Here in clean, varnished rooms, bright with texts and sacred pictures, a larger congregation than ever assembles, and the staff of Sisters now resident there are able to supplement the Sunday teaching with weekday evening meetings for the elder girls. It is our happiness to record that the fruits of the good agency that has been now going on so long are beginning to appear. It has been 'line upon line, precept upon precept,' for many a long day, and now a large band of young women are regular Communicants, and are fighting the good fight of faith amid the evil and blasphemy which surround them. Many, too, who are in service, keep up their intercourse with their teachers by letter, applying to them for advice, and often coming up for the monthly or quarterly gatherings which take place at the Mission House.

Turning our retrospective glance to the East End, we find that the Shoreditch Schools continue to flourish. The Mission House in New Nichol Street is always crowded with children of all ages-from the small infants who cover the floor of the attic to the young women 'in business,' who are regular attendants at the Bible Class held for them in the kitchen.

An immense improvement has taken place in the manners of these children while at school, and, whereas a few years ago a dozen or so unruly girls would baffle all the teacher's efforts to soothe or to interest, now a roomful of seventy or eighty will sit in the most decorous and attentive silence while the lessons of the Gospel story are week by week unfolded to them.

Many will show by their intelligent answers on the following Sunday how well they have taken in the previous instruction.

In S. James's Parish, Shoreditch, the attendance of both boys and girls is large, and here there is a Girls' Guild, which is always popular, and includes some who have grown up to womanhood in the school.

These schools are worked mainly by a staff of teachers from the Home at Kilburn, who spend their Sunday at the East End. We

greatly need some zealous and efficient volunteers who, by sharing the work of teaching, would relieve us of some of the extra labour and expense of so many journeys. In the boys' school, especially, help is needed. Are there not any, residing on that side of London, who might be moved to give up their Sunday, or even half of it, to help us, for the love of CHRIST'S little ones?

We have nothing special to record of the Mission School at Kilburn, except that it still keeps up its numbers well, and gathers many of the poorest and most ignorant of the boys and girls in this district.

A small class of boys has been opened at the London Docks by the Sisters resident at S. Katharine's Restaurant, and has been the means of gathering together poor neglected lads out of the streets, who go to no school, and are glad and thankful for the warm wel come accorded to them on Sunday morning at the Mission House. As this class has not long been opened it would be premature to speak much of it at present, but we trust it may in time become a means of much good among these poor fellows-growing up, as they are, without any religious teaching.

It now only remains for us to thank our subscribers for whatever help they have given us during the past year, and to entreat for continued and wider support. Let it not be forgotten that the cost of one Sunday breakfast for the whole year is only ten shil lings. Surely many more would gladly spare half-a-crown a quarter for this good object! It would add a greater, holier enjoyment to their own Sunday could they feel that a poor half-starved little Londoner was partaking of the nice inviting currant rolls and hot tea which their bounty had provided, and was thus not only warmed and fed in a bodily sense, but also brought within reach of that spiritual food for want of which his or her soul was languishing and ready to perish?

A Shoreditch Courtship and Marriage.*

A TRUE STORY.

CONTRIBUTED BY AN EAST-END VISITOR.

Y grandfather was a French gentleman, as lived in Paris with his three sons-Paul, Dick, and Dan. Leastways that were their names after they comed over here. I can't tell ye what they was called in France.

They

They were rich, and had their own house, carriage and horses, servants and all. was at the head of some big firm for the manufacture of silks and welvets, and knowed how to work the machine theirselves.

When it were the time of the Revolootion, grandfather and his sons were on the King's side, and lent him money. But when he got turned out, everything got wrong, and somehow the loan never got paid. My father was Dan, the youngest of the three brothers; and he had a bundle of papers concerning the loan. But when the King were dead, and the other side were masters, he didn't know how ever to get the money so as not to get caught by the enemy. The Persecution, too, were werry hot; and ever so many of the King's friends left the country.

Among them, grandfather and his three sons came to London with all they could bring; and changing their name from Debois to Debuse, they settled down in different parts of the town, and took to weaving on their own account and making beautiful foreign stuffs for the London warehouses.

Of course they wasn't as rich as they had been before the Revolootion, and had to stint theirselves a lot.

Grandfather didn't live long after he came here, and Dan (my father) married a young

The following narrative was taken down word by word from the lips of a woman well known to the writer.

woman from Staffordshire about a year after his arrival. He taught her to weave as beautiful as hisself.

Mother had seven children, but I was the eldest by a long way. They sent me to school very reg'lar, and I were a tidy schollard; but, oh! I were conceited of my learning. I've heard it said, 'Pride cometh before a fall,' and so it was with me.

I were about twelve years old. I took the typhus fever werry bad; and though it didn't 'zactly kill me, as you may see, it took all my brains out, and made a reg'lar dunce of me. Oh! I were just ashamed to show my face in school. I couldn't mind nothink I'd learnt before, nor nothink after. I sat there a-holding my head with my hands, trying to shove the learning in; but it warn't of no good. I were in such a fright I'd be called 'a dunce.' One day they axed me to spell a word. I didn't know what to say, but another one comed in my head, and, thinks I, it's better nor nothink. So, instead of standing and looking silly, out I comes with a-b-ab, b-o-t-bot, abbot. It were the only word as I knew in the whole Christian language, and I always kept that answer ready to give no matter what the question. might be.

