66 66 favour of your getting a hearing. When our dear vived the sinking courage of the Highlanders; Lord complained, in reference to the little store there was a charm in the fact that they still fought they laid by him, where they knew him best, that under the eye of their chief. Christians, your a prophet is not without honour, save in his own Leader's eye is upon you in the contest with sin country," he implied a truth which his servants and danger. It is the eye of One who was often experience that their addresses exert less "wounded for your transgressions, and bruised for power at home than farther afield. The Gentile your iniquities." His watchword to you is, "I am mother persists in the prayer, which disciples he that liveth, and was dead, and, behold, I am would have silenced; the centurion's great faith alive for evermore." Let none of us ever forget was not found-no, not in Israel. You may ex- that there are hostile as well as friendly eyes upon pect to be more listened to in strange places than us, for "we are a spectacle to the world, to angels, where your voice is more familiar. Be it so; use and to men," who would glory in our shame, and this singular influence, which none but strangers to holy angels and godly men, who would mourn wield, and so sanctify your visit among those who over the fine gold becoming dim. "We are comhave not known you. If you find a Sunday-school passed about with a great cloud of witnesses,” in on the spot, go and exchange a few kindly words heaven; and of the earth, earthy, their name is of encouragement with your brothers and sisters | legion, for they are many. Nay, Jeremiah mourned engaged in that sacred occupation. Ask their as we may, All my familiars watched for my leave to play the organ of a fresh voice to the halting." "The battle is the Lord's," and as that classes. Let them hear a song of Zion pitched in soldier is a deserter and traitor who, instead of a new key. Give them an original illustration, following his own leader, is found fighting on the from your own circle elsewhere, of some precious side of the enemy, so the Christian at his soul's promise, or some sweet incident bearing on the peril forgets that "the weapons of our warfare love of Jesus for the young. It may be so im- are not carnal." Above all, remember this when pressed upon their memories that your brief you are passing through an enemy's country: passing visit may be remembered by some of keep the door of thy lips. Turn thy foot from the them among the particular mercies of their lives. evil way. Stand firm against ungodly compromise. Display, as far as may be in your power, the amiableness of the tabernacle to which you belong. Bring forth those gentle loving fruits of the Spirit, which, like Joshua and Caleb's grapes, will best contradict other men's ill-report of the covenantland where they grow. If there were more exhibitions of the clusters of Eschol than of the fires of the valley of Hinnom, men would speak softlier of Zion, the city of our God. As far as in you lies, exemplify and proclaim far and near "the faith once delivered to the saints," and then, whether reckoned among them that went forth to the war, or with those that tarried at home, both shall share in the spoils. "To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven," '—a time to go out, and a time to come in; but there is no time when sin ceases to be sin, or God is not God. 66 In conclusion. It is characteristic of the Christian never to forget God, whether in his going out or his coming in. If you would have your journey an episode to be thankful for, and not for your discredit, as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle," then " quit you like men " wherever you go, "fight the good fight of faith" whatever may tempt you aside from your allegiance, and in the wavering moment, remember "all things are naked and open to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do." When the noble Macgregor fell at the battle of Prestonpans, the clan wavered, and gave the enemy an advantage. The old chief, seeing the effect of this disaster, raised himself on his elbow, while the blood gushed in streams from his wounds, and cried aloud, "I am not dead, my children; I am looking at you to see you do your duty." The words re THE CASTLE GARDEN. BY DORA GREENWELL, AUTHOR OF SING beneath the moon, I sing at burning noon, A song of war I sing-a song of love; Look on me for a moment from above. 66 CARMINA CRUCIS," ETC. The hills, in quiet deep, The woods are silent; yet within my breast Seems rising from the ground, Rusts through long years, a witness stern and plain. That one should plead betwixt his doom and Heaven. The latest summer rose Red to its heart-leaf glows, I know not be its hue of blood, or wine; The passion-flowers frail Would hint at some dark tale, As o'er the mouldering wall they trail and twine. Yet here beneath the moon, Yet here at burning noon, I sing my constant song—my song of love; And all to see her face Look on me for a moment from above. ALICE. "Suffereth long, and is kind," 1 Cor. xiii. She took no notice, only glanced at her brother, and sat down by little Totts, plunging at once into the common details of spreading biscuit with preserve, always an immense treat to the little one beside her. After this the meal passed quietly till, at its close, the mother quitted the room, then T was getting dusk, and from the hall | But it was too late, Alice had caught the words. the gong was sounding for tea, and down the stairs, in from the garden, through the doors, came the family, shutting out the sunshine behind them. It was rather a noticeable