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anxiety, lest party spirit and revenge should be awakened in the hearts of those who feel how much they owe him.” Five weeks later she records that Amelia Opie “is gone home, after an illness borne with much gentle peace and trust, and ended with severe bodily conflict."

In November, 1854, Barclay Fox, Caroline's only brother, left England for his health. She accompanied him to Southampton, and saw him off for Alexandria, in the good ship Indus. They had a little time of solemn silence, and as solemn prayer,

before going on board, which, she says, though most touching, was essentially strengthening and helpful. Barclay never returned. Early in April, 1855, the news reached his sorrowing family that “our dearest Barclay had been called home to be for ever with the Lord.” He broke a blood-vessel, and after twenty-four peacefal, tranquil hours, fell asleep. Literally fell asleep,” she writes, "and awoke in his Saviour's arms. It was all so painless, so quiet, so holy, that how can we but give thanks, and pray

that we may not envy him, but rather bear our little burdens faithfully and meekly for a few short years, and then The missionary Lieder and his wife were with him in his last illness, and Mrs. Lieder wrote most minute details of those days ; it was given to them” to know his very last words. In answer to some remark of Mr. Lieder's, he said, “What a mercy it is that Christ not only frees as from the guilt of sin, but also delivers as from its power.” He was buried in the English cemetery of Cairo.

On April 26th Caroline pathetically exclaims, “I could fill volumes with remembrances and personal historiettes of interesting people, but for whom should I record them now? How strangely the heart falls back on itself exhausted and desolate, unless it gazes apwards until the clouds open, and then-”

Daring 1857, she records that she read “Never Too Late to Mend" and the Life of Charlotte Brontë. In reference to Dr. Arnold, of whom they heard many things from a friend who lived at Rugby, she observes—" It was not until his death that peoplo felt what he was; before that it often required some courage to speak well of him in religions society.'

In 1858 Caroline lost her mother; the following spring was passed chiefly in Rome and Naples with her father and sister. On the last day of 1859 she wrote :-"The old year is fled, never to come back again through all eternity. All its opportunities for love and service gone, past recall. What a terrible thought ! like that which must have flashed opon the disciples in their old age, when they remembered the Garden of Gethsemane and the gentle rebuke, Could ye not watch with Me one hour ?' and then afterwards, when all watching was too late, all utterly vain, either

In this year

for sympathy, or for resolve, with what a tolling sound would those other words fall on their hearts, 'Sleep on now, and take your rest; behold he who betrayeth Me is at hand.' How can I look back on these forty years in the wilderness without falling into such musings as these."

Daring 1860 Caroline was brought into intercourse with many noble minds, among them Alfred Tennyson and his friend, Francis Palgrave; Holman Hunt, "the High Priest of Pre-Raphaelitism; and Miss Macaulay.

On the 15th of December she records the death of Baron Bunsen. Wreaths royal and friendly were placed on the bier, and he was laid to rest just opposite Niebuhr’s grave. her brother's widow died at Pau, and her four orphan boys came to live at Penjerrick, bringing with them a new interest to Caroline Fox, who, with antiring care, watched the development of these beloved nephews, entering with zest into many of their parsuits.

In 1863 she visited Spain with her father. Afterwards came warnings of serious physical weakness, and she was advised to try a winter in the Riviera. In March, 1866, she had what she calls “a sharp little attack of bronchitis.” All fear of suffering or death was swallowed

up in the child-like joy of trust. “A perfect rest in the limitless love and wisdom of a most tender Friend, whose will was far dearer to me than

my own.

What blessed presence was felt, jast in proportion to the needs of the hour, and the words breathed into my spirit were just the most helpful ones at the time, strengthening and soothing. This was specially felt in the long, still nights, when sometimes I felt very ill. 'Never less lonely than when thus alone with God!' Sarely I know more than ever of the reality of that declaration, This is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the only trae God, and Jesus Christ whom Thou hast sent.' I write all this now, because my feelings are already fading into commonplace, and I would fain fix some little scraps of my experience. I had before been craving for a little more spiritual life on any terms, and how mercifully this has been granted ! and I can utterly trust that in any extremity that may be before me the same wonderful


will encompass me, and of mere love and forgiving compassion carry me safely into port."

She recovered sufficiently to visit Venice in this same year, and she was also able to see the Paris Exhibition in 1867; but each recurring winter found her less able to cope with its severities. At Mentone, she called, by appointment, on Carlyle. Mrs. Carlyle had died eleven months previously. Caroline found her old friend in a rather excited frame of mind. Speaking of the Reform Bill, he exclaimed, “On, this cry for Liberty ! Liberty! which is just liberty to do the Devil's work, instead of binding him with ten thousand bands,—just going the way of France and America, and those sort of places; why, it is all going down-hill as fast as it can go, and of no significance to me; I have done with it. I can take no interest in it at all, nor feal any sort of hope for the country !"

In the autumn of 1868, “the John Brights” stayed with the Foxes at Penjerrick, and Caroline most thoroughly enjoyed the visit. Afterwards came the Glaishers, with much to tell about balloons and meteors, and Dr. Balfour Stewart, of the Kew Observatory; then Frank Backland, who gave a very amusing lecture on oysters and salmon, and lay outside the drawing-room door with three monkeys sprawling about him! At the same time she wrote to her friend, Charlotte O'Brien—“It must have been delightfal to get an experienced sister to assist in the parish work; but don't let them talk thee into joining a sisterhood. Women'sı work may be well done without all that ceremony, and whilst there are wifeless brothers with parishes to look after, I think it would be a shame to turn deserter. This is very gratuitous advice, for thou never gave a hint of sach possible change of raiment.”

