We had a special meeting of the Mothers’-Small-Clothes-Conversion Society that night, summoned expressly with a view to obtaining Mr. Godfrey’s advice and assistance.  Instead of sustaining our sisterhood, under an overwhelming flow of Trousers which quite prostrated our little community, he had arranged to take coffee in Montagu Square, and to goto a ball afterwards!  The afternoon of the next day had been selected for the Festival of the British-Ladies’-Servants’-Sunday-Sweetheart-Supervision Society.  Instead of being present, the life and soul of that struggling Institution, he had engaged to make one of a party of worldlings at a morning concert!  I asked myself what did it mean?  Alas! it meant that our Christian Hero was to reveal himself to me in a new character, and to become associated in my mind with one of the most awful backslidings of modern times.

To return, however, to the history of the passing day.  On finding myself alone in my room, I naturally turned my attention to the parcel which appeared to have so strangely intimidated the fresh-coloured young footman.  Had my aunt sent me my promised legacy? and had it taken the form of cast-off clothes, or worn-out silver spoons, or unfashionable jewellery, or anything of that sort?  Prepared to accept all, and to resent nothing, I opened the parcel—­and what met my view?  The twelve precious publications which I had scattered through the house, on the previous day; all returned to me by the doctor’s orders!  Well might the youthful Samuel shrink when he brought his parcel into my room!  Well might he run when he had performed his miserable errand!  As to my aunt’s letter, it simply amounted, poor soul, to this—­that she dare not disobey her medical man.

What was to be done now?  With my training and my principles, I never had a moment’s doubt.

Once self-supported by conscience, once embarked on a career of manifest usefulness, the true Christian never yields.  Neither public nor private influences produce the slightest effect on us, when we have once got our mission.  Taxation may be the consequence of a mission; riots may be the consequence of a mission; wars may be the consequence of a mission:  we go on with our work, irrespective of every human consideration which moves the world outside us.  We are above reason; we are beyond ridicule; we see with nobody’s eyes, we hear with nobody’s ears, we feel with nobody’s hearts, but our own.  Glorious, glorious privilege!  And how is it earned?  Ah, my friends, you may spare yourselves the useless inquiry!  We are the only people who can earn it—­for we are the only people who are always right.

In the case of my misguided aunt, the form which pious perseverance was next to take revealed itself to me plainly enough.