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in My Name there am I in the midst of them.'-Matt. xviii.

"Still," continued Sir Henry, long habit, and prejudice, and the fear of falling into those errors which had crept into other parts of the Christian Church, must plead some excuse for our forefathers; in avoiding one extreme they fell into another, in pulling up the tares they 'destroyed much of the wheat also."

"Thank God!" said Ellen, reverently," that I did not live in those days of controversy and doubt, when my Prayer-book spoke one thing, and the practice of my fellow-Christians another."

"And amongst the blessings we have to be grateful for," said Sir Henry, "that of our Daily Morning Service alone is one of the greatest. You my Ellen, whose young life has had no trials, cannot fully appreciate the soothing, calming effect of this sacred beginning to each day, nor can you judge of the help, which in a worldly sense it is to the master of a large establishment and property, of the regularity and good feeling which it excites. And were you to ask our venerable Pastor, he would tell you the same, that thus daily meeting in the House of God so large a portion of his flock, makes him feel more strongly his intimate connection with them, as the father and shepherd of their souls."

"C Indeed, dear uncle, I can enter into your feelings, and though I have not had the trials and responsibilities to which you allude, yet I have felt its power to calm the evil tempers, and smooth down the petty vexations of each day. And I should love the Daily Service, were it only for the beauty of the 'Te Deum,' to say with truth, 'Day by day, we magnify Thee;' and to prayVouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin.'"

"May our Church thus ever be to you a mother and a guide through all the difficulties of life," said Sir Henry, kindly, as he led his niece to the carriage.

PART SECOND.

In silence, Ellen drove through the fine old park of Walton, admiring the splendid trees that shaded them with their rich autumnal tints, and the long vistas that opened every now and then, enlivened by the deer grazing in the fern. Her reverie was interrupted by her uncle, who enquired, if it was a very troublesome commission Lady Milton had given her?

"On the contrary," replied Ellen, "a most delightful one, I have so often wished to visit one of those excellent establishments of Sisters. of Mercy, and I am doubly glad of the opportunity, as mama's old friend, Louisa Mills, is one of the sisters."

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"Louisa and your mother," said Sir Henry, were very much together in their girlhood. At the age of thirty-six she was left an orphan, without fortune, and though several relations offered her homes, she felt that however kind they might be, she would still feel in a state of dependence, and also be without any decided duties to perform; and she preferred devoting the remaining part of her life to the service of her God, and under the quiet and regular discipline of the Church."

"Has she ever repented of her choice?" enquired Ellen.

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"If she had, dear Ellen, she might have left at any time, she is not bound to remain. would find that no common inducement-nothing short of some plainer duty-would prevail on her to do so. She paid us a visit once after an illness for change of air, and accompanied us to the sea-side;

but as soon as her health was restored she began to long so ardently to return to her duties, that we did not attempt to persuade her to remain longer. She has, however,

promised her sister-in-law, that should she be taken from her children, during their childhood, she would leave her present home, and become a mother to them, and a comfort to her only brother; such a duty she told me she should consider as paramount to any other."

"How many sisters are there, uncle, and what are their duties?"

"There are twenty sisters, and their principal duties are constant attendance on the poor, and the education of a few children, orphans or daughters of poor Clergymen and gentlemen of reduced fortune. Every hour has its own occupation, and it is wonderful the good they effect. The united efforts of so large a body, all acting in concert, for the same cause, and the strict regularity, order, and quiet, enables them to do what appears wonderful, and what would be impossible to the same number of individuals each acting by herself, without any settled plan. Such is the wonder

ful power of unity."

"What is that?" enquired Ellen, as they drove past a large ecclesiastical building, of solid but beautifully finished architecture, particularly that part of it which was evidently the Chapel, with its pointed eastern window surmounted by a simple Cross.

