and by, taking advantage of a little breeze, the sail was hoisted, and we glided up pleasantly, at once lulled and refreshed by the ripple of the water and the breath of the morning. "Stay!" said I at last, with a gentle turn of the helm, just as we had cleared a long mudbank over which the tide was broken into a kind of merry dance,-"Stay! I will land at this point; and you shall take the boat on to Cargreen, where I will join you again at dinner-time." The sail was lowered, the boat touched the shore, and, with the aid of my companion's offered shoulder, I leaped on the weedy sand, and started on a ramble up the creek towards Landulph church. It was a delicious hour; so bright, so balmy, so still. Now and then I caught that marine scent which floats around the margin of tidal creeks always of itself grateful to my sense, it was doubly so now, because of the agreeable recollections which it brought of the sea-side wanderings of my boyhood. My way was marked by the tangled fringe of stunted wood, and shrubs, and flowers, which overhung the beach, as if it would be a band of kindred between the verdure of the fields and the patches of more lowly vegetation which received its daily nourishment from the sea-water, as it ebbed and flowed. Now and then I lingered to watch the gambols of an old friend, Hipparchia Janira, the meadow brown butterfly: an old friend I say; for how many times has the fluttering creature taught me the possibility of keeping up a cheerful spirit under sober appearances through all the changes of sunlight and shadow! Then, a little group of the small tortoise-shell family (Vanessa Urtica) would court my attention, as if they were travelling like a troop of smiling fairies to entertain lone pilgrims with their pretty dresses and airy movements. Nor was I left without one salutation from a lonely pair of azure blues (Polyommatus Argiolus). Let no one laugh at my enjoyment among the butterflies. I have communed with nature long enough to know and feel that while my heavenly Father has painted tiny wings and peopled the summer air with transient life for my pleasure, He commends the lovely creatures to my notice, and bids me bless

I

them with a smile of complacency and kindness. But now I found myself approaching the church. A path which opened on the water-side led me past the rectory into the leafy retirement where the little parish-sanctuary seemed to be hidden from the notice of all but the few who sought it at the hour of prayer. remember when the embowered path from the parsonage to the church used to be paced by the travelled, accomplished, and kind-hearted author of "Discoveries in Asia Minor," F. V. J. Arundel; but he had now passed away to join the departed spirits from those "ancient cities," whose memory he had helped to preserve. The soul who loves to muse in a scene of plaintive beauty and deep and holy stillness, must linger as I did in the graveyard of Landulph. In the depth of the creek, hid on the water-side by rich foliage, and sheltered behind and on either hand by the swelling hills, the lone tower and ancient porch look down upon the green resting-place of those who for many ages had come there to worship. Many venerable tombs crowded near the eastern window of the church, which was darkened with luxuriant ivy, rising thickly from behind rich clumps of hazel which flung their shadows over the memorial-stones below, and which were almost rivalled by clusters of SpiræaUlmaria, meadow-sweet, whose dense cream-coloured panicles shot up to an unusual height, and sent out their perfume over the hallowed scene, as if they would regale the dead with "pure incense," and remind the living that the "memory of the just," is like "ointment poured out." The heavy buttresses which on one side supported the venerable walls were curiously decked with moss, inwrought with creepers and ivy, and embossed with the richest clumps of wall-spleenwort I ever saw. Nor could any heart devise adornment for tombs, like that which time had woven around some of the older monuments; an ivy-robing with borderfringes of sombre ferns, the black maidenhair, and the deep-green hart's-tongue hanging around in full and solemn beauty. What tales of ancestry were there! If men are to be honoured in proportion to the antiquity of their distant family-line, I was among the tombs of true nobility.

