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Margaret Saint and Queen,

OUT

By the Rev. R. HERBERT STORY, D.D., Rosneath.

UT of the mists of Scottish legend and fable, that lie thick over the distant heights and levels of the middle age, rises the figure of Malcolm CanmohrMalcolm with the big head-the son of "the gracious Duncan." He was but a child at the date of his father's assassination by Macbeth; and many years passed ere time brought about revenge and restitution. Duncan was slain in the year 1040: Malcolm was crowned at Scone on the festival of St. Mark, in April, 1057. Scone, to which the "Stone of Destiny" had been transferred from Dunstaffnage, had become the centre of royalty; and for the first time a coronation marked the accession of a new king.

The kingdom was beginning to consolidate, though it was yet but limited and disorderly, bounded on the south by lines equivalent to those of the present Border, but on the north and west encroached upon by the petty territories of turbulent earls and marmaors who maintained an unruly and pugnacious independence. The big-headed Malcolm discerned the weakness and danger which must threaten both kingdom and dýnasty from these restless neighbours; and set himself to reduce their strength, while he concentrated and enlarged the power of the crown. At the same time, he welcomed to his dominions the exiles whom the strifes and intrigues of the Saxons, and afterwards the advance of the conquering Normans, drove to seek refuge beyond the Tweed. Nor did he fail to take the opportunity, afforded by the intestine troubles of Northumbria, to push his frontier southwards. The region between the Humber and the Tweed was the theatre of perpetual turmoil and bloodshed, amid which Saxon, Dane, Norman, and Scot dealt indiscriminate ravage and slaughter. The victory of Hastings gave Norman William no secure hold over this ill-used debateable land; and it was again and again wasted by Danish piracy, Northumbrian insurrection, and Scottish foray.

On one of his inroads, Malcolm, having spoiled the

North Riding of Yorkshire, made his way to Wearmouth. A vessel was lying in the harbour which bore a notable freight. On board were Edgar the Aetheling, his mother, his sisters, and several of the faithfullest. adherents of the Saxon line, of which he was the weak and witless heir. After Harold had "met the doom of God on Senlac Hill," Edgar, the grandson of Edmund Ironside, was the only rightful successor to the English throne; but right, as embodied in his puny person, could make no stand against the vigorous might of the Norman duke. The Northumbrian nobles who espoused his cause could win no triumphs for so imbecile a claimant; and they and he, after some futile efforts on his behalf, were, when Malcolm reached Wearmouth, waiting for a fair wind to carry their broken fortunes out of England. The Scottish king offered the royal fugitives an asylum within his dominions. They had thought of retiring to Hungary, where Edgar's father had found shelter during the tyranny of Canute, and where he and his sisters had been brought up; but they accepted Malcolm's promise of a nearer refuge, and agreed to come to Scotland. Malcolm bade them farewell at Wearmouth, and made his own way home; leaving a track of fire and blood behind him, and so harrying Northumberland of its inhabitants that, after his return, every hovel beyond the border was supplied with an English slave.

Bad weather or some other cause delayed the voyage of the Saxon fugitives; and the king had disbanded his marauders, and taken up his abode at Dunfermline, before he heard tidings of his promised guests. One stormy morning word reached the strong tower that rose above the dense woods, which then begirt the hill of Dunfermline, that a strange ship had come to anchor under the lee of the land, at the point now known as St. Margaret's Hope. Messengers sent by the king, brought back a report that the vessel was of great size and numerously manned; upon which, Malcolm-possibly divining that she bore the disconsolate remnant of the Saxon family-dispatched an embassy of his "highest lords" to visit the voyagers and fetch him a definite account of them.* These envoys were cordially welcomed on board, and "carefully noted, not without admiration, the lordliness of the men, the beauty of the women, and the good breeding of the whole family." "We saw a lady there," said one of them, more susceptible or more discriminating than the rest, "whom, from the matchless beauty of her person, and the ready flow of her pleasant eloquence, teeming, moreover, as she did, with all other qualities,

The simple narrative of Turgot implies that Malcolm had not seen Margaret until now, and that her arrival was accidental. Lord Hailes ("Annals") and Mr. Robertson ("Scotland Under Her Early Kings") interpret the facts in the mode I have ventured to follow.

