"Genie could never go back to that old life," Nell mused. "How far away it seems when Genie used to sigh over her old dresses, and wish for new ones, and help to patch up mine and Carrie's! There was no lady at the Manor House dressed more beautifully than she. Errol thinks so much of her appearance now, I wonder how he ever came to fall in love with her in her old dowdy dresses. Yes, I am sure Genie is quite spoiled for the old life. How hard it would be to her to go back to it! Errol is so devoted to her, he seems to study every wish. She ought to be very happy, very grateful to God, who has ordered her way so pleasantly. How shall I like going back to Windsor Terrace?' she questioned; and the poor child felt such an ominous pang shoot through her breast at this mere suggestion, that she took herself severely to task for it the next instant.

"There is poor Carrie toiling and slaving away, and I am beginning to dread going back to share her work. I hope this visit hasn't spoilt me. I don't believe a very easy life is good for any one; it's just as well to have some things left to wish for, and some hard things to do. I believe I could grow selfish, and idle, and inconsiderate here. I hope Genie is made of better stuff than I am, and I think she is. It's natural for her to be petted, as natural as it is for Carrie and me to rough it. I suppose God knows just what each one of us is most fitted for, and if we leave it entirely to Him, He will give each of us just what is best for us. Perhaps not exactly what we should like, but what will be for our everlasting good."

"Here we are, Nell," said Errol, turning round to her as he drew the pony up before the entrance to Sunnyside; "home at last, thank Goodness!"

The boy sprang down and went to the pony's head, while Errol helped Genie and Nell to alight. Grace bearing them come had the front door open; the pretty drawing-room was ablaze with lights behind her, and a steam of fragrant mocha welcomed them invitingly from the kitchen. They hastened into the room where the white cloth was spread, and silver and china glittered upon it.

"Are we to have coffee?" cried Nell. "Oh, how jolly! Give me your hat and cloak, Genie; let me take them away. Sit down and rest; you look as pale as a ghost. I never saw any one tremble at thunder and lightning so much as you do."

"It is ridiculous of me, I know," said Genie; "but try as I will, I cannot help it. I shall feel all right directly."

Errol coming in made her drink a glass of wine, and placed the cushions of the couch so that she might comfortably rest upon them.

"Now, Nell, look after the coffee, and serve your sister as quickly

as possible," which Nell did as soon as Grace came in with the percolater.

The refreshment and the lively conversation over it, completely restored Genie to her usual self; the colour came back to her cheeks, and hand and voice grew steady.

"I wonder whether there are any letters, Nell," Genie queried. "Errol's were sent to him from the office; but ours would lie here. You might have one from home."

"So I might. I was expecting one when I went. Dear me! how the dear old Manor House and our delightful visit have put everything out of my head."

"You enjoyed yourself, then, Nell?" asked Errol, pleased with her delight.

"Oh, charmingly! Where would the letters be, Genie?"

"On the dining-room mantel-piece, most likely. If not, call to Grace."

Nell left the room, returning immediately afterwards with the letters in her hand.

"One for me, from Carrie; and one for you, from Cousin Lucy, I think. She promised to write to me; but I won't grudge you the letter, Genie."

Genie broke the seal; the first words in the letter closely riveted her attention. Errol picked up the newspaper whilst they were engaged with their letters. Nell was remorsefully absorbed in the contents of hers, Carrie's details of all the home events filling her with compunction for her forgetfulness, and neither sister nor husband saw the alternate flushes and paleness that succeeded each other quickly upon Genie's face.

Nell had finished first, folded up her letter, and returned it to its envelope, then held it out to Genie, playfully demanding an exchange. But Genie crushed hers up in one hand, and slipped it into her pocket.

Nell's countenance fell.

Mayn't I read it, Genie? I should like to know what Cousin Lucy says."

"It would not interest you," said Genie, hurriedly, and she said no more, but sat with her chin upon the palm of her hand, staring forward into vacancy.

Errol was deep in some slashing leader upon the present crisis in political affairs, and did not see the anxious perplexity upon the one sister's countenance, nor the blank disappointment upon that of the other, and Nell was left in silence to wonder more and more why Genie showed no interest in her home news, nor asked to see what Carrie had written.

(To be continued.)

774

MODERN SISTERHOODS.

ARE "Sisterhoods" to be commended? Ought we, as tional, calmly judging men and women of this most stirring and practical nineteenth century, to accept and recognise them? Or ought we steadily, as Christians and as citizens, to set our faces against their establishment and diffusion in this country? Are the "sisters themselves, either of Romish or of Anglican communion, to be applauded and reverenced or to be contemned and pitied?

Of late these questions have assumed an importance which, startling as it is, can scarcely be over-rated. The most popular newspapers of the day take it up, and from time to time pronounce with more or less journalistic vehemence for or against the claims of such communities; all, or nearly all, the leading magazines, have articles on the subject, and very lately it has appeared that the Evangelical and Nonconforming portion of the English Church has determined to have a "sisterhood" of its own, which, of course, shall present all the advantages of the system-and that it has advantages no one will be rash enough to deny-without combining the serious defects which have hitherto, in a greater or less degree, characterised such institutions and prejudiced us against them.

