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love. The word ἀχάτος occurs in a poem on precious stones ascribed to Onomacritus. Chalcedony and sardis are named after the two towns in Lydia and the Thracian Bosphorus. But it is when we come to cut and engraved stones that we touch upon the most intimate possessions and treasures, the faithful witnesses, of the life of the ancient world, - where there was no dream of sun-pictures on scraps of paper, or mechanical means of multiplying paintings or drawings; where the graven seal was the most sacred sign of possession, the bond of faith, the token of recognition; where the Greek had the image of his gods, the friend wore the likeness of his friend, the lover that of his mistress carved on a gem; and where the fleeting word indeed was scratched on tablets of wax, but sacred names and signs, epigrams and aphorisms, were cut on sardonyx, and offered in the temples of the gods, or on pillars of marble by the wayside for public instruction and edification. We touch upon the whole faith, and solemnity, and citizenship, and romance of Greek and Roman national life, records which the lapse of thousands of years have left unchanged, and which may pass unchanged to generation after generation yet unborn.

The most precious thing in all Samos was the sardonyx in the ring of King Polycrates, on which "Diodoros of Samos, Telecles's son," had cut a lyre crowned with olive-branches. Demosthenes and Aristotle wore rings with cut stones, and gems often appear in great numbers as votive offerings in the list of temple treasures. Pompey captured a large and splendid collection in the war with Mithridates, and set it up on

the capitol as a votive offering. At the time of Alexander the Great and the Ptolemys, cut stones were used in great quantities, not only as rings and brooches, but on candelabra, drinking-vessels, weapons in the later days of the Roman Empire even on carriages and litters. Inferior artists used to grave upon their wares the monogram of Pyrgoteles, the famous sculptor in gems of Alexander the Great-a bad trick of the trade not wholly unknown among ourselves. In Rome at the time of the Punic wars, only senators and knights were allowed to wear signet-rings; and at the battle of Cannæ, Hannibal calculated the number of the fallen Roman knights from the two bushels of signet-rings picked up on the battle-field. The most famous extant gems are perhaps the Gemma Augustea in Vienna, a sardonyx nearly a quarter of a yard long, on which the triumph of Augustus is cut in the rarest workmanship by Dioscorides of Rome. There are magnificently cut antique amethysts, though rock-crystal was, and is, mainly used for vases and cups. I saw a beautiful modern vase at Oberstein in the shape of a shell twelve or fourteen inches long-chiefly, however, filling me with regret for the vanished beauty of the one perfect crystal out of which it had been cut. The man asked £5 for it. A much larger cameo than the Gemma Augustea was lost in the storm of the Tuileries in 1848. About the largest extant gem-a sardonyx worked in five layers, and representing Tiberius and Livia, and various other personages-there is an odd story. It is called La Camée de la Sainte Chapelle, and was given to St Louis of France, who set it up in the Ste Chapelle as a representation of Joseph's dream! The art of cutting gems lingered on in Constantinople after the fall of the Empire, but few stones were cut in Western Europe. Charlemagne used as his seal an antique gem with the head of Jupiter Serapis; Pipin le Bref, one with a Bacchus on it. In 1555, however, Giovanni Bernardi cut stones so beautifully for Lorenzo de Medici that he was called Giovanni delle Carniole, and a contemporary of his was named Domenico dei Kamei. The Picklers, Tyrolese artists settled in Rome in the eighteenth century, cut gems so perfectly that they had to sign them to prevent their passing as veritable antiques. However, till the present century the greatest secret of the ancients, the art mentioned by Pliny of dyeing grey chalcedony black by boiling it in honey and exposing it to heat, was jealously guarded in Italy. It was brought to Paris, and then by a curious accident to Oberstein about 1820; and now many gems sold in Rome as Roman are polished and cut on the banks of the Seine or in the Vale of Idar.

The most amazing superstitions have obtained as to the power of precious stones. The subject is endless. Hebrews, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, and Romans, wore stones as charms possessing all manner of virtues. Gnostics inscribed gems with mystic symbols and the magic word "Abraxas," and many a beautiful work of ancient art has been mutilated by their astrological signs and symbols. A few years ago thousands of these Abraxas gems of Alexandrian and Syrian origin were offered for sale in this remote little German valley, to be used as raw material. From the Council of Laodicea to the

Synod of. Tours under Charlemagne, the Church fulminated against belief in the magic virtues of stones. At the very end of the sixteenth century a learned doctor of medicine wrote a treatise on their medicinal properties. They were supposed to influence beauty and health and happiness, honour and riches. Each month had its special stone, and even the twelve apostles each a stone dedicated to him: to Peter, the jasper; to Philip, the "kindly" sardonyx; to James, the "gentle" chalcedony; and so The feeling has not yet died out. Opals are, for instance, still supposed to bring misfortune to the wearer. There is a story that the Empress Eugénie never would wear them-a tragic instance, if it is true, of the irony of fate in small things too.

