the patient "prisoners' chaplain," from as if they were, like the grove in whose lips so many hapless beings had Dante's "Inferno," the abode of his heard their last words of comfort and personal friends, and specially did he consolation. His best epitaph is to be grieve if the axe smote them in sumfound in Wesley's journal: "On the mer time. I well remember his gazing 20th of December, 1778, I buried what long upon a horse-chestnut that had was mortal of honest Silas Told. For continued to put forth flowers days many years he attended the malefactors after it had been felled to the earth. in Newgate without fee or reward; "Look at it," he said, "stretching out and I suppose no man for this hun- a beseeching arm, and blossoming on, dred years has been so successful in its blooms unfolding in all their beauty, that melancholy office. God had given quite unconscious that they can never him peculiar talents for it, and he had turn to fruitage. How like they are to amazing success therein. The greatest some men, who appear blooming outpart of those whom he attended died in wardly, and think that they are living, peace, and many of them in the triumph whilst they are already dead within.” of faith." AUSTIN DOBSON.

From The Contemporary Review.
TALKS WITH TENNYSON.

THOUGH only my uncle by marriage, no mother's brother could have been more loving to me through life than was my guardian, Lord Tennyson. Of late years our homes had lain far apart, and my opportunities of meeting him were rare, but precious to me is the memory of those days of my youth, when we used to take cross-country walks over hedge and ditch, or ramble together over the breezy downs, and when he opened to me the treasurehouse of his mind and heart.

Everything we came across interested him, and he could see something to ad

mire even in a raw-boned old hack grazing by the wayside :

You would scarcely call that poor beast beautiful [he exclaimed], with his ribs almost sticking through his skin, but he is certainly picturesque as he stands shivering on the common, his meagre tail blowing in the wind. It seems to me that the picturesque is generally associated with age, or the commencement of decay; for, take a cottage that when newly built seemed commonplace enough, and pull down some of its thatch, then break the windows, and introduce a baby clad in rags, sprawling across the threshold, and you have at once a picturesque subject for the artist.

His sympathy with nature led him to mourn over the cutting down of trees,

My uncle loved to talk of Arthur Hallam, and other friends of his youth, but he never descended to any trivial details concerning them, and he used to say :

I cannot imagine why people should be so curious about all the petty incidents of my life. I never cared to know about the daily minutiae of great men's lives, which I rememnever interested me in the least. ber when Mrs. Langton showed me a glass from which she said "Johnson used to drink lemonade, stirring it with fingers which were, I am sorry to say, not too clean," I thought she had much better have omitted such details.

There was one incident in his life that Tennyson knew had often been misunderstood, and he most solemnly laid upon me the charge that I who, he said, could best undertake the task,

should let all the world know "how great a sacrifice" (these were his very words, uttered in a tone of intense earnestness) he had practised in yielding to Mr. Gladstone's pressing entreaties that he should take the peerage.

Tennyson was by no means blind to the darker side of nature. "She will never teach men morality," he would "and her ravening tooth is a cruel say, one. Indeed, it was the observed cruelty of nature that gave rise to the cult of the Khonds, with their human sacrifices."

You could not learn to know the higher attributes of God from nature [he continIn fact, ued] even with the aid of science. when I think how much more important

the world must have seemed when men be- | sive reader thereof. It used to be a hieved it the centre of the universe, I am treat to me to hear him recite one of sometimes half-disposed to regret the discoveries of astronomy, because they have in no wise exalted men's conception of God's power, since they had already conceived of him as Almighty, and all is comprehended in that term. But how amazing astronomy is. I am overwhelmed with awe when I think that in a space of the heavens that looks smaller than the palm of my hand, there are sixty thousand suns; yet, did you ever reflect on the not less wonderful fact that the whole starry heavens are retained on your retina ?

his new poems, in that grand, sonorous voice of his, but it was a still greater delight to listen to his reading of a chapter of Isaiah, for then, so thoroughly did he send his whole soul forth with his words, that one was reminded of Bunsen's remark on F. D. Maurice's reading of the Church service, “Such reading is in itself a sermon.” He could not find words strong enough to express his love of and reverence for the sacred volume, and when his pic

He looked upon astronomy and geol-ture of old age, in the "Ancient Sage,' ogy as the greatest of the sciences, and was said to be like that by Solomon in was never weary of dwelling upon the Ecclesiastes, "I only wish it were,” he marvels they unfold: replied, "I never could equal that description."

