jects of ambition-sprang into being beneath those now mouldering walls! Perhaps some border chieftain may here have recounted tales of daring adventure, of knightly enterprise, and planned schemes to be realized in far-off years-health, strength, and beauty, giving promise of fulfilment. Where are now the memorials of all these worldly hopes and fears? A few stones, which tell no tale, open to the dew of heaven, and fast crumbling into dust. Still ever came the clear church bells, with their silvery tones, whispering that all is not so to pass away. Those eternal hills are but emblems of the Christian's hope the Christian's ambition: disappointment cannot cloud his brow,-Death may not shatter his projects. The glorious beauty of this material world, he knows to be but a foreshadowing of the ineffable brightness to which he is an heir: "his FATHER made them all."

This thoughtful mood stole over me as I lay on a mossy bank, sheep grazing around me, and the whole landscape possessing that peaceful and fertile appearance characteristic of English scenery, redeemed from the charge of tameness, by the hills to which I have before alluded. My attention was attracted by a little boy passing along the high road not far off. He was an urchin of about seven years old, with a pair of mischievous black eyes, tidily dressed, and carrying a can and bundle, which he laid down very frequently, as I at first thought, to rest himself. Curiosity induced me to follow him, and to find out the cause of the frequent pauses in his walk. A gaily painted butterfly, with spotted wings like a peacock's tail, was hovering over a flower; the child endeavoured to seize it, but it eluded its grasp at the moment his hand was closing over it. The can and bundle were more frequently on the pathway than before, yet still his efforts to secure the bright insect were unavailing. At last it settled on a spot a little below the road, apparently afford. ing a firm footing, where it spread its wings, and fluttered in the sunshine. The little truant again deposited his burden on the road, and was off in pursuit, but at the first step down the bank, the treacherous moss and weeds gave way, and precipitated him head-foremost to the bottom.

This discomfiture I thought would have abated his

eagerness; but no,-he got up, shook the mud from his jacket, and for some time walked steadily on his journey. Before long, another temptation arose, which was quickly yielded to, and this time with success: the little prize was secured, but the attempt to carry it home in his hand, as well as his can, very speedily destroyed its beauty, and rendered it worthless; the poor flutterer was discarded. The boy now seemed to recollect the object of his journey, and walked quickly on. He turned up a narrow lane, and stopped at the door of a wayside cottage,―a very humble one, and yet the neatness of the little garden, and the cleanliness and arrangement of the interior, betokened the presence of a directing hand above that of an ordinary peasant. The outer room was empty, so I followed the boy to an inner very small apartment, where lay stretched on a low pallet, a little girl of about eight years. Her mother, a delicate-looking young woman, was sitting near the bed, and rose as the child entered, saying, "Why George, what has kept you so long? You know the doctor said Anne was to get the broth as soon as possible, and now it is near one o'clock; where have you been loitering ?"

answer.

The little fellow held down his head, but did not "Come now, tell me, for your poor sister fainted just now from weakness; and if I cannot trust you to fetch the broth which Dr. Graham kindly gives us, I must ask John Roberts to go for it."

The child began to cry, and sobbed out, "Indeed I only stopped a little while to get the butterfly, and I won't do it again, mother; but it was so pretty, and I thought Anne would have liked it."

The poor little sufferer, whose wasted form and transparent skin told of long and trying illness, now said, with a faint, low voice, Don't cry, George, I am better now.” The little fellow threw himself on his knees by the bedside, kissed her several times, and begged her to forgive him. "We will go and look for butterflies together when I am well, George," she said. Poor child! her day of health, it was too evident, would never rise in this world; she was fast passing to that better land where there would be no pain, no sickness.

I had been standing unnoticed by the mother, in her anxiety for the dying child. She now perceived me, and came forward, saying, "I beg your pardon, ma'am, but my poor child is very ill ;" and she burst into tears. I tried to comfort her, but, knowing from painful experience how worse than useless are words at such a time, I waited until her grief had in some measure subsided, and then explained the cause of my intrusion.

Yes, ma'am," she said, "George is a good boy, and doats upon his sister; but he is thoughtless, and led by the impulse of the moment. My poor Anne has been long ill, and our kind doctor gives us broth and milk for her; but I fear it is of no use. May I be enabled to say, 'God's will be done!'"

The young woman's manner and tone of voice were so superior to those of a common cottager, that I felt sure she must have seen better days. "Is your husband

alive ?" I asked.

