verification of their view. Says the Messenger to the Provost, while it is yet dark, on the morning whichis appointed to be Claudio's last, "Good morrow; for, as I take it, it is almost day." And so with the peers who enter sleepless King Henry's chamber, at the hour they name :

"Warwick. Many good morrows to your majesty.

K. Hen. Is it good morrow, lords?

War. 'Tis one o'clock, and past.

K. Hen. Why then, good morrow to you all, my lords."

But, in its own sense, the saying holds good, and is good sense too, that To-morrow never comes. One might take for emblem of its import the touching story told by Southey, of a lady on the point of marriage, whose affianced husband usually travelled by the stage-coach to visit her, and who, going one day to meet him, found instead of her betrothed an old friend, despatched to announce to her his sudden death. She uttered a scream, and piteously exclaimed, "He is dead!" But then all consciousness of the affliction that had befallen her ceased. From that fatal moment she had daily, for fifty years, at the time Dr. Uwins wrote, and "in all seasons, traversed the distance of a few miles, where she expected her future husband to alight from the coach; and every day [adds the doctor, writing in the then present tense] she utters in a plaintive tone, "He is not come yet! I will return to-morrow." To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow-that to her never was, but always was to be.

Why, and how, To-morrow never comes, might be discussed in a strain of transcendental metaphysics. Mr. Carlyle, in a memorable chapter headed Natural Supernaturalism, expounds in his mystic suggestive way the philosophic thesis, that Time and Space are but creations of God,-with whom as it is a universal HERE, so it is an everlasting Now. And as regards Man is the Past annihilated, or only past? is the Future nonextant, or only future? "The curtains of Yesterday drop down, and the curtains of To-morrow roll up; but Yesterday and To-morrow both are. Pierce through the Time-element, glance into the Eternal."

It is but a glance the strongest eye can take, in that direction. But even a glance may secure a glimpse of things which filmy, unpurged, downlooking eye hath not seen, nor ear heard for they seem to involve unspeakable words, which it is not lawful for a man to utter. To-morrow thou hast never seen; to thee it has never come. But it shall come. And it that shall come, will come; and will not tarry. Wait the great teacher, Death. CRAS iterabimus æquor: to-morrow we shall be sounding our dim and perilous way across the dark waters of that fathomless sea. If the prospect appals, happy he that can adapt to his own hopes, in serenest confidence, yet eager anticipation, as he speculates on what a day, and the Better Land, may bring forth: To-morrow, to fresh woods and pastures new.

THE DIVINE AUTHORSHIP OF ORDER.

I CORINTHIANS xiv. 33, 40.

RACTICALLY, the amount of confusion prevalent in the church of Corinth, arising from irregularities incident to the exercise of " tongues," and to the undisciplined energies of a mixed congregation, appears to have almost rivalled the disorder in the theatre of Ephesus, when the whole city was filled with confusion, and some cried one thing, and some another; for the assembly was confused, and the most part knew not wherefore they were come together. So, when the whole church of Corinth were come together into one place, and all spoke with tongues, to outsiders that for the nonce stepped inside they must appear mad. All things were done indecorously and in most admired disorder. Now, St. Paul was for having all things done decently and in order. "For God is not the author of confusion, but of peace." Order is Heaven's first law. The same apostle is prompt to remind the Thessalonians that he behaved himself not disorderly among them; and this he did because he heard that there were some among them which walked disorderly-áráктws. The apostolic canon for both

T

Corinth and Thessalonica, and all other churches, is, Пávтa dè KATà Táğıv yivéσow. Let them all walk by this same rule, and all mind this same thing.

As with the sect of Pythagoreans, virtue was defined to be a harmony, unity, and an endeavour to resemble the Deity,—so the whole life of man, they taught, should be an attempt to represent on earth the beauty and harmony displayed in the order of the universe. It was the doctrine of Pythagoras himself, that by action as well as by thought the individual as well as the state should represent in themselves " an image of the order and harmony by which the world was sustained and regulated." But as Prior puts it, when he considers the heavens, the starry worlds of God's ordaining, or ordering,—

"How mean the order and perfection sought

In the best product of the human thought,
Compared to the great harmony that reigns
In what the Spirit of the world ordains!"

