late revived in the secondary sense of touch as a masterly or eminent effort, and the power of exciting the affections."

To illustrate its former use, an extract is given from Ross's Microcosm, dated 1652.

"Of all creatures the sense of tact is most exquisite in man, because his body is most temperate; but tact consisteth in the temper of the prime qualities."

Whatever this may mean, the word is evidently used in the sense of physical touch. But it has been "of late revived" to express something different.

The history of words is as suggestive in its way as the history of human beings. Why do we need this term that Dr. Johnson and his contemporaries were able to do without?

The nineteenth century is pre-eminently a critical century. To the question: "What is done? a second is generally added: "How is it done?" and both must be answered satisfactorily, if the result is to be deemed a success. Our forefathers talked much about the "Roast Beef of Old England," but modern society does not esteem plainly roasted meats very highly apart from recherché sauces, delicate serving, and dainty accompaniments of flowers, glass and silver. Women think more of the cut and fashion of a gown than of the material from which it is made.

And hearers too, ask not only what a preacher says, but how he says it? The most excellent truths, the most elaborate arguments, if expressed at great length and in a prosy ponderous style, now fail to produce any effect save that of weariness.

in

In short, the "way of doing things" has come of late years to be held of great consequence. And, although the critical tendency has its danger, it is on the whole a wise reform in opinion that attaches more importance to manner than of yore. So this word "Tact" has come into usage, to signify that skill which has always existed in civilised society, but is now recognised in its true light-the art of "delicate touch a moral as distinguished from a physical sense. Even as the musician who has a sympathetic touch, and he alone, can do justice to the theme and the instrument, so the man or woman with tact is alone fit to evoke full response from the character of another. Thus to the foolish vexatious courtiers Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, Hamlet says, after he has bidden Guildenstern play upon the pipe, and received the answer, “I know no touch of it, my lord!"

"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck out the heart of my mystery; you would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass: and there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ; yet cannot you make it speak. Do you think that I am easier to be played on than a pipe? Call me what instrument you will, though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me."

Fortunately, while the musician's touch is, as a rule, acquired only after long practice, tact is often intuitive, and if not intuitive, can be learned

by sympathetic observation. Yet truth compels us to acknowledge that some of the best and kindest of people seem to have no conception of it, and are continually, by its lack, failing to succeed with their fellow creatures, very much to their own surprise!

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One of the most piteous things within ordinary observation, is the blundering way in which grown-up people try to play on the delicately strung instrument of a child's soul. It is enough to make one cry out in dismay to hear the marred music which the unskilled. though conscientious performer draws from that 'little organ" which has, nevertheless "much music, excellent voice." We do not dwell OL the terrible discords, or the dumbness, that may result from absolutely ignorant, careless, or cruel handling-it would be too painful, and is beside the mark. No, these tactless good people are thoroughly well acquainted, in theory, with the way to train a child; they can quote treatises on education, just as the performer without a touch may be well versed in scales and exercises, and know all about the " mécanique" of the art.

"It is never too young for a child to begin to learn obedience." Yes, but it is not necessary to continually invite a conflict of wills before the tiny infant has learned the self-control that is a matter of gentle and gradual training. Diversion will do as well as direct thwarting in nine cases out of ten. Many of the faults of very young children drop off with growth; occasion for their exercise being avoided, self-control becomes gradually more and more of a habit, to the exclusion of infantile passion and self-will. But, on the other hand, the constant inviting to a struggle, keeps these failings alive and vigorous, by bringing them into violent exercise, even though the grown-up person who fights with the baby achieve a victory every time in the unequal contest.

There is a well-known law in the history of the race that any limb or muscle never exercised, gradually loses its power, even to the extinction of life itself. Something of this is true with regard to character. A young child of average disposition, kept by tact from continually manifesting self-will and temper, gradually ceases to be wilful and passionate, and gladly conforms his little nature to that of the wise and loving parent. Of course this cannot be said of all children; yet there are no cases where tact will not make the work of education more easy and pleasant. The musician's touch, gentle, yet firm, tenderly sympathetic yet not irresolute, is here a specially fit emblem of this priceless moral touch which men call tact.

