taken years to know and love? Could he not think of those yet dearer to him who were gone, who bore his name and shared his blood, and were now without a husband and father? Then the grief, which he began to share with others, became gentle and holy, and he rose up once more, and walked up the steps to the altar; and, while the tears flowed freely down his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down there his share of a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him to bear in his own strength. Here let us leave him. Where better could we leave him than at the altar before which he had first caught a glimpse of the glory of his birthright, and felt the drawing of the bond which links all living souls together in one brotherhoodat the grave beneath the altar of him who had opened his eyes to see that glory, and softened his heart till it could feel that bond?"

In 1850, eight years after Dr. Arnold's death, his successor, Dr. Tait (afterwards Bishop of London and Archbishop of Canterbury), thus writes on leaving Rugby for the Deanery of Carlisle :

"I cannot but remember at this time who was my predecessor in the place where these sermons were preached, and what memorials

he has left of the wise and earnest spirit in which he strove to guide those whom his death left under my care. I wish to take this opportunity of testifying how great the religious work was which he had accomplished; how little remained for his successor but to labour if by any means he might maintain it. . . . Finally, for all connected with the school I can scarcely have a better prayer than that they may be enabled always to love Christ and truth and goodness with the simplicity of Dr. Arnold, and that as years advance they may grow in the power of tempering zeal with charity, and in those gradually deepening feelings of a spiritual mind which the later volumes of his sermons so remarkably unfold."

One of the most beautiful tributes of filial affection is the poem called Rugby Chapel, by Matthew Arnold. A few passages from those stirring lines may fitly close this sketch :

"O strong soul, by what shore

Tarriest thou now? For that force
Surely has not been left vain!
Somewhere, surely, afar

In the sounding labour-house vast
Of being is practised that strength
Zealous, beneficent, firm.

Therefore to thee it was given

Many to save with thyself,
And at the end of thy day,
O faithful shepherd! to come
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand.

*

I believe that there lived
Others like thee in the past,
Fervent, heroic, and good
Helpers and friends of mankind.
Servants of God! or sons

Shall I not call you? because
Not as servants ye knew
Your Father's innermost mind-
His, who unwillingly sees
One of His little ones lost-
Yours is the praise, if mankind
Hath not as yet in its march
Fainted, and fallen, and died.

Then, in such hour of need
Of your fainting, dispirited race,
Ye like angels appear

Radiant with ardour divine!
Beacons of hope ye appear!

Languor is not in your heart!
Weakness is not in your word!
Weariness not on your brow!

Ye alight in our van! at your voice
Pain, despair, flee away!

Ye move through the ranks, recall
The stragglers, refresh the outworn,
Praise, reinspire the brave!
Order, courage return!

Eyes rekindling and prayers.
Follow your steps as ye go!
Ye fill up the gaps in our files,
Strengthen the wavering line,
Stablish, continue our march
On to the bound of the waste!

On to the City of God!"