THE GIRL'S OWN QUESTIONS AND ANSWERS COMPETITION.

For particulars as to this interesting Competition, in which every reader will find it for her advantage to take part, see page 14 (No. 979).

Questions 13-24.

13. When did the pianoforte first come into use?

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14. What is the most polite nation in the world?

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15. What is the nearest star to the earth?

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16. What philosopher of antiquity married a shrew?

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17. What flower, in the middle of the seventeenth century, became the subject of a popular mania?

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18. What is the best soil on which to build a house?

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19. Did anyone ever swim across the Channel from England to France?

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20. What great lady once in a temper cut off her long and beautiful hair and flung it in her husband's face?

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21. What is the origin of the name foolscap as applied to paper of a certain size?

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22. Have flowers ever been used as time-keepers?

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23. What famous relic of antiquity on its way to this country nearly found its last resting-place at the bottom of the sea?

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24. Who was the famous carrier who gave rise to a proverb by always making his customers take the horse nearest the stable door?

The Answers to these Questions, Nos. 13-24, together with the answers to questions 1-12, which have already appeared, must be sent in on or before the 30th of December, 1898.

ENTHUSIASM: AN ADDRESS TO SCHOOL-GIRLS.

By ELIZABETH A. S. DAWES, M.A., D.Lit.

Browning.

I propose to address to the readers of this magazine a few words on the subject of "enthusiasm in a good cause;" for undoubtedly a lack of hearty, honest enthusiasm, a general "slackness," both in character and conduct, is a sad characteristic of too many of the present-day girls and young women. For this reason, therefore, I have chosen for you three quotations, all of which speak of the duty of enthusiasm in a good cause, or, in other words, of striving with all our might to accomplish our life's purpose, or for the truth, or in the battle against sin.

Now I can imagine someone asking, "Why should we be enthusiastic? What is the good of it?" and to this question I would reply by giving as the three chief reasons: firstly, that nothing great or good can be accomplished without enthusiasm; secondly, enthusiasm in a good cause is one of the chief means of forming and ennobling the character; and thirdly, that it is commanded and commended by Christ.

To prove the truth of my first reason, you need only turn your thoughts to the world's history, and recall to your memory the many enthusiastic workers and fighters—"fanatics," as the world often mockingly calls them—who have striven, often literally unto death, to promote some good cause or establish some truth, and then ask yourselves, "Would they have accomplished what they did if they had been lukewarm, and half-hearted in their work, and daunted by every fresh obstacle that beset their path?" No, they would not; for, as you all know, obstacles there are in plenty, and, as a Greek writer says, "It is only true enthusiasm which can overcome all obstacles; it is not the power, but the will and the desire which are often wanting in us."

As illustrations of enthusiasts think of St. Paul with his tremendous missionary energy, Socrates, Wilberforce, John Howard, and, in our days, of the women, the "pioneers," who fought against apparently insuperable difficulties for the opening of the medical profession and a university career for themselves and other women.

Secondly, enthusiasm in a good cause forms and moulds the mind by giving it some definite object of pursuit, which prevents aimlessness of purpose, waste of time and capabilities, and selfishness; it ennobles it by raising it above trivial or low thoughts, by attuning it to higher melodies than those of this earth, and by breeding in it single-mindedness and fostering sincerity, "which is the first characteristic of all men in any way heroic" (Carlyle). Browning and Michael Angelo, two powerful workers themselves, bear testimony to this ennobling influence of enthusiasm, for the former in his Saul writes—

and the latter, "Nothing makes the soul so pure, so religious, as the endeavour to create something perfect; for God is perfection, and whoever strives for perfection strives for something that is God-like."

My third reason scarcely needs comment, for all will instantly recall the command that "men should always pray and not faint," His parable of the importunate widow, and His commendation of Mary because "she hath done what she could" and had brought her best to her Lord. But apart from what He said, ought not the whole life of "the Perfect Head and Pattern of Mankind" to be a direct incentive to enthusiasm?

Next, I would suggest some subjects for enthusiasm.

