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It may be a "wider sphere” that opens before the woman who reads three American and two foreign magazines every month, who keeps up with the Congressional proceedings at Washington, goes to the bottom of local political discussions, belongs to three or four local clubs and has an entrée into the most select homes of her town or city, and who, in following this complicated and crowded program must of necessity commit the training and care of her children to servants, governesses and the public school or academybut is it a nobler sphere?
As for religious education—when that question is proposed we at once hear the questions, “Do not our children go to Sunday School?” “Do you think we are immoral as a family?" “Do we not know that the civilization of which we are a part is the noblest and loveliest that the world has ever known ?”
These responses are pleasant to hear but they render it necessary for one who would really reform society to go a great deal farther than this paper has done. We must insist that the ambitious and aspiring Mrs. Foremost shall give her time and talents primarily and personally to the training of her own children; that she care a thousand times more for them than for "society” because by training them aright she will do society more good in a day than Mrs. Foremost's presence at clubs, teas and reunions can do in a decade.
We must insist that in training her children Mrs. Foremost should accustom them to the type of politeness that is just the same as to deportment and spirit at the breakfast when nobody but Mr. Foremost, herself and her children are present, as at the elaborate breakfast given in honor of the Honorable Mr. This or the distinguished Lord That.
We must also insist that in training her children she make sure that they commit to memory before they are ten years old, and so commit as never to forget, the essential formulas of the Christian faith and choice selections from the holy scriptures and from the hymns of the church; that before they are fifteen years of age her children shall know
"unforgetably" the Ten Commandments, the second chapter of Matthew, the Sermon on the Mount in chapters 5, 6 and 7, and also the twenty-eighth chapter of Matthew, the first and the fourteenth of John, the first and fifth chapters of the Acts of the Apostles, at least ten of the Psalms, the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah and the last chapter of the Revelation.
There is another religious duty which Mrs. Foremost must not omit—the training of her children regularly to attend on Sabbath days both the public service and the Sunday school, that they may grow to revere the church, to honor the Sabbath and to place the highest estimate upon the Holy Scriptures as able to make wise unto salvation.
And the best thing that Mrs. Foremost does in carrying out this régime is the impression her personality makes upon her own children, they growing up to understand that she really believes in the Bible, honors the Sabbath, reverences the church, and out of a pure heart worships God; that she accounts it the chief end of her mission to illustrate to her children the possibility of a true and pure lifea life of unselfish service at home and of sympathy for all missionary work the world over.
These are important reflections for our Vesper hour. In the sacred silence of the occasion may we find opportunity for a new covenant with God in the interest of our own children!
I know a place—a little place;
All in the spring!
And every pretty thing
To make a tired heart sing.
That know no song;
Because the way is long-
-Emily Niles Huyck.
There is a wind in Cornwall that I know
-Arthur Symons, The Saturday Review.
Clovelly Most villages, like their human occupants, have their best side. But at least one exception is to be found in the fascinating little Devonshire hamlet of Clovelly. Mrs. Kate Douglas Wiggin, whose facile touch makes the whole seem live before us, describes in her “Romance of Clovelly' the impressions of a party of travelers who undertook to enter the village from its landward side.
"We did not approach Clovelly through the beautiful Hobby drive, laid out in former years by one of the Hamlyn ladies of Clovelly Court, but by the turnpike road which, however, was not uninteresting. The roadway was prettily bordered with broom, wild honeysuckle, foxglove and single roses, and we passed a charming postoffice called The Fairy Cross in a garden of blooming fuchsias. . All at once our driver checked his horses on the brink of a hill apparently leading nowhere in particular. What is it?' asked Mrs. A., who is always expecting accidents. 'Clovelly mum.' 'Clovelly?' we repeated automatically, gazing about us on every side for a roof, a chimney, or a sign of habitation. 'You'll find it, mum, as you walk down along.' 'How charming,' cried E., who loves the unexpected. 'Towns are generally so obtrusive; isn't it nice to know that Clovelly is here and that all we have to do is to walk down along" and find it?' We soon discovered by more questioning that one cannot drive into Clovelly; that although an American president or an English Chancellor might as a great favor be escorted down on a donkey's back, or carried down in a sedan chair, if he chanced to have one about his person, the ordinary mortal must walk to the door of the New Inn, his luggage being dragged 'down along on sledges and being brought up along on donkeys. In a word, Clovelly is not built like unto other towns; it seems to have been Aung up from the sea into a narrow rift between wooded hills and to have clung there these eight hundred years of its existence. It has held fast but it has not expanded, for the very good reason that it completely fills the hollow in the cliffs, the houses clinging like limpets to the rocks on either side. We picked out our way down along' until we caught our first glimpse of white-washed cottages covered with creepers, their doors hospitably open, their windows filled with blooming geraniums and fuchsias. All at once we began to descend the winding, rocky pathway, we saw that it pitched headlong into the bluest sea in the world. No wonder the painters have loved it. Shall we ever forget that first vision !!"
Many years earlier Dickens also was captivated by the little town and wrote the following description in his "Message by the Sea :"
“'And a mighty singular place it is, as ever I saw in all the days of my life,' said Captain Jordan looking up at it. Captain Jordan had to look high to look up at it, for the village was built sheer up the face of a steep and lofty cliff. There was no road in it, there was no wheeled vehicle in it, there was not a level yard in it. From the sea beach to the cliff top, two irregular rows of white houses, placed opposite to one another, and twisting here and there, and there and here, rose like the sides of a long succession of stages of crooked ladders, and you climbed up the village or climbed down the village by the staves between, some six feet wide or so, and made of sharp, irregular stones. The old pack saddle, long laid aside in most parts of England as one of the appendages of its infancy, flourished here, intact. Strings of pack horses and pack donkeys, toiled slowly up the staves of the ladders bearing fish and coal, and such other cargo as was unshipping at the pier from the dancing fleet of village boats, and from two or three little coasting traders. As the beasts of burden ascended laden, or descended light, they got so lost at intervals in the floating clouds of village smoke that they seemed to dive down some of the village chimneys, and come to the surface again far off, high above the others. No two houses in the village are alike in chimney, size, shape, door, window, gable, roof-tree, anything. The sides of the ladders were musical with water running clear and bright. The staves were musical with clattering feet of donkeys and the voices of the fishermen's wives and children. The pier was musical with the wash of the sea, the creaking of capstans and windlasses and the airy fluttering of little vanes and sails. The rough sea-bleached boulders of which the pier was made, the white boulders of the shore, were brown with drying nets. The village was so steeped in autumnal foliage, from the houses giving on the pier, to the topmost round of the topmost ladder, that one might have fancied it was out a bird's nesting and was (as indeed it was) a wonderful climber.”
The Battle of Sedgemoor The battle of Sedgemoor fought in 1685 by the Duke of Monmouth's troops and the forces of King James, came very near to resulting in a victory for the pretender. He himself was incompetent and cowardly and some of his officers appear to have been treacherous, but the west-country peasants who constituted the greater part of his troops fought with much bravery and determination.
The victory fell to the government forces rather through good fortune than through generalship. Monmouth's troops made a night attack and were successful in surprising the enemy; but an unexpected obstacle, a deep ditch, prevented the attacking forces from getting to close quarters and following up the early advantage. Even then the battle might have been won by the peasant
nos but for the defection of the cavalry upon whose faithful