The mother who possesses it, says: "Do" this, rather than "Do not do " the other. She allures to virtue rather than dissuades from wrongdoing. She does not magnify small faults, nor call the restless inquisitive lad "naughty," at every turn, because he is full of energy that demands occupation; but she presents interests and work to engross his powers.

Many a child through being perpetually called naughty" has ended in becoming so in good earnest, and experience and observation have

confirmed me in the belief, heretical though it may seem, that tactless, unintelligent handling "spoils" more children than over-indulgence.

the

Not only with the children is tact all important; it preserves the happiness of married life. However deep and true the affection of a wedded pair may be, they are sure to need this magic touch in their daily intercourse when years go on and the strain and stress of life become severe. The kindest, most devoted of wives may drive her tired husband to distraction by dwelling on mutual worries in an unfortunate tone or at an inappropiate moment; while he on his part may unwittingly add "the last straw" to her domestic burden by ill-timed remarks of a disconsolate nature. If, for instance, a mother is anxious about the health of her children, and is trying nevertheless to keep a bright face before her husband, it is in the last degree exasperating to be told in an important manner that a son or daughter is looking extremely ill-and that she "really ought to see to it!" Similar illustrations will suggest themselves to every wife or husband, but one wise rule for those who wish to study tact in domestic intercourse is this-to avoid discouraging speeches in all seasons of weariness or anxiety. There is no measuring the power of kind and cheering words.

Friendship, too, requires delicate handling. Tact-the delicate moral touch-is as necessary to preserve its bloom, as a delicate physical touch is necessary to preserve the bloom of a peach. Once brushed away, the tender grace cannot be restored. A blundering repetition of some remark never intended to be repeated; a clumsy jest-fault finding of too unsympathetic a toneand the unwitting tactless one is left to exclaim, "Alas, how easily things go wrong!

And there follows a mist, and a weeping rain,
And the world is never the same again!

Less serious, and more amusing to the onlookers at least, are the consequences of want of tact in ordinary social intercourse. Revenge is usually prompt and severe.

"Things one would rather have left unsaid " by Mr. du Maurier, are very entertaining, but happy is the man or woman who has never had to turn red and utter an exclamation in private at the recollection of some such unlucky remark.

"Consider taste in its relation with polite society, and you have tact," says a French author-M. de Pontmartin.

There is, however, a spurious kind of tact, respecting which a word of protest must be raised. The art of delicately flattering foibles, and fostering small vanities in other people for the sake of " getting on well" with them is, of course, unworthy of any honest person; least of all does it become those who march under the banner of Christ. It is by no means unknown in society, although it can hardly be called a special failing of the Anglo-Saxon character. Rebecca Sharpe is its archetype in fiction. Any amount of honest blundering is preferable to the honeyed smoothness which only seeks to please, and cares nothing for truth. Fortunately it is quite

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possible to avoid anything like insincerity, and yet to allow tact to rule words and conduct.

As an instance of tact that, if not actually untruthful, scarcely merits commendation, one may perhaps quote a remark of Madame de Staël. She was sitting next to a lady of noted beanty, when a gentleman placed himself between them and gallantly, though tactlessly, observed, "I am fortunate to have Wit on the one hand, Beauty on the other." Seeing the involved suggestion that the beautiful lady was stupid, Madame de Staël turned the sting aside, by saying with a smile, "This is the first time I have been called beautiful."

The

The phrase in which the orator is said to keep or to lose " touch" with his hearers is another illustration of the etymology of " tact." "What is it you want now?" I have heard a bewildered speaker inquire from a restless audience at Exeter Hall. "Do you want another anecdote?" poor good man had heard his predecessors applauded, and could not understand the people's cries of "Time" and manifest dissatisfaction. He had lost touch of his audience; in ether words, he had no tact.

A

Lord Shaftesbury was once presiding at a hospital dinner, where time was precious. prosy speaker, who was exasperating the audience by the length and dulness of his remarks, happened, when alluding to the hospital staff, to fall into the interrogative form. "But what shall we say of Dr. M.?" he inquired. Lord Shaftesbury, with ready tact seized the momentary pause to call for "Three times three for Dr. M.!" The company cheered to the echo, and the applause was so continuous that the speaker could not proceed. "It was very kind of you," he said to the Earl afterwards, "very kind; but it was really a pity, for I was just coming to the best part of my speech!"

