"I cannot," he said simply; nor was his silence ill thought of. He was going forth; he was to be comforted; he was the one to listen to-night whilst they encouraged him and pled for him, and again, in the name of the Great Sacrifice, offered up petitions for him. The hour had come for the closing of the meeting, when suddenly Mary Shinar's clear, high treble uttered the first words of one of the most poignantly sweet hymns ever written.

God be with you till we meet again

May His tender care surround you, And His loving arm uphold you, God be with you till we meet again." Every voice in the church joined in this farewell, and then the benediction was slowly said the old tender, loving, apostolic benediction, and they all streamed forth into the chill purity of the autumn night. They shook hands with him, and he stood among them tall and slight and pale, inexpressibly touched by their kindliness, unexpectedly thrilled by their display of emotion. It was only their religion which moved these people to demonstration. The

The last hand clasp was given. lights in the church were out, and the Lansing party took its way homeward.

Temperance's face and Mabella's were both tear-stained. Vashti's pale beauty shone out of the dusk with lofty quietude in every line.

Sidney looking at her felt he realized what perfection of body and spirit

meant.

A new moon was rising in the clear pale sky-the wide fields, tufted here and there with dim blossomed wild asters, lay sweet and calm, awaiting the approach of night as a cradled child awaits its mother's kiss.

Far away the twinkling lights of solitary farmhouses shone, only serving to emphasize the sense of solitude, here and there a tree made a blacker shadow against the more intangible shades of night. There was no sound of twilight birds; no murmur of insect life.

Sidney was passing home through the heart of the silence after a farewell visit

to Lanty who was kept at home nursing a sick horse.

It was the night before Sidney's departure from the Lansing house. The summer was over and gone. It had heaped the granaries of his heart high with the golden grain of happiness. He walked swiftly on, then suddenly conscious that he was walking upon another surface than the grass, he paused and looked about him. Around him was the tender greenness of the newly springing grain-above him the hunters' moon curved its silver crescent, very young yet and shapen like a hunter's horn. A new sweet night was enfolding the earth, gathering the cares of the day beneath its wings, and bringing with it as deep a sense of hopeful peace as fell upon the earth after the transcendent glory of the first day, and here amid these sweet familiar symbols of nature's tireless beginnings he was conscious of an exalted sense of re-birth. He too was upon the verge of a new era.

He stood silent, gazing out into the infinity of the twilight.

Afterwards when the pastoral mantle did fall upon his shoulders there was a solemn laying on of hands, a solemn reception into the ranks of those who fight for good; but the real consecration of Sidney's life took place in that lonely silent field, where the furrows had not yet merged their identity one with the other, where the red clods were not yet hidden by the blades. Out of the twilight a mighty finger touched him, and ever after he bore upon his forehead almost as a visible light the spiritual illumination which came to him then. It was, alas, no self-comforting recognition of a personal God. It was only the sense that all was in accord between the Purposer and the world he had made; but this was much to Sidney. The man-made discord could be remedied, even as the harsh keys may be attuned. Forever after this hour he would give himself up to striving to bring his fellows into accord with the beautiful world about them.

Suddenly he felt himself alone. A speck in the vastness of the night, a

little flame flickering unseen; but just as a sense of isolation began to fall upon him a mellow glow gladdened his eyes-the light from the open door of the old Lansing house. He bent his steps toward it with a humble feeling that he had trodden upon holy ground ere he was fitly purified.

"Cette année on a choisi

In after days when many perplexities pressed upon him, he often withdrew in spirit to this twilight scene. Of its grey shades, its dim distances, its silence, its serenity, its ineffable purity he built for himself a sanctuary.

Alas! In that sanctuary the God was always veiled.

La plus jeune et la plus belle."

runs the song composed and dedicated annually to the poor ironing girl selected to be "La Reine des Reines." Mi-Carême (Mid-Lent) is the event in the life of the blanchisseuse (washerwoman) never to be forgotten. It is the red-letter day of the year, the May-day of Merrie England, and something for the young ironing girls to look forward to in the long winter evenings while standing at the ironing table mechanically passing their hot irons back and forth over the dainty linen. It is a day to be remembered when, looking back in after years, they tell their children over and over again the story of their reign at Mi-Carême. To trace the custom is exceedingly difficult, for the washerwomen have kept a holiday at Mid-Lent for many, many years. It probably sprung up, however, from a small beginning, and is later by some few years than the Carnival at Mardi-Gras. Evidently it is a brief respite from the weariness produced by the long Lenten period of abstinence and fasting, an innate desire for fun, life and pleasure.

