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At the hour of Nones the strife, long and sharp, was ended:
Gently to His FATHER'S Hands He His Soul commended:
And a soldier pierced His side with a spear unbidden,
And earth quaked exceedingly, and the sun was hidden.

When it came to Vesper time from the Cross they take Him,

Whose great Love to bear such woes for His foes could make Him :
Such a death He underwent, sin's alone Physician,

That of everlasting life we might have fruition.

At the holy Compline hour holy hands array Him

In the raiment of the grave, where the mourners lay Him:
Myrrh and spices have they brought,-Scripture is completed:
And by death the Prince of Life death and hell defeated.

Therefore these Canonical hours my tongue shall ever
In Thy praise, O CHRIST, recite, with my heart's endeavour:
That the love which for my sake bore such tribulation,
In mine own death-agony may be my salvation !

THE MOTH ON THE CROSS.

THERE must be very few in the world who have not been pained by witnessing the self-immolation of some unfortunate little moth in the flame of a candle; and various are the reflections to which such a sight must give rise. One evening in the summer I was sitting in my room, endeavouring in some slight measure to supply my sad and unwilling absence from the daily service of the Church by reading and meditating on those portions of God's Word which she had appointed for her children's instruction, when my attention was diverted by something flitting backwards and forwards between me and the light; and on looking up, I saw a little moth flying round and round the bright flame, into which it at length plunged; an instant more, and my little moth was quivering in all the agony of burned wings. A few seconds, however, sufficed to recover it sufficiently again to flutter (though feebly) round the room. At length it rested on a little cross which hung upon the wall, marking that portion of my chamber as appropriated for my devotions. Well had it been if it had contented itself there; but, dazzled by the glare, intoxicated by the brilliant light, it left its place of security, and threw itself into the blaze. It lingered but a few instants in horrible agony, and while I mourned its wretched end, I could not but reflect that, while we pity the infatuated insect, how often do we merit the charge of being foolish like it! Yes, like it in the selfsame way, how often do those who in Holy Baptism renounced "the pomps and vanities of this sinful world," (those flashing flames and flashing heats,) who have taken those vows on themselves in solemn Confirmation, and perhaps

ratified them in Holy Communion; how often do they, like the silly moth, for a few moments of what they madly deem pleasure, plunge themselves into destruction! Perhaps, like my little moth, they at first only hovered round and about the gay flame; but woe to him who, trusting in his fancied strength, either of good intention, or a long course of good works, ventures to look, even at a distance, on the alluring and dazzling sight. Soon will his eyes be blinded, and his senses intoxicated; and soon, scorched and seared by the world's touch, will he sink panting and struggling, bitterly regretting his madness. If then, like the moth, he fly to the Cross, there, like it, will he find a place of refuge. Oh, the Cross! the holy, soul-saving Cross! who can tell in fitting words its value, its praise, its glory! Eternity shall proclaim them, heaven shall resound with them. If the penitent yet cling to the blessed Cross, and close his eyes to the vanities and allurements of the dazzling world, he is safe; his wounds shall be healed, his feverish pulse shall be calmed, although the scars that remain are a humiliating record of the past; and his subdued heart recalls with shame the moments spent in wild and worldly intoxication, which he can never cease to mourn. But oh, who can describe the misery of him who, having been a sinner, has become a penitent, yet again returns to the falsely-called pleasures of the world, which have been his ruin, the emptiness and vanity of which he knows full well. Listen to his doom :-"It is impossible for those who were once enlightened, and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and were made partakers of the HOLY GHOST, and have tasted the good Word of GOD, and the powers of the world to come, if they fall away to renew them again unto repentance; seeing they crucify to themselves the Son of GoD afresh, and put Him to an open shame." (Heb. vi. 4, 5, 6.) Who will not then pray in the soul-stirring language of our beautiful Litany, From all the deceits of the world, the flesh, and the devil, good LORD, deliver us." "From hardness of heart, and contempt of Thy word and commandment, good LORD, deliver us."

MARY.

LUCY ASHCROFT, THE MANUFACTURER'S

DAUGHTER.

CHAP. IV. THE SECRET MEETING.

THE few days following the events recorded in the last chapter were full of anything but quiet and comfort to Mr. Ashcroft. He had, it is true, laughed and sneered at his daughter's fears, and in her presence appeared possessed of his ordinary flow of spirits. But men on 'change, before whom he was not so

guarded, noticed the evident discontent that had settled upon his countenance, and concluded that something was wrong. He was ill at ease.-Dark forebodings haunted him day and night; the words which Lucy-his own Lucy had spoken rung fearfully in his ears, as if pregnant with an awful meaning. The scene at Simpson's, which he would not allow her to describe, but which he had subsequently called in to witness, was ever before his eyes. In the crowded city, in his own drawing room, or on his bed, the wild eyes of dying Simpson glanced wildly upon him, and he began to be afraid lest some evil might be about to fall upon him.

Nor were his apprehensions relieved by what he witnessed in the factories but two days before Christmas day. Resolved to see with his own eyes, he entered them with a stately air. It was so unusual for him to walk through the close and ill-ventilated rooms, that greater surprise would scarcely have been felt had the Queen herself unexpectedly entered. Wherever he went he seemed to be an object of terror. The young girls timidly drew back, and scarcely dared so much as look upon him; the men glanced sullenly at him with lowering brow and menacing eyes, and darkly whispered one to another as he passed. When he had finished his survey, he retired to his drawing room, took up the paper, and endeavoured to banish all further thought by the reflection that he had might on his side, and so in a while he checked the little feelings of humanity that had for a moment been stirred up within his breast.

