day than of that for the Fourth Sunday after Trinity, where he speaks of the mystic unison of Creation, marred only by man. There, however, the discord comes from sin-here it is from the imperfection of our praise. One day telleth another, and one night certifieth another;' 'All Thy works praise Thee, O God;' and neither the infinite multitude of orbs above, nor flowers below, fail in their appointed tribute of obedience and praise.

'Only man's frail sin-wearied heart

Bears, half in sadness,

A wavering intermitted part

In that high gladness.'

'Yes, so it was ere JESUS came;' for then one single spot, only the Temple of Jerusalem, 'reflected to the seraphs' ken Heaven's light and order;' and save when the morning and evening sacrifices were being offered, the earth was absolutely without voice towards God. But now that the Church is Catholic, we can point to the globe and declare that there is no desert here, there is no moment at which, in some portion of the earth, the voice of praise and the breath of sacrifice is not going up from the Church.

While we are asleep, or busy in our daily toils, yet still

'Somewhere in that hour

The holy words are uttered, earth
Is partner made in Angels' mirth;
The unspeakable pure shower
Of blessings to the unbloody rite
Even now is winging

Its awful way, the infinite

To meek hearts bringing.'

It is literally true. Morning is dawning on some part of the world at every hour of the twenty-four, and with morning comes the Morning Sacrifice. Our own branch of the Church (though in her the daily sacrifice is being more and more restored) may not fulfil this complete cycle, but East and West do their part; and wherever there is a priest, however scattered in heathen lands, there is sure to be prayer, and, in one branch at least, the Eucharist. So as some child of pride (Charles V., we believe) boasted that the sun never set on his dominions, so there is no time when, according to Malachi's prophecy, the 'incense' of prayer, and the 'pure offering' of the Holy Body and Blood, are not being presented; so that from earth, His footstool, continually mounts the sweet savour of

'That which once for all
He gave upon the Cross, and we
Give daily, earth's release to be
From daily woe and thrall.'

So the Bride is granted continually to join in the Song of Praise in Heaven, whose echoes St. John transmitted to her, to be sung in her Eucharistic worship.

'Then mourn we not with drooping heart,
Though half the globe may seem to part
Our prayers from home and friends;
Our matins meet their evensong.'

New Zealand friends have loved to tell us how their Sunday closes as ours begins. In early times, when there was but one Bishop there, and St. John's College his centre of operations, he and the resident clergy who had been scattered among different congregations through the Sunday, they were wont to meet at 9 p. m. for a short service in the chapel, which they called 'the Unity Service,' from their always then saying the Collect for Unity (in the Form for the Accession,) and likewise because they knew it was the hour in which the Sunday work and Sunday joy were being taken up by their brethren at home. So literally did our matins meet their evensong!

'Gather up the fragments' is again the motto here; but instead of the fragments of a wasted life that are to be gathered, it is the fragments of our imperfect intermitting devotion that are gathered from thousands of altars, millions of worshippers, and all blended into one 'Communion of Saints,' one universal Eucharistic response around the Mercy-seat of ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands, and of every creature in Heaven and in earth. So we pass on to our fresh year, remembering that to God all years are one, and that He will gather into one our interrupted fragments of worship, if it be but loving and sincere; and bless them with perfect union with the 'blessing, glory, and honour, and praise,' ascribed by Saints and Angels, and by the Holy Church throughout all the world.

ST. ANDREW.

FROM the Sundays of the Christian Year we turn to the Holy-days, for which we failed to find space at their proper seasons last year.

And first, of course, that Saint who is so remarkable as the example of one whose mission seems to be to lead others forward to the work, and then himself draw, as it were, into the background. He was especially beloved by the author of the Christian Year, from the sympathy springing from the being one of a pair of tenderly attached brothers; and the present, one of the early class of spontaneous poems, was originally addressed to that brother. He asks what is the most precious memorial that brothers can give one another to serve (in good old homely phrase) as a keep-sake.

'Tis true, bright hours together told,
And blissful dreams in secret shared,
Serene or solemn, gay or bold,

Shall last in fancy unimpaired.'

The original draft of the verse suited the playful mirth of the two

brothers' intercourse, but it was changed for publication, as liable to be misunderstood.

