and cruelty appeared to flourish more than anything beside. And on this day the men and women who talked together in angry voices in some of the most densely-populated places were more fierce than usual because one of their favourite public-houses had lately been closed. Arthur Knight was shocked and pained with what he saw and heard, but he was not rendered hopeless and despairing. “They ought never to have been suffered to get into this state,” he thought. “Nearly all these men and women were once in the Sunday-school. How is it that they were let to slip away from those who were their best friends? But the hope of the future is with the young. The present generation of the young must be secured somehow.” And as he half-uttered aloud these words he passed a large hall filled with boys and girls listening delightedly to a man whom he half-envied, such power had his eloquence over them. Then he thought of the latest developments of Christian endeavour, and his heart leaped with joy as he remembered that he could now become associated in these and other services to humanity, so well and wisely rendered in modern times; and it was with a happy assurance that he went home, for the words that were upon his lips was a prophecy in process of fulfilment: “The kingdoms of this world _shall become_ the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.” CHAPTER IV. COUSIN TOM. “Mother, how is Cousin Tom?” John Dallington had been enjoying a ride over his farm before breakfast, and had returned, as he said, with an enormous appetite. The morning was delightful, and the sweet scent of the early spring flowers came in at the open window as he spoke. Mrs. Hunter assumed a listening attitude, and then replied, “If I am not mistaken, Tom is coming to answer for herself.” The next moment John was at the door, and in time to assist his cousin to alight from her horse; but she was by his side before he could quite reach her. This lady with the incongruous name, “Tom Whitwell,” was the youngest daughter of Henry Whitwell, Esq., of Hornby Hall, the father of eleven daughters and no son. Mr. Whitwell had waited very anxiously for the son who did not come; and when the eleventh daughter was announced, he declared that he did not wish to look at her. But meeting the disappointed gaze of his wife he relented. “Never mind, wife,” he said, “we will make the best of the bad bargain. This last comer shall have a boy’s name, and a boy’s education, and, as far as possible, a boy’s portion. She shall be called Tom, after my father.”