Baylor was the factor through whom all the farmers and planters round managed their business. He turned their cattle and cotton into gold for them, and he loaned and invested money with admirable prudence and honesty. There was not a rancher or a planter between the Colorado and the Rio Grande who did not confide in Baylor. Christopher found him in his store, and, drawing him aside a little, said, "Baylor, I want you to do me a favour."

"Anything within my power, you know I will." "I have just heard that Judge Terry's house is for sale, and his widow in a hard place-she is quite without money-that means everything, I guess. Now, for reasons known only to myself, and of which she has not the faintest conception, I want her to have all the comforts that are reasonable at such a time as this. How much a month will that be?"

"With the hire of her three spare servants, seventy-five dollars is a fair allowance."

"You are sure that is sufficient?"

"It is more than any other family in this section has; I'll bet you five dollars on that."

"I don't bet, Baylor; you know that. But I want the madame to have enough—without extravagance, I'm against nonsense in these sorrowful times."

"You are right, sir. And, to tell the truth, the madame was always free-handed in her house."

"Never mind that now; I know nothing about madame's house-never was inside it, but at Robert Moray's wedding-people have to spend at a wedding. But don't you let her suspicion who the money comes from, that's all; I don't want to have her feelings hurt."

"Bless you, Christopher! you can't hurt madame's feelings with money. Excuse me, but if you knew-"

"I don't know, and I don't really care to know anything about madame's peculiarities; but I am loth to think of those pretty girls and those fine little fellows missing their father so sorely. Now, Baylor, I've put a good many thousand dollars your way, and if you want to do me a genuine favour you'll attend to this matter now-I mean this very hour."

"I'll send seventy-five dollars before five o'clock, Christopher."

"Thank you.

That's all. Good night."

Poor Clarissa was sitting with her girls and boys at this very time in mournful conversation. Their separation seemed inevitable. Lulu and Violet must go to their aunt in Austin, and Jack to an uncle in Burnet; then she would only have Stephen and Matt to provide for. It seemed to the mother and children a dreadful alternativeall the worse that the house was to be sold and the pleasant home for ever broken up.

"Here is a letter, mamma," said Lulu, "and Baylor's boy waits for an answer."

She opened the letter and read, and then reread it. Her face flushed, great tears gathered in her eyes, she clasped Jack to her breast, and said, in a voice broken and low with emotion, "Oh, children, we are saved! Listen to what Baylor says:

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Madame,-I am authorised to pay to you, as Judge Terry's widow, the sum of seventy-five dollars, gold, monthly, until such time as the condition of the country enables you to realise the proper value of the estate left by the late Judge Terry. The friend for whom I am acting desires you to preserve your homestead, and you are not to consider yourself under any obligation, the obligation being, he says, entirely on his side. Please to give the bearer receipt for seventy-five dollars. "JOHN BAYLOR.""

Long did the happy family sit and speculate that night on their unknown helper. Jack, who had yet lofty ideas of human nature, was inclined to believe that Baylor, reflecting on the large sums he had made from the Terry ranches, had felt bound in honour to assist them in their extremity. Violet said, in a whisper, "Perhaps some one who had wronged papa in his spasmodic fits of gambling had felt sorry for them, and was taking this way to repay his theft." And even Clarissa could come no nearer to the truth than to suppose "it might be some horse-thief whose life the judge had spared."

Any way, it was a timely and gracious help, and Baylor smiled when he saw Clarissa out riding. again every afternoon, and heard that his wife had been invited to a little party at Madame Terry's. "Christopher's money," he murmured, a little angrily, "but the children are nice children. I wonder, in all creation, what made Christopher do it! Reckon Terry scored the obligation in some Indian fight. But if Christopher is in the humour of giving, madame will keep him employed, I'll bet my last dollar on that."

Baylor's supposition seemed likely to be a true one. In three months madame wrote seven letters to her unknown friend. Two were indeed notes of gratitude; other two requested an addition of twenty-five dollars a month; two subsequent asked for a special loan; and the last suggested that if the unknown friend was under an obligation, which he thought fit to pay in instalments, the widow would prefer to receive the whole sum at

once.

Christopher read them with a gravity that betrayed no symptom of any kind of feeling. "Madame is importunate and insatiable," said Baylor.

She

"Give her the hundred dollars a month. knows best what she requires, I reckon." About the loan he was as dour as a Scot can be. "I never lend money," he said, “and I have none to give in this case." Her final request pained him. exceedingly, but he would not let Baylor see that it did so." Tell her," he said, "her last request is impossible, and that I am very sorry to refuse it." You are the best-natured fellow, Christopher." "You don't know what you are talking about, Baylor; so don't give me credit I don't deserve. If it had been a man it would have been different. Women need so many things, and they have such a hard time-and it never does any good to dispute with them; sooner or later you are ashamed and sorry for it."

