As soon as Mr. Godfrey's comfort was provided for in Eugene's household, Adelaide united her efforts to those of Ellen, and together they established a society, which in after years developed itself as one of the many orders of Mercy which bless the great city of London. Without a uniform, though living under a rule, these ladies and their associates perform countless deeds of charity and kindness, the origin of which is often unknown to the recipients. Few among that saintly community are more anxious to obey, or to humble themselves, than the once proud duchess. Generous to all, to herself alone she became sparing and non-indulgent, and if the voice of praise, often publicly lauding her, met her ear in private, she would say, with a sigh, "Ah! how easy is all this, to give when we have more than we want, and to love those who spend their life in toil for the comfort and luxury of the wealthy. {51} But to love God as Bridget Norton loved him; to trust him when nothing but clouds and darkness were around; to face starvation, disgrace, and all, in trust that God would bring up those dear little ones for himself--this is heroism. Oh! talk not of the goodness of the rich; they are great people in this world of false show, but Bridget Norton called down the angels to witness her death and bear her noble martyr soul to heaven." . . . . Annie's children rewarded her care; the boy became a worthy priest, and the girl, after witnessing the consecration of her brother, requested permission to enter the convent in which she was brought up. Mother and daughter received the veil on the same day. All efforts to recover the property for the children proved fruitless. But they had long since learned that happiness does not consist in wealth. ------ Original Kettle Song. Sing, kettle, sing! Busily boil away! My goodman to the field has gone, The children are out at play. Sing, kettle, sing! Sing me a merry song! You and I have company kept This many a year along. Sing, kettle, sing! I'll join with a low refrain-- Needle and thread drawn through my work, Like steadily falling rain. Sing, kettle, sing! The far-off fancies come, But never a sad or a weary thought Along with your cheery hum. Sing, kettle, sing! The hearth is swept and clean, And the tidy broom in the corner stands Like a little household queen. Sing, kettle, sing! Evening is drawing nigh, The shadows are coming down the hill And coming up in the sky. {52} Sing, kettle, sing! Shadows are on the wall-- The last stitch done! a merry shout! And here are the rovers all! Sing, kettle, sing! By the merry candle-light, And you and I'll keep company Again to-morrow night! Fanny Fielding. ------------- Original. Ritualism. by John R. G. Hassard.