loud and coarse a voice, and so irreverently, that it did much to untune one's spirit for leading the devotions. And, to intensify the evil, the singers corresponded to the clerk. Unseemly tunes, with no relation to the sentiment, and the most absurd repeats, sung most vociferously, not heartily. Then, there was an incessant bustling about during the service. One of the triumvirate was, without exception, the fussiest mortal I ever saw. Out of his pew, down this aisle, up that, in the vestry, then up in the gallery, and, at last, just before I announced the text, he skipped up the pulpit-stairs, leant over the side, and, putting his face close to mine, asked me, in a mysterious whisper, whether I would be at the prayer-meeting next evening. And as I assented, what did my gentleman do, but, as soon as the hymn-spoiler had announced several meetings in the vicinity, and that application for pews might be made to Brother Bubb, &c., &c., added, from the middle-stair of the pulpit, with a flourish of trumpets, that your humble servant "would preside at, &c., &c.;" then looked up graciously at me, as one who had done something towards helping me, and with much complacency took his seat, and, with the air of a connoisseur, prepared to listen to "Soand-so, late of Oriel College, Oxford." I think I could preach in Smithfield Market, or on a fashionable promenade at a watering-place, and not feel half so distracted as by all the accessories at that Pinchbeck Chapel of theirs. I have a creeping sensation all over my frame when I think of the place.'

'I found there were no "elective affinities," likely to make WaterHampton your sphere of labour.'

'What, I wonder, was their report?'

'In brief, that you were "a gentleman-preacher," too "dainty as to modes of proceeding," refusing to "make a splash," and "not caring about popularity," "not what we should call in business a good salesman, &c., &c.""

Is it possible? Yet I am not surprised, either. And one prominent reason for dissenting from the National Church, is the desire "for something more spiritual!" Now, tell me, is this Pinchbeck Chapel a fair specimen of a class?'

Of a class, it may be. But I sincerely hope not a large one, and also that you have been more fortunate elsewhere.'

'Most undoubtedly. But I assure you, Pinchbeck Chapel and its diaconate affected me very unpleasantly?'

'I am not surprised. But was it all nought, even there?'

'By no means. I met with some truly religious people among the poor; indeed, with more intelligent piety than I had ever found among the same class before. I came, in the course of the month, quite to esteem some of them. And, by the bye, I fell in with two or three of Luke's "honourable women;" but, excepting those I have referred to among the poor, all the men were very sorry specimens of redeemed humanity.'

'You were at home with Mrs. Colonel Marriott, I suppose?'

'Mrs. Colonel Marriott! One of the happiest specimens of a

Christian lady I ever met with, and I learnt something from her too. She is tortured, I am sure, in every nerve by the manner in which things are done, and yet on principle remains connected with the people; aye, and she is doing a good work among them, too. If that church is ever regenerated, it will be by the Maries and Priscillas among them. By the way, I have-in some other places, too-found the happiest influences being exerted by intelligent and cultivated Christian ladies. And, indeed, I spent a fortnight with one church in which the primitive order of deaconesses was recognised, and, as I was told, with very great advantage.'

""Deaconesses!"

inquired Mr. Spencer.

Why, what in the world were their functions?'

Oh, the deacons were too much engrossed in their own businesses, to have much time for devoting to all the detail that often requires such prompt attention, and these excellent women-who were not unlikely to have got mentioned in an apostolic epistle, if we had any St. Paul among us to write one-made themselves, as the advertisements say, "generally useful." They visited the sick, kept a sort of oversight over the younger females, and, by their knowledge of the whole female portion of the church, could keep many things from growing up to serious evils, while by their means the minister also could always know whatever was desirable touching nearly all the flock.'

'Good,' said Mr. Spencer. Worth trying, I should say. Only, we had need have the right sort of women. Injudicious, talking women, recognised as holding a sort of offices, would be worse than undesirable deacons. But, if you could secure the women whom Bunyan places in his house called "Beautiful," namely, "Prudence, Piety, and Charity," I can conceive they might be eminently useful.'

