flections more or less, ruin his chance of influencing his flock for good. Nor is this all; these are merely the requirements of plain common sense; some further sacrifice is necessary, if we would propitiate success. For example, if chance should conduct our successful curate to some rural parish, he should not be tyrannously earnest in overthrowing those ancient little baize-lined houses, called pews, in which, ever since the reformation, the chief family of the village has been allowed to sleep with impunity; he must not shew too outspoken a desire of innovation if he see an eighteenth century parallelogrammic window foisted into old Norman architecture: if the churchwardens like to make the church look like a large green-grocer's shop at Christmas-time, if the choir sing out of tune, and prefer so to sing, or if they rapturously cling to their old virginals in place of a new organ, why in the name of success, so let it be! In all things of this nature he must "let well alone," or rather, if need be, 'let very bad alone'. "Quieta non movere" will be the rising curate's best motto.

But these are minor points. I pass now to the pulpit, the battle-field, if I may so express it, of our protégé: the scene of all his triumphs, where alone if anywhere he must achieve his future eminence. Now though there undoubtedly are many districts in which a written sermon may be read with impunity, still, on many accounts, I lay down this rule that our curate's sermons be " ex tempore.' In the first place, the late government appointments cannot but have some influence on our determination in this matter: again, there are parts of England, particularly in some of the southwest counties, in which a written sermon argues want of faith and fervour, and the reader, as soon as the fluttering of the first leaf has made his congregation conscious of his crime, is in a solemn conclave of whispering bonnets declared to be not a gospel minister.' Lastly, his own convenience, if nothing else, should dictate this step. A written sermon takes a considerable time: a man cannot commit words to paper without thinking a little, though sometimes a very little, about them, and the mere labour of writing is no trifling one. But an extemporaneous sermon, that is, such a one as is likely to please his audience, will take no time or trouble at all. Nor will our curate be deterred by any foolish nervousness or fear of failing before the face of so many hearers. Paul preached extempore, why should not he? For fear however he be not quite persuaded by this argument, and persist in entertaining a suspicion that perhaps

the circumstances in which he is placed may in some respects differ from those of the Apostle of the Gentiles, and may consequently require some corresponding difference of conduct, it will be well to remove any such lingering objections by a hint on the subject of extemporaneous preaching. A good extemporaneous, or, to speak more correctly, a good spoken sermon, in which deep thought, sound reasoning, and much learning, are set off by beauty of diction and appropriate gesticulation, is one of the highest efforts of human genius, such as I live in the hopes of some day witnessing-but let not our preacher imagine that any such model is to be placed before him. His task is of a different nature. His "ex tempore" sermon should consist of as many texts of scripture as can possibly be strung together with the smallest possible compound of original matter, the less the better. In this way the least offence will be given, and the least suspicion of heterodoxy will be aroused, a point in which he will do well to be very careful. Whatever cementing matter he may employ should be, as far as he can contrive, composed of Scripture-phrases. In fact, I should recommend every young curate to learn by heart daily a certain number of verses from the Epistles of Paul, solely with a view to this object: thus will he acquire the faculty of delivering at a moment's notice a sermon of any conceivable length on any conceivable subject, and that too without giving room for any censorious expressions, since he can truly assert that every word of his discourse is taken from the Scriptures. Nothing can be more ill-judged and misplaced than words and phrases which remind his congregation of every-day life. A broad line of demarcation, it cannot be too broad, should be drawn between the Sabbath and the six unsanctified days of work, between the church and the world, and this difference should be expressed by an appropriate difference of language.

Now, as for the subject of his sermon, as long as he remembers the rule I have just laid down, and strictly avoids secular and, above all, political subjects, our curate may be left to his own devices. During the present state of religious feeling in England, a sermon on the Errors of Popery (provided that the influence or numbers of that sect in your parish be not so large as to produce inconvenient consequences) will not be inacceptable about once in three or four months; the heresy of the Unitarians will furnish a telling topic though more rarely, and if our friend be of a tolerant or liberal disposition, he will be careful to control himself, at least so