I declare to thee, O king! that I suspect to be the mistress of that family, whose admirable loveliness and gentleness one must admire, as I deem, rather than describe." Malcolm lost no time in going on board the strangers' ship, in person, when he found that she bore the Saxon exiles, and that this fair wanderer was the Princess Margaret, the eldest sister of the Aetheling.

It does not appear certain whether he had seen Margaret, along with her brother, at Wearmouth, or now met her for the first time, and, like King Edward, when he beheld the Countess of Salisbury at her castle gate was "stricken to the heart with a sparkle of fine love that endured long after, and thought no lady in the world so worthy to be beloved as she." Be that as it may, he "fell in love." Whether he had done this before or not, he had been already married; for, on the death Thorfin Sigurdson, the "ugly, clever, and cruel" Yarl of Orkney, he had espoused Ingebiorge the Yarl's widow Ingebiorge, however, was either dead or divorced (the dissolution of a marriage being easy and common in those days) and Malcolm's hand was free for Margaret to accept if she chose, Her brother was, against the advice of his friends averse from her marrying the Scotch king, and, at first, she recoiled from it herself. She had seen enough of the stormy and distracted world, with its factions and battles-intrigues and murders. Young as she was, she had known the peril and bitterness of exile, of war, of homelessness, of disinheritance, of flight from enemies, by land and sea. Amid the restless tumult and confusion, the only note of peace was rung in her memory by the convent bells of Hungary. She and her sister made up their minds to seek the calm haven of the church. Her sister, Christina, carrried out her purpose and became the "bride of Christ"; but another destiny was reserved for Margaret. After a brief delay, she yielded to Malcolm's suit. The wedding was celebrated at Dunfermline, with all the magnificence which the unrefined Scotch court could display. This was in the year 1070; Margaret was about twenty-four years Malcolm some ten years older. They took up their abode at the King's Tower, which was enlarged and beautified; and of which a broken fragment still may be seen within the demesne of Pittencrieff. And now from this "city set on a hill"-this stronghold of gray Dunfermline the light of Margaret began to shine, graciously and beneficently, over her husband's realm. (To be continued.)

of age,

and

Even if a clouded life is only here and there lit up by a single clear shaft from the sun it is sufficient, for it proves that the sun is in the heavens and shines; and so one will have the full brightness of day, as soon as one has stepped out of the mist - it is day there.

HYMN 174, Resignation.

HYMN 176, St. George's Windsor.

The Voluntaries were Handel's "O, Lovely Peace" (Judas Maccabeus), and a Prelude by Wely. The Lessons were the one hundred and forty-fourth Psalm and the sixth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, nineteenth verse to the end of the chapter. The preacher was the Rev. Claude Lorraine, the minister of the parish. He chose as his text Psalm cxxvi., 3rd verse, "The Lord hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad;" and those words from the thirteenth chapter of St. Matthew's Gospel, thirtieth verse, "In time of harvest." Wishing to create the harvest sentiment, the hearts of his hearers he spoke as follows of

Harvest Time in the Country.

I quite realize it is more difficult in the city to feel the joy-the exuberant fulness of joy-which those experience who live in the country, who almost see the corn ripening as they gaze in the heat of the sun by day, and under the brilliant light of the moon by night. I remember, in the first church of which I was minister, how much easier it was to speak about the glad harvest-time and to draw lessons from it, when the faces of those I had to address were tanned by the sun, as they cut down the grain every day during the week that had passed; when I felt that I was speaking about what was visibly the greatest event in their year-that time up to which all their toil had led; when all the way to church, I had walked along a road-five miles in length-which seemed only a lane dividing one golden field from another, when on both sides of the avenue leading up to the church-very plain and small it seems in comparison with this large and beautiful one, but very dear to me then and dear to me still-I had to brush aside the ears of corn nodding to each other as if in converse; when from the pulpit, when the door was open as it always was on those summer days, I could see the breeze making fast flitting waves upon the surface of the amber-stemmed wheat. When I knew, too, that after morning service was over, I had to walk through the fields and hear all about the work that had been

done during the week, and listen to the homely talk of kind and honest hearts till the bells rung out for evening service-would we could say with greater truth for even song. Then after that was over and the sun set not only on the harvest-fields,

