only learn well
through conscious labour, and as positive task-work, yet Religion should
be connected in their minds not with labour and task-work, but should
become insensibly infused into their habits of thought, blending
itself with memories and images of peace and love; with the indulgent
tenderness of the earliest teachers, the sinless mirthfulness of the
earliest home; with consolation in after sorrows, support through after
trials, and never parting company with its twin sister, Hope.

I entered the vicar's room this evening just as the group had collected
round him. By the side of his wife sat a lady in whom I feel a keen
interest. Her face wears that kind of calm which speaks of the lassitude
bequeathed by sorrow. She is the aunt of my beloved one. Lily had
nestled herself on a low ottoman, at the good pastor's feet, with one
of his little girls, round whose shoulder she had wound her arm. She is
much more fond of the companionship of children than that of girls of
her own age. The vicar's wife, a very clever woman, once, in my hearing,
took her to task for this preference, asking her why she persisted in
grouping herself with mere infants who could teach her nothing? Ah!
could you have seen the innocent, angel-like expression of her face when
she answered simply, "I suppose because with them I feel safer, I mean
nearer to God."

Mr. Emlyn--that is the name of the vicar--deduced his homily this
evening from a pretty fairy tale which Lily had been telling to his
children the day before, and which he drew her on to repeat.

Take, in brief, the substance of the story:--

"Once on a time, a king and queen made themselves very unhappy because
they had no heir to their throne; and they prayed for one; and lo, on
some bright summer morning, the queen, waking from sleep, saw a cradle
beside her bed, and in the cradle a beautiful sleeping babe. Great
day throughout the kingdom! But as the infant grew up, it became very
wayward and fretful: it lost its beauty; it would not learn its lessons;
it was as naughty as a child could be. The parents were very sorrowful;
the heir, so longed for, promised to be a great plague to themselves
and their subjects. At last one day, to add to their trouble, two little
bumps appeared on the prince's shoulders. All the doctors were consulted
as to the cause and the cure of this deformity. Of course they tried
the effect of back-bands and steel machines, which gave the poor little
princ