ways all the bright summer; and what it was to have all their work to begin in the late autumn. But most grief pierced their hearts, when at length they raised their eyes to the image of their Deliverer, and saw his mild forgiving eye turned on them still in compassion, and remembered how they had repaid his love by disobedience, and by using the best and brightest days, as well as all which he had given them, in trying to please themselves and in following his enemies. As those now in the garden looked out sometimes on the plain towards the places where their former companions remained, many a sad sight met their eyes. The deep sleep from which only the King's Son could awaken them, had fallen on many in the midst of their disobedient pursuits; and they lay buried in slumber, far from the garden, and with a deep gloom settled on their countenances. What was also very remarkable was, that the King's mark was not effaced from their brows, but instead of shining brightly it glowed like a dull fiery spark, as though it were about to break into a flame and consume them. Still, unwarned by the signs of approaching winter, the cold wind which stripped the leaves from the bowers, and the clouds which hung heavy around them, the once gay band continued seeking amusement, and seemed to have quite forgotten that they should be called to give account of their neglected gardens; and that as they had taken no pains to become like their Deliverer, they could not possibly enter the Palace of the King.

Only one or two from time to time made feeble efforts to re-enter the garden, and of these some sunk in deathlike slumber ere they had gone but a little way. Many a call did the faithful ones give, hoping their companions might hear and return late as it was, many a time the King's officers who in their bright armour watched around the garden blew their trumpets; the din of idle mirth, the beating of drums in the distant tower, or the thickness of the walls in the mine, prevented these calls from being heard. But perhaps the most difficult to rouse and warn of their danger, were those who continuing within the enclosure of the garden, held communication with those without, accepting their presents, and

doing many things in their service and to please them. They were quite satisfied with themselves because they now and then spared a little time to look after their gardens; taking care that no staring or ugly weeds should be seen in them and tending some favourite flowers; but they looked very little at the Mirror, and seemed afraid to encounter the eye of the King's Son.

So fared it with the children when Euphilus felt the heavy slumber coming upon him; and with a few kind words to his companions encouraging them to be patient and watchful, he closed his eyes and fell asleep, with the King's mark beaming brightly on him. Calm indeed and bright were the sleeping countenances of the children who thus fell asleep; and their companions were urged by their example to labour more diligently, cheered by the bright beams from the Mirror, and all the glorious images there; and refreshed by the soft breezes from the yet distant land, where dwelt their Deliverer, for whose coming they eagerly looked.

LINA.

The Editor's Desk.

OUR LIBRARY TABLE.

IN his Forest Life, or a Fisherman's Sketches in Norway and Sweden, (Routledge and Co.,) Mr. NEWLAND has given us a rare book, and fitting companion to his "Erne and its Legends." The dedication to his most esteemed friend the public is particularly characteristic; not the least point being his recommendation to them to see the Parson at home as well as abroad, by reading his "Confirmation and First Communion," which we very much wish they would do, as they would thereby learn much that would do them lasting good. We value the Parson at home, and appreciate his labours for the Church; and we like the Parson abroad, for we relish his "fun" and revel in his quaintly told legends. If we may say so, we like his "Forest Life" better than his "Erne." It is a rare dish, well seasoned with all sorts of spices, palatable to stomachs of every kind. It is not

a guide-book, yet there are admirable descriptions of places it is not a hand-book of sport, yet there is plenty of information thereon: it is not an ecclesiastical compendium, yet we gain a clear insight into matters ecclesiastical: it is not a mythological treatise, yet it contains a vast amount of faëry lore. Let us quote a little legend by way of specimen, reserving until next month a long extract on the condition of the Church :

"I will give you a Christian legend, then,' said Captain Hjelmar, the Swedish commander of the steamer, who had been for some time talking with Birger on the bridge, and now came forward with his hat in his hand, after the manner of his country, and told his tale, very fluently, in a queer sort of French. This was also after the manner of his country, for, though that language is abominated in Norway, in Sweden it is much affected by those who would wish it to be supposed that they are habitués of the court; and thus it was that though-as it afterwards turned out-Captain Hjelmar could speak remarkably good English, he preferred addressing Englishmen in remarkably bad French, in order to show his court breeding.

"You see that tall rock,' said he, that looks so black and distant, in front of that green island?-that rock really is one of the Hrimthursar of whom Lieutenant Birger has been telling you; and when S. Olaf came to convert the Norwegians, the giant, who had been bribed by Hakon the Jarl, at the price of his young son Erling, whom he sacrificed to him, waded into the sea, and put forth his hand to stay the ship, that the saint should not approach the shore: but the saint served a higher Power than the gods of Asgard, and even as he stood, the giant froze into stone; and there he stands to this day, as you see him, with one arm advanced,—and there he will stand till the day of Ragnarök, except that once in a hundred years, on Christmas Eve, he is restored to life, in order to declare to the Hrimthursar that on that day their power was broken for ever.'

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Well done, S. Olaf,' said the Captain; I thought that all his conversions were effected by the weight of his battle-axe.'

