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“We often lose in trial what is calculable; we oftener gain what is incalculable."

“Mary's silence is, next to that of Christ's, the most remarkable thing in this bistory. She was a woman of quiet thought, of solitary prayer, of tacit power.” (A fine description in a few words.)

“The Law, as a set of literal maxims, of negative precepts, cul. minated in Pharisaisin."

“The Pharisees deified the husk, the shell ; Christ rejected the shell, and discovered the kernel."

“It is only when joy is most passionate that we are dimly conscious how awful sorrow may be in its supremest depths."

“ What would life be without its ideals ? It is only ideals which kindle continued action."

“The world is too much with us, and God too little."

“God wrestles with us now, when our life comes to its Jabbok in the midnight, and the path divides to heaven or to hell.”

Mr. Brooke looks upon human nature, as a whole, with more breadth of view and depth of feeling than the eloquent Canon who fills St. Paul's with his lofty appeals and powerful statements of truth. There is more real homeliness in the Queen's Chaplain. He is not so far away from you, lost in the meditative heights of an isolated ecclesiasticism. He comes to you where you wish to meet him, as a brother and a friend. You are not indignant at the prospect of discovering some possible difference in nature, requiring the preacher to treat you as if he were an archangel and you a wretched mortal creature, full of gross imperfection and misery. This man is not a priest in that objectionable sense which makes you feel as if your preacher were charged with a Divine authority so to represent God to you, that you must not dare to speak with Him unless under priestly guidance and with priestly help. Mr. Stopford Brooke would say to any prostrate inquirers, "Stand up! I myself also am a man!” We are not addressed in a preacherish, soft-sawder way; but as men and women having the seal of God upon our brows. He does not shirk any duty of inquiry or speech which you may lay upon him: be is free to think out for bimself, and for you any of the great problems of life which may ask for solution. All history is bright for him as it was for that devout and lofty thinker who, more than any other man, gained the end of his mission in impressing his brethren in the Church with the feeling, that the Divine Almighty Being is working in all things for the everlasting good of every one of us. Hence he leaves the beaten paths which so many still are treading, and looks everywhere for tracks which may help him to wider knowledge of His fellow, but at last bring him to the feet of God. It is superfluous to remark upon the beauty and perfectness of Mr. Brooke's style. There is a clearness and felicity in it which savours of the culture of that old university which is his Alma Mater. But there is all the force and strength which could only be imparted by deep convictions and earnest feeling.

He may not possess the faculty for speaking to that now restless, upheaving mass of life which will soon stir our people as with the throes of a revolution. He is not gifted with a tongue which, like that of the illustrious “ Tribune of the people,” could lead forward a nation in its passionate enthusiasm ; but he can take a high place -indeed does take one—among those who are sharing in God's great purpose to save mankind. He sympathises with the keen hunger for freedom which is laying hold on men; and loses few chances of uttering a hearty—“God-speed you !" to all that yearn for its destined day of joy and triumph. He recognises the preacher's true place in this hour of dawning; and is ready always with a cheerful hope and an inspiring word as a proclaimer of the Kingdom of God.



Author of " Sermons from the Studio,The Sculptor of Bruges,” fc.


“O who will give me tears ? Come all ye springs,

Dwell in my head and eyes; come clouds and rain :
My grief hath need of all these watery thing3

That Nature hath produced.”—HERBERT.
May 1st, 1642.-I can neither spin nor sew, for I am walking in

, thick darkness, and these national troubles seem all one with my inward griefs. My father looks at me, and sighs; but he has no comfort to offer, save his kisses and caresses, and sometimes J think he knows more than he dares to say.

Surely Andrew cannot be living, or did ten thousand miles, or did an ocean lie between us, his spirit could not be unconscious of my sorrow and despair. Or perhaps he is slowly dying, as I have seen him in my dreams, with none to lift his head or smoothe his pillow. What wonder, then, if my life withers too ? Could be untwine these strings and loose these cords that bind us together, and I not bleed ?

Once an evil whisperer muttered in my ear that he whom I trusted had forgotten; that where he dwelt were dark-eyed women

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whose beauty no poet could behold unmoved; that, floating in fairy boats on moonlit streams, with music and song, with these lustrous, star-like eyes shining on him, those rich ruby lips dropping sweet sentiments in a language so melodious that the very beggars seem to ask their alms in poetry-could he remember the brown-haired, blue-eyed, pale daughter of the North ? Yes! yes! he could. It was a fiend that suggested the idea that he could be untrue; and better he should die and sleep where none he loves can shed a tear upon


than Andrew Marvel should be unfaithful in act or thought.

And my Bible tells me to believe that God is still working for my best happiness, and that He has good reasons for permitting this mysterious delay. I pray to believe it; I try to drive out of my mind all hard thoughts of my Father in heaven ; I say to myself again and again that He is love; but it does not comfort me as it ought to do. I cannot submit meekly, and trust in the dark. Then, to increase my anguish, the fear creeps in that perhaps, after all, I am not a child of God, my faith having failed in the day of trial. Sometimes I cry out from the depths of my soul, “Forsake me not, O my God!” If His love was quite extinguished in my heart, should I be so distressed about my condition ?

