neighbours; and many Romanists, who will hold no intercourse with the Scripture readers, are not afraid to enter into controversy with these small champions, whose knowledge of Scripture, and aptness in applying it, are truly surprising.

Of the good conduct of those who have left the schools, the most pleasing testimony is received. Many of our former scholars are now serving in the army and navy; and it is an interesting fact, that on entering the service they took advantage of the protection afforded by military and naval discipline, to declare themselves Protestants. From these the most cheering letters are received by their old friends and teachers, overflowing with Irish love and gratitude, and giving hopeful evidence that the writers are not only soldiers of the queen, but soldiers of the cross of Christ.

The accounts of those engaged as farm or domestic servants are equally satisfactory. One farmer, speaking to Mr. D'Arcy of two boys in his employ, said,

Those lads are a credit to your schools. I have been a farmer many years, and never had two more active, sober, honest lads; I can trust them with or without myself; and I do believe the fear of God is in them."

I could multiply such testimonials, but prefer leaving the case as it stands, simply reminding my readers WHO has said, that acts of mercy and charity done to such helpless and suffering ones, are done unto Himself.

Miss Sarah Davies, of 13, Merrion-square, North, Dublin, will gladly receive parcels of clothing for the schools, or subscriptions for food of any amount; and the same lady begs me to say, that orders for the beautiful crochet edgings wrought in the schools will be most welcome, and will be willingly attended to by her. Some of this work is extremely beautiful, and many girls support themselves and families by it. It may not be amiss to mention, also, that prepaid

parcels to Dublin may, through the kindness of Mrs. Lynn, 70, Fleet-street, London, be sent at half the usual cost, if the donors will communicate with that lady.

THE THREE SLEEPERS.

SNOWFALLS drift in eddies fleet
Around a wandering child;
Wearily he lifts his feet

O'er many a trackless wild:
Wearily he rests his head,

Shuts each slowly-drooping eye:

Sleeper! leave thy fatal bed

To linger is to die!

Fire-flames scorch the crackling beams,

And lick the floors above;
Within a maiden sleeps, and dreams

Of her far-distant love:

Dreams of parting words he said,

Dreams of meeting by-and-by:
Sleeper! leave thy fatal bed-
To linger is to die!

Worldly cares and sin's deep art
Have choked the seed of truth,
In one who knows the better part,
Or knew it in his youth:

Godless, Christless, hopeless, dead,
Dead to all beyond the sky:
Sleeper! leave thy fatal bed-

To linger is to die!

CLEON.

H. F.

WARKWORTH HERMITAGE.

THE days are past when the distance of two or three hundred miles formed an insurmountable barrier to the sight-seeing of the multitude; when ladies and children were only too happy if they could occasionally enjoy a visit to the nearest spa or sea-bathing place, leaving all personal knowledge of remoter localities to the more adventurous and more robust père de famille, who did not object to travel for a couple of days and nights consecutively, inside or on the top of a stage-coach. The beginning of such a journey was often pleasant enough, but sadly wearisome did it become long before its termination, and no small reason existed why it should be attempted by the head of the family only, leaving wife and children behind in their comfortable home, in blissful ignorance alike of the dangers and of the delights of distant excursions. No wonder that the ladies of Hampshire regarded Yorkshire or Northumberland as a kind of Ultima Thule, only to be reached by bold and enterprising travellers; or that the fair ones of Cumberland imagined the Isle of Wight more inaccessible than Malta or Sicily would now be considered.

of

But these days are past, and at the commencement every summer, family parties whirl across the island, or over no small portion of its entire length, and thus become intimately acquainted with beauties which, thirty years ago, would have been deemed altogether beyond their reach.

An easy day's journey will take them from London to Newcastle or Älnwick; and when once arrived at the latter, it will be hard to find a direction in which to turn, where an inviting and picturesque restingplace may not be had. Those excursionists, however, who desire gaiety and fashion, would do well not to come here at all, for little of either is to be found in

the neighbourhood; but those who long for pure seabreezes, romantic views, and perfect liberty, cannot do better than take up their abode on the coast here, occasionally varying their sea-side life by short excursions into the neighbouring country. It is on such an excursion we now ask for the companionship of yourself, courteous reader. Have you ever visited Warkworth Hermitage? If not, pray bear us company there to-day, as we start from our quiet, outof-the-world bathing place some few miles distant.

Leaving the railway, and travelling with a horse and gig on the almost forsaken high roads, a succession of fine views present themselves, oftentimes far over the sea on one hand, while on the other is a deep hollow, surrounded by bold uplands, with evervarying combinations of meadow, wood, and water. A fine clear morning, though with somewhat too boisterous a wind, sets off these views to the greatest possible advantage. But presently we are shut in by high hedges, and our attention is called to the innumerable wild flowers on the banks. The time is nearly the end of June; but so late and ungenial has been the season, that the spring flowers are still in full bloom here; primroses and cowslips are on the banks, while the hedges are covered with hawthorn blossoms, a single bush of dazzling whiteness every now and then standing conspicuously forth in luxuriant beauty. We are, however, nearly at the end of this sheltered piece of road, and are rapidly approaching a point where we are told to look for a view of remarkable beauty. And here we are. Pshaw! how can any one look round in such a wind as this, against which our horse has much ado to stand, and where his driver is mentally engaged in wondering whether any masculine head-dress were ever invented so inconvenient and uncomfortable as the hat of the nineteenth century, and his lady companion is vainly trying to keep bonnet, veil, and flying locks of hair,

in something like becoming and respectable proximity to each other? But now this stormy point is happily passed, and turning our backs to the wind, we go on pleasantly enough, till, in the distance, the towers of Warkworth Castle rise before us. And now, descending the hill, we cross the picturesque bridge that spans the river Coquet, bringing us at once into the little town of Warkworth. Rattling up the stony street, we arrive at the wicket-gate, which admits us into the castle-yard, and leaving our vehicle at the nearest inn, we enter and look around for a guide.

The castle stands not far from the sea, on a bold eminence, almost surrounded by the river Coquet. It is ancient, and exhibits traces of great strength. For a considerable time it was abandoned to ruin, and, we were informed, was considered as a kind of quarry, from which any builder in the neighbourhood might fetch whatever number of stones he pleased. About a hundred years ago, however, this work of demolition was stopped, a keeper appointed, and the place put under careful superintendence. The court, or inner quadrangle of the castle, which had become a wilderness of nettles and other unsightly weeds, was cleared, uncovering many interesting architectural remains. Within a very few years the Duke of Northumberland has commenced the thorough repair of one portion of the building, with the intention of making a few rooms habitable, and of preserving the rest from further decay. Our time is, however, too limited to admit of a visit to the interior on the present occasion, and we at once inquired our way to the Hermitage, which lies about a mile from the castle.

Descending a steep declivity, we find ourselves soon on the banks of the river, and going a little further on, we enter upon a walk of extreme beauty. The path is generally close by the river, but occasionally diverges a little into woodland glades, in which are placed