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'Why, you Englishmen acknowledge him as a saint as well as we,' said Captain Hjelmar. Have you not, in your great City of London, a church dedicated to him? and is there not also a place called Cripplegate ?'

"There certainly are such places,' said the Parson, but what they have to do with one another, or with Norway, is more than I

can see.'

"There was a man in Walland so great a cripple that he was obliged to go on his hands and knees, and it was revealed to him that if he should go to S. Olaf's church, in London, he should be healed. How he got there, I cannot tell you: but he did, and he was crawling along, and the boys were laughing at him, as he asked them which was S. Olaf's Church, when a man, dressed in blue and carrying an axe on his shoulder, said, 'Come with me, for I have become

a countryman of yours.' So he took up the cripple and carried him through the streets, and placed him on the steps of the church. Much difficulty had the poor man to crawl up the steps; but when he arrived at the top he rose up straight and whole, and walked to the altar to give thanks; but the man with the battle-axe had vanished, and was never seen more; and the people thought it was the blessed S. Olaf himself, and they called the place where the cripple was found 'Cripplegate,' and so they tell me it is called to this day.' "Faith! I can answer for that part of the story myself,' said the Captain, the place is called Cripplegate, sure enough, but I am afraid S. Olaf has long ceased to frequent it, for we have not heard of any miracles done lately in those parts. But what is your story about the 'bale-fires,' Birger, for I see another in process of erection on that cape?-that looks like a remarkably good boat they are going in it.'"-pp. 225-227.

The English Prisoners in Russia, a personal narrative, by Lieut. ROYER of the "Tiger," (Chapman and Hall,) will be extensively read. It has the advantage of being an exceedingly well written account from personal observation, and of being published at such a rate as to place it within the reach of thousands. It is the kind of book to put in our parochial libraries, as it contains a vast deal of information upon a subject of great moment at the present crisis.

Heartsease; or the Brother's Wife, by the author of "Henrietta's Wish," needs only to be announced to command attention. An extract will be found in our present number.

The Second and Third Seals, a Sermon preached on Thanksgiving Day, by the Rev. E. MILLER, Perpetual Curate of Bognor (Van Voorst) is, it is needless to add, a sermon of great power and eloquence. We are glad to find that Mr. Miller has the boldness to declare that the recent Thanksgiving Day was a most inadequate way of acknowledging GOD's mercies: it was confessing a duty to GOD, and yet worshipping mammon at the same time.

"We are met," he says, "on a day of Thanksgiving-but how is it ushered in? The ear catches not the din of battle, but it is knocking at the heart of parent, wife, and child. There is pestilence abroad and pestilence at home; and Sanitary Reform is talking in its sleep, and doing nothing here or anywhere-and never will. Again, what is the never ending theme; the problem of the day; the calculation with unknown quantities baffling precision; which begins and ends in

confusion, and begins again? What but to weigh nations; and thus forecast if we can the issue of the war? to hold the scales between civilization and barbarism; degrees of enlightened rule, and despotism; vacillation, and decision; impetuous valour, and stubborn fortitude; granite and heart of oak. So we balance the kingdoms of the earth against each other—their presumed inclinations, their discipline, resources, improvements in the art of war. But GOD weighs their SINS. Look on the certain gloom, the uncertain issue; and think whether the shadow of the past may not be falling on the world we see; I beheld, and lo, a black horse, and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.'

"It is an attribute of the Most High, in the midst of judgment to remember mercy; and it is not all who know the full extent of that mercy, for which our imperfect offering of praise and thanksgiving has ascended to the Throne of grace. Imperfect-because it is a task too high, too holy for sinful man, worthily to magnify His holy Name, even for the mercies of every day; imperfect-because for reasons which must be of the earth, earthy, we have not been permitted to consecrate another day of rest to His especial glory as the LORD of the harvest; as if His Sabbaths already gave more respite than enough from this world's dissipation, and trade, and toil. If the hearts of Christian men were full of gratitude, and longed for utterance in united praise-so let it be;-Yet not ought of your WORK shall be diminished;' there is rest enough on Sundays, rest enough in the grave; the factory bell must not give place to the chime from our old Church tower,-the chime that tells the weary one-'No work, poor patient soul, to-day.' The dedication of a special harvest-festival, has been weighed against the counter, the exchange, the mart, the loom, the steam-engine, the LEGION that claim six days, and grudge the seventh-and the scale has been true to mammon; but there is another scale in heaven,-'I beheld, and lo, a black horse, and he that sat on him had a pair of balances in his hand.'"

We thank Mr. Miller for stating the plain truth in such forcible and telling words.

The Wisdom of Bezaleel, by the Rev. J. BAINES, M.A., (Skeffington,) is another eloquent and striking sermon, in which a plea is ably put forth for Church art and ritualism. It should be published in such a form as to allow of its being more generally distributed.

An Address to the Inhabitants of the District of S. Luke's, Berwick Street, on the late Visitation of the Cholera, by the Rev. SAMUEL ARNOTT, M.A., (Skeffington,) is plain, practical, and affectionate. We hope that it may by GoD's blessing be productive of good. We much regret that in a work otherwise so valuable, something at large is not said touching the Holy Communion.