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acquaint him with her humble vicinity. Tinglebury was not unknown to him. It was his adamantine pen that with the sound of a trumpet answered Mr. Podd's “Religion without Rage,” in “The Fiery Furnace” of last May. Our presence seemed to awaken more than he cared to express, for he turned abruptly away, too full of matter to resume. The seasons of sequestration of such must not be intruded upon : more precious, they, than the garish talk of the babbler | * * * Perceiving that the Esculapian companion of Lady Tallboys was vocal, I challenged him, on emerging to the deck in the morning—The IIeir Apparent clearing its way by this time along the bosom of the “wandering Scheldt.” (sung by IJr. Johnson in the Rambler) —to unite with my untaught notes in vespers of gratitude for having escaped the Perils of the Deep, in the lay which you know so well, to the Duett from “La Touritani.” The sounds he had emitted, methought, warranted such freedom in a strange land. 13ut Rome is even here, embittering casual sociabilities. The proposal was avoided with derision. IIad I broached some ditty from the benighted Breviary, matters would, of course, have been different. I’oor blinded youth ! feel so instinctively the vicinity of a messenger of infallible truth ! IIe breathed more freely, I suspect, (for Mr. Pecker's eye was upon him) when the brioche of Antwerp Cathedral—the correct term for spire—pointed to the skies, like “London's column,” round a corner of the river ;-beckoning him, as it were, to the high places of Jezebel. Think you, however, dearest Mrs. Rustler, that I felt daunted on approximating the regions of Idolatry Far otherwise. “Grass,” said I to myself, “shall grow in her borders, and the Ibis and the Crocodile harbour within her doors l’’

Diverted, however, was I, from these enkindling visions, by more sublunary necessities. The fiscal examination of our travelling apparatus, -how subversive of every sentiment of delicacy, I need not allude to—always takes place on the open deck in presence of and conducted by myrmidons of the male sex. It went my heart to see dear Mrs. Pecker's private arrangements coarsely discussed in a jargon one might perceive to be otherwise than complimentary. Our brother-in-law's Bells here came into play: though their ringing excited more attention than could have been desiderated—and being liable to duty—their number, too, awakening some misapprehension, (two small spare ones having been prospectively entrusted to the Maid's Box, in case of loss)—our detention at the Custom House, for the major part of the day became inevit


able. Mr. Pecker memorialised the Lord Mayor and Aldermen of
Antwerp in vain. Belial was too strong for us; his very entrance
into the devoted continent, as he said oracularly, was marked by
one of those persecutions which * * * *. The sum ordained him
for payment was considerable ; but his principles are dear, and it
was submitted to without a murmur. He has drawn out a minute
account of this fresh instance of Popish intolerance for “The Fiery
Furnace l’’-the Editor being requested to enclose a copy to H. M.
the Queen : another to his dear friend and emulator in staunchness,
the Bishop of . We are at last in our IIotel La Grande
Labourer: our baggages emancipated. Walking through the
streets, the caps of the female population arrest the glance, with
long ears. O may ours be always open to new impressions ! The
language is jarring, and the expression of countenance universally
sinister. The bare mention of our being about to encounter a
Priest made me shut my eyes involuntarily. They must become
more robust, and less sensitive. They shall. Mr. Pecker declares
that the monstrosity of his faith spoke confessed in his countenance.
Mrs. Pecker was reminded of Mr. Podd's false blandness by his
smile. I hope he saw the disdain on my averted visage. No
epoch this for compromisings
Summoned to our first repast of continental origin, I quit my
pen ; —when I have mentioned that the stranger's book has already
revealed to us traces of our adversaries. They have passed this
way. How we shall comfort ourselves, should we encounter the
Nibletts (for 'tis theirs to shrink before the lightning eye of
Wis lom () we have not decided. But one at least will not stifle
her convictions, whose name, written, she trusts * * * * * is
Your newly-circumstanced friend,

Deceived again. Is the lot of the willow, indeed, to be your Diana's—who, “bending 'neath every storm, still firmly stands to weep for others' woes : " Is my infantile trust to be for ever played upon But if Mr. Pecker's eagle-eye was deceived, shall mine be more suspicious? Papers from London accidentally perused, with the avidity exiles only can appreciate, blazon forth the evasion from Belgravia of the Lady Tallboys:–the companion of her disgraceful tour being Signor Albertinelli, the director of our friend Lady Highborough's concerts, and the incomparable Tenore of H. M.'s Theatre, whose destinies are so deliciously swayed by the

