Mr. Herbert Reynolds, a very shining light amongst English Dissenters, writes in a melancholy strain to the effect that the present Sunday-school system has been a failure, whereas every close observer of such matters knows that it has proved an unqualified success up to now. Without Sunday- schools life would be a dreary waste for hundreds of meek-eyed young females, and weak-kneed young men, who find a bond of sympathy in the interesting legend of Jonah and the Whale. Ruth and Obadiah look on Bible-classes as stepping stones to the courtship which begins in the long walks together, and occasionally culminates in a spicey “maintenance” case. Being both of a nervous, blushful, retiring disposition they would die of suppressed love but for the blessed opportunities of touching one another’s tingling fingers when they borrow Bibles or exchange bundles of tracts, or both push up the school-room window at the same time, at which ecstatic moments they always maintain a sickly appearance of innocence and breath hard. For these young people Sunday-schools, with the picnics appertaining thereto, serve as outlets for sanctified giddiness, just as balls and carpet dances fill a long-felt want in more earthly circles. Ruth’s secret yearning for the masculine hug is every bit as strong as her frivolous cousin Ethel, but whilst the latter likes a gentle squeezing to the accompaniment of dance music, the former prefers that Obadiah shall hum a hymn-tune during the ceremony. So Ruth takes a Sunday-school class, and in due course Obadiah comes along, in a hesitating sort of way, with his first kiss of Christian love. Even if the osculation be only of a brotherly character it gets there all the same. Apart from the opportunities they offer for full-grown mashing, Sunday-schools are of inestimable benefit to the children. The missionary-box is a grand institution for enabling little Tommy to substitute hardbake for heathen when disbursing his Sabbath penny. “Be sure you put it in the box, Tommy,” says his confiding mother. He does put the penny in the slot and gets a cake of toffee in return. Sometimes he gets a cigarette. Under cover of attending Sunday-school, the little innocents of both sexes acquire general knowledge at an appalling rate, and as for real fun – why the pantomime, the bad unregenerate pantomime, is a fool to the orgies that take place in the Church grounds. Sunday-schools a failure! Reynolds must be getting at us.