A Voice from a Sisterhood.

BY Y. S. N.

In these days, when "knowledge aboundeth," and the "march of intellect" is kept up at railway speed, it is well that the value of the instructor is in a manner recognized equally with the needs be and worth of the instruction imparted. The governess does hold a higher position in the hearts and homes of the English nation than she could boast of in former years. She is not universally and invariably held up to contempt and ridicule-not treated as a menial, imposed upon at pleasure, her grievances and her sorrows ignored, or considered as of no moment to her employers. There may be exceptions, but it is the rule, rather than the exception, that she is looked upon as a friend, if not as a member of the family, both by parents and pupils.

The governess is not invariably talented; neither is she invariably "amiable and suffering," but public sympathy has been widely enlisted in her behalf. The governess, generally a very unreal specimen, it must be owned, is the legitimate heroine of a three-volume novel, or the " subject" for a romantic article.

In these cases all comes "right at last," by her marrying her "master," or his eldest son, heir to untold wealth; but in every-day life these events are not the necessary termination to her career as a teacher. In real life, alas, she becomes too often an "object of charity." Speeches are made about her at annual dinners, presided over and supported by the magnates of Church and State, and, better still, there are substantial sums devoted to her relief, when in need of "temporary assistance; or a temporary home." There are "annuities" when her day of work is over-a home, too, for some who are destitute of one when the evening hours of life are fast drawing to a close, and the night is coming on apace.

All these things there are, but alas, the supply falls far short of the demand for them. One page from the forty-nine devoted to the list of "candidates" for this May election, is sadder in its realities than the saddest imaginings of the portrayers of fictitious sorrows. Of the 144 candidates whose heart-burnings and expectations will be temporarily allayed, long before these lines are in type, either by the disappointment of another failure, or the blessed certainty of a long hoped-for, long delayed success, there are about twenty, perhaps more, who have "no income whatever," are " entirely without support," "destitute." There is one not only without income, but also "without a relative able to support her;" one compelled, at 67 years of age, to "leave a situation yielding £30, in consequence of illness;" another, who has "earned £3 by needlework during this past year, having failed in an attempt to establish a school." What sadly suggestive phrases are these:-" Savings all lost""Tries to do needlework,' "Now quite helpless from age and infirmities, requiring attendance night and day;"-" Has no income, age 69, unfitting her or any situation." There is one, aged 75, whose case is so briefly stated, that it may be given in full :-"Governess all her life; but now unequal to further exertion, and has outlived most of her friends. Has recently had a severe attack of illness. No income whatever."

"All her life!" No happy days of independence in early womanhood to look back upon, none of all those years now numbering seventy-five, excepting those of childhood, that were not overshadowed with the cares and anxieties of teaching.

Who can wonder that now, in her 76th year, the poor toiler should be " unequal to further exertion," unequal to the daily routine of lesson-giving, weary of the very names of grammar, history, and all the ologies; heart-sick at the thought of accomplishments ?-" has outlived" not only her interest in these things, but "most of her friends," those to whom all her early struggles were so well known, by whom they were so heartily sympathized in. Those who knew how manfully she did her work in the days ere she was "unequal to further exertion," perhaps, too, those most able to have lent a helping hand in her distress, are amongst the friends already gone before her to that "better land," where pain and hunger, toil and weariness, are unknown! How she must have thought of them in her "recent severe illness," not only with a longing, unavailing yearning for past happiness, not only with a fond re-echoing of the poet's words

"Oh! for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still;"

but also, doubtless, with a feeling almost akin to envy at their blessed immunity from the illness, the poverty, the desolation, of her lot. This is but an individual case, perhaps not by any means really the saddest, although the shortest, amongst those stated; no; for the writer knows, through private sources, that it is the best rather than the worst which is made of some, perhaps, indeed, of all those "short and simple annals of the poor" candidate. There is one, "aged 67," which does not present such a very distressing picture as stated in the books, to whom meat is a luxury, indulged in perhaps once a week, whose bread is fetched by her own hands from the baker's. And this lady can doubtless look back to days in her father's house when daily luxuries were daily requisites, ere those "losses in business," which terminate many a mercantile career, compelled her to go out as a governess, not for herself only, but to assist "in the support of her parents," and the education of younger members of her family.

But there are others better off; it is not each and every one out of these poor toilers who has "no income whatever," or is "entirely dependent upon friends" (that dependence resulting in one instance in the allowance of 3s. 6d. per week, the joint contributions of two of them).

There are some of the 144 actually enjoying an income. Let us turn to these; we find these incomes in many instances" uncertain," dependent upon such contingencies as the "proceeds of a small day-school, ""the letting of apartments," and the needlework, which "failing sight" often hinders their doing.

