good condition, that I wish to exchange for books and magazines suitable for a village lending library. A specimen copy of each will be sent if required. Address, Librarian, 7, The Terrace, Barnes, Surrey, S. W. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS. Miss HICK is much obliged to E. D. for the scraps, &c., she sent her, and will be glad of more, especially coloured ones. She also acknowledges with many thanks packets of Christmas Cards received from J. F., Constance G., C. J. R., E. H., B. B. P., and one with postmark Kingston-on-Thames, but no initials. BISHOP WILBERFORCE CONFIRMATION Miss L. PHILLIMORE, (5, Arlington Street, London, S.W.,) acknowledges with her best thanks for the above: A mite, A. C., 6d.; Helena, 18.; J. V. W. in Memoriam M. B. C., 58.; per Miss M. Mears, 8s. 10d.; per Miss Gordon, 6s.; Selina, 1s. 6d. ; Countess of Leicester, £2.; L. C., 1s. 6d.; per Miss C. Argent, 6s.; per Miss Cowderoy, ls. 6d. Further offerings to complete the Memorial gladly received as above. Post Office Orders payable at S. James's Street, S.W. Notices to Correspondents. J. F. Green. The writer of the article on "English Commentaries," is sorry if he overstated the proportion of the Dissenting Element in Bishop Ellicott's Commentary on the New Testament, though he is of opinion that in earlier advertisements more Dissenting writers were announced than appear to have actually taken part in the undertaking. The main objection however, is to the principle of compromise, as insensibly lowering the whole tone of the work, and as being in itself mali exempli. What, for example, would the Bishop say, if a High Church Commentary were put out in which Roman Catholic writers joined with members of the Church of England? Would not Bishop Ellicott be the first to denounce the combination as unfaithful to the Church? A. E. The Editor cannot undertake to receive letters for the correspondents, an address should always be given to which communications may be sent. B. W. C. The words and music of the People's Hymnal are published separately by Masters and Co.; the words at various prices, from 6d. upwards ; the music in parts at 1s. each. R. T. W. H. Baptism with water and in the Name of the Holy Trinity, though performed by Dissenters, is undoubtedly valid, and therefore rebaptism would be wrong; but candidates for Confirmation might be received into the Church according to the method described in the letter we publish this month from Aberdeen. The chief point for instruction on Confirmation being the fact that the gift of the HOLY GHOST received in Baptism is confirmed in that rite: the most important part of the preparation is not affected by the absence of sponsors. Accepted: "The Ascension of our LORD;" "Easter Eve" (M.) "Prince Henry.—This life of ours is a wild Æolian harp of many a joyous strain, But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. Elsie.-Faith alone can interpret life, and the heart that aches and bleeds with the stigma Of pain, alone bears the likeness of CHRIST, and can comprehend its dark enigma." The Golden Legend. PHILIP O'Hara went to his lodgings that evening after his interview with Madame Dambricourt, determined to leave Bruges the next day. He felt sick of travelling, he would turn his face homewards to old Ireland once more. As he took a light from the shaking hand of the old concierge, and stumbled up the dark stairs to the painting-room, he said to himself that he hated the very stones of Bruges, and should be glad to leave it for ever. He looked at the unfinished picture where it stood a little more advanced towards completion than when Luce Vanheegue had seen it; she would never see it finished now, and he suddenly felt what had been the secret of the patient labour he had bestowed upon it, and of his happiness in working at it: it would never be finished now as long as he lived, nay, he thought that he should never have the heart to take up a brush again. But when he had begun the dreary task of gathering together the litter of sketches into something like order for packing, and the night was wearing on, his fierce mood grew perceptibly weaker, and at last he stopped his labours, and threw himself into a chair to think. No; after all, he knew he could not leave Bruges without trying at least to see her once more-a passing glimpse in the street, anywhere, and then he would go away contented. It was so long since he had seen her; she had not come into S. Sauveur's of late when he was painting there, and this with other significant little facts all pointed to the event he had just learned from her sister. And then the fever of jealousy took possession of him again; of course she had kept out of his way, or rather she had had no thought of him at all, pre-occupied as she was with all the preparations for a grand marriage. So she had been affianced to the Comte de Senlecq that bright afternoon at Mademoiselle de Woos' croquet party, when they had stood together and talked upon the bridge! Her religion then, did not prevent her from selling herself for ambition and wealth; it was a pity that so sweet a face was after all no index to what must needs be a worldly mind! Yet even whilst he thought these hard thoughts of her he felt that he was doing her bitter injustice: as he recalled her words and looks with vivid remembrance he knew it was impossible that he had been deceived in her. If any one had seemed true, and gentle, and good, it was Luce Vanheegue. No, no, she had been induced to marry this rich stupid man, old enough to be her father—it was not her doing; he forgot that these were not Irish or English people, he had made no allowance for their social customs; nothing of course was so common here as a mariage de convenance, and in accepting the Comte de Senlecq according to her friends' desire, she probably never dreamt of opposing them, and would marry him because it was a part of her life's duty, and thus be true to her own good self. So he would try to see her again—unseen of course, in spite of her father and that silly heartless little woman her sister; his pride rose up against them—anything rather than to be