of earth, one in the transparent beauty which owes all to the smile of GOD shining on and through it.

Shatter the tiniest morsel of that fair window, it will mar the whole; cause one member of the Church to suffer, and all must suffer with it.

The moon is stealing round to the south, and the beams fall slantingly on the tesselated floor, yet ere we turn away to mingle with the busy world without, let us find one more symbol in our' painted window.

May it not be to us also an emblem of the Church's services and prayers? Are not the deep-toned wail of sin, the soothing promises of mercy, the holy song of praise, all imaged there; do they not blend together even as those colours blend; do they not shed a glory on our lives, so forlorn and lonely but for these; do they not derive their glory and beauty from that sacramental mercy which is the gift of our souls; are they not shaped into a sacred ever dear form making of many, only one? short ejaculation, the pious exhortation, the warning of the Law, the hope of the Gospel, the comfort of the absolving voice, we may trace them yet, though shadow is slowly stealing over all.

The

Oh, children of our mother, listen to her silent as to her louder teachings! they are as water drops that fall from the fount whence she quenches our spirit's thirst. Look on them as a little child looks on the love-gleaming eyes of his tender parent; ere he knows what language is, and learn thus to trust and love from seeing how you are cared for and beloved; for silence hath a wondrous voice to the still, meditative soul, and pondering deeply on these things, thou may'st learn much, and the bright colours of the sacred shrine may weave for thee a rainbow of love and hope and consolation in the mournful time of tears.

C. A. H.

THE BLOSSOM. "How can the All-sufficient One need my thanks? said Othniel to his master, Simeon.

"He does not, but thou dost," replied the aged teacher.

"I need my own thanks! which I offer to the Most High? What a contradiction!" returned the youth.

Then marks she on that forehead dear one sweet and pardoning kiss;

And feels within her inmost soul a more than earthly bliss,

As there by aid of hallowed faith the Cross so pure she sees,

Like lowly snowdrops buds which ope to greet the springtide breeze.

"Mother! they call, I would not stay"-her loved one's parting cry

The parent's ear is nerved to hear, her hand to close her eye.

Still does she kneel beside that couch, still wafts on high the prayer,

That He, Who wept at Lazarus' tomb, a mourner's grief will share.

Each one duly on that morning

Pace the little village throng,
Sober and with glances lowly,

All the churchyard path along.
Gently breathe they all the story
How sweet Innocentia lies
In her long and blessed slumber,

-Spirit called beyond the skies.

One short week-and she was with them, Rosy and with cheerful look,

When on feastday of S. Thomas

Joyful that same path they took. Pass they now within the temple,

Eager to the matin strain, List they with a childlike wonder,

Loving heavenly truth to gain. Then, as loud resounds the organ

Pealing through the sacred fane, Muse they how sweet Innocentia

Passed from them to endless gain. Blessed, e'en in Eden blessed

Swells a purer, brighter lay; Decked in garments white and dazzling Waiteth for the final day.

Turn we again to the chamber, where, weeping,
The Mother bereft of her offspring is found;
Feeling more closely, more firmly than ever

To her SAVIOUR, her GOD in her bitterness bound.

Her lay of thanksgiving so sweetly is rising,

She smiles mid her tears, as she pours forth her strain. "All praise to Jehovah, Who plucked in life's morning The floweret, untouched by a shade or a stain.

Her eyes may not see-for too feeble this vision,

But One is at hand, Who can cheer her lone way; Who can bid her take courage, be strong in her Saviour, And shed o'er her pathway the brightness of day.

Once again within the graveyard,

Mark one small, and lowly mound, Where the name of Innocentia

Even now may still be found.

And the village children ofttimes, Still repeat the tale they love; How the little Innocentia

Passed to purer realms above.

Still the olden Cross is standing, With the bright text graved around"Suffer children to draw near Me,

Such are in My Kingdom found.”

M. G. E.

THE OLD LYCH GATE.
PART IV.

(Continued from page 164.)

The young Belgian started forward and tried to raise the lifeless form by every kind of restorative at hand. These were but few. Air, the frosty air, penetrated already through the wretched roof, and water there was none, save in the lately boiling cauldron. There he, however, thrust in his hand and sprinkled her with a few drops. He became aware of the powerful aroma it contained while so doing, and this assured him that he was indeed in the home alike of Celina and of Quiliboquetoline. The fragrant odour seemed to revive the poor woman; she opened her eyes and gazed with a frightened and startled air around her; then closed them again, and relapsed into apparent insensibility. Her young visitor repeated his only remedy, but it did not immediately take effect, and he had time for that rapid power, thought, while he again sprinkled her worn face. The wretchedness of the home from whence came forth the smiling, fresh, delicate little vendor of Quiliboquetoline; the absence of all comfort, and even of all necessaries, —the pale, exhausted woman,-the huge cauldron containing, not food, but the means of getting it-all this quickly and indelibly fixed itself upon the mind of young De Pfuelmont, and gave him a glimpse, never afterwards forgotten of the real life of many whom he never saw but in comparative holyday,-making their best appearance before the world as their only chance of not being quite out

リ

moneyed. He wondered how poor little Celina's tidy, fresh toilette, could be managed; or how her poor little face ever learned that bright sunny smile, that always made him single her out as his marchande. For this matter he need not have looked far. There were on the further side of the room a crucifix carved in wood, and a low stool a little before it : on this latter a book of prayers, and a Bible.