far as to avoid saying anything which might be construed to signify that he felt any unorthodox hopes of the possibility of the future salvation of any member of either of these sects. Different audiences will no doubt have different tastes; and the great business of our curate's life will be to develope and improve, if I may so say, a theological cuisine, an art whereby he may be enabled to adapt his discourses to the palates and requirements of his parishioners. General rules would here therefore be out of place: our pupil must in this matter be left to his own ingenuity. One piece of advice, however, may not be altogether useless. Be technical. Only let the preacher confine himself to technicalities and all will be well. You may tell your congregation that they are not in a state of grace, and they will go out of the church thanking you for your gospel-sermon, and thinking you pious yourself in proportion to the fervour of your condemnation of them, but beware, as you love respectability and desire success, beware of telling them that they are leading an unjust and dishonest life. Is your congregation a congregation of tradesmen? Warn them not against that covetousness which leads to the defrauding of the exchequer, the adulteration of their goods. Have you whole pews full of stout prospering farmers? Talk not to them of farm-labourers starving on ten shillings a-week, but tell them about their souls and how to save them, and presume not to desecrate that holy place and the sanctity of the Sabbath by allusion to the things of this world. "What has grace to do with earthly things?" has been very properly asked by a learned judge in his place on the bench, and hundreds of English congregations will answer in deed if not in word-" nothing." A place for everything and everything in its place: the proper place to talk about the Bible and religion and our souls is the church, and the proper day is the Sabbath: and on the other days, and in other places we are to devote ourselves to secular occupations. I insist the more earnestly on this point, not only because in it lies the whole secret of our pupil's success, but also because there has lately arisen a set of misguided young men who utterly ignore the line between religious and secular life, and are continually confusing together sacred and worldly things. These men talk about the Bible as though it concerned us on week-days as much as on the Sabbath, they profess to see in the narrative of the Holy Scriptures events which have occurred once and are occurring now, not merely to be read of, but also to be acted on; they imagine there are at this day English false gods, English

false prophets, aye, even English Pharisees, as well as English Publicans and Sinners! They talk about men being just and honest and true, instead of "in a state of salvation," and use ugly words, such as covetousness, injustice, and hypocrisy, than which expressions none can be conceived more unscriptural or more utterly destructive of that good feeling which should exist between a pastor and his flock. But now mark the unhappy fate of these infatuated men, and compare it with the career of our rising curate. The latter, admired and even idolized by the respectable part of his congregation, a popular preacher, and a practical man, finds in this life a bishopric and after death an epitaph. But if any man hanker after joining the ranks of these erring schismatics, let him not do so unwarned. Blasted by the withering denunciations of the Record, styled infidel by one party, derided as visionary by another, attacked unsparingly by all, clogged on every side by an indistinct suspicion of unorthodoxy, the more injurious because indistinct, he must expect neither friendship nor sympathy from the great mass of his parishioners: the high places of the church are closed against him he will die, as he has lived, a curate, with no other consolation than the weak-minded regrets of a few visionary men, and such pitiful satisfaction as he may be able to derive from the imagination that he has done his duty.

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THE HAVERN HUNT.

WHAT was the reason that there was such a dearth_of Latin and Greek Grammars, and where did all Dr. Colenso's valuable educational productions go to, were questions that presented themselves forcibly to the mind of every new boy, in Havern School, during the last week of one September not so long ago. Various were the answers the "old fellows" gave, according as they estimated the amount of gullibility each querist had, but that the hunting season was coming on, seemed the solution that was most general, though the connection of the two was not so obvious.

Friday solved the new boy's doubts, since they found themselves, together with a good many old boys, "douled" to tear scent in No. 8.

To No. 8 Study let us then adjourn; very barren indeed we find it, for the inhabitants, not having at any time much furniture, have removed all but the tables, to make room for the numbers who throng in. Soon the huntsman and his attendant satellites the whips appear, laden with old books, papers and such like, begged, borrowed or - appropriated, (not to speak harshly); these they distribute to the multitude, with instructions to tear them to small fragments. While this is proceeding, we may as well explain the constitution of the hunt. The original rank of every member is that of a "hound," when he has attached to him an appropriate name, to which he must answer.

Promotion, which is acquired by one's head, as well as by one's heels, that is by merit, scholastic as well as pedestrian, is to the rank of gentlemen, involving the privileges of sporting pink during a run, carrying a “houndstick" (a short stick with a hook at one end, by which to