"Golden was the west, and golden the corn,

And golden, oh! golden our 'life's' opening morn but also upon the waters of our north-eastern sea, only a stone's throw away, its restless waters calm at this evening hour, its winter's sobbing silent this summer night; and also upon ruins the most memorable and venerable in our country, becoming nearer every stop we took homewards. Then the passing word with with those who had worshipped with us, or were strolling outwards; the "Good-Night," which did not belie its name, and which gave promise of another bright day upon which the ingathering could be prosecuted—. very easy then and there to say "The Lord hath done great things for us, whereof we are glad, in time of harvest." Very different is harvest-time to us now in the city; yet, even we here, who do not often see the reality, have our ideals of the happy time which we carry in our hearts, never, perhaps, any more than the ideal Christmas-time, always realised, but good for us to have before us the waving fields, the golden stubble covered with stooks of freshly-cut corn, the cheery laugh of the reapers bending busily and willingly 'to their work, well laden carts piled with splendid sheaves the song, as of revellers, as the harvest is being borne homewards-the moon in the sky, rubicund and rosy as if, Bacchante-like, she had been been feasting herself on the purple vintage of other lands. Not a boy or girl who does not share in the general joy! Not an aged man or woman who ca 'crawl at all but who comes out to bask awhile in the sunshine to think of the harvests of long ago when they could work and sing with the best; perchance to give a few solemn thoughts to the other reaping the other Harvest Home, which awaits them as it awaits us all. So with this ideal harvest before our eyes, we can at all times use the words of the Psalmist, "The Lord hath done great things; whereof we are glad-in time of harvest."

After shortly expounding the Psalm and describing the circumstances amid which it was probably composed, and the use made of it as one of the songs of degrees— the Pilgrim Psalms-the preacher went on to speak of The Use made of the 126th Psalm by Thackeray.

A fit psalm for us in many of our moods, and used by at least one of our writers to illustrate a touching episode in a most beautiful story. "That patient, faithful toil must sooner or later win a reward is an axiom

with all races; and those who remember the magnificent use a great writer of fiction made of this Psalm in what has rightly been called one of the most pathetic passages in our literature will need no other proof of its beauty, and its capacity of adaptation to varying ages and needs." Some of you may remember how a widowed mother had sent her young and faithful kinsman away from her in sorrow and in anger, not knowing, as she was to know afterward, that he had done all he could to save her husband's life. How he went away and won his laurels in the war, but never forgot his devotion to his beloved mistress as in the chivalrous language of the day he called her. How they met

in the grey of a winter's day in the cathedral at the time of evening prayer, and how as the choir sang this Psalm as an anthem, her son seeing her kinsman said "Look, mother;" and how afterwards, as they walked home together, she spoke of her wicked heart and her suffering, and how she knew he would come back, and then she goes on to say-"And to-day, in the anthem, when they sang it, 'When the Lord turned again the captivity of Zion, we were like them that dream,' I thought, 'Yes,' 'like them that dream-them that dream;' and then it went 'They that sow in tears shall reap in joy, and he that goeth forth and weepeth shall doubtless come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him ;' I looked up from the book and saw you. I was not surprised when I saw you. I knew you would come, my dear, and saw the gold sunshine about your head. She smiled an almost wild smile as she looked up at him. The moon was up by this time, glittering keen in the frosty sky. He could see, for the first time, now clearly, her sweet, careworn face. Do you know what day it is? It is the 29th of December-it is your birth-day. But last year we did not drink it-no, no. My lord was cold, and my Harry was like to die, and we had no wine. now you are come again, bringing your sheaves with you, my dear.' She burst into a wild flood of weeping as she spoke, she laughed and sobbed on the young man's breast, crying out wildly-bringing your sheaves with you, your sheaves with you." As he had sometimes felt, gazing up from the deck at midnight into the boundless starlit depths overhead in a rapture of devout wonder, at that endless brightness and beauty, in some such way now the depth of the pure devotion, which was for the first time revealed to him, quite smote him and filled his heart with thanksgiving. Gracious God, who was he, poor and friendless creature, that such a love should be poured out upon him; (and are his thoughts not a commentary upon our text)} Not in vain, not in vain had he lived; hard and thankless should he be to think so, that has such a

But now,