token of forgiveness can be compared with Christ's own token? If we wish for a really new life, a stronger, more earnest life, a purer and more righteous life, a more loving and more charitable life, where are we more sure to find that life than where Christ has said that the life of the world is to be found?

I do not say that we shall be all equally benefited, or all at once. I suppose that here, too, Christ's law stands true, that 'unto him that hath shall be given;' that the better a man is, the better he becomes; that according as we use the grace which we have already, the more grace will be poured on us. It may be that the more deeply we are ashamed of ourselves, and contrite for our sins, the more perfect our pardon is. It may be-I believe that it is so that the more intensely in earnest we are in longing to be better and stronger men, the more fully and the more quickly will Christ's strength lift us up. It may be I believe that it is so that the more fully we are in love and charity with our neighbours, when we come to this Sacrament, the more are we filled with that divine love and charity which desires the good of all mankind.

--

But all must be benefited somewhat who come at all in earnest. Christ's Sacrament cannot be of no effect. Christ's words cannot return to Him empty. And He has said, My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed. I am the bread of life.' Neither can any honest cry for help go up to Him in vain. If He, when on earth, healed the palsied body of the man who cried to Him, because he had faith, how much more, now that He is ascended to Heaven that He may fill all things, how much more will He heal the palsied soul of the man who cries to Him, if he too has faith, and believes in Christ's power, believes in the message which Christ sends him in the sacrament? If Christ would heal the body, which must die again after a few short years, how much more will He heal the far more precious soul, which must live for ever, happy or miserable? If He has been faithful to man in that which is least, will He not be faithful likewise in that which is greatest?

Oh, my dear friends, believe these things, and consider these things. You cannot obey Christ without being rewarded for it. You cannot corae in earnest to the fountain of life without receiving some life, some blessing. Perhaps till the day of judgment you will never know how much you have received, never know how many temptations the Holy Communion has enabled you to conquer,how many bad habits, which were growing up in you almost without your knowledge, it has enabled you to keep down, and instead of returning to itself void, has been like the rain and dew from Heaven, quickening and strengthening in you the divine seed, the eternal life of goodness.

Then be of good hope, and persevere, for greater is He that is with you than he who is against you.' Coming to the Holy Communion you come to One who will in no wise cast you out, Who wills that none should perish, Who looks with hope on every man who is striving to improve himself, and Who, whenever a human hand is held out to Him for help in weakness and in sorrow, will surely, sooner or later, hold out His eternal hand in return, and say, 'Thy sins be forgiven thee; arise, and walk.'

FRESHWATER.

ITHIN extremely narrow limits the Isle of Wight possesses a happy combination of scenery, at once grand and romantic, sylvan and marine. No wonder tourists flock thither in the genial summer time, filling the places of the invalids who repair to it in winter. The Garden of England' is, indeed, seldom left to itself. The curious and the admiring are always treading the short grass of its downs, or looking up to the perpendicular heights of its cliffs. Freshwater Bay, at the extreme west of the island, is by no means one of the least remarkable of its nooks. Here the outline of the precipices is more than ordinarily bold, and the eye of the visitor is at once caught by the appearance of several immense, isolated rocks, rising as it were from the sea, yet close to land.

The Arched Rock especially demands attention. Worn to its present shape by the undermining action of the sea, it and its neighbour, the Deerpound Rock, were once part of the mainland; but the constant wash of tide and billows has separated them from the parent cliff. And the separation cannot have been of very ancient date, since the Deerpound Rock is said to have received its name scarcely a century ago, from the fact of a deer having leaped, when pursued, from the mainland to this spot. It would puzzle the fleetest of animals to span the gap which now separates the rock from the mainland : only wings could accomplish it.

Various caverns hollowed in these mighty cliffs likewise attract the tourist. In fine weather there is ample amusement to be found in paddling softly in and out of one and another. In rough weather it is best to keep to dry land, for pitiless are the mercies of this soft-breezed garden to such as tempt its rock-bound coasts when wind and wave are out of temper.

The Needle Rocks, seen from Freshwater Bay, are another object of curiosity, though the actual Needle Rock, a spire 120 feet high, and very slender, fell in the year 1764.

The Pomona, a fifty-gun frigate, was wrecked on the most western of these rocks in 1811; but, owing to the fineness of the weather, the crew and passengers, including some Persian princes, were saved. Would that such a termination could be reported of other shipwrecks on this rocky shore! Long will the disastrous wreck of the Clarendon be remembered on those coasts. Homeward bound, the gallant vessel was caught in a storm, and driven on to the beach. All night long the crew and passengers saw their fate staring them in the face, and in the wild daybreak of an October morning in 1836 they met that fate. The ship struck the land, shivered into a thousand pieces, and in five minutes every soul had perished save the mate and two seamen, who were cast on shore, with the life half beaten out of them.