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That genial and humanly sympathetic writer, Jean Paul Friedrich Richter, somewhere complains that everything reminds him of everything else, or some such misfortune. All I can say is, that that seems to me "in the nature of things," and one of those matters for which it is hopeless to apologise. It is quite hopeless, for instance, to apologise for this long digression, which has kept us waiting at the inn-door ready to start for the Vale of Idar, and has taken us into the bowels of the earth and into very strange company meanwhile. This seems rather an Irish way, I fear, of putting it, and suggests the difficulty about matter being in two places at once. Perhaps the axiom need not apply to "mind "—І times think it does not; but still it may be a relief to unite body and soul again, and at last really to set forward on our journey.

(To be concluded next month.)

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SOPHIE WEISSE.

CAN A MOTHER FORGET?

IN one of the poorest and most overcrowded parts of poor and overcrowded London stands a little whitewashed house, differing from the squalid places round it only in its perfect cleanliness for on entering, nothing but the plainest and most necessary furnishings are to be found.

One bitter night early in February there sat, in the hardly furnished sitting-room, a young priest. He was evidently expecting some one, and some one he loved; for, from time to time, he stirred the fire and looked with something like a sigh at the meagre meal which was prepared on the table.

"I

must not put on coals," he said to himself; "for if the fire is really bright when he comes in, he will grudge himself the warmth. I dare not make ready a comfortable meal, for he will grudge himself the food. It is always so, for he thinks that he alone can do without rest, warmth, and comfort; for oh! how tender and thoughtful he is about every one else!"

As he sat down again the door opened to admit a tall, powerful man, looking weary beyond words, and wet to the skin. It needed not his clerical dress to assure any who saw him what his calling was; for interesting as his face must have been under any circumstances, it was rendered beautiful by the beauty of holiness, and the strength and sweetness mingled in it made it like the face of an angel.

"Dear brother," he said, as he came in, "I can go out no more this night, for my body is so weary and my heart so sore, that I feel helpless and dispirited as I have rarely felt before. The sin and

VOL. CXLVIII. -NO. DCCCXCVII.

the suffering, the wretchedness and poverty, and, above all, the cry of the children are breaking my heart. And if mine - O Thou loving Shepherd! what must the suffering be to Thee, in Thy perfect purity and unequalled tenderness? How long, O Lord? how long?”

He sank down on a chair and buried his face in his hands for a few moments, while the younger priest looked at him sadly and anxiously. It was so unusual for Father Warren's face to be clouded, and so rare for his spirit to be despondent, that he felt sure something was wrong, and that overwork and constant exposure were at last beginning to tell even on his magnificent health and frame. "Now, dear Father," he said beseechingly, "do put on dry clothes, and rest this evening, and take a long quiet sleep; for if you persist in this constant self-forgetfulness, you will have to give up work altogether, and I think no greater trouble could befall you and us than that."

"Well, truly," replied Father Warren, "I am resolved to go out no more this night, for, though the spirit is willing, the flesh is weak." He had hardly finished speaking when a ring was heard at the door, and the servant entering, said, "Father, a lady desires to see you, and begs you will not refuse her."

"Let me go," said the young priest, jumping up. "It is too hard this perpetual importunity. I will speak to her, and tell her how unfit you are to do anything more or see any one this evening.

"Do so, my son," said Father Warren, "but let it be courteously and gently said, as befits those who

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speak in the name of a gentle and never weary Master."

The young man crossed himself, and left the room; he returned, however, after a few minutes, with a disappointed and somewhat mortified air.

"She will have none of me, dear Father, but desires to see you and you only; and in very truth I feel myself asking for her; her pleading is so touching and her longing so earnest, that I have gone over to her side, and can resist her wish no longer."

Father Warren rose briskly and said, "Do not let her wait a moment longer. I feel to blame that she has waited so long already. Bring her in at once, I pray you;" and while the priest hastened to obey, he placed a chair near the fire, and muttering to himself, "Neither turneth a deaf ear to any poor man," he put the teapot the table, and prepared to receive cordially the unexpected visitor.

