of an organized system; they assist the Sisters, are trained by them, and are subordinate to them. Though fulfilling the duties of their own humble station, they do so in union with those of a higher; and are to the educated Sister what deacons originally were to the priests.

Lest we should be suspected of theorizing, we will now show the work of a Serving Sister by a few instances, selected from many, and for the accuracy of which we can vouch from personal knowledge. C— M— has been a Serving Sister for more than four years, in a Sisterhood where the care of the sick and dying is made a special duty. She is an excellent plain cook, not only for a household frequently numbering forty, but in preparing delicacies for those whose health renders such luxuries necessary. Some time since, one of the inmates of the Home sickened with small-pox. C— M— volunteered to be her sole nurse, and was therefore isolated from her companions, forbidden to go to church, and lived alone with her patient for six weeks in an empty house, her sole attendant in a disease from which most persons shrink with vulgar terror. C— H— was also (like C— M—) a servant in a good situation, when she left all to assist some good Sisters of Mercy in the charge of the sinful and fallen. She lives among these most degraded specimens of her sex, as among her fellow-servants, teaching and helping them in the performance of household drudgery, hoping to see them rise to that domestic service which she has so nobly resigned for their sake.

F- was a work-house orphan, and is ignorant of the names of her parents. Brought up in a country union, she was sent to service, and proving hard-working and respectable, rose to a good situation. Illness sent F― to a hospital, and thus introduced her to some English Sisters of Charity. Their kindness astonished the foundling, and it was long before she could believe that love existed for her. On recovering her health came the desire to devote herself to the service of the friendless; and she is now a Serving Sister, remarkable for the amount of hard work her willing hands and feet accomplish, and with a bright face, that has no trace of the work-house in its sweet smile.

80.

We refrain from multiplying these instances, but we could easily do Our object is to show that among the sometimes despised class of servants there exist persons capable of high sacrifice and noble aspirations. We believe that if this were more generally known, and above all, more freely recognized, these Serving Sisters would do much to raise the tone of servants generally. We hope that there are not many mistresses who would dare to be guilty of the selfishness of keeping back for their own use a good servant who desired to devote herself to the more special service of our Heavenly Master; but we fear that there are but few who, in their intercourse with the poor, either in orphanages or adult classes, ever put before them this high calling, which is as much open to them as it is to us. We are far from ignoring the fact that Serving Sisters must always be exceptional persons, and that domestic service or marriage are the more ordinary vocations allotted to their fulfilment. Only let us

recognize the existence of the third vocation also; and when we urge our young women to use their best endeavour to avoid the temptations and to learn the duties of domestic service, let us remember that every good and faithful servant acquires not only the power of supporting herself and improving her fellow-servants, but may some future day imitate the example of that poor widow, who threw into the Treasury of Christ's Church all that she had, even all her living.'

(To be continued.)

AUNT CECILY'S MUSIC LESSONS.

PART L-MABEL'S MUSIC-BOOK.

LESSON X.

THE evening has come, and meanwhile Mabel has flown down-stairs and gently opened the door of the outer drawing-room. When she heard the music, she stood still, not venturing to move till it ended. There was an archway between the two rooms, but those in the inner room could not see anyone standing near the door of the outer room.

When the piece was finished, and voices were heard talking, Mabel ventured forward. Aunt Cecily was pleased to see her, and so was Miss Mellany. Charles Lyne (who was doing audience all alone) took Mabel under his protection, and made her share the great arm-chair he was lounging in. Miss Wells and Clara were at the piano-forte, Miss Mellany at the harmonium, and Clement Bowyer had his violin in his hand.

'Don't you think we'd better go through it again?' Miss Mellany asked.

'Louisa, you're such a fidget!' Clara replied. 'We shall do it all right in the evening. I want to try Coriolanus.'

'I don't agree with you, Clara,' said Miss Wells. 'We don't go together, and I'm sure Mr. Bowyer would be glad to try it a second time. He has not practised it long ago, as we have, and his part has some difficult passages.'

Thank you, Miss Wells,' young Bowyer said. 'I should be very glad to go over it again, but-perhaps it would be tiring Miss Clara.'

'All right!' that young lady replied. "Come on.'

