called her beautiful; will the people of Hartford think her beautiful too? She may well be fair, never having been obliged to do anything to mar her beauty. I should have been beautiful too, perhaps, if my life had been spent as hers has been, cradled in the lap of luxury, never knowing what it is to have a single wish ungratified, pampered, petted, spoiled. I hope Sir William and Lady Trevor have not left her a penny. I hope, after her life of silken idleness, she may come home to earn her living as I do, and know what days of toil and nights of anxiety are, as I know. I do not see why her life should be all brightness and beauty, mine all darkness and deformity. It isn't right. It isn't justice. I thought of all this when I sat waiting for their coming, having set tea ready in the back-room; Martha may just as well begin from the beginning to live as we do. The stopping of the omnibus at the door put an end to my musing.

I went to the door and threw it open. Mother got out, followed by the insignificant form of my sister, covered from head to foot with crape, so her dress appeared at first. What a mockery it is for her to wear such heavy mourning for people that were not related to her in any way. I wonder however much the crape on her dress cost; she won't be able to indulge in many such extravagances if she live long with us.