Give true hearts but earth and sky and strolled towards a ruined My way lay through several anon the frightened game, as ONE pleasant afternoon, in the month of September, I turned my back upon the dingy town, Church a few miles distant. small plantations, and ever and they caught the sound of human footsteps, started up, and bounded forwards out of sight. Along my path the hedgerows were all studded with ripening blackberries, and here and there I met the village girl with her bundle of sticks, or the cowboy singing gleefully as he drove "the lowing herd" along. In thoughts of contentment and gratitude, naturally suggested by such scenes, I passed away the time until I reached the object of my walk. In the midst of a large meadow was a spot gradually raised on all sides, clearly showing at the beginning of the ascent the boundary of the old Churchyard; and on the summit stood a ruined pile with massive walls, and high-pitched gables, and windows deeply splayed. Within the hallowed enclosure of the Churchyard were some gentle sheep cropping the rich pasturage, and turning on the visitor their calm and innocent gaze, as if to recal the character of heavenly love, which the Christian ought to bear in this world, whilst their presence in that place served to bring to mind the Church's awful and undying commission, "Feed My sheep." I entered by the south doorway of heavy Norman work, opposite to which was another, smaller and less perfect a narrow window pierced the western gable, and on the south side were two similar ones. Between the nave and chancel stood the tower, to which a handsome arch gave access from the nave, and a plainer one from the chancel. Above, on three sides, were round-headed windows divided in two by balustrade mullions. The chancel was the work of a later age, the windows having been filled with flowing tracery; towards its south-west corner were the remains of a piscina and sedile. The east gable was entirely gone, and all "unroofed by selfish rage." Such was the ruin to which I had wandered; and as I knelt before the place where once its altar stood, and where, though it visibly stands no longer, He Whose house it is, is specially present; I felt, indeed, that The spot which angels deign'd to grace Is blest, though robbers haunt the place. No mortal beings were there, save the little birds that dwelt around securely in their "leafy cages," but yet I could not feel that I was praying alone. The angels who keep guard about the holy building, the spirits of the departed who sleep around, and all the Church, both militant and triumphant, I knew were joining with me in the worship with which my prayer-book supplied me. Oh! it was joy indeed to pray in such company; and though every time we pray in Church we are in reality joining with the very same spirits, yet I cannot imagine any time at which one so thoroughly feels the great value of all this, as when, kneeling in a deserted Church, he joins in spirit with those who are engaged at home in saying matins or evening song. Truly as I finished my confession, methought the great High-Priest from His throne of grace-the holy altar-spake the absolution; and as in solemn creed the words occurred, "I believe in the Holy Catholic Church, the Communion of Saints," my spirit felt more strongly than ever what that "Communion" really is, what a glorious and utterly inconceivable blessing it is to be a member of that "holy Catholic Church." Having offered my prayers, I left by the same door through which I entered. The setting sun was pouring his liquid beams upon the mossy turf. A solitary gravestone remained to tell the passer-by that human beings, who like himself had lived and moved, were now at rest beneath his feet. It was, indeed, a spot where a Christian might well desire to lie down and rest his weary limbs, till the trumpet of the Archangel shall awake us all at the dreadful day of doom. Happy souls who rest there! They did not see the abomination of desolation set up in their holy place ere they departed in the sleep of peace. They were reposed on Abraham's bosom before wicked men let the temple fall, where they and their fathers before them had worshipped. They loved above all earthly pleasures the calm and hallowed joys that blessed them as they trod its courts, and it may be that now they see it only as it then was; that they hover still, as it were, around its altar, and yet hear the sacred chant which so often rejoiced them on earth. And then came other thoughts-thoughts of myself, and those I love, and of all who are now living,-how we shall one day be laid with our brethren to rest beneath the Church's shade, and other men shall live where we have lived, and walk where we have walked, and never think of us. Nay, perhaps the Church itself, around which all our holiest affections cluster; our spiritual birthplace; the blessed building where angels' food was given us, where day by day we knelt at morning and at evening tide; where, perhaps, the partner of our lives was given and received before GOD's altar, for us "to have and to hold, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse, in sickness, in health, till death us should part" where every action of our lives was hallowed with our Maker's blessing;-perhaps the time may come when that, too, shall decay, and we who lie around shall have no stone to mark the place in which we rest, and none shall ever think of us, nor know that once we were, "That once we were," a sound came musical and low from beneath my feet, like a blended chorus from the voices of the dead, "and shall we cease to be? Ah, never! Knowest thou not that the baptismal flood contains the seed of immortality? and joined with the immortals, how shouldst thou ever cease to be? And truly we are all members of a universal Church, joined so that none can part us (unless we part ourselves) with all that are worthy of love and affection. And can it be that none shall think of us, while yet our holy mother begs that all the whole Church may receive remission of sins, with all other benefits of her LORD's passion? And what though none may know the place where we are resting, yet the SAVIOUR knows ; and He watches every particle of our sleeping bodies; for He will raise us at the last day; and then, though the earthly building in which we loved to worship be decayed, our souls and bodies shall join that glorious Church of the first-born, redeemed from every nation under heaven, with which, through all our pilgrimage from the font to the grave, we have been mysteriously united, and we shall enter with our fathers and brethren, its happy members, the house not made with hands, more glorious than the third heaven; and there, before our Father's throne, we shall sing through the countless years of eternity the Church's everlasting song of praise. "And oh! that the constant expectation of that happy day, and a faith and hope full of immortality, may sweeten all the troubles of this mortal life, and raise our sense and value for the joys of paradise so high that we may no longer doat upon the short appearances of happiness we meet with here! "O JESUS, Who hast redeemed us with Thy precious blood, deliver us from the dreadful judgment of the last day, that we may be numbered with Thy saints in glory everlasting, for Thy mercy's sake." * GOD'S PROMISES IN JESUS CHRIST NOT TO BE ABUSED.