Keep your Temper.

But the brave and enterprising people met at various times with many reverses. In the year A.D. 809, after they had suffered much from the power of France, a French squadron got entangled in the shoals of the lagoon, thus falling an easy prey to the swift-moving galleys of the Venetians, those of the enemy who escaped being relentlessly massacred by the revengeful islanders.

The year A.D. 829 is memorable as that in which, according to tradition, the body of St. Mark was transferred to Venice from Alexandria, after which the Venetians adopted St. Mark as their patron Saint, and the war cry, 'Viva San Marco!' was often used to inspire their courage in many a future fight both by land and sea. In the thirteenth century the lagoon was visited by a severe earthquake, and in the year following by a frightful outbreak of the plague, during which two fifths of the population perished and many noble families became extinct.

But we must pass over many years until, in the eighteenth century, we find Venice very different to what it was in its earlier days. It had become quite worn out and corrupted, the Government of the Council of Ten was a complete reign of terror, the nobles showed vigour only in the pursuit of pleasure, while the common people were quite unequal to war. All the ancient virtue, valour, and hardihood which had raised a colony of fishermen to be a nation of the first rank, had died out of the state.

It was the same Venice no longer. In 1796 Napoleon destroyed its Government and ceded the province to Austria. In 1866 the city and territory were incorporated with the kingdom of Italy.

The chief manufactures of Venice are its glass works, magnificent mirrors, artificial pearls, gems, gold and silver stuffs, laces, velvets, and other commodities of the like description.

D. B. MCKEAN.

KEEP YOUR TEMPER.

INE of the commonest effects of anger on the heart is to disable it by making it lose an occasional beat, when it is said, by us physicians, to intermit. It gives a series of perfectly natural strokes and then misses a stroke. A heart so far disabled, though it may not, in the strict sense of the word, be considered diseased in its structure, is not equal to meet emergencies in a satisfactory way. The heart is, in a true sense, a broken or disabled heart, and it causes its owner to grow fitful, uncertain, at times very feebie, and at all times unfit to sustain a long and trying effort. No man is safe at the heart who gives way to anger, and as it is too true that they who do give way to it soon acquire a habit of it, no person trained into anger is in safety. The man richest in health, the strongest man, the man of finest bodily constitution, is not rich enough in these good gifts to become an angry man. Of all the passions, therefore, anger is the first to hold down; and, I believe it is the easiest passion of all to control when the will is made up against it.-Dr. B. W. Richardson.

BROTHER WILFRITH'S STORY.

YONG years ago, when convents rose, as now to God they rise,
The ladders formed like Jacob's, whereby men may scale the skies,
Seven holy men, to Jesus drawn by cords of holy love,
Resolved to live the life below the angels live above:

To God their lives to dedicate, to pray by day and night,

To serve Him with unswerving love, and 'gainst His foes to fight.
But these poor men-yea! poor and old-they laboured for their bread,
Dwelt meanly-like to Him Who had not where to lay His head;
And for their chapel, whence should rise seven times a-day their praise,
They chose a lovely forest glade that caught the sun's first rays-
It was a chapel such as never house can boast this day,
And thro' the clustering arches green the sunbeams loved to stray;
And in the east, an altar there they raised with reverent care,
And hourly from that fane arose the voice of praise and prayer.
One grief they had: they could not sing-their voices all were gone;
Besides, they knew no hymn, nor chant, nor any simple tone.
The Abbot then decreed that since God knew they could not sing,
He would accept it if they brought the best they had to bring:
'So we will simply say our hymns, excepting one, and that—
The hymn of Holy Mary maid, the glad Magnificat-

We all, my sons, must try to chant, and Christ in Heaven above,
If all our music is but harsh, will look upon our love.'
So day by day, at Vesper time, Magnificat was heard-
"Tis said that from the boughs above it frightened every bird,
For all were out of tune, and each a different chant would try—
But up in Heaven, where hearts are known, it made sweet melody.
On Christmas Eve, 'mid cold and snow, a youth came to their door,
Praying that he that brotherhood might join for evermore.
'Twas Vesper time, and straightway, then, his voice arose in praise-
'Twas as a seraph's voice; the breth'ren listened in amaze,

And each one in his heart exclaimed: "Thank God that on this night One is among us who can sing Magnificat aright.'

But had they marked the stranger's face, and seen how all his thought Was in his own melodious voice-how self was all he sought,

They would have known that up in Heaven that voice was never heard: That, tho' the birds came flying back, Christ never heard a word.

The office ended-Lo! they saw beside the altar stand,

With sad and troubled aspect, one of God's angelic band:
'The Lord hath sent me here to know, why on this night so blest,
No Vesper hymn arose to Heaven, no praise to Him addrest?
Wherefore hath ceased to rise on high the offering of your praise ?
Wherefore unheard the melody that ye were wont to raise ?'
They crossed themselves in holy fear, and bade depart the boy,
Whom, knowing not, they had received with thankfulness and joy;
Then, bursting forth into the chants it was their wont to sing,

High up in Heaven their hymn of praise with fervent hearts they fling,
And the angel bare it on with him, to Heaven's Lord and King.

'DR. SYNTAX' ROCK, CORNWALL.

