A PUBLIC SUPPER AT CHRIST'S HOSPITAL. Trollope, the historian of Christ's Hospital," when these public suppers, formerly called Lent suppers, were originally instituted, but as orders respecting their regulation occur at a very early date in the Court and Committee books, they are probably coeval with the foundation of the hospital." Little, if any, variation in the manner of conducting them has taken place, but the day of their celebration and the time of their duration have been alterca. Formerly they took place on every Sunday evening from Christmas to Easter; they are now restricted to the season of Lent, and are held on Thursdays. Every Londoner is probably familiar with the appearance of the outside of the great hall, but many are not acquainted with its internal magnificence. It is one of the finest rooms in London, and its dimensions are most imposing. It is 187 feet long, 51 wide, and 46 high. The walls are decorated with paintings, comprising, among others, Holbein's picture representing King Edward VI. presenting the charter of the hospital to the Lord Mayor and aldermen, and. Verrio's picture of Charles II. giving audience to the corporation and governors of the institution, who are depicted in the act of presenting the children to his Majesty. The old hall, it may be here remarked, in which such famous boys as Charles Lamb, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Leigh Hunt ate their suppers, was pulled down forty years ago, after an existence of 140 years, during which time 120,888,000 meals had been served within its walls. We took our seats, in punctual time, upon the raised benches behind the seats specially appropriated to the governors, and fronting the great organ. Every available seat, both below and in the galleries, was crowded with eager visitors, for it was a grand sight, royal company being expected. After a while the scholars filed in, and took their seats at the long tables which occupy the centre of the hall. They sat down with their backs to the tables, which were brilliantly illuminated with a series of candles ornamented with artificial flowers. The fare placed on the tables was frugal enough, consisting of thick hunches of bread, pats of butter, and bowls of milk and water. Presently, the inspiriting sounds of the National Anthem pealed forth from the organ, every one, scholars and visitors, stood up, and a procession entered, headed by his Royal Highness the Duke of Cambridge, the President of the hospital, and the Treasurer. Then came the head master, the subordinate masters, and the Grecians. Besides these there were two visitors of distinction -namely, his Serene Highness the Prince of Teck and her Royal Highness the Princess of Teck. Having taken their seats on the benches severally allotted to them, the Warden-who with military precision gives the signal to every movement of the scholars-tapped the desk before him with 599 his little wooden mallet. Thereupon one of the Grecians ascended to the pulpit, and read the second lesson appointed for the evening service, as well as some of the prayers composed by Bishop Compton for the use of the hospital. Then followed a hymn, sung in honour of the Prince of Teck, to the glorious tune of "God Save the Emperor." It is scarcely necessary to say, that with Mr. Cooper presiding at the organ, and the clear voices of several hundreds of boys, the effect was extremely fine. After this, grace was said, and then the boys turned round and fell upon their suppers, apparently with excellent appetites, for in a few minutes their plates were cleared. One almost wishes, in the presence of such brave company, that the boys had been treated to a somewhat more luxurious feast; but we ought to remember that the plain wholesome fare of the hospital has done much to preserve the proverbial good health of its inmates. The gentle Elia, however, evidently shared these feelings when he wrote of "our stately suppings in public, when the well-lighted hall and the confluence of well-dressed company who came to see us, made the whole look more like a concert or assembly, than a scene of plain bread-and-butter collation." While the supper was in progress, the President, Governors, and their guests walked up and down the hall. The interest which the Duke of Cambridge takes in the welfare of Christ's Hospital is well known, and it was pleasant to see him at one moment addressing some kindly remark to a blue-gowned scholar, and anon chatting affably with the various officers of the institution. As for the Prince of Teck and Princess Mary Adelaide, I am sure they won golden opinions-as they invariably do everywhere-among the audience, conversing as they did in such a friendly agreeable way with the various persons with whom they were successively brought in contact. As soon as the last boy had popped the last morsel of bread into his mouth the Warden again struck his magical mallet; grace was then said, and the benediction was followed by an anthem. The religious exercises being concluded, the most interesting part of the whole ceremonial of the evening took place. The boys having carefully folded up the tablecloths, and placed the various fragments of bread, &c., in their proper receptacles, formed into a procession two and two, according to their wards, with their respective nurses at their head, and successively made their obeisance to the President or Treasurer, whichever of the two happens to occupy the chair. This part of the programme is a quaint but very pretty performance. On came the boys in pairs, and just as they arrived in the august presi dential presence they were ushered forward by a portly, silver-laced beadle. Each pair of boys performed the bow simultaneously, a compliment invariably returned by his Royal Highness, whose cervical muscles must, we think, have grown rather weary by the time they had reached the four hundredth repetition of the ceremony. It was very curious to observe the variety of bows. Some were short and abrupt, others very low and elaborate. On the whole-we suppose from constant practice-we should say the Blues are accomplished masters of the art of bowing. But there was other variety besides that of the obeisances severally offered. The boys brought with them all the utensils of their supper. At one moment a boy would bow with a knife-basket under his arm, then another carrying a tablecloth, then another with a bread-basket on his shoulder. The smallest boys are appointed by the nurses to the honour of bearing the candlesticks. Those chosen for this office are supposed to be highly favoured, and are nicknamed "loveys" by their schoolmates. It is very amusing to see one of these little mites making obeisance with a great flowerdecorated candlestick in each hand. The candles should remain alight-according to Bluecoat etiquette-while the bearers are in the President's presence, but as soon as they have passed the chair they break into a trot, and if they can contrive to extinguish the candles by rapidly passing through the air, they are thought to have performed their part very cleverly. The only scholars who are exempted from taking part in this ceremony are the Grecians; and, therefore, at Christ's Hospital any jest concerning the "Grecian bend" would be inapplicable. 