multitude of their relics what the coasts of Tyre and Sidon were like 1800 years ago, and Nazareth shows itself to me when its name comes before my eyes. The value of this panorama or vision to any official exponent of the Bible is obviously incalculable, if he can use it. American congregations are alive to the indirect supposed advantage to themselves in this matter, and thus not unfrequently send their ministers to Palestine. Among my clerical reminiscences (though I was not haunted by the reflection that I was accountable for them to my parishioners), those which date from the Holy Land are the most vivid and valuable to myself. There was change, and profoundly impressive information or instruction every day. The country was a commentary; and if it could not be included among the subjects required by Bishops for examination, at least it ought to be admitted into the list, and proficiency in sacred geography at first hand made account of by the examiner.

I have been very fortunate in my colleagues, but sometimes an advertisement for a 'curate' has brought comical replies. On one occasion the good qualities of the first gentleman I interviewed were tempered by an exceedingly obtrusive cork leg which he didn't manage well. While I listened in my study to the approach of the second who had been asked to favour me with a call, a heavy stumping in the passage made me say, 'Surely there cannot be another such a one?' But there was. So in the letter of invitation to the third on my list, I expressed a hope (with many apologies) that he was not 'lame.' The reply which came was very satisfactory, till I reached the postscript. There my correspondent wrote, 'You ask if I am lame. It is unfortunately too true that I have lately lost my right leg, but I am assured that an artificial substitute . . The most pathetic application I ever had was from a sort of Dominie Sampson who had been from his youth chaplain and librarian to some rich man whose heir had turned him adrift. He was much older than myself, and carried a tin snuff-box. While I beat about the bush thinking how to decline his offer without offence, he (supposing that I hesitated in regard to the stipend of the post) tapped his box, took an emphatic pinch, and looking hard at me said, 'Sir, I am prepared to come for thirty-six pounds a year.' I represented his case to Archbishop Tait, who took pains to find a nook into which to place this learned and modest gentleman. There may be as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it, but occasionally

one brought up in the net of an advertisement is clearly bad-or mad. Once a man in a shovel hat and a waistcoat like a large black dish-cover (he had sent in his card with 'Jehovah Jireh ' upon it) called, and àlmost insisted on my securing him as a colleague. All know the story of the Irishman who, finding himself obliged to address a negro congregation, said by way of prefatory self-commendation, 'My friends, I may have a white skin, but I have a black heart.' Nevertheless there is a clerical—well, say 'grey-which the parson who fishes for help by advertisements should be always able to spot.

Every one goes to America now; and the sooner they set off the better. On the ground that a parson especially should seek for 'change' when he gets the chance of a fairly proportioned vacation I have paid more than one visit to the States, and have then been partly accompanied by a fellow traveller. A companion, however (except, say, in the desert, where you have none but Arabs to speak to, and have your conversation checked by the drawback that you can neither understand nor address them) is sometimes a mistake. I mean a companion whom you take with you from Charing Cross or Liverpool. I owe exceedingly agreeable acquaintanceship, which indeed has led more than once into the finding of a friend, by simply floating in the (to me) nameless stream. Of course solitary touring is open to the objection that if you fall sick, meet with an accident, or happen to be killed, you may be a nuisance to other people, and especially in the latter case expose your friends at home to some needlessly abrupt information. To avoid this I have been used to carry, not merely my name and address in my pocket-book, but clear instructions as to what should be done with the 'body' in case of death. It is well to mention the name of some firm of, say, solicitors, to whom the needed information should first be sent, and who would be prepared to defray any expense incurred in paying the physician, post, or undertaker. Once I suddenly showed these instructions (given plainly in the fly-leaf of my diary) to a chance (clerical) companion, and he was foolish enough to fail in perceiving the considerate common-sense I thereby showed, and to look on me as one who treated grave matters with too light a hand. I was to him a profane person, though the little entry in my almanac was written in the simplest words.

Talking of the hindrances to conversation when you deal with people who can't understand what you say, I am not sure whether

this ignorance (when complete) is not sometimes desirable, provided you have an interpreter for emergencies. You may thus relieve yourself in vigorous and reproachful English without any offence or danger of recrimination. Then too, you yourself fail to be stung by even the sharpest verbal insult, and can smile softly at spoken wrath.

6

As

In speaking of the use of their vacations by the clergy, I have said that the sight of Bible lands ought to be reckoned as part of their training rather than as recreation, and I would add that (especially in the present expansion of England') young men who are going to be ordained ought to go forth and see how their business is done in some one or other of the British Colonies. it is, many a young fellow is set down in a curacy without any due conception of the stir which is going on throughout the world, particularly in respect to the position and work of the ministry. Some villages, charming in various respects, are so brooded over by a traditional atmosphere of social and religious procedure, that an initial acquaintance with, say, Canada, might well protect him from their creeping dulness. He will have felt the pulse of a young nation, and can never lose the memory of its touch. No doubt there is the chance of disillusion in such procedure. A 'people' in its cradle may suggest a vestry, and often a turbulent The founders of a nation are necessarily limited in number, and have to look too closely to the safety or solidity of their surroundings to give much scope for the interesting speculation which lends its charm to much settled and ripe converse. it is not a bad thing to get a few disillusions done as soon as may be. And some acquaintance with the setting of the most ancient scenes in history, and with that of the last revealed or realised possibilities of expanded civilisation, is especially needed by those whose profession leads them to deal with the ancient and modern world. Anyhow, I would advise the parson whose weeks are full of work to take a holiday whenever he can get it, and inasmuch as he labours on Sundays when others rest, he has a right to the layman's share of holidays, with fifty-two in addition.

one.

Still

AFTER WINTER.

I.

Not yet the infant Spring

Hath changed her russet gown for robes of green,

But lieth slumbering,

Hid in the covert of a wood, unseen:

Folded in shadows deep,

Ethereal visions flit across her face in sleep.

Like memories of the dead,

Winter revives and fades, mid days of blue,
And thrusts his snowy head.

Upon the landscape, whitening all the view;
With shrilly voice and thin,

High singing o'er the downs the chilly breezes spin.

III.

Here, by the sharp blast switched,
The ruddy drifts about the road are swayed,
Dancing like sprites bewitched

In whirling somersaults of light and shade;

The hollow forests ring,

Shuddering with leafless music as the lank boughs swing.

IV.

Upon the cottage wall

The Jasmine lingers in a listless dream;

O'erhead the sparrows call,

And twitter out the day in dolorous theme;

Whistling a sober tune,

The ploughman drives his team the long dank afternoon.

V.

Far o'er the marshy fen

The vaprous ghosts worn travellers waylay;
In dale and dyke and glen

The brittle leaves of Autumn waste away;
The snowdrop, bowed with grief,
Broods like an angel o'er its chastened leaf.

VI.

Not sorrow, nor yet scorn,

Nature wears on her face, but calm distress:

Like to a child new-born

The Year's dim senses grope for consciousness :
Through all the stilly wood

Stirreth the soul of Being, bursting blade and bud.

VII.

Soon shall the violet bloom

Beneath the hedge, and scent each sheltered nook;
The primrose gild the gloom

Where pale anemones peep o'er the brook,

And laughing waves shall swell
Of golden daffodils in every mossy dell.

VIII.

Hasten, sweet birds of song,

Wing o'er the waves, and fill the woods with voices;

Spring tarrieth, slumbering long,

She waketh not, but in her dream rejoices;

Quicken thou magic sod,

Burst to a sea of flowers, and greet the priests of God!