do everything but speak; and why should it seem incredible that God, who has given the dumb beast so close an approximation to human feeling and reason, should for once have given it human voice (pp. 292-3)?" 12s. 6d. (?) The Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of Darkness. By the Author of "Truth and Work," &c. (London: Hodder & Stoughton) 48 pages of preface! It appears that while he has written several books. the author had some trouble in getting this one published. A publisher said to him, "The Kingdom of God,' no one will buy a book with the title The Kingdom of God."" Another said, "The world is not yet educated to read your works." Meaning," we are told, "not spiritually taught to feel the need." He was also told "that one librarian had ordered four thousand copies of a novel just then published." Well, we have gone through the book, and the conclusion to which we have come is, that it lacks unity, simplicity of plan, that it is prolix, discusses very little, asserts much. Here and there gleams come, and the truth stands out. The pious writer is full of Christian sympathy, and has great reverence for revelation. His knowledge of the Bible is most extensive and accurate. He uses facts with some skill in illustration of doctrines. As for instance, on the theme of "God in Creation," we are told: "Sir William Herschel thought he could follow a cluster of stars in depth at such a distance as would require 300,000 years for the transmission of its light. . . . Thus the reflection is forced upon us, that new clusters and systems, whose beaming light will never reach our earth, still throng beyond; and that though it is permitted to man to behold the immensity, he shall never see the bounds of the Creator" (pp. 189-90). Then we read :-"There is nothing in nature more remarkable than the circulation of the blood. In a healthy subject the vital fluid is thrown to the furthest extremities of the body (whence it as often returns to the heart) seventy-two times in a minute, which amounts to more than four thousand three hundred times in an hour, and to more than a hundred and three thousand times in every twenty-four hours." 7s. 6d. The Voice of Science on Temperance: The Voice of the Pulpit on Temperance: Religious and Educational Aspects of Temperance: The History of Toasting. Four vols. 1s. 6d. each. (London: National Temperance Publication Depôt, 337, Strand.) Elegant, compact, handy. Among the numerous contributors there are Dr. B. W. Richardson, Dr. Edmunds, Dr. Sinclair Paterson, Canon Farrar, Canon Wilberforce, and the Rev. Dr. R. Maguire. Almost every phase of temperance is considered. We wish some of our rich friends would buy hundreds of these valuable books and give them to libraries, Sunday-schools, and the young. The teaching of science in them is plain and final, and, we hesitate not to say, by an unprejudiced man must be accepted. Speaking of the action of alcohol on the mind, Dr. Richardson, no mean authority on such a subject, observes: "From the moment a physiological effect is produced in the body by alcohol, and onwards, so long as the effect is kept up by the addition of the agent to the body, the animal heat, the nervous control over the muscles, and the independent power resident in the muscles themselves, begin and continue to decline, until at last the body, cold and senseless, falls to the ground, checked only by its own utter helplessness, and, as it were, living death, from imbibing the last drops that would make the death absolute. From all these facts I reasoned that alcohol could not, in any sense, be scientifically set down as a food for man or any other animal; that it could not be set down as a necessity for man or any other animal; that, useless as a food, it is mischievous as a luxury; and that indulged in as a luxury, it is far too dangerous a destroyer to be entrusted to the general management of mankind, or to the hands of those who, because of its luxurious temptations, fall under its power." (The Voice of Science, p. 111.) 66 Via, Veritas, Vita. Discursive Notes on Preaching, and on Some Types of the Christian Life. By PRESBYTER. (London: Elliot Stock, Paternoster-row.) Contains sage teaching, clearly and sensibly expressed. It would have been better if the title had been in plain English-the Way, the Truth, and the Life. The author spares no one. has no respect for long-cherished notions, but faithfully exposes and denounces whatever he deems to be wrong. Well read and thoughtful, he ably supports and appositely illustrates his own views. Referring to Christ and the people, a gifted writer, elegant, tender, suggestive, is quoted: "If He," says George Macdonald, in "Thomas Wingfield, Curate," were to come again visibly now, which do