family, two or three dark, strikingly handsome boys, and among the girls one unusually pretty, with a blonde's complexion, very pretty deep blue eyes, and a natty arrangement of her fair hair. This is Lilly, the universal favourite, who, scattering pretty smiles and looks around her, is now settling into her place between two of the brothers. "Machell, Kenneth, Bernard, Lilly, Totts," calls the mother, running over their names as when they were children. "Where is Alice?" the tone gets querulous here. "Out in the orchard with Dick; she generally is now," yawned Lilly. She was very tired, her ceaseless do-nothing life was wearying once and again. Oh, dear! I wish she would not," the mother sighed, fretfully. "You should not stay out in the orchard with Dick," Lilly told her sister; "it does so vex mamma, and us all.” "And you should not stay out in the garden with Luke," struck in Bernard-an unquestionable liberty in the licence of speech, since Lilly was eighteen and Bernard a schoolboy of twelve. "That is different," Lilly asserted; "we all like Luke, mamma and he get on capitally. Besides, engaged people always do." "And Dick and I are engaged, Lilly." Alice said the words softly, and a little hush fell on such news. Lilly broke the amazed silence. "Oh, Alice, how She would not, mother, you know, if you said could you? Mamma will never allow it. You would so," Kenneth broke in, hotly. have to wait years, and then only Dick after all." ALICE. "Awfully poor!" the schoolboy criticised, a vision of "no tips" floating before him. Even Kenneth, her never failing ally, said: "I am sorry for this, Alice. You must feel that, at the best, we are talking of a very far-off future." Then Alice answered, passionately, "Kenneth, Kenneth, not you! What if it were the end of life, or not at all? If he loves and trusts me, I am happy for ever. Dear Kenneth, I am sure you are glad; you would not say, 'Only Dick after all!'" "No, darling," Kenneth said. "If I were sorry, I was sorry for you. Compared with little Lilly's prospect of a happy, speedy, prosperous marriage, yours seemed but a dark look-out. But happiness is but a relative term after all, and if you can be happy so, I do not know that you are to be less envied than Lilly. No, dear, I like Dick well; I will not say, 'Only Dick after all!'" And Alice ran away across the hall, and up the flights of stairs to her room. There the lengthening shadows were stealing along the ceiling and falling softly on the floor. It was very restful to Alice. She sat down on the floor, among the shadows, and looked vaguely out on the garden. There were some weary little birds hopping away to bed; she saw them take wing and vanish suddenly in among the dark old trees, and she knew they had returned to the dear little mother bird, and were at rest; and Alice envied the birds. She, too, longed to go and lay her head against the mother, only once there she would have spoken of Dick, and there was no Dick troubling the little tired birds. But the beautiful still calm did away with the jar which had fallen on Alice's happiness. She hardly even remembered what had been the jar. She would sum it all up: Dick had said he loved her. Ah! Alice must pause here. Why her-why Alice? Oh, Dick, Dick! Then, they did not like it-the brothers, and the pretty, stylish little sister, who was herself so very happy, and mamma-it was the old case of the ugly duckling being very much loved after all. Mamma, even if she allowed the engagement, would be glad Dick was so poor that she might not lose her. Ah! the jar was coming back. That was hardvery hard for people to be glad Dick was poor, when Alice knew-who better?-how many things he had to go without, how rough and uncomfortable his whole life was. If Alice could only earn, make, save money for him! She would. 187 greener, and the flowers more fair, so carefully was it tended. To-nigh the little grave was very present to her. It seemed almost as if it had entered into Alice's room, and that she could see the daisies, and violets, and the little rose-trees wave in the wind. Where she opened the book it taught her a lesson. There had been just a little hardness in Alice's heart against all who had heard and spoken of her happiness so coldly. She had quite intended when she went down to "stand up for Dick," and give back retort for retert; but now she paused. On the page where she opened there were some dried grasses and rose leaves, that had lain on the little sister's heart, and the words that they covered were no new ones either to Alice or the dead child. Through her tears she read them now: Charity suffereth long, and is kind." 'Long,' paraphrased Alice, 'suffereth long, and is kind.' Yet, oh, Dick, Dick, who will stand up for you if I don't? Oh, Dick, for such long years if they will not love you, can I still be kind?" 66 6 66 Of one thing Alice felt sure. If she could, such a thing would never have been done before. In the first place, it was not every one that knew Dick, and in all such cases it must be comparatively easy, indeed, in every other case under the sun, for no one else could be situated just as she was, no one else could be loved by Dick. Alice very much hoped she should be kind. She said the familiar words over and over as she went slowly down the long stairs; and, as is generally the case, there was a call on her resolutions at once. The old discussion recommenced with her entrance, and the mother's opposition made the whole scene very painful. At length Alice went up to her mother, and asked if it all meant that she would not sanction the engagement. Poor little Alice! I do not know what she could have meant by such a question. If her mother had decided so dozens of times over, she would never in her heart have given up Dick, but through a long life would have held herself only engaged to him. Fortunately the mother did not so decide. 