journey of our friends the Falkners, to the place which was fixed on as their residence during the summer holidays. We can only say that they arrived safely, and soon found themselves comfortably lodged in a small but pleasant house which looked on the sea, and had the advantage of being at some distance from the row of dwellings which formed the Esplanade. For some time Edmund could do no more than limp down to the water's edge, and sit there while the rest of the party walked along the coast, continually returning to show every marine curiosity which they discovered, in the way of shells and pebbles and sea-weed, and occasionally Sea-anemones, which were carefully placed in a jar of sea-water, and left under Edmund's care while the search for fresh treagures was resumed. There was a large bank of sand at no great distance from the shore, which was easily accessible at low water, but was quite isolated when the tide rose; and, at high water, was often entirely submerged. On this sandbank there were several rocky projections, which afforded a very favourite habitation to several kinds of shell-fish and Sea-anemones, and therefore Edith and Minnie very frequently repaired thither with their spades and baskets. Occasionally Mrs. Falkner accompanied them; and even Edmund found, that after a few days he could also extend his walk to the Island, as Minnie called it, though Edith assured her it was a Peninsula. One fine day they all agreed to go to Minnie's Island, and take their luncheon, and their books and baskets, and remain there until the rising tide warned them to return to the mainland. They found the place deserted by all but themselves, and the air was so refreshing as it came over the rippling waves that almost surrounded it, that Edmund declared himself quite recovered, and began manfully to assist Minnie n erecting a tower of sand, on which she proposed to plant a paper flag on the end of a long rod, and then to watch it crumbling away beneath the waves after she had left her island, and could watch the demolition of her work in safety from the window of their own sitting room. Minnie did see it demolished—but not from that sitting room window! After luncheon Mrs. Falkner remembered that she had made an engagement to call on a lady of her acquaintance that afternoon; and she left her children with a charge to return to the shore before the sandy isthmus which led to it should even become wet; and they fully intended to obey her. But, unfortunately, the rocks which formed the chief attraction of the island, and near which Minnie's castle was rising higher and higher, were at the farther part of the sandbank, and at a considerable height above the water. Here the young people amused themselves, sometimes adding to the tower, and finishing its battlements, and sometimes collecting shells; until Edith suddenly exclaimed,— "Edmund, the sun is going behind that church tower. I know that the tide must have turned. Let us run back directly, for I fear that our pathway will be wet already." Quickly they gathered up their tools and baskets, and Edith drew Minnie rapidly for ward. But she soon found that Edmund could only follow very slowly. He had exerted himself too much, and now he could hardly move. Edith returned and made him lean on her shoulder, and she desired Minnie to run on and wait for them on the shore. But soon little Minnie returned with a rueful countenance, and announced that the isthmus was gone, and that they were indeed on an island! What was to be done? They all proceede l to the water's edge, and found that it was already of a considerable depth in one part. They then retreated to higher ground, and looked along the shore for some one to whom they might make known their position. But no one was in sight, and the shouts which they raised brought no response. The sandbank could not even be seen from any house except that in which they lodged; and as Mrs. Falkner was not to return home until the evening, they had no hope of being discovered by her. "Edith," said Edmund, looking very serious, "I have often told you that where there's a will there's a way. Now I have a very good will to help you and Minnie out of this trouble, and to get out of it myself; but I really do not see any way, except a very doubtful one. Let us walk boldly into the water, and carry Minnie between us, and see if we cannot get to shore." This was instantly attempted; and Minnie was borne on the shoulders of her brother and sister into the water, until it reached their waists; and yet they had not passed the deepest part, and their footing became perfectly inse cure. "Oh, come back, come back to the island!" cried Minnie, in terror at her unwonted pos tion. "We must," said Edmund; " for we shall be washed away if we go on." They turned; and as they proceeded up the bank the water followed them almost step by step. Cold and dripping and sad, they gained the highest point of the island, and sat down on the dry rocks to watch, and wait, and reflect. Several boats were visible in the distance, but no cry from the island could reach them; and no other hope appeared. "Let us pray," said Edith softly—and the three knelt together, and asked God to help them in their distress. When they rose up, and looked round at the still rising water, Minnie leaned against her sister, and sobbed piteously; but Edmund exclaimed, "I have a hope! Here Edith give me Minnie's pink skirt. It is still dry, and will float in the breeze, and perhaps be seen from one of those boats! " No sooner said than done. Minnie's flagstaff was planted on the top of her tower, with her light muslin skirt waving from its summit; and all eyes were eagerly fixed on the boats, in the hope that