66 Thus concludes the public supper, which, to quote the words of a writer of the last century, forms a spectacle interesting beyond expression to the eye of Virtue and Benevolence." As we survey this noble hall and its hundreds of youthful inmates, we are forcibly reminded of the parable of the mustard seed sprouting into s stately tree. Worthy Bishop Ridley preached a sermon, which touched the gentle heart of the pious young Edward VI. Some of the estates formerly dedicated to religious uses were thereupon rescued from the paw of the spoiler, and restored to their legitimate object. Such was the origin of this noble foundation. Whatever changes may take place in the future, our earnest desire is that Christ's Hospital may long flourish as a nursery of British youth! UNDER THE STROKE AND AFTER. BY THE REV. J. B. OWEN, M.A., VICAR OF ST. JUDE'S, CHELSEA. EZEKIAH is the only case recorded | preclusive of more occasion of offence. There is in Scripture where a sick man affords us an opportunity of comparing his sentiments during bodily afflictions, with the course of life which survived and followed them. From Isaiah's words (chap. xxxviii. 9), "The writing of Hezekiah, King of Judah, when he had been sick, and was recovered," it is obvious that the pious prince wrote down retrospectively what he had said while the pressure of disease, and so far as he knew, of death, lay heavily upon him. The incident is suggestive. We may not be able to put in writing at the time of sickness the thoughts and words which were then elicited, but to record them immediately afterwards, while they are still fresh in the memory, and before the heart has lost, or at least adulterated, their impression, helps the soul to examine itself by their review, and to ascertain how far the lesson survives its painful teaching. Man's physical nature is manifestly ordained to minister unto, not obstruct, his spiritual. Every abuse or neglect of the functions of the body, resented and disclosed by the body, is a significant and hortatory parallel of an analogous result, though not so immediately visible, in the abused or neglected faculties of the soul. Medical men constantly describe ailments as warnings to their patients, which being unheeded, threaten worse attacks. Moreover, as a rule, a relapse is more perilous, more difficult to treat, than the original malady; it betrays a defective reactionary power, Step by step, all this is true of the soul. Every sin betrays a sinful tendency-a corrupt nature liable to wax worse and worse. So our Lord, in tracing the connection between moral and physical infirmity, bade the blind man whose eyes he had opened, "Go, and sin no more, lest a worse thing befall thee." But if the warning be unheeded, and the soul fall back from its steadfastness, there is the proof of deficient moral elasticity. The case is not absolutely hopeless, but its peril is seriously aggravated. Though one Scripture bids "the backslider return," another solemnly affirms, "If we sin wilfully after that we have received the knowledge of the truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin." Especially is the being impervious to the discipline of affliction a bad and dangerous sign; so God's expostulation puts it "Why should ye be stricken any more? ye will revolt more and more." In such cases, God's withholding the rod is at once a judgment on the individual insensibility to its reproofs, and yet, a constructive mercy, as mercy in some shape in all judgments on this side the grave. Alas, for us, if we had no Scripture warrant for the prayer: O Lord, in the midst of judgment remember mercy!" It greatly helps us to bear trouble, to regard it as God's ordinance for good. Afflictions are his rough messages of longsuffering grace to call our attention to something going wrong in us. As bodily pain is the voice which informs us, like a nervous telegraph, which part of our frame needs immediate attention; as disease is the form of announcement that health and life are in jeopardy, and sets us to have recourse to remedies, so body and soul are so intimately involved in each other's conditions, that sickness and sorrow are designed to operate as a warning to both. In the ordinary trials of life there is a community of impression, varied only by the moral training of individuals. Thus, Hezekiah's writing, as a man knowing God, is a type of such men's experience under the chastening of sickness. Let us gather the lessons suggested. 1. The uncertainty of the hour of death, even in dangerous illness, is a mercy. The cases are comparatively rare of such extreme peril as renders death absolutely inevitable. We may imagine it was no small enhancement of the anguish of Hezekiah, that hope was cut off by the prophet's fiat, "Thou shalt die!" Nevertheless he was spared. In some instances, death seems at the door, which after all he may not enter. "While there's life there's hope," is a maxim equally true of body and soul. In Hezekiah's case he had a respite, not a reprieve. The day of his death was still fixed, though adjourned for fifteen years. No marvel he should resolve never to forget it; but in verse 15, "to go softly," i.e., as St. Jerome renders it, "seriously reflect on this bitterness of my soul." In all other cases, the restoration to health, so far as we know, is unconditional. The spared life is not mortgaged by the ulterior depression of a fixed specific date of destiny. The period of death is left open as it was before. Known to God, but withheld from us, is the wise and merciful rule. No doubt it is so ordained, that our devotion may not be extorted by the fear of death, but be due to the filial fear of God; that we might not through fear of death, be all our lifetime subject to bondage. Its uncertainty is enough, rightly im proved, to make us serious; its certainty, in most instances, would make us miserable. There is no sin in the natural reluctance to die, otherwise the innocent human nature of the Redeemer would not have recoiled from the bitter cup in Gethsemane. The UNDER THE STROKE AND AFTER. 