encouragement to conceit. We will never allow that it would be well to go back to the days when a little cooking, a little needlework, and a great deal of dullness, was considered the life of a gentlewoman. We are proud to think that our nation and our age-in spite of all the many faults of the young ladies of the day, in spite of the frivolity, the vanity, the absence of humility, the insincerity of the many-can yet boast of more and nobler specimens of intelligent earnest Christian womanhood, than any that the world has yet seen. There is, however, one point in which these girls might diminish their perplexities, namely, in a more self-distrustful choice of reading. If they would have the courage to avoid the subtile disquisitions, on philosophy, ontology, and above all on theology, which constitute the most acceptable food for the reading public, they would be showing the better part of valour. It will be granted that they might read, intelligently, acutely-nay! even deeply, on these subjects; but it would be unquestionably for their own happiness and usefulness, if they would conscientiously avoid them.

The temptations to such reading are very great. The whole tone of the age prepares the mind for it; probably most of their masculine friends will be thoroughly acquainted with it; but let no woman think that we derogate from her, when we remind her of her sex. Her glory is in her difference from man, not in her similarity to him. The temper of her mind is so delicately adjusted, that its elastic spring is readily injured by undue tension. All her reading on these subjects will rarely fit her to converse with ease on them, if she is sincere enough to eschew glib commonplaces, and to endeavour to speak as she feels, not as she thinks she ought to feel; and still more rarely will it enable her to reason on them for her own comfort and conviction. Thus, the gain is next to nothing for others, and the loss to herself incalculable-a loss of ease of mind, of simplicity, of freshness, most often of a true and childlike faith; and she will rarely gain any breadth of mind, or extension of view, to compensate for all she has lost. Women ought to be able to bear to be looked at minutely, not to be viewed like men, in extenso; therefore let all their studies aim rather at accuracy and finish, than at sweep and comprehensiveness. Far be it from us to encourage meagre circumscribed self-education; we only would remind that it requires a truer courage to confess to what may be termed narrow, than to seek the credit of a breadth we have never gained.

And there is another point which this choice of study embracesnamely, the cultivation of truthfulness. It is so extremely difficult to women to be in very deed true and open: to hate false gloss and superficial attainments, is not natural to minds which shrink from the toil that truth-seeking imposes; and yet every good woman longs to be delivered from this tendency to self-deception, which we all inherit from Eve. This is the strongest argument for the choice of such studies as those in which we can make real and not apparent progress, and which turn our eyes rather to the true Light of Life, than to the reflections of that Light

in the minds of men. Nor does this limit our range. It only would debar from those trains of thought which foster a sense of personal acuteness, and a consciousness of power of mind; but which do not leave us with a firmer, more reverent, more loving hold of absolute truth. For our hearts are our true sphere of labour, to which our heads must be ever subservient. And, while we reap the rich harvest of the ripened thoughts of many generations of great thinkers, we need surely think

ourselves no losers, if we voluntarily abstain from studies, the effect of which would probably be to restrict us for mental nourishment to a wretched preying upon our own ill-furnished minds.

An author of our own day has written a clever paper on the 'Dignity of Dullness.' The dullness, alas! we know well; the dignity is not so easily perceived; yet it is an undoubted fact, that to bear small deprivations with patient cheerfulness, is a higher attainment than to bear a brief agony with triumphant enthusiasm. The former is the lot of most lives. Is there no consolation for it? Are there not times in the history of the heart of every thoughtful woman, when her whole being cries out passionately and rebelliously against the circumscribed limits of her life, against the feebleness of her powers compared to the imperious aspirations of her soul-against the insufficiency of her life to fill the yearnings and cravings of her higher nature, which demands a draught of Wisdom, of Knowledge, or of Love, to quench its insatiable thirst? After a day of petty occupations for others, or the still more uncongenial toil of the ordinary social round, or of patient, and alas! too often impatient, tolerance of childish tempers, of disheartening yielding to small tempta tions, the heart, saddened and depressed, calls eagerly for something that shall elevate and refresh; and the question arises, Where is this to be found? The brain is weary, in spite of its inaction, and even favourite studies are too severe a tax; the novel may dissipate the thoughts, but does not renew the elasticity or fill the vacuum; and so the dispirited over-strained girl or woman too often sits down to lament the narrow tasks which have made her unfit for anything more elevating, and yet seem to have left so little to mark her efforts. It does not seem, at first sight, to be a cheering view; but it appears to be the true one, that the very inadequacy of her works to her aims and aspirations, is in fact her appointed lot; and if she can but convince herself she is not out of place, but precisely where the Master hath need of her, her perplexities will be solved; for what is a little more or a little less personal enjoyment, if she is, in the noble words of the Assembly's Catechism, 'glorifying God here, that she may enjoy Him for ever.'

