HE Queen in the palace and the peasant in the cottage equally find it true, that "There's no place like Home." England's Royal Home, with all its grandeur, never lost its "homeliness." Every mother will understand this when reading the words in which our good Queen describes a scene which was often witnessed in Windsor Castle when the home began to fill, and the little feet went pattering about the galleries and towers.

"Victoria," writes the Queen, "plays with my old bricks, and I see her running and jumping-as old, though I fear still little, Victoria of former days used to do."

The Queen, in her "Journal of our Life in the Highlands," tells us a great deal about the Princess Royal, who one day may be Empress of Germany, when she was quite a little girl; how good "Vicky" was, and how it amused and delighted her to feel that her child was old enough to travel with her. "It puts me so in mind of myself when I was 'the little Princess,'

she says. And then she tells us how "Vicky stood and bowed to the people out of the window."

This was the little lady's first journey; and she was not quite four years old. A baby can soon learn what it is to be a great personage, and that a princess is bound to be courteous, as, indeed, every lady is, even when she is only four years old.

Here is another anecdote of Vicky, who was also called " Pussy," as many a young girl is or has been :

"Our Pussy learns a verse of Lamartine [a French author] by heart, which ends with 'Le tableau se déroule à mes pieds,' [The picture spreads itself at my feet'.]" To show you how well she understood this difficult line, I must tell you the following bon mot. When she was riding on her pony, and looking at the cows and sheep, she turned to Madame Charnier (her governess), and said, 'Voilà le tableau qui se déroule à mes pieds!' ['There is the picture which spreads itself at my feet.'] Is not this extraordinary for a child of three ?"

VOL. XI. NO. VIII.

I 2

It is said now, that the Princess Royal, Crown Princess of Prussia (but in England we like to give her her old title), is the cleverest of all the Queen's family, and has great good sense and talent. Perhaps it is because she was the eldest that there is more about her in the Queen's book, from which we are gleaning, than about the others; for when there is a large family, it becomes impossible to remember all the funny things the children do, and their cleverness; whereas the young father and mother have their minds free to treasure up all these wonders when there is but one.

Never were children more carefully brought up than these children of England. Little nobodies may be permitted sometimes to he saucy to others (which, we know, is very bad breeding in any one), but the children at Windsor were never allowed any such vulgar privilege. They had to do as they were told, and to be kind and respectful; and you may see by that story about "Pussy" how very early they began. Even when the Queen was travelling about round the shores of Scotland in her yacht, she used to find time to give little Victoria a lesson, and to hear her read in her history book; and when the boys grew older, the Prince Consort was very earnest about their instruction. He often

"The one thing which personally distinguished the Prince Consort from other men, was his daily and hourly interest in the education of his children. Not only their moral education-which no parent under any circumstances ought to neglect

but the ordinary training of the schoolroom. Of course the Royal Princes and Princesses had many teachers, but their chief instructor was the Prince. He not only furnished a general plan for their instruction, but superintended it himself; not only appointed to each one his and her teachers, but thought it his duty to read every book which was about to be put into their hands."

How well it would be if all parents took the same interest in their children; and especially took care to see that poisonous books and papers were not allowed to be read by them. Poison for the mind is as bad as poison for the body. Every cottage should have its library shelf furnished with instructive and amusing books; and "home" should be made in every case the most attractive spot to our children in all the earth. In another paper I shall have more to say about the education of the Royal children.

.

HEN Thy smile, serene and

bright,

Floods my homeward path with light,

Open, Lord, mine eyes to see; "Whom have I on earth but Thee?"

In affliction's darkest cloud,
To the dust with anguish bowed,
Let me plead confidingly;
"Jesu, whom have I but Thee ? "

In the shadowy vale of death,
Be my last and labouring breath,-
"Flesh and heart are failing me:
Whom, Lord, have I now but
Thee ?"

Jordan past, how sweet the song!
Canaan won, how bright the throng!
Lord, through all eternity,

Whom have I in heaven but

Thee ?

A SHORT CHAPTER,

BEING INTRODUCTORY.

SHOULD like to say what put it into my head to write this story, and call it "Harvest Home."

My husband and a neighbour were talking of the hay crops of this rich grass country where we live. The cattle would be standing knee-deep amongst the buttercups if they were turned into the meadows before hay harvest.

Our neighbour is a well-read man, and thinks a good deal for himself, which all great readers do not.

