School, in spite of its inconvenient premises, attests its popularity."

To have for our Inspector so able a man, so fine a scholar, and the son of so famed a father, would seem to be a matter of no small congratulation for our Schools: Schools which promise shortly to become so prominent a feature in the work of this parish.

And here we would not leave unmentioned the two Christmas "Treats" which have been lately given to our children in the "Rooms," which are no longer "Caldwell's," but the children's own. The first was a Tea for 500; with Christmas Tree of vast proportions, loaded with those peculiar fruits which this season alone brings forth. In addition to which was quite a bazaar of things, pleasant, useful, and good, for boys and girls. Gifts three-fold seemed the rule of lavishness. The Rector's family and friends were the source of all these good things.

The second "Treat" was a Tea for the Sunday School, with Dissolving Views, historical and other; to which the friends of the children were invited; the room seating from five to six hundred. There was a special interest in this feature of the evening, that it was provided by a subscription amongst the Sunday School teachers, and that of a most liberal kind.

Surely these "Treats" are something more than mere amusement for the children, and evidence of the interest felt in them by their pastors, masters, and teachers. They are witnesses to the truth that with Education and Godliness, must ever be combined, Recreation and Gladness; where the system claims to itself the high title of Christian. The child should begin early to know that smiles and light-heartedness, not gloom and sadness, are the marks of a truly Christian life.

To both the above entertainments our Choir-boys were invited; they having an especial claim to share in all that is joyous in our work.

D

Our Discussion Class has had on its list of subjects discussed of late, the following:-" Annuities to the Royal Family." "The Commune in Paris." "Organic Life."

"Free Trade in America." "Liberalism." "Our Society." "Paris." "New York." "The nine hours movement."

Many of the debaters have given evidence of an unaffectedness of speech, and grasp of the matter in hand, which would do credit to not a few of our more pretentious speakers.

C. ANDERSON.

once more.

I CAME up from my lone country life to Town, as a diver comes up from the silent deeps to human sight and sound To me, that first great rush of London life in road and footway, is like a noisy waking from some long trance. My whole nature hails the Big City with its everlasting stir and bustle; its high, and low, and middle class, shoving body and soul this way and that, through day and night unrestingly. Here, this life-torrent greets me, in the place of the silent country, with its cows and green trees, and silly sheep, and cabbages, and squires, who drive about like little demi-gods in gigs; and gather pride from the unwilling bows and scrapes of empty-headed peasants, whose talk is all summed up in vacant "ahs" and "ayes."

My visit was but of a few short hours; yet such as I then saw I tell. My way lay through the park, Hyde Park. It was now nearly sunset, but the many crossing paths were full of life, all interesting to me, a poor Provincial. I stopped to hear a ranter rant. His talk was a strange compound of ignorance, fanaticism, and self-esteem; a wondrous flow of wondrous speech, where Christian charity, or Christian aught else, was hard enough to find. His melancholy voice, his cheerless aspect, and repellent look, made him an odd messenger of the "glad tidings of great joy." No wonder, with such teachers, that the multitude recoils from the thought of a Christian life. As I wandered on down the broadest walk, I met a motley multitude; a spruce soldier, arm-in-arm with a fair young child, who scarce could reach his elbow; an errand-boy, wearing an empty basket, helmet-fashion, and butting at respectable old gentlemen coming opposite, to whom he gave sharp laughing jokes, in change for useless anger.

And now there was a crowd around a woman, who was giving her experiences of conversion;" amongst whom there stood a little groom in neat and natty stable dress; a sharpeyed man-boy of ten, or may be twenty years, reared on gin and stable gossip. He listened with a vacant stare; plainly puzzled by this strange tale of strange thoughts and feelings, quite unknown to him. Now, there passed along a gentleman of position, going to May Fair; then, a lady, not of position, going to the bad. And now, two little children trotted by, making noisy music on a cheap drum and penny whistle, to their own heart's full content. If you want to see all this, go down there any evening; and if you find not those whom I saw, they have numerous counterparts. Then go home and sleep upon it all, if you can, and wake a second Daniel, to interpret the vision. Tell its full meaning and intent; the wisdom and the folly, the enlightenment and advance.

But it was growing dark, and I was needing rest, and food of some sort. So I strolled on, through the lamp-lit streets, and saw-no matter what I saw. Yes, I saw "Life" ; its recklessness, and broken-heartedness, and filth all clashing, and clanging, and coaxing, and befooling, as it may be seen any night thereabouts, not far from the Parish of Soho; dirt physical, and moral, enough to blind and stifle one. I wandered on: a Coffee House! It promised quiet and food, so I went in. For waiter, there was a young, delicate, gentlelooking lad. So, as is my way, I got talking with this boy. He said his father was a carpenter, and took to drink, and left them. His mother and little sister went too, one early morning, some other unknown way. So he was now alone. But his master was kind, and kept him on. He got five shillings a week, to pay for board and lodging; and did it somehow. And he was happy, and content. Things were better than they used to be when his father and mother were always beating him. He liked books, and wrote a fair hand; was thought a good scholar when at school. Then he told me how he "managed." Clothes were a difficulty. Food and

lodging might be got, but then there was little over. He was handy with his needle, and had mended and mended, till things were well-nigh past mending: but many young chaps had worse luck, he said.

It was now getting late, so I sought a room to sleep in, at this same Coffee House. I felt tired, in mind, as well as body, and longed for that rest of thought, which generous sleep alone would grant me. And I did soon reach a half unconsciousness not that of dreaming, for real sounds and spoken words yet came to me; I being still awake enough to hear and to remember, yet not to feel and act. But presently that other half of self woke up, so as to make that perfect I, which feels, and reasons, and reflects, and does. What had I heard? A woman's sad, wailing voice. Surely in my room, right by my very bed? No, but on the other side that thin partition. I could hear her now. What does she say? Those same words again of sorrow, and of shame: few words, wailed out at intervals sadly, and at times passionately.

But now she passes quickly to and fro her room; and now she stops. I hear her window violently thrown open, as with some desperate purpose. I listen eagerly; my watch ticks calmly on and on, its steady, unfeeling seconds. At last the window is slowly closed again; and as it goes down, I being very weary drop off to sleep. But only soon to wake, and find myself wildly staring through my own open window down upon a noisy crowd. Has she? No. It is but some drunken street-row.

This time I am wide awake, and feverish. Sights and sounds, and recent memories, now steal up in supernatural relief, as from some other new-found and yet more terrible world. The while, the dark open window gapes upon the lone street, so far below; with its double row of lamps

gleaming with a seeming conscious influence on the stillness, now come doubly back again. In those few moments there passed before me, all this poor girl's sorrow and shame; and the drunken row just gone from down below