In the art of consolation, the value of tact is not easily over-estimated. As to the physical sufferer, the touch of nurse or physician must needs be skilled and gentle if it is to be tolerated, so the unhappy must be approached with tact, or the proffered comfort will do more harm than good. The so-called "friends" of the patriarch Job will stand on record to all time as glaring examples of the utter absence of tact; and many a modern sufferer would find it a relief to exclaim to intrusive would-be consolers, "Miserable comforters are ye all!"

It is never wise or kind, for instance, to strive to assuage the grief of a mourner by offering an explanation of the bitter mystery of loss. I have known good tactless people suggest, when a pure young life has been cut short, that its lustre might possibly have been dimmed in future years; or, when an aged and beloved parent has been laid to rest, the tactless comforter represents to the survivor that it is the common and inevitable lot for the old to pass away.

tact, even in the blunt and unrefined when they stand in the sacred presence-chamber of grief; and although it is often hard for the would-be comforter to know what to say, it is at any rate possible to be silent. Other consolation, save the manifestation of sympathy, is best left alone. The verbal assurance from a bystander, "It is all for your good," is worse than worthless. Some day the sufferer may feel it to be true, but until God has taught him the lesson, he does not want to hear it dictated, parrot-like, by those who know nothing of what his misery

means.

Tact in all religious work, especially among the poor and uneducated, might well be shown, by illustrations, to be of the utmost importance. But it is enough to end with the general assertion that this skilled wise touch in dealing with others is half the secret of power; and it is a secret not to be despised by the earnest Christian. "Blessed are the peacemakers," is a text of wide application. Surely not only those who heal quarrels come within the sphere of its benediction, but those who by their wise and gentle behaviour prevent the friction and irritation that are adverse to the spirit of Peace.

LILY WATSON.

BIBLE NOTES AND QUERIES.

"Lest there be any . . . profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright. For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears."-Heb. xii. 16, 17.

THE

HERE is a prevalent impression from this passage that Esau earnestly endeavoured to repent of his sin, and that his endeavours so to do were in vain. But this is a misconception. Esau did indeed value the birthright which he had formerly despised. But the place of repentance, which he sought with tears and sought in vain, was in the decision of his father. He could not induce Isaac to revoke that patriarchal blessing which he had pronounced upon Jacob. That must stand. Yea, he shall be blessed." We do not find in Esau any sign of a desire for the repentance of his sin as such. He hated Jacob because of the blessing wherewith his father blessed him." He followed his hatred towards its extreme result, and his mind was so filled with his wicked project that he could not keep it a secret.

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The idea that Esau earnestly but vainly sought repentance of his sin is not only erroneous in fact, but it implies a serious error as to the teaching of Holy Scripture on the subject, since the earnest desire to repent is itself of the nature of repentance.

T. S.

"And there was a strife between the herdmen of Abram's cattle and the herdmen of Lot's cattle: and the Canaanite and the Perizzite dwelled then in the land. And Abram said unto Lot, Let there be no strife, I pray thee, between me and thee, and between my herdmen and thy herdmen; for we be brethren."--Gen. xiii. 7, 8.

The second clause of the above paragraph breaks the flow of the narrative, and is a parenthesis which does not appear to be explanatory. It is not intimated that the Canaanites and the Perizzites had anything to do with the quarrel between the two sets of herdsmen; why then should they be introduced into the passage? Surely it is to show that a strife between Abram and Lot would have brought dishonour upon the name of the God whom they worshipped. The quarrel between the herdsmen could not but have been known to these two heathen tribes, and had Abraham and Lot lived at variance, that would have been known too. The Lord has in all ages of the world taken note of the effect which the conduct of His worshippers is calculated to produce upon the minds "of them that are without." He visited the sin of David with punishment because he had thereby "given great occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme." "The word of Jehovah came to Ezekiel, saying, I had pity on My holy name, which the house of Israel had profaned among the heathen whither they went" (Ezek. xxxvi. 21). The Apostle Paul writes of the Jews: "The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you, as it is written " (Rom. ii. 24). On the other hand: "Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven (Matt. v. 16). And, "Having your conversation honest among the Gentiles; that whereas, they speak against you as evil doers, they may, by your good works which they behold, glorify God in the day of visitation" (1 Pet. ii. 12).