you think would come crowding about Him in greater numbers-the respectable church-goers or the people from the slums? I do not know. I dare not judge. But the fact that the Church draws so few of those that are despised, of those whom Jesus drew, and to whom most expressly He came, gives ground for question as to how far the Church is like her Lord. Certainly many a one would find their way to the feet of the Master from whom the respectable church-goer, the Pharisee of our time, and the priest who stands on his profession, would draw back with disgust." Again we read: "One evening," writes Mr. W. H. Wylie, in "Thomas Carlyle: the Man and his Book," "at a small literary gathering, a lady famous for her muslin theology was bewailing the wickedness of the Jews in not receiving our Saviour, and ended her diatribe by expressing regret that He had not appeared in our own time. How delighted,' she said, 'we should all be to throw our doors open to Him and to listen to His divine precepts! Don't you think so, Mr. Carlyle ?' Thus appealed to, he replied, No, madam, I don't. I think that had He come very fashionably dressed, with plenty of money, and preaching doctrines palatable to the higher classes, I might have had the honour of receiving from you a card of invitation, on the back of which would. be written: To meet our Saviour. But if He had come uttering His sublime precepts, and denouncing the Pharisees, and associating with the publicans and the lower orders as He did, you would have treated Him much as the Jews did, and have cried out, Take Him to Newgate, and hang Him.'" (pp. 13-15). 1s. 6d. Chips. By the Author of "Her Benny." A Story of Manchester Life. With Original Illustrations. (London: Frederick Warne & Co.) Another book from the prolific pen of our friend the Rev. Silas Hocking. Like everything he has written, here are scenes from real life graphically given, and the most useful lessons deduced from them. The binding and the pictures are in very attractive styles, and make the twelve chapters, which occupy not more than eighty-seven pages, additionally fascinating. 1s. (?)-Echoes from Distant Footfalls; or, The Origin and Unity of the Human Race. By Rev. J. BOYES, M.A., F.S.A., &c. (London: Hodder & Stoughton.) As would be expected by the readers of "Letters to the Young on Matters of Science," which are appearing in our pages, Mr. Boyes pursues his course steadily, keeping to the old lines, and, as far as we are capable of judging, fully sustaining the sacred records where their accuracy may be questioned, or their doctrine doubted. Sir John Lubbock's views as to the "signs of progress discernible among savages" are shown to have no basis in facts, and Whateley's opinion is confirmed, without any intention of doing so, that no savage has been known to civilise himself.-Wild Africa: the Benighted Continent of To-Day. Containing Strange Pictures of Negro Savage Life. By T. AUSTIN BULLOCK, LL.D. (London: Simpkin, Marshall & Co.) Necessarily fragmentary, but very instructive, with startling revelations of the cruelties and abominations of heathenism. It was most gratifying to us to read the following: "The last mountain was climbed amid much danger, and ice brought to its base by the brave and resolute missionary, the Rev. C. New, who subsequently lost his valuable life through the scoundrel plunderer, called a chief, who rules at the base of Kilimandjaro, and who ought yet to be taught by some one that he cannot be allowed to abuse peaceable and good men with impunity" (p. 18).-We have before us two elegant Cards of Membership issued by the Free Methodist Temperance League, and sold at our Book-room. Design and execution good. How GREEN," &c. &c CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH IVY GETS AN IDEA AND ACTS UPON IT. "They knew not that my heart was torn ; E. L. HERVEY. OW long Ivy stood on the stairs gazing at her brother she never knew. But the spell that had locked her as in a vice of iron was broken at length, and with uplifted hands she rushed towards her brother, crying "Oh, Fred, Fred--" The next moment she lay senseless and bleeding upon the floor. Surprised, bewildered, terrified, Fred had sprung to his feet at the first sound of her voice, and before he knew what he was doing he had struck her full in the face, and felled her to the earth. Let me pause here for a moment and say a word for Fred, lest my readers should be unduly harsh in their judgment of him. Fred had no intention of harming his sister when he came into the village. And even when he had resolved to rob her, it was in the full belief that Jack Winchester would not see her want. He had come back to Northhaven with heart considerably softened. The memories that clustered round his early