grave: aye, though the fair and delicate finger that inflicted it is to be circled and wreathed with gold tomorrow, and there is not a drop of blood to stain it, nor a mark on the passionless breast where the lifeblood fell as it spurted from that gaping wound. Well, well, the wound has healed; there is only the scar; it is a disfigurement? Yes; but there are thousands for our dear ones to play with who are not branded yet, and when they are 'Move on, move on.'

But what the deuce?—are these the only wounds that torture poor humanity? What will the fair sex be saying? If they cannot suffer at heart, is it to be supposed that they sink woundless to rest? Yet, how can this pen tell in fitting terms a grief which he who wields it can never hope thoroughly to appreciate : such as that deep agony which Mrs. General Baynes must have endured when her sister, the major's lady (as we read) was presented at Court, where she had never appeared ?

There is, I think, no love but must be often cut and wounded-be it father's, mother's, brother's, sister's, or friend's—to say nothing for once of that droll passion which usually assumes the title for itself alone. So then a truce: and let us try to alleviate, not to aggravate.

There are wounds which we purposely inflict, and

others that we look coldly upon; but how many do we bind up and assuage?

Has it not been beautifully written, 'The history of a soldier's wound beguiles the pain of it'? Ah! dear friend, and what should you and I do when we have been worsted now and again in the battle if we had not the loving listener to fly to, who will not weary of the tedious story that we have to tell?

E

ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL AND ITS
SERVICES.

I SELDOM pass the doors of St. Paul's Cathedral without entering thereat.

I never leave that sacred edifice without the words of David upon my lips, 'How long, O Lord? how long?'

Can it be possible, I ask myself, that this vast 'mother' church is the truest ocular exposition of, and comment upon our enlightened English Protestantism that can be anywhere found on this favoured isle ?

And then, by way of answer, comes the unsoughtfor and intruding comparison: If this were a Catholic country, and St. Paul's the Cathedral Church of the wealthiest and most populous city in the world, what services, what devotion, what troops of worshippers, what hosts of ministers, should we not behold! Celebrations of the Holy Communion frequent, during many hours incessant; a shrine to which the anxious might repair and spend some moments of peaceful quiet on their passage to that great centre of slavish industry for which they are all bound; a witness for Christ in a city where He is not too much honoured !

And what is it?

A magnificent unused treasure-house.

O for words to arouse some feeling of shame and disgrace in those who are responsible for the present state of things! Out on the miserable, cold, hideous services that represent a most unsuccessful burlesque on worship! Is any worship known there except that of the sea-captains and general officers who crowd the aisles of this dark and solemn vault?

Come, see our list of services, thou disguised and benighted Papist.

Morning Prayer, 10 A.M.

Evening Prayer, 4 P.M.

Holy Communion first Sunday in each month. Then bold, I say, are the right honourable gentlemen, and the noble Canons, and the Bishops overworked (in Parliament), who dare to come forward, and in broad daylight ask the great English people to contribute to the embellishment and beautifying of this huge charnel-house, where religion is not, where worship is not, where the dead only are!

I declare that, with the exception of a little window or two (which actually make you think that the place may be connected with Christianity), there is nothing in the great hall that speaks of Christ.

But what want we with signs and symbols?

Fall to, thou wretched miscreant, and adore that great and purifying system which hath discovered

that we need no altar, no priest, no sacrifice, nothing but sermons, and liberty to interpret Holy Writ as we like, and to hate and suspect all our fellow-creatures who hold an interpretation different to our own. And fail not at thy peril to appreciate that form of faith most wonderful, which has dragged down Heaven so low that we can reach it by treading on the backs of any co-religionists whom we may have managed to knock down and trample upon.

But shall I, in order to strengthen my own position, wilfully and wickedly keep back the whole truth? Why, I may be most properly and severely asked, has no mention been made of the special services at St. Paul's-the boast of every honest and sincere Protestant? Humbly I assure the reader that I never intended for a moment to write of St. Paul's Cathedral without making all due mention of these thrilling and magnificent services.

Here, at least, are crowds of worshippers-or, at all events, of sight-seers. What country cousin in London for a fortnight has not been dragged forth on the inevitable Sunday evening (when all the theatres are closed) to attend gratis one of these most splendid spectacles? Here too, at any rate, is a mighty throng of surpliced clergymen and singers!

And here, above all, may often be seen, if only, dear country cousin, you are fortunate in choosing your Sunday, a live bishop in lawn sleeves.