He is in the prime of life, and my husband is down in the valley, where the shadows of the evening are growing longer and longer. Well, after they had done with the hay, our neighbour began to speak of the great field of life, and he said that he could not understand the want of proportion in the crops which spring from evil deeds, and those which spring from efforts for good.

"Look," he said, "at the wide-spreading mischief which a bad book does-a seed planted which surely brings a heavy crop of poison, sucked in eagerly by thousands. Look again," he said, "at the evil which follows from a bad example. One bad character may corrupt a whole village, one bad boy corrupt a school."

"Now," he said, "look at the other side of the picture, and tell me if the result from a good example was ever so marked. If the book is written with the direct aim of winning men and women to serve God, and to love all that is pure and of good report, is it followed with like results ? I mean results in the same proportion to those which can be directly traced to the book written to feed the evil desires of those who read it. Tell

me if missions at home and missions abroad, if efforts to raise the great masses of the working people by means of religious teaching, bring forth adequate results. Do not we see Christian men and women labouring all their lives to bring the sheep into the fold, the lambs to the Good Shepherd, and at the last it would seem to be their only cry, 'Surely, I have laboured in vain.' I say," Mr. Spencer, for that was our neighbour's name, went on-"I say that the good seed seems to perish, or bring forth but a meagre crop, while the bad seed lives and thrives, and scatters abroad a hundred-fold its own mischievous and poisonous fruit: or, like the thistles in our upland meadow, flies about and makes a thousand prickly plants from one blossom. You can't deny what I say, Mr. Denys; no, nor can your good wife either."

I smiled, but I waited for my husband to speak; I knew he would say the right thing, as he did when at last he replied,

"I can't exactly deny what you say, Mr. Spencer; but I will answer you with words from God's Book. I dare not answer you with any other:-'Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap;' 'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy;' 'He that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him;' 'He which soweth sparingly shall reap also sparingly; and he which soweth bountifully shall reap also bountifully.'"

"Yes, yes," broke in Mr. Spencer, "I know all that; but I don't see it, Mr. Denys, and so I don't feel it."

"Well," my husband said, looking at me with his kindly, loving eyes, "there's one

who knows and feels she has sown and she has reaped, and there will be a joyful harvest home for her, and she can sing the reapers' song even now-now, while she looks at me. So she sees as well as feels."

I could hardly bear this; I felt so unworthy; but my husband's words sent my thoughts back over long past years: and before me rose a cornfield shining gold in the sunshine, and the sound of singing from the reapers, and a sweet sense of ingathering and fulness of joy. When I had collected my thoughts a little, I asked my husband if I should write the story of those early years: when I went forth from my father's house, scarcely anything of definite purpose in my heart then but a faint humble desire to do what I could where God was pleased to send

me.

I need not say more in this place, for I know an introduction to a story is thought dull, and often skipped over. All that is necessary by way of explanation is now written, and I hope my readers will overlook all faults of style, and not think me too full of myself as I tell my tale.

CHAPTER I.

EARLY DAYS.

My father was a tradesman, in a good way of business, in the bustling town of Ladminster. He was the principal linen-draper in the place, and lived with his large family over the shop. The days had not come when every tradesman must have his paste-board villa outside the town, with a grand name. No; people in our station of life were content to live where they earned their bread, and a happier home than ours in the High Street of Ladminster can hardly be imagined. We were a strong and healthy family, six in number-two girls, of whom I was the youngest, and four boys. Life went on in a very even, regular way with us; we had few interests beyond our own town and neighbourhood, and I daresay cared far too little for those outside our own particular circle.

The boys went to school in the town-the Ladminster grammar school, and they passed one by one out of it to different tradeș. The eldest, Harry, came into the shop; the second, George, was apprenticed to an ironmonger; the third was our scholar," and had risen so high in the grammar school that the master begged to keep him another year, when my

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father thought it was time for him to be apprenticed to Mr. Kidd, the currier and leather merchant, who was a relation of ours. Then came little Frank, our baby and darling -rather spoiled, perhaps; for all youngest children stand a good chance of being spoiled; but if ever there was an excuse for doing So, we had it.

Our dear little merry brother, beautiful in his babyhood,-loving, mischievous, enchanting in his childhood-I can see him before me now. Before the shop was opened of a morning, he was allowed to toddle about there; and Pam, our eldest sister, would dress him up in odds and ends of ribbon and finery, and set him up on the counter, to be admired by father and the assistants.