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"I wonder what her next request will be?"

"A chill-and pneumonia. I was sent for too late."

"Doctor, I must see her, and see her alone. Can you manage this for me? It is of the greatest importance. Tell her the person for whom Baylor has acted wishes to see heralone."

"If it is really important, Christopher-but if not, it is wicked to vex her further with the cares of life."

"Doctor, I thought you knew me. I tell you this is of the gravest interest to her."

"Forgive me, Christopher, I will tell her." In a few moments the doctor beckoned him to a door looking on to the western verandah.

"Go in, I am afraid you are too late to be understood. I will stay here; if anything is needed call me."

Then Christopher entered the death-room. It was a large, handsome chamber, cool and white. The evening breeze stirred gently the lace curtains at the window, towards which the dying woman's eyes were turned. She hardly noticed his entrance; her breathing was slow and heavy, and her eyes fixed on the setting sun.

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Clarissa! Oh! Clarissa, forgive me!"

She never made a cry. Slowly she turned her eyes, but there was no light of recognition in them. Still undoubtedly the voice touched some sensitive chord in her soul.

"Jamie!" she said, in feeble, broken tones. "Oh, Jamie, but I'm glad-I'm glad you're come hame. I've been sair troubled since yon night I went awa wi' wee Robert from you. It was a wicked thing, Jamie, and I hae had a sair repenting."

Oh!

"God knows that I forgive all, Clarissa! my dear Clarissa, if you could only understand!" She smiled, but it was a smile without intelligence for him. "You were aye too gude for me, Jamie; but I sought you wearily. Do you mind Archie Blythe? I met him in New York, and he said you had come to Texas. I sought you day and night. I prayed God to send you to me, but you've been long coming, Jamie-long coming. I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead; and I used to wake up at midnight and

think about my sin. I hae been a weak, weak woman. Christ pity me! Christ pity me!"

Christopher wept bitterly. He soothed her with the gentlest and most pitiful words. He took her hand, and, kneeling by her side, prayed as men in such extremities do pray. He told the dying woman over and over that he forgave all, that he would care for every one of her children, that they should want no good thing he could give them, and he pointed her in solemn words to "Him who taketh away the sins of the world." And she wept gently, and smiled softly as a child whom its mother comforteth.

About the middle of the night she said, almost in her natural voice, "I hear the wimpling of the burn, and I feel the breeze coming o'er the broom and the wild thyme, and I hear the Sabbath bell, Jamie. Oh, but it rings clearly!—and I hear them raising the psalm; but I'll never see Jamie again-never again-and it's my fault, it's my fault. Oh, Jamie! Jamie!"

"Clarissa!"

The love and anguish, the regrets and forgiveness of thirty years were in the one word. Its intensity recalled her for a moment, and a gleam of recognition came into her face. One great tearthe last she would ever shed-rolled slowly down the cheek almost clay. Christopher solemnly and tenderly kissed away this last sad show of life and love and sorrow, and then, weeping like a child, he called in the doctor and her household. There was no further struggle; an awful silence reigned for a few moments, and then with a faint sigh the spirit fled.

Christopher was easily persuaded to stay with the children. Upon receiving the doctor's message a spirit of gratitude had made them accede to his request. Now Jack came frankly forward and spoke for all. "Mr. Christopher, we did not know until now whose hand had supplied our wants, but we are very glad it was yours." And the girls brought him a cup of coffee and made his pillows soft on the sofa, and spoke kindly to him. He let them. He felt strangely in need of sympathy, and even the doctor's rougher care was very pleasant to him.

In the morning the doctor went for Inez, and Christopher took upon himself the ordering of the funeral. The plainest necessities were not easily procured, all else was out of the question. Then, in that solemn light between sunset and moonrise, Clarissa's friends carried her to her grave.

Inez was to remain with Lulu and Violet a few days, and Christopher, before leaving, took Jack aside, and said,

"Jack, you are now to take your father's and mother's place. Stick to your home, and keep together till the war is over. Baylor will pay you the usual amount. No, no, don't say a word, Jack; you may be sure I have the right as well as the will to do what I do. Some day you may know all, in the meantime come to me for any help or advice you want."

He rode home with the doctor, who seemed much inclined to talk of the dead lady. "She spoke the broadest Scotch from the moment she

became insensible," he said, thoughtfully, "and she seemed to forget all her late life."