Yet surely that sublime poem is well worthy to have been written by the author of Ecclesiastes, and it must be studied attentively by all who desire to enter into the mind of Tennyson, for, from what he used to tell me when thinking it into being, I can testify that the "Ancient Sage" sets forth his own views more fully than any of his other

When I think [he used to say] of the immensity of the universe, I am filled with the sense of my own utter insignificance, and am ready to exclaim with David: "What is man that Thou art mindful of him!" The freedom of the human will and the starry heavens are the two greatest marvels that come under our observation, and when I think of all the mighty worlds around us, to which ours is but a speck, I feel what poor little worms we are, and ask myself, What is greatness? I do not like poems. How like a clarion his voice such a word as design to be applied to the rang forth in these lines, which are a Creator of all these worlds, it makes him very gospel of hopefulness:

seem a mere artificer. A certain amount of anthropomorphism must, however, necessarily enter into our conception of God, because, though there may be infinitely higher beings than ourselves in the worlds beyond ours, yet to our conception man is the highest form of being.

Matter, time, and space are all illusions, but above and beyond them all is God, who is no illusion. Time has no absolute existence, and we can as little conceive of space being finite as of its being infinite. We can really understand the existence of spirit much better than that of matter, which is to me far more incomprehensible than spirit. We see nothing as it really is, not even our fellow-creatures; and perhaps when we see each other as we really are, we shall no more know each other than dogs do their masters in the path or on the

snow.

My uncle always seemed to like best to talk about spiritual matters, and no clergyman was ever a more earnest student of the Bible, or a more impres

She reels not in the storm of warring words,
She brightens at the clash of “Yes” and
"No."

She sees the Best that glimmers thro' the
Worst,

She feels the Sun is hid but for a night,
She spies the summer thro' the winter bud,
She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls,
She hears the lark within the songless egg,
She finds the fountain where they wailed
"Mirage."

I asked my uncle whether he agreed with Bacon's dictum that Pilate's question, "What is truth?" was put jestingly :

No [he unhesitatingly answered] it was in no spirit of jesting he uttered those with a shrug of the shoulder, and spoken in words. They may have been accompanied a cynical tone, but I rather believe they were wrung from the depths of a heart that

From Blackwood's Magazine.

lief of all kinds seems to me to show that

THE SEARCH AFTER CULTURE.

A TRUE STORY.

had learnt that there was no truth in the religious systems then in vogue, and knew not where to seek it. Alas! that we should hear this cry repeated in our own age, and that men should fail to find their soul's IT was a hot May day at Florence. craving for truth satisfied by Christianity. The sun's rays poured on the pavement The great spread of Agnosticism and unbe- of the street, which reflected a fierce there is an evil time close at hand. Some-glare that simmered in the distance, but they played about the Campanile till its old marbles almost lived beneath the glow. As I wandered along, looking for a place where coolness might help the digestion of lunch, the deep shade of the Via Calzaioli beyond the burning Piazza del Duomo appeared refreshing, so passing across the intervening space I entered almost the first restaurant. Small things hang upon small things as well as on great. If it time of year, it would not have occurred had not been exceedingly warm for the

times I feel as if it would not surprise me
to see all things perish. I firmly believe
that if God were to withdraw himself from
the world around us, and from within us,
for but one instant, every atom of creation,
both animate and inanimate, would come
utterly to naught, for in him alone do all
beings and things exist. He can and does
answer every earnest prayer, as I know
from my own experience. E-
says there
is something higher than God. If there be,

then it must be God. Whatever is the

highest of all must be the Deity, call it by

what name you will. Wherever life is, there God is, specially in the life of man. We are all sons of God, but one alone is worthy to be called the Son of Man, the representative of the whole of humanity. That to my mind is the diviner title of the two, for none dare apply to himself this title save Christ, who is the representative of the whole human race.

