The mother also was dead. This boy seems to have been working at an hotel in St. Helena, and became a servant in the Royal Engineers for two years, and shipped on board a vessel bound for England. On his arrival in the port of London he was discharged, and was knocking about the streets without a home or any one to care for him, for some time, when, reduced to the lowest stage of destitution, he fortunately fell in with two "Chichester boys" who, having themselves been benefited by the instrumentality of the ship, recommended him to apply for admission to the Refuge. He did so, and was received, and subsequently transferred to the Chichester training ship. Here his conduct was very good; he became a leading hand, obtained three gold badges, and was shipped in a vessel bound for Melbourne.

Case No. 4, W. K.-The father of this boy was a chimney-sweeper, who had been dead about six years before the boy was admitted into the Refuge. The mother had been dead about three years. The boy alleges that when he was a little over six years of age he was taken out by his father to work in his occupation as a chimneysweeper, and had often been made to climb up chimneys, notwithstanding the law prohibiting the same. On the death of his mother the poor little fellow was hired by another chimney-sweeper to go through the same cruel occupation, until at last he got thoroughly sick of the work. Having met a sailor one day, he seems to have been charmed with the idea of a seafaring life, and this stranger recommended him to make his way as fast as he could to London. The little fellow did so; and although fifty miles away from the great city, he reached it in about three days! Being directed to the Refuge, he made application for admission, and was received, his tale having been ascertained to be correct. He was very soon placed on board the Chichester, where in nine months he had conducted himself well, and made progress in all the training to be given, added to which he obtained three gold badges, with a certificate of V. G. (very good).

Hundreds of similar cases might be given, but it is hoped the above, plainly stated as they are, without any rhetorical gloss, will so far elicit the

sympathies of our readers that they may be induced to contribute of their bounty such a sum as will enable the committee of the Chichester and Arethusa to keep a certain number of hammocks ready for boys of similar necessity to be called the " Quiver Hammocks." In order that the boys who have been trained on board the Chichester and Arethusa may not be lost sight of, the committee of these ships have a small Home in the neighbourhood of Blackwall, where the boys have the opportunity of returning after they have been out to sea, until they obtain another ship. The agents who are employed on behalf of the committee to look after the boys when they return from sea take a deep interest in the welfare of the lads, and, through their instrumentality, between two and three hundred boys every year are re-shipped for sea after their first voyage. Let us come to the rescue of these poor waifs of the streets!

Help is urgently needed; and we are fully persuaded that this appeal will not be made in vain. The same kind and generous hearts that provided the three noble "Quiver Lifeboats," the "Quiver Infirmary Ward" of the Ham Common Orphanage, and the "Quiver Cot" in the Hospital for Sick Children, will, we know, both gladly and abundantly respond to the call.

One thousand pounds will endow five “ Quiver Hammocks" on board the Chichester for ten years. If every reader of the QUIVER gave ONE SHILLING each, we should be able, on the lowest possible estimate, to provide one hundred hammocks for the same period.

Reader, we appeal to you in the name of Him who came to seek and to save the lost, to do your utmost for these poor boys. Parents whose little ones are so carefully and tenderly nurtured, have a thought of these young castaways of the dreadful streets! Children who are blessed with kind parents, friends, and comforts, you too will do your best to help! Take them out of their rags and forced idleness; clothe them, and teach them to fulfil their manful part in the great battle of life. For, are they not His little ones? And He willeth not that one of them should perish!

DARK and gloomy lot on earth is ours,
A life in which all woes and troubles
meet!"

So says the cynic, wise in his conceit,
Who sees but how the threat'ning tempest lowers,
And never heeds how 'mid the falling showers
The dancing rays of sunlight ripple through,
Nor notes the rainbow arching o'er the blue,

Whose bright rays glimmer on the glist'ning flowers. He never dreams that every earthly grief

Brings but a greater joy if rightly borne, That the dark night of sorrow is but brief,

And quickly yields to that far-happier morn When hope is strong, and all the world is bright,

Glad with the radiance of returning light.