HE Rev. R. S. Hawker, a well-known Cornish vicar and poet, used to call Cornwall the rocky land of strangers,' from the fact that on its coasts so many storm-beaten foreigners found there a last resting-place. The south-western coast is composed of rocks hewn by the storms of ages into many fantastic forms. In Blight's Week at the Land's End a rock is figured which bears the name of 'Dr. Johnson,' given to it by some one who traced a resemblance to the great lexicographer's wig and nose. Others have assigned the wig and nose to 'Dr. Syntax,' after whom a rock in the Firth of Forth is also named.

VILLAGE DIALOGUES.

THE SECRET OF PEACE.

[ELL, John, this can't go on any longer. I've tried my best to put up with her ways, but it's time there should be an end; even patience can't last for ever.' Sarah Brook spoke with evident irritation, and her husband laid down the pipe he was smoking to ask what new trouble his wife had got. Sarah Brook. Oh, it's nothing new, but just Eliza Cole at her old provoking ways: she can scarcely give a civil word if I speak to her, and is always hinting at unpleasant things, such as the trouble our Tom put us to. I can't stand it, and I shall have to quarrel with her.'

J. B. 'Now, Sarah, thou hast been very patient, and I'll give thee credit for having borne a good deal, but don't spoil it all by coming to a quarrel at last. Hold hard on to thy patience, my lass.'

Sarah. But, John, it seems to me quite right to show people how you scorn their mean ways when they don't know how to behave themselves. Isn't there such a thing as "righteous anger?"

J. B. Yea, there is; but it's meant, I think, to be visited upon open sin rather than on peevish, provoking ways, and by them who have a right to judge, and to condemn if need be, such as parents and magistrates, not by simple folk like us towards each other.

Sarah. But what am I to do if I'm boiling over with anger at one who in a kind of way insults me every day, and if I feel that patience has come to an end?'

J. B. 'I was speaking to neighbour Harris about thee only yesterday, and telling her how vexing Mrs. Cole is in her ways, and how I feared it was a real trial to thee to bear with it; and what dost thou think she answered me?'

Sarah. Nay, I can't tell; neighbour Harris can give a deal of advice, but I think she's hardly made of flesh and blood like us.'

J. B. Surely it is flesh and blood like our own that makes her feel with us in all trouble and difficulty, and that she does this thou canst not gainsay.'

Sarah. I don't wish to gainsay it, but what had she to say about me and Eliza Cole?'

J. B. She says thou art not the first Mrs. Cole has worried and harassed with her unkind ways; but she says, too, there is hope for the poor soul yet, that seeing folk she vexes act in a patient Christian way will win her yet to better things; and neighbour Harris says also that what thou art in want of is more love-love to suffer, and to

Village Dialogues.

be patient, and to wait, and to pray, and that it is what all God's true servants are called to.'

Sarah. And what do you think yourself, John? Is she right? And is it possible to love one who is so hateful in her ways?'

J. B. Not for herself; I think thou canst not love such an one for herself; but maybe thou canst bear with her, and even love her, for the sake of One Who loves the sinful like the worst of ourselves, and has patience with us always.'

Sarah. John, thou hast taken a leaf out of neighbour Harris's book. Ever since that illness of thine it seems to have come to thee to think and to talk like she does; but I can't grumble, thou art so good and kind, and for love of thee I can be patient even with that provoking woman.'

J. B. That's right, my lass; I'll not quarrel with thee for thinking well of me, nor for trying to do what's hard to thee for love of me; yet I would like thee to get on surer ground than that, since it might fail thee.'

Sarah. How do you mean, John?'

J. B. Supposing I was to be taken from thee, or to turn back to careless ways such as I used to have, then it would not be possible to thee to do hard things for love of me.'

Sarah. But I can trust you, and know right well you're safe to continue the good husband you've been to me all these years; there's some new strength in you since that illness, and I can feel sure of it, though I've not got the like myself.'

J. B. 'There is the same strength laid up for thee that there is for me; Sally, only seek it heartily and thou shalt find it: it's free to every one, and is the grandest secret I ever learned.'

Sarah. Why, John, what do you mean by that?'

J. B. Just this, that to be really strong we must know our own weakness and God's strength, and lean upon this last even as a little child leans upon his father; it's a wonderful secret is that, but can only be learned by being put to the proof.'

Sarah. And tell me how to do it, husband.'

J. B. 'I think it has to do with the desire of the heart, which must be for God before all things; and He brings us down to great straits sometimes that we may get this desire.'

Sarah. John, you were ever a smart and honest workman, taking pleasure in your work and priding yourself on doing things honestly and uprightly. Is it just the same with you now??

J. B. I have pleasure in my work still, Sarah, and even more than before; but it's with a new feeling, as reminds me of an oldfashioned hymn I read lately. Listen:

"Teach me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see,

And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee.

All may of Thee partake: Nothing can be so mean,

Which with this tincture, 'For Thy sake,' Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause, Makes drudgery divine:

Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, Makes that and th action fine."

Sarah. Aye, it sounds old-fashioned, but it's very good. I've been thinking a long time, John, since thou art so changed God seems nearer, and it isn't so hard to think of Him as real, and good,