I believe that beside our material body we possess an immaterial body, something like what the ancient Egyptians called the Ka. I do not care to make distinctions between the soul and the spirit, as men did in days of old, though perhaps the spirit is the best word to use of our higher nature, that nature which I believe in Christ to have been truly divine, the very presence of the Father, the one only God, dwelling in the perfect man. Though nothing is such a distress of soul to me as to have this divinity of Christ assailed, yet I feel we must never lose sight of the unity of the Godhead, the three persons of the Trinity being like three candles giving together one light. I love that hymn, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty," and should like to write such a one.

to me to seek the shelter of the Calzaioli, and the following characteristic story would never have been heard.

With the thermometer registering summer heat, it was natural to desire elbow-room, to select an unoccupied table; and having ordered my lunch, including a small flask of Chianti, I leant back against the long, red-cushioned seat lining the wall, and gazed

around.

Presently an American girl of twentythree or four approached. She was dressed in plain black, had no gloves, wore an unfashionable brown hat, and carried a Baedeker in her hand. She looked like a tourist doing the sights of London-an intelligent, observant tourist. Not at all a fin du siècle young woman, with a head full of crude ideas, but an unsophisticated American very much of the world as it is on her own continent among the travelling class, yet not of the world at large. She scanned every one, pondering a second We shall have much to learn in a future or two. Instinctively a feeling arose — world, and I think we shall all be children the object of her consideration was the to begin with when we get to heaven, what-vacant seat at the table. Instinctively ever our age when we die, and shall grow also I felt, having some knowledge of on there from childhood to the prime of the United States, that she had the virlife, at which we shall remain forever. My tues and faults of her race. It was too idea of heaven is to be engaged in perpetual hot a day to be drawn into conversa

ministry to souls in this and other worlds.

AGNES GRACE WELD.

tion, to hear that America was the greatest nation on earth, that Botti

celli's pictures were "just lovely," or | smiling, at the same time casting forth that Europe would be bankrupt if it glances of surprise, it was impossible to were not for American travel; so, sum- continue quietly eating as if she were moning to my aid whatever amount of not there, so I said, "If you have no British indifference might naturally be objection I will be glad to order your mine, I happily succeeded, as I thought, lunch.” in impressing on her mind the disagree- A smile lit up her face. Her clear ableness of being my vis-à-vis, by a brown eyes-noticed briefly, seemed sort of occult, electrical communication | childishly innocent-were full of exwhich frequently exists between two pression. She thanked me, and I gave individuals near to each other, but may the necessary orders. possibly yet be scientifically established as a telegraphic, spirit-intercourse between individuals apart, that will widen knowledge and explain psychical experiences. She passed by the chair, hesitated a moment at another table, and then sat down. The next moment, however, she stood up, turned round, and walking in my direction, deliberately took the empty place.

"Confound her!" I said to myself, as a certain undefinable shadow of coming fate crept over me, dissimilar from what I had expected, and the quick eyes of all the Italians began to study the situation. At the same instant the waiter brought my lunch and handed the menu to the American.

We relapsed again into silence, but she quickly broke it by saying, "I'm in great trouble! Will you help me ?"

Now, had the girl been English, I might probably have recommended her to apply to the British chaplain, as the fittest man to examine the troubles of stray young females about a foreign town. As it was, however, my American memories bade me wait. I knew that, to a certain degree, it was the custom for an American girl or woman of the middle classes to claim aid from a strange man if occasion arose, much as if he were a brother or a kinsman, and to expect to receive it without a thought of anything else on either side. It is an old-fashioned New World bit of chivalry, perfectly comprehended by the people of the United States. Besides, happening to be a believer in the future of the Anglo-Saxon race, in the union of Englishmen all over the world', I felt secretly pleased to think, notwithstanding the failure of my efforts to be alone on a warm day, that we two strangers could thoroughly judge each other directly, could arrive at what was good or bad in each other by the natural inheritance of a common tongue. therefore rapidly scrutinized her hands, face, dress, everything. The accent of Until then she had been as indiffer- her voice sounded as a genuine appeal, ent toward me as I had been toward and she modestly stood my almost ofher, and if silent demonstration has a fensively critical examination. As a meaning, she must have observed I precaution, nevertheless, I said, "Have wished her a thousand miles away. I you no friends? Florence is full of had heard, too, expressions of that kind Americans! Where are you staybefore; had seen an American woman ing ?" She replied she had no friends thumping on the counter of a Tirolese in Europe, very few even in the United shop, loudly demanding "brass nails," States, and had gone to an hotel not far and finally getting them; but when she off, the name of which was familiar. could not succeed in making herself Seeing me half hesitate, and doubtless understood, when the waiter kept on feeling herself the subject of close

