Examined and certified by me, as duly entered in the books of the Mission, JAMES WADDELL (of J. WADDELL & CO.),

Fellow of the Institute of Accountants,

Mansion House Chambers, 11, Queen Victoria Street, E.C.

Received for the Missions and Bible-women Nurses, with thanks :-Parcels of clothing, paper pillows, old linen, &c., from J. B.; Anonymous; Mrs. Larkins; Miss Kate Bampton; Mrs. Crichton Stuart; Baroness Berners; Miss M. Hunton; Mrs. Stevens; Miss Bewsher; Mrs. Oliphant; Miss Birch; Mrs. Ranking; F. E. W.; clothing and text-quilt from Mrs. Bryan; Mrs. Palmer, and Miss Barton; shawls from Anonymous; hospital letters from Mrs. Day; Miss Barclay; Miss Mainwaring; Mrs. Arthur Hall, and Sir H. Tyrwhitt; French tracts from Miss Bewsher; and old boots for St. Giles's from E. J.

Received for distribution amongst the sick; cut flowers from Hon. Mrs. Wigram, Miss Sharp, Miss Huish, Miss E. Huish, Anonymous, Mrs. Brightwen, and Miss E. A. Rankin. Contributions to the LONDON BIBLE AND DOMESTIC FEMALE MISSIONS can be received by the Honorary Secretary, Mrs. Ranyard, 13, Hunter-street, Brunswick-square, London, W.C.; by the Hon. A. Kinnaird, M.P., addressed to the Bank of Messrs. Ransom and Co., No. 1, Pall-mall East; also by Messrs. Barclay, Bevan, and Co., 54, Lombard-street; and by Messrs. Nisbet and Co., Berners-street. Money Orders should be made payable at the Post-office, Burton-crescent, W.C., in the name of Ellen Ranyard, and cheques crossed Ransom and Co.

C. A. Macintosh, Printer, Great New-street, London.

THE SCRIPTURE FLOWER MISSION.

"The flowers appear on the earth.”

FLOWERS of every varied hue have during the months of the past summer been gathered by loving hands, tied in small bouquets, and with a Scripture promise or precept attached to each, sent to our Mother House for Nurses, to be distributed among the sick poor of London.

Hill and dale, shady woods, sunny gardens, and rich conservatories have alike been called on to contribute of their sweet and fragrant stores.

The pale snowdrop and the hardy primrose, the graceful cowslip and sweet-scented violet, the white pink and "pansy freaked with jet," the purple heath and golden broom, the harebell and lily of the valley; fair clusters of lilac, and pyramids of pink and white chesnut bloom; fragrant heliotrope, odorous myrtle, and sweet mignionette; brilliant geraniums, delicate fern, and roses of faintest blush and deepest crimson dye, have each in their season shed their beauty and fragrance in destitute garrets and lonely sick-rooms, and breathed a "summer feeling" into the weary souls of many of God's suffering children. Strewn upon our Mission table, a "wilderness of sweets," they have come as an expression of God's love to us; for

"Not a flower

But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain,
Of His unrivalled pencil!"

We see the small bouquets carefully placed in the Nurses' baskets, and watch the light of pleasure reflected on their countenances, and rejoice with them over the joy they will give to many of their patients.

Looking down a narrow court in one of the densest parts of London, a little child was seen laid on a pillow at the doorstep of a wretched house, a mass of helpless misery, wailing and moaning as if he had none to care for him. Nurse took a flower

from her basket, and stooped to place it in his hand, which at once won his poor little heart, and he presently allowed her to VOL. XI.-No. 9.

examine him and render the help he so much needed. The flower that bloomed in some fair garden, and been tended by some careful hand, and it was now used in the service of one of Christ's little ones.

In a small room, by the bedside of a dying man, stands a table with a cup of flowers upon it. Nurse has brought them to the poor sufferer, and he watches them, smells them, looks at them again and again, and not one of the five or six small children will venture to touch "Daddy's flowers." Who can tell what lesson of trust in God, or what memories of a mother's prayers and an early home may have come with that little bouquet sent by an unknown hand? ·

In one of those endless rows of houses where our poorer working people pass their lives, we noticed in the window-sill of a room on the ground-floor a jar of flowers. Entering, we found a patient, resigned-looking woman, seated before a tambour-frame, which was closely drawn up to the window. A sufferer from an internal complaint, she can only be lifted from her bed to the chair in the morning, and from the chair to the bed in the evening. For ten years she has sat before that tambour-frame, earning a few shillings at her delicate needlework, which, with the help she obtains from the parish, enable her to maintain herself and her blind husband.