66 How wearisome it is," she said. "No, I will take no such responsibility. I hold you are all quite old enough now to judge and decide for yourselves. In Alice's case it is of slight importasce, for Dick's poverty will probably always prevent a marriage." And then there was silence, for they all waited for Alice's words, and Alice kept peace. "Suffereth long." Alice thought she was suffering long now, and half expected some triumphal reward. Foolish Alice! not to know that patience must often stretch over many a year: she herself would have to suffer longer. (To be concluded in our next.) 66 THE HYMNS OF ENGLAND.-II. GENERAL HYMNS. EIGH HUNT has endeavoured to answer the question, What is poetry? and Wordsworth has given a reply to the question, What is a poet? but where shall we look for an answer to the question, What is a hymn? The authority of Augustine is always quoted in the matter. A hymn," says he, "must be praise-the praise of God-and this in the form of song." But to accept this as an absolute definition, would necessitate the rejection of almost every hymnbook in use. We find hymns addressed to the soul, hymns giving expositions of doctrines, hymns of mere sentiment, hymns of personal experience, and hymns of quiet meditation upon the attributes of God. In all of these the goodness or wisdom of God may be praised in a general way, but they do not contain a specific address to God. How often, on the most solemn occasions, has that hymn of Pope's "Vital spark of heavenly flame "— been sung as an act of worship, and yet it is but an address to the soul, and its appeal is only to the grave and to death. It is an exquisite poem; but a hymn, according to the ordinary definition, is not a poem, but a song. Poems may express to men beautiful thoughts about God: a hymn should express-in the simplest form of specch and the plainest language, if intended for public worship-men's thoughts to God; for worship is not so much an exercise of the head as the heart, and in praising God, people "cannot think and sing; they can only feel and sing." There are some who hold that songs of praise should alone be sung in our places of worship— that it is inconsistent to sing prayers to God; but this we hold to be an error. Our Saviour honoured the custom of singing, consecrating for evermore the use of vocal music in the church; and the Hallel, or great song of praise, consisting of Psalms cxv. to cxviii., which was the hymn chanted at the Feast of the Passover, sanctions the mingling of prayers with praises in song. It will be generally conceded, however, that praise should form the principal part of the service of song in the sanctuary. An experimental hymn, beautiful as it may be, and exactly suiting the spiritual necessities of some, cannot be the expression of the need of a whole congregation, with its varied wants and circumstances. A doctrinal hymn may not always claim the sympathy of a public assembly, but a general hymn of praise or prayer can be the true utterance of all. Nevertheless, there are many who think that every hymn should have a specific idea in it. "My object in preaching," said a well-known minister, "is to leave one thought in the minds of the people from each service. To this end every part of the service should be in harmony." Dr. Watts held a similar notion, and a large number of his hymns were written especially to go with certain sermons. It would often happen that the effect produced upon the congregation by this powerful enforcement of a powerful discourse would be electrical. Some, in wonderment, would listen to the delivery of the hymn, and others would join in the singing while tears glistened in their eyes. Dr. Doddridge followed the same plan, and some of his most favourite hymns are those which were first sung at the conclusion of his sermons, in which the principal features of the discourse were embodied. If we want a specimen of the extreme style in specific hymn-writing, we have only to turn to a volume of George Wither's, and there we find hymns for every event-public or private--touching mind, body, or estate. Among them may be mentioned "A Hymn for a. Housewarming," 'For a Widower or Widow delivered from a Troublesome Yokefellow," "A Hymn whilst we are Washing," &c. &c. Good in many respects, and in its proper place, as this method of definiteness is, we think the plan usually adopted by those who have the conduct of public worship, to select, at all events for the earlier part of the service, a general hymn of praise, is better, and to specimens of these we shall refer. How joyous is Mendelssohn's open-air music, and how joyous are many of the open-air songs of the singers of the Church! It is very sweet to hear them praising God on the waters, or in the fields and groves; pleasant to hear them joining in the great chorus of creation, forgetting for a time creeds and doctrines, and texts and sermons, and just singing their soul's joy to the Creator in the midst of his works. Henry Vaughan, the Welshman, who loved to wander among his native hills, and ponder over the sweet and tender thoughts of George Herbert, for whose writings he had an enthusiastic admiration, gives us an idea of the place for this open-air communion in the lines— "Fresh fields and woods, the earth's fair face, God's footstool and man's dwelling-place. I ask not why the first believer Did pitch by groves and wells his tent, |