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The door was gently opened by a tall lady, dressed in black. She was exceedingly fair to see, beautiful in feature and carriage beyond most women; but there was an inexpressible charm far beyond even that, a dignity and perfection of manner and appearance such as Father Warren had never seen before.

Advancing towards him, she said in a low, clear, and most melodious voice, "Forgive me, dear Father, for disturbing you so late, and on such a night; but no other could fulfil so well the mission which I ask you to undertake. Will you come with me to bring comfort and happiness to a departing and erring soul? and will you bring the Holy Sacrament with you, that, having confessed and been absolved, he may go hence in peace?"

"Dear lady," answered Father Warren, "I have not eaten since this morning. My clothes are wet through, and I am very weary. Another priest of God more worthy than I shall go with you."

"Nay," she said, looking wistfully at him, "I pray you go with me yourself, for to you was I sent, and the time is very short. I beseech you to come with me and make no delay. By the love of the Blessed Mother for her Son, by the love of that Son for all His erring children, I implore you come with me, and come quickly."

She pleaded so earnestly and tenderly, and yet with something of authority in her tone, that the Father yielded; and forgetting all but her anxiety and that some one had need of him, he hastily put on a cloak, and left the house with her.

A strong biting wind and sharp sleety rain made walking difficult and conversation almost impossible, so he followed the lady silently as they sped quickly along the narrow streets. Father Warren could not but marvel exceedingly that the lady did not seem to be aware of wind nor rain nor anything round her, but with firm tread and head erect she walked calmly and quietly though very rapidly on.

She moved as one with a set purpose, while a smile of hope brightened her grave face.

At last, after walking thus for a considerable distance, they came to one of those quiet old-fashioned squares, once the chosen residence of the wealthiest Londoners, but now deserted for places further from the crowded centre of the huge city.

She stopped at one of the houses, and knocking firmly and decidedly at the door, she turned round to the priest and said, "I have shown you the place and told you of the sore need of one who lives there. I can do no more, and must go now. May the blessing of God the Father, the love of God the Son, and the help of God the Spirit go with you now."

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She turned rapidly away and was quickly out of sight, leaving the priest a little bewildered at receiving so solemn a blessing from a lady and a stranger, and yet with the feeling that there was nothing unsuitable nor unbecoming in her giving it.

Before, however, he had time to collect his thoughts or explain to himself what he really felt about it all, the door was opened by a stout, comfortable, respectable servant, who seemed rather astonished at his appearance. "I have been summoned to a dying bed," he said; pray take me at once to the room."

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The woman looked perplexed, and answered-"There ain't no dying bed here, nor hasn't been this long time. Thanks be to heaven, we're all well in this house, sir!"

"There must be some mistake," replied Father Warren arren, "for I was conducted here by a lady who fetched me herself to the very door, and was in much anxiety and haste."

"There's no lady got no right to fetch any one here, and mistake there surely is," said the woman, rather testily; but looking at the priest, and recognising his holy character, she went on "But you had better come in and explain it to the young master-for sure am I he wouldn't like a beggar turned from the door on a cruel night like this, let alone a holy man like you, as is well known to the poor and needy." So saying, she led the priest into a most comfortable room, where was seated alone a

young man evidently waiting for his dinner, preparations for which were on the table before him.

"This reverend gentleman have been led astray, sir, by some visiting lady, and brought out of 'is 'ome, where better he would have been on a night like this, as rampaging the streets to come to a 'ouse where dying beds there is none, and nothing but health and comfort, the Lord be praised. But I knew as you would not wish him sent away, sir, for the sake of her as is gone, and perhaps you can put him in the way to find the right 'ouse."

The young man smiled, evidently well accustomed to the ways of his faithful old servant, and, rising courteously, led Father Warren to a seat by the blazing fire. "Why you are wet through and through!" he said. "At least let me take off your cloak, and rest a little, while you tell me how I come to the honour of this visit."

The Father could not withstand the genial greeting, and, sitting down, told the young man how he came there. As he tried to do this, however, he found himself quite at a loss to explain the impression the lady had made on him, and how powerless he felt to resist her importunity, or even to question her as to where she was leading him.

His host was grieved and concerned at the useless fatigue and exposure he had gone through, and said, "I fear you have, in your ready self-sacrifice, given way too easily to some charitable lady, more zealous than judicious, who, in her desire to do much, has, tonight at least, done too much, and made mistake in an address which we can neither of us now rectify."

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Father Warren shook his head sadly, for he felt how completely

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