66 believer neither loves nor fears death. It is faith's grandest victory to imitate the Saviour in overcoming death, but it is the conquest of an enemy. As in the climax of Messiah's conquests, so in the personal conflicts of the believer, "the last enemy to be destroyed is death." And to the eye of natural sense, death, like his Conqueror " hath no form, nor comeliness; and when we shall see him, there is no beauty that we should desire him." It is grace alone makes the difference in either case. In the meantime, however bitter the pain, however threatening the peril, the fact that the mortal issue is uncertain, precludes the action of that despair which is prejudicial alike to soul and body. The sufferer is stimulated by hope to exertion on behalf of both. He does not lose himself, by giving up himself for lost. He uses the means of relief, whether medical or moral, with more confidence in both; and God honours faith in all its forms and applications, by making it more effectual than mistrust, indifference, or insensibility. If we were as willing as we ought to be, to gather from the body hints useful to the soul, belief in the efficacy of particular means, which reconciles us to otherwise nauseous medicines, or painful operations, would suggest more faith in the remedies of the soul's Physician, though they may involve much self-denial and crucifixion of the flesh with its affections and passions. Our anxiety would be, not what appliances are the least disagreeable, but simply what would save life. The terrified gaoler asked but one question, the alarmed sinner asks no more: "What must I do to be saved?" 2. The contrast between what you said under the stroke, and what you did after it, reveals to you what is in your heart. "Out of thine own mouth," says God, "I will condemn thee." Hear Hezekiah sick, sighing, "Thou hast in love for my soul delivered it from the pit of corruption. * * The living, the living (ie., my whole spared life henceforth) shall praise thee, as I do this day. The Lord was ready to save me, therefore we will sing my songs, all the days of our life in the house of the Lord." All this was weil spoken, but within a while, when the King of Babylon's messengers came to him with letters of congratulation on his recovery, Hezekiah, forgetting the serious impressions of his recent sickness, indulged his vanity by displaying to them all his treasures. Nor is there more recorded of him except his erection of a pool and conduit. For aught we know, he became "of the earth, earthy," for the rest of his days. There is nothing uncommon in this issue. Illness is designed to give us pause, and it does so more frequently than any other dealing of Providence, and consequently it is more frequently abused. The contrast between what the sick man says in his sickness, and what he does on returning health, should humble and 603 abase us, should lead us to distrust ourselves on other less trying occasions. It is thus a fit of sickness becomes the test by which to judge ourselves. It betrays at once the weak point in our moral character, as well as in our physical frame. Anything which helps us to discover ourselves is a mercy, if it drive our weakness to the strong for strength. As in the body disease is often a means of better subsequent health, so its alarm and anguish are equally designed to minister to more devotedness in the soul. In both cases Hezekiah affirms, in verse 16, "By these things men live." The sanctified affliction turns to greater heedfulness, circumspection, and self-denial. All maladies more or less impair the constitutional vigour, and there are some, specially those connected with the brain, which leave that delicate and vital organ more open to attack than it was before; an organic weakness is set up, more than ordinarily unequal to sustain pressure. And a relapse there is always more apt to be fatal. Nor less fraught with danger to the soul, whose seat is in the brain, is a repeated act of backsliding. Every sin we yield to renders us less able to resist sin. At length a long-suffering God is provoked to declare, "My Spirit shall not always strive with man.” We are left to ourselves; the moral imposthume runs its course, and the finally impenitent, foolhardy soul falls into the bitter pains of eternal death. 66 Hence the importance, not so much of what we feel or say under the stroke, but of what we feel and do after it. The heart is more easily terrified than edified. When a man I knew was in dangerous sickness, mourning over his sins, crying for mercy, and making many earnest vows of amendment, a quaint old Christian visitor observed, Wait, my lad, till I see thee with the handcuffs off." Then is the time to test ourselves-when the pressure is removed-when we feel out of the bonds. If we find the sense of sin becoming blunted as it was before, if the cry for mercy be sunk into an insensible formula, and the recollection of our vows we find surviving only in the regret, if not the shame, of having uttered them, and of having so far incurred their unwilling responsibility, then, beat about the bush as we may to explain or excuse ourselves, "the last state of that man is worse than the first;" a petrifying process is at work within,- —a layer of moral incrustation is deposited, which soon renders the heart hard as the nether millstone, and nothing short of sovereign grace which alone can "remove the stony heart," can save the soul. I know this is true, and probably many have known it, as I did, from actual experience. They have realised, as I have, the difference between Hezekiah sick, and Hezekiah showing his treasures. Oh, that all of us were only anxious to show our treasures |