seen of them again! What happiness might have been his but for their ambition! So day after day saw him still in Bruges, wandering like an unquiet spirit about the ancient streets; loitering in the shadow of arches and church doorways to watch the passers-by, and sometimes, when the night had fallen, lingering outside the high forbidden walls to see the lights gleam out from the windows of the Maison Vanheegue. Once or twice he heard the distant sound of the piano from the open windows, and he lingered and listened till the lights were out, and all was dark and still. Once or twice, too, he was rewarded by the sight of Monsieur Vanheegue, walking all unconscious to his business, and Philip shrank into an archway, feeling rather like a thief, till he had passed; and once Madame Dambricourt drove by, and he saved himself by diving into a shop. But he never saw Luce. He stayed for hours in the Cathedral, but she never came to pray; he walked along the poplar roads, but they did not drive out there now; canvas and brush lay neglected and untouched. Never did forlorn Pellas wait more patiently without the grim castle walls for proud Ettare! He laughed bitterly at his own folly, and made up his mind to go a hundred times, and yet at the end of each day he had not the resolution to tear himself away. Little did he think what the "quaint old Flemish city," which he had come to so casually for the sake of its art-treasures, had in store for him! The whole place seemed full of Luce Vanheegue; the old-world streets, the beautiful old houses, the quiet quays and wharfs, once so busy, had gained a new charm, and a deeper association, for they seemed now but the surroundings of Luce; they were the scenes anid which her life was passed, the places where she had been, the spots she admired, the pictures that she loved, the churches where she prayed; and instead of peopling the ancient squares and halls with the nobles and burghers, and proud dames of by-gone days, he saw only the fair face of this sweet Belgian girl who had touched him so deeply; the very pictured Saints and sculptured angel-faces wore her look, and when the plaintive carillon pealed out the bells had a sound of her voice. O flower-de-luce! a lily growing indeed far beyond his reach. At last he bethought himself that she probably went to Church early in the morning-how foolish never to have thought of that before! At seven o'clock he was at S. Sauveur's coming in from the bright sunshine his eyes were dim at first, as he walked up the aisle, and then his heart throbbed, for he saw Luce Vanheegue. He could not see her face until the Service was over, and then hidden by one of the great pillars he watched her go down the aisle. She looked grave, and her eyes were cast down; she had always been pale, but was it his fancy that she looked still paler now? : It might have been his own agitation that altered her to his eyes, but love is keen-sighted, and he could not mistake the quick pang of pain which he felt at the sight of her face; surely she had changed in this short time, and there was something drooping and sorrowful about her which had not been there before. He was miserable that day; alone with his mournful thoughts: she was ill-she was unhappy; perhaps it was on account of this marriage, and that idea brought back a foolish hope again. Oh, if he could but hear of her, if he could but know! but there was no one to speak to him of her. Mademoiselle de Woos had gone into the country, so that she was out of the question, even if he could have braved her inquisitiveness, but what was there that he could not have done for Luce's sake? Morning after morning he watched her from behind his pillar, and that short half-hour seemed almost all that he lived for during those dreary days-that one glimpse of her face as she went down the aisle. She was always there, whether fine or wet, in the cloak and simple hat he knew so well; he watched and learnt every look of her face; sometimes she had that sad and drooping look, and then he was divided between pain and a secret hope; sometimes she was brighter, and then he was half glad, half miserable and jealous, going through all those alternations that people in his condition know, fearing all the while to be seen, and certain that he must overcome all this and put an end to it one day. But instead of that day being near, it seemed farther off than ever now. And Luce Vanheegue meanwhile? What a strange irony of fateas we call it—it seemed, that was keeping these two asunder, that he who was so very often in her thoughts should be so near to her day by day, and she did not know it! Only it was not fate at all, but part of the plan of her life's discipline ordered by perfect Wisdom and Love. It was true that she was changed both outwardly and inwardly, for she was bearing a first sorrow, made greater by its being a secret one; striving to show no outward sign of it before the world, but indulging it in secret, like many a girl who makes a luxury of a first grief-a spendthrift of her inward strength of endurance, before the time comes when she will need it all, and griefs have become too common to be luxuries. This girl's eyes had been roughly opened to what she had little before suspected in her own heart; she would have given much to have been left in blindness still, but the thing was done now, and she could not forget. It was a perilous time for herself that she was passing through, in which the conflict of earthly and heavenly influences began to wax stronger, and the old moorings of the peaceful past seemed to be loosened, and the first mutterings of life's coming storm to be heard. Yet if the old moorings were only fast, the passing trouble would work its appointed good, like everything else. Her secret disappointment, her sister's harsh coercion, and the never-ceasing importunity with which the subject of the Comte de Senlecq was brought before her, might have soured a less gentle disposition: as it was she lost some of her pure serenity, and just at the time when she needed help, shrank from seeking it from any one. Stephanie kept her almost a prisoner at home; if any |