of these or of any of us, since God has made us for purer and higher things!”

“Ah! Very true, colonel;—but won’t you come into the house? I see our friends are gathering in the drawing-room. We shall find tea there; and Clara and Millicent, with Grace Willerly, will see that their little friends want for nothing. Oh! Here is your nephew.—Pray, Mr Jackson, come in with us; I am sure you will be glad of a little refreshment.”

So the elder guests assembled in the drawing-room, and got through an hour of miscellaneous gossip very creditably; at the end of which all adjourned to the garden again, and strolled about in twos and threes till the school children were dismissed and it was time for the visitors to take their leave.

“What a relief!” exclaimed the colonel to his nephew, as they trotted on side by side on their ride homewards.

“Well, it was dull work, uncle, I allow,” said the young man, laughing. “But these gatherings are, I suppose, useful and necessary, if people are to keep up friendly acquaintance with one another, and do what is civil and neighbourly.”

“Yes, perhaps so,” replied his uncle; “but such an afternoon is little better than bondage and lost time—at any rate to a man of my colonial habits. However, it has given me an opportunity of seeing more of the young ladies at Holly House.”

“And I am afraid, uncle, that you do not find them improve upon acquaintance.”

“Just so, Horace; they don’t suit my taste at all.”

“And yet, dear uncle, with all their dash, and brusquerie, and fastness, they really are most kind-hearted and unselfish girls.”

“Kind-hearted, I allow, but I doubt their unselfishness.”

“But why, uncle? What would you have more? They certainly don’t spare themselves. They are here, there, and everywhere, when any good is to be done, and think nothing of spending any amount of time and money in making other people happy.”

“True, Horace, but there is a pleasurable excitement in all this which more than overbalances any trouble it may cost, especially when the world’s applause for their good deeds is thrown into the same scale.”

“But,” remonstrated the young man, in rather a disturbed and anxious tone, “is not this dealing them a little hard measure? Where shall we find anything that will deserve the name of unselfishness, if we weigh people’s actions too rigorously?”

“Ah! You think me severe and uncharitable, Horace. But now, it just comes to this. What do the Misses Wilder and their brother (for I suppose we must take him into consideration too), really forsake or give up in order to do good? I don’t pretend to know the private affairs of the family generally, but certainly there are strong rumours afloat that the maxim, ‘Be just before you are generous,’ is not acted upon by the young people in their money concerns. I allowed just now that they are good-natured, but good-nature is a very different thing from unselfishness. What personal gratification do they surrender in order to do good? What worldly pleasure or amusement do they deny themselves? What extravagance do they curtail?”

“I can’t say much for them in that respect, certainly,” replied the young man thoughtfully; “indeed, I must frankly confess that I have heard more than once from the eldest Miss Wilder the expression of her hope and conviction that the united good deeds of the family would be accepted, by the world at any rate, as a sort of atonement for follies and excesses which clearly could not be justified in themselves.”

“I can well believe it, my dear nephew: but I have something much weightier to say on the subject, and it is this. There is manifestly one great want in all the doings of these kind-hearted people at Holly House, which would make me at once deny the character of unselfishness to their best deeds.”

“And what is that, dear uncle?”

“The stamp of the Cross, Horace. I know that there are plenty of crosses about them,—crosses on their prayer-books, crosses round their necks, crosses on their writing-cases and on their furniture; but the Cross is wanting. In a word, they are not denying self, and seeking to do good to others from love to that Saviour who gave up so much for them. I know that they are not without religion in the eyes of the world; but I cannot, I dare not believe that they are really actuated by love to the great Master in what they may do to make others happy. Am I wrong, Horace?”

“No, uncle, I cannot say that you are. Much as I like the girls on many accounts, I should not be speaking my honest sentiments were I to say that I believed them to be doing good to others from real Christian motives. And yet—”

“Ah, my dear nephew, I know what you would say. I know that the world would embrace such as these within its elastic band as among genuine unselfish workers, though avowedly on a lower level than that adopted by the true Christian. But, after all, can God, the searcher of hearts, approve of anything as being truly unselfish which does not bear the stamp of the Cross? And can anything of which he does not approve be a reality?”

“I suppose not,” said the other reluctantly. “Still, it is difficult not to be dazzled by what looks like a reflection from the true Light; and difficult, too, to detect a sham where we are willing to see a reality.”

“Very difficult,” replied Colonel Dawson: “and yet the world abounds in shams, and cant, and hypocrisy. The world commonly lays these things at the door of religious professors; but the truth all the while is that the sham, and the cant, and the hypocrisy are really in those who take or gain credit for a character—unselfishness, for example—which is only to be found in true Christians, and hold themselves back from that genuine devotion, and self-sacrifice, and coming out to Christ, without which their boasted and lauded excellences are nothing better than a delusion and an empty name.”

The young man did not reply, and the subject was dropped for the remainder of the ride home.