HERE LYETH THE BODY OF THEODORO PALEOLOGUS OF PESARO IN ITALYE DESCENDED FROM YE IMPERYAIL LYNE OF YE LAST CHRISTIAN EMPERORS OF GREECE BEING THE SONNE OF CAMILIO YE SONE OF PROSPER THE SONNE OF THEODORO THE SONNE OF JOHN YE SONNE OF THOMAS SECOND BROTHER TO CONSTANTINE PALEOLOGUS THE 8TH OF THAT NAME AND LAST OF YT LYNE YT RAYGNED IN CONSTANTINOPLE UNTIL SUBDEWED BY THE TYRKES, WHO MARRIED WTH MARY YE DAUGHTER OF WILLIAM BALLS OF HADLYE IN SOUFFOLKE GENT, AND HAD ISSUE 5 CHILDREN THEODORO, JOHN, FERDINANDO, MARIA, AND DOROTHY, AND DEPARTED THIS LIFE AT CLYFTON YE 21ST OF JANUARY 1636.

The last of the Greek Emperors was heard to cry amidst the bloody tumult which rose around him when the Turks stormed the Imperial city, "Is there no Christian who will cut off my head?" He fell amidst heaps of slain, and was found buried under a frightful mass of mingled friends and foes. The victorious Mahomet found in Thomas, the brother of the fallen Emperor, a man who gave him reason to say that in the great country of Peloponnesus he had found many slaves, but no man except him. He defended the castle of Salmonica against the Moslems for twelve months; and when the case became hopeless, he escaped with a few naked followers to Corfu, and from thence passed into Italy, where he shared the hospitality of Pius II. His descendant, Theodore, probably sought refuge in England from the storm which threatened the children of the Greek refugees in Italy under Paul V. and Gregory XV. Whether his retreat on the banks of the Tamar was near the spot where he landed; or, whether he was drawn towards it by the offer of hospi

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tality, or the charms of scenery and climate, one would like to know; but there is no voice to answer such questions. Did he come alone? or did other fugitives find a home in Cornwall at the same time? Certain it is, that Greek surnames still linger there. It may be that a few broken remnants of Grecian life mingled their blood with that of the western Kelts. What became of Theodore's sons does not appear. His daughter Dorothy married William Arundel of Landulph, in 1656, and died in 1681. Mary died unmarried. Her burial was registered in 1674. And so the Imperial house of Constantinople has its last memorial in the records of a little parish on Tamarside! The other family-lines of the household soon melted away after the fall of the Empire. Demetrius, the brother of Thomas, and of the last Emperor, died under a monastic habit in the fallen city. And of the sons of Thomas, the lineage of one was soon lost amidst the obscurity of low Italian life; while the only son of another, who had returned to the East, disappeared in "the habit and religion of a Turkish slave." The latest known surviving branch therefore became identified with the Cornish Arundells. Not an unworthy name to be taken by the daughter of a Paleologus. The first seat of the Arundells was Hempston-Arundell, near Totness, in Devon. About the time of Edward III., a branch of the house came into the possession of Trerice in Cornwall by marriage with the heiress. And from that Trerice sprang many a notable and brave gentleman. There was Sir John, who figured and fell in the struggle between the White and Red Roses. He was Vice-Admiral of Cornwall under Henry VI.; and as the Sheriff of his native county, under Edward IV., lost his life during an attack on St. Michael's Mount. He had sometimes resided at Efford, on the northern coast of the county; but gave the final preference to Trerice, it is said, because it had been foretold that he would die on the sands. The prophecy, if ever such prophecy had been uttered, was fulfilled when he received his deathwound on the sands between Marazion and St. Michael's Mount. Then there was John, who, in 1522, received royal thanks for caging Duncan Campbell, a

notorious Scotch pirate; and who was made Vice-Admiral of Cornwall during the first years of Mary's reign. Another John Arundell was still more famous: he was known as "Old Tilbury" and "John for the King." When he had passed his "fourscore years," he bravely defended Pendennis Castle, one of the two last garrisons which held out for royalty against the Parliamentary forces. The old Governor and his men were reduced to scanty and questionable fare. They picked the bones of their dogs and cats, and then, as the story goes, fired them at the "round heads." Nor would they treat, but on the best conditions. Their terms were at last accepted; and the handful of half-starved heroes marched out under arms, and, with drums beating and colours flying, passed to the rear of the beleaguering force. Hurrah for the brave fellows! Honour to the memory of the sturdy "Old Tilbury!" I kindle at the thought of Pendennis. My boyish enthusiasm used to glow as I looked at the embattled promontory from the grassy ridge which Republican troops once threw up against it. And how proud I have been to share a morsel within the old castle's massive walls, when I thought of the men who would have perished with