There is a sentence, which appeared in a contemporary periodical not long ago, which is worthy to be called an apple of gold in a picture of silver,' so much of quiet wisdom and loving obedience lies hid in it: 'Petty trials are the pilgrimage of the soul.' There does at present, perhaps, seem little need for all this spare fuel and unemployed material; but since it is most profoundly true, that a woman's all of duty is combined in the one word, Submission, we see in this tedium, a means to this great end.

An old divine has this quaint saying: 'How small a thing is the soul of man, for a bauble can fill it! How large a thing is the soul of man, for the whole world-yea! the universe itself cannot satisfy it!' We are not intended to be satisfied on earth; but, thank God, we look to be satisfied in Heaven. Not one talent that has seemed unavailing here, not one noble thought, not one ungratified longing after knowledge, but ripens the soul, and prepares it for a place in the Kingdom of God. We cannot think it presumptuous to believe that these aspirations, which here add to rather than diminish from life's burden, are each intended to draw the soul nearer to the uncreated Good, to remind the homeless spirit, seeking rest and finding none, that in Him are hid all treasures of Wisdom and Knowledge. First, indeed, treasures of Love, which will satisfy, even to overflowing to all eternity, the heart which has never been

satisfied here; and then too, treasures of Knowledge, riches of absolute Truth, in which we may revel for endless ages, and possibly look back with deepest thankfulness for each year of unsatisfied aspirations, while we look up to the throne of God, with a fresh gush of adoring Love, that He gave us these thirsty eager souls, whose very emptiness* drove us to Him that they might be filled-to Him, in whom all fullness dwells, and who Himself bore our flesh, with its mysterious tenant, the soul, distinct from the Divine Spirit, within Him-our very Human Soul, with all its longings and its aspirations; and who can therefore look with equal sympathy on our intellectual sorrows, our temporal needs, or our spiritual burdens.

S. T.

HINTS ON READING.

PERHAPS all our readers may not be aware that the Rev. J. Keble's Sermons are in a course of publication in shilling parts, each containing three or four-Messrs. Parker, Oxford, being the publishers. They go very far back, one having been preached at his Curacy the very day week of his Ordination; and it is very remarkable to see the tone of thought already as characteristic as ever, though the frame-work of the language is scarcely so simple as it afterwards became.

There is also a second edition of the Memorials of Hursley, (Parker,) with several additional photographs, and some very beautiful wood engravings, especially those which decorate the petition from the flowers of a threatened copse, a poem written by Mr. Keble in playfulness, and permitted here to appear. A few inadvertencies have been corrected, and the book has altogether become a choice one.

A Key to the Prayer Book, by the Rev. J. J. Blunt, (Rivingtons,) is a valuable concise account of the origin and meaning of our Liturgy, and will, we are sure, be found very useful.