In Paris it is the custom to name a queen, dress her up in grand attire, parade the streets and wind up the festivities by a grand ball in her honour. After the Franco-Prussian War in 1870 the fête was for a time suppressed, but the fondness for gaiety, spontaneous in the French people and never really put down, burst forth anew, and the MiCarême fête has always been since that time a brilliant holiday festival.

It was in '95 that I saw the Mi-Carême and pretty Mlle. Marie Louise Grimme,

a poor ironing girl, chosen because of her extraordinary beauty to be "La Reine." Such a dark, dismal morning as it was that year, a bleak March morning, which I recall perfectly because I felt that the little queen must be a bit sad at heart as she sprang out of bed and looked out from her little attic window upon the cheerless prospect. The clouds were thick and threatening, and the wind raw and penetrating. Whatever may have been her feelings she donned her handsome white satin gown with its long court train of yellow brocade, powdered her wavy golden hair, darkened her delicately-arched eyebrows and lashes until her blue eyes seemed sufficiently large and brilliant, received her maids of honour, bowed her stately head for her crown, which looked for all the world like the real thing, seized her sceptre, the emblem of her reign for twenty-four hours, ascended her gilded chariot of the style of Louis XV. and drawn by eight superb white horses gorgecus in gold-plated harnesses, and amid the blast of trumpets drove away to salute President and Mrs. Faure at the Palais Champs Elysée. From the distinguished and popular President the merry queen received a beautiful bracelet, the right to rule the gay city for a day and the homage due her rank; then, smiling and bowing her thanks, she joined the glistening procession headed up the Grand Boulevards. The sun tried to smile and show his good nature, and as the chariot of the queen halted for a few moments before the beautiful Church of the Madeleine he burst forth and shone upon the golden-haired, stately Marie.

The crowds all along the boulevards from the Madeleine, with its massive Corinthian columns, to the Place Bastille, the route of the procession, surged back and forth, pushing, crowding and jostling each other good-naturedly, for the utmost good cheer prevailed everywhere and there was not a sign of ill-temper all day. Vendors of confetti and serpentines, calling out their wares, Qu'est-ce qui n'a pas ses confetti?" or "V'là confetti cinquante centimes l'sac!" were heard upon all sides, and handful after handful of the small, circular pieces of bright-coloured, sweet-scented paper was hurled at you from every point, blinding you, choking you, stifling you, but never disturbing your serenity so long as you had a handful left in your bag to throw back. Good humour reigned, and the gay Parisians, phlegmatic Germans, pondrous Englishmen and breezy Americans laughed, joked and made merry together, giving themselves up to the boisterous merriment of the day, children once again.

All of the lavoirs of the city were represented in gorgeously-decorated cars, the occupants in equally gorgeous attire, and, most interesting of all, the students from the mysterious and fascinating Latin Quarter were the feature of the parade. All of their cars were marvellously original and clever in their conception, and they were greeted with cheers and pelted with flowers all along the route. One of the cars, more daring than the rest, was called "Le Guérisseur du Roi," having an enormous mortar and pestle in front, and in it a nurse dangling a tiny baby in her arms, while upon a table in the centre of the car was a large figure being dissected with ghoulish glee by a crowd of students, who drew from the abdominal cavity handful after handful of confetti, flowers, serpentines and bon-bons, which they threw down to the crowd below. Another unique car was that of the law, in the centre of which was an enormous scale balancing a pretty girl upon the one side and a few heavy law books upon the other. It is needless

to say that in this case, as in all others, beauty outweighed everything else. Then came the academicians in vivid green coats, forty-one in all; at least, the tall, bearded fellow who marched in the rear bore that number upon his casque. On his back was a quantity of books, whose titles were an index to his identity. He was Monsieur Zola, and he had no end of fun driving off his fellow-members who, furious at his elevation to the additional chair, made continued attacks upon him with their large quill pens. Flowers, money, choice fruit, bon-bons and confetti were showered upon the passing students, only to be caught, if possible, and thrown back to be caught again and treasured as a souvenir by someone upon the crowded pavement. It was very, very gay and a novelty to one seeing it for the first time.

