"I suppose there are no duties for tenants; they | man became delirious. Sometimes he was busy in may insult and impose as they please." "As stringent I consider their duties to bo as are those of a landlord," said Tertius, respectfully but firmly. "And I suppose you think I am as much at fault as a landlord as I consider him to be as a tenant. I daro say you think my letter too severe, not complying enough-ch?" Tertius Terence looked at him with a troubled and questioning expression. What did he mean? what ailed him? how had he offended him? He did not reply. "You may as well speak out, man," said the baronet. 66 Certainly, sir, if you wish it," said Tertius, recovering his calmness. "As you desire to know my opinion, I do think the letter is just what you say.” "He shall have notice to quit," said Sir Herbert; "that shall be his answer. It will be a kindness to free him from a bad landlord." To this Tertius made no answer. It was a large and lofty room, and although a blazing fire warmed one end of it, the side of the table at which he sat was not under its influence, as the largo easy chair of Sir Herbert and his gout stool and screen intervened; therefore he had never felt properly thawed from his first entrance. His eyes smarted, his teeth ached, his head was confused, his hand shook, and he could scarcely keep still in his chair; but Sir Herbert, who was obliged to shelter himself from the heat he was so close to, and to lay open his fur wrapper for breath, did not notice his clerk's white checks and blue nose; his long, thin, upright figure, with only its usual covering-the old greatcoat of many years' standing having been deposited with hat and comforter in the hall. The time was very long that night. Everything went wrong. Sir Herbert had shown his reputed temper often of late, but never as he did then. But Tertius comforted himself with the thought of his little boy at a good school, and bore up with heroic calmness. "Oh, Lucy," he said, when he had opened the door of No. 1, "shall I ever be warm again?" Mrs. Terence made some of her best gruel, and tried all her choicest preventives and cures for cold, but in vain. Poor Tertius was very ill next morning, and unable to go to the counting-house or the Hollies. Messages were carried to both by little Bob, who daily announced for a whole week at the former that he hoped his father would be better "to-morrow." At last the head of the firm called, shook his head, and said he was afraid "to-morrow" was a long way off. And the doctor shook his head, and poor Mrs. Terence began to weep, and Tertius saw that her eyes were red, though she did her best to be cheerful. "Take heart, Lucy," he said; "they don't know my constitution, never having been ill before. I think I shall soon be right again. I wonder Sir Herbert has not sent; but he forgets, poor man. He is often in pain, and he has been in a very unhappy temper lately." "I wish with all my heart you had never known him. It was going there at night that brought this on," said she, sorrowfully. "Not a sparrow falls without Him, my wife!" he answered. "Have faith in God." She had need of faith, for fever set in, and the sick counting up bills, sometimes he was writing letters for Sir Herbert, sometimes teaching in his school. Strangely would he wander from one to another of his various employments, but never seemed anxious or perplexed about them. He had been ill about a fortnight, and had grown considerably worse; severo inflammation followed. Sir Herbert Carteret had taken it into his head, when the message came the first time, that Tertius had been offended by his manner the evening before, and resented the supposed excuse accordingly. "So, this is the way with them all; he's like the rest of them," he said to himself, though his conscience told him all the time that he was not at all like any one he had ever had dealings with, and that he had imposed shamefully upon his forbearance. He sent out a short answer to say that Mr. Terence need not come again till he felt quite disposed to do it, so that little Bobby paid no other visit to the Hollies. As days passed on, the baronet grew more and more angry and discontented. The truth was, his clerk had become quite necessary to him; his kind and gentle counsels, delivered with equal humility and candour, had been as oil upon the waters of his testy humours. Strange to say, while his manner had grown less cordial, his heart had become more impressed with the value and excellence of his humble friend. It was the barber who first cnlightened him as to the illness of Tertius. "Terrible thing this, sir, for Mr. Terence's largo family." "What?" said the baronet. "Severe attack, sir-no hope for him, I heard this morning. I suppose you know he's been ill a fortnight ?" "You don't say so!" said the baronet, whose sullenly "What's the matter nursed wrath vanished in alarm. with him?" "Can't rightly say, sir. It came on with a touch of the shivers, the milkman told my wife; and now he's got to be so light headed that he knows nobody. Serious thing, sir, such a large family," he continued, going on with his shaving operations all the time. "Make haste," said the baronet, "make haste; and order the carriage, Jones," he said, turning to his man, "and come and dress me directly; I'm going out." Jones and the barber looked at one another in amazemont. "The snow is very deep, sir," said Jones. "Order the carriago," said