Which laconic speech caused Clement Bowyer to bite his lower lip, and Charles Lyne to give a silent grin.

'What are they playing?' Mabel whispered.

'Midsummer Night's Dream,' he answered in a low tone.

'I suppose

you are as wise as you were before, though really now you ought to know all about it, for you're a regular Queen Mab.'

'Why, she was the Queen of the Fairies,' said Mabel, and you know there are no such things-they're only make-believe, and I am a real child!'

Clara turned round suddenly, saying, 'Indeed, there's no mistake about that. If you want to chatter, Mabel, you had better go farther off, for I can't endure playing with talking going on close to my ears.'

'Oh, I beg your pardon, Clara,' cried Mabel with glowing cheeks. 'I thought you weren't ready to begin. I won't speak another word.'

"There, that will do, child,' was the gracious reply.

Aunt Cecily had been out of patience with Clara for some time, but this was the last drop in her cup. She resolved to make her pay for snubbing Mabel, by keeping her waiting a good time, so instead of beginning to play, she turned to Mabel and said, 'Mabel, we are going to play a piece that represents a tale that I will tell you to-morrow. When we begin, shut your eyes, and fancy yourself in a wood, in very hot weather, and at night, with the moon shining, and that you hear the sound of a fairy call blown on enchanted horns, and at the summons hosts of fairies come flying in, and go on running or flying about for some time. Then they will disappear, and a king and queen with a train of lords and ladies will come into the wood; and then some working men will come in, and one of them will be bewitched by the fairies, and get his head changed into a donkey's head, and you will hear the donkey bray. Then the fairies will sing a lullaby to send him to sleep. This will all go over twice, and other things, which I have not time to tell you, will be represented. At the end the fairies will flutter about and then fly away; and the last sounds will be the fairy horns sounding in the distance, and all will fade away like a dream.'

Miss Mellany, who had been listening with a smile, here clapped her hands gently, while Charles Lyne called out, 'Hear, hear!' and Bowyer made a bow to Miss Wells.

Clara laughed and said-'I sit corrected, as Aunt Pen says when she wishes us to understand she wants no farther discussion. Will it please your Serene Highness to let us proceed with our poor performance?'

Miss Wells smiled, and looked at the other two, who both nodded in token of being ready; and the first sounds were given by the harmonium and violin.

Mabel, with her hand over her eyes, was picturing to herself a beautiful wood she had been to in the summer with a pic-nic party, and fancying how it would look by moonlight, listening all the time to the fairy horns. When the piano-forte and violin went together with a shower of quick sounds as soft and light as possible, Mabel thought it was just the very sound to represent fairies, and she took hold of Charles Lyne's hand and pressed it, and looked up in his face with delight sparkling in her eyes. He thought to himself, 'She's the dearest little fairy that ever was—worth a thousand make-believe Titanias.'

The music came to an end at last, and Mabel hardly knew where

she was. The performers rose, and Miss Mellany came to Mabel and kissed her. 'Happy child!' she said. 'I envy her. Don't you, Cecilia ?' 'Envy me! Why?' said Mabel.

'Because you can enjoy this glorious piece of music played with only three instruments, while we who have heard it with an orchestra (a full band) feel that we only get a faint and dim image of the real thing.'

Clara interposed-'Really, Louisa, you are absurd, puzzling that poor child's brains with your "faint and dim images." As if she could understand such ideas!'

'Oh indeed, Clara, do!' cried Mabel, eager to vindicate Miss Mellany as well as herself. 'I quite understand what Louisa says, and I think it's very kind of her to explain things to me.'

'Oh, you pedantic puss, do stop preaching!' was Clara's reply. 'Now, good people, is this a rehearsal or a conversazione? I warn you I won't stop here one minute after five.'

