Selection of Ancient, Modern, and Original Chants.

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8

R. L. BINFIeld.

(HUMPHREY: an improved setting by the Rev. W. H. Havergal.)

It was on a dark cold windy evening in the month of October that the door of a small house, standing in a little garden near the country town of Clivedale, was opened, and the dark figure of a lady wrapped in a large cloak advanced into the road. As far as could be distinguished under her thick veil, she was neither very young nor very beautiful; her hair was black and her face small and very pale, and there was a look of suffering in her mild gentle eyes; but it was one of those faces which when once seen would be gazed at again with increasing interest. She wore a plain brown linsey dress with a large black cloak, a black bonnet trimmed with purple, and a long black veil.

My readers may perhaps wonder what she was doing, thus coming out alone at seven o'clock in an October evening. It is soon ex

plained. She was out on a mission of love; she was going to make her way into some of the back lanes of that little town; but she had nothing to fear. She was well known in the quiet old-fashioned town, and no one ever interfered with her. All knew that she was going to "visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction."

We will follow her down the High Street-for Clivedale as well as its larger neighbours boasts of a High Street-and into a narrow lane, where she stopped and gently tapped at the door of a miserable cottage. The door was opened from within, and Constance Wilton entered.

"Good evening, Mrs. Norton," she said, in a kind tone, and taking the broken chair offered to her by the poor woman who had admitted her.

"Good evening, Miss," responded the woman, on whose thin pale face poverty, sickness, and sorrow, had already fixed the seal of death. She held a weak fretful little baby in her arms, and Constance offered to hold it for her, an offer which was eagerly accepted by the poor mother. The child burst into a fit of crying as soon as it found itself in the arms of a stranger, for though Constance had often been to the widow's house before, the baby had always been sleeping at the time. However, her gentle caresses soon quieted the child.

"How old is she?" asked Constance, meaning the infant.

"Six months, Miss; but she is small for her age," answered the mother.

"And every time that I have seen you you have forgotten to tell me her name," said Constance.

The widow looked rather confused, and then answered that she was called Jane. Our heroine looked earnestly at her for a minute,

and then quietly asked,

"Has your child been baptized, Mrs. Norton ?"

The colour rose in the poor woman's pale face as she answered, “No, Miss.”

Constance was greatly shocked, especially when she thought of the poor baby's extreme delicacy.

"Oh, Mrs. Norton," she cried, "pray do not delay your child's baptism any longer; only think if she should die without having been made a child of GOD. Oh, how can you deny your infant such an inestimable blessing. Ask Mr. Clifford and he will baptize her as soon as possible."

"And who will be godfather; and where will the godmothers come from ?" asked the woman, gloomily.

Constance considered a moment, and then said,

"Surely your landlady and her husband, who are very kind people, would not object; and if," she added, "you can find no other godmother, I will stand."

Mrs. Norton overwhelmed her with thanks, and said she would not delay longer than she could help; but her clothes were all in rags, and she was ashamed to come to Church in them.

"Here is some money to get clothes with," said Constance, putting some into her hand. "To-day is Thursday; if nothing prevents I will come again to see you on Saturday, and I hope I shall find everything ready for the child to be baptized on Sunday." Constance remained with Mrs. Norton some time longer, and then returned home; leaving with the poor widow several little things, such as tea, sugar, &c., which she bought for her in the morning.

I

Constance Wilton was the daughter of a widower; she was, as have already said, no longer very young, being about five and twenty, but she had one younger and beautiful sister who was the idol of the father's heart.

The Wiltons lived in a small house, almost a cottage, in the suburbs of Clivedale; for though of good family, they were not

rich. Still they had enough to live comfortably without any great exertion on their parts. Clivedale was a very small town, and had only one Church; but, as it had two active energetic priests, it enjoyed the privilege of Daily Services, and of careful attention to the Church's ritual in all ecclesiastical arrangements. Mr. Clifford, the Rector, an elderly man, was the Wiltons' greatest friend and adviser.