Lord Lytton suggestively pictures to us one of his characters alone in the streets by night, striding noiselessly on, under the gaslights, under the stars; gaslights primly marshalled at equidistance; stars that seem to the naked eye dotted over space without symmetry or method—" Man's order, near and finite, is so distinct; the Maker's order, remote, infinite, is so beyond man's comprehension of what is order." Chauncy Hare Townshend expresses the same idea in an address to the stars:

"Distance deceives the sight. Ye move and sway
With life; yet are your hoverings on the brink
Of ruin but the freedom and the play
That binds your dance of beauty, link to link,
In woven joy that shall not fail nor shrink.

Thrones arise and sink,

Earth is transformed beneath you ye remain,

Clasping distracted man with Order's sacred chain."

So Wordsworth, addressing as it were a deified idea of Duty,

pays this homage :

"Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,

And the most ancient heavens through Thee are fresh and strong."

Well may Hooker speculate on what would become of man, were Nature to intermit her course, and leave altogether, though but for a while, the observation of her own laws; if the frame of that heavenly arch erected over our heads should loosen and dissolve itself; if celestial spheres should forget their wonted motions, and by irregular volubility turn themselves any way as it might happen; if the prince of the lights of heaven, which now as a giant doth run his unwearied course, should, as it were through a languishing faintness, begin to stand and rest himself; if the moon should wander from her beaten way, the times and seasons of the year blend themselves by disordered and confused mixture-"See we not plainly that obedience of creatures unto the law of Nature is the stay of the whole world?" Again to quote from "The Mystery of Evil," the same star-gazer speaking:

"Do I not climb in you, O blessèd host,

The way of symbols, shining steps to God?
When most man knows you, he is certain most

One law unswerving reigns from star to clod."

"Of law," says Hooker, at the close of his first book of Ecclesiastical Polity, with an eloquence which has ever been most admired by the most admirable masters of English prose,—“ Of law there can be no less acknowledged, than that her seat is the bosom of God, her voice the harmony of the world; all things in heaven and earth do her homage, the very least as feeling her care, and the greatest as not exempted from her power : both angels and men, and creatures of what condition soever, though each in different sort and manner, yet all with uniform consent, admiring her as the mother of their peace and joy." Considering when he wrote, what he wrote, and to what purpose and in what spirit he wrote, there seems to us a beautiful consistency in Richard Hooker's deathbed meditations, as related in the familiar memoir by Izaak Walton. Found by his trustiest visitor, "deep in contemplation, and not inclinable to discourse," and asked what was the subject of his present thoughts, he replied, "That he was meditating the number and nature of angels, and their blessed obedience and order, with

out which, peace could not be in heaven; and oh, that it might be so on earth!"

There is not, affirms a modern divine, a corner of the world, nor a process of nature, nor a piece of God's handiwork of any kind whatever, on which His love of order is not written with a plainness not to be mistaken. "System and method, law and order, symmetry and punctuality, are conspicuous everywhere; indicating at once the value attached to these things in the mind of God, and his dislike for their opposites-confusion, fitfulness, irregularity." Nor is the Divine love of order a quality that ever leads to stiffness, formality, or monotony; for it is shown to be constantly associated with beauty, variety, and freedom.

M. Jules Simon interpolates into his argument for the vast preponderance of good over evil in the world, a casually expressed identification of good with order: "le bien, c'est-à-dire, l'ordre, car dans le monde le bien et l'ordre ne font qu'un.”

"Some think Disorder means God's moral plan;

But Evil oscillates in certain bounds.

Ten thousand causes check the rage of man :
His utmost crimes a wall of brass surrounds;
Mere weariness exhausts War's yelling hounds;
And, if all fail, Death comes with his great wave,
That levels all the hollows and the mounds

Of human life. Who then shall be so brave

As of Confusion found in God's large thoughts to rave?"

Readers familiar with the writings first and last of Mr. Carlyle, will readily call to mind many a terse utterance in vindication of the Divine authorship and Divine authority of order. Disorder he pronounces to be a thing which "veracious created Nature, even because it is not Chaos and a waste-whirling baseless Phantasm," rejects and disowns. "Disorder, insane by the nature of it, is the hatefullest of things to man, who lives by sanity and by order." "All Anarchy, all evil, all injustice, is, by the nature of it, suicidal, and cannot endure." "Arrangement is indispensable to man; Arrangement, were it grounded only on that old primary evangel of Force, with Sceptre in the shape of Hammer!" Such sentences admit of almost