the baronet, "and como and dress me." So the carriage was ordered. Not by the short ent, which was but a walking path from the Hollies to Paradise Row, but all through the town on to the main road that led to the building ground, was he driven, wrapt up in his flannels and furs. "Take me as close to the house as you can," ho said, "and then come and help me in." Poor Mrs. Terence thought it was a new doctor whom the old one had talked of calling in the night before, and she went down to receive him. Though Sir Herbert had so often speculated upon what the inside of No. 1 could be like, he took no notice of anything but the pale, careworn face of the wife. "Can I see him ?" he said. "Oh, yes, certainly, sir," she said, still supposing him to be the doctor. "Mr. Smith has not been here yet, but you can see him alone." 116 "How long has he been ill ?" he asked. No. 1, PARADISE ROW. "It's a fortnight to-night, sir. He took cold going up to Sir Herbert Carteret's, and has been growing worse ever since." "Let me go up," said Sir Herbert, quite forgetting his gout; and he was soon by the bedside. Sorrowfully did he look on the flushed face and hollow eyes before him. "You don't know me ?" he said. "Oh, yes," he answered. "Mr. Croft, I've got the twenty pounds. Poor old man! he gave us twenty pounds." "I'm not Mr. Croft," said the baronet, with deep concern. "Make better windows! make better. windows, Lucy! Take the children out of the windows," he said, incoherently. "He can't see," said his wife, weeping, "and thinks it is dark; his sight has failed. Oh, my husband!" And she wept abundantly. "Send my carriage back," said the baronet, "and tell them to fetch me in an hour. I shall stay here till the doctor comes." It was in executing this order that Mrs. Terence discovered who her visitor was; but her whole mind was so engrossed by her husband that the only feeling she had concerning him was disappointment that the now doctor had not arrived. Sir Herbert kept his watch until he did, and during that time learned a crowning lesson to all that poor Tertius had taught him. Words of tenderness to his wife or children, fragments of prayer and praise mingled continually with the ramblings of the poor clerk. Once or twice the baronet stooped down and said66 Don't you know Sir Herbert Carteret ?" And then Tertius would say— more. I am old and hard, but I have been harder, and the first step over, there's no need to despair." "But, sir," said Tertius, with glistening eyes, "you cannot learn of me. I can't رو "You can't make me believe, you can't give me faith-that's what you're going to say," said the baronet. "No, you can't; but I do believe; by God's grace I have faith." Tertius looked at him with breathless earnestness. "Yes, I can say now, as you can, 'To me Christ is precious.' Very touching was the scene that followed. The baronet said he was sure he had been given to the prayers of Tertius, and Tertius knew how earnestly he had prayed for him. Words long ago spoken had proved the seed of spiritual life. From that time the interests of all the family at No. 1 were identical with those of Sir Herbert Carteret; and while the barber frequently remarked to his customers what a lucky thing it was for Mr. Terence that he took No. 1, Sir Herbert put down the day in which "the lodge in the garden of cucumbers" became inhabited as the brightest of the red letter days in his almanack. A PIOUS PRINCESS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. AUGUSTA, Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg Schwerin, was born near Dresden, in the year 1822. She was the daughter of the Prince and Princess of Reuss, a small German principality. Both her parents appear to have been God-fearing and exemplary; and several of her ancestors, for many generations, had been distinguished for their piety." In her fifth year the young Princess lost her be "Poor old man! poor old man!" in tones so affect- loved mother, and though she found a kind mother ing that it brought the tears into his eyes. The doctor came and gave hope, though feeble. Sir Herbert charged him to see his patient unsparingly. "Come to me for the fees. I owe him a mint of money, and much more besides," he said, hastily. This was true, and he paid his debt. All that care and cost could do to secure his recovery was tenderly, bountifully done; and he did recover, to the untold delight of the baronet. It was some time before his strength returned; but so sensible were the firm for whom he worked of his value, that they gladly gave him a long-extended holiday. But Sir Herbert had something better in view for him. Having induced him to spend a few days at the Hollies for change, when he treated him with the kindness of affectionate friendship, he said to him one evening-"Terence, I pledge myself never to lose sight, while I live, of you and your children. Until I knew you I didn't know that there was a pulse of humanity in my heart. It is long since I have had any one to love. My friends have quarrelled with me, and no wonderbut enough of that. I think I have learnt a little of you how to be happy, and I mean you to teach me in her father's second wife, yet this heavy loss left a melancholy impression upon her youthful life. She held firmly to her faithful Saviour, whom she learned to know carly, and committed all the cares and anxietics of her wounded heart to him, and found not only support and comfort, but