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ANSWERS TO BIBLE QUESTIONS. 8. Deut. ii. 9. Joshua xx. 10. Deut. xxxiv. 3. 11. Exod. xxiii. 14–16. 12. Deut. viii. 3, vi. 16, vi. 13; Matt. iv. 1-11, 13. Num. xi. 7, 8. 14. Num. vii.

dense and misty cloud, and quite as quickly as if they had been in cheerful sunshine? For a long time I could not find out how this was done, until I noticed that the “leading camel” was not looking forward to see the guide, but was looking on the sand just before his own feet, and there, among the many footsteps in the desert sand, the wise camel saw the foot-marks which he knew to be his master's foot-prints, and these were sure to be right.

If we are Christians, Christ is not only our God and Saviour, but our blessed Master and Guide. He knows the way, for He says Himself, “I am the Way.” He has gone before us all along the path of life as an infant, a child, a boy, a youth, and a man, while all the time He is “the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace.

Dear little friends, follow His footsteps on the sands of time.

ANSWER TO DOUBLE ACROSTIC IN FEBRUARY.

(1) E leaza R
(2) Miracl E
(3) M eda D
(4) A gat E
(5) N am

E
(6) U ri M
(7) E agl E
(8) L

epe

R

The total Number of Marks given for the February Questions was 30, of which Catherine P. Fitzgerald obtained 30, Mabel P. Fitzgerald 30, Joseph Peachell 30, Mabel Beardsley 29, Mabel E. Bell 29, R. Wealthy 29, Ellen M. Bergman 29, H. E. Lang 28, James Corney 28, W. S. Davidson 28, Ada Bowles 28, Alexander McArthur 27, William Dominey 27, John Sayer 27, Robert E. Allen 27, F. E. Douglas 27, Annie Stephens 27, Louie Macdonald 27, Stanley Caukwell 26, Constance Bligh 25, Willie Hobby 25, May Thornewill 25, John H. Price 24, James H. Š. Costello 24, Sarah A. Lock 24, Edith M. Pollard (?) 24, W. c. Kirby 24, W. G. Pratt 24, Jane Burch 24, Beatrice Heyes 24, John Heyes 24, H. W. Heyes 24, Alice E. Milliner 22, Ernest L. Collins 22, Gertrude Humphreys 22, Maggie Birtt 22, Agnes L. Rasey 22, Maud Keating 21, John W. Howart 20, Amy Reid 20, E. R. Barker 17, Evelyn Carlisle 13, W. Robertson 11.

PRIZE LIST FOR 1882.

Bible Questions. 15. How did the Israelites know when they were to stop

journeying and when they were to go on again? 16. Asaph twice alludes to this when he says God led

them like a flock. Where do we find these allusions ? 17. What did the men who went to spy out the land of

Canaan bring back with them ? 18. What was done with the censers of Korah and his

company? 19. The first-born of the Israelites belonged in a special

manner to God. How were they redeemed ? 20. What was Aaron's inheritance? And what the Levites',

for they had no land ? 21. What was the daily sacrifice to consist of? And what

was offered on the Sabbath ?

SPECIAL NOTICE. It is usual to award Two Prizes only to those competitors who have gained most marks, but as for the past half-year there are three in the first grade and two in the second who have gained an equal number of marks, the Editor has decided to award Three Prizes of 75. 6d. cach and Two Prizes of ss. each. The Winners of the Prizes are:

FIRST PRIZES.
KATE MANNERING. C. BLIGH. F. E. DOUGLAS.

SECOND PRIZES.
R. J. HOWELL.

M. BIRTT. M. R. BLIGH has also answered the same number of questions correctly, but having already gained a Second Prize, is now only eligible for a First.

Will the Prize-akers send their names and addresses to the Editor, and say what books they would like to have ?

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ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. Maud Birtt.—There is no prize offered for making puzzles. Your acrostic is still too vague; for instance, in Question 4. There were many “great kings of Israel.” F. H. Allen.—Thank you for your acrostic.

We hope to use it some day.

Mabel Beardsley.--Your answers are very good. It is better to keep to your own words, taking care always to give the Scripture reference,

The Editor regrets that several good papers were sent after the date given, and were therefore not admitted for competition. The six months mentioned are from January to Fune.

48

THE WET HALF-HOLIDAY.

Mie Wet Half-Moliday.

BY THE EDITOR.

simply the one who last speaks. Of course this is known to both A and B. A wise player will not "understand” directly some one speaks, but will let the question be repeated a few times, so as not to awaken suspicion. It is awkward if several of the party will keep on talking, or again, if in puzzling their head to find out the cause, they

ecome lent altogether, though this can soon be overcome by the players themselves talking, which seldom fails to cause some one to speak.

Here are some puzzles too. The first one will not take you long to guess, the second will have to be left to the boys, I think, as it seems rather learned.

I am a word of four letters.
Whole I never despair.
Curtail me, and I am a climbing plant.

Change my head, and I am used to clean floors and vehicles.