These incomes are very often not more than £5 per annum, from a "compassionate," or some other sorely-needed fund; in one instance, £4, in another £3, with the addition of some trifling amount from friends.

One has received as much as £30 during the past year, but has no income, and part of that was given specially to procure "medical aid and omnibus fare." Many have £10, many £20, and some few, very, very few-for I can only recall two-as much as £30, one is possessed of £34; but there is scarcely a single instance amongst these apparently more wealthy candidates, in which blindness, deafness, or some yet more painful drawback to the enjoyment of the income, is not specified. "Crippled by rheumatism;" "suffers from weak nerves, impaired sight, and loss of power in the right hand;" "tries to teach, but extreme lameness (from a broken knee-cap years ago), partial loss of sight, and frequent attacks of erysipelas in the head and face incapacitate her." These and similar statements occur on each and all of the forty-nine pages lying beside me, through which I have glanced at random, so that I cannot be

charged with over-stating the sorrows, or selecting the very worst cases amongst these unfortunate toilers.

Sad that so many of our working sisters, those to whom all classes of the community are so largely indebted, should be left thus destitute as the "night in which no man can work," closes round them. Sad that "going out as a governess," should have been the one and only respectable way in which a lady, when unprovided for, could earn a livelihood; and saddest, perhaps, of all, that so few have had it in their power of saving against the "rainy day" which is almost sure to overtake them.

We trust that in the next and succeeding generations, the efforts now being made, not alone for the governess, but for such as would fain make money by other means than teaching, may bring forth fruits that shall richly reward the benevolent projectors and supporters of such institutions as the "Governesses' Provident Fund," the "Law Copying" and "Printing Offices" now established in London, exclusively for women.

But ere I close this brief notice of the hitherto unsuccessful candidates for Annuities, one word must be said in behalf of some governesses to whom no helping hand can be extended by the "Benevolent Institution," devoted to the relief of governesses. Except in "extreme cases," and doubtless through extreme interest, the daily governess may apply, but apply in vain,for pecuniary assistance from this charity. The Provident Fund must surely be open for her savings as well as another's; "temporary assistance" in event of illness may, as an exceptional case, be extended to her, but the chance of an annuity, the prospect of closing her days in the home for the aged, are denied to her, not because her need is less, but because "there are so many applicants that the line must be drawn somewhere."

What, then, becomes of the daily governess? Surely her case is sadder than the saddest of those above recorded.

The daily governess is frequently at greater expense, with lower remuneration, than the family or resident governess. She must find her way to her duties through all weathers, to the injury of her clothing, often, too often, of her health; her omnibus expenses coming more frequently out of her own, rather than out of her employer's pocket, she grudges the outlay when it is possible to manage with goloshes and umbrella. Perhaps she does not feel competent to undertake a more responsible position than that of daily teacher; perhaps there are dear ones at home, too dependent on her daily services to render a better situation, as resident governess, desirable. However this may be, there are unquestionably plenty of daily teachers, young and old, efficient and inefficient, who have been and still are struggling for a daily maintenance, with less chance of being able to save than those of that class, 144 of whom are at this moment petitioners for assistance from a public charity.

What, if anything, has been or can be done for these? What, in a word, becomes of all the incapacitated and superannuated "daily governesses?" Do they "die and make no sign," when their working day is past? if not, to what institution, benevolent or otherwise, above the almshouse, or the workhouse, may they apply for and obtain assistance, seeing that the doors and the funds of the "Governesses' Benevolent" are alike closed against them?

Advice Gratis.

BY EDWIN GOADBY.

"The end of pleasant or unpleasant advice is full of delight; but wherever a speaker or hearer of it is, there dangers abide."-SIR WM. JONES's "Hitopadesa."

I AM a graceless young scamp: of course, it is not for me to say I am either old or graceful. Kind considerate friends of all ages, sexes, and conditions, have volunteered to guide and enlighten me through life. I have been assailed by all kinds of arguments, almost even to the policeman's ad truncheonem; I have been told that it "stands to sense," that "all the world knows," that "he who runs may read," that "a blind man may see," and "a fool may understand; my counsels have been couched in the language of affection, woven into that of command, and risen into that of denunciation. Thus hedged about by individuals who imagine themselves born to think for me and not for themselves, I have never been allowed to approach a crisis in my individual, social, or family history, without their ideas reaching me by letter, telegraph, living medium, or word of mouth.

When I was of age-nature herself decided that for me, fortunately; if it had been left to my relatives its propriety might have been disputed-large hearted and generous friends brought me nothing wherewith I might suitably commemorate it with my companions, but rather insinuated that I was still a youth and needed bushels of advice and hampers of directory ideas. And when I quoted to them the case of the youth who rose earlier than usual on his natal morn, and going to the bottom of the stairs, bawled out, "Father, there's a man i' the house," they laughed me to scorn. In place of this I was astutely recommended to write a sonnet "on arriving at man's estate," as Milton did when time had stolen on his wing his three-and-twentieth year; which advice I was foolish enough to follow.