A few hours afterwards the bell rang, and the streaming multitudes of starved beings rushed forth from the factory gates to their cheerless homes. But few of the men men stayed long in doors. It was a dark night, and dark deeds were to be planned. The moon did not rise until late, and therefore every advantage was to be taken of it. In the village itself, all was quiet, and hushed, as if peace, and peaceful thoughts alone ruled there. And yet there was indeed a wild degree of excitement prevailing, such as had never before been known.

About a mile from the town was a wild barren heath, along which a river ran. At the extreme end of this, below some craggy overhanging rocks was a cave of immense length. Thither the factory hands bent their way, in knots of two and three, until the cave was full. The torches with which many of them had come prepared threw a lurid glare over all. It was evident at a glance that they who filled that vast cave had been summoned by no common circumstances, and for no ordinary purpose. It was evident too, that some in that motley group were like hungry wolves looking out for their prey. They seemed sickly, maddened, hopeless, desperate. There were women too,

though few in number: women whose wan faces told of hunger and pain long endured, and of desperation that would suffer no more. For a few moments a slight murmuring and whisperings in an undertone might be heard. But this soon gave place to a perfect quiet, which was at length only broken by the boisterous applause with which they greeted one, who rose up to address them.

He was a middle aged man, of commanding stature and demeanour his face pale though it bore upon it marks of firm determination, and fixed resolves; and yet did it seem calm, and peaceful withal. He evidently felt strongly, and though he spake as one who feared not, there was ever and anon a tremulousness of voice, which told that he was deeply sensible of the wrong position in which they were placed.

He began―

“Fellow workmen, or rather I should have said fellow slaves, we have met to-night to decide what shall be done. The time has come, when we must assert our rights or lose them for ever. We have been trodden on like worms, and like them we must turn again. As I were on my road here to-night, I were thinking how many thousand pounds England had spent to 'mancipate slaves abroad, and yet there are thousauds at home, who are no less slaves on English ground. We have tyrants over us, hard task masters, who work us to death, tread us under foot, and would grind us to powder. They are built on our ruin. They build fine houses, ride in grand carriages, have fine drawing rooms, with grand furniture and pictures, and we pine and slave, we who make the wealth, don't share it in any way. Is that_fair, and just, and right? I was once not a wild man, but I am mad now. They call me a miserable Chartist, and so I am, if starvation is Chartism. But mind, I don't say that I would pull down the rich men's houses, or injure them that injure us. No! It is our duty to respect rank, and them as is above us. It is God's will that sum on us should be rich, and sum poor, work is our lot, and it has always been my blessing. I am as you all know a Churchman, I love my Church, for I hev always found ease when I hev gone to pray to God. Churchman I cannot speak to-neet without much pain. I wish we could have done what we want in some other ways. we canna get a living, and the workman is worthy of his hire. A fair reward for our work is all we want, and therefore I propose that a deputation be down to wait upon our maister, and ask him to give us our just demands.”

As a

But

After many wild speeches, and much excitement, the advice of the foreman was adopted, and the meeting adjourned until the following night.

Church News.

FEAST OF THE DEDICATION OF S. JOHN THE BAPTIST, HARLOW.

AGAIN we have the pleasure of recording the feast of the dedication of S. John the Baptist's Church, Harlow, and again we have had the privilege of attending this its eighth anniversary. These are troublous times it is true. And still these days, like our Church's Saints' days, must be kept and hallowed, we must not leave off anything because the days are sad and full of trouble, but rather increase our zeal; these meetings and such as these where the rich and the poor are met together, first at the table of the LORD, and then at the table of the village feast, as one company, will serve to remind us that our Church is indeed the Church of olden times, the poor man's Church, the very Church of Old England; they will be a bond of union, by which we may rally round our Banner and strengthen each other in the time of need; they are marks of unity, and who that looks around at the times in which we live, but will say that now if ever unity, real, living, active outward unity, is under God's blessing our best safeguard?

We should never tire of visiting the quiet spot on which stands the church of S. John Baptist.-A neat Early English Church, it stands in one of the best kept church-yards we ever saw, all the dead in CHRIST placed one way, as looking for the coming of the LORD, the grass cut evenly over all, and where it could be afforded neat wooden grave crosses are erected with name and death on them -the nicely kept almshouses overlook the church-yard, and so the old members have ever in mind that their Pilgrimage here draws nigh to an end. We entered the Church as the bell was ringing for morning prayer, at ten, and here indeed was the "beauty of holiness." The chancel arch was covered with evergreens, and on it was written, "The LORD is risen indeed." The font and altar were decorated with most beautiful flowers, and every part of the Church told of the festival of Easter. The Choir was essentially a Village one, but the pains evidently bestowed on it have not been thrown away, and they well performed their part in the LORD's service. By twelve, the visitors from London and the neighbourhood had arrived, and the bell now rung for Holy Communion, when the Church was quite full: the Nicene Creed and Sanctus were most expressively sung to the ancient Church tones; the sermon was preached by the Vicar of Arlington, Sussex, from the second chapter of the Acts of the Holy Apostles, ver. 41 to 45. It was an able exposition of the doctrine of Christian and Apostolic Unity, and its effect on the early Church, and the ill effects of its

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