hunger rather than stain the honour of their flag! But a word more about the Arundells. Sir Richard, the son of "John for the King," distinguished himself in the royal army y both at Edgehill and Landsdown, and suffered severely in his fortunes for his unwavering loyalty. Nevertheless, times changed, and he became the first Lord Arundell of Trerice. His grandson was the fourth and last who bore the title. The Arundells of Landulph, however, must not be forgotten. Thomas, a son of Sir John, who was killed" on the sands," built a mansion at Clifton on Tamar, in 1500, and thus fixed the seat of that younger branch of the family which became allied to the fallen house of Constantinople. And now I was on my way to this last home of a broken lineage. "Where is Clifton?" said I, to a jollylooking labourer, as I passed out of the quiet churchyard.

Cliff'n, Zur, ez t'other zide o' tha

THE WICKET-GATE. 'MID the fast-falling shadows, Weary, and worn, and late, A timid, doubting pilgrim,

I reach the wicket-gate: Where crowds have stood before me, I stand alone to-night, And in the deepening darkness Pray for one gleam of light.

From the foul sloughs and marshes

I've gather'd many a stain;
I've heard old voices calling

From far across the plain :
Now, in my wretched weakness,
Fearful and sad I wait;
And every refuge fails me

Here at the wicket-gate.

And will the portals open

To me, who roam'd so long, Filthy, and vile, and burden'd With this great weight of wrong? Hark! a glad voice of welcome

Bids my wild fears abate; Look, for a hand of mercy

Opens wide the wicket-gate.

On to the palace Beautiful,

And the bright room call'd Peace, Down to the silent river,

Where thou shalt find release; Up to the radiant City,

Where shining ones await;

On, for the way of glory

Lies through the wicket-gate.

ORDER.

An

We spoke a few words in our last Number on Truth. Next to truth is Order. orderly person, whether employer or servant, has an orderly mind. Order always exists in the mind first; then in one's habits. A youth, some time ago, was converted to God, and made happy in His love, while his mother and he were praying together at home, in the town of Leeds. Shortly after receiving this salvation, the youth silently withdrew, and went up-stairs into his chamber alone. The mother, hoping to hear her beloved son pour out his thanks to God in private in his own heart's expression, stepped very quietly to his room-door, which she found he had left a little ajar. To her surprise, there was no hymn of praise, no voice of prayer, but the noise of taking out and putting in the contents of a drawer. Disappointed, she stepped forward, and said to her son, "My dear, I thought you had come up to pray: what are you doing in your drawers?" He replied, "The Lord has put my mind in order, and so I thought I would put my drawer in order." This was quite natural. An orderly workman cannot bear to have his tools out of order, nor a Captain his ship, nor a soldier his accoutrements, nor a tradesman his shop, nor a student his library, nor an orderly servant her house. "A place for everything, and everything in its place," is a capital rule; but some people read it thus, one would think, "A place for everything, and everything out of its place."

Where there is order, there is ease of movement: like a machine in order, Disorder every part runs smoothly.

produces derangement and irregularity of action. An orderly house is just twice as large as a disorderly one. Any person, who for the first time inspects a ship ready for sea, especially a "man-ofwar," feels astonished at the immense quantity of guns, ball, gunpowder, firearms, cutlasses, for fighting; of provisions and beverages for living upon; of clothing and hammocks for apparel and sleeping in; of all kinds of cooking-apparatus, crockery, glass, &c.; and at the stores of spars, sails, ropes, and other things, for

replacing any that may be lost; besides the presence of perhaps eight hundred men on board day and night, for six months in succession; and all contained, with the ship's state-room, saloon, dining-rooms, and berths, in a space not larger than a good house occupied by a family of a dozen persons, and three or four servants. Yet all those seamen have sufficient room, because every man and every thing are kept in order.