May 2nd.—This morning Ralph took me for a ride in La Belle Tour, and along the inner walls of the town, for it is bardly safe to venture into the country. My poor jennet was so glad to be out of the stable once more. Ralph has shown himself a kind and unobtrusive friend lately, and is constantly with my father who finds him a very valuable supporter. There are many factions even in this place, and some are ready enough to throw over the Parliament at the first sound of danger to their persons or property. Captain Hotham is very zealous ; father considers him a more reliable man than Sir John. He keeps the town in a continual ferment by the strangest reports of soldiers and horses being concealed in the vaults underground, and of a Spanish fleet that is expected every day.

The King has made another attempt to secure an entrance here, by endeavouring to bribe Lieutenant Fawkes, whom they sent for to Beverley, promising him a large sum of money if he would find some way of surrendering Hull to the Royal party. Fawkes appeared to agree, but in reality informed the Governor, who bade him continue the pretence, and get to know what he could of their intentions. At length they fixed on a certain night to send a thousand horse and as many foot-soldiers to our gates, which Fawkes was to open to them. Some of Sir John's officers were for letting them in, and theu cutting them to pieces; but my father and others opposed such a cruel purpose, and Sir John had instructions not to be the first to shed blood. He therefore sent to York, telling the King that they were quite aware of his schemes, and thus were we spared the dreadful calamity of having men slaughtered in the streets of our dear town,

May 4th.There is a great deal of trouble in finding quarters for all the soldiers ; their number daily increases, and my father spends every morning drilling the new recruits. Mistress Fawkes is very wrathful with her husband for revealing the King's design, because the person who wrote to Fawkes was her own father; and now Parliament has ordered him to be arrested. She declares that she will yet do the King a good turn, and has no words sour enough for the poor offending lieutenant. I do think she is a dangerous person.

May 7th.—Mistress Marvel, with Ann and the baby Maria, set out for Huntingdon yesterday, where they have some relatives near of kin ; thinking that the change of air and scene will benefit Mistress Marvel's health, and restore the little Maria, who has always been a sickly child. It was a melancholy parting, with this uncertainty about our beloved travellers. Ann's spirit seemed well-nigh broken, and their going away has made me feel doubly forsaken.

CHAPTER XX.-BAD NEWS FROM AFAR. On the afternoon of the 9th of May, Colonel Lister was sitting in Sir Ralph Hildyard's room at the Manor Palace. It was a small ante-room, looking in the “King's garden,” and lead ing through richly-curtained doorway, into what had been the great reception saloon-now an armoury. Swords, pikes, and other warlike accoutrements hung on the walls, once adorned with the paintings of Zucchero, Jansen, and Holbein ; and the silken draperies were replaced by dark festoons, from the more delicate looms of a thousand spiders. Ralph's own apartment was not remarkable for order or tasteful arrangement; a miscellaneous assortment of furniture had been brought there from the lumber-rooms above, and the cabinets and floor were strewn with the contents of the young baronet's civil and military wardrobe. A sort of state chair of ebony, cushioned with faded tapestry, with the royal arms emblazoned on the back, stood by the window, and was occupied by the Colonel. At his elbow was a table, covered with papers, and a rude plan of Hull and the neighbourhood, to which he had evidently been referring. Ralph was seated at the other end of the table, dressed in the black velvet suit and wide lace collar, in which he had appeared at the Colonel's dinner-table that day; on the back of his chair hung his cloak, sword, and broad-brimmed

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hat, with its long white feather. He had exchanged the fasbionable air that used to distinguish him, for more decided and soldierly manners. The responsibility of being at the head of untrained troops, whom any hour he might have to lead out to engage with regular soldiers, was better discipline for him than to sport like a butterfly in the different courts of Europe. The Colonel gazed out of the window, his eyes on the unclipped hedges and straggling rose-trees, his thoughts far from such peaceful things.

“Yes, Ralph,” he said at last, resuming the conversation that had flagged; "this last proclamation will throw an apple of discord into every town and village, and into many families. It is a time for searching men's hearts."

True,” said Ralph. “ Men must make up their minds now on which side they will serve.

It was wise to put Hampden's name on the list of county deputies; we have not forgotten, nor has the King, I warrant, how those four thousand horsemen rode out of Buckinghamshire, to show their attachment to their member, and to petition against royal tyranny."

“I would say privately in your ear, Ralph, that I do not altogether trust our governor; I am of Vane's mind in that, and I think his son more likely to stand true to the right cause.

Sir John complains that the townsfolk are false. I know we have many strong adherents of the King within the walls ; there are a few Catholics, too, and there are always some who will hold to whichever party is in the ascendancy; but there is a solid body of men, besides the soldiery, who will faithfully uphold the authority of the Commons."

“Sir John's secretary, Master Stockdale, tells me that the governor has written to the Commons, imploring them to send Commissioners here--I suspect, that he may be relieved from some of his burdens and difficulties."

A knock at the door interrupted the political discussion, followed by the entrance of old Simon.

“ Master Pelham has been seeking you, sir, but finding you out, entrusted this letter to my care, saying that I was to deliver it to yourself: it has come this day enclosed in a letter from Sir Harry Vane. He also bid me be careful not to present it in Mistress Alice's presence. I pray it be no ill news for her."

The letter was marked "private" outside, and Simon's caution about Alice made the Colonel's heart sink. He cut the silk cord quickly with his sword, but his hands trembled and his face grew paler as he read. Before he had finished the first page, he dropped the letter, and, bowing his head upon the table, exclaimed, in a voice of intense pain—“Oh, my Alice! my little child! How can I tell her-how will she bear it!” and he rocked to and fro at the

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