Duty First. And George being haply at hand, was, to Lottie's great satisfaction, permitted to assist in this household arrangement. After that, Aunt Patience never forgot to send Lottie each Sunday to the church, where she could meet and see George; and this proof of consideration from her stern, sick aunt, touched the girl greatly: nor was it altogether a grief to her that her aunt's mind wandered a little at this time, and hearing a man's footstep at the door, she would call with irritable strength of voice on Jan, never seeing a discrepancy between the bright face of the young Englishman and the remembered features of her sixty-years-old husband. Lottie loved her for the mistake, for Uncle Jan was still a pleasant memory to her; she liked to think George would grow up such another pleasant, gentle giant, in whose arms friendless little girls could nestle. 'But what had worked on Aunt Patience to bring her round so ?' Lottie asked Michael one evening. And Michael took off his hat. 'It is the Lord's doing,' he said. She is a good woman, and yet He could not take her to Himself till her heart was softened. She will not tarry long with us now.' Michael was right. Just as poor Lottie was beginning to go about as in a dream, perfectly worn out with want of sleep and constant waiting on the helpless invalid, she suddenly changed, had one bright painless day with her friends, said the last words of farewell, gave over her little all to Lottie, kissed her and blessed her in His Name Whose imperfect but faithful servant she had been, and then adding, Bless George too,' laid her down and died. It was to Michael that Lottie turned in that hour of natural grief, for George had not been near the house for days. Not that that was any great wonder, since business often was very pressing; still Lottie would have liked to have wept her tears on his shoulder. Aunt Patience had cared for her now for nearly twenty years, and, despite seeming harshness, had always tried to do well by her. But Michael was a good stay, too: gentle and considerate, he saw that Lottie had the rest she needed, he chose who should be watcher and helper in the house of death, and he settled on the plot of ground where Patience Nichol should lie in her long restful sleep. Once when Lottie murmured something about sending for George, he soothed her as one would a child, but turned the subject: he would do all he said. So there was no George on the funeral day, and Lottie was clinging again to Michael, content too in her quiet grief with him; better for George only to share her joys. As to this sorrow, he would only half enter into it; for Mistress Nichol had never been to him what she had been to Lottie, and he would naturally look on her death as the prelude to their marriage and future happiness. But it was sweet and comforting that the dying woman had blessed her George; when she was not so tired she would tell him so: at present all she wanted was rest-rest of body and mind. She thought she could be content to do nothing, and see no one for days or weeks, so that she might just live and get strength. Something of this she told Michael as they walked home together, and Michael promised her she should have rest; he would manage her affairs the while. Old Widow Smith would sleep in the house, and do the little necessary work. So Lottie took her rest as she wished, Michael jealously guarding her that no tattling neighbour should step in to break it. Widow Duty First. Smith was a quiet, very deaf old woman; neat and handy, however, so that Lottie relished the food she provided for her. But for this season of complete quiet the girl would most likely have had brain fever, but as it was the crisis passed over, and one day Lottie woke up to feel the need of other interests, to ask for work instead of rest. And then Widow Smith hobbled out to call Michael Michelsen. The strong man trembled as he obeyed the summons; this season of repose for Lottie had been one of suspense and terrible anxiety for him. He had bitter news to tell the poor girl, so lately stricken by sorrow a blow to deal that he feared would smite her still more severely, and from beneath which she would find it harder to arise. Poor little Lottie! why had not the great sea swallowed her up that blustering night when she lay at the bottom of the pilot-boat? Better that, than to live to see this day. So thought Michael as he heavily took his way to Mistress Nichol's old home. It was Lottie's for eight months yet; Mistress Nichol hired it by the year, and that time had still to run. Of silver and gold she had little, a small annuity had died with her; but a few ornaments, a little china, some good furniture-all was Lottie's, and what more would she need as George Merivale's wife? Such, however, were no part of Michael's thoughts as he bowed his head to pass under the threshold of the cottage. There was Lottie sitting sewing in the window, a ray of autumn sunlight on her bright hair. She smiled at Michael, 'Come in, dear,' she said to the big man. Caressing words flowed softly and naturally from Lottie's lips. Aunt Patience had often chid her for them, but George had said it was a trick of speech of her English mother, and Lottie did not care then to correct it. 