we were considering. If the promise would make you any happier, Mr. Finch, I would undertake never to address your wife again."

"You are a strange man, a wonderful man," Mr. Finch said, musingly, staring from vacancy into the face of his companion.

The growing firelight lit up Willie's features: in the large dark eyes, on the broad brow, and straight lips, the same word was written-truth.

"I do not wonder Mary so doted upon you once, Mr. Atherton. 'Pon my life, it would have taken more than a brother's persuasions to have altered my mind about you.”

"You are very complimentary," Willie said, with a toss of his black hair. "But what about my invitation? You have not accepted it, nor given me one in return.'

"Pon my life, young man, there is no necessity; come when you please, and bring Mrs. Atherton with you. As to the other matter, it is just possible you will get tired of seeing my ugly old face at the Parsonage."

A curious smile played round Willie's mouth; it arose from a feeling which it is unhappily the lot of man seldom to enjoy for any length of time. This sensation of self-satisfaction, arising from right motives, is one of the most pleasant we can enjoy in this world. Willie had restored harmony between husband and wife, had to a great extent laughed away Mr. Finch's foolish jealousy, had

sounded his own heart, and found it right in its feelings towards Mary Finch. He could sit at his neighbour's table, could enjoy his hospitality, without the least fear of infringing even in thought the second clause of that commandment of the second table, which commences, "Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour's house." He left a home he had made happier through his visit, and returning to his own home, was greeted on its threshold by the smiling face of one now dearer to him than all the world beside.

CHAPTER XVI.

E che cosa vi domanda per meritarlo, e meritar quella corona di gloria e d'allegrezza che non avrà più fine? Vi domanda di amarlo com' egli v' ha amata; di soffrire un ́ poco per amor suo, com' egli ha sofferto, e tanto, per amor vostro; di perdonar a chi v' ha fatto ingiuria, com' esso perdonò gli strazi, le percosse, gli oltraggi, e la morte. Eccolo in cielo che v'aspetta ed anela d'accogliervi fra le sue braccia, d' ascingar il vostro pianto, e volgerlo in una gioja che non avrà misura.-MASSIMO D'AZEGLIO.

MEANTIME what had become of him who had been permitted to sow disorder in the destiny of others? Arthur Newnham very shortly after his marriage had taken possession of the living which in prospect had long been his. He found his new charges a harmless, ignorant, countryfied set, and soon set about improving their morals and modes of thinking on religious subjects. His first care, however, was the church corporeal, not spiritual. He ordered it to be thoroughly cleansed and repaired; the high pews, hideous reading desk, and unsightly organ gallery were removed. Thus far the wishes of his people went with him. His energy roused them from their lethargic slumbers

to take an interest and pride in the venerable

The alterations

edifice built by their fathers. Arthur had made were in part necessary, and, on the whole, convenient. So far all was well. Years rolled on, bringing with them rich blessings from the Father of Love. Happy in his parish and in his family, the calm current of Arthur's life flowed on with scarcely a ripple to disturb its surface. Just beyond the falls of Niagara, and a little higher up, there is a placid stream. In its smooth waters the little skiff may securely float along, or the rower ply his sculls. But as he approaches a few yards nearer the huge cataract, his boat begins to waver, he loses command over her, the strokes of his oar no longer compel obedience. Still closer, and before he is aware of it, he is dashed with his frail bark into the foaming surf of destruction. This appears to me an apt metaphor of the danger of church extremes. Little by little, with stealthy steps, Arthur had encroached on the tolerance of his parishioners. First he had had good singing is it right to offer God praises which cost us no labour, no study? then young boys in white pinafores had made their appearance. After the choristers' arrival, as a natural consequence of events, the organ had to be done up. pictures and queer little crosses, almost unknown symbols of piety in that out-of-the-way place, stole into the neighbourhood, nobody knowing from whence they came. Arthur having tasted the delights, discovered the enticement of this sort of

Also

devotion, could not pause, he added stone on stone, until he stumbled on the block of Puseyism. If he could have been satisfied with, his beautiful church, the finest of the neighbourhood; with his glorious services, the best conducted for many miles round, his people would have rejoiced with him. But when they found every year brought a fresh and unpleasing novelty, they began to rebel against his authority. The choristers, the music, the infinity of services, had been tolerated by some, admired by others. The handsome new windows, which prevented all possibility of reading, excepting where a summer sun shone on the church, the increasing number of prostrations, the lengthening procession, became subjects of bitter complaints. Yet the actual rock of offence on which Arthur and his people split was a matter of trivial importance. The litany stool imbibed one week a table-turning spirit, and refused any longer to face the congregation. Dispute followed dispute on this subject. The county papers were filled to overflowing with the impertinent sayings of the churchwardens, and the cutting sarcasms of the rector. Deceits and lies were proved satisfactorily to themselves by either party.

The bitter feelings kindled by hasty and unjust recriminations had not subsided, when the Christian festival of love and harmony came round. With infinite pains Maggie had prepared the usual decorations for the altar and screen. In characters formed by a harmonious mingling of holly and wax camellias,