With a glum look I immediately dived into the humble Tuscan dish called "Tortorelli," and unavoidably saw that the Italian phraseology was to her so much double-Dutch. She turned over the pages of Baedeker, tried to discover amid the meagre list of Italian words a name corresponding with another on the menu, and then said in English to the waiter, "I want something to eat, but don't understand Italian." The waiter smiled the smile of him who expects a tip, and tendered again the bill of fare.

I

She then told me she feared a friend at Chicago must be very ill, as no letter had come for a month, though the friend was aware of her address; that she had cabled to inquire, had received the answer, but was afraid to read it. Would I read it for her and find out if the news were good? If so, it might be divulged. If it were bad, I was not to let her know the extent of its badness, — must answer in such a way that she could still have hope.

แ

"You hurt my feelings just now by asking if I had no friends, and where I lived, but we do things differently in America."

"Oh yes, I am aware of that, and beg to apologize."

66

Doubtless, to you, it may have sounded strange. Still, I had only three days to see Florence. I'm working like a horse, and if the news had been bad I couldn't have gone on, but I felt it must be done. I'm engaged to be married to an American gentleman. He's a splendid fellow; there's nobody At the conclusion she put her hand like him. He speaks all the languages, upon the table, holding there the tele- and I must make myself worthy of gram. Involuntarily I fastened my him. I learned French after a six eyes on her fingers. She wore merely months' residence at a Paris pension, a small gold ring, with a black guard- then went to London, saw everything ring as if scooped out from a gutta- there, and finding I had just two hunpercha button, a curious transatlantic dred dollars left, came out to Genoa fashion long ago prevalent among from Southampton in a steamer of the schoolboys of advanced years. I asked Norddeutscher line as a steerage pasif there was no American woman at senger for two pounds. Oh, it was an the hotel who could have done this for awful experience! I can hardly realher. ize it, or tell any one what it was. Now, however, it is over. I did it for him. He's been through these places, knows the art, is highly cultured. had to know it too. In order to help him I must know even more than he does. I've seen Genoa and Florence

"No," she replied, "there was no one, only the porter, who did not speak English."

I

"Well, then," I answered, "let me have it;" and taking it up I began to open the envelope. She drew herself together into an attitude of intense ex-pretty well, am going on to Venice topectation, saying at the same time, "Remember! It must not be bad."

With some curiosity I read the contents, simply the word "Yes." I immediately therefore inquired, what was her cable to Chicago.

"Are you well?"

"Ah, then," I said, feeling relieved, "it's all right. Whoever it is, is quite well."

This evidently gave her great satisfaction; she smiled happily, leaned back in the chair and thanked me, yet it seemed as if a shade of disappointment lightly passed over her. At the same minute her lunch appeared, and constraint being broken, we both commenced to chat as if we were old friends.

night, and so northward towards home. What else is there to do here? I've been to several churches and the galleries, as well as to San Marco, which Į visited this morning. The picture at the Pitti of "Judith and Holofernes" has attracted me most."

As this tale proceeded, I congratulated myself on not having acted hastily under preconceived impressions from the fear of being bored, upon having a slight acquaintance with American customs, for the recital was evidently giving her relief. Her whole soul entered into the narration, and she spoke con amore. My interest deepened in the girl. I forgot the heat, the restaurant, the quick eyes of the Italians, and grieved that a self-sacrificing heart was