A CALL BY THE WAY TO THE HOUSE OF GOD.

A

DOVER.

SK a child what it knows of Dover, and it will perhaps answer, 'Oh, that is the place where the ancient Britons assembled on the cliffs and wouldn't let Julius Cæsar land!' Ask a schoolboy to tell you something of the town, and he will probably reply, 'It's one, of the Cinque Ports, the first to which a charter was granted by Edward I.' Ask the ordinary Englishman the same question, and he will say, 'Busy, cheerful, little seaport; high road to Calais.' And then he will branch off into a description of his last crossing the Channel, how it blew, and how ill every one was except himself; and Dover will be forgotten with his reminiscences. And yet Dover town and Dover folk, have seen almost as many goodly sights, and welcomed as many celebrated visitors to English soil, as the very capital itself. Considered only from this point of view Dover is a very interesting place, standing with its impregnable Castle on its historic white cliffs, and receiving Queen Victoria's messengers as once it did those of Edward the Confessor; while, perhaps, it treats with a trifle more politeness the visitors from beyond the sea, than it did in the days when its inhabitants varied their attire from blue paint to skins of beasts.

It is no use, however, going back to such very distant times in the annals of Dover. Perhaps the little town came first prominently into notice as a port of departure and arrival from the Continent in

the reign of Edward III., when it was enacted that all merchants, travellers, and pilgrims going to the Continent, should embark at that place. Forty years later the passage-money to Calais was regulated; if the prices had only held good to this day travellers. would have no reason to complain of extortion,—6d. for each person, 1s. for a horse !

Boats, however, in those times were not so safe as our own mail steamers, and the king himself, returning from seeking a seven-yearold wife, was wrecked off Dover, and had to borrow forty pounds of the good citizens to carry him on his way home.

Henry V., more lucky in love and arms, brought a French wife here some years later, after reducing her country to submission and asserting his title to that foreign crown.

Henry VII. and Henry VIII., too, knew pretty well the aspect of Dover harbour, after a toss on the rude waves of the Channel.

Queen Elizabeth, in a royal progress in 1573, visited Dover, and remained six days at the Castle, exciting much enthusiasm among her subjects round, who duly testified their loyalty a little later by fitting out goodly vessels for the repulse of the Spanish Armada.

Here came luckless Charles I. also to meet his bride, Henrietta of France, arriving early, at ten in the morning, to discover her at breakfast-or dinner, more likely. The nimble, quick-eyed' lady, finding the king looking her over as if surprised at her height, showed him her shoes, saying, 'Sir, I stand upon mine own feet. I have no helps by art. Thus high I am, and neither higher nor lower.' How few ladies of the present day could make such a speech the bootmakers' shops testify!

Here, again, in 1642, appeared the king, that brave lady ' Henrietta, and a young daughter, Princess Mary, with them; she was on her way to be married to the Prince of Orange: but her face was sad, poor child for the troubles of civil war were impending, and her father, though a king, was poor and distressed.

Charles II., on his restoration, landed at Dover, to the music of the cannon's mouth; here, under a canopy erected on the beach, he received a gold-embossed Bible from the delighted townsmen. He seems to have liked his reception, for he returned in 1670 and made merry for a fortnight in the little town, in honour of his sister Henrietta Maria, Duchess of Orleans, who came over from France on a visit.

The Prince of Orange and his fleet of 500 ships-a goodly company -cast anchor at Dover in 1688. England, wearied by the behaviour of the king, James II., gladly welcomed him, as the only hope of the vexed and distressed country.

Coming nearer our own times, the early part of the present century saw Dover in a state of great excitement: threats of invasion from France terrified the peaceful inhabitants; the cliffs bristled with fortifications, the waters were covered with ships of war. The dull booming of cannons, announcing an English attack on Boulogne or Calais, frequently disturbed quiet people in their beds; all was war and rumour of war.

And then one April day, in 1813, came a more peaceful pageant, the speeding of a guest homewards. Louis XVIII., a throneless king

for one-and-twenty years, left our hospitable shores for his own land amidst the joyful huzzas of an immense multitude.

A scene of still greater splendour, perhaps, was presented by Dover a year later, when the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia, accompanied by a train of heroes, princes, and nobles, landed here from Boulogne, after the defeat and abdication of Napoleon. No wonder the cliffs were as of old crowded with eager spectators! such a company had rarely landed before on English soil.