The next verse

'Even round the death-bed of the good
Such dear remembrances will hover,

And haunt us in no vexing mood,

When all the cares of life are over,'

always reminds me of the anecdote of King Charles, on his way to execution pausing to say, 'That tree was planted by my brother Henry.' Still there is a sense of needing something more durable than even joyous associations; and the question, where it is to be found, is answered by pointing to St. Andrew, learning to know the Lord Christ himself, and then bringing his brother. Or if the brother be foremost in the race, then

'Urge him with thine advancing tread,
Till like twin stars, with even pace,
Each lucid course be duly sped.

No fading frail memorial give,

To soothe his soul when thou art gone,
But wreaths of hope for aye to live,

And thoughts of good together done.’

Of course, this does not mean literally to condemn the leaving the earthly memorial, but rather to make the recollection rest on the association of blessed deeds that will bear fruit in everlasting life; so that the home affection may be continued in the Heavenly Home, and there may be lineaments already attained on earth by which one may be known to the other in Heaven.

Deeper, grander, more solemn, is the second poem of this Saint's day, inspired by a meditation on the crucifixion of the two brethren, the foremost of the Apostolic band, and the only two who actually tasted of the death of the cross. Yet it was not absolutely in the same mode as their Lord laid down His Life that they received the honour of the cross.

'He who denied, he dares not scale

With forward step Thy holy stair;
Best for his giddy heart and frail,

In humblest penance to hang downwards there.'

Whilst for St. Andrew (again distinguished as he who delighted to lead others to Christ)—

'He sought the way with duteous art,

To change his cross, yet suffer with his Lord.'

The idea is most remarkably full of the characteristics of Mr. Keble's whole teaching, the insight into the fervour of love and sacrifice, and yet the intense reverence shrinking from exact imitation as presump

tuous.

Then comes the application. When we see St. Andrew's holy cross, blazoned in our banner as the ensign of our sister nation, or again, in the cypher of the Holiest Name, (the Greek X, standing for Ch,) it should bring before us the memory of St. Andrew bound, to die a lingering death, on the like cross, yet still preaching the word of Him Who stretched out His Hands all the day. And it should likewise warn us to be ready and willing to submit to whatever He shall send,

'Yet stay the rash self-pleasing heart,

Too forward with the Cross our penal woe to blend.'

For we must first bow to own the just punishment of our sin, ere we can without presumption call our sufferings the sharing of the Saviour's Cross.

(To be continued.)

MEDIEVAL SEQUENCES AND HYMNS.

No. XXI.-HYMN FOR THE OCTAVE OF ALL SAINTS.

(Adesto summa suavitas)

COME, sweetness Thou without alloy,

The Son and Father's love,

That by Thy comfort perfect joy

May fill us from above.

'Twas Thou didst overshadow her

Who the New Adam bore,

By Whom from bonds of death we were
Released evermore.

Thou madest the Apostles' heart to burn
With gift of love unpriced,

That in the Scriptures they might learn
The mystic wealth of Christ.

And by Thy counsel it was shewn

That Gentiles, led by faith,

Should Him acknowledge Whom His own

Had scorned and put to death.

Thou gavest the Martyrs strength to mock
At every menace hurled

By persecutors of the flock,

The princes of the world.

Thou gavest the Doctors of the Church
Wisdom's celestial ray,

To chase by their enlightened search
Error's foul mists away.

That gift of Thine we need to use,
The oil of piety,

We pray Thee through our hearts diffuse,
O Lord, abundantly.

Lest in the Judgement Day we fall

With those Thou wilt reject,

Let godly fear ensure our call

To join Thy sons elect.

From every mouth Thy praise be heard,
Sole source of grace and meed,

Who from the Father and the Word

Dost evermore proceed.

Amen.

CAMEOS FROM ENGLISH HISTORY.

CAMEO XCVII.

YORK AND LANCASTER.

1453-1460.

ONLY once in England was an heir to the throne to be born under circumstances as inauspicious as those under which the child of Henry VI. saw the light-at a time when an unpopular government was barely endured in the hope that change would come with the popular heirpresumptive; and in both cases the reality of the birth was disputed, in both it led to the ruin of the parents. The existence of the new Prince of Wales changed the opposition from York versus Somerset to York versus Lancaster.

When Margaret of Anjou gave birth at Westminster to her only child, on St. Edward's day, 1453, his father had been sitting for more than a month like a stone statue, unable to move hand or foot, to speak or to hear; and the Queen and Somerset, who had for a few months been popular on account of Shrewsbury's successes, were again regarded with hatred for the sake of his death and the losses that had followed. It was a mournful christening, when the babe in a chrysom robe costing £554 was baptized by Bishop Waynflete, the Cardinal Archbishop Kemp and VOL. 8. PART 47.

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