Nurse's kindness and daily attention in alleviating her sufferings, washing and dressing her, making her bed, lifting her to the chair, and leaving her comfortable for her day's work, she says, "cannot be measured;" but when she takes a bunch of flowers, the very aspect of the room is changed, the monotony of life relieved for a moment, and the daisy and sweet-pea bring back sweet thoughts of the days of youth and childhood, of green lanes and pleasant meadows, and the first lessons of a godly father and mother. She is one who can say, "It is good for me that I have been afflicted."

On the opposite side of the street, in a front room of the second-floor, is a young creature, a sufferer beyond description. Her limbs contracted and drawn up with acute rheumatism; often racked with agonizing pain, and also afflicted with bedsores; she can only be turned in the bed twice a day, once in

the morning by Nurse, and again at night by her husband.. Upon her pillow are laid the flowers; alas! she cannot touch them, she can only look and inhale their fragrance.

Perfectly helpless, she cannot move a finger. For fourteen months she has laid there, her sufferings alleviated by a waterbed, kindly lent by the clergyman, and the daily, careful, and unwearying attention of our Bible-woman Nurse. Her patient, child-like countenance, her few words, so touching in their implicit trust in God's love for her, and her submission to His will, make us wish for the hour when this sweet flower shall be transplanted from earth to blossom in Paradise.

A little further on in the same street, on the second floor, Nurse opened a door and we entered together. The room was a wee one, but so pretty. Yes; in this wretched neighbourhood, and this dull street, the room was pretty. Here were the "remains of ancient grandeur": bits of good china, oldfashioned ornaments, faded chintz, endless likenesses, books, a patchwork table-cover, and a window garden bright and green, shutting out the houses at the back, a vase of flowers, and a canary singing in its cage. Who was the occupant? An aged woman above seventy years of age, with a calm and peaceful countenance, lying upon a kind of couch-bed, which was drawn closely up to the wall and underneath the open window, so that she could look after her garden and use her hands. Afflicted with a cruel disease, she has laid there for many years, and must do so until the "home call " comes. Nurse goes once or twice every day, and in many ways alleviates her sufferings with medical comforts which are obtained from our Mother House. From the surroundings, we saw at once she was a Christian woman, and after a little conversation we felt it "good to be there." Drawn apart from the world and much alone with God, we shall not easily forget her words of heavenly wisdom. To such rooms do these flowers, gathered for Christ's sake, often find their way. D. P.

NOTE BY THE EDITOR.

We sometimes call the flower-gifts the embroidery of our Mission, and it had need have some pleasant points, for to those

who practically know its desperate details, and the scenes of woe and want into which our Nurses daily penetrate, it is a marvel that they are able so long to persevere. It is easy to supply the nourishment with which they are entrusted, easy to wash and care for the babies, and a joy to bear the message of mercy to the anxious and the dying, or by timely aid to strengthen towards convalescence; but the real nursing is laborious, and the dirt and the drink render it sometimes hopeless. We are more than ever convinced that only the agents who come from the class we aim to benefit would do what our Nurses have done, and only those among them who do it for Christ's sake. It is extremely difficult to secure such women, also unincumbered with family cares, of kindly manners and competent intelligence, with good health and strength of their own. It is in this last point they break down. Many a woman has the heart for the work without the health, and we have come to the conviction that when, by bad smells, poisoned blood, or other casualty, they are enfeebled so as not to be able to go on, they had better return for three, six, or twelve months to the ordinary Bible and visitation work, by which we originally test their good qualities. This district-nursing requires relays of devoted women, who from time to time can relieve each other -and as once a Nurse always a Nurse-more or less-the reaction of these needful changes will be to render the Biblewomen more ready to put their hands than even they are at present to mend the discomforts of a home when sickness has entered. We will now give another sketch from the pen of a Lady Superintendent of a Bible-Nurse, which shows what may be her part in this mission of mercy.

THE LAST MONTH OF A WASTED LIFE.

WHEN Our Lady Superintendents of Nurses or Bible-women really visit the cases of which they hear from their humble helpers, we are pretty sure to have proof of it in graphic and interesting reports. May the one we now append stir up other