also that firmness and confidence which in later life imparted so much strength to her character. On the 6th October, 1838, the Princess Augusta, after a childhood spent in the light of the Divine word, made her public confession of faith in the church of Klix, near Bautzen, and was confirmed. The words of the prophet Isaiah (xlix. 15, 16), "I will not forget thee-behold I have graven thee on the palms of my hands," which the preacher took for his text, and warmly impressed upon her heart, remained always uppermost in her memory, even upon her dying bed. She frequently mentioned in later days, that she had received deeper and more serious thoughts on religion at this happy time than she had previously experienced. The fervour of her love to her Saviour, her personal communion with him, her confident trust in his atonement, were the treasures of her heart. No event was too insignificant for her not to recognise in it the finger and guidance of the Lord. Introduced at the court of Dresden, she became acquainted with the Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin, whom she did not again meet for several years. The school of life was for this young Princess to be a school of trials. Her father, whom she loved with the deepest devotion, died, after long sufferings, A PIOUS PRINCESS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. in September, 1841. From henceforth she felt the . · But she was by no means blind to her own sins. By the very reason that she lived so near to the Lord, she had a keen eye for her own faults. Not in flying from or denouncing the duties of her station in life, did she seek the salvation of her soul; from such selfdeception her heart was happily preserved. Her whole soul lay open before the Lord, that he might look into its most secret recesses. Before each time of receiving the holy communion, she strictly examined herself. She thus writes in her diary: "Give me ever a deeper insight into my sinful life, but also into thy grace. Be thou to me my all, and place always before my eyes that in thee alone are peace, joy, and comfort, to be found." She mentions as her favourite text, which she desired to be written on her tomb, "Neither is there salvation in any other, there is no other name given among men whereby we may be saved." Therefore, however faithful and open is the feeling or confession of her guilt, the following reflection never fails to follow: "The Lord's love is immeasurably great; he guides me with such love. I am yet always, always dissatisfied,-I am ever wanting to have more. Take away from me every thing impure or unclean, so that at last thy image, oh! my Saviour, may be reflected clear and bright in my soul." Even in those years the thought of death was ever before her. The sense of bodily weakness, the consequence of a slowly-developing heart complaint, and the frequent solemn experiences she had had of deaths in her family, all tended to keep alive this feeling. In the year 1844 she wrote the following prayer: "Oh Lord, when thou takest me home, then hold me fast. Do not forsake me in my last hour. Grant that I may cast myself upon thee alone, upon thy precious blood shed for me, and depart hence trusting upon it alone. Grant, too, that all men whom I have wounded, grieved, or offended, may forgive me. Grant 117 that I may forgive them with my whole heart, as I hope, with thy help, ever to be able to do!" When, in the year 1844, the Roman Catholic village church at Stonsdorf, in Silesia, where she resided, was given over to the use of the Protestants, she rejoiced with a thankful heart. "The Lord hath done great things for us; therefore will we rejoice. Oh, Lord! how I thank thee that I have lived to this day,—to see which was the dearest wish of my beloved father, and the sure prospect of which gave him so much joy in his last moments." She was now, by the wisdom and grace of the Lord, sufficiently prepared-through suffering, hope, and patience for the high station which was to be her earthly portion. In the summer of 1847, the reigning Grand Duke of Mecklenburg Schwerin visited Stonsdorf during a tour he was making through the Silesian mountains. His former youthful impressions had by no means died away, and he came to see whether the heart and hand of her who had formerly won his love were still free. However, two years passed away without further results. It was a period of terrible disturbance and excitement in Germany, in which the princes were occupied with heavy care and difficult duties. But at this perplexing time he felt the need of having a faithful helpmate at his side. His offer, after solemn self-examination and communion with the Lord, was accepted by the Princess, who had already given up all thoughts of earthly happiness. "This is the Lord's doing, and it is wondrous in our eyes" (Ps. cxviii. 