am much obliged to "a London clergyman" for his letter and suggestion, for a Burmese gong instead of a bell. I am still collecting for Mr. Harvey, and I am grateful for any donation, however small. Yours, &c., ISABEL MOORE.

[Since the above was written, a donation of £1 has been gratefully received from S. T. M. together with a copy of the report of the S. P. C. K., to which society it is advised that application should be made on behalf of Mr. Harvey's work at Port de Grave.]

"AN ANSWER, NOT WHAT YOU LONGED FOR."

SIR,-The lines mentioned by Gari, are from a poem by Miss Procter, called "Strive, wait, and pray."-Yours, &c., F. WILLIAMS.

Notices to Correspondents.

A. C. R. S. Neot, commemorated on the 28th of October and on the 31st of July, was a saintly anchorite of the ninth century in England: he is said to have been related to King Alfred and his first adviser in the foundation of the University of Oxford; he was of noble birth, and early took the monastic habit at Glastonbury. He became a great scholar, and dreading the applause of men, obtained leave from his Superior to retire into solitude in Cornwall, where his name long survived in that of the locality, Neotstoke. Many resorted to him for counsel, amongst others Alfred, who agreed at his bidding to found a place of general study. He died about A.D. 883, and was buried in Cornwall, but in the reign of King Edgar his relics were removed to Huntingdonshire, where an abbey entitled S. Neot's or S. Need's was built in his honour.

Editha M. Herodias was the wife and not the widow of Philip when her so called marriage with Herod took place.

I. C. L. K. A letter from India awaits you at our office; if you will kindly send your present address we will forward it to you.

Accepted: "An Enigma ;" "Feast of S. Stephen."

THE Mission at Poffil, the idea of which Isabel had treated so slightingly, was now occupying the chief thoughts and expectations of many of the inhabitants.

The district visitors, amongst whom was Mrs. Soames, had been round diligently for three weeks in succession to every house in the place with preparing papers, the very effort to rouse others had kindled them to enthusiasm. The most indifferent had been at least awakened to inquire what a Mission meant,-and on Shrove Tuesday the Mission began.

Not only was Canon Dermer fervent in preaching, but he and a young clergyman who assisted him, diligently visited at intervals between the services. Many cases of spiritual hardness of heart, or sloth and indifference that had long perplexed and distressed Mr. Bourne, he was glad to be able to bring to the powerful influence of the Missioner; and on the fourth day he begged him to visit an old woman who was lying very ill in one of the almshouses.

"It is a case from Melville's parish," he said, "and a very sad one, the poor thing was housekeeper in the squire's family there for forty years, a really upright and good servant. The young squire married a few months since, and his wife would not be satisfied without turning things upside down, and so she gave this poor old creature notice, and the injustice and hard treatment has had such an effect upon her that

she quite refuses to receive Holy Communion because she cannot feel in charity with her late mistress."

“A sincere nature at all events, that looks hopeful," observed the Canon.

"I am glad you think so," returned the Vicar, "Melville and I have been much grieved about her; but here we are, I will just introduce, and then leave you."

An hour later the Missioner came out of the small red-brick house, with a bright happy look in his dark eyes; he had gone but a few steps when he caught sight of Mrs. Soames, with a more serious expression than usual on her face, and a small book of devotions in her hand. He knew all the district visitors by this time, and had had some special talk with her, so he overtook her quickly, and said, "May I speak to you for a moment, please?"

She turned at once, and held out her hand, all attention.

You were going to the church, were you not?" he asked with a glance at her book; "I will walk with you, if I may; I want you to help me to ease the mind of the poor woman I have just been visiting. Do you know Mrs. Travers of Tregellen ?"

Indeed I do, Canon Dermer, and so you have been with poor Mrs. Banbury. Oh I am so thankful! is it not sad to see her so broken down, and she used to be such a strong capable woman?"

"I wanted to know," said the Missioner, pursuing his own way quietly, "if you could manage to send a message to this Mrs. Travers, and ask her if she would kindly visit the old woman this afternoon. She has not been to see her yet, and if she would come now, it would ease the poor creature's mind, and we might give her Holy Communion to-morrow."

