daughter is growing up she cares less about Irene than ever she did, and it is true, as she says, poor girl, she does not quite belong to any one. Having been brought up away from her father he has not the same affection for her that he has for the other children, and she feels he only looks after her for fear she should waste her fortune, She will have the full control of her money in a year or two, and of course she might marry, but somehow I do not think she will; she will find it hard to trust again, after Major Unwin's desertion. I wish we could suggest some plan for her. I dread her returning to the life at Lawton again.”

Arthur thought for a few minutes, then he said, "You are sure she has entirely given up Major Unwin ?"

"Yes," I replied, "I think I may safely say she has, I have never mentioned his name to her since the affair was definitely broken off, but she would not speak as she does if she had any future of the sort you seem to hint at in contemplation, she is very unreserved with me. Why do you ask?"

'

Because," he said, "since we have been talking it has occurred to me that at the Sisterhood at S. Saviour's they want workers, as they have several new schemes in hand. Now Irene would be simply invaluable to them, if she would work there steadily for a little while as an associate. It would be a good way to prove her steadfastness.”

I gladly welcomed the suggestion, and resolved to broach the subject to Irene on the first opportunity. I soon found one. She was reading a letter one day, the very next week after this conversation, and a piece cut from a newspaper fell from the envelope as she opened it. After a moment she stooped to pick it up, and a bright, burning flush spread itself over her face to the roots of her hair, as she said, “Mrs. Purcell sends her love to you and encloses me this," giving me the paper to read. It was the announcement of Major Unwin's marriage with the immensely rich widow of an Indian merchant.

I returned it saying, "Did you know anything of this ?"

'Yes," she replied, "I heard it was to take place. Let me see," taking up the paper again, "yes, it was the very week Lucy died. Poor child, she would not have welcomed her sister-in-law very warmly. Even Sir William could not have screened her from every jar."

There was a something in her manner which prevented any further comment on the subject. Presently she said, "Mrs. Purcell wants to know when I am coming home. I am going to write and tell her to

expect me the end of next week. I have had such a happy visit that I shall return quite brave."

Here was my opportunity, and I made the most of it. She listened eagerly, her eyes fixed intently on me as I repeated much of what Arthur had said.

"And you are sure," she asked, "that they really want help, such help as I could give them ?"

"Write, and hear for yourself," I replied.

That very day she did write to the Mother, and received such an answer as at once decided her movements. She had no difficulty in getting the consent of her father, and she left Leighscombe for S. Saviour's. There she worked with only short intervals for two years. Then she had the full control of her fortune, and was in a position to decide definitely on her future. She came to stay with us before taking the final step. But there was no wavering in her choice. She was much more the Irene of former days, bright, piquant, clever, but never bitter or flippant now. She arranged her worldly affairs herself with clearness and decision. One half of her property she made over to her father absolutely, the remainder, after she had bestowed on Leighscombe church a splendid organ, and an endowment to provide an organist and choirmaster, was still a large sum of money to bring into the Community she joined. She became a postulant at S. Saviour's directly she left us, and now for two years she has been a Sister. I rarely hear from her, but often of her. Sister Irene has found her vocation, and even on earth, "that peace which the world can neither give nor take away."

THE OBER-AMMERGAU PASSION PLAY.

REMOTE, embosomed in the Tyrol hills,

There lies, they say, a wondrous little spot,
Where, ever, as the tithe of time comes round,
They keep a solemn memory of CHRIST,

A weird and awful image to the life

Of that great Sacrifice which saved us all.

For, once, when pestilence was raging round,

GOD heard their prayer, and stayed the Angel hand,
Since when, in holy gratitude to Him,

They to their SAVIOUR give the tenths of time,
And keep a Holy Year wherein they show
A very tragedy of tragedies,

The dreadful pageant of the Passion of CHRIST.

There every scene of that momentous week,
With marvellous fidelity is shown,

And simple peasants, fired with sacred zeal,
Give to each character the touch of life,
The veriest children perfecting His praise.
No lack of art to lend the charm of change;
Tableaux of ancient types, as lifts the veil,
Stand in dumb show, so eloquently mute,
To herald every scene or e'er it comes,
Giving to Prophecy a presence: near
The attendant Chorus links the events in song.

There trembling faith, and honesty of heart,
And woman's deep devotion to the death,
And bigotry, and jealousy, and greed,
Malice, and treachery, and cowardice,
-The moving spectacle of love and hate-
Cluster around the central form that moves
Majestic in the midst of sin and virtue.