23); and "I will bless the Lord who hath given me counsel" (Ps. xvi. 7), she wrote down as texts for meditation. On the 3rd Nov., 1849, the marriage of the princely pair was celebrated at Ludwigslust. When asked by the clergyman, she chose for the text of the marriage discourse her favourite one, "Behold I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands;" marking also as a text for meditation, "For thou blessest, O Lord, and it shall be blessed for ever (1 Chron. xvii. 27). She could look forward in comfort to her new path of life. In the true faith of the Lord she had entered the marriage state. "I hope," wrote she, we shall always suffer him to be the third in our covenant." She soon learned the importance and difficulty of her position, doubly perplexing at a time when she had to experience-as the good king of Prussia, Frederick William IV, so truly expressed it-" The ways of princes are worthy of tears and heavy with tears." She recognised the sins of the age, and the responsibility of rulers; but with delicate tact she knew how to confine herself to her feminine calling, while she shared the cares and anxieties of her husband, who early learned that she was worthy of his fullest confidence. The Grand Duchess soon discovered the peculiar sphere of duty in her new position, viz., the support of the needy and suffering, and the formation and assistance of benevolent institutions. For this, in Ludwigslust and Schwerin, she found abundant opportunity. In the former place she took under her special care the children's hospital, which she enlarged for the reception of adult sick; and she founded also a deaconesses' institution in connection with it. In 1851, a new building was erected, the Grand Duchess laying the first stone on her birthday. During her first winter at Schwerin, she turned her attention to the Caroline. Institution, where twelve poor girls were brought up and educated as servants. Then she held a Bible class three times a week, and a singing class once a week 118 till a proper teacher was appointed. A PIOUS PRINCESS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. this moment, perhaps, no longer beats." It was in reality The Schwerin industrial school, the infant schools in and around Schwerin, the Gehlsdorf refuge, and many other charitable institutions, experienced the active love of this noble lady. Her Christian bencvolence also extended to foreign lands. During her first visit to Ischl, in Austria, in 1856, she heard of the poverty of the poor Protestant congregation at Hallstadt, and not only assisted them herself in the erection of their church, but also induced others to do the same. The Protestant community in Goisern was aided in building a school, and a Mecklenburg schoolmaster appointed. The last institution to which she devoted her charity was the Orphan Asylum in Schwerin, founded at Easter, 1861. Such was the abundant love of this patient sufferer, often harassed by sickness and pain, yet cheerfully from the throne devoting herself to the service of home missions. In this she persevered till her last breath. A poor widow-to mention one instance among many -who lived in a town about twenty miles from Schwerin, and who, with her husband, had lost her all, so that by giving instruction she did not even earn enough to pay her children's school money, was quite at a loss what to do; she was advised by a friend to apply to the Duchess just as the news came of her serious illness. But the good lady in her hours of pain had the petition laid before her, and granted its request. When, trembling with joy, the poor widow went with the letter which contained these happy tidings to her friend, he replied, on reading it, "The noble heart who has granted this great assistance, at For six years was the domestic happiness of the royal pair undisturbed. Children grew up around them. Before the birth of her first child, she wrote, Lord, dwell in my heart, and grant that it may be seen by my conduct that thou rulest in me. Make me more faithful in my duties, more amiable and forbearing to my equals, kinder to my servants. But above all, grant that I may ever become a more faithful and obedient wife to my beloved Frederick, and a mother to my babe, as shall please thee." Her first child was born in March, 1851. Before the birth of the second child, she wrote, "Oh, Lord, grant that my beloved child may be given up to thee from the moment of his birth, and have thy blessed guidance through this life; let it be graven on thy hands, let it be a blessing to us its parents, to its brother, to its family. Oh, Lord my God, if thou wilt longer permit me to remain in this happy state with my Frederick and my children; oh! let it ever draw me closer to thee, let this time of grace not pass away unused. Hast thou determined otherwise? Oh, Lord, then make me ready; preserve me and my beloved one from murmuring; and then, do thou thyself protect him and my children." Two sons and a daughter were born to her, and to the education of these children she earnestly devoted herself. In the fulfilment of a mother's duties she found the most delightful exercise of her life, and a source of purest joy. She was present at her children's meals, and when they went to bed, she played with them, sang to them, drew pictures for them, told them stories, and knew how to occupy and amuse them. When she was once weak and suffering, she came into the nursery and sang her little sick son, who would not otherwise be quieted, to sleep. But above all things she sought to lead them to the Lord. "The education of children is kneeling work," was an expression she had learnt from her great grandmother, and never forgot. To-day," she writes in her diary, "I have prayed for the first time with my little Paul Frederick. How inquiringly his little eyes gazed at me when I folded his tiny hands. Ho did not understand, and yet he was quite silent and listened. Oh, Lord, suffer him to become a true, faithful, praying man." She always had regular morning and