home were subduing in their influence. His mother had always been good to him, his father uniformly kind, and Ivy was a sister that any brother might be proud of. In his wanderings from village to village he had often thought of her kindness and patience, and of her devotion to little Nel, and never had she seemed so much to him, never had he realised her worth so much, as during those months of his exile. He had come near the cottage that he might catch a glimpse of her face. He did not know-nor would he have owned to himself if he had known-how much his heart was hungering for a sight of his sister, for he had been very lonely since he went away from home. We repeat, then, that Fred had no intention of harming his sister, and had he had time to think about the matter the blow would never have been struck. The sur prise had been so sudden, the dread of recognition and the horror of discovery had been so great, and the instinct of self-defence so strong, that before he was aware, before he had time to think what he was doing, the cruel blow had been struck, and poor Ivy lay with her head against the fender, unconscious of all that was passing around her. But having said this much in Fred's defence, we must stop, for we can say no more. At best, he was proud, lazy, and selfish. His pride and idleness had been his curse, and until he had learnt humility and was content to earn his bread by honest, manly labour, there seemed little hope of his reformation. When he saw what he had done, he gathered up the money and fled. Coward that he was, he did not wait to see what injury his sister had received, and by morning he was many miles away from Northhaven, and still pushing forward as if the avenger of blood were at his heels. When Ivy recovered consciousness the early grey of the morning was peeping through the window, and little Ned was calling from the room above. With a strange look in her eyes, Ivy staggered to her feet and then dropped into her chair, for she was so weak she could scarcely stand, and as yet she was utterly unable to realise what had happened. Calling to Ned to be quiet and that she would come to him directly, she closed her eyes s and tried to think. But it was in vain she tried to call to mind what had happened. All she seemed conscious of was that something terrible had transpired; a great horror seemed to hang over her, while her head felt as if it were enclosed in a vice that was being pressed tighter and tighter all the while. Opening her eyes at length, she stared in bewilderment around the room. On the floor by the fender was a pool of blood. What did it mean? Had somebody been murdered, or was she dreaming? Then she pressed her hand to the back of her head where the pain was most severe. "Oh dear," she said, "what is the matter with me? Am I losing my reason, or am I dreaming, or what is it? I never felt like this before ;" and rising to her feet she clasped her hands together. Then she uttered a low cry, for she saw the blood on her hands. "Oh, I think I must be going mad," she said, as she stared around the room. The next moment with a moan she dropped again into her chair, for she had caught sight of the open drawer, and the truth flashed across her mind in a moment. During the day one or two of the neighbours that called went away puzzled and perplexed. Ivy was quite cool and collected, and yet there was a strangeness about her manner, and a wild startled look in her eyes, that were altogether unlike her usual self. She never made any allusion, however, to what had happened, and eagerly removed every trace of her own hurt. Poor little Ned was in one of his quiet moods, and was too ill to take much notice of anything. Even the strangeness of Ivy's manner did not seem to strike him. He lay in a corner of the sofa all the day; occasionally he opened his eyes, and for a little while would watch, in a dreamy kind of way, his sister as she busied herself with her household duties. Once he asked her why she was baking so many with the answer, “We shall need them all, Ned." and seemed as if asleep for the rest of the day. cakes, but was quite satisfied After that he closed his eyes, But though Ivy rather surprised Ned with the number of cakes she made, she had no appetite for food herself; once only she made an effort to eat, but the food seemed to choke her, and after that she made no further attempt. As the day wore on the expression in her eyes became almost wolfish, and she started at every sound and looked eagerly towards the door. Now and then she passed her hand across her eyes in a bewildered kind of way, and murmured to herself, "But he will not come until to-morrow." It was Jeremiah Swift of whom she was thinking; it was his footstep she dreaded to hear. |