"She was Scotch," said Christopher, softly, " and our people under any trouble or great emotion aye go back to their mother tongue."

"And you are Scotch also ?"

"I am Scotch also. We came from the same place."

'Oh! ah! I see. Christopher, what a true, tender old fellow you are! I dare say you once loved her."

"She was the only woman I ever loved; but that was a' over lang syne. Think no wrong, doctor; she did not know I was alive, nor did I know that she was in America until just before Robert Moray's marriage. I saw her then for a few moments, and I saw her on her death-bedthat is all."

"Her name before her second marriage was Moray?"

"Yes, and mine is Moray-James Christopher Moray."

"Then you are relatives ?"

"All the Morays are kin. If I met one at Timbuctoo I should know he was my cousin, more or less removed."

"You Scots count kinship far."

"There's One that counts it farther, even God, the Father of us all."

Some influence of time and circumstance induced the doctor to continue the conversation in a religious strain; for there comes a time in every man's life when he is impelled to look his eternal destiny in the face. As they rode together over the prairie they spoke of faith, and of immortality, and the things pertaining to it. Christopher spoke as one seeing things invisible; the doctor reasoned and doubted, but still he was deeply touched, and the argument begun that night was lifted at nearly every subsequent meeting, and every day grew more full of interest to both men.

There were few lives in those years which did not suffer a great change. Christopher's was not exempt. The silent, serene man, dreaming through regretful years, had become alert and cheerful, with hands full of business and a heart encompassed with loving cares. Even the log cabin had felt the change. Jack and Stephen Terry were frequently there for days together. They coaxed the old man to go hunting with them, and to tell them stories of Indian fights. The walls and shelves held all sorts of boyish treasures, and odds and ends of boyish garments. Inez and Lulu and Violet also came, and, whether he would or not, took him away with them. They made him put on his best clothes. and they brushed his hair to suit themselves, i exercised over him all those petty and pretty annies that men so dearly like from those th love. They coaxed him to send for ribbons ar fineries, and even to leave his business and take them into San Antonia. But, however unreasonable their demands, Christopher could not refuse them. Love had come so late into his life, he could not bear to darken one smile or lose one pleasant word.

Perhaps he was at this time happier than ever

he had been before; but Inez, whom he talked confidentially to, knew that his brightest days. were darkened by the absence and silence of Robert. "But he'll come back, dearie," he would say when he saw her weeping, "I know he will come back."

At length, in the beginning of 1865, there was a whisper of the end. Ben Archer, a member of Robert's company, had been seen at El Paso, and through him they heard that Robert, after the defeat at Fort Union, had made his way over mountains and deserts into Arizona. Archer thought he had joined a Mexican company trading between Tucson and Senora, and did not doubt but he would return as soon as he considered it safe to do so.

So the time wore on, and, in spite of all, not unhappily, and the midsummer was again over the lovely land. One day Inez, Lulu, and Violet went to spend the day with Christopher. They wanted some ribbon, and they easily induced him to ride to the village for it. As he was getting the ribbon, Lavenburg opened a case of muslins, and he bought each of the girls a new dress, and then with the presents in his saddle-bag rode happily home. He was amply rewarded in their innocent delight, and in listening to them discuss the colours and patterns most becoming to each. He was not insensible either to the good supper they made him, nor to the pleasure of sitting down to a cleanly cheerful meal, with three happy girls, full of questions, and merry chatter, and kind thoughtfulness.

The moon was so bright that the girls finished their sewing in its light, and then Christopher prepared to escort them to the doctor's. They were a happy party, none the less so that they were silent, and let the beauty and peace of the night sink into their hearts. Suddenly Christopher said, "I hear the gallop of a horse."

"Likely," said Inez. "Papa has four hundred down at present."

"But this is the gallop of one controlled by a rider. See, yonder the rider comes. A Mexican, I reckon; he rides like one."

"Or an Indian,” said Lulu.

"If an Indian he is a friendly one, and perhaps he may bring us news from Robert."

"It is Robert!" screamed Inez. "It is Robert! Nobody rides like that but Robert. I know it is Robert!" On came the horseman, riding like an Apache, straight as an arrow, swift as the wind.

"Stand still, dears," said Christopher; "we shall soon know. Yes, it is Robert."

Then Inez rushed wildly to meet him, and in a few moments he was the centre of the group. Under other circumstances he might have wondered to meet his half-sisters with Christopher, but at this joyful moment nothing was singular. He had found his wife and his home again after four such weary years. That was the great miracle; all else were but parts of it. moment poor Christopher felt a pang of jealousy. Every one was kissed and noticed before him, but he soon recovered his good-humour. How could Robert do different, knowing nothing of their true

For a

relation? And Lulu and Violet were his halfsisters; it was all natural enough. But his love had not a long trial; before they reached the doctor's Robert found a moment in which to throw his arm round the old man's shoulders, and whisper to him that he had "never forgotten him, and had kept all the promises he made."