That was the well of water whence these poor people drew their endurance and their cheerfulness. Gustave saw and understood. The Belgian mind is in some respects frivolous, and much attached to outward things, but there is nowhere a stronger or more widely-spread respect for religion and the religious. The fine old relics of earlier times, that rise up gloriously from the flat surface of their native land, seem to picture the thought of religion in its children's minds, as the only one thing high and lofty.

De Pfuelmont was recalled from his meditations by the movement of the poor woman, who suddenly starting up, exclaimed aloud: "Oh, Čelina, oh, my child, come back, come back!!!"

She fell back exhausted, she had not stood up for several years, and Gustave caught her in his arms. All this time he was waiting to ask what she knew of Celina, he put the question as soon as he could, but she only replied:

"Celina out early gone is with the last Quiliboquetoline; Celina back not come," and she relapsed into her lamentations. He could get no answer as to which way Celina could have gone. He tried to call a neighbour, but all seemed to be absent, as their wretched rooms were carefully locked up. There was an old crone who lived on the rez de Chaussée, and who had let him in, or rather had answered his inquiries for Frau Armina-and he thought he might apply to her, after first laying the poor woman on her bed. This was no easy task, she having long lost the use of her limbs; but gently did he accomplish it at last. The old woman on the ground floor was out too, and his next thought was to get medical advice for his poor invalid. He went forth therefore and threaded the intricate streets of that part of the town with tolerable success; but as he passed under the shadow of the Church of S.

Just the chimes sounded the quarter to one. At one he was engaged to ride with a large and gay party. Saying to himself that it was very unfortunate, he went home to dress. Yet Gustave was not hard hearted, he was only careless and unaccustomed to think of the sufferings of others; an only son and idolized all bis life; his affections and sympathies were still fresh and warm. Indulgence had covered them over with a love of luxury and habitual selfishness, but he had never met with coldness-never learnt by painful experience how to doubt the kind word or genial look, or to ascribe them to unworthy motives. Therefore, it might be said that he was unspoiled, for though indulgence hides a character, and fetters its growth with many chains of habit; it does not dwarf it and petrify it as does that coldness that represses natural tenderness, and rusts the feelings till they are hard to draw forth, and harder still to warm and cherish into life again.

Vere sat down by her patient, and seeing her fast asleep, and apparently doing well, she took out Carie's letter to read: it ran as follows:

My dearest Vere,

I suppose you have quite left off expecting to hear of my doings since you criticised so unmercifully my account of the Charades at Hoarcliffe. However, as I think you are quickly penitreé for your errors, and will be a good child in future, I will tell you about the Tableaux here last week. There was a very good scene, the Caxton's family party-and such a Pisistratus and such a Roland! A Roland indeed! I was quite vexed to find that he was off next day to the Continent. By the bye, he is a Belgian, but attaché somewhere no doubt. So very handsome, and such a clever agreeable man. And his name too! Gustave de Pfuëlmont! I should like to see him again, he does everything so well!!! He had been staying here some time, but he left us, as I said last week. I came here with Muriel and Bernard on Friday week, from Hoarcliffe. Baby is not very well, so we go back to-morrow, write to me there. Good bye dear Verie, there is a charming old Chapel here, where we all go twice a day, it is open all day long, and makes me think of you. It has a blue window like the one at Evesham, and those lovely ones in the Cordeliers at Lyons. Write a full account.

"Vere!" exclaimed Ladislas, "we shall all be waiting for you. We are to ride at one you know, with the L'Espinasses, and there are to be some new people, so we must be punctual.”

"I had forgotten that, but you will take a note for me. I cannot go,-I am going to ask Mamma to let me walk instead." Fortunately for Vere it looked very like rain, so her request was granted, and she was allowed to engage her maid to attend her on foot.

Poor Celina, on her return, she found awake, tossing wildly to and fro. The fever had returned suddenly, and she was calling for her mother with such piteous cries mingled with mutterings about the Marché aux fleurs, and her fear of arriving there too late, that Vere sprang up, called nurse, left her in charge, and took her maid with her, on a rapid run to the Marché aux fleurs. She was too late, and the market was cleared. Vere burst into tears which attracted the notice of the passengers.

While the maid was gazing in astonishment at her, she suddenly leapt aside and addressed a little fleuri de boutons" page whom she knew. Ah ça, tell me Pierre, how is your Madame. "How is your's?" said the boy, "I think she's crying!" "We have got a sick girl at our house and she wanted to enquire for the mother but it is too late," said the maid in explanation. "Is it, let me see, is it Frau Armina? said the boy looking at a parcel he held -mother of a girl who makes perfumes, called Celina ?"