'The deaconesses in the two churches I refer to,' said the other, 'collected the chief part of the subscriptions, and, by their punctuality in such matters, staved off a great deal of discomfort, Î was told. And as pecuniary discomfort is certain to lead on to still graver complications, they must be considered as greatly contributing to promote the peaceful state of things I found in those churches.'

'I like the idea,' said Mr. Spencer. Indeed, it has sometimes occurred to my own mind; but it is not every congregation, or church rather, I must say, that can furnish women of the right kind. And better none at all than unfit ones, I am sure.'

'Well, to return; the church at Water-Hampton is to be congratulated on having a Mrs. Colonel Marriott among them, though she holds no such office, and her influence is rather felt like the fragrance of the sweet-briar after a shower, than seen like light. Her very tones, and even presence, served, more than once, I observed, to bring those unfortunately constituted deacons into something like a pleasant mood. God send a noble woman, or two, into all such churches, I say?'

'She writes of your visit to Water-Hampton as peculiarly valuable

to her, and that you have given her strength for months to come. Indeed, I should judge the month well bestowed if no other good accrued from it than the great help and furtherance you were to this one Christian lady, who, I know, is engaged in a true lifework. After all, the highest spiritual good is the least definitely reportable, I suppose. But, what was your next engagement?'

'Oh, I have not half done with Water-Hampton yet. But my next place was as delightful as this was ungenial. Indeed, it is written down in my memory as the "Happy Valley," and one of the most favourable specimens of a Dissenting church I have met with. But, by the way, what a wretched designation for a church of Christ--a Dissenting church! I would counsel the utter abandonment of it at once, and for ever. To me it is exceedingly repugnant, irredeemably offensive. I would never name a part of that church which He hath purchased with his precious blood' [speaking very softly] 'from any feature of antagonism to another. I shall never frame my mouth to utter it pleasantly, I am sure. However, Darlingham was my next place. But I should like to reserve my account of this pleasing church till Duncan comes, for he seems to have a deep prejudice against your whole body. And, indeed, I did not go there immediately on leaving Water-Hampton, for, having to pass through London, and having two or three weeks at liberty, I availed myself of the opportunity to hear as many of the ministers there, and attend as many of the public meetings, as I could. But what say you to a walk?'

With all my heart; but what ministers did you hear?'

'Oh, several. There was-let me see-Mr. Binney, of course; Dr. Leifchild; Mr. Stovel; well, then-oh!-Mr. Hinton; and a gentleman at Holloway, Mr. Morris; and a minister, near Guy's Hospital, at a place called Maze Pond-I forget his name; black hair'

'Aldis ?'

'That's the name. It would have gratified me to-but come, we can walk and talk.'

And I think, seeing these ministers are happily still among us, it may be better to let the two gentlemen have their chat about them to themselves. So, with the simple remark that Mr. Spencer was much gratified by his friend's discriminating admiration of them and several others not here enumerated, I invite the reader to a peep in next number of Mr. Warrington's Happy Valley; that is to say, the church at Darlingham.

'Baptist, or Independent?'

Upon my word, sir, I don't know. Is it of any consequence?'

The Means of Life.