-Though GoD has promised pardon to penitent sinners, yet His promise must be expounded so as to be consistent with His design in sending CHRIST into F. the world; and then it can never be extended to those who use the Gospel as a protection to wickedness, and sin because God has promised to be merciful.-BP. SHERLOCK. Bishop Wilson. The Children's Corner. STORIES OF VILLAGE MAIDENS. CHAPTER V. MR. HERBERT'S DIFFICULTIES. THE PUNISHMENT FOR FALSEHOOD, AND THE DIFFERENT MANNERS IN WHICH IT WAS BORNE. On Saturday I saw Mary Stone again. Her mother told me that she had scarcely ever ceased crying all day Friday, that after saying her prayers she had cried herself to sleep; and that every time her mother had spoken to her that morning she had again burst into tears; and that she had been very quiet and kept to her work, not stirring out of the house for the whole day. I could well believe what her mother said, for I saw Mary's tears flowing fast all the time her mother was speaking. I then asked Mary a few more questions, which she answered as before. She said that Ann had told her to say that her mother had sent her on a message, but that she never intended to say so till I spoke, as she thought, in anger, and frightened her. I also discovered that she had been afraid her mother would have been angry if she heard that she had gone with Ann instead of coming in to sing. My position was very difficult. One or other child was persisting in a lie. I could not bear to suspect them both; and yet if I believed either, I might be unjust to the other. But the more I considered the more I was convinced that Mary was innocent and Ann was guilty. First, Mary had been a remarkably good child until then; Ann had only been tolerably good she had not done anything bad that I knew of, but she never had taken much pains to improve. Next, Mary had indeed told one lie, but she had immediately confessed it, by her tears confessed it to her mother, before her sister told, and before she was aware her sister knew anything about it, and from that time she had shown the deepest sorrow and shame. Ann on the other hand had confessed nothing till she could deny it no longer, and then showed neither shame nor sorrow for the deceit she had practised. Lastly, Mary's story had been confirmed in every point in which confirmation was possible by disinterested eye-witnesses; Ann's had been contradicted by the same. It was easy to believe that Ann was persisting in a lie, because she had persisted in two or three without shame as long as ever she possibly could. To believe that Mary was telling a wilful lie was quite impossible, for one who saw her as I saw her it was not in human nature to remain suspicious of her. But I suppose that to be perfectly satisfied we must wait and see how these two children behaved themselves afterwards. Some of their doings, their words and ways, their deeds and trials, will be related hereafter. I gave them both the same punishment, though it turned out to be far more severe upon the one who deserved it least. Indeed I could never see that Ann suffered from it at all. They were both forbidden to come to my house at all, either for singing lessons, or the evening school, for a fortnight. For that fortnight little Mary was wretched: she was frequently in tears, and scarcely ever smiled. At last the period of her punishment was over, and she came again to evening school. Then it seemed as if a weight were taken from her heart, and the springs of joy were opened anew. Her bright happiness beamed from her sparkling eyes, and her merry laugh rang through the lofty room, and her looks were full of love and childish confidence. She did not say with her lips, but her eyes spoke for her, and said, "You do not doubt me now: you do not think I am deceiving you now you will love me and trust me." I did, and so did my sister. But Mary's troubles were not ended. She had to bear some bitter thoughts, and pass through three hard trials at least, some time afterwards; the fruits of that one falsehood, so suddenly spoken, so soon repented of. 66 And what became of Ann Marsh? From that time she began to grow worse and worse. About three weeks afterwards the schoolmistress, not knowing what had happened, asked me, Pray, sir, can you tell me what has come to Ann Marsh? She is not like the same child she was three weeks ago. She is never in time at Sunday-school, and she takes no pains to learn her lessons, and her mother complains of her at home; and even in school she will not do as she is bid." I knew too well what was the matter; there was unconfessed sin upon her conscience, and it was bearing its deadly fruits. About six months afterwards I discovered that Ann Marsh was in the constant habit of leaving her mother's house as the Churchbell began to ring on Wednesday and Friday, or Saint's-day evenings. She then joined a number of idle children in the village, and played with them till the service was over; and then returned home with her sister who had been to Church. If her mother asked her where she had been, she replied at once, 66 I have been to Church." Those who heard her say so shuddered; she only was unconcerned. Was it not strange that she should be unmoved, while others trembled for her? Did she not believe in the judgment to come, and everlasting misery the punishment of wilful sin? I have no doubt she believed it all. She has often told me she'did. But we are told in the book of the Prophet Isaiah of those "who make mention of the name of the God of Israel, but not in truth |