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Upon whose head Time all its glories lays,
Wishing that thou might'st never slide away!
Eternity holds itself deep in debt

To thee, in whom its sweetest wonders meet."

The story proceeds, and is very prosaically told; till, at the mention of our LORD's Name, the poet breaks out,

"JESUS! oh what vast treasures couched lie

In the rich bosom of that little word I
A Name which spreads its mighty majesty
Through Heaven, and Earth, and Hell...

"JESUS! Oh Name of thousand glories! how
Unwilling are my lips with thee to part!
Yet shall thy music never cease to flow
In precious echoes all around my heart.

JESUS! Oh sweetest Name of life! Oh Name
Which makest famous even eternal fame!"

I find nothing else worthy of quotation in the seventh book, and space warns me to conclude. I hope, however, that my readers may have been sufficiently pleased with our poet, to make them willing, at some future time, to accompany me through his seventeen remaining cantos. J. M. N.


(From the German of Rosalie Koch.)

I AM about to describe to you a Matin service on the first day of the Festival of Easter. And to do this, you must follow me into the oratory of a brotherhood. It stands encompassed with groves of beech, shut out from the noisy world, not proudly raised on high: the tones of its organ are not heard in the streets; they are soft and sweet, like a low prayer whispered in a quiet chamber.

It is Easter morning! The pale moon is still shining in the morning sky: but in the East, from whence all light comes, both earthly and heavenly, the first faint ray of day is seen. A choir of wind instruments calls the small but pious brotherhood to their oratory, where the tapers are still burning, though the early dawn is stealing through the deep-mullioned windows; and with chanting and prayer the assembly draws towards the church yard, the Court of Peace!

And now a golden arrow shoots here and there across the grey morning sky. The busy breezes have as much as they can do to awaken all the little starry flowers of spring, the deep blue chalice of the gentianella, and the sweet harebell; yet first they spread the purple carpet on the threshold of the heavens on which the king of day would first set his foot: as yet he tarried on the verge of the horizon.

The churchyard was inclosed by high trees; the graves were flat, and only marked by simple grave-stones, on which might be read the names of those gone home, and the days on which they began and ended their life on earth and to-day they were for the most part adorned with flowers and garlands.


Here, by the graves, the worship of GOD was to be celebrated: not, indeed, by the graves of the dead, but of the glorified! And thus there is no sorrow in this lovely morning festival, but deep joy,-the joy of the Resurrec


The departed are now with their LORD and Master, Who has said to all who believe in Him those words of deep consolation, "Because I live, ye shall live also." Now we may think on those gone before, with the longing desire that we may also be soon with CHRIST.

Many tears fall on the young grass; they lie shining

among the dew-drops: intense longing and desire causes them to flow, but few are shed for sorrow. The birds mingle their jubilant strains with the hymns of the worshippers. And now the morning clouds which were lying before the sun, like the moving eyelid of the LORD; the moon became paler and paler.

"CHRIST is risen!" chanted the Priest, with a loud voice; and the assembly responded with joyful enthusiasm, “He is risen indeed!”

At this Easter salutation the clouds parted, as formerly the veil of the Temple was rent, and the morning sun illumined with his light and glory, this holy moment of the joy of the Resurrection.

The tops of the high trees are as if they were gilded, or bathed in fire, and in this hour it seems as if GoD spake with man, even as He spake with Moses on the Mount. His SPIRIT moves over the earth, and over the praying children of men.

And the early suppliants return home full of Easter joy, with the living CHRIST in their hearts. Those who yesterday wept sadly, while they decorated the graves of their dear ones, how are they now comforted by Him, even CHRIST, Who is the Resurrection and the Life! And those who are weary and heavy-laden, whom the LORD leads through barren and stormy paths, they also are joyful, for they are looking for an everlasting Easter after the Holy week of suffering in this life of trial.



Ir most gloriously do the Noble Army of Martyrs praise the LORD, so that their names are handed on from generation to generation, and their memories reverently kept by the Church; it is not the less true that the LORD is praised in all His saints, and that rich is the odour of the good works even of the less known of the Church's servants. If Martyrdom has its especial crown, and suffering for CHRIST wins matchless bliss; if Baptism in the cup of the Crucified, purchases rich participation in the risen SAVIOUR's glory; so the patient discharge of daily duty, in humble trust and confidence in GOD, has its own reward, brings with it its own peace to the living, and causes such when departed to be had in honour. We recorded an instance of this some time ago in the case of the holy and lamented Suckling; and now beg to call our readers' attention to the memoir of one, whose brief ministerial career bore such remarkable, and gave bright promise of still richer, fruits. If at first his scholarship was somewhat defective, he girded himself to the task of soon removing his deficiencies, and in time "his knowledge of the Fathers, and our old English Divinity, fixed a weight and dignity to his sermons, which are not often found in the compositions of one so young." With Mr. Williams's memoir of Mr. Suckling fresh in our memory, we have to thank heartily Mr.

1 Four years of Pastoral Work: being a sketch of the ministerial labours of the Rev. Edward John Rees Hughes, late curate of Lythe, Yorkshire, and Runcton Holme, Norfolk. Edited by the Rev. Cecil Wray, M.A., incumbent of S. Martin's, Liverpool. London: Masters.

Wray, for one of the most charming and instructive works we have for a long time perused. Whilst then we recommend the work most cordially to all, we think we shall do good service to our readers, many of whom may have read the "Lythe Tracts," if we condense the account of their author here given us, and show what a rich store of instruction the whole memoir contains.

Mr. Hughes, the son of Captain Hughes, was born at Calcutta, on the 3rd Nov. 1825, and was baptized on the 26th Feb. 1826. He was sent, when five years old, to England, to be educated. In 1841 he was confirmed by the Bishop of London, at S. Thomas's Church, Brixton. In 1846, it was proposed to him to commence a preparatory course of study to qualify him for entering S. Bees', in order that he might enter upon "the most glorious profession under heaven.” In order the better to do this he left London for Whitehaven, where his studies were directed by the Rev. J. Jenkins, a relation of his own. At this time his devotion was clearly of a most methodical character. His constant companion was a small MS. volume, which he had drawn up as a calendar for the year, mentioning particular seasons, as e.g.: Feb. 26th, "The day of my new birth," and containing the names of great worthies of the Church, on whose lives he was wont to meditate. Amongst the names of those on whom he loved to think were Ken, Usher, Donne, Beveridge, Sanderson, &c.; and in the notices of January occurs the following passage:

"10. Laud, Abp. One of the most able and determined champions in the cause of GOD's truth. He suffered martyrdom in the year 1645 for his strenuous exertions in restoring the services and administrations of the Church over which he presided to the beautiful proportions of primitive Catholicity. His age, his learning, and his office were despised and unheeded

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