Robert had brought news very welcome to all. Peace was virtually made, and men were at liberty again to rebuild their ruined homes and fortunes. Christopher had long had a proposal to make, which he thought it well no longer to delay. The old Romans watched the flight of eagles in order to select a site for a city; Christopher had watched the gathering together of horses and horsemen. Now just beyond the doctor's was a series of rising knolls, well wooded, and with unfailing springs, and here it had become very usual to bring horses for sale, or to rest after long journeys. It would be a splendid site for a future town, and Christopher resolved to lay the foundations of it. He had already large quantities of the goods needed for frontier trading. He would build as rapidly as possible a store at this point. It would be a great convenience to the horsemen who already frequented it, and it would also bring others there. Robert should be a great trader.

"It is not what I would have liked my son to be," and he thought sadly of old Marischal, "but it's better than fighting; and life is but a step at a time."

This plan was at once carried into effect, and as it was progressing the doctor said,

Christopher, what are you going to do with the stone-work you prepared for Robert's house, when you thought of building it on the creek ?"

"I have my plans for that, doctor, and I shall want your help in them. The foundation of a building forty-two feet by thirty-two is laid, and there is a deal of stone cut and ready for the mortar. The location is a central one. going to finish it for a church. We must have a church in our town, doctor."

I am

"I'm agreeable; but we must have the vote of the neighbours round, or they won't come to it." "Then call a meeting at your house, and we'll go to work at once."

So the eleven householders within a distance of about four miles received each a note requesting them to be at the doctor's at five o'clock the following Tuesday. All of them promptly attended. No one doubted but that the call related to politics. Christopher rather surprised them when he stated the object of the meeting, and at first his proposal was met in a very discouraging way. Some smiled sarcastically, others shook their heads with an unpleasant decision. Finally one old man, the most unlikely man of all, said, 'Gentlemen, I'm for the church.

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I don't say as I'd go to it myself, but I'd like my four girls to go, and my wife is allays a-hankering after a Sunday and a church."

"I s'pose now," said another, "ef Chris likes to build a church he might do it. Ef he wanted to build a bar thar would be no kind of objection. It's a free country, I s'pose, gentlemen-leastways, it allays has been."

"Don't see in thunder what we are asked about it for!" said Colonel Ben Williamson. “Ef I wanted to build a church-which I don't-I'd build it, you bet I would. It's Christopher's own business, I take it."

"No, gentlemen," said Christopher, "it is your business. I propose to build the church and give it to the new town free of debt. But you will have to keep it open."

Run it, you mean? Now, whar in thunder—” "I mean, you must pay the minister. If you don't you will never go and hear him. But let each man give twenty head of cattle a year towards his pay, and he'll go and hear if he is worth it; and I do think, gentlemen, the man who goes once will go again."

"Twenty head of cattle-that's about a hundred dollars a year!"

"And you often risk fifty head on the speed of a race-horse or the election of a constable." "That's so," said the doctor, warmly. give twenty head to start the salary."

"I'll

"I'll go it double," said an old Texan cattleman. I never was in church all my life, but I can remember my mother praying, and sometimes I kind o' think I remember a prayer she taught

me."

"Colonel," said the doctor to a big, fat, fair man, with an unwriteable Sclav name, "what do you say?"

"I have seen no churches since thirty years, but very good are they. Let the church be built; and the minister, let him come, and also the schoolmaster."

"The school, by all means," said another, eagerly. "It can be taught in the church."

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No," answered Christopher-"no, sir, it cannot. The house of God is the house of God, and not a school-house. It is to be a little spot in this good land which He has given us, purposely set aside to praise His name in. As far as possible, we ought to leave our sinful thoughts and bad words and angry passions outside it. Now boys and girls are boys and girls, not angels; and teachers are teachers, and not consecrated ministers. We want a church that is all of a church. But I'll build a school-house gladly, and every one can give thirty head of cattle instead of twenty, that will pay minister and teacher both."