It is in the light of such passages as these that the parenthetical sentence is to be understood, "The Canaanite and the Perizzite dwelled then in the land."

T. S.

A correspondent, "H. L. J.," has met with sceptics who, in their arguments, always adduce the apparent discrepancy between Exodus xxxiii. 11: "The Lord spake unto Moses face to face," and verse 20: "Thou shalt not see My face; for there shall no man see Me and live." How are the two statements to be reconciled?

Our correspondent suggests that the word for "face" may be different in the two verses. This, however, is not the case, the word being the same. Nor does there seem any real difficulty. The former verse sets forth a close familiar fellowship between Jehovah and His servant; the latter shows that the communion of Moses was still with the Unseen. The one verse does not contradict the other, but only explains it. See also Numbers xii. 8.

HYLLIS'S last preparations were finished only too soon, of course; and she watched vainly for more than an hour at the sitting-room window of the new lodgings before a cab, heaped with well-known luggage, turned the corner of the road, and she flew downstairs with light feet, and dimmed eyes, and a great lump in her throat.

"My darling little Phyllis! How well you look!"

"Take care, Phyl. Nessie won't stand much squeezing yet."

Phyllis heard her mother and father's voices, she felt their kisses on her face,

their arms about her, but she saw no one but Nesta for a while-Nesta, grown thin and white, with all her pretty curls cut short-Nesta, wrapped up in shawls and a veil; but, in spite of all changes, most undoubtedly her own Nesta still.

Phyllis leaped and laughed and cried, but all gentlyshe was never a rough child. As for Nesta, she could do little more than smile to her sister, till she was got upstairs to the nice large bedroom all ready for her, and set in an armchair beside the bright little fire.

Then-"Oh, my Phyllis!" she said; and Phyllis came and gave her a long, long kiss, after which the little invalid's happy eyes wandered about the room, and her sister, with her hands behind her, stood aside to let her look.

"O Phyllis, what a beauty of a doll!" "For you, Nessie!"

"Oh! And there are books

"Yours and mine. I wanted to give them all to you, but auntie said that wasn't polite to them. But there are shells -look in this box-all yours! We'll make necklaces. I gathered them all."

Then nurse came in to bring Nesta some soup, and help her to take off her out-of-door things. Nesta was a wonderfully good little patient-so mamma said—and Phyllis was not surprised to hear it. Other people, even big ones, are often cross and discontented when they are not strong, but Nesta was so much of her own happy cheerful self, even in her weakness, that she was a pleasure to those about her; and this sweet, easy temper of hers helped her to get well the faster. She did not murmur now, though her eyes looked rather wistful when Mrs. Elliot took Phyllis away presently, that Nesta might lie down to rest; and she had her reward afterwards in the evening, when she was able to come into the parlour and have tea, and a long examination of the doll and shells.

Mrs. Elliot sat beside her little girls, happy in their happiness, and with much thankfulness of her own; the Miss Bruces had said it was truest kindness to leave the reunited family to themselves on that first night, and Mrs. Elliot did not go to see her sisters until Nesta and Phyllis were in bed.

Yet on this happy night, this ending of a joyous, longexpected day, Phyllis fell asleep in tears. It was not

because she was still put in a little room by herself, while nurse had the other bed beside Nesta's, nor was it because her sister could not run about and romp with her as she used to do; Phyllis had been prepared for these things, and she hoped they would last but a little while. She cried because she had a secret from Nesta, something she had not dared to tell her own sister now that they were together again!

They had spoken of the doll, and the new story-books; of aunties, and Laing, and Phyllis's little friends, and many, many other things; but never a word of the good Lord Jesus, who had given them back to each other. And Nesta did not know how much He had become to Phyllis now, and how much she had prayed that He might be the same to Nesta! Phyllis felt sadly alone when she knelt down by her little bed to thank Him, alone when she read the little Bible she had learned to love so much. Oh, Nesta-dear Nesta, who did not know what Phyllis knew!

Phyllis made herself so miserable over her own cowardliness and unkindness in keeping her secret, that she forgot there was One Who shared it with her, and the unfolding of it lay with Him.

