and cutting off the hand of Arsenius, Bishop of Hypselis in Upper Egypt; and he was at length summoned before the Council of Tyre, to answer the charges against him. Arsenius had been bribed to conceal himself, but he was detected and secured by the Orthodox party. When Athanasius was accused of the murder, he brought into the midst of the Council a man muffled up in a cloak; and uncovering his face the assembly saw before them the supposed dead man. Then Athanasius drew out from the folds of the mantle first one of the hands he was said to have cut off, and then the other, saying, 'Let no one ask for a third; for two hands, and two only, has every human being received from the Creator of all things.' Notwithstanding his acquittal by the Council, his enemies never ceased in their efforts, till at last they succeeded in prejudicing the Emperor's mind against him, and he was deposed from his see and banished to Gaul.

From the time of his election to the Archbishopric of Alexandria his life was one long battle against the Arians. Forty-six years he was primate, and twenty of these he spent in exile; five times he was banished, and as often he returned again amid the acclamations of his faithful people. On his restoration to his see at the death of Con stantine he entered Alexandria in triumph; he rode upon an ass; the way was spread with carpets, and the multitudes who went out to meet him waved palm-branches in their hands, and scattered rich perfumes in the air; and at night the city was illuminated in his honour.

In the reign of the Arian Emperor Constantius the infamous George of Cappadocia was appointed archbishop. In the year 358, as Athanasius was keeping vigil with his flock at midnight, the soldiers of Syrianus, the Governor of Egypt, burst into the church and slaughtered the defenceless worshippers. Athanasius escaped, and found refuge amongst the hermits who dwelt on the banks of the Nile, whilst the partisans of George committed the most horrible outrages in Alexandria, and the name of religion was made a pretext for robbery and murder. But in a tumult raised by the pagans George was himself killed, and Athanasius was once more restored on the accession of Julian to the imperial throne.

After being alternately exiled and restored under different Roman emperors, Athanasius died in peace at Alexandria in A.D. 373. Though of extremely small stature, he had such heroic courage that no danger appalled him, and he boldly faced his enemies at the risk of his life to repel the calumnies which ever and anon were raised against him. He was the author of many works, and besides being gifted with extraordinary eloquence, he had a keen sense of humour. One day, as he was passing through the square of Alexandria, a crow flew croaking over the hads of the pagan crowd, who asked him in derision what the bird said. 'Do you not hear?' said Athanasius: 'it says, "Cras! cras!" which is in Latin "To-morrow," and means that to-morrow something unpleasant will befall you, for to-morrow your pagan festival will be suppressed by an Imperial decree.' Which event actually occurred, to the confusion of the pagans.

A. R.

A PASTORAL OF ENGLISH LIFE,

IN MERE CATHEDRAL.

HERE was unusual excitement in the town of Mere, and in all the neighbouring villages, for the great day of the annual fair had at length arrived. During the previous weeks caravans and waggons of all kinds had been slowly wending their way along the dusty roads in the direction of the common centre. The meadows outside Mere, commonly called the Fair-fields, were full of booths, and other rough wooden buildings, and pens for the sheep and cattle, which both the night before and from an early hour on that Tuesday morning had been pouring in with one continuous stream. Even Stoke Melford had been roused from its ordinary quietness, and the village carrier, Timothy Gilf, was at his wits' end to know how to satisfy the numerous applicants for seats in his covered cart. All available conveyances had already been chartered for the day, and well it was for those who, like our friend Amos Ridley, had already bespoken places a week before.

At the last moment the best wishes of the carrier availed little, for there is a physical limit to the number of people who can be squeezed into a certain space, even if there is no limit to the weight which one old white horse can be expected to draw. He was a merry, good-tempered fellow was Timothy, and he tried to soothe the disappointment of the rejected ones by reminding them that the fair lasted three days, and that if he was full to-day, he might find room on Wednesday or Thursday. From his position as carrier he was a man of some importance in the village, and he had another cause for pride, of which only an antiquarian could decide the justice, though few disputed it.

Timothy Gilf boasted of being a lineal descendant of the ancient family of the Gilifs, who had been lords of the manor of Stoke Melford hundreds of years before. As in so many other places, the ups and downs of Fortune's wheel had brought the earlier race to the position of labourers, while the property now belonged to new people, the Wilmots, who had made their money in trade a generation or two before.

But we must leave this digression on the subject of the carrier's ancestors to follow the course of his journey along the high-road to Mere. Amongst his passengers there was one to whom every thing was new and delightful, though, alas! he was obliged to depend upon the description of others to tell him of that which his own eyes would never see. It was little Peter, whom his brother Amos, acting upon Miss Ashton's suggestion, was taking with him to Mere. From the moment that the proposed expedition had been first mentioned to him the boy had been in a state of eager excitement, he could speak and think of nothing else. He had scarcely slept at all the night before, and when Lizzie called him at six o'clock for his

early breakfast, she found him already dressed and full of anxious inquiries about the weather. He had not been to Mere for years-not since his brother had taken him to the Infirmary there, to consult the doctors as to the loss of his sight. But now, what a different day this would be!