Where order reigns much time is saved, and time is precious. The reason of this is, all is ready for instant use. We have seen carpenters and other tradespeople lose both much time, and all their temper, in seeking their tools. Work is thus delayed; and who is to pay? On the other hand, we have seen orderly tradesmen despatch work with ease, cheerfulness, and at a reasonable price. The one man will be turning over everything, and saying, "Where is that tool? I saw it a minute ago; I can find anything but what I want:" the other has everything at hand, and can all but see in the dark.

Some servants make an orderly appearance, but nothing more. The middle of the kitchen is "clear decks;" but how are the closets? especially the lower closets? and the kitchen drawers? Everything is there, but entangled, lumbered, lost. Perhaps it is Sunday, or may be a holiday. Our servants have gone out in silk, wearing coronetted bonnets, and carrying parasols; they have neat gloves, and walk in kid. But the lady of the house has passed their bedroom-door. What a scene! All there is just the reverse of what they appear in the street. The room is just as it was left when they arose in the morning, with the exception that their other clothes have been hastily thrown off, and are lying all about the room, waiting for the hand of order.

Order is a great saver. It is difficult to calculate the inconvenience and loss occasioned by disorderly housekeeping. When a house is well" upheld," that is, perfectly furnished from cellar to attic with wellmade articles, in the hands of orderly people it will need but a few pounds sterling to keep it all right for many years, One thing seems to belong to another, and

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each to all. The plainest utensils are thus akin to the finest ornaments; and every article becomes actually respected for its long service. We saw a dinnerservice, the other day, that was twentyfour years old. Why, it seemed to be faithful and precious as the servants who had handled it. On the other hand, where there is disorder, one thing is lost, another is missing, a third is broken; then other

articles must do their own work, and be made to serve for the missing too: and so disorder brings in extravagance, and, in a few months, or years, all is done-up; and to the annoyance of disorder must be added the expense of a re-upholding. We hope our servants will increase their own comfort and ours, by resolving, this new year, unto Truth to add Order.

occasion a young lady was truly converted to God. She had just returned from a fashionable boarding school, having finished the course of study, and having received a certificate setting forth her attainments and accomplishments. Special attention had been bestowed upon her musical education. She had a voice of great power and melody, and her performance on the piano exhibited rare attainments in the art. Her father was a gentleman of wealth, and took great pride in his daughter. At fashionable parties she was a star of general attraction, and her musical power, as well as prepossessing appearance and manners, made her society extremely desirable.

This gifted and accomplished young lady was induced to go one evening to hear Asbury. His voice and manner riveted her attention; and ere she was aware, as the man of God presented the claims of religion upon the young, her heart was touched. She yielded to the persuasive power of the Gospel, and in penitence sought and found the blessings of religion. Her conversion was as sudden as it was unexpected by her friends; but it was, nevertheless, clear and genuine. No place to her was now so attractive as the house of God; and thither

she wended her steps from evening to evening, enjoying the rapturous bliss

"Of a soul in its earliest love."

Of course, it was not long until the change wrought upon her by the power of the Gospel was known to her parents; who, strange to say, felt grieved and indignant at the result. They were worldly and thoughtless, not only neglecting the claims of religion themselves, but wholly careless in regard to their children. Their only object was to fit them for moving in fashionable circles, and no pains or expense were spared to effect it.

To win her back to the world was now the design of the father. He was too much of a gentleman, and had too much respect for himself and the proprieties of life, to resort to any coercive measures. He accordingly brought around her the thoughtless and the gay of her companions, and threw her as often as possible into their society. Naturally amiable, and loving her parents with all the devotion of an affectionate child, she yielded to her father's requests to visit different places of mirth and gaiety; and though she did not put on the morose look of cloistered piety, yet she was serenely quiet and affable in her manners, preserving the true dignity of the Christian. She had a heartfelt joy to which the worldly are strangers; and while she felt sympathy for the pursuers of shadows, she allowed not her anxiety for their spiritual welfare to destroy their brief uncertain joy. She preferred holding up the light of a Christian example