wisest of mortals and most inflexible of managements | Well might the conscious Libertine shrink before the gaze of Feminine Innocence—his avoidance of my hymn of praise being thus explained. Well might Mr. Pecker weightily say (0 not mine to take pride in a compliment so ill-deserved :) “Your name, sister, should have been Ithuriel, and not the Ephesian Goddess!” I should, ere this, have rendered justice to one of the Peckers' pieces of exalted charity. That Mrs. Pecker could venture abroad —Bridget's want unsupplied—was, of course, not to be thought of-too sensitive a Christian, she nevertheless;–to expose any any British attendant to the corruptions of continental superstition, where ignorance of the language rears, but a gossamer barrier against much conspiring to render the eye delirious, and to intoxicate the ear ! A 13rave Courier was discussed: but the race, Mr. Pecker declares, on settled conviction, to be universally abandoned: the democratic instincts of their recent Italian Pictorial apologist (not to be more personal) being, unhappily, too public. And male attentiveness perpetually in our vicinity is what no right thinking female can subscribe to. While thus dubitating, an opportunity for a good action presented itself. We hope to reap a stock of French from it. A Swiss governess, my dear, by providential coincidence, the very same to whom our dear Lady IIighborough's dismissal adverted, she being by ill-health incapacitated from the fatigues of children—was seeking for an opportunity of transit to her native glaciers, and embraced, with tears of gratitude, the menial capacity proffered by our party. Salary, we agreed, was not to be mooted—for who would wound a Pastor's daughter (Mr. Pecker fears not untinctured with Socinianism, but do not divulge) by the bare advertence to pecuniary recompence? She warmly undertook the entire charge of our travelling arrangements—waits upon us both as maid—since due regard to classes dictates this as appropriate—and gives Mr. Pecker daily instruction in French. But this, I am persuaded, he will never bow his honest British clear-sightedness, ever to master ' Who would wish it 2 Meanwhile, his patience, like that of a little child, is admirable. His own theories of pronunciation, which he is resolved to carry into action, are too deeply ingenious to be intermeddled with by this transient pen. Adieu ! my paper is replete, like the heart

of your D. R.


TIE Age of Practice is now at hand. The true credentials are deeds. The genuine test is performance.

The Doctrine of Works has been too much neglected in this Protestant age of sectarian opinions. “Faith without works,” rightly said the Apostle James, “is dead.” Mere expression of belief is

| not true faith. Simple assent to a verbal creed is of no avail.

True faith is a practical confidence operating in good works.

The union of Church and State—not the mere formal worthless thing of politicians, but a truer, a diviner idea—is the societary actualization of the sacredness of good works. We should sanctify and hallow art, science, and industry. Our fields and our houses should become to us as portions of the common temple of God. Each effort should be as a prayer: each rest as a thanksgiving. Every function of work should be holy: each department of labour honorable, each portion of industry attractive. The priesthood of industry should commence. The hierarchy of labour should be installed. Every one should be a worker : every one a priest. This would be the true union of Church and State. This is the required combined reform in temporals and spirituals.

The true practice of good works does not consist in mere almsgiving. Justice above charity, 0 pharisaic and ever good-intentioned but unenlightened alms-givers | Put that spade into the hands of yon beggar, take one in thine own, go there both together upon that field and dig | This is better than putting money into a pocket full of holes. This is better than sending Charity with halfpence to the gin-palace. This is better than alms-giving. It is grander than charity, for it is love and justice. It is as fraternity, above patronage. It is as community, above slavery. It is the land and the tool: it is the spade and the acre which every Christian, every human being, ought to have with which to work. By the lazy rich and by the idle poor, and by those unemployed, the Divine command is not obeyed : “By the sweat of thy brow thou shalt eat bread.”

Woe unto those by whom this divine and benevolent command is obeyed not. By the contracted chest, by the weak and undeveloped frame, by the flaccid muscle, by the hellish pang of ennui, are those who will not work punished. By increased pauper rates, by dread of incendiary torch and smoking homestead, by fear of red riot and flaming rebellion are those damned who will not let others work. No sin under God's heaven escapes without a punishment. Those who trangress God’s laws in human nature or in human society, are condemned by their trangression. Mightily let us invoke the Age of Practice : its credentials, deeds ; its test, performance. Nothing is too good to be done. Nothing is too loving for the heart. Nothing is too thoughtful for the mind. Nothing is too powerful for the hand. There cannot be too much piety, too much patriotism, too much philanthropy. One cannot be too much a saint or a hero. “Be ye perfect as your l'ather which is in heaven is perfect.” Never too high the kebla in the mosques of the true Islam. The higher the endeavour, the more likely the effort. Shoot at a rush candle and thou shalt hit the table. Wing thy shaft at the Pole Star, and thou shalt pierce the Ilion or the Great Bear. That which is most wanting should be the most tried after. All things are possible to faith. The thought of annihilation approximates Atheism. “ Perhaps” should be banished the dictionary. The more we try, the more shall we gain. Trial itself is a gain. If we reach not at first the thing attempted, we shall yet acquire more strength for another endeavour. Let the future arra be the Age of Practice : we have had enough of mere doctrine. If we cannot, however, ourselves become practical, let us at any rate write in favour of practice. Let our poets sing its laud. Let our orators speak its praises. So sung and so spoken, assuredly it will then be done. GooDWYN BARMBY.


LovE her still !
She hath fallen very low,
Thou, who knew'st her long ago,
Little, little canst thou see
Of her girlhood’s purity;
Put, though sin hath left its trace
On her once sweet happy face,
And that innocent maiden brow
I}roopeth in dark shadow now—
Though life's glory all hath fled,
And life's shame is hers instead,

Love her still !

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