Again change my head, and I am a conceited young

new

man.

a

H A V E played it so often I am quite tired of it. Can't you tell us some game?" Who has not heard this? As a friend has provided me with

“ new game," I think the

boys and Se girls who

read the

Companion may like to try it. I have never seen it played, and shall be glad to hear if it is successful from any who have.

It is called

" DO YOU UNDERSTAND?" As only two actually play, this can hardly be called a game, but it requires an audience to witness it, and try and guess how it is performed, and is generally successful in puzzling those not in the secret.

Suppose A and B are the two players; then A puts to B the question, “Do you understand ?" B's reply may be “Yes” or “No”; if the latter, the question is repeated again and again until an affirmative answer is given. Then B, who has at last said “Yes” to A's question, “Do you understand?” leaves the room. The doors are shut, so that all are confident that he cannot possibly see inside the

The remaining player, A, then touches or points to some person present, and B, without, being asked to say who is touched, immediately names the right one. B is then recalled, and the same performance is repeated.

Few who have not seen this played would believe how puzzled the audience become as the right person is again and again unhesitatingly named, nor how many are the guesses at how it is done. To convince any who think the names are arranged beforehand, the players can offer to continue as long as it is wished, to do it, whenever called, upon even those they may not have met for weeks. Perhaps the best proof is what often occurs, namely, when the same person is touched and named several times in succession. The mystery is not lessened, nor the desire to know how it is done abated, by being told that nothing is simpler or easier.

The reason, when guessed or told, generally raises a laugh, with the mortifying thought, “ How stupid of me not to have seen it." The person touched and named is

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Once more change my head, and I am soaked bread.
Again change my head, and I cut off twigs.
Once more change my head, and I am a toy.
Yet again change my head, and I go off quickly.

Now add my former tail, and I reappear as the head of a Church.

Change my head, and I am to be dull. Again change my head, and I am to contend with. Once more change my head, and I am a thick cord. Lastly, transpose me, and I am a mountain connected with the history of Balak and Balaam.

CLASSICAL ACROSTIC. (1) Other things being equal. (2) Either Cæsar or nobody. (3) A sound mind in a sound body. (4) In good faith. (5) I shall rise again. (6) To the memory of. (7) While I breathe, I hope. (8) Know thyself. (9) I have found it.

Translate the above well-known Latin and Greek mottoes and phrases, and the initials of the answers will name an English University.

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CHURCH OF ENGLAND SUNDAY SCHOOL INSTITUTE, SERJEANTS' INN, 49, FLEET STREET, LONDON.

50

MILES LAMBERT'S THREE CHANCES.

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OW it does
blow!" said
Margery,
she stood one
morning at the
cottage

door with Miles,

who was about to start off for his day's work at the quarry.

" You will catch the wind, Miles, going over the hill! You must mind and keep hold of your cap.”

“ Yes, indeed," answered Miles, who was looking up at the sky with a grave face; “how dark it is, Madge; I can't believe it is really half-past seven.

“But it must be, though, for there are the cows from the Farm going out to grass. And how cold it is too; who would think it was June !”

"'Twas rough enough last evening,” said Miles, as he shouldered his tools and turned to go, it is far worse this morning. Master Layne will see the storm he wished for to-day, and no mistake! Don't you let the children play under the trees, Margery, it isn't safe. There's no saying what may happen in one of these gusts.

He went; and Margery lingered a minute, though it was washing day, to watch him struggling over the crest of the hill, now scudding along like a ship before the wind, and now stopping a moment to take breath when a slight lull allowed him to do so.

He was soon out of sight, and Margery was thinking she must go to the wash-tub, when a small arm was passed into hers, and she found Phyllis at her side. The child was paler even than usual, and her eyes were full of tears just ready to fall.

Phyllis's tears were always very near the surface, and, as a rule, Margery was not apt to be very patient or sympathising with her; but to-day somehow she could not speak sharply or im

patiently, but allowed her little sister to press close to her side.

“Oh, Madge, what a dreadful storm!” Phyllis whispered. “I've been lying awake almost all night, listening to the wind.”

Silly child! You had much better have been asleep, like me,” answered Margery, but not unkindly.

* Just look at the trees, how they are rocking ; I know they will be all blown down. And they feel it so, Madge; only hark how they are crying and groaning !"

Tender-hearted Phyllis looked up at the trees with eyes full of pity. They were indeed creaking and straining in every limb as the fierce south-west gale bent their tough old boughs hither and thither. Just then a fiercer gust than ever swept up the valley, and with a loud crack a fine branch parted from an elm at the corner of the wood, and fell crashing into the field beneath. Margery thought of Miles's parting caution about the children and shuddered, for it was a favourite play-corner of theirs. Phyllis burst into tears and hid her face in her sister's frock.

The gust passed on inland, to do, no doubt, fresh damage there, and leave traces of its fury in many a fine tree uprooted and house unroofed and haystack overturned. It was followed by a lull, in which the roar of the waves below St. Alban's Head could be distinctly heard. Large flakes of foam, looking dazzlingly white against the dark sky, in the fitful gleams of sunshine which now and then broke forth, were whirled by on the wind, and showed to what a state of violence the sea must have been worked up by the gale.

