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both high and low were alike subject unto it. Before every communion the ministers, elders, and deacons were examined by a committee of Presbytery, and if any fault was found they were not screened from the censure they dealt to others. Here is the way they conducted the examination:

"July 15, 1589. The quhilk day ministers of the said church being first removed, and tried by the elders, deacons, and other honest men of the parish presently convened for the time, if they knew any slander in their lives, doctrine, etc., or in their families; who answered they knew nothing, but praised God they had sic pastors.

Secondly. The elders being removed, and after trial taken of their life and office, could find nothing but only that they were somewhat slow in doing the said office, therefore exhorts them in all time coming to be more diligent in doing their said office, and they and every one of them to keep their own session as falls them.

"Thirdly. The deacons being removed, etc., the same inquiry was made concerning them, concerning the clerk, the beadle, and other church officers, and censure pronounced where it was thought necessary."

It is easy to see that the office of deacon, elder, or minister was no sinecure. "Ye honest men of ye parochin" had the opportunity every six months of putting the spur into a careless office-bearer.

This custom has entirely passed away from Presbyterian Protestant Scotland, but it is still practised in another Church. More than three hundred years ago Ignatius Loyola founded a society in the Roman Catholic Church, which he called "The Society of Jesus." This periodical examination of all members was one of its rules, and it is said to be still enforced with unabated severity by the black Pope at Rome.

The parish was divided into districts, and a district given to each elder or deacon. He had to visit all the people in it, to report upon all cases of discipline, of sickness, poverty, or the like, to the minister or to the kirk-session. The kirk-session met every week, and sometimes more frequently, and every absentee had to pay a fine of half a mark or forty pennies to the poor.

The people at that time were very ignorant, and the minister and elders had the work of the schoolmaster combined with their other functions.

But they did not admit any to the sacrament who were not duly qualified. Here is a minute bearing on this:

:

"1589. The kirk-session agreed that nane shall be admitted to the baptism of their bairns, nor marriage, nor repentance, nor have alms of the kirk, but they that can say the Lord's prayer, the belief, and the commands, and give an account thereof, when they are examined."

This custom, also, has entirely passed away in Scotland, but in England there are still traces of it to be found. In the month of August, 1881, we read a notice on the door of the parish church in Peterborough. It proclaimed that certain charities would be disbursed to the poor, on their fulfilling the conditions of the founders of them, which were the same as those agreed on by that kirk-session in 1589.

The applicants were to go to the rector on a certain day, and repeat to him the Lord's Prayer, the Commandments, and the Creed, and after that they were to share in the charities.

In those days the Sabbath was very strictly observed. Before sermon the elders went round to all the public-houses, to send the men found in them to church. The streets were deserted, and any breach of order was publicly rebuked. We read in these records that John Reid, publican, was sharply rebuked" for pulling grass on the Lord's-day, and another person for carrying water from the well, and a third for pulling pease. Every person in the parish was visited and

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catechised.

Such is the glimpse this old volume gives us of Church Organisation three hundred years ago. Scotland has changed wonderfully since then, and the methods of that time could not be applied to ours. But there are things which have not changed. Human nature has not changed. The Gospel has not changed. The same moral earnestness that brought these deacons, and elders, and ministers into consultation every week about their parish work, the same spirit of devotion to their Master which sent them forth into the lanes to compel the careless to come in, will work wonders yet, will do more than anything else to persuade the masses that the Church still cares for them, will do more than anything else to bring them back into the fold of the Good Shepherd.

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I.

"TAN"-A FABLE FOR THE CHILDREN.

I'

By H. C. CALVERLEY.

T had been rain

ing heavily all day, and though the wind had dried the wide and open streets, the narrow back lanes were

still full of mud and slush, and looked as if they never could be clean again. It was through the narrow back streets of Hastings that, on the winter's evening of which I write, a little girl of about ten years old came tripping daintily along. She had need to walk carefully in that muddy street, for she was dressed entirely in white. Her frock, and coat, and gloves, were all white, and a little white hood was her head covering. She might have been a little angel who had lost its way in this murky, dirty world of ours. She was not a pretty child, but she had an honest look in her eyes, and an expression of sympathy in her whole face, that was more lovable than any mere prettiness.

Now, it so happened that among the mud and dirt in that narrow street there was lying a little black and tan terrier. A cart had run over it and crushed its two forepaws, and there it lay utterly helpless, waiting till some happy chance should put an end to its agony. It felt glad to have been spared long enough to see the sweet-looking child. Even to see her was worth a good deal, and he looked up at her lovingly. It might have been the sparkle in his eyes, or the faint wag of pleasure of his wiry little tail, or it might have been merely a chance, but anyhow little Violet's notice was attracted, and she saw that there was something alive lying in her way.

In a moment she forgot all about the white frock which she had wished to save from a single dirty speck, and stooping down, she took the little creature tenderly in her arms, equally regardless of the mud that streamed down her skirt, and of the expostulations of the servant who was with her.

"Oh, poor little thing," she said, "it is dreadfully hurt. I wonder if its legs are broken. Whose is it, I wonder? Well, I can't stop to find out. I must just take it to mamma, and see what can be done."