When I got old enough to leave school I took to weaving, too. This is how we worked Father wove welvet ten inches wide, and got 5s. a yard; mother wove satin eight inches wide, and got 4d. a yard; and I wove twilled silk ten inches wide, and got 10 d. a yard.

Once my father got an order from the Empress of Austria for twenty yards of black welvet with the pile on both sides. It was a great feat; but father managed it, and got 8s. a yard for it from Her Majesty.

It were about this time that the weaversfather and my uncles amongst them-struck for more pay. Then followed a stagnation in the business. The weavers waited till there was an outcry for silks, welvets, and the like, and then began work again. They took it to the warehouses, meaning to offer it at their own price. But meantime the

masters had had a private meeting. They looked at the stuff as if they didn't want it, and said quite careless-like, 'We'll take it off your hands for so much.'

Some of the men threw their heads up and marched off-either to go abroad or to try other trades. But others, who were starving, closed with the offers; and the end of it was that what they used to get 5s. for, they sold for 25.; what was paid 7d. for, now fetched only seven farthings.

After this. I never touched the weaving again. I thought I'd do better in service, and I got a place not far from where father and mother lived.

One day I was out on an errand with a fellow-servant, Betsy by name, when I suddenly felt a tap on the shoulder, and, looking round, I saw a tall, fine-looking lad, some years older nor me. I stared, wondering whoever he was, when he actually asked if we wouldn't like a young man to take care of us. This made me outrageous, and I ordered the audacious monkey out of my way. 'I'm not agoing with a young man as I knows nothing about. Be off with ye!' And me taking Betsy's arm, we hurried down a side-street, and so home another way.

Next morning my missus sent for me. She looked black as night. 'Martha, what's this I hear of you?' (I stared.) 'I don't like my servants to have followers at all, but I won't let them bring them to the house.'

'What in all the world is up?' thinks I to myself; for, you must know I had a real follower at the time-Dick Bell, as was a-courting me at father's; and, thinks I, 'if he's been a-sneaking about this place he needn't 'speck me to have a word to say to him no more.' (But this was all inside myself, you know.)

Seeing me stand flabbagast and speechless, my missus went on: 'Martha, you may go— go at once. Here's your wage, and never enter this door again.' I curtseyed low, took my money, and went up to the attic where Betsy and me slept, locked myself in, and cried. Then I washed my face, packed up my clothes, and away I went-quickly, till

out of sight; then werry slowly as I pondered in my own mind whatever I was to say to father. I made up my mind that some one had been making a fool of me, and that I must take my chance.

When I got to father's, what was my wonderment to hear him say, 'Well, Martha, how do you like it?' and both he and mother bu'st out laughing, as if they knowed something I didn't; it was clear they'spected me home.

I found it out at last. It seems George Kennedy-it was him as had spoke to me the night before-had been a-noticing me for some time, as I'd often gone his way when out at errands, and what pleased him more than anything was my turning of him off so sharp. He set to work to find out where I lived, and was ever so pleased to find father was Dan Debuse, whom he knowed well; and when he went to ask him to let me be his wife, father consented and told him where I was in service.

Well, this same morning as I got the sack, if George didn't akchally call on my missus and say, 'If ye please, ma'am, ye've got my going-to-be wife in your 'ouse. Would ye be so kind as to give her warning, as I wants to get married quick.'

There now! If that wasn't a trick to play a innocent young girl of seventeen! I didn't know what to do, so I half scolded, and half laughed, and father nigh fell off his chair with merriment at my face. Ye see I liked the young fellow's looks, but I didn't like his tricking me. Not long after he came hisself, and we had an explanation all to ourselves.

This George Kennedy was the only son of Irish parents as had for a long time kept a small shop in Dumbarton. He were born there, but they comed up to London when he were still a babby. He had one sister older nor hisself in service. George had been sent to school as reg'ly as possible, but he'd seldom gone. One of the wildest boys in the place he'd been, always playing truant, leading others into mischief, and never doing nought as was not to his mind; yet in spite of this he growed to be a steady

industrious young man. Fust he was errand boy to a warehouse for umbrellas and walking-sticks, but now he was reg'lar in the business, and bearing a high character with his master. He were twenty-four years when he begun a-courting of me-just seven years older nor myself.

As for Dick Bell, he were turned twentya gentleman's groom in a smart livery, topboots, and brass buttons. He were a promising lad, bore a good character, and were in reg'lar work.

I was dreadful put to it with the two of 'em at once. I didn't like giving offence to neither, yet I were bent on pleasing myself.