He was going to hear the great organ in the Cathedral, and the chanted service; and perhaps Mr. Blake might be willing to hear

him sing, and might let him hope that one day his voice would be good enough for a choir-boy. This was the highest summit of his ambition at present, and even the dream of it gave a new interest to his darkened life. Little Peter was only nine years old, but he was thoughtful and sensitive far beyond his ears; and during the long hours of silence and shadow to which his blindness condemned him, the one absorbing sorrow of his young life was the feeling that he must always be helpless and useless. When, however,

he first learnt that, in the passionate taste for music which was born with him, there might possibly be found an occupation and a future for him, the lonely child seemed to enter upon a new life of hope and courage. Every one noticed the change in him, though few understood the reason of it.

Amos watched him with anxious tenderness, and during the long tedious ride he tried to turn the boy's thoughts to other subjects, for he dreaded, above all things, the effect of a disappointment. He had seen so much more of the world, and knew how rarely our most sanguine hopes are realised. So he devoted himself with untiring patience to his little brother; describing all the places on the road, the various carts and carriages which passed them; talked to him about the gaieties of the fair, and promised that he should hear the band in the afternoon, aud learn all about the wild beast show.

Stoke Melford was only eight miles from Mere, but the road was rough and hilly, and the carrier's cart rarely accomplished the journey in less than two hours. There was this advantage in the slow pace, that any one who was left behind at the start was pretty sure, by walking briskly, to overtake the van at one of the various publichouses on the road. Timothy used to say that his horse was thirsty and needed rest; other people said it was the driver. However, the longest journey must come to an end at last, and it was still early in the day-not yet ten o'clock-when the two brothers found themselves in the Cathedral Close. The bell was ringing for morning service, but there was time for Amos to take little Peter round the venerable building, tell him what it was like, and relate all he had heard of its past history, before they saw the choristers cross from the school-house, and then followed them in through the north porch.

There was nothing remarkable in the service that morning, nothing which the other members of the congregation—and how sadly few there were!—would have taken any special notice of, but to the enchanted ears of the blind boy it seemed almost like a foretaste of Heaven. He listened with rapt enthusiasm, and in one of the chants which he happened to know, his young clear voice rang out with such sweet tones that many eyes were turned towards him. But little Peter sang on in calm unconsciousness, undisturbed by curiosity or approval. And when all was over, and one by one the worshippers had left the sacred building, the boy still lingered until the last notes of the organ had died away. Then Amos gently touched him, to remind him that they too must be moving; but before he could be persuaded to tear himself away approaching footsteps were heard, which the child recognised at once.

''Tis the Rector,' he whispered, and his brother looking up, saw that it was indeed Canon Ashton, and with him was a stranger—an old man with white hair and a kind, gentle face.

'Well, my little friend,' said Mr. Ashton, stroking the boy's soft curls, I am very glad to see you here. My daughter told me you were coming, and sent a message about you to Mr. Blake, whom you have just heard playing the organ. He would like to have a little quiet talk with you, while Amos and I take a turn in the cloisters.'

'Would you like me to play you something more?' asked the organist, kindly.

Oh, yes, sir!' cried little Peter, his eagerness for the music quite overcoming his usual shyness. So the two went off together to the organ · the old musician and the young boy, whose Meantime his brother and Mr. Ashton had turned away, to leave them perfectly free and undisturbed.

great ambition was to become one.

6

'You so rarely take a holiday, Ridley,' said the Rector, that I cannot help thinking you must have some special reason for coming into Mere to-day. Or was it only on little Peter's account?'

'No, sir,' replied the young blacksmith. Farmer Yeatman, he be minded to buy one of they new threshing-machines; there be some on show to-day in the Market-place, and he do want me to give a look at them.'

I am very glad to hear it, for I mentioned them to him long ago. They are worked by horses, you know, and it seems to me they must effect a wonderful saving of human labour. I have seen them in use in one or two places, and heard a very good account of them. But tell me, Amos,' he added, is it true, this report my daughter speaks of, that they are in disfavour with the labourers themselves?'

'I fear there be some truth in it, for you see there be always a deal of ignorant prejudice against anything new. And for the most part, folk be like a flock of sheep-if some ill-disposed one do go the wrong way, why all the others be main sure to follow.'

'I know,' said Mr. Ashton, seriously, that there have been troubles in other parts of the country, showing a bad state of feeling towards the employers. In several cases ricks of corn have been burnt, when there could be very little doubt that they had been purposely set on fire. I don't want to make you an informer against your neighbours, Amos; but I fancy there are one or two seditious characters at Stoke Melford on whom you might possibly have a good influence-that Luke Barnett, for instance.'

'Poor Luke!' exclaimed Ridley. 'Man and boy, 'tis ever the same story with him. No one ever did say a good word for him, and if ever there were a bit of mischief done as nobody owned to, why, sure enough, folk would set it down to Luke.'

And not be far wrong, either,' rejoined Mr. Ashton, with a smile.

Maybe not, sir. But look you, what a bad home the poor chap have had; what with the father as never went to bed sober, and the mother-well, you could hear her voice up to Chitwell parish when her temper were up. 'Twas a sad bringing-up for the lad, and he so sharp and clever, too. I do think there's nought he couldn't do if so be he set his mind to it.'

A sad pity when so much energy is turned in a wrong direction. I have heard of his speeches to the labourers, and the influence he has with them, and I wanted to give you a hint, Amos, to keep an eye upon him; for, mark my words, he's a dangerous fellow.

At this moment their conversation was interrupted by the approach of the old organist and his companion. Amos looked