66

'No, ma'am, my husband has been dead these four years. He had a good situation as bailiff at that gentleman's place yonder, and had saved a little money. I am not able to do much; but with what he left, and a little sewing I sometimes get from the ladies over there, I am able to get on pretty well, and have, indeed, much to be thankful for." The sick child made a sign to her mother that she wanted her, and I took leave of this interesting young creature with deep sympathy, and an earnest hope that GOD would enable her to bear with resignation this bitter trial.

As I descended the hill, thoughts of wasted time and 'opportunities of usefulness thrown away, came crowding fast upon me. Who amongst us can pride himself on being less neglectful than this poor peasant boy? How many butterflies cross our daily path, in pursuit of which we turn away from the real good we might effect,—from the true peace which must await us in the path of duty; and, after many a disappointment, many a hardship, if the prize be obtained, is it not often worthless when possessed? What bitter tears are shed from the heart's depths over the unsatisfying treasure so dearly purchased. Ambition, Love, Glory, present lures to every ardent

To those coming in from the blaze of day outside, the interior appeared perfectly dark, so that the people were actually feeling for their places. The little square windows looked like dots of light against the black walls, but as the eye accustomed itself to the darkness, the scene came out by degrees: the tracery of the chancel screen-the great crucifix seen over it-the altar beyond, heavy with carving and gilding-the font just within the screen-the pulpit just without it-then the congregation themselves became visible-the men on one side of the nave, the women on the other. It was high mass; for though the Scandinavian Church be reformed, she still retains the ancient expressions.

The short hymn which begins the service had closed, and the priest in his wide-sleeved surplice-mäss skjorta— was standing by the altar, while the Candidatus marshalled in the porch a little procession of the christening parties. When all was ready they entered the Church, the congregation singing, as they advanced towards the chancel, one of the numerous hymns from the Bede Psalmer, to which little book, unpretending as it is, the people owe nearly all the very small acquaintance with the doctrines of their Church, which they possess.

In our service we recognize but two parties, the priest and the people-the English choir being, theoretically at all events, merely the leaders of the people's responses; whereas, in Scandinavia there are three distinct divisions of the service-the prayers of the priest, the responses of the choir, and the hymns of the people; which last are collected and arranged for seasons and occasions, in their Bede Psalmer, a book which, as they all sing more or less, most of them have at their fingers' ends.

The

While this was proceeding, the Candidatus threw open the richly-carved doors of the chancel-screen and admitted the christening party into the choir, arranging them round the font which stood at its entrance. whole service was very like our own except that, after the exhortation, the priest proclaimed his own commission to baptize, in the words of the three last verses in S. Matthew's gospel, before reading the gospel from S. Mark which is used in the English Church; and after

wards announced the value of the Sacrament itself in the words of S. John (chap. 3, v. 5, 6.) Before the act of baptism, the priest laid his hand on the head of each child, severally, and blessed it; then, after sprinkling it three several times as he pronounced the name of each of the three Persons in the Trinity, he stepped forward to the doors of the choir, and presented the new Christian to the congregation, saying," In the Name of the HOLY TRINITY, this child is now, through holy baptism, received as a member of the Christian Church, and hath right given him to all the privileges joined therewith: GOD give His grace, that he, all the days of his life, may fulfil this his baptismal covenant.

After a general thanksgiving for the new birth of the children, and a general exhortation to the sponsors on the subject of their duties, the congregation struck up another hymn from the Bede Psalmer, while the children were carried round the altar, which does not stand, as in our churches, close to the wall, but has a passage left behind it, possibly for this purpose, the sponsors depositing on it their offerings as they passed.

In the meanwhile the priest, kneeling on the altar steps, was invested by the Candidatus and Kyrke Sanger (precentor) with the mässe hacke, a crimson velvet chasuble, embroidered in front with a gold glory surrounding the Holy Name, and behind with a gold floriated cross. He remained kneeling, while the Candidatus, paper in hand, went down the nave, noting those who intended to present themselves at the communion, in order to be certain that none should partake of it who had not previously given their names to the priest for approbation, and attended the early service of confession, called communions-skrift. This was not so very difficult to do, though none of the congregation had left the church; for each intended communicant wore something black or grey about him, in memory of the LORD'S death. When this survey had been completed, the priest rose, and facing the people, intoned the general thanksgiving, and then turning again to the altar, made his confession alone, in the name of his flock, the congregation itself being silent, though the choir, at the occa