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At St. Leonard, Foster Lane :-1 Pet. i. 24.
At St. Pancras :-2 Chronicles xxxv. 24.
At Enfield :-Lamentations v. 15.
At Pimlico :-Isaiah xxvi. 20.

At Newington Chapel, Liverpool :-Genesis XXXV. 16-20.

At Ashford :-Mark v. 39.

At Kilkenny:-1 Peter i. 24, 25.

By Rev. C. F. Fenwick:-1 Cor. xv. 54.
At Glasgow:-Ezekiel xxiv. 16.
At Whitby:-Luke vii. 35.

At Rayleigh :-Jeremiah ix. 20, 21.
At Lancaster:-Amos viii. 9, 10.
At Over:-1 Kings xiv. 12, 13.

At Southminster :-Deuteronomy xxxii. 29. At St. Andrew Undershaft :-Psalm cxlvi. 2, 3.

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At St. Martin-in-the-Fields :-Eccles. vii. 1.

At Oundle:-Matt. vi. 10.

At Walbrook :-Prov. xxviii. 1.

At Episcopal Jews' Chapel, Bethnal Green:Rev. iii. 19.

At St. Margaret's, Durham :-Gen. iii. 19.
At Mill Hill Chapel, Leeds :-1 Cor. vii. 31.
At Newcastle-upon-Tyne :-Micah vii. 9.
At Leeds-Jer. xv. 9.

At Weston Green Chapel, near Claremont-Jer. ix. 21.

At Mansfield :—Lam. v. 16, 17.

At Cheshunt :-1 Cor. xv. 53.

At Blenham:-Genesis xxiii. 6.

At Roman Catholic Chapel, Stonehouse:Genesis iii. 19.

At Wisbeach :-Jer. viii. 15.

At Buckden :-Eccles. xii. 7, 8.

At Penzance :-Eccles. xii. 7.

At Burnham :-Luke vii. 12.
At Teston, Kent:-1 Peter i. 24.
At Cambridge:-2 Samuel i. 17.
At Shrewsbury:-1 Peter i. 24, 25.
At Yardley-Heb. xiii. 14.

At Glasgow:-Psalm cxii. 6.

At the Scotch Church, Sunderland :-Deut. xxxii. 29.

Sermon 2nd:-Matthew xxvi. 42.

At Bradfield and North Walsham :-Isaiah xl. 6, 7, 8.

MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE.

APRIL, 1862.

THREE WEEKS IN NEW YORK.

BY OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT IN AMERICA.

ANY city in the world-Hull itself would look charming to me after a dreary stormy voyage. Our passage was, I suppose, much as other passages are, of the water, watery. We had the stock experiences. We had a storm and got amongst the ice, and were enveloped in a fog. We sighted a ship or two; saw, or fancied we saw, a whale; and were visited by a sparrow in the middle of the Atlantic. These are the sole external incidents of the voyage I can call to mind. Of our internal life there is even less to say. We ate very plentifully, slept very long, and dozed constantly. We tried very hard to amuse ourselves, and failed lamentably. We told the same stock stories, heard the same stock songs, and played at the same stock games. Being at sea, we did as seamen do. We were first absurdly stiff, then unreasonably familiar, then personally offensive to each other, and finally quarrelsome. We had no ladies amongst us, but we talked as much gossip, and spread as much scandal about one another, as if we had been a crew of old maids. In short, we were very, very dull; and with this much of mention I am content to let my voyage float out of memory.

Still, apart from the charm of seeing land again, the approach through the Narrows into the land-locked bay of New York will remain in my mind as one of the loveliest scenes that I have ever looked upon. Out of the cold chill grey dawn, as I stood shivering on

deck, watching for the first glimpses of the New World, the sun rose in a mass of fire, as I had last seen it rise, far away, across the Gulf of Spezia. The dim haze rolled away, and the sky grew clear and blue, like an Italian sky when the Tramontana wind is blowing from the north; and, were it not that the hill slopes, which hemmed in the bay on every side, were covered with white sparkling snow, and that one's fingers tingled with a chill numbing cold, I might have fancied myself back in Italy. But the brightness of the air and the glitter of the sunlight removed the depression which cold always exercises on one's mental faculties; and, even at the risk of frost-bitten toes, I lingered on deck to gaze upon the view. Past Sandy Hook Fort, where the stars and stripes were floating gaily, close beneath the wooded banks of Staten Island, where villas of wood, villas of stone, villas with Doric porticoes, Swiss cottages, and Italian mansions, seemed to succeed each other in a never ending panorama, we floated onwards, towards the low long black line, which marked the city of New York. The waters of the bay were calm and blue, like those of a southern sea; and against the banks great masses of snow-covered ice lay huddled closely, while loose blocks, sparkling in the sunlight, came floating past us seawards with the ebbing tide. The fairy pilot-boats with their snowwhite sails shot across our path; vessels bearing the flag of every nation under

MACMILLAN'S MAGAZINE.

APRIL, 1862.

THREE WEEKS IN NEW YORK.

BY OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT IN AMERICA.

ANY city in the world-Hull itself would look charming to me after a dreary stormy voyage. Our passage was, I suppose, much as other passages are, of the water, watery. We had the stock experiences. We had a storm and got. amongst the ice, and were enveloped in a fog. We sighted a ship or two; saw, or fancied we saw, a whale; and were visited by a sparrow in the middle of the Atlantic. These are the sole external incidents of the voyage I can call to mind. Of our internal life there is even less to say. We ate very plentifully, slept very long, and dozed constantly. We tried very hard to amuse ourselves, and failed lamentably. We told the same stock stories, heard the same stock songs, and played at the same stock games. Being at sea, we did as seamen do. We were first absurdly stiff, then unreasonably familiar, then personally offensive to each other, and finally quarrelsome. We had no ladies amongst us, but we talked as much gossip, and spread as much scandal about one another, as if we had been a crew of old maids. In short, we were very, very dull; and with this much of mention I am content to let my voyage float out of memory.

Still, apart from the charm of seeing land again, the approach through the Narrows into the land-locked bay of New York will remain in my mind as one of the loveliest scenes that I have

ever looked upon. Out of the cold chill grey dawn, as I stood shivering on

Past

deck, watching for the first glimpses of the New World, the sun rose in a mass of fire, as I had last seen it rise, far away, across the Gulf of Spezia. The dim haze rolled away, and the sky grew clear and blue, like an Italian sky when the Tramontana wind is blowing from the north; and, were it not that the hill slopes, which hemmed in the bay on every side,. were covered with white sparkling snow, and that one's fingers tingled with a chill numbing cold, I might have fancied myself back in Italy. But the brightness of the air and the glitter of the sunlight removed the depression which cold always exercises on one's mental faculties; and, even at the risk of frost-bitten toes, I lingered on deck to gaze upon the view. Sandy Hook Fort, where the stars and stripes were floating gaily, close beneath the wooded banks of Staten Island, where villas of wood, villas of stone, villas with Doric porticoes, Swiss cottages, and Italian mansions, seemed to succeed each other in a never ending panorama, we floated onwards, towards the low long black line, which marked the city of New York. The waters of the bay were calm and blue, like those of a southern sea; and against the banks great masses of snow-covered ice lay huddled closely, while loose blocks, sparkling in the sunlight, came floating past us seawards with the ebbing tide. The fairy pilot-boats with their snowwhite sails shot across our path; vessels bearing the flag of every nation under

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