It was Friday evening, and the little family were sitting in their drawing-room. Mr. Wilton was reading "King Lear" to his daughters, while Constance worked at a christening cap she was making for Mrs. Norton's baby, and her sister Margaret employed herself in copying a favourite sketch of her father's, for Maggie, as she was often called, drew very well. The room looked very pleasant; there was a bright fire blazing on the hearth, the lamp burned brilliantly, and the curtains were closely drawn. Suddenly the front door bell rang loudly, causing some surprise to the little party as to who could be ringing at the hall door so late. They soon knew when the door was thrown open, and "Mr. Clifford" was announced by the maid, who, together with an older servant, formed the whole establishment. All rose eagerly to greet Mr. Clifford, for he was ever a welcome visitor, though they were rather surprised at his choosing so late an hour for his visit. The good priest seated himself near the fire, and after the first attempts at conversation, said, abruptly, "I came to tell you, Constance, that your kindness for the child, at least, is no longer needed, for her pilgrimage is ended." "What!" cried Constance, with grief, "is she dead, and unbaptized ?"

"No, GOD be praised; the mother sent for me, and I had just time to baptize the child; she died in my arms."

"And the mother," asked Constance, scarcely able to restrain her tears.

"She is, as you may suppose, almost broken-hearted," answered Mr. Clifford. "And I fear she will not long survive her child." And here Mr. Wilton asked in some surprise of whom they were speaking, for he had never taken any interest in what he was pleased to call his daughter's religious fancies, and he let her do just as she liked so long as she did not take Margaret about with her. Therefore Mr. Clifford's conversation was an enigma to him.

Constance gave her father an account of the widow and her child, feeling rather distressed that the clergyman should see how little he cared about what she did. When she had ended, Mr. Wilton gave Mr. Clifford two sovereigns to be expended as he thought best for the poor woman's good, much to his daughters' surprise, for they had never known him do such a thing before. Mr. Clifford was very pleased, for he had been anxiously thinking how he could manage for the child's funeral; he was sure Mrs. Norton would not bear to see her child buried as a pauper, and he had just now no money to spare for her. Mr. Clifford had no income but that of his living, which was not a large one. A fourth part of it went to his

Curate, half was devoted to the service of his Master, and he lived on the rest. A short time before that at which my story began, there had been a dreadful fever in Clivedale, during which time the Rector gave away so much to the sufferers that he had left himself scarcely anything for the remainder of the year.

Mr. Clifford did not stay long after he had told that which he came to say; when he was gone the servants came in, a short prayer was read by Mr. Wilton, and the little family separated for the night.

The Church bells the next morning began to ring at seven, and by half-past Constance was in her place in Church. The Church was not a very large building, but every thing in it was very beautiful; it had open seats, and the Chancel was fitted up with stalls, and there was a handsome litany desk. The altar rails were of brass, as were the candlesticks on the altar, behind which was a scarlet curtain with the cross embroidered on it. It was, together with those at the sides, the gift of Constance Wilton when the Church was altered, and made as much as possible fit for the dwelling of the Most High. When I have mentioned a handsome eagle lectern, I shall have said enough to give my readers a slight idea of what Clivedale Church was like.

After service Mr. Clifford joined Constance at the door, and offered to walk home with her, and they walked away together. The Church was about half-a-mile distant from Belle Vue Cottage, the romantic name which the home of the Wiltons bore. As they walked along, Constance told Mr. Clifford of the great wish she had to join a Sisterhood near or in London, and thus to devote herself entirely to the service of her LORD. Mr. Clifford thought for a few minutes and then said,

"You have told me your wishes as your clergyman and spiritual adviser, and I fear I shall disappoint you very much by my answer. Your duty at present is to stay at home. You think that your presence is not so agreeable to your father as your sister's is; in fact, to speak plainly, that he cares less for you than for her. Still it would not be right for your sister to be left alone the greater part of the day, as she would be if you were gone; and also, she is too young to have the entire charge of her father's house and family. Sisterhoods," he continued, "are most estimable institutions, and doubtless work much good, but I do not think that ladies ought to enter them when they have any real duties at home. It is not probable that it will ever be your lot to be so circumstanced, but if it ever should be that should have no other tie, do not let your feelings carry you away; but, putting aside your wishes, endeavour to decide as to what is right; and whatever may be your future life, may God's blessing rest upon it."

you

66 Thank you for all you have said," answered Constance; "I feel that you are right, though it is very difficult to give up such a longcherished wish."

“I can feel for you," said Mr. Clifford, warmly pressing her hand