evening prayers with her household. She knew how to rule her children by a word and a look but A PIOUS PRINCESS OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. under some circumstances, did not fear to use correction. A long residence in Pyrmont had a good effect upon the health of the Grand Duchess; but after the birth of Prince John Albert, at the close of 1857, she remained so weak and suffering, that the physicians ordered her to pass the winter in a milder climate. Accompanied by her husband, she went to Vevay, on the Lake of Geneva. But the hoped-for amendment did not take place, and the sudden death of her sisterin-law shocked her greatly. The premature birth of a prince, who died on the second day, so reduced the strength of the Princess, that a second journey to the south was not possible. The death of the king of Prussia, who was very dear to her, and her own increasing feeling of weakness, brought the thought of death ever nearer to her. "Lord Jesus," she wrote, "quiet my heart! Grant that I may be as much as possible to my beloved ones, that I may not grieve my dear husband, however much I suffer, and may not weary his life and those of my children by sighs and complaints!" In this school of suffering she ripened for heaven. A residence at Reichenhall, in the summer of 1860, greatly restored her; but a cold caught on the return journey settled upon her chest. On her arrival at home she was met with the alarming news of a serious accident which had happened the day before to the Duke in hunting. Her self-denying love made her forget her own weakness; she carefully nursed her husband, who was soon after attacked by inflammation in the chest. The joy at his recovery brought back the cheerfulness of better days. But suddenly, on 20th February, 1862, she was seized with an attack of influenza, which ended in a dangerous inflammation on the lungs. But she could firmly look death in the face, and with the armour of a Christian prepare herself for the last struggle, 119 On the morning of the 27th, she confessed to the pastor her conviction that the Lord was hastening her to her end, and desired the consolation of his word. It was hard for her to be obliged to separate from all that was dear to her upon earth, but her heart clave to the Lord, and his love freed her more and more from all earthly bonds. On the following day her weakness was very great. It was the Duke's birthday, he had himself scarcely recovered, and was now painfully anxious for the life of his beloved wife. The following night she grew so much worse, that at four in the morning the Duke was called to her bedside. With deep pain he imparted to her the fears of the physicians, for long ago they had mutually promised in such a case not to conceal the truth from one another. She asked to see her children, and to receive the holy communion. They came to her bedside, heard her last admonitions, and kneeling, received her blessing. This exertion so exhausted her that she required a little rest. Earthly things already lay behind her, already she enjoyed in spirit the foretaste of future glory, and rejoiced at the prospect of being so soon at home with the Lord. In the midst of this feeling of bliss her humble childlike mind inquired, "Is it wrong that I should so rejoice in the prospect of heaven?" She was clearly convinced, and repeatedly expressed that as a poor sinner she confided only in the precious merits of Jesus Christ, and in the blood of atonement for her justification, and for the ground of her hope. This consolation was confirmed to her through the sacrament, which she received together with the Duke. It was a wonderfully touching celebration. The affectionate couple, who, during the last few months, had, by the special providence of God, been united more closely to each other, felt the heavy hour of separation come, and yet knew that they were standing upon that firm foundation which assured to them the continuance of their love and communion throughout eternity. But by God's inscrutable decrees, she was to taste the full bitterness of death; her strength decreased, the pains in her heart and fits of coughing became more severe. Hymns and texts repeated to her greatly comforted her. She often repeated the line, "Jesus, Jesus is still my brightest light." On Sunday she asked for the prayers of the congregation in the neighbouring church, "not for recovory, but that the grace of the Lord might keep her firm in the faith even to the end." Then she sent for all the servants to come to her one by one, that she might take leave of them. Not an eye remained dry, she alone preserved a perfect calm, her soul had already taken a firm stand upon the eternal Rock. To the distant members of her family she sent her last best wishes. The Grand Duke held her almost constantly in his arms, and her eyes, full of deep tenderness, rested upon him. Towards evening her state became so bad that the last moment seemed to have come. present knelt round the bed, and implored the Lord in earnest prayer to release the sufferer by a quiet and gentle end from all evil, and to take her to his heavenly kingdom. Once more life appeared to return, and there was a renewed hope of recovery. But the following night was a hard and painful one; on Monday morning came a slight relief, but at 10 A.M. the last struggle began. Sho cried, Help me, my Jesus," and found comfort in the verses of the before-men All |