66

And without pause or reflection as to what she was going to do-she hurried after him. They passed the great church S. Just. It was not service time. Stay" said Vere-"I must go in here first." She went in, and kneeling at the door, prayed for God's blessing upon her undertaking.

As she came out again she saw a large party ride down the street-they had passed and did not see her.

"There goes my young master" said the page he did not see me by good luck -for he would have given me one of his rebukes to-night, and one of Madame la Comtesse to-morrow, for being so long in taking his packet. He was in a wonderful hurry about it to be sure but he is gone out to ride-can't give that up-learnt to like it in England-what fun that must have been!

Vere walked on in silence; comforted by

her prayer. She had learnt to make this use of the ever-open doors of GOD's House and found it a blessed one. VIOLA.

THE BUTTERFLY CHASE. Little William ran into his father's garden on an early summer's morning, to pluck a bunch of pinks and stocks, from his own flower bed, as a present to his Mother, for it was her birthday.

As he entered the garden he saw a beautiful butterfly, fluttering here and there. Then the boy forgot his Mother and his flowers, and tried to catch the insect. At first he followed it, bending down and with light steps so as to seize it unawares; but his desire increased with every step, and the butterfly seemed to him more and more beautiful the further it went. At last it settled on a young fruit tree, which was bearing its first blossoms. This tree stood close to the flower bed, which belonged specially to William, and indeed his father had also given him the tree. For which reason and also because it was so young and well grown, the boy prized it exceedingly.

As he now saw the butterfly resting on the blossom, he sprung towards it, and struck both tree and insect so violently with his hat, that all the blossoms fell to the ground, and two branches were broken off.

Then he looked down in trouble, and saw not only the branches lying at his feet, but also the butterfly quite dead, with its beautiful wings torn and destroyed, and he discovered that he had trampled down all his hyacinths and stocks and pinks.

Then William returned home crying and lamenting, without either flowers or butterfly-a picture of passionate desire and grasping after pleasure.-- Krummacher.

Men from deep places can see the stars at noonday; and from the utter depths of her self-abasement, she (the Syro-Phoenician woman) catches the whole blessed mystery of Heaven: Like S Paul's Christian "in having nothing, she possesses all things." No humility is perfect and proportioned, but that which makes us hate ourselves as corrupt, but respect ourselves as immortal; the humility that kneels in the dust, but gazes on the skies.-Archer Butler.

Froome Printed and Published for the Editor by W. C. PENNY. London: WHITTAKER and Co. Sold at the Church Book Depository, Vicarage, Froome-Selwood.

VOL. II.-No. XVII.]

THE CHURCH'S BROKEN

UNITY.

THE QUAKERS,

OR

SOCIETY OF FRIENDS. (Continued from page 266.) HE doctrines of the Quakers so far as they are set forth in any form accessible to enquiry, have now been considered; so also those minor tenets or customs which prevail among them, and by which they are in SO conspicuous a manner cut off not only from the Church, but also from every sect or subdivision of the Christian community. There remain for our consideration their discipline and internal government.

It would seem a matter of surprise, that a community having no creed, should have any government, because one would imagine that the purposes of government in a religious community, would principally tend to the preservation of their creed. The same surprise would be excited in the idea, that where the doctrine of Sacraments is repudiated, there should be any notion of membership, or excommunication, or of any of those forms by which Christians in general hold themselves bound to each other in a common society. The Church teaches that the Sacrament of Baptism, is the initiative bond of membership; and that the Sacrament of the Eucharist, is the preservative and continuation of such membership. But what is to be said of Christian discipline in reference to a Society which rejects both Baptism and the Supper of the LORD, as forming any part of their religious practice! What constitutes a member of the Society of Friends? What constitutes the cessation of his membership? What constitutes

[PRICE 3d.

the continuation of it, or return into it, if once the membership is lost? We shall see the answer to these questions by referring to the government of their Society, which we are now to explain.

It

In the first place, membership with the Quakers is merely an hereditary thing. Every child born of Quaker parents, is at once a Quaker by being so born. sounds however somewhat strange, that a Society which maintains that every thing in Religion depends on the "inward light," and the movement of the Holy Spirit within the heart-should say that a new born babe, merely by being born in nature of certain parents, should thus be a member of a Christian community. The doctrine of original sin is at once nullified, if a new-born child without any operation of cleansing, either external or internal, should possess a membership in CHRIST, by the mere fact of its natural birth. It is evident, that hereditary membership in CHRIST, is at once a denial of original sin, of baptismal regeneration, and of the necessity of the Atoning Sacrifice of JESUS CHRIST, in expiation for man's sin; and this very fact standing alone, proves the Quakers guilty, although they may not be aware of it, of a most grievous heresy.

But concerning the child once being made in this strange manner a member of the Society: does he continue the same? How is he brought up and trained? How is he taught of others? How is he governed and disciplined ? How does the Society keep together as a body? Their government is formed upon the Presbyterian model. There are four gradations of meetings, the preparative meeting monthly, then the quarterly, and the annual; each of which has its peculiar functions and authority, and by these meetings, the privileges of the members