one might be seen to diverge from its course towards the lonely little island. Long they watched in vain; and the waters rose, and the waves grew larger, and the island gradually sank and became smaller-and Minnie's tower gave way as its foundations were sapped-and the flagstaff tottered and would have fallen; but Edmund seized it, and springing on the top of the rock, waved it over his head, and gave a wild shout. This time it was answered-and a boat was seen pulling towards the small spot of land that still remained visible. The fishermen had seen the flag, and had exerted all their strength to come to the rescue of those who reared it. Through God's mercy they were not too late. "You found the way, Edith," said Edmund, as he helped her into the boat. Mrs. Falkner had returned home some time before the boat had gone to the relief of her children. At first she felt no alarm at not finding them in the house, as she supposed that they were walking on the shore. But as time passed, and they did not come in, a vague apprehension crossed her mind, and she looked out with a telescope over the water, in the direction of the sandbank. What was then her agony when her eye first caught the well-known pink skirt waving in the wind, and then the figures of her three children on that lone spot! But she saw that her darlings were kneeling -she knew that they were asking help of One that is Mighty-and that gave her strength. For a moment she knelt also, and lifted up her heart to the Lord. Then she flew from the house to seek for a boatman whom she might send to the aid of her beloved ones. An alarm was soon raised; and' much readiness was shown by the boatmen whom she met with. But so much time was necessarily spent before a boat could be got ready and manned, that the highest point of the sandbank would have been under water before it could have reached the spot. Poor Mrs. Falkner's faith and courage were sorely tried; but she did not give way. She only urged the men to greater speed, and offered a large reward for the lives of her children. Just as the boat had left the shore, and' was labouring on against wind and tide, a cry was heard from the water, which was answered by the boatmen, and again echoed by those who stood on the shore. "All right—they are safe!" resounded in the mother's ears and then tears of joy and gratitude burst from her eyes. In a few more minutes her children were restored to her; and we will not attempt to describe the feelings of all the party as they recalled the peril of the last hour, and the mercy which had been shown to them. The next evening little Minnie said very gravely to her mother,— "Mamma, Edmund says that little girls ought to learn verses as well as great boys; so he ha taught me some, which I'should like to say to you." "By all means, my darling," replied Mrs. Falkner. "I did not think that even Edmund could have persuaded you to learn a task in holiday time." "It was not a task; it was for pleasure, mamma." And Minnie drew herself up, and in a clear voice repeated the following verses" which we strongly recommend all our young readers to learn, and to act accordingly : "Tis a lesson you should heed, Try, try, try again. If at first you don't succeed,, Try, try, try again. Then your courage should appear- Try, try, try again. laity, where Wickliffe preached, and, protected by the powerful Duke of Lancaster, expounded and defended the doctrines which were precursory to the Reformation. We read in the Book of Ezra, that many of the Jews who had seen Solomon's Temple, "when the foundation of this house" (the second temple) "was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy; so that the people could not distinguish the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping:" and thus, when new St. Paul's was consecrated, the chroniclers tell us that many ancient men wept to replace them ? As mosses and lichens give s sober beauty to the buildings they invest, so the solemn memories of the past shed a sort of rainbow halo on the broken column and the decaying arch. When Gregory the Great observed a few British youths exposed for sale in the Roman forum, and inquiring who they were, was answered " Angli," their extreme comeliness induced him to exclaim, "Quasi angeli ;" and his benevolence led him to send Augustine, accompanied by several companions as missionaries, to England in the year 596. Augustine was kindly received by King Ethelbert; and fixing his residence at Canterbury, he at length became the first Archbishop. Favoured by Sebert, King of the East Angles, he deputed Mellitus to evangelize Essex. His great success led him to form a bishopric in the district of London, where, on the ruins of a temple of Diana, he dedicated his new cathedral to St. Paul the Apostle, A.D. 610. "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" was the enthusiastic shout of the heathen in the ears of the inspired preacher of the Gentiles; but now the idol shrine had mouldered, and even in an island of London, reduced to ashes. This excited the pious zeal of Bishop Maurice, and he resolved to raise on the ruins the noblest religious fabric in the kingdom. He petitioned William I. for the stone work of a fortification near the river Flete, called the Palatine Tower, towards completing his cathedral. During the twenty remaining years of his life he prosecuted the work with unremitting earnestness, but it was unfinished at his decease. Bishop Belmeis spent the whole of his revenue on the building, yet was unable to complete it. Henry III., in one of his charters to the citizens, granted £7 the sea the true God and His holy Apostle were to be honoured. Erkenwald, the fourth bishop, A.D. 675, improved the structure