"I shall be delighted to do so,—I will go home and send some one with a note at once. I dare say Mrs. Travers is quite sorry herself now, for they have had a most dreadful robbery in the house since the old servants left. A regular London thief came I believe as butler with a forged character, and the maid, whose looks I never liked, turned out to be in league with him, and they say-" at this expression a peculiar look passed over Canon Dermer's face, and Mrs. Soames changed it hurriedly to, "but all this won't interest you,—it shall not be my fault if Mrs. Travers doesn't come."

"Thank you, I am quite sure of that; could you get her to stay for the Mission Service to-night ?"

"I will try if I can,-yes, I dare say I might, she is all by herself now, and though she is not much of a church-goer, I may be able to persuade her."

"Well do, if possible," and as they had now reached the church, the Canon entered it, and Mrs. Soames went home to fulfil his behest.

So it came to pass that in about an hour's time Isabel received a missive imploring her to drive to Poffil that afternoon, see Mrs. Banbury, and spend the night at S. Swithin's, which would give her an opportunity of hearing that "more than eloquent preacher Canon Dermer."

Had the letter contained merely an invitation to come to the Mission Service, Isabel would not have had the slightest hesitation in consenting at once, so wearied was she of dwelling on her own troubles; but a visit to a sick, perhaps dying, woman who might have reproaches in store for her, which she was now dimly conscious of deserving, offered no attractions.

For several minutes she sat twisting the note in her fingers and considering its contents; the desire to go to the Mission Service and hear what this great preacher had to say grew stronger and stronger, but she felt the choice did not lie between the visit and the service, if she had what she wished, it must be by doing what she disliked; and an idea that flashed across her mind, that Mrs. Soames might think she was afraid of facing the old housekeeper, at last decided her; she despatched a few lines by that lady's messenger, ordered the carriage for half-past two, and then went to her lunch.

She determined however, as she set forth on her expedition, to go at once to the almshouses, and have the unpleasant part of it over before she saw Mrs. Soames, yet the nearer she drew to Poffil the more she shrank from paying the visit. Never in her life had she been accustomed to look after the sick and afflicted, so there was a kind of dread of the unknown, mixed with her natural repugnance to facing her expelled servant.

She was in Poffil, and it seemed to her there was an air as of some unusual stir about the place, and the church bell was going; but she had very little time to make observations, for in three minutes her carriage stopped before a row of small brick houses, and Thompson pointed out old Mrs. Banbury's. Isabel knocked at the door, and a tidy-looking young woman, with some knitting in her hand, opened it.

“Oh, maʼam,” she said, “I'm glad to see you; her's been very whisht these last few days, and her does crave so for ye,—will ye step over stairs? there's only one room above."

Isabel passed through the little kitchen-parlour, and up stairs into a small clean bedroom, there was a white muslin blind half up the window, and a primula in full pink blossom standing before it. All was in good order, including the bed-linen and blue counterpane. Instinctively she noted these surroundings before her eyes travelled to the old woman's face. There was a great change there, the rosy colour was gone, and the features had quite a pinched look, she was sitting up in bed with a frilled nightcap on, and her blue veined hands shook slightly as she raised them to take her spectacles off and wipe her eyes.

As Isabel stood by that bedside a strange new feeling of shame at her own actions came over her. When we have sown tares, it is in our human nature to shrink away from the sight of their evil growth and rank blossoming. The murderer often recoils in greater terror from the sight of his victim's lifeless form, than from the face of his judge, at all cost or risk that motionless appealing witness must be hidden from his eyes. Sometimes he is so able to hide it and drown his senses in forgetfulness, sometimes we are allowed to sow tares and leave others to reap their bitterness. Not so was it with Isabel Travers, a merciful Hand raised the veil which falls sometimes between cause and effect, and brought her face to face with her own work,-a useful, honourable life made miserable, a true heart broken.

She could blind her eyes no longer, she had had her own way and this was the end of it, and it had not ended with herself. All the loss and trouble at home which had seemed so hard to her, was as nothing to the wrong sustained by this old woman. A volley of reproaches would scarcely have surprised her now, and the tears rose to her eyes unbidden as Mrs. Banbury said, "Sit you down, my dear, I am glad to see you; it was good of you to come, for I cannot rest till we have had some words together."

Isabel sat down and took off her gloves, and Mrs. Banbury's old hand closed over her slim young one, and so their talk began.