the rest of the world. All your picturesqueness, so to speak, has been struck out of the struggle between the two forces. The Church force is the one that has given you all your buildings and your beauty, while as for you liberals, who will know such a lot of things that you're none the happier for knowing-well, I suppose you keep the place habitable for the plain man who doesn't want to be bullied. But it's a very good thing the other side are strong enough to keep you in order.'

Then they strolled into the quiet cathedral, delighted themselves with its irregular, bizarre beauty, its unexpected turns and corners, which gave it a capricious, fanciful air, for all the solidity and business-like strength of its Norman framework; and as they rambled out again, Forbes made them pause over a window in the northern aisle-a window by some Flemish artist of the fifteenth century, who seems to have embodied in it at once all his knowledge and all his dreams. In front sat Jonah under his golden-tinted gourd-an ill-tempered Flemish peasant-while behind him the indented roofs of the Flemish town climbed the whole height of the background. It was probably the artist's native. town; some roof among those carefully outlined gables sheltered his household Lares. But the hill on which the town stood, and the mountainous background and the purple sea, were the hills and the sea not of Belgium, but of a dream-country-of Italy, perhaps, the mediæval artist's paradise.

"Happy man!" said Forbes, turning to Miss Bretherton; "look, he put it together four centuries ago-all he knew and all he dreamt of. And there it is to this day, and beyond the spirit of that window there is no getting. For all our work, if we do it honestly, is a compound of what we know and what we dream.'

They passed out into the cool and darkness of the cloisters, and through the new buildings, and soon they were in the Broad Walk, trees as old as the Commonwealth bending overhead, and in front the dazzling green of the June meadows, the shining river in the distance, and the sweep of cloud-flecked blue arching in the whole.-Miss Bretherton.

WARD, NATHANIEL, an English clergyman and satirist, born, probably at Haverhill, in 1578; died at Shenfield, England, in 1653. He was the son of John Ward, a famous Puritan minister, was graduated at Cambridge in 1603, studied law, which he practised in England, and travelled extensively. He entered the ministry, and on his return to England held a pastorate in Sussex. In 1631 he was tried for nonconformity by Archbishop Laud, and, though he escaped excommunication, was deprived of his charge. In 1634 he sailed for New England, and became colleague to the Rev. Thomas Parker at Ipswich. He resigned in 1636, but resided at Ipswich and compiled for the colony of Massachusetts The Body of Liberties, which was adopted by the General Court in 1641, and which was the first code of laws established in New England. In 1646 he returned to England, and became pastor of a church in Shenfield, which post he held until his death. While in America he published The Simple Cobbler of Agawam, in America, Willing to Help Mend his Native Country, Lamentably Tattered both in the Upper-Leather and the Sole. His Simple Cobbler's Boy with his Lap-full of Caveats, was written in America and published under the pen-name of Theodore de la Guard in 1646. Two American editions have been issued, one in Boston in 1718, the other, edited by David Pulsifer, in 1843.

TO THE NEEDLESSE TAYLOR.

From his working (im—) posture.

Let him beware that his dispositions be not more crosse than his legges or sheeres.

If he will be a Church member, he must remember to away with his crosse + members. For Churches must have no Crosses, nor kewcaws. Againe,

He must not leap from the Shop-board into the Pulpit to make a sermon without tayle or head, nor with a Taylor's head.

From the patch.

Let him take heed he make not a Sermon like a Beggar's cloak pacht up of a thousand ragges, most douterty, nor, like his own fundamentall Cushion, boch't up of innumerable shreds, and every one of a several colour (not a couple of parishioners among them) and stuft with nothing but bran, chaffe, and the like lumber, scarce fit for the streete.

Let him not for a Needle mistake a Pen, and write guil-lets, making a Goose of himself.

Take heede of the hot Iron there.

Let him not insteed of pressing cloth oppresse truth, nor put errors into the Presse.

The Hand and Sheeres do speak this cutting language.

Keep to thy Calling Mr. and cut thy coat according to thy cloth. Neglect not to use thy brown thread, lest thy Family want browne bread, and suffer a sharp stitch.

The Breeches with wide nostrils do Promulgate this

Canon-law.

That the Taylor (when he preaches) be sure to exclaim against the new Fashions (a disease incident unto Horses and Asses) that so he live not by others pride, while he exhorts to humility. The Tub of shreds utters Ferking advice That he do not filch Cloths, Silkes, Velvets, Sattins, etc., in private nor pilfer Time from

others in publike, nor openly rob Ministers of their employment, nor secretly tell any secret lye.

From the out (side) facings counsaile that he do not cloak-over any tattered suit of hypocritical knavery with a fair-facing of an outside profession.

Well to the Point.

That he consider that as a Needle, the thread or silk, so a Schismatick, drawes a long traine of follyfollowers after him, when he deales in points by the dozen.

From the Seame-rippings.

That Hereticall opinions, unlesse they be ript open, are of as dangerous consequence as an hempen collar, etc., a man were better be hanged, than to have his immortal soul stifled therewith.-The Simple Cobbler's Boy.

MINISTERS.

A profound Heretick is like a huge Tub full of sirrup, his followers are like Wasps and Gadflies that buz and frisk about him, and sting at them that would keep them off but at last they are so entangled in the slimy pap, that it is a thousand unto one if ever they returne safe, but there they dye and make the sirrup of their Tenets to stink intolerably.

But a Godly and learned Minister is like a MasterBee, the Word and the World are his Garden and Field, the works of God and his Divine truths are his Flowers; Peace of Conscience, Joy in the Holy-Ghost, the consolations of Christ are his Honey; his Heart is an Hive, his Head is an Honey-Comb; reproof is his sting wherewith he spurs on, or spurnes away the sluggish Drone, Ignavum fucos Pecus, etc. The Bee was born a Confectioner, and though he make but one sort of confection, yet it easily transcends all the Art of man :

For,

The Bees' work is pure, unmixt, Virgin honey; man's knick-knacks are jumbled and blended. I apply it God's Word is pure, man's invention is mixt.

Then if in Manna you will trade,
You must boyle no more Marmolade.
Lay by your Diet-bread and slicing-knife,
If you intend to break the Bread of Life.

-Simple Cobbler's Boy.

ON THE FRIVOLITIES OF FASHION.

Should I not keep promise in speaking a little to women's fashions, they would take it unkindly. I was loath to pester better matter with such stuff; I rather thought it meet to let them stand by themselves, like the Qua Genus in the grammar, being deficients, or redundants, not to be brought under any rule: I shall therefore make bold for this once, to borrow a little of their loose-tongued Liberty, and misspend a word or two upon their long-waisted, but short-skirted Patience : a little use of my stirrup will do no harm. Ridentem dicere verum, quid prohibet?

Gray Gravity itself can well beteem,
That language be adapted to the theme.
He that to parrots speaks must parrotise:
He that instructs a fool may act th' unwise.

It is known more than enough that I am neither niggard, nor cynic, to the due bravery of the true gentry. I honor the woman that can honor herself with her attire; a good text always deserves a fair margin; I am not much offended if I see a trim far trimmer than she wears it. In a word, whatever Christianity or civility will allow, I can afford with London measure: but when I hear a nugiperous gentledame inquire what dress the Queen is in this week: what the nudiustertian fashion of the Court, with egg to be in it in all haste, whatever it be, I look at her as the very gizzard of a trifle, the product of a quarter of a cipher, the epitome of nothing, fitter to be kicked, if she were of a kickable substance, than either honored or humored.

To speak moderately, I truly confess it is beyond the ken of my understanding to conceive how these women should have any true grace, or valuable virtue, that have so little wit, as to disfigure themselves with such