Miss Mellany and Miss Wells looked at each other, and smiled a significant smile. The idea of Clara, who never knew, or wished to know, what o'clock it was, pretending to punctuality, struck them as absurd. Her threat therefore had no effect on them, but it alarmed Mr. Bowyer, who instantly went to a pile of music placed by Miss Mellany ready for use, and began tumbling it over in a great bustle, looking for his part in 'Coriolanus.' Charles Lyne jumped up and pointed it out to him on the top of a pile of music for stringed instruments, separated from the pianoforte music. Mr. Bowyer eagerly placed it on his desk, and began trying it sotto voce, while Miss Wells asked young Lyne to bring her the piano parts. She handed the part for 'Second Piano,' to Miss Mellany, while she placed the 'First Piano' part ready for Clara and herself. Charles Lyne said he was very curious to see what notes would be used by Beethoven to represent the ideas belonging to the history of Caius Marcius, and Miss Wells asked him to turn over for them. Mabel, fearful of annoying Clara, kept at a respectful distance from the players. And then they started.

Mabel had read the story of Coriolanus in her little Roman History. It was one of her favourite tales, and she was quite as curious as Charles Lyne to hear how it could be told by musical sounds. She did not find it so easy to follow as Mendelssohn's overture, but she recognized some parts of the story. The tumult, and the terror of the people, were plain enough; and the entreaties and imploring cries of the women she heard distinctly, with their words broken by agitation and sobs, represented by syncopated notes. Not that Mabel had the slightest idea what 'syncopated notes' were, but she felt what they expressed, perfectly.

When 'Coriolanus' had been played through once, Clara, (to whom it was new,) declared it was superb, and that she must hear it again. So it was done again, and Mabel liked it even better the second time than the first. The next piece charmed her more than anything. It was Gounod's Meditation on Bach's First Prelude, arranged for piano-forte, harmonium, VOL. 6.

14

PART 32.

violin, and voice. Clara's splendid voice, which was as sweet as it was powerful, brought out the melody wonderfully. Bowyer and Lyne were as much enchanted as Mabel was.

When it ended, Aunt Cecily looked round and saw that Mabel had tears in her eyes. She called her to her, and the child put her arm round her aunt's neck and whispered, 'Isn't it a sort of anthem? I never heard anything so lovely. Auntie, it's nicer even than the anthem I heard at X-. I could fancy it was like the music the angels sing in Heaven!'

Aunt Cecily whispered Hush!' but she smiled. And then she looked at her watch, and informed Clara that it was eight minutes past five, and that she wished to try a duett of Beethoven's with Mr. Bowyer. Clara, who loved music truly, and who played well enough herself to enable her to appreciate Miss Wells's style, said she intended to stay and hear the duett if Cecilia would let her. But Cecilia said, 'No-it was a sonata she had never tried with Mr. Bowyer; that it was a favourite of Mr. Auriol's, put into the programme for his special pleasure, and that she wished it to go well; that they would probably have to practise, not merely rehearse; that tea would be ready in the school-room in less than half an hour, and that Clara had better go and attend to the matter she had in her mind when she had said she could not stay after five o'clock.'

Clara rose, laughing. There, that's enough, Saint Cecilia,' she cried. 'Spare me a longer sermon. And mind,' she added, as she reached the door, 'you don't exceed your twenty-two minutes; for I declare I'll go to the school-room at half-past five, to the very instant, and if you're not there, I'll make Mabel pour out tea for me, all by myself.' And so saying, Clara disappeared. Mabel looked very much alarmed. She never could understand Clara.

Miss Mellany, in the act of closing the harmonium, looked at Mabel and said, 'She's only joking, Mabel.-Cecilia, I suppose I may go to the school-room at once, and take Mabel. I want her to show me something.'

Mabel jumped up and ran to Miss Mellany. Oh, what is it, Louisa? My copy-books are not at all nice this week. I've had bad marks every day!'

Miss Mellany laughed, and taking Mabel's hand, she led her out of the room, saying, 'I don't want to see copy-books on a holiday, thank you. I want to see your doll, and that wonderful patch-work quilt you are making for her bed.' Aunt Cecily smiled; and Miss Mellany, feeling that young Bowyer would be glad not to lose another minute out of his twenty-two, got out of the way with the little chatter-box as quickly as she could.

The duett was the famous No. 2, Op. 30, dedicated to the Emperor Alexander. Miss Wells had played it often with good violinists, and knew she could do it well; but she did not expect that an amateur of Clement Bowyer's age would be capable of expressing it rightly. There was no need of any 'practising.'

(To be continued.)