On the 6th of February, 1840, the inhabitants of Dover awaited, with pleased expectation, the arrival of Prince Albert, prior to his marriage with our Queen. He did not linger long in the town, leaving next morning for London amid the hearty cheers of the crowd.

And here our list of royal and remarkable visitors must terminate, not for lack of names but lack of space.

Royal vessels are still always flitting in and out of the harbour, with Sultans and Shahs, Dukes and Princes on board. On the decks pace strange, unfamiliar forms; from the cabin windows peer young, eager faces, as it happens to be some Eastern potentate arriving on a visit to our shores, or our own royal children outward bound to refresh their memories of Russian or Danish grand-parents.

Dover never tires of such bright-plumaged birds of passage; her flags are ever ready to wave and her people to cheer a welcome to our Queen's visitors and the visitors of our country. H. A. F.

Short Sermon.

BY THE LATE REV. CANON KINGSLEY.

THE SICK OF THE PALSY.

St. Matthew, ix. 5, 6.- - For whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and walk? But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (then saith he to the sick of the palsy,) Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.'

For surely

HAT a lesson there is for us in this story! there is a lesson for us, or it would not have been written in the Gospel. Yes, there is a lesson, and it is this: That it is as easy for Christ to heal the palsy now as to forgive sins, and to forgive sins as to heal the palsy.

But what palsy? Christ performs now, as far as we know, no miraculous cures on our bodies. True; but is there not such a thing as a palsy of the soul-one which requires healing just as much, aye, far more than any palsy of the body? Can He heal that, at the same time as He forgives our sins?

A palsy of the soul,-who has not felt that when he first set his heart to do right? Who has not felt it again and again afterwards, as he grew in grace, and his standard of holiness and his notions of what he ought to be and to do rose higher and higher? He feels that his soul is indeed palsied, weak, and numb, and all but dead.

Unable to move, or, if it moves, moves like the limbs of a palsied man, irregularly, and in the wrong direction. He feels that the good which he would, he does not do; and the evil which he would not, that he does. He feels good desires, and yet has no strength to put them into practice and bring them to good effect. And like a palsied man's body, so the soul is apt to be numb. It cannot feel as it ought, and as it would wish. It wishes to be devout, reverent to God, grateful to God for all His mercies. It wishes to feel shame for sin. It wishes to feel admiration for all good and noble deeds and things.

And it does feel all these a little. But how little! A numbness and deadness is upon it, which it cannot shake off of itself, till the day when Christ shall say unto it, 'Arise, and walk.' But before Christ can say that to us, He must, I think, say to us, as to the sick of the palsy, 'Son, be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven thee.'

For this numbness and deadness of soul has been brought on us, we shall find, by our own sins, and those sins must be forgiven before the burden which they have laid upon us can be taken off. By our own sins. This palsy of spirit is, as I take it, the total effect of all the sins which we have committed ever since we were baptized, of all the bad habits which we have indulged, all the bad thoughts which we have harboured, and of all the good which we have neglected. We sin away much of-often all of the innocence, the tenderness, the freshness, the teachableness of our youth. We harden our hearts, and dull our spirits, by brooding over selfish gain, or selfish pleasure, or selfish grievances.

And then, when the Church cries to us, in after life, Lift up your hearts! we cannot lift them up unto the Lord, and to His eternal Heaven of pure goodness; for our minds are full of other matters, which are anything but heavenly, and we have no strength to turn them out and break away from them, and lift up our hearts. And here they must lie, until the Lord shall lift them up unto Himself.

And how will He do that? Holy Communion tells us. And when and where will He do it? Holy Communion tells us that likewise. Then and there, at that altar, in that bread and that wine, if nowhere else, will the Lord say to each of us, who feels the palsy of his soul, and is wearied with the burden of his sins, 'Be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven thee. Arise, and walk.'

For how can our sins be forgiven but by the precious blood of Christ? What says St. Paul? The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the sharing of the blood of Christ?' And what can strengthen and refresh our souls, that they may arise and walk, save the body of Christ? What says St. Paul? The bread which we break, is it not the sharing of the body of Christ?' Are not they what we need? and if so, shall we not find them at that Holy Sacrament? I do not say that we shall not find pardon and strength and comfort elsewhere: God forbid! But I do say that, whether or not we find them elsewhere, where they are not sure to be, we shall certainly find them in that Sacrament, where they are sure to be. If we wish to feel any sound assurance that we are forgiven, then what