A few days went by, and one evening Dick called to see me. He brought me a silver thimble he had won in a raffle. He was late 'cause he and his companions had stopped at a public on their way. (No, no, Dick weren't drunk; he never were the worse in his life.) I told him he needn't come after me no more, for I were better suited. He asked what I meant and what he'd done that I should give him the sack like that. I said, 'You know werry well, Dick, I never will marry a man who goes out a-raffling and a-publichousing. Spend your money wisely and drink your pint at home at your dinner, but once begin to drink inside them places ye'll never know where ye'll stop.'

Poor Dick cried (he really was wonderful fond of me) when he went away. But he didn't live to miss me. That day week he met with a terrible accident, and was killed on the spot. But the will he made when he thought hisself sure of me was left the same. The only thing that was added was a little letter wishing me happiness with the man I preferred to him. Everything he had-money, pictures, furniture (it weren't much, but it were his little all)-was to be mine. Of course I couldn't 'cept them, so gave 'em all to mother, and then she didn't miss the things she was a-giving me.

Well, George and me got on werry well together. We had a small house, and he kept steady to work, while I minded the

But, as you know, young girls are young girls (she was a year or two older nor me, to be sure, but I was a married woman; you understand the difference)-and she wanted to buy this, and that, and t'other, and lastly a new bonnet, and kept me so long that really it was past time for George to come in, and I had locked the door and put the key in my pocket. So, leaving her, I darted down the nearest way, and as I turned the corner of our street, sure enough George was standing thumping the door, a-stamping his feet, and looking up and down the street for me, when all on a sudden he caught sight of me.

I never were tall; they used to call me the ball, I were that round and fat, and as broad as long. Well, jist as I come up to him he gives me an impatient shove, and over I rolls into the street. He looked feared when he saw me fall-and well he might; but I was soon up and standing, facing him, my face red with indignation. I said, 'If this be what you call matrimoony, I don't;' and saying this, I turned round and walked off to father's.

Father and mother were in their parlour. 'Whatever's the matter, Martha?' they said. At first I couldn't speak for anger; then I cried out, 'If this be matrimoony, there ain't no matrimoony for me. There !'

'What, Martha! a-showing that there temper of yer'n to your husband already?' Here come a loud rat-a-tat at the door. 'That's him!' I said, and bolted downstairs into a small empty room and locked the door.

Presently I heard him come in, pass the door, and go upstairs to the parlour, and begin a-talking to father and mother. I

wanted to hear what he was a-saying, so half opened the door; but beyond catching my own name very often, I couldn't follow what was said.

I slipped very quiet upstairs. He was a-standing in the doorway, and I, being so small, was nicely hid standing ahind his back. Presently Husband.-Well, I must take her back with me to-night.

Wife (from behind).—But ye'll not quite manage it. (He turned round quite sharp, and I walked into the room.)

Husband.-But I will. Wife. But I won't.

Father. But ye must.

Wife. He ain't worth a pin. I don't want him.

Father.-Ye should have found that out

before.

Wife.-I'll leave him.

Father. Too late, too late; ye can't. Wife.—Well, I ain't a-going back. I'll stop here.

Father. That ye shall not do, till ye've gone home with yer lawful husband.

I puffed out my chest like a bird, and cried, 'It's too bad; everybody is agin me.'

Mother.-Nobody's agin ye, girl. Look, child, did anyone force ye, or even worrit ye, to marry him?

Wife. He played a trick to get me.

Mother. That makes no difference. We left it to you to settle for yourself; and ye shan't enter this house, Martha, till ye've made it up with your husband; and if ye're not quick, we'll turn ye out the same time he goes.

I puckered my face, pressed my lips, shook myself, but it were all of no good. I bust out a-crying. 'Come, now,' said my husband, gently patting me (I shook myself). 'I didn't mean to knock ye down, though I was dreadful angry at the moment. I promise ye to do better by ye. Come home, there's a good wife' (shook myself again).

However, it ended by me going back, not at his side, but behind his back; and for one whole week I never spoke to him once. Nor father nor mother wouldn't speak to me till

they'd heard I'd made it up with George. From that day to this we've been the best of friends. It were the first quarrel we had, and it were the last.

to say.

Well, there ain't much more Father and mother died, and left six little brothers and sisters in our care. We'd seven children of our own, and all are doing well now, though too pore to help us.

Everything went on well for twenty years, then my husband's master was bankrupt, and he lost his work, and the money owing to him wasn't paid. Younger men was took on before him, and from getting a few uncertain jobs he got by degrees to getting none at all.

So he took to selling penny walking-sticks and canes, and I helped him to make 'em look smart by making cords and tassels out of old worsted. Then he'd go to one corner and me to another to sell 'em. But it ain't much we gets this bad winter weather.

So we've kept gitting porer and porer, and ended by taking this bare garret, with quar relling, drunken neighbours in the next room.

But the Lord is good to us, and has kept us out of the workhouse till now; and, as the weather gets better, we hope He'll give us a bit of work. Day by day, as we part, each to try our luck-fust here, then there we say one to another,' Good-bye! God bless ye!' And night by night, before we go to sleep, we say, 'Good-night! God bless ye!' And then we know that if the Lord should part us before we meet again, our last words would be words of blessing.