Even prior to this my schooling began. When the first down of embryo whiskers embossed my cheeks, I was indoctrinated into the history of those early wild Nubian tribes, whose only distinction one from the other was a different method of trimming, piling, and twisting the hair; I had lectures upon beard, moustache, and imperial, until I was almost fain to cry out with Shakspeare upon baldness, "Where nature hath been plentiful in excrement (hair) she hath been niggard in brains."

The first time I was seen smoking a cheroot, I received a succinct account of the history of the plant, its cultivation, physiological and psychological effects; one pertinaciously refused me the right to consume my own smoke; a second thought tobacco was much cheaper and less injurious, and forthwith calculated my expenditure per annum in a manner that entitled him to immediate entrance into the Statistical Society; a third tenderly advised aromatic pills and patchouli; a fourth proposed a water pipe; a fifth modestly requested me to take care of the cigar boxes; and a sixth sent me clippings from the Times about handsome meerschaums and delightful Latakias. If I am unusually thin, certain maiden aunts whisper, "Revalenta Arabica." Some friends would have me sweat in a warm bath, others, shiver in a cold Should I be stouter than usual, one recommends a trip to Malvern, or a temporary residence in the flats of Lincolnshire, another is vociferous on the virtues of early rising, and a third recommends the Novum Organum, or an excursus in Sanskrit. Everybody will leave nobody alone, and anybody sets himself up to judge for everybody.

one.

The rumour of my intended engagement to Carry called forth unusual manifestations. Immediately there came an invitation to Shothurst, where it was said I had never been for a good piece of a century, and where I knew a maiden aunt was reading up in legal cross-questioning and the philosophy of the sexes. And in addition to this came an epistle from a more distant married cousin, announcing her intention of spending a day with me on her way to town, when I was certain that her visit boded a series of matrimonial advises, and advertizes, using the last word in the Shaksperian sense. I got through all these things much in the same way as one gets through the measles and whooping-cough of infancy, only that I gained an amount of knowledge of human nature that cannot possibly be construed out of the accidents of childhood. But I shall never forget the look of the postman as he emptied a small bag of letters in the hall, when rumour had wagged one amongst her thousand tongues, and said I was about to be married. What innumerable suggestions they contained-enough to have versed an automaton or a Bechuana in the perfect properties of getting wed. Suggestions as to bonnets, wreaths, flowers, scents, jockeys, bell-ringing, favours, wine, weddingcake, cards, the lakes, the continent, sea-sickness, French cookery-yea, everything a perfect dictionary of information for people about to marry. But as my friends had miscalculated, and I didn't get married until a twelvemonth after, I fortunately left them till then, à la Napoleon, who allowed most of his letters to remain unopened so many months that they answered themselves-when they effectually contributed to drive away the dullness of unfavourable weather.

Never yet have I been able to dodge this huge system of advice-giving whereof the whole world is a monstrous development. My path is mapped, my clothes are selected, my thoughts are shaped, my diet is prescribed, and my very existence determined by exterior powers. I seem to have been born an inert mass of matter-say wood-which requires to be animated and carved in something like humanity by the sharp words, shrill tones, and desperate hits of friendly monitors, and if such is not the case, I am as much or more responsible than they. I am pursued into all my concerns by this inexorable demon, squatting on my back after the manner of Indian children in their mother's cradles, and constantly putting in at every favourable juncture, quoting learned authorities, and dealing largely in blue-books and statistical returns. This demon, goblin, incubus, or what not, has a thousand mouths, each working in its own peculiar manner. I cannot always recognize the tones; they are ancient, mediæval, and modern. One particular mouth deserves notice. It has a proverb for every act, thought, situation, and surprise, some delivered in broad Gaelic, spluttering Welsh, and liquid Italian; some quoted from the sacred books of the East, or culled from the floating wisdom of unlettered races. I can do nothing but some proverb exists either to flatter, chide, or damn with faint praise. Never was philosopher in such a plight, with all antiquity about his ears. Cramped and fettered by so much good advice, gathered from hoary sages, learned books, and worldly-wiseacres, I have been bored, bothered, and spoilt, overwhelmed by counsels, flooded with good advice, battered and jellied by so many sage bumps and sapient thrusts. Recurring defeats have made me desperate, evoked my strong determinate individuality, made me pledged to myself to think, act, and live of myself, not for myself, and induced me to moralize on paper for the benefit of my fellow-sufferers and fellow-men.

How is our manhood girt about by those who are wiser than ourselves, older, more experienced? Truly sings Tennyson," The individual withers, and the world is more and more." The very first important lesson we have