She was subject to distressing attacks of chronic bronchitis, bat she rallied wonderfully between them. During the Christmas of 1870, while the snow lay on the ground, and the sunshine and blue skies were overhead, she looked—her biographer tells us* quite blooming, and walked frequently a mile or two to the cottages around.” But with the setting-in of the thaw, her friends' anxieties returned, and they trembled for her. The damp, chilly atmosphere never suited her, and it greatly distressed her to be cut off from all her out-of-door objects of interest. Going her wonted rounds with New Year's gifts, she took cold, and the indisposition rapidly turned into an attack of bronchitis, more acute than her lessening strength could struggle through. The malady itself was indeed abated, “but the old rallying power was gone."

Seven days before her departare, she wrote to her beloved friend, Elizabeth Carne—“And now, dear, thank thee so much for that earnest pamphlet. Thank thee for so bravely speaking out the conviction which was doubtless given thee for the good of others as well as thy own, that nothing short of communion with our present Lord can satisfy the immense need of man. How true that we are so often fed with phrases, and even try to satisfy ourselves with phrases, whilst our patient Master is still knocking at the door. I trust that the seed thou hast been faithfully sowing may lodge in fitting soil, and bring forth flowers and fruit to the praise of the Lord of the garden, and to the joy of some poor

little human crzature with whom He deigns to converse. "In hopes of a happy meeting whenever the fitting time may come, and with very loving wishes for the new-born year,- Ever thine very lovingly,

CAROLINE Fox." And then the busy pen was laid aside for ever ; Caroline's New

was to be in truth a new one for her." Without suffering, she quietly passed away; without being called to bid “farewell” to one beloved one, she entered into her New Life, during sleep, in the early morning of the 24th January, 1871, in the 52nd year of

Year "

her age.

She was, as her biographer remarks, unusually rich in her friendships, and she was gifted with a rare power of graphically sketching scenes and conversations. She could criticise sharply and humorously; but her criticisms were never venemous nor an. kind : bitterness and cruelty were altogether alien to her loving nature. Her biographer concludes by saying: “The English world of thought to-day owes much to men whom Caroline Fox called friends, and words they uttered are not without present significance. Moreover, these records of so many years past appearing now interest us the more because we can compare the thoughts, the wishes, the prophecies of these men with much that has since resulted from their teaching. The present generation is eager enough to con even passing expressions from Mill, Carlyle, Bunsen, and other members of that charmed circle ; and “human portraits, faithfully drawn,' as Carlyle says, "are of all pictures the welcomest on Human Walls.'

Doubtless this freight of goodly "Memories," preserved for us by a keen intellect and a warm heart, "will be welcomed as a record of many who have passed 'to where beyond these voices there is Peace.'”



The subject of Indian Famines—the recurrence of which, by reason of climatic influences and other causes, is always a terrible possibility—is one that cannot fail to interest all who are concerned about the welfare of the millions of their fellow-creatures in that vast country. We propose in this and two following papers to give our readers some idea of the nature and extent of these sad calamities; to glance at their probable causes, lessons, and remedies ; and to give some account of the remarkable movement towards Chris. tianity which has taken place in Southern India since the fearful famine of 1877-78.

It is probable that in October, 1876, few persons in the Madras Presidency apprehended the evil that was then impending. The saddenness with which the famine came was very great. This was seen by the rapid increase of grain imported into Madras. 6,110 tons of food-grain landed in September, 1876, rose in November to 34,747 tons, and in January, 1877, to close upon 100,000 tons.

As soon as it was an ascertained fact that the North-East monsoon, which brings the autumnal rain, had failed, the country and the Government woke up to the presence of the evil already in the midst of them. It was as it is at sea when a storm suddenly bursts upon a vessel, and it taxes the hands of all about the ship to get her into trim to do battle with the elements. And all hands were about the Indian ship of State only just in time to save the reputation of the vessel; but the skill and energy with which it was done when once taken in hand, the rapidity with which grain was landed, the carrying power of the railway was brought to bear, and relief operations were everywhere set on foot, will be remembered as a marvellous display of the resources of the coantry, and as reflecting all praise upon those who had to put those resources into play. Experience is our best instructor, and, doubtless, if another famine should hereafter visit the countrywhich may God help us in a large measure to prevent—the experience of the past, in this respect, will lead to greater watchfulness and preparation at the outset; to the Government having ready to hand projects for permanently usefal works; just as subsequent experience will have also taught as that many lives might, in all probability, have been saved, had an earlier appeal to the world's kindness been made, and certain forms of relief been sooner thought of.

These Indian famines are indeed terrible calamities. What multitudes of human beings they destroy. Even within the last twenty years as many as eight famines have devastated the country. The Orissa famine of 1866 destroyed, in some districts, a quarter of the population, and 1,500,000 persons died. In the Rajpootana famine of 1868-69, which covered an area of 100,000 square miles, it is believed that 1,250,000 perished. In the Bengal famine of 1873, which covered an area of 75,000 sqaare miles, though the loss of life was comparatively immaterial, nearly half the popalation of that part of India suffered pains little short of death. The numbers affected by the more recent famine, including Mysore and Bombay, were some 32,000,000 persons, distributed over an area of 200,000 square miles, or a tract of country equal to the area of Spain; and it was in the scattering of these enormous numbers that the main difficulty of grappling with the famine arose. In the ten distressed districts of the Madras Presidency, the death

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