All school-rooms must have felt the need of some good mythological manual for the use of girls. The old Catechisms of Mythology are inferior affairs, composed before the more intelligent mode of looking at these subjects had come in; and Mr. Cox's, though full of depth and scholarship, has too much of theory and speculation to be as useful as it ought to beginners. Those readers of ours who recollect Miss Millington's Heraldry,' and her King Arthur,' will feel sure that she has enough both of poetic feeling and of cultivation to deal with these essentially poetic subjects, which, dealt with prosily, become merely ridiculous and disgusting; and their expectation will not be deceived. In a tiny 12mo. of one hundred and thirty pages, called Characteristics of the Gods of Greece, she has set forth all that is needful for young girls to learn of Greek and Latin heathenesse, placed in an attractive shape, and amply illustrated by quotations from good translations of classic poetry. It will be a good key to artistic representations, as well as a stepping-stone to Homer. The book, which bears Miss Millington's name, is published by Chillcott, Bristol, and we hope school-rooms enough will order it to give it a more than provincial fame.

Down among the Water-weeds (Johnstone, Edinburgh) is a very lively exposition of pond life, from the mouths of the caddises, water-boatmen, &c., and is a very pretty little book for promoting a taste for natural history-one of the happiest tastes that can be possessed.

Irene's Repentance, by Christian Eyre, (Hurst and Blackett,) is a story of a bride, whose sisters-in-law are most unkindly set against her. It is a well-told story, but exaggerated. No ladies, and no really conscientious person like Edith, could have held out against one so inoffensive as Irene; and the author has forgotten how much the fear of alienating the brother does in such cases. However, the brides always have the sympathy in stories, and it is not often that, as in Miss Sewell's 'Gertrude,' the faults on both sides are made apparent.

The Silver Skates (Low) is a charming story-the scene laid chiefly on the ice in Holland; and altogether there is a clear, fresh, frosty feeling, throughout the tale,

*The Pulley.-George Herbert.

that makes it most pleasant reading; and the people are as trim and bright as a Dutch picture.

Miss Emily Taylor has brought together a choice collection, under the title of Memories of some Contemporary Poets—(Longman)—a few poems as specimens of each, together with a brief memoir. The verses are well selected, quiet, tender, and thoughtful; and it is just the book to lie on one's table, to be carried on a journey, or to afford pleasant brief readings in a convalescent's room, bringing together, as it does, many minor pieces, not always easily accessible.

A beautiful book has likewise been set forth by Messrs. Edmonstone and Douglas, wherein Mrs. Blackburn has given us the presentiments of Birds from Nature—not maps of the dead biped, but living, loving, dramatic portraits of them in the midst of their antics, or among their progeny; and Mrs. Blackburn does so thoroughly understand the gawky, downy, splay-footed, splay-billed, yet appealing wistful look of the fledgeling, that her bird-pictures are almost as much of stories as Mrs. Beecher Stowe's own comical tiny book of Queer Little People, which, by-the-by, we heartily commend to small readers, as well as another American story, a fascinating account of some small gardens, by the name of The Three Little Spades.

The Lending Library is always the better for The Curate's Budget Stories, some of which have been very good lately. The Tales for Saints' Days puzzle us as to the persons for whom they can be intended. Ned's Influence is a really good village tale, but many of the others are of persons in a higher rank of life. The Sad New Year is touching; but that for St. Stephen's Day is of a very queer family, where the sick brother never is visited by his sister for sixteen years, though living in the same house; and the wicked younger son talks to his father at the top of his voice about borrowing money on his expectations, and finally murders the good invalid, and steals his will, only to send it back again in a fit of remorse. We are really sorry that anything so improbable should form part of a series of stories intended to serve the Church. We only speak with what we are sure must seem like hardness, because we know that poor religious writing produces a reaction very dangerous where there is plenty of very clever literature on the other side.

There is a pretty little book of poems, called The Morning of the Church; or, Lays of Early Christianity, printed by Messrs. Richards, 232, Caledonian Road, which we can recommend to our readers as giving some of the great scenes in the early Church in sweet and simple verses, which we believe would carry the thought of them home to many.

CORRESPONDENCE.

THE HOME, WINSOR, NEAR BIRMINGHAM.

Sir, I am glad to see that you bring the above-named admirable Institution before your readers, and I should, although entirely unconnected with the Home, and personally unacquainted with the founder of it, be very glad if the account given in your December number were the means of inducing your subscribers to send the Lady Superintendent some help in money.