One which should throw its glamour over us all, and should spur us ever onward and upward, is "the great thought of our immortality," or, as a writer puts it, "We must shape our life under the government of the life to come," however many difficulties there may be in trying to do so. And, if we are brought under the spell of this great thought, it creates enthusiasm, for "to keep before us the real outlook of the soul is to refuse persistently to drift with the stream. We have to take care to watch wisely and sternly over our wills, to keep our eye on the spring of our actions, to be careful about the decisions we make, and to be earnest in watching against mere slackness of will in carrying out those decisions which we know to be right." And if this thought—which yet was to them no definite thought, but only a misty conception and the vaguest of hopes—exercised such domination over the souls of some of the ancient heathens as to cause them to lead spotless, blameless lives, what should its effect be on us now, who know that it is no idle fancy, but a thing to hold and live by?

Further, I like to see people enthusiastic about their family and home, about the ordinary duties that lie to hand, about the place in which they live, and so on. For assuredly nothing is more hateful—the word is strong, but it is the right one—nothing, I repeat, is more hateful than to hear girls disparaging their mothers with remarks such as, "Oh, mother does not understand us modern girls, she is so old-fashioned, you know; I never ask her opinion about anything," or to hear them complain that there is no scope for their energies in their own homes. Such as these should remember Archbishop Trench's sonnet beginning—

While at school be enthusiastic for it and its customs, and, if you think it not all it should be, work your hardest at rendering it more worthy of your enthusiasm, and while there set the example of doing the lessons and playing at the games with enthusiasm.

But the crucial moment comes when you leave school and become more or less your own mistress—for while you are at school your time is apportioned out to various duties, and the development of individual bents and tendencies can necessarily not be allowed such free play as they can revel in when school-days are over—and then it is for you to show whether you mean to pass your days in "doing nothing much" either at home or outside, or whether you recognise your own greatness as an immortal, and intend to do at least something or other in this world well.

And here a word of caution must be inserted against allowing enthusiasm for one pursuit to lead to the neglect of other duties. "There is the story of a friar who set to work to illuminate the pages of the Apocalypse in his zeal and love for God. He became so absorbed in this work that he neglected the poor and sick, who were suffering and dying in the plague. He came at last to the painting of the face of his Lord, but his hand lost its skill. He wondered why, and realised that it was because, in his eagerness to paint his pictures, he had neglected his poor. Humiliated by this discovery, he laid aside his brushes and went down to minister to the sick and dying. He wrought on untiringly till he himself was smitten down. Then he tottered back to his cell to finish his loved work before he died. He knelt in prayer to ask help, when lo! he saw that an angel's hand had completed the picture of the Lord in a manner far surpassing human skill." It is only a legend, but its lesson is well worthy your serious thought.

Again, contemplate the effect your enthusiasm will have on those around you. One great and vital element in enthusiasm is hope—hope which endures under rebuffs, derision, and in spite of apparent failure. Now hope is most infectious, and when others, whose spirits are perchance drooping, and hearts failing for the heaviness of their duties and the weight of their troubles, see that you always maintain an ardent determination to accomplish your purpose, a cheerful spirit, and a smiling, hopeful face, they will feel their courage renewed and will resume their burden with re-invigorated strength. This idea is beautifully expressed by Mrs. Browning in the lines on "Work"—

I will conclude by reminding you that, alongside of enthusiasm on one and several other points, you must, be you strong or weak, rich or poor, cherish undying enthusiasm for "friendship's ministry," which is the half of your solemn duty of service to God. So many people forget that it is not enough to feel love or affection for others unless they also show it and thus give pleasure and comfort, and ofttimes strengthening, to their friend. A word of sympathy does so much. Once after the death of a good clergyman whose labours had been very blessed, his friends expressed to his widow their appreciation of his noble life and work, and she, after thanking them for their kindly words, asked, amid her tears: "But why did you never tell him these things while he was living?" Yes, why not? Dr. Miller says: "Too many wait until those they love are dead, and then bring their alabaster boxes of affection and break them. They keep silent about their love when words would mean so much, would give such cheer, encouragement; and then, when the friend lies in the coffin, their lips are unsealed.... Let us not reserve all the flowers for coffin-lids.... Let us show kindness when kindness will do good. All about us move those who would be strengthened and comforted by the good cheer which we could give. It will make sorrow all the harder if we ever have to say beside the dead: "I might have brightened the way a little if only I had been kinder.""

Never then, I beg of you, forget to be enthusiastic in this ministry of friendship, and if, combined with that, you entertain enthusiasm for other noble, worthy things, and try to kindle a like enthusiasm in others, you may, perhaps, at the end of your life be allowed to feel that you have, though perhaps but in a slight degree,

Whittier.