Pamela was three years older than I was. She was commonly called the "right hand" by her parents. She certainly had a wonderful knack of doing the right thing at the right time, and she was always so trim and neat in her dress and in her person. mother trusted her in everything, and Pam's word was law.

My

My mother was of higher rank in life than my father; that is to say, she was the daughter of a small solicitor in Ladminster. He died early in life, leaving two girls quite unprovided for. My mother, who was never strong, and of a very gentle, clinging nature, was thankful to accept the comfortable home my father offered her, and the shelter of his protecting love. My mother's sister, as I believe, looked down on this marriage with a tradesman, and went out as a nursery governess in a gentleman's family. She was ashamed of the trade to which my mother had allied herself, and only paid her a very occasional visit, "giving herself great airs," old Nancy, our trusted servant, said; till at last she married a “squire” down in Gloucestershire, and then the shop in the High Street of Ladminster must of course be forgotten.

The “squire" turned out to be a farmer who owned a few acres of land, and had a long lease from his father of a large old-fashioned house near the village of Breame St. Bernard. Here my poor aunt for a few years lived, with servants and a carriage, and believed herself to be a great lady at last. Rumours

reached us from time to time that the squire, Mr. Denys, was by no means a respectable character; but we heard nothing direct, and by degrees Aunt Bella and her story grew faint and fainter, and less like reality than a story we might read in a book.

Aunt Bella's portrait hung in our sittingroom, over the old-fashioned high cabinet piano which had been bought at Canon Storey's sale years ago. The portrait was that of a girl in a white dress, made with very large puffed sleeves, and cut in a round at the neck, with a collar lying over it, showing the slender throat. A band of velvet, fastened with a brooch, across the forehead always made me think Aunt Bella must have some defect there she wished to hide; but mother said it was the fashion of those days, and no one thought it ugly then. It is certainly wonderful how fashion rules us, and how there is nothing new under the sun. The great rough crop of hair which the girls of the present day think so becoming is, according to my notions, quite as ugly as Aunt Bella's band of velvet! Aunt Bella had very beautiful features, and I daresay her hair was beautiful: only of this I cannot judge so well, as it was fastened up in high stiff curls, as if her aim was to get as many as possible one on the top of the other.

The adjective "poor" clings to some people through life. When my mother did speak of our aunt, it was always "poor Bella," and Nancy would say,—

"That poor Miss Bella, I wonder if I should know her if I met her in the High Street! How she used to pass the shop-door, mincing along, and go down Baker's Alley, that she might come round to the side entrance! Such pride! And then, as we sow, so we must reap."

What crop Aunt Bella had reaped we did not know with any certainty for years, but it fell to my lot to see it gathered in, if I may say so; and, thank God, there was some sweetness in the aftermath, and of this sweetness I shared.

It was one September afternoon, when Pamela was three-and-twenty, and I had just turned my twentieth birthday, that, passing down into the parlour behind the shop, I heard the sound of some one crying. I

Cherry! I want you."

Little Frank, who was about five years old at this time, came trotting along the passage -a very narrow passage running at the back of the sitting-room and bedroom-with two windows in it; the larger one blocked up by the roof of our warehouse, the other showing the tower of the minster, and a peep of distant country.

"Frank is not to come; send him away," Pamela said sharply; and almost at the same moment Nancy raced up the back stairs and took the child off in her arms, struggling and shouting that he wanted "mammie" at the top of his voice.

"Is anything the matter, Pamela ?

"Mother wants to speak to you. She has got a letter that has upset her very much from poor Aunt Bella; but don't stand talking here; come into the bedroom."

I obeyed Pamela at once, and went in to my mother. She was sitting before her little chest of drawers, with an open letter in her hand. She was struggling to subdue her nervous, almost hysterical crying, and was afraid of Pamela's repeated,—

"Pray hush, mother; you will make yourself ill! "

"I should like to go to her," my mother faltered; "I should, indeed!"

"It is impossible, mother-that long journey alone. You will have to sleep a night on the road; you are not fit for it. If any one goes, Cherry must."

"I go!" I exclaimed; "where and why? to whom ? "

"Aunt Bella is in great distress; she is lonely and ill, and she begs mother to go to her; or, if not, to send one of us-' one of her four girls,' showing how much she knows about us! You see, Cherry," my sister went on, "mother's going is out of the question; so is mine. I keep all the house accounts, and I am always in the shop when they want an extra hand on market-days, and I mend all the house linen and boys' clothes, and

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"I know you do everything," I said, 'everything right!"

"Well, of course I do a deal more than you