rough, but equally clean bed, awaited the half-
starved wayfarer ; but there was more than
this. There was a spirit—a spirit clothed in
human form, endued with human feelings,
tenderly and quickly alive to human joys and
sorrows ; a spirit that asked why they had
come thither, whither they were going, and
whether better hopes and amended prospects
were likely to bless the change of place.

Many came, many went away, and many
staid. Those who staid, astonished prejudiced
people by their sudden change from ragged
"tramps " to steady, hard-working operatives.
The men got work, often hard and
ill-remunerated, but far better than the moral desolation
of the highway and the police-station.
Some girls, from whom many highly virtuous
and unapproachably respectable young ladies
would have turned away with loathing, spoke
of "Miss Margaret," and never spoke but
with a homely prayer—a prayer that angels
carried to its fitting place of appeal.

An excellent matron superintended the
female portion of the establishment, and,
with her for a companion, Mr. Fleming feared
not to trust his daughter amongst females
whom poverty, and perhaps profligacy, had
cast down. The daughter of distress blessed
the hand and heart that aided, the lips that
comforted her; the daughter of sin looked up
to the lovely child of light, who spoke no word
of reproach, and in her few words of kindness
awoke to a consciousness of heaven. Aged
men and women, crabbed and crossed with
comfortlessness, smiled at their own sufferings,
and prayed that their sweet-speaking teacher
might never know an old age like their own.
As to the children, children fell in love with
Margaret wherever she went. Even the good-
natured, steady, practical old Bishop of St.
Martin's said, after a hearty dinner with the
Rev. Botolph Fleming, " If Miss Margaret
gets married, all the girls in the parish will
be her bridesmaids, and the children will rifle
Covent Garden Market for flowers." Scandal
says, and we do not care to disbelieve it, that
Miss Margaret took revenge that very same
evening, by coaxing a large cheque out of the
Bishop, while she was making a cup of tea
for him and papa. Old Mrs. Chatterly, to
whom Margaret always told everything, even
says that the Bishop said something about
marrying her himself—of course, he meant
performing the ceremony.

To say that the Rev. Botolph Fleming
loved his daughter tenderly, to exhaust all
the poetical, rhapsodical, and conventional
phrases descriptive of parental fondness, would
be to little purpose. In her he found a
companion in all his duties, as well as in the
lighter endearments of female society at home.
Her public duties—for we might call them so—
did not rob the breakfast and tea table of
their sociable comforts; even dainty little
bits of cookery, the work of her hands,
sometimes provoked a relish, when the fatigue of
business had jaded even the vicar's energies.
She sang, played, danced, nay, we must
confess it, flirted a little sometimes, all
charmingly, all in good spirits, and yet the " Refuge
for the Destitute " lost none of her company.
People who didn't know her, thought her a
sweet young lady ; people who did, thought
her a pattern to women, an unobtrusive
creature, who did good almost as an amusement,
and yet never made a fuss about
anything. Her father asked, and deferred to, her
advice on many subjects ; yet when people
spoke of her exertions, she only spoke of what
her father was doing, and that moderately and
modestly.

Coupled with the " Refuge " was a " Ragged
School," in which Miss Margaret was almost
equally interested. It was wonderful how
many stupid children—children who could
scarcely come to a clear understanding about
their right and left hands—displayed comparative
intelligence under their new instructress.
Margaret loved teaching, and therefore taught
well. If a preceptor can once seem pleased with
his own task, the pupil learns readily enough.

Even young ladies grow older and older,
as time goes on. There is a time for getting
married, and Miss Margaret's time might
have come long since, but " papa was
particular." Nevertheless, Margaret never made
but one choice, and at that one " papa " made
no demur, but gave his blessing, and not his
blessing only, with a clear voice, and a willing
heart. But Margaret didn't leave home,
nevertheless. Papa couldn't have spared her,
and she loved no one well enough to desire to
leave him.

Increased cares, three charming children,
(one of whom has just begun Latin under the
care of his now slightly gray-haired
grandfather,) a cherishing and cherished husband, do
not make one tittle of difference in Margaret's
private and public duties. As many poor
people pray for her welfare, as many ignorant
children turn their faces to the school-room
door when she is expected, and yet her voice
sounds as sweetly, and her fingers run over
the keys as blithely as ever. Her eldest son
(who the Bishop says will be sure to take a
double first) was shamed out of his antipathy
to " Quae genus," by a few visits to the
Ragged School, and driven to enthusiastic
emulation, by being compelled to teach therein.
St. Carrabas is no longer a by-word; in
fact, people are beginning to find that industry
and filth, handicraft and drunkenness, hard
labour and ignorance, are not the Siamese
twins they once supposed.

Rumour points to the translation of the
hearty old Bishop of St. Martin's to a larger
See, and to the Rev. Botolph Fleming as
likely to take his place. Heaven knows, he
does not covet it; and Heaven knows it
cannot be beter bestowed. With unimpaired
energies, increased experience, and high public
character, he will be the best " Plea for
Episcopacy" ever realised. But then Margaret
must go with him.