Next day things began and went on in much the same fashion. The children had plenty of merry talk together, but mamma, or papa, or nurse, was always present; and Phyllis sometimes thought she had not a chance of saying what she wanted, and sometimes she thought she ought to have found one. And in the midst of her play she was absent-minded at times, and at other times she caught Nesta watching her with an odd tender look that was somehow new.

So the hours passed away until evening came. And then Mrs. Elliot (because, I think, she knew the children would like to be together, without even her, for a little while) proposed that Phyllis should be left to take care of Nesta while the others went for a walk. Nesta had been out in the morning, and she had rested in the afternoon; and now, looking better already, they said, thanks to the air of St. Margaret's, she sat in an armchair by the parlour window, and waved her hand to her father and mother as they went down the street.

The Elliots' lodging did not look out to the restless sea, but to a pleasant stretch of green downs (they call them in Scotland links), lying now before Nesta and Phyllis's eyes with the light of an autumn sunset upon them. Neither of the little girls felt particularly interested in the view, however. Phyllis, with her chin on her hand, and her hand on the window-sill, sat on a low stool and looked out with troubled eyes. Nesta was smiling a little to herself as she leaned back among her cushions; she had some happy thought of her own, and she could not see her sister's face. "Phyllis."

Phyllis turned round with a start. She had been trying so hard for courage to begin her confession, and at that very moment her trembling lips had almost been forced to say, "Nesta." She waited now in silence, and her sister

"Well," she questioned-" what?"

Nesta looked at her frankly and lovingly with her sweet blue eyes. (When Phyllis had anything particular to say she looked everywhere rather than at the person she was speaking to.)

"It's something new," said Nesta. "I wonder, will you be sorry or glad? Oh, I want you to be glad!"

I will be, if you are," said Phyllis reproachfully. "I'm glad," said Nesta, with her happy smile-that smile which made her exactly like her old self, in spite of short-cropped curls and pale cheeks. "Phyllis, I love the Lord Jesus Christ now "-and Nesta's whole heart seemed in her voice and eyes as she added, after a moment's pause -"very much."

The next instant she had to exclaim in a tone of surprise and disappointment

“Oh, Phyllis, are you sorry?"

For tears were streaming down Phyllis's face, and her voice, when she tried to speak, was choked with great sobs. It was no wonder that poor perplexed little Nesta asked

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"Oh, dear Phyllis! why are you so sorry?"

"I'm not sorry," Phyllis managed to say at last; "I am glad. This is what I've been wanting so much. This is what I've been praying for so much. But I never thought the Lord Jesus would do it-at least not so soon!"

And then Nesta began to understand a little what Phyllis's trouble was, though she did not know all the great things that had happened to her little sister in that inner life, which even to a child is so much the most important.

Phyllis was crying for very shame because the Lord Jesus had been better than she had ever expected! All these days when she had always prayed for Nesta whenever she had prayed for herself, she had never dreamed of an answer like this. She had feared vexation and disappointment, and divisions between them; and instead of that He had taken their happy love into His own hands, and bound it fast and sure with His love before He gave it back again. Oh, why had not Phyllis trusted Him more? In joy like the joy of heaven itself, this little child of Christ wept and wondered over her own past faithlessness.

And because Phyllis could not speak yet, Nesta told her story first. It was all of talks and reading with mamma in the quiet of the sick-room: she had come to Christ holding her mother's hand; and having come, she would have been willing-if He had willed it-to let Him carry her beyond death's reach in His arms.

"First, it was because I was so ill; and then I wasn't afraid of being ill," said Nesta. "It would have been nice to go where I could see Jesus! But then, He wants me to stay on here a little longer, and, oh, I'm glad to be with you. And I thought mamma would tell you how good He is, as she told me when I was ill."

But I know it," said Phyllis; and then she added with a great sob of penitence-" a very little !"

"Mamma will tell us more," said Nesta; for there had never been any secrets between her and her mother.

She could not know Phyllis's almost painful gladness, which came of deepest feeling, shut up for so long in her own heart; but the sight of it made Nesta solemn as well as glad, while Nesta's sweet peacefulness began to soothe Phyllis.

The two children sat with clasped hands and talked together in low tones, telling now this thing and now that, as it came into their minds; but their talk was all about the new life they had begun since they parted, the wonders they had to tell each other were those they had found on the heavenly way.

They were only at the beginning of their good things