'I am so well and rested now,' said Lottie to Michael, 'I think it is hardly fair to keep away from poor George longer; he must be terribly busy not to come himself. Wouldst thou, Michael dear, see him, and bring him to me, this evening if those canst? We shall have so much to settle.' And Lottie smiled and blushed; her last smile, her last blush even, for many a long day. Then, when the girl had said her say, was Michael's turn. He gathered courage because his story must be told, and spake gravely. 'Yes, Lottie, I will see George, but I fear I cannot bring him to thee; he is in-in trouble.' In trouble! how? why?' said Lottie anxiously. 'And I have never been near him, nor sent to him! How cruel he must think me! O Michael! why hast thou kept this from me?' And the girl turned reproachfully on her friend. He knows thou hast had sickness and death in the house,' said Michael, and he bade me keep silence awhile. O Lottie, child, it is hard on thee! try and bear it, this greater sorrow sent thee.' 'What is it? quick!' said Lottie, her face now white with terror. 'He is ill! dead, too!' Neither,' said Michael, solemnly. God hath afflicted thee in strangely distressing fashion this time, my child. George Merivale with his two associates, Jones and Palmer, are all in gaol, charged with Duty First. fraudulently obtaining goods and conducting business under feigned names. As thou knowest, and as I know, George is innocent of a knowledge of these transactions, but his judges have found him so implicated in them that they have awarded him but little less punishment, deeming him an accomplice though not a principal. Jones and Palmer have ten years' imprisonment, George hath seven. My child, I tell thee all at once; it is better than leaving thee to tremble for the worst.' Lottie sat stupefied, her hands clasped, her work fallen to the ground; this was no grief for tears and lamentation, her whole being was stunned by the news. George, her bright, happy George, so lately pleading for his wife, boasting of his pretty future home, counting over his hardwon earnings, was he a felon in gaol? That he was innocent of all implication in the evil deeds of his partners Lottie felt sure, but the bare fact was enough to stun her. And all this had happened in the short weeks of her aunt's last illness! If it had only come upon her gradually, if she could have seen a shade of fear or suspicion on George's face, it would not have seemed so dreadful, she thought: but now, what should she do? where could she turn? No last words, no farewell, and yet George had gone from her for seven long years! The innocent was buried with the guilty in one living grave. Lottie's first coherent words were to ask Michael if money, if effort of any sort, could help George. He shook his head. All had been done that could be done,' he said; 'there was no evidence save his own to show that he did not know his employers' secrets. He was called a partner, and as a partner he must suffer. Lottie's mind would have gone in those terrible days, but for a letter from George which reached her-a loving letter, in which the man forgot his own troubles in thinking how best to comfort one weaker than himself; a letter which kept Lottie alive, confirming as it did her certainty that George was no real convict, but suffering for others' sins. 'Michael will do all he can for me,' wrote George, but I fear that is little; still, keep a good heart, and when you go to church do not forget me. I cannot believe that God has forgotten me, and some day yet we may be reunited. I was wrong and foolish not to make stricter inquiries into Jones and Palmer's mode of conducting the business, but I was so busy in carrying out the details that it made it easier for them to hoodwink me; and I see plainly now how much it was for their interest to employ an honest man in the department I filled rather than another rogue.' Then the letter went on to speak of Mistress Nichol and of Lottie's future, every doubtful sentence ending with I leave all that to Michael.' (To be continued.) I E Remember, 4 Remember.' REMEMBER, I remember, The house where I was born, I remember, I remember, The roses red and white; I remember, I remember, Where I was used to swing; And summer pools could hardly cool I remember, I remember, The fir-trees dark and high; I used to think their slender tops It was a childish ignorance, To know I'm further off from Heaven T. HOOD. Obsolete Words in Bible and Prayer-book. BY T. LEWIS O. DAVIES, M.A, VICAR OF ST. MARY EXTRA, SOUTHAMPTON. 6 N many cases it is not the word itself, but the form of it, which has become obsolete. We find this especially in the perfects and past participles. Most of these are familiar even to the uneducated, and some are yet employed in poetry; so that at first sight we hardly realise that they are obsolete at all, i. e. not in ordinary use now. We may cite as examples these short sentences:-'The old man of whom ye spake;' 'he sware to him; the spirit tare him;' which ware no clothes;' 'they shaked their heads; Moses gat him up into the mount;' they forgat His works;' they drave them heavily;' 'he wringed the dew out of the fleece;' Abraham clave the wood;' the man that bare the shield;' David took a stone and slang it;' 'we strake sail.' 