The maid objected strongly, but Violet was

accustomed to have her own way in most things, and it was her habit to take no notice of opposition, except, perhaps, that she became more determined when difficulties arose. She simply walked on, carrying the wounded dog as carefully as she could, and assuring him at every step that she would be very kind to him, while he tried to thank her by feebly licking the little hands that held him, and in his heart he felt that such happiness as this was worth all the pain he had suffered.

When she reached the lodgings which for the last week had been her home, Violet carried the dog straight into the sitting-room, where a tall lady, with a pale thin face, was lying uneasily on the sofa. The child gave her no time to ask questions,

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but immediately began her story"Mamma, I found this poor little dog in the middle of the street, and he is dreadfully hurt, and I don't know who he belongs to. May I ask Dr. Brewster to cure him; and may I keep him always for my own?"

"How can you keep what is not yours? and as to curing the poor creature, I doubt if it can be done. The kindest thing to do would be to put it out of its misery."

"Oh! no, mamma, please don't say that," began Violet very anxiously, but she was interrupted by the entrance of the doctor, and she turned eagerly to him for support, scarcely giving him time to shake hands with her mother. "Dear Dr. Brewster, don't you think you can cure this nice little dog? Please say it must not be killed. It is such a little pet. Do say you can make it well."

Dr. Brewster was very fond of little Violet Craig, so he at once began to examine the dog, only smiling a little at her vehemence. A dog scarcely seemed to him worth so much excitement. Violet stood beside him looking with breathless interest into his face while he felt the little creature all over, and her joy was intense when he said, with a little nod of re-assurance, "Yes, young lady, I think he may be cured. His legs are broken, but they can be mended and I don't think he is hurt anywhere else."

Violet gave a little scream of delight, and indulged in a caper round the room, making the crazy ornaments on the chimney-piece rattle and shake as if they must topple over on to the floor. But this childish behaviour only lasted a minute, and Violet was soon listening sedately to the list of things the doctor wanted for the operation of tying up the broken legs. She fetched them all, and then stood watching the doctor at his work, and silently admiring the gentleness of his touch. Then she assisted the kind man to wash off the coating of mud from the rest of the dog's body, to feed him with warm milk, and finally arranged a cushion in the corner of the room, where the dog was put to rest and sleep. No sooner was this work over, than Violet once more began to beg her mother that she might keep the dog, and appealed to Dr. Brewster for further assistance. "I don't know who it belongs to, so how can I give it back? Besides, I don't think they deserve to have it, as they take so little care of it. It would have been dead by this time if I had not brought it home, so it is really mine now. If I knew its owner it might be different, but even then I think it ought not to be given back, for see how thin it is; it has been half starved."

"I know the dog, I think," said Dr. Brewster. "It was given to an invalid lady in this very house, who petted it very much. But when she got well, she married a gentleman who could not bear dogs, so she gave this one to the landlord's little nephew. I think this must be the same animal, because I know that one was once bitten in the ear by a big dog, and I notice that one of this dog's ears is only a kind of rag."

"Do you think the boy would let me have it?" asked Violet, very anxiously.

"You are in too great a hurry, my dear," said her mother. "We can settle that by and by. You are forgetting what a muddy frock you have on. Go now and change it, and we will talk about the matter afterwards."

Violet did as she was told, but all the time of dressing she was turning over in her mind arguments to induce her mother to let her keep the dog, if the owner would give it up. "And he ought to be made to give it up," she thought, "for any one can see that he has taken no care of it. The dear little thing will be much better off with me."

When Violet returned to the sitting-room, she found that Dr. Brewster had gone, and that the teathings were set out on the little table. She could not resist giving one look at the sick dog, who lay sleeping quietly on his cushion in the corner, but then she turned to the tea-tray, and proceeded to fulfil her usual duties. This child seemed born to be with sick people-her movements were so light, her voice so soft, her hands so very handy. Even to-night, when her mind was full of her desire for the dog, she forgot none of her mother's little habits, but attended to her wants, if possible, more tenderly than usual, not allowing her anxiety to show itself by the faintest sign.

At last the meal was over. The tea-tray was cleared away, the lamp lighted, the curtains drawn, and Violet sat down on a low chair beside her mother, with her work in her hand, waiting for the promised talk. She had not long to wait, for Mrs. Craig knew she was only hiding her impatience.

"You are very good, my Violet," she said, and the thin white hand passed caressingly over the child's soft dark hair. "I should like to please you if it is right. Tell me why you want the dog."

Violet's work had fallen from her hands the moment her mother began to speak, and she now burst forth eagerly with all her good reasons. "I want him first for his own sake. He is thin and miserable, and just now he is ill, and needs more care than he is at all likely to get from his owner; and I want him for my own sake too. I have no friends here to play with, and all my pets are given away, and I do want something to love and care for. I promise that he shall trouble nobody; I will do everything for him."