G. W.

pened that almost immediately after our engagement was settled my uncle died, and left me a large property in Jamaica, which I found it was absolutely necessary I should visit myself, once at least, in order to make arrangements for its being properly managed. This reconciled me somewhat to the delay on which the Carltons insisted, for I could not have taken my darling with me to that unhealthy climate, and I am glad to have this necessary voyage over before she actually comes to me, as I am very sure I could not make up my mind to separate myself from her for any reason whatever when once I am happy enough to have her by my side. They have promised that the wedding shall take place so soon as I return that is, in a year from the present time; and I am going to Carlton Hall now to spend two months there before I start. I should have been with them for the last few weeks, but after they left Malta they were invited to spend some time with a friend of theirs in Florence, where I could not accompany them, so I was perforce obliged to come to England to wait for them, and I have been very glad to spend the unwelcome interval with you and your uncle. Now, dear Miss Lingard," continued Raymond, turning towards her, though still not noticing in the soft gloom the marble whiteness of her face, "I have told you the facts of my history, past and present; but I must go far deeper into my feelings before I can make you comprehend all the reasons of my intense desire that you should live at Highrock House. I have not lived in close intercourse with you for so many weeks without learning enough of your priceless value to make me long inexpressibly to have you as my friend, in the truest and fullest sense of the word-my life-long friend, Estelle-in whom I may place entire confidence, and to whom I may come for sympathy and help in time of trouble, such as my darling Kathleen in her youth and inexperience could scarcely give me, even if I were willing, as I never could be, to dim her unclouded brightness with the faintest shadow of life's burdens. Yes; this is the prayer I have to make to you this night, and I do pray you most solemnly and earnestly to consent thus to be my friend, now and evermore; but not mine only-hers also, who is part of myself. Oh, Estelle! she needs a friend, especially during my absence; and I do not feel as if I could bear to leave her unless she has one, such as you alone could be, ever by her side to support and guide her. She is so very young; and faultless as she seems to me, I am aware of one weakness in her character, which increasing years may remedy, but for the present there is no doubt that she is extremely impressionable and easily led-so much so, that a very little persuasion is enough to change her feelings or opinions on almost any subject. To you, who will now, I hope, consent to receive all my confidence, I will own that I dread the time of my absence from her very much. She is heiress to immense wealth, I am sorry to say,

491

for I have enough to make our home happy without it; and I know that up to the very day of her marriage she will be sought after as a prize by many unscrupulous persons. It was so at Malta, it will be so in England; and I fear she may not know how to meet such attacks with sufficient reserve and determination. Do not suppose for a moment that I doubt her being faithful to me. No; she will be true to me, my darling, if she had to die for it; but I do dread her being led into mistakes and difficulties from which the advice of a kind and wise friend alone could save her. She has not one in her mother, who is not only a hysterical invalid, but a vain and selfish woman besides; and she would have such a one in you, Estelle; therefore it is that I entreat of you to make Highrock House your home, and bè my Kathleen's constant companion and guide till I return. If you grant me my first request, I think you will do this for me readily, for I am very certain you are not one to give your friendship with any stinted measure, if ever you do bestow it; though I think you might not do so easily. So now once more I make my prayer with all possible solemnity and fervour-Estelle Lingard, will you be in very truth for evermore my friend?"

The sound of his low voice ceased, and she had heard him to the end; over her head rolled on the shining worlds that for illimitable cycles of time had sped unchanged upon their boundless course, while countless myriads of ephemeral beings such as she was had breathed, suffered, and vanished into dust again. Yet, in that brief space, while the echo of Raymond's tones yet lingered on the air, it was nothing less than ages of anguish that passed over her palpitating human heart in the might of its capacity for pain. She was one to whom had been given the fatal gift of a power of affection that was indomitable in its tenacity and strength. Her life had hitherto been absolutely loveless; none had ever cared for her, not even her father, selfish and unkind as he ever showed himself; nor had there been one on whom her natural tenderness could fasten itself till the day, so recent but so momentous, when her deep heart woke up self-revealed, and she knew that all the love she could ever give to any upon this earth had gone forth irrevocably and unchangeably to this man, who asked her now to be his friend in the same breath with which he told her that another and not her would be his wife, his love, his treasure! What would it mean for her to be his friend? What answer was she to give him?

CHAPTER X.