'Chide' is itself a word of not very frequent use at present, but when employed its perfect would be 'chided.' We read, however, Jacob chode with Laban;' the people chode with Moses;' and we still have 'rode' and 'abode' as the perfects of 'ride' and 'abide.' An American humorist, whose fun depends in part on the use of false grammar and spelling, writes 'glode' as the perfect of 'glide.' This was meant for a ludicrous error, and of course every one now-a-days would say glided,' but glode was once quite correct, and is to be found in Chaucer, and even in Spenser. The only one of these perfects perhaps which offers any difficulty, and that not as to its meaning, but as to the verb of which it is a part, is sod.' 'Jacob sod pottage.' The word in the present tense is 'seethe.' We still retain 'sod' in the participle' sodden,' and the substantive suds' is also derived from it. 1 Or to turn to the participles. All the following sentences are quite intelligible, but the form of the participle in each differs from that which is current now: -I was shapen in wickedness; He hath holpen His servant Israel;' 'their eyes were holden;' chains of wreathen work; He hath gotten Himself the victory;' though ye have lien among the pots;' your carriages were heavy loaden; the house that เ เ Obsolete Words in Bible and Prayer-book. I have builded; she had stricken through his temples;' 'I have digged this well;' a meat-offering baken in the oven;' 'eat with unwashen hands.' 6 Many words have passed through a very slight change. There are several, which having once been of four syllables, and ending in y, are now of three, and end in e: e. g. arrogancy, continency, innocency, excellency. We retain this last in the title given to governors and ambassadors. We find they hoised up the mainsail' (Acts, xxvii. 40), for 'hoisted;''Saul haling men and women' (Acts, viii. 3), now written and pronounced hauling; marishes' (Ezek. xlvii. 11) for marshes; 'fitches' (Isa. xxviii. 25) for 'vetches;' 'fats' (Joel, ii. 24), for 'vats;' 'occurrent' 1 Kings, v. 4) for occurrence;' 'magnifical’ (1 Chron. xxii. 5) for magnificent;' throughly' (St. Luke, iii. 17) for thoroughly. Shakespeare has thorough where we should now put through. Thorough bush, thorough brier, thorough flood, thorough fire. (Mids. Night's Dream, ii. 1). Jacob pilled white strakes' (Gen. xxx. 37), i. e. peeled white streaks. 'Streak' is derived from strike,' a line struck-so we speak of the stroke of a pen; the old perfect, as in the phrase,We strake sail,' gives us the old noun. Many of these more modern forms were in use in 1611, and long before, though the older shape of the words was adopted in our version; often perhaps in order to avoid any unnecessary change from former translations with which the people were familiar. In some instances we have two forms of the same word, used it would seem indiscriminately, though only one survives in common use. Thus we may find in our English Bible stablish and establish, ensample and example, defenced and fenced, glistering and glittering, ambushment and ambush, divorcement and divorce, dure and endure, alway (now only employed in poetry) and always, minish and diminish, attent and attentive, ware and aware, sith and since, afore and before, determinate and determined, adventure (as a verb) and venture, astonied and astonished, or and ere, strowed, strawed, and strewed, &c. In all these cases the last form of the word is that which is usual with us in the present day. The numbers of some nouns offer another point of contrast between the old usage and the present; in some instances the singular form having become obsolete, in others the plural. Thus, 'What thank have ye?' (St. Luke, vi. 32-34.) This word, now always found in the plural, is taken from the older versions; it is only met with in this chapter and in Ecclus. xx. 16, 'I have no thank for all my good deeds.' This singular never appears to have been common. Bacon, however, in his Essay on Suitors, writes,' They will be content to win a thank.' Jonson has 'thanks' as a singular: Thus without a thanks to be sent hence' (Poetaster, iv. 5). 'Alms' in the Authorised Version, is both a singular and plural (Acts, iii. 3; x. 4); the latter use alone remains. This, no doubt, has come to pass mainly from the word having the usual plural termination, s.' Victual' and 'victuals' are both found in the English Bible, even in the same chapter (1 Kings, iv. 7, 27). The word, though a good and expressive one, has by a caprice of fashion come to be considered somewhat vulgar; nor, in ordinary use, does it now occur in any form but the plural. Mr. Tennyson, however, in the Idylls of the King, (Enid), uses 'victual' four times within a few lines. Hire' serves now both for singular and plural, and is em |