brotherly love, even Masons occasionally quarrel
—can be brought before Grand Lodge as the
final authority. Committees of its members sit
regularly to adjudicate and present periodical
reports, advise on the bestowal of money-gifts
to necessitous brethren, and on the answers to
be given to those asking for interference or
advice. The time devoted to the subject, by
those who take a leading part in these councils;
the patient unwearying attention given to
minute and frequently tedious details; the constant
sacrifice of private interests to the common
good; and the careful and laborious discussion
which precedes every decision—all this would
astonish those who regard freemasonry as a mere
plea for conviviality. It is a simple fact that busy
professional men habitually devote a considerable
portion of their time to business drudgery;
that boards and committees meet to debate
and divide; that in no case is remuneration or
reward looked for. This voluntary self-
absorption is not the least striking part of
freemasonry, for, at the meetings I speak of,
neither convivial pleasures nor indirect personal
advantage can be hoped for. It is sheer dogged
hard work, performed gratuitously and cheerfully
by men upon whom the rules and precepts I have
hinted at, have made full impression. Let it be
borne in mind that ten thousand initiations took
place last year; that the income of the craft
exceeds that of many a principality; that its
members subscribe to their three charitable
institutions—the Freemasons’ Girls’ School, the
Freemasons’ Boys’ School, and the Asylum for
Aged Freemasons and their Widows, some
twenty thousand pounds annually; that the
cares of administration and distribution devolve
upon the busy men forming the committees and
sub-committees named; and it will be readily
seen that, apart from its “secrets,” this time-
honoured institution has worked, and is working,
substantial and undeniable good. Its hold
on earnest members is the best proof I can
advance of the reality of its tie.

But it is time you saw one of the institutions
we are so proud of. Let us take a railway
ticket from either Waterloo or Victoria
station, and after a twenty minutes’ run alight
at Clapham junction. A few minutes’ bewilderment
in the dreary subterranean caverns of that
mighty maze; a few abortive ascents up steps
which are so ingeniously placed at the sides of
the tubular dungeon we traverse as to lure us
upon wrong platforms, whence we are sent
below again ignominiously; a short game at
question and answer with the old crone selling
oranges at the corner; and, crossing another
railway bridge, we are in front of a spacious
red brick building, on the lofty tower of which,
besides the clock, are a pair of compasses and a
blazing sun. We will not stop to talk further
about symbols now. After admiring the
spacious well-kept garden of this place, and
enjoying the sweet scents rising up from every
flower-bed, we make for the front door,
when the sharp click of a croquet-mallet reaches
us from the right, and, turning a corner, we come
upon a thoroughly happy party. Some twenty
girls, from twelve to fifteen years old, are laughing
merrily at the vigour with which one of their
number has just sent the ball rattling through
the little croquet hoops. The healthy, happy,
laughing group framed in by foliage, and relieved
by the bright green of the velvety turf upon
which they play; the frankly modest confidence
with which we, as strangers, are received; the
courteous offer to accompany us round the
grounds and the house; the revelation that
this is the matron’s birthday, every one is
making merry in her honour—are all a capital
commentary upon the masonic virtues I have
vaunted. Next, we learn that some ladies and
gentlemen are playing in another portion of the
grounds, and in a few paces we are in their
midst, being welcomed by house-committeemen,
are hearing that our chance visit has happened on
a red-letter day, and that other brethren are
expected down. The speaker is an exalted Mason
who has five capital letters after his name, and,
as I have never seen him out of masonic
costume before, it does not seem quite natural that
he should play croquet without his apron and
decorations. This gentleman (who will, I am sure,
accept this kindly-meant remembrance in the
spirit dictating it) is so pleasantly paternal, his
exuberant playfulness and affectionate interest
in the games played, and in the pretty little
players, is so prominent, that we soon forget
his grander attributes, and settle down
to a quiet chat on the discipline and rules
of the establishment. This is the Freemasons’
Girls’ School. It clothes, educates, and
thoroughly provides for, one hundred and three
girls, who must be daughters of Freemasons,
between eight and sixteen years of age, and who
are elected by the votes of its subscribers. The
comfort of its internal arrangements, its spotless
cleanliness, the healthiness of its site, the
judicious training and considerate kindness of
its matron and governesses, are themes we
descant upon at length; the rosy faces and
unrestrained laughter of the children bearing forcible
testimony to us. The committee of management
visit this school frequently and regularly,
and their deliberations generally terminate in a
romp with the school-girls. The little gardens,
some with paper notices pinned to the shrubs,
with: “Please do not come too near, as we
have sown seed near the border—Signed
28 and 22,” written in pencil in a girlish
hand; the healthy cleanly dormitories, the
light and airy glass-covered exercise-hall, where
the young people drill and dance; the matron’s
private sanctum, which is like a fancy fair today
in the extent and variety of the gay birthday
presents laid out; the tea-room, where we
all have jam in honour of the matron’s nativity;
the board-room, hung with the portraits of grand
masters and masonic benefactors, and which is
placed at our disposal that we may enjoy a quiet
chat with the two dear little girls in whom we
have a special interest, are all visited in turn.
Then a procession is formed, and “We love Miss
Smoothetwig dearly, and so say all of us!” is