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Well, dear, he was in your path to-night, and I do not think you could have passed him by and left him to be killed. I am sure no one will wish to interfere with you for the present, but when the dog gets well your responsibility will be over. He has a home, and though his condition shows it must be a rough one, still it is a home. If you take him from it, will you give him anything better? At first I know you will be kind to him, but by and by, when the novelty is over, when you get friends to play with, and other pets perhaps, will you not tire of this ugly little beast? He will cost you some trouble, remember."

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tire."

Yes, mamma," said Violet, "but I shall not

"Think well before deciding, my child. Undertake no responsibility hastily, for, having assumed a duty, it is sin to neglect it. Half the misery of this very miserable world comes just from that. People begin good work, meaning so well, but they do not count the cost. By and by they find it is not easy, and they stop, leaving the work unfinished, useless, and, worse still, spoilt for other hands that might have done it well.”

"Mamma, how white you look. Do you feel tired?" asked Violet, tenderly.

"No, my child, only it hurts me to talk of this. Perhaps I take it too seriously, but I cannot bear to think that you should in a small matter do that which, in great ones, brings so much wretchedness on the world."

"Mamma, I shall not fail. If I keep the dog, he shall never have cause to regret it." Violet spoke very slowly and gravely, and she fully meant what she said.

"Very well," replied her mother. "Then, as far as I am concerned, the matter is settled. I will do what I can to get you the dog."

No more was said on the subject, but as Violet fed the little dog that night, she told him that he should never leave her, that he should be always her pet, and that she would make him-oh! so happy. The dog did not understand the words, but he understood very well the sweet, earnest look in the little face, and he felt happier than he had ever done before in spite of his pain. He feebly licked Violet's white hands, but he was so weak that he could scarcely manage to express his feelings, even in this easy fashion. Next day his little master, Ben Bugg, was sent for, and after school hours he made his appearance. He was a dark, heavy boy, about Violet's age, with very big eyes and a hungry expression. No one would have thought of giving a dog to such a child, but two years ago, when Miss Bonar had passed on to him the favourite which she no longer prized, Ben had been in a different position. His father had since died, leaving a widow with four children to bring up, of whom Ben was the eldest. She did her best, but it was hard work, especially as one of the four was a sickly child, so perhaps it was no wonder that the dog was thin. The little creature trembled when he saw his master, and looked appealingly to his new friend, who found time, in spite of her own eagerness, to reassure him by stroking his little head.

When Ben had made his bow, he stood still in the middle of the room, waiting to be spoken to. Violet stood in the corner, not knowing how to begin. The longer they looked, the less they liked each other, and the more determined they both became not to give in. If they had stared much longer, I don't know what might not have happened, but fortunately Mrs. Craig came in, and her gentle look and smile softened Ben a little.

"Sit down, Ben," she said politely, "perhaps you know what we wished to speak to you about."

"Yes, I know," said Ben gruffly, "you want to keep my dog."

"Yes, if you will let us."

"The dog was given to me, and I want to keep it, but mother says I must give it up, so I can't help myself."

"We do not want to force it from you against your will," began Mrs. Craig gently, but Violet here rushed headlong into the discussion.

"I found him last night dying in the street. He would not be alive at all if I had not saved him. Look at his torn ear, and see how thin he is. Do you want to keep him that he may be killed outright?"

Violet spoke very quickly and angrily, but Ben was quite as angry, though he showed his feelings differently. He flushed scarlet, and his eyes flashed, and his voice was gruffer than ever, as he answered:

I

I can't take him.

"If he is thin, it is because I am poor; he feeds as I do. And if he gets into mischief, it is not my fault. have to be at school all day, and But he is mine all the same." He shut his mouth tightly with the air of one who has unanswerably settled a dispute, and Violet, fearing that now, by her temper, she had lost the dog, looked piteously to her mother for help.

Mrs. Craig complied with this silent request by saying, in tones even gentler than before:

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Listen, Ben. The little dog is ill now, and needs more care than you can possibly give him, and even when he gets well, he will have to run the same risks as before, and perhaps worse harm may happen to him. Do you not think it would be kinder to the dog to leave him with us? can do more for him than you can."

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"I suppose it would be kinder," said Ben, grudgingly, "but I do not like it. I shall miss him very much.”

He came up to the dog and stroked him gently, then, with a sudden impulse, he stooped and kissed him between the eyes, and Violet, who was watching attentively, saw two bright tear-drops fall on the little black head. The dog looked up lovingly. He had never before cared much about his master, for he had never known that his master cared for him. He had not understood Ben's rough caresses, but now he would almost have liked to follow him back to the miserable room that was Ben's home, and endure again the teasing of the younger children, and the cuffs of the poor over-worked mother. He would have quite wished to go, if Violet had not been so very sweet. It was not for comforts that this foolish little dog pined, but for love.

"There is no use making any more fuss about the matter. Miss Bonar called him Tan, and I think he will answer best to his old name. Goodbye, little Tan. Good evening, ma'am, as I have no more to say I had better go." And Ben, with another awkward bow, made his way to the door.

"Good night, Ben," said Mrs. Craig. "You have been a good boy, and I hope you will never regret having trusted your pet to us. You must come and see him sometimes."

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