Both children held their breath to listen to the thunder of the sea against the cliffs, and then Phyllis whispered, with a sob

“Oh, Madge, do you think Father's out in the storm? Whenever I went to sleep last night I dreamt I saw him, and I kept waking up in such a fright, and when I heard the noise of the wind I couldn't help fancying that perhaps his ship is in danger somewhere-being wrecked, maybe. Oh dear! oh dear!”

Phyllis cried most pitifully. Evidently that stormy night had been one of great misery to her, and Margery felt a twinge of shame to think how soundly she had been sleeping, while her poor little sister was awake and trembling by her side.

“Why did not you wake me up, you silly child,” she said, " instead of lying there fancying all sorts of things that can't possibly happen? Don't you know Father is ever so far off-right

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or but

MILES LAMBERT'S THREE CHANCES.

51

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away across the sea ? It's almost always calm there when it's blowing here, the sailors say. I'm quite sure this gale can't hurt him a bit-he's ever so far beyond the reach of it!"

The thought that perhaps Father was now indeed beyond the reach of all earthly storms for ever rushed like a cold blast through Margery's mind, and made her shiver. But there was the washing to be done, and she got up from the stone on which she had been sitting, and leaving Phyllis to dry her eyes and choke down her sobs, walked resolụtely away to the back kitchen. And if a few tears fell once or twice into the tub in the course of her morning's work, the soapsuds never told of it!

Early that afternoon Raymond Layne was leaning against the window of the farmhouse parlour, and looking out with a very disconsolate face. He did not seem to be looking at anything in particular-indeed, there was not anything very particular to look at, for the view from the window was only over one of those little farmhouse gardens which are apt to be so bare and ugly in that barren and exposed part of Dorsetshire. It was bounded on three sides by a stone wall, built very solid and high, with the view, no doubt, of sheltering the trees and plants inside it from the wind, in which attempt it had not succeeded very well, for the half-dozen apple-trees in the garden looked as if they had been cut off with a knife as soon as ever they attempted to look over the wall, and were all bent over towards the north-east like decrepit old

there in dismal smears, was not a lively one, and Raymond's face, as he lounged idly on the windowsill, and drummed with his fingers on the pane, was quite in keeping with it.

Mr. Monk, who did not look much more cheerful, was writing at the table. The fact was, he and his pupil had just been through something as near a dispute as they had ever had, over the question whether or no Raymond might go out on the cliffs to see the waves. Raymond himself, of course, was wild to go, but Mr. Monk, over anxious, perhaps, about his pupil's health, had said that he could not allow it, whereon had followed a long argument.

Unless the wind moderates you must not go out," said Mr. Monk.

“What harm can it do me, I should like to know? I want to see the waves," answered Raymond, rebelliously.

But, grumble and entreat as he might, his tutor was not to be moved, and the boy had at last fallen into sulky silence. He now stood watching the apple-trees, in the hope of soon being able to persuade Mr. Monk that they were bending rather less, and that the wind had moderated. However, as a poor old codling apple-tree had just given up the struggle and gone down helplessly among the cabbages, Raymond felt that proof was at present too strong for him.

There came a clatter of heavy boots in the passage, and a knock at the door, and to Raymond's delight who should appear but Miles Lambert, with his hat tied down over his ears, and his face glowing with the wind.

“Will you come out, Master Raymond, and see the waves ? I'm going up on the cliffs, and I thought maybe you would like to come too."

“Oh, sir, let me go-pray do,” pleaded Raymond, looking piteously at Mr. Monk. “It is not a cold wind, is it, Lambert?"

“No; and it has stopped raining too. Do let him come, sir; I will look after him. He shan't come to any harm.”

“I don't know what to say,” said Mr. Monk, who felt that this double assault was quite too much for him. “I should not think of going out in such a storm myself, but if the wind is really not cold, and if you will wear your coat, Raymond, and give me your word not to go into any dangerous places, I suppose I must let you go.”

All right! all right!” cried Raymond; and he rushed off without further ceremony to get into his coat, and to find a handkerchief to tie on his hat with, in imitation of Miles's. Miles lingered a moment, with natural courtesy, to assure the

a

men.

The south-wester was doing its utmost now to bend them a little further, or even to upset them altogether, and they were struggling and resisting with all their might, with many a creak and groan; while the cabbages and onions were twisting as if they would be twirled out of the ground. There was a flagged path running straight up the middle of the garden, which finally ran its head against the wall opposite the house, as if it expected to find a way out there. The clumps of pinks and stout old bushes of rosemary which bordered it were evidently having a hard fight for life, and a great mass of early honeysuckle trained over a wooden arbour that spanned the path, which only the day before had stood proudly erect, a perfect glory of bright young leaves and pink and white blossoms, now lay broken and draggled across the flags, a melancholy wreck.

Certainly the prospect outside, with the dark sky and the forlorn garden, over which lumps of foam kept driving and falling, often whirling against the window with a dull thud, and slowly melting

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