Who marks the fitful glances of the moon
Silently sailing through a sea of clouds,
Till utter blackness darkens all at last,
Nor feels that she will surely shine again
With light and glory irrepressible?

So they who watch Him calmly gliding on
Amid the fiends that dog His heavenly course

Until His holy light is lost in death,

Must know that He shall surely rise again,
Emerging from the hour and power of darkness.

Yet who could gaze upon that Master-scene,
The wondrous imitation of His death,

That death, the death of the Cross, and see Him there
Hanging, it boots not by what subtle art

So fixed, yet hanging, bleeding, drooping, dead;
Nor seem at once to feel the horrible shock,
The dread convulsion and suspense of nature

Which groaned responsive as He bowed His head?

423

A FEW WORDS ON CHURCH WORK.

THE SUNDAY SCHOOL TEACHER.

THE branch of Church work, which we have to consider now, is one the importance of which we can scarcely exaggerate. If Sunday schools were necessary twenty years ago, they are far more necessary now; if it was found then that the training of children in the elements of the Christian Faith could not be fully carried out in day schools, but that a portion of Sunday must be set aside for the same purpose, and for that purpose alone,-if this was necessary twenty years ago, when most, if not all the schools, were Church schools, and under the supervision of the clergy, how much more now!

For how is the old order of things changed! Board schools have risen and are rising up in all parts of the country, which have no connection with and owe no allegiance to the Church. There may be differences of opinion as to the Board system of education, but however we look at it, the fact remains that in many and an evidently increasing number of parishes there are day schools where the Bible may be read or not read, with comment or without, prayers said or not said, according to the decision of the Board, where the Church Catechism is absolutely forbidden to be taught, and where in most cases the clergy are forbidden to teach. What is to be done, then, if the children are not to be brought up as heathens, or at best as half-Christians alienated from the Church of their baptism? There are many suggestions which might be made, but the first and most evident is undoubtedly this:-make our Sunday schools efficient. That they have not hitherto been as efficient as they might be, none surely can deny, and the reasons are not hard to find. Teachers sadly wanting in the knowledge both of what they have undertaken to teach, and of how to teach it, have been entrusted with classes, and the hour or two assigned for the purpose of instruction has been uselessly frittered away.

That Sunday schools are useless for the purpose of imparting knowledge, that they are only a means by which children may be kept out of mischief on the Sunday, and an excuse for collecting them together for church, is a view which cannot be too strongly condemned. At the present time the two hours once a week in the Sunday school

cannot be valued too highly, and, if utilized as they should be, will be often looked back upon by the scholars, in after years, as the hours during which were learned the most precious lessons of their childhood. This should be the time above all others for inculcating Church principles in the minds of the young; this should be the time for explaining to their understanding the different services of the Church and the way in which they should join in them; this the time for gaining an insight into their hearts and instilling principles which may bear fruit in future years. But all this cannot be done without diligent, painstaking, earnest labour; and those who aim at doing it must not look forward to an easy task or one that will be accomplished without self-denial and perseverance.

Now, this subject of the Sunday school may be looked at in three ways: (1) as it concerns the clergy, (2) as it concerns the children, and (3) as it concerns the teachers. Here we will confine ourselves to the third way, as our object is to view it in the light of "Church work." The question, then, to be asked at the outset will undoubtedly be, what should be the qualifications of a Sunday school teacher? Without pitching the standard too high, let us look at some of these. It is indispensable in the first place, that he or she should be a staunch member of the Church, and a communicant; no other qualifications, no love of the work, no exceptional teaching powers, can take the place of this. Regarding the children, as we necessarily must, as members of the Body of CHRIST, to which they were admitted in Holy Baptism, none but those who have themselves enjoyed the privileges accorded to them in that Body, can possibly impart to them the knowledge of what those privileges are, and how best they may use them. The teacher will usually teach as thoroughly and as really by the example he sets in his daily life, as he will by the lessons he endeavours to enforce by word of mouth during the hours of the Sunday school. A holy life, a life, that is, lived in union with our Blessed LORD, which is always aiming high and never content with stopping half-way, is of more power than many words; for children are sharp, they will note any inconsistency in our lives, and, if they do not feel that they can look up to and admire and copy us, our influence over them is lost. But this is not all; in the heart of a Sunday school teacher there should undoubtedly be a love for children. We cannot expect to do much with the little ones if we are always setting them down as bores, and always complaining how they are "the plague of our lives," and