The eventful day closed with masked balls at the Opera House, a sumptuous edifice and the largest theatre in the world, and at the Nouveau Cirque and Casino de Paris. The students had charge of the ball at the Cirque, and at half-past ten the grand entrée took place, followed by a bright farce, choosing the queen of the fête, the ball and charming battle of flowers. Great bushel baskets full of violets, roses, mignonette, lilies of the valley and fragrant narcissus were passed around, and a battle royal waged for over an hour amid peals of merry laughter, lively dance music and happy good-fellowship. Staid English matrons in the boxes, attractive American mammas with more attractive daughters in the balcony; chic, brilliantlydressed, fashionable Frenchwomen caught and threw back the bunches of flowers to the students and their best girls upon the ballroom floor below. The balls, one and all, were striking and most extravagant, but, belonging as they do to the class of peculiar Parisian institutions, they are always patronized by the many strangers who are fortunate enough to be in the bright city for Mi-Carême.

Jane Marlin.

THE

HE rise and progress of Canadian dairying is one of the most important factors in the material development of this country. Since 1864, when the first co-operative cheese factory was started, the manufacturing of cheese in Canada has made remark

able progress. At the beginning, it is true, progress was slow, and those associated in promoting and developing the industry met with many discouragements in their endeavours to get the people interested, and to establish a market for the product. But perseverance, indomitable energy, and implicit faith in its possibilities finally triumphed, as they always will where conditions are at all favourable, and to-day we have in the Dominion an industry which, both as to the amount of money it annually brings into the coun

try and the material progress resulting from it, is second to none.

THE FIRST CHEESE FACTORY.

We have already stated that the first co-operative cheese factory was started in Canada in 1864. There is some little difference of opinion among dairymen as to the locality where the first factory was operated. More than one district in Ontario has endeavoured to claim credit for its inception. Everything considered, however, the burden of proof decidedly favours Oxford County as being the birthplace of cooperative dairying in Canada, and Harvey Farrington, a cheese manufacturer of Herkimer County, New York State, who moved to Canada in 1863, as being entitled to the credit of having in 1864 operated the first Cana

dian cheese factory. A rival claim comes from the County of Leeds that Mr. W. P. Strong, of Brockville, is the individual who should be thus honoured, the contention being that he operated a cheese factory in Eastern Ontario as early, if not earlier, than Mr. Farrington did in Western Ontario. Though Mr. Strong was a pioneer in the movement, and rendered very valuable services in the earliest days, the facts do not prove that he is entitled to any credit as being the first to introduce the system. It is true, however, that within a year or two of the starting of the business in Western

census of 1871, taken just seven years after the first factory was started, showed that there were 353 cheese factories in the Dominion. The census of 1881 gave 709 cheese factories, that of 1891 1,565 factories, and the returns for 1897-98 compiled by Mr. George Johnsson, Dominion Statistician, show that there are 2,759 factories, including 203 making both butter and cheese. In 1871 the average output of each factory was valued at $4,570, in 1891 at $6,250, and in 1897-98 at $5,$680

or

less than in

1864.

I

570,

1871.

1881

1891.

353 709 1,565

1898.

2,759

1871... 1881

.$ 1,602,000

5,460,000

1891, but $1,ooo more than in 1871, giving an output for 1897 of about $15,300,000, as compared with $9,780,000 in 1891, $5,460,000 in 1881, and $1,602,000 in 1871. We find, however, from the last report of the Commissioner of Agriculture and Dairying that for the year ending December 31st, 1897, Great Britain imported from Canada cheese to the value of $16,300,905.

The discrepancy in these estimates is probably due to the fact that the former one is based upon returns up to June 30th, 1898. The estimated value of the cheese exported for the year ending December 31st, 1898, is $17,572,763. But as this includes a part of the make of 1897, which was held over and which was very large, it is somewhat higher than the total value of the cheese made last year.