The very simple question out of which all this perplexity and argument arises admits but of one answer, and that in the affirmative as plainly and readily as it can be given. It is this— Are Christian women to take their due share in the work of the Christian Church? The reply is so obvious that no two persons can differ about it, we presume. Female workers in the Church date from the commencement of the Christian era. St. Paul speaks of "those women who laboured with me in the Gospel." And, further, he portrays one "who has brought up children, lodged strangers, has washed the saints' feet, has relieved the afflicted, has diligently followed every good work." The "bringing up of children" here referred to is commonly understood to be, not merely of such a woman's own children, but of the heathen children exposed by their parents, who were frequently adopted into Christian homes, baptized, and brought up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord-the equivalent for such acts of mercy being in the present day, it seems to us, the oversight of orphan homes, the motherly care bestowed on pauper children, on ragged schools, on the neglected offspring of humanity, according to its needs. 66 'Washing the saints' feet," like the cup of cold water of

which our Lord Himself spoke, clearly shows us that no thought for the physical comfort of our fellows, even in the merest outward refreshment, is beneath the care of a Christian woman.

The institution of " deaconesses," in Apostolic times, would seem to be at the foundation of all Christian "sisterhoods;" but that Phoebe, and others mentioned in the Acts and in the Epistles, ever remained in one body is more than improbable, for we hear of their movements as being apart, and in circumstances of life that would prevent their being congregated under one roof. The "sisters" of the Apostles' day seem rather to have given themselves to the physical wants of the "brethren" at large than to have collected themselves together in any special undertaking. Some of the "servants" of the churches were wives and mothers, and no one among them seems to have exercised control over the others. Yet out of this pure and primitive institution monachism quickly developed itself, though not altogether in those objectionable forms which reached their full completion in the middle ages. Before the close of the fourth century Marcella, a Roman lady, introduced the convent life into Italy-probably from Egypt, where such establishments chiefly had their origin-and before long convents for women, or nunneries, were to be found in every part of Christendom. The early Ursuline nuns seem to have shone in the practice of all Christian virtues, yet they did not escape the superstitious influence of the age in which they lived.

The origin of Beguine would appear to be Teutonic, from beg, or pray, so that béghards, or beguines, were simply "praying" men and "praying" women. As early as the 10th century, according to Mosheim, this term was used in Germany and Belgium "to designate widows or unmarried girls who, without renouncing the society of men, or the business of life, or vowing poverty, perpetual chastity, or absolute obedience, yet led, either at their own homes or in common dwellings, a life of prayer, meditation, and labour." As soon as a Beguinage became firmly established-at first they were wholly self-maintained-they began to render essential service in the performance of works of charity: hospitals were invariably added to the foundation; also asylums for the aged, the poor, and the sick, and to support them the greater part of the revenues of the sisterhood were appropriated. The "sisters" also received young girls, principally orphans, whom they educated. They went out to nurse the sick, to console the sorrowful, to attend death-beds, and frequently to arbitrate in cases of family dispute. "In short," says their historian, "there is, perhaps, none of the natural diaconal functions of women which they did not fulfil." The mistress had usually a sub-mistress under her; in the larger beguinages there were two or more mistresses. The beguine promised obedience to

the mistress, also chastity, which simply signified purity, since she was under no monastic vows, and might marry at any time. No one was admitted who was not of blameless character. The mistress delivered to each sister on her reception the beguine's dress and the veil with which she was to cover her head in public and at religious services; the dress differed scarcely from that then usually worn by respectable women, but coarse and unornamented. The beguines had no community of goods, and no common purse, but those who were wholly destitute, or infirm, were maintained at the public expense, or out of the poor fund, and mendicancy, except in most rare cases, was strictly prohibited. It would appear that the beguine was under no compulsion from the rules of the beguinage to go out visiting the sick and the afflicted; she did so purely of her own free will, though sometimes she laboured as a public functionary, and was probably paid for her time and labour by the town, thus recalling the healthiest days of early monachism when self-maintenance was part and parcel of the system.

Of later years we have heard much of the deaconesses of Kaiserwerth. As their history was given in an early number of this year's Christian World Magazine it is not necessary to do more than revert to the movement of the indefatigable Pastor Fliedner and his estimable wife. It was Fliedner who first asked why should there not be deaconesses in the Protestant as well as in the Apostolic Church? The Deaconess House at Kaiserwerth was at first on the smallest and meanest scale. The work was commenced in very humble guise, but in faith and prayer. It prospered and grew, and deaconesses were sent from the "Mother House" to other towns in Germany. Wherever they went their superiority to the old incapable nurses was felt and owned, and applications for more "sisters" poured in rapidly. In 1846 more than sixty Kaiserwerth deaconesses were labouring in different places, and were recognised as a new and blessed power in the Christian Church. Fliedner travelled through Germany and France, and visited America, in order to prosecute his scheme of usefulness, and in 1851 he began his work with four deaconesses at Jerusalem, the requisite funds being furnished by the King of Prussia. When Fliedner died, in 1864, there were thirty parent institutions, and sixteen hundred deaconesses at work in hospitals and workhouses in every part of the world.

It seems to me that, in order to insure the prosperity of such institutions, every sisterhood should have as its head a man-and a married man— —who of course would be seconded by his wife as Fliedner was by his. This would perhaps prevent many benevolent establishments, consisting of pious women-workers, from degenerat