FISHERMAN FRED,

OR A GOOD TURN IS NEVER LOST.

A Tale, founded on Fact.

My tale cannot begin with the usual attractive, though somewhat hackneyed title of, Once upon a time, for the persons of whom I am about to give an account are living now. I shall see if with a little effort I cannot paint them to the life, and describe the happy mode in which they spend their days: Fred, the fisherman, and his pretty wife Sue, in their snug little cottage, not exactly under the cliff— for alas, the cottages that did really stand there once, were one rough stormy night carried all away by a rude sea; the inmates, ever on the ‘look out,' as is the mode of those who do “business in great waters," were saved; and in the morning the sun shone brightly on the warm sands just the same as usual; but the cottages, the nets, and all the curious hoardings of the sailor's home were gone. So Fred and she gave up the romantic, and sought the town; living in a better house than perhaps his industry and her prudence might like to afford; but we cannot build houses just to suit us, as the lobster does her shell; so Fred and Sue take what they can get, making up with an occasional lodger for any deficiency in the rent; for the fisherman's income is uncertain, as he earns but little in rough weather; though Fred cares not what the weather is, so that he can only launch his boat. Still Fred's cottage, although looking respectable, was but a fisherman's cottage after all; indeed well suited to Fred was that shabby little hut; quite picturesque, with its thatched roof and rustic porch, nestling, as it were, under the old grey church; the elms and yews in the grave-yard, reaching out to them their shelter and their shade. And here does Fred return after a hard-spent day, comforting himself that the rough sea does not reach his Sue, that she is safe from its restless pelting, sheltered and secure just as he left her; no sea nor rough weather can disturb the fisherman's home. For himself he cares not, for Fred is brave as young, and handsome as brave, a good-tempered face, a cheerful and honest heart; white teeth and bright black curls, set off by a red cap; healthy and strong, what should he fear? a water-tight boat, and strong arms to manage the oars, even if he cannot hoist the sail, and, his comrade with him, or rather his protégé, the deaf and nearly as it were dumb, the homeless Barney. And of what service can this sorry helpmate be? How can he hear the manly and stern voice of Fred, should a storm arise and the waves run high, overwhelming all by its mighty sound, how can he catch the brief order that may save the little

bark from impending ruin, how can he in his stricken state of deafness and stupidity give to Fred the help he needs? he can cheer him in the sunshine by smiling when he sings, but what can Barney do now? He can manage the helm, steady and assured, just the situation fitted for him. Sitting in the stern sheets, like a king on his throne, what should he do more? his office, an important one, for a boat can no more be managed without a helm than a horse without a bridle. And there sits Barney; whilst thus talking with the waves. Neither does he seem deficient in his senses now; his eyes fixed on Fred, watching the movement of his lips; and so does he return good for good; for Fred gives him little, but in constant work and kind words, and Barney is blessed in his ignorance; a lily of the field that cares not for to-morrow, with sixpence in his pocket he feels rich and above the world, and this Fred gives him when he can afford it; but Fred is but a poor fisherman and has to earn his money very hardly. Sometimes he will be out for the whole rough winter's night, heedless of the risk that he may run; and often come home with his boat as empty as when he put to sea; disappointed no doubt but trustful for the morrow; knowing from experience that when Heaven denies to-day, it is to give the next with increased bounty. And it was hard to keep the poor deaf stupid boy under these straitened circumstances; when there was a good deal of fish it was all very well; but it fell hard when there was himself and Sue to feed, and not a bit of fish to sell. Yet Barney's face would still be seen at the kind Fred's frugal board. We read of the SAVIOUR's miracle; how often is this miracle performed with those who have grateful and contented hearts! a little, multiplied into some to spare! and so it was with Sue and Fred; their bread seemed blessed into abundance as they gave it to the hungry boy, whilst with grateful heart he was as well pleased to serve the pretty Sue at home as her husband at sea; to run of errands for her, and the spare halfpenny be brought back was given him for his own. Yet loving bargains to his heart, he will never allow one to be made at his employer's expense; it is of no use to bargain with Barney when he brings the fish round; ask him to take less, he looks stupid and again repeats the sum; to give a fish over, he replies "they baint mine." But it is not often he is so employed, for Sue is ready on the shore with her basket the moment her husband lands; and whilst Fred and Barney go to bed to make up for their sleepless night, she trips off and carries her happy load. Barney will sometimes help her in preference to taking rest; but he looks so silly, so half asleep, that she with her kind heart dispenses with his services, and bids him go to bed and goes off herself to her daily rounds; visiting the houses of the wealthy and the cottages of the poor. And often while the avaricious are trying to make a good deal, does she look at her basket and think how hardly poor Fred has earned its whole contents,