ONE of the most pathetic things in Boccaccio is the well-known story of the Hawk and the Lady. A young gentleman of good means paid passionate court to a beautiful girl, and made himself conspicuous in the city by the splendour of the entertainments he gave for her sake. After a brief career of prodigal expenditure he broke down, and the lady's friends would not hear of her marrying a bankrupt cavalier. She married a richer man, who soon died, and left her with a son. In her widowhood she retired to the country, and, as it befel, to an estate adjoining a secluded farm to which her former lover had fled to hide his regrets and practise economy,-all the property he had in the world being a favourite falcon, with which he went a-hunting daily for his dinner. One day he met the little boy in the fields, and the pair took a morning's sport together, and then parted. This was enacted over and over again, till at last the young gentleman conceived a passion for the hawk of whose cleverness he had beheld so much. By-and-bye he fell sick of a malaria fever, and, in his delirium, raved incessantly for the hawk; nor in his delirium only, for in his lucid moments he still longed for the wonderful bird, and prayed his loving mother to get it for him. The physician assuring her that the boy would die unless he were allowed to have what he coveted, the lady resolved to pay a visit to the farm of her old lover, and ask him for his bird for the love of heaven,-not knowing, to be sure, that his pet hawk was his sole purveyor in his poverty, though she judged he would naturally be very fond of it. And when the lady, along with an attendant, presented herself to the young cavalier, he received her with infinite courtesy, and bade her stay and partake of such hospitality as his menage could afford, to which she consented. The bountifulhearted lover, almost beside himself with conflicting emotions, withdrew to consult his housekeeper about dinner, and, after an anxious consultation over ways and means, till the pièce de existance was fixed upon, returned to his guests, with whom he chatted of things indifferent till dinner was served, when all seated themselves at the table, and the meal passed off merrily enough, though the courses were few, and the flagons poorly filled. And when she had eaten and drunk, the lady opened her business, in full reliance on the generous heart and old friendship of her host. Her boy whom he had often played with was very ill; he longed with a deadly sickness for the falcon; would Frederigo bestow it for the love of heaven, and for pity of a mother's heart? Then the young man burst into tears, and for a long time could not speak a word; upon which the lady, thinking his grief was at the thought of parting with his beloved falcon, began to excuse herself: but he, interrupting, explained that she had partaken of the poor bird in the pasty just served-in proof of which he produced the feathers, the feet, and the beak! Wondering much and pondering in her heart the limitless generosity of this faithful lover, the lady went sorrowing home to her son, who, indeed, died in a few days. But

eventually she married the ducatless friend of her youth, saying to her expostulating brothers that she preferred a man without riches to the riches without the manhood.

A cruel story, my masters, and I think unnecessarily so. If I had been the inventor I would have made a good genius of the old housekeeper, and arranged that, with that sibylline wit so often attributed to aged women, she should find another victim for the spit; and, just as Frederigo had burst into tears and announced the fate of the poor falcon, she should bring him on her finger in beautiful feather. It is long since I read the 'Bride of Lammermoor' but I think Caleb Baldertone does things quite as extraordinary for his master. However, it is very striking, the part poverty plays in the drama of human existence, as presented in history, biography, and fiction,— including under this latter title even the child's fairy tale. Curious to note how much of the interest and pathos of life depends upon the difficulty in obtaining or keeping the means of life. More than curious to note how frequently the struggle to live crosses with duty or effection, and how in that fact lies the real 'curse of labour.' And wonderful, too, to trace in one's own consciousness,-sometimes in sudden flashes,-the aboriginal confidence of the human mind that the means of living are to be had, make the endowment what you please, so long as personal liberty be left to the man.

Mr. Emerson somewhere regrets or wonders that we cannot fling ourselves into the charmed circle in which the young ravens are fed when they cry.' But there is an illusion here; and if we take up the wonderment there is forgetfulness too. We have better oracles-' If God so clothe the grass of the field' and 'Of more value than many sparrows.' Is there, in fact, such a 'charmed circle' for ravens, or are we all within the same circumference of one Bountiful Will? I apprehend we are. Very idle, as it seems to me, is all talk of special and general providence. In Him we live and move and have our being, and when that is said, all is said upon the subject of providence. It does not follow, because a bank-note comes to me just in the hour of my need, that God does not, as Plato says, 'geomotrise.' No, not if I had asked for it, and if the chain of circumstances by which it reached me was strikingly visible in all its lower links. As for my asking, and expecting, and thanking, I cannot help either; for He it was who made me what I am, and taught me to ask and to thank; and in that, too, He assuredly 'geometrised.' Sometimes I have a clearer glimpse than usual of His designing will in the mechanism of creation; sometimes of the same designing will in that more complicated mechanism into which human intelligence and feeling enter as elements, and which we call providence. In the one case I exclaim, 'how wonderful are thy works, O Lord, in wisdom hast Thou made them all,'-in the other, goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life.' As I do not believe in a God who wound up the world and retired from it, but in a present living God, who is, moreover, my revealed Father, the distinction between general and special providence vanishes, as a matter of speculation.

6