into a stately church. At his death a rich tomb was erected over his remains. The whole was destroyed by fire A.D. 961, during the reign of King Edgar, by whom the Cathedral was rebuilt. It flourished during the Saxon period, and one of its primitive monarchs declared it "as free in all its rights as they desired themselves to be at the Day of Judgment." In 1086 it was again, with the greater part of annually to the Sheriff out of his London farm for the same service; the nobles and Churchmen vied in their liberality, that the mighty edifice should be finished. The Cathedral was consecrated in October, 1235, by Roger, surnamed Niger, Bishop of Loudon. When, on the 1st of February, 1444, the tower was struck by lightning, the flames were quickly extinguished, but they again burst forth in the night, and nearly the whole of the wooden frame was destroyed. This mischief having been repaired, the Cathedral continued uninjured till June 4, 1561. The season was rainy; a thunderstorm commenced about four o'clock in the afternoon, and the lightning having struck the steeple near the summit, "a little fire appeared, at first like to the light of a torch, which increased so much towards the weathercock, that it fell down in a few minutes; and, blown up with a high wind, the fire within an hour burnt the whole steeple down to the very battlements, which also, receiving the timber which fell from the spire, began to burn so vehemently that all the timber took fire, and the iron and bells melted and fell down the stones in a short space, and the east and west roofs of the building catching fire, burnt so furiously, that these ends and the north and south were consumed before one o'clock after midnight, when there was not a piece of timber left, nor lead unmolten, upon any of the higher and cross roofs. The side aisles were scorched, but not ruined; many houses were burnt; a pinnacle at the east end fell-a sad sight." But," says the chronicler, "the French here in London were not sorry to see it!" upon The cause of the fire is explained in a curious old manuscript, on the authority of a very aged man, to have been an accident:-" Being a servant unto a workman of the Dean," such is the account, "I was sent to make search for some place where the rain came in at the spire, when, having a candle, I snuffed it, and the snuff fell into some crack of the timber, which not minding, the steeple shortly after fired." This is probably as true as the gladness of the French on the occasion. Mr. Bull's ill opinion of his frog-eating neighbours is of very old date. Will it be got rid of under the good management of Napoleon III.? This conflagration was thought a public calamity. Queen Elizabeth exhorted the Lord Mayor, requiring him to take speedy order for the repair of the Cathedral, giving 1,000 marks from her privy purse, and 1,000 loads of timber from her woods. The citizens gave a large benevolence, and threefifteenths to be promptly paid, making together £3,247 16s. 2d.; the clergy gave a fortieth of all church livings. The whole amount collected was £6,687 5s. 1d. What a small sum it seems! We need much more now for the ornamentation of St. Paul's! This zeal worked well, and in five years the roofs were covered in; but the builders could not agree as to the model of the steeple, which was never rebuilt; for the walls were found so much dilapidated that a more general repair was thought indispensable. Thus matters remained to the reign of James I., when a private gentleman, Henry Farley (may his memory always be green!) importuned the King to provide means for its restoration. This curious tract "The complaint of Poule's, Or, an humble supplication is dated 1616. It begins with a dedication to Parliament, and a rhymed dialogue between St. Paul's and the book; which is followed by a "posie of sundry flowers and herbs, gathered out of God's Word." Then follows "a parallel of present times with past, or of a good king living, with a good king (Josiah) long since deceased;" and then the Cathedral begins its supplication. It is instructive-directed to the king and prince, and mentions the author as a poor man who has been the Church's voluntary servant for these eight years, even to his damage. The address begins oddly enough: "To the King's Most Sacred Majesty. Whereas, to the great joy of all, my dear friend, there is certain news that your Highness will visit me on Sunday next, and the rather I believe it, for that I have had more brushing, sweeping, and cleansing, than in forty years before. My workmen look't like him they call Mulled Sacke, after sweeping a chimney." St. Paule's "concludeth in an extasie, being ravished with joy of her hopeful successe." Then comes a history of the writer's labours for the restoration, and "Certaine additions, Voyces and visions, Speeches and parley 'Twixt Paule's and Farley." It was reasonable that the citizens should be concerned for their ruined Cathedral. Only a few years had elapsed since their glorious Elizabeth had ridden thither in grand procession, to offer thanksgivings for the destruction of the Spanish Armada. Here, too, a hundred national triumphs had been celebrated. Every stone of the worn pavement had often been trodden by the best and bravest of her sons. Paul's, too, had for ages afforded a place of daily meeting for all ranks-merchants, warriors, statesmen, the threadbare poet, the anxious politician, the man of business, the man of devotion. It was the common home, not merely of Englishmen, but of strangers of every European state, and from the uttermost parts of the earth. So the King listened to Farley and Paule's, and came in state, with all that was illustrious in the land, on the 26th of March, |