There was some more discussion, but it ended very harmoniously, and Christopher went heartily to work. In eight months the two buildings were completed, and Christopher's foresight had been abundantly vindicated in the site of his settlement. Robert's store was already surrounded by small houses, a temporary hotel, and a bar-room. But the church and the school-house were on the ground also; the minister had been "called," and one lovely Sabbath morning the following spring the blessed church-bell rung out gladly flowery prairie. At least twenty buggies and a number of saddle-horses were fastened to the fence. Within the church the women had ranged themselves on one side, and were busy with their fans; on the other side sat the men, just as busy with their tobacco. In some cases the ladies of the

over the

family were alone in the building, and their husbands or brothers waited outside for them. In fact, the general feeling among the men in regard to church was that of a concession to female prejudices. But it was a good day to Christopher, for he saw in it the promise of the future years.*

In the meantime other changes had taken place. Lulu and Violet Terry had both married, Jack had gone to a famous law school, Stephen and Matt were with Christopher. Christopher's life, once so empty, had grown full of love and enterprise, and those who had been familiar with him for twenty years said that he had recovered his youth. It was known by all that he had adopted Robert Moray, and so no one wondered at the pleasant word "father," so often on Robert's lips, and all smiled to hear the pretty Inez call him " Papa Christopher." To Robert only Christopher revealed the true relation between them. Clarissa's memory lived in the hearts of her children and friends without a shadow.

This was the harvest of Christopher's life and patience, and I left him gathering it, living joyfully before his God, and prudently working for the elevation of the people with whom he had cast his lot. If I had heard no more of him, I should have known that "all was well." But a few years afterwards circumstances again took me into the country west of San Antonia. The settlement of Moray had become a town of 3,000 inhabitants, and when the stage stopped at the handsome, commodious hotel I found the doctor was its proprietor. Very pleasant indeed was our meeting, and he had not a single word of bad news to tell me. I remembered the rather noisy settlement, with its wild vanqueros and horsetraders and cow-boys, and I could not help contrasting the memory with the quiet, orderly, pretty

town.

"Yes," said the doctor, with a pleasant laugh, "we are a very respectable community. We have

all paid our thirty head of cattle regular; I reckon that accounts for it."

I asked after Robert. He was "doing splendidly, and mayor of the town." Inez was handsomer than in her youth, and they had four beautiful children. Jack Terry was married, and holding a fine position in Austin; Stephen was at Yale; and "Where do you think little. Matt has gone?" asked the doctor.

I guessed in a moment-" Scotland."

"That's so-to some old college in Aberdeen." 'Well, Christopher can afford it."

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"You bet he can. He's a very rich man, and I guess he knows what he's doing-every time." 'I am sure he does. Robert has enough too." "Well-yes- but Robert has a big family. There's Christopher, and Alexander, and Inez, and Clarissa-"

"How happy Christopher must be! He loved children so truly."

"Happy! I should think he was! His cabin is always full of them. It's their favourite playground. Lulu's and Violet's children are often there also, and every child in the town goes to Christopher if it is in trouble. Why, he brought a whole waggon-load of toys last Christmas, he did really, and it was a perfect delight to see him at the school festival. I declare I'm sorry for the boys and girls that don't know Christopher."

Later, I went out to see the old man. He was sitting in his cabin door feeding his squirrels. They were on his shoulders, and on his knees, and in his breast, and in his pockets, and playing all sorts of capers in the vines above his head. At a word from him they scampered off into the trees. I never saw a happier old man. The world was full of love to him; the future full of a glorious hope.

Good-bye, dear," were the last words I heard him say. 66 Good-bye, dear, we shall hardly meet again. I hope to go home soon."

THE

HE great and increasing demand among women for remunerative employment calls for repeated discussion of their prospects as members of the working community. This being so, we venture to bring once more before the public their position as servants in a great department of the Civil Service-namely, the Post Office. Moreover, it is one of the most encouraging prospects before women that this branch of industry makes promise of further development, for the occupations open to their sex are few in number and hard to obtain; and it is well that the female section of the community should be cheered by watching the successful efforts of their sisters in this important sphere of action, and by

This story certainly gives a true representation of Texan life. Let us hope that with advancing time the influence of Christian teaching will remove some of its ruder features, and introduce a higher tone of principle and feeling.-ED. L. H.

reviewing the excellent results which women as "civil servants" achieve.

Ten years ago the Clearing House, a branch of the Receiver and Accountant-General's Office, was opened to female officers, the idea being to give employment to ladies in reduced circumstances. Sir John Tilley first suggested that these clerkships should be filled by gentlewomen, and Lord John Manners, then Postmaster-General, favoured the plan, and took much interest in the nominations. In the year 1872 the staff commenced with thirty members, and gradually their numbers have been increased, and their work now embraces that of the Clearing House, the greater part of the Examiner's Branch of the Savings Bank, and the Postal Orders Examining Branch.

The clerks, who number nearly two hundred, enter upon a six months' probation after passing an examination in arithmetic, dictation,