with a sleepless night and a rough ocean to contend with. And yet how little do such think, whilst living at home at ease, of the risk the poor fisherman runs whilst earning his daily bread, by ensnaring them their more dainty fare. It is thus men make to themselves treasures upon earth; losing those better possessions in the Heavens by their avarice and want of charity. But Sue, with her contented happy face, radiant as a summer morning, goes forth as the sun to run his course; no heavy thoughts distract the peaceful tenour of her way; fresh and light as the clear morning air itself, with her basket on her arm, humming some favourite tune, who could but envy her? the seller rejoiced more than the buyer, for there was no imposition in her demands, however much she might have been in need. Never did she from the liberal or the niggard exact more than her Fred's honest due. A just weight was her delight, "for the blessing of the LORD it made her rich, and He added no sorrow with it." But it is hard to discover why Barney should thus be a hanger on to those who seem to have so little for themselves. Who is Barney? He is not an orphan as might be supposed; his mother alone is dead; his father was a sort of hack at every body's call, with a sorry horse and cart, in which he carried coal, removed rubbish, and in no way particular what; till meeting with some opposition, or hearing of some better employ, he went away, and his son being fond of the sea, indeed knowing of little else, managed to get on board a Brixham trader, where he became apprenticed. He liked his berth very well, and thought himself fortunate all through the winter, when everybody was shaking with cold, to have plenty of salt beef. The sailors, however, were not too kind to him, giving him the ropes-end when poor Barney was too deaf to hear the orders given. The trader then went to Spitzbergen, and it seemed to Barney a long desolate way he had to go; but there was no choice for him, go he must. The account he gives of his voyage is not according to Guthrie; for it seems he went down by the Straits of Gibraltar, passed the Cape of Good Hope into the South Seas. He is no doubt mixing all his voyages together. However, on his return from one, his master died; and poor Barney being cast upon the wide world, found his road back to his native place, and applied to the parish for relief. But none could he get," a strong boy like him ought not to be out of work " was all the answer returned to his appeal; and it certainly was an uncommon case to see a great healthy lad needing such relief, but poor Barney had really nothing to eat; he sought their charity merely till he could look round and pick up some employ. He asked the means of shelter for a houseless head, and the comfort of which he was so much in need. What could he do? A wanderer in this world, a burden in his own parish; no one to care for him, no one to give him a kindly word! at such a moment of despair, for "the darkest hour is nearest the dawn,” he

met with Fred-the noble, the liberal Fred; in such a manner he found his new home, small as it may be, poor as it may seem from its humble ragged thatch. Yet two generous hearts dwelt within ; brimful of affection for each other, and some to spare for the afflicted and forlorn; such was the cot, such the owners; the lowliest and the poorest, but they opened their door to the starving boy, and "as they have done it unto one of the least of these so will they meet with their reward." And so they are "blessed in their basket and their store; in their going out and their coming in." "With the merciful Thou wilt show Thyself merciful; to the upright man Thou wilt show Thyself upright" So does the charitable and liberal soul receive in this life a reward, even the reward of a pure conscience, and the loving favour of a well-pleased GOD. Well might Sue with her blithesome face look so bonny, and the bright countenance of Fred beam with a radiance unknown to the hardhearted. What an example was all this to those of the rich and the well-to-do, who yet had nothing to give from their abundance; who could close their iron-barred doors against the needy and the wretched; taking the flattering unction to their consciences that they were not encouraging idleness, forgetful of what the philosopher Seneca said, "if you would imitate the gods confer favours even to the ungrateful; for the sun rises on the wicked, and the seas are open even unto pirates." But poor Barney pleaded in vain; and he bewailed his lot that he should look so hardy and yet need so much. So Fred and Sue took pity on his fate and received him into their home.

(To be continued.)

PROCESSIONING, OR BEATING OF BOUNDS.

In the Guardian newspaper a few weeks since there was a letter from an excellent lay-member of the Church calling attention to the secular and irreligious manner in which this ceremony is ordinarily conducted now-a-days. "Where," he asked, "is the solemn chant and litany which used to be heard on these occasions?" How, indeed, can it be said, we ask, that any meaning whatever is expressed by what usually takes place when the clergyman and parish officers perambulate the boundaries? In olden times the

ceremony was highly significant. It was a solemn going forth into the fields to witness the return of that wonderful manifestation of divine power by which the earth is made periodically to renew her fruits for the service of man; to admire, we say, God's goodness,

and to pray that His continual blessing may be vouchsafed, so that the seed now springing from the earth may be brought to maturity, "first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear."

And it is remarkable that at the Reformation, when it was thought necessary to put a limit to some of the external manifestations of religion, from which the inward spirit had for some time departed, a special exception was made in behalf of this pious custom. Thus in Queen Elizabeth's Injunctions it is ordered: "For retaining of the perambulation of the circuit of parishes, they shall once in the year at the time accustomed, with the curate and substantial men of the parish, walk about the parishes as they were accustomed, and at their return to the church make their common prayers. Provided that the curate on their said common perambulation, used heretofore in the days of rogations, at certain convenient places shall admonish the people to give thanks to GOD, in the beholding of God's benefits, for the increase and abundance of His fruits upon the face of the earth, with the saying of the 103rd Psalm, 'Benedic anima mea,' &c. At which time also the same minister shall inculcate these or such sentences: Cursed be he, which translateth the bounds and doles of his neighbour,' or such other order of prayers, as shall be hereafter appointed.”

As regards the time of making the procession, the injunctions seem at first sight to favour the views of the writer in the Guardian, that it should be done on one of the Rogation Days and not on Holy Thursday; but "custom" has fixed the latter day; and there would be at least this difficulty in taking a Rogation day, that one of the Church's fasts would unavoidably be made an occasion of feasting. The white wands, which are commonly used, are only of course in lieu of the "accustomed" crosses; as the cross which is marked at the several points of the boundary is a vestige somewhat better preserved, of the religious method which ought to be observed throughout.

The following paragraph, which we copy from the Oxford Herald, shows that the merely secular system does not even now prevail quite universally :

"PERAMBULATING THE BOUNDARIES. This ancient custom was observed on Holy Thursday, in S. Thomas's parish, in this town, with more than usual ceremony. Morning prayer began at nine o'clock, and, including the Communion office, was performed chorally throughout. Immediately upon the latter being concluded, a procession was formed by the clergy (still in their sur plices) and the choir, and passed round the church chanting the 24th and 65th Psalms, together with the last verse but one from the Litany, and its proper response. The churchwardens and a large body of the most respectable inhabitants then proceeded to make the circuit of the parish-a business which, owing to its great extent and the difficulty of transit over the various intersect