Of course books would be very acceptable, or gifts of any kind; but the expenses of the Home exceed the sums paid for some of the inmates, and all the extra money spent falls upon the founder.

I can testify to the wonderful good done to a girl, sent to the Home from the place where I live. This girl had been dismissed as incorrigible from the two schools she had been sent to before; and her end at her own home would probably have been as sad as that of an elder sister, had not Miss at once kindly received her. She has now been some years at the Winsor Home, and has become a totally changed character; and when I saw her last year, I could scarcely believe she was the same child. I may add, that during a severe illness this girl was nursed by Miss in the most kind—indeed, I may say, devoted manner; and she owes her bodily life as well as her spiritual life, under God's blessing, to the servant of Christ, who has so nobly worked to win souls to the God she serves.

Your faithful servant,

P. C. M. H.

311

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

No MS. can be returned unless the Author's name and address be written on it, and stamps be sent with it.

Contributions must often be delayed for want of space, but their writers may be assured that when room can be found they shall appear.

We beg to thank D. S. for informing us that the 'Hymns from the Land of Luther' are translated by Miss Jane Borthwick and her sister. It would be still more interesting to learn to which of these authors the individual hymns are due. Can our Correspondent inform us?

The Rev. L. C. Biggs thanks H. W. B. for directing attention to the notice in The Church Times. The ascription of "There's a friend for little children,' to Hood, was made on Mr. Sedgwick's authority. Where did Mr. Trend's hymn, ‘Praise, O praise our heavenly King,' appear previously to 1861? And above all, where is Milton's version of PSALM CXLVIII., on which it is based, to be found?

Try would be much obliged if any reader of The Monthly Packet could inform her the meaning of Trishagion, and the Stichera of The Last Kiss-two words introduced in the Hymns of the Eastern Church.- ANSWER.-Trisagion is the thrice-repeated Holyhagios, hagios, hagios, in Greek-of the Cherubic Song. The Greek adjective, Sticheros, signifies in rows or in ranks,' applied to the lines of poetry. The first syllable is the same that we have in the word di-stich. Sticheron, plural Stichera, is evidently a technical term for a particular form of stanza, which Dr. Neale mentions, but does not minutely define. Theophila.-The version of 'Hark, the herald Angels,' mentioned by Theophila— i.e. with man to appear,'-seems unheard of, and not being even in true metre, cannot surely rest upon any authority.-E. A. E.

F. R. would be much obliged if anyone could tell her where the following lines are taken from

'A shadow flits before me

Not thou, but like to thee.

Oh, Christ! that it were possible

For one short hour to see

The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.'

And also whether a story called Priez pour elle ever appeared in The Monthly Packet. -ANSWER.—In volume xxx., p. 555, as a poem entitled The Knight of Intercession. Nellie would be much obliged if any of the Correspondents of The Monthly Packet could inform her who is the author of the following quotation:

Also of this

Does not E. mean 'An

Task, book vi., line 564.

'The Almighty's breath spake out in death,
And God did draw Honora up

The golden stairs to Heaven.'

"Where they together,

All the hard weather,

Dead to the world, keep house unknown.'

inadvertent foot may crush a snail?' which is in Cowper's

A. H. would be glad to know of any work in which young ladies can be employed otherwise than as governesses, and if there is any institution where ladies are trained as

nurses.

I. T. would be greatly obliged if any contributors to The Monthly Packet could inform her where she might dispose of work such as Tatting, Picture-frames and Bruckets, and Dressed Dolls. The proceeds of the sale of her work to be applied to complete the restoration of a church. Would any bazaars be likely to take such work if very reasonably priced?-A Constant Reader also wishes to know whether there is any place in London where a lady could dispose of Water-coloured Drawings.

S. W. begs to know where to find The Mother's Lament over Her Poor Idiot Boya copy of verses seen above twenty years ago, and supposed to be part of an Oxford or Cambridge prize poem.

Declined with thanks.—A Maiden's Death-bed.

F. C. P.-The story of The Christian Martyr is told in a recent number of The Parish Magazine, but we believe there is no legend of real application to it.