YES, that was the question: what did it mean for Estelle Lingard to become the friend of Raymond after the serious and steadfast fashion in which he asked it of her? She loved him-she knew that fatal truth now but too well-she loved him with

the whole strength of her heart and soul, and with such a love as a weaker nature than hers might well have died of then and there, in the sudden destruction of all its power of hope. She felt, as she sat in that most terrible hour by his side, that if ever, in the long life that yet might lie before her, she was again to know the scantiest measure of contentment or peace, it would only be by the absolute and final cessation from that moment of all intercourse with him whose lightest whisper made her heart thrill with irrepressible emotion-she must shut herself out for ever from the sight of his beloved face, from the sound of his most clear voice, from all knowledge of his existence, if that were possible-she must fly from the very land which he called home, and in some far distant region, where none had so much as heard his name, strive by intensest study and continual occupation to wrench her thoughts away from him, till by the merciful softening of the hand of time, subduing even the sharpest anguish, she might at last find healing for her bruised and broken heart.

This was her only chance of possible peace, her only faintest hope. And what was it that he asked of her?-to be his friend; to see him, hear him day by day, to live in the charm of his presence, to hold close and sweet communion with him, to receive his deepest confidence, to be nearer to him than all the world save one, and that one his wife, his love, whom he preferred before her; to be ever the witness of all his tenderness for this her rival, to be ever striving to strengthen the tie that bound them together, and shut herself out from his heart; always to take the second place, always to stand in the shadow flung back by Kathleen, who would be ever bathed in the sunshine of his love. This was what it meant for her to be his friend; but it meant yet more-it meant that thus alone would she be able to contribute to his happiness, thus only could she serve him, work for him, care for him, and for all that was dear to him, with a pure unselfish devotion, which could give all, and ask for nothing back; and it might mean something more precious still-for more, a thousand times, than she longed for his love, she did long that he himself might come to know one day the Love that never fails, because it is Eternal and Divine. She had felt long since that she would gladly give her very life to win for him from the fathomless deep of mercy that one pearl of great price; and it might be that after this very manner she would indeed be allowed to give her life to gain it for him-by the utter abandonment of all happiness or hope or even peace for herself on earth, by the patient endurance, the hidden suffering, the life-long sacrifice of self, which would be implied in the close continual intercourse he demanded, she might have power to draw his noble spirit into the light that shines for ever on the hosts of the redeemed. This, then, was what it might mean for

Estelle Lingard to be Raymond's friend-a living death, prolonged and changeless for herself, and for him the joy and glory of the Life Eternal.

When she had thus thought out all the meaning of his request, in far less space than has been required to transcribe the process of her mournful self-communing, she rose up slowly from her seat, turned round, and faced Raymond with all her soul in the dark eyes that fixed themselves upon him. As he met her eloquent and most pathetic gaze, he held out his hands to her, and said once more, in accents of almost trembling entreaty, "Estelle Lingard, will you be my friend?" And calmly she placed both her hands in his, and gave him her answer “I will be your friend, now and for evermore-your friend and Kathleen's." Then, as he bent down and kissed the little cold hands, chilled as with the touch of death, she drew them gently from his grasp, and, not uttering another word, went away softly out of the starlight into the shadows of the inner room, and so disappeared from his view.

Raymond saw her no more that night, and he remained some time on the balcony thinking of her very tenderly, well pleased to know that Kathleen and himself would all their lives have the benefit of a friendship so true and generous as hers was sure to be, and never dreaming how bitterly cruel to her had been the request she had so fully granted. It would have pained him inexpressibly had he guessed it, for he had not the smallest intention of being selfish in urging her to the compact which had been made between them; he quite intended to render it as great an advantage to her as to himself, by giving her every help and protection in his power, and he hoped to lighten the monotony of her life by constant intercourse and active sympathy; so that he looked with perfect simplicity upon the whole arrangement as a mutual benefit. He had not the slightest suspicion of the fatal depth of Estelle's feelings towards himself; her naturally open and unconventional manners had caused her to treat him from the first with a cordial frankness which completely deceived him; and his own intense consciousness of the entire surrender of all his love to Kathleen made him forget that Estelle had for some time been ignorant of any fact which should debar her from thinking of him with more than a mere friendly interest.

She

When Raymond met Estelle again next day there was nothing in her manner to awaken his suspicions, or disturb the happy complacency with which he thought of their conversation the night before. had schooled herself well as to her future actions and demeanour during the long sleepless hours that had followed her cruel struggle. She felt that if ever she was to be a friend of any value to Raymond, or to Kathleen, she must so completely conquer her own aching heart as to be able always to meet them with a brave bright openness and confidence which