One family on board, an officer with his wife and four daughters, were drowned within sight of the home they were speeding to, their bodies being laid in the churchyard adjoining that home by the relative who was anxiously awaiting them. For days the waters cast up the mangled bodies of the poor creatures lost on that awful morning. A light-house, erected at Niton, has now taken somewhat from the dangers of the coast.

Freshwater possesses another attraction, in that it is the residence of our Poet Laureate. Let none, however inspired by a desire to lay their homage at his feet, venture to disturb his retirement. Of all things, it is said that he shuns the admiring tourist. An amusing story is told in illustration of the poet's dislike to be interviewed,' as the Americans call it, though the story is probably the invention of some newspaper writer.

A gentleman presented himself at the poet's door, and asked to see Mr. Tennyson.

'My master can't see any one,' said the servant.

'But he will see me,' replied the stranger, blandly, ‘when he knows who I am.'

'Your name, sir?' asked the man.

'The Prince of Wales,' was the answer.

The servant smiled.

'Oh, we know that trick, sir, too well; that won't take us in!' And the door was shut in the stranger's face.

But it was the Prince of Wales! Whether Mr. Tennyson saw him from his study-window, and came to the rescue, or how things were righted, the anecdote does not tell. Good as the joke might be, one cannot believe that the heir of England could be turned from a subject's door as an impostor. H. A. F.

FIFTY YEARS AGO.

THERE IS A TIDE IN THE AFFAIRS OF MEN.'

HE position of Amos Ridley was perilous in the extreme. Surrounded on all sides by an excited crowd, rendered only the more savage for their passing hesitation in attacking him, his gallant defence would have availed him little, and he must inevitably have been dragged down and trampled under foot. A few minutes more and all help would have been too late, when suddenly a cry was raised,

"The cavalry be coming! They be close upon us!'

'Aye, that they be, sure enough! and you'll meet with your deserts, ye set of rascals!' replied a voice, which Amos thankfully recognised as that of Farmer Yeatman.

As the news quickly spread amongst the men that a troop of yeomanry was indeed close at hand, the effect was marvellous. They tried to slip quietly away on every side, each man being only bent on making good his own escape from the general danger which threatened them all.

But the soldiers were too quick for them; they were pursued, and the greater number were captured. Some few of the ringleaders had stood firm and made some show of resistance, and amongst these was Luke Barnett, who in the scuffle happened to get a severe wound on the head with a sword-cut.

In the thorough search of the premises which followed Augustus Jephson was discovered in his corner, and, notwithstanding his protestations, was being carried off-to his intense disgust amongst the labourers, when he caught sight of Farmer Yeatman, and piteously appealed to him.

'You can let that young man go, sir,' said he, turning with a smile to the officer in command. 'I'll warrant that he weren't in the midst of all this by his own choice. No, no! take my word for it, he's not the stuff that rioters be made of!'

So the gallant Augustus was free to depart, and without loss of time he turned his steps towards Mere; crestfallen, indeed, and for once in his life not disposed to boast of the part he had played. And so we will bid him farewell from our story.

Now that all present danger was happily averted, Amos Ridley had become the hero of the hour. Indeed, he felt quite bewildered with thanks and congratulations, for he was not at all aware of having done anything unusual. His chief anxiety was to know how his friend had contrived to bring him assistance at such an opportune moment; and then, for the first time, he heard of that message sent to Mere in the morning. It seemed that the lad Joe had been fortunate enough at once to find Canon Ashton, who was able to obtain immediate attention from the authorities, as the yeomanry had recently been called out on purpose to quell the disturbances in the neighbourhood amongst the agricultural labourers.

When the prisoners were collected, it was found that Luke Barnett was too seriously injured to be removed to Mere with the others, as he was faint from loss of blood and unable to stand. His cottage was at some distance, so Amos, with ready kindness, at once offered to receive him in his own home, close at hand. A hurdle was quickly fetched, and some straw laid on it; then the young blacksmith himself helped to carry the wounded man down the lane. As they arrived opposite the door Lizzie came out with a pale, terrorstricken face.

'Oh, Amos!' she cried; have you found little Peter? Is he

Her trembling lips would not finish the sentence. But Luke had heard her words, and they seemed to rouse him from his half-unconsciousness. He tried to raise himself, and repeated the words,'Little Peter? Ay, sure-we forgot the lad!'

Then he sank back exhausted, but still tried to say something. Amos bent forwards, and listened in breathless silence to the muttered words.

'We didn't mean no harm to 'en, but we couldn't have he a followin' and spyin' about after us. He be safe up in t'old barn at Tollards . . . We'll let un out when it's all over.'

Here was a revelation, indeed! and Amos could scarcely control his emotion while he patiently helped to carry the injured man up