Sir Henry stopped the ponies that Ellen might admire it, and then told her, that it was an Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb. The excellent founders of the institution were anxious to spare no expence, in making the decorations of the building attractive to the unfortunate inmates, who, being deprived of the blessings of speech and hearing, are

doubly sensible in that of vision. Every thing is done to teach them, and elevate their minds, through this remaining sense. The superinten

dents of this establishment are twelve Clergymen, who live, there together as brethren, and whose whole time and duties consist in teaching and tending their charge, and in relieving the poor of their immediate neighbourhood; a work in which the afflicted inmates of the asylum themselves, take great delight.

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"In the distance," said Sir Henry, as he drove on, you see another building of the same description, but you would not find it so pleasing to the eye, though it still preserves its ecclesiastical character. It is an institution for the Blind, upon the same footing, but the founders were more anxious to devote their funds to providing a larger number of brothers, to attend to the blind inmates, and to render the Service in the Chapel' more attractive and soothing. The organ and chanting is more beautiful than any I ever heard, and many of the blind inmates themselves have excellent voices."

"Our own beloved Church," said Ellen, "how thoroughly she is a mother to all her children. I delight in seeing all our fellowChristians, whatever may be their peculiar misfortunes, under her own especial care, tended by the true successors of the holy Apostles."

"This great improvement," observed Sir Henry, "has taken place since the time to which we have so often alluded. Even then, however, the spiritual wants of such instutions were not entirely neglected; a Chaplain was always appointed who was generally the Curate, or Rector of the parish, often having two parishes under his care; so that, if he could manage to give one Service a

Sunday, and occasionally a visit during the week, it was as much as was expected of him. You may imagine how different it is now, when daily the poor sufferers have the consolations of the Church, when hourly they have those at hand, who are her appointed ministers. And also, the poor of the neighbourhood, for miles round, feel the benefit of their influence and devoted exertions."

Sir Henry now pointed out to Ellen their destination, and the first enquiries they made upon arriving, were for Louisa Miles. She was in the village, in attendance upon an old widow who was dying. The sisters, two of whom always kept watch at a time, had divided the night between them, relieving one another at stated hours. The morning watch had devolved upon Louisa and another sister, and they were now seen slowly approaching. They had remained to offer the last attentions that the sufferer required, and to join with her in the last consolatory rites of the Church. But to them, such scenes, though ever sacred, had become habitual, and it did not prevent Louisa from receiving her friends with affectionate pleasure, and all the warmth which in the midst of retirement she ever cherished for them.

But the chiming of the Chapel bell, reminded them that it was the festival of St. Matthew, and that the hour had arrived for the Litany, and second celebration of the Holy Communion.

Sir Henry and his niece followed the sisters into the beautiful cloisters that led to the Chapel, and as they stood beneath the shadow of its solemn arches, watching the assembling of the aged and infirm of the neighbourhood, they silently raised their hearts in prayer, for the blessing of their Heavenly Father on the holy institution.

In

the mean time, the sisters were busily employed in assisting those, who from age and sickness, had need of help, to approach the Altar, and there take of the Bread of Life, to their soul's eternal comfort.

When the service was over, it gave Louisa much pleasure to talk to the daughter of her old friend, and she kindly answered all Ellen's eager enquiries about the duties and places of the establishment, and showed her the simple rooms of each of the sisters.

"With so many duties," said Ellen, "I suppose you have quite given up your old occupation of painting?"

"Oh no," replied Louisa, "far from it; our talents, whatever they may be, are given us by God, and may be used to His service. Far, far greater has been my pleasure in painting, since I have dedicated it to Him, far more ennobling the subjects which religion affords to the imagination. Art is most elevated and consecrated when made the handmaid of Religion. I remember to have read somewhere, 'That a religious home is as needful for the painter and the sculptor, and the architect, and the poet, as for the philosopher and the priest.'

"I like that idea," said Ellen, "and can easily imagine how the holy quiet of such a place as this, may help, nay, almost inspire your work."

"Indeed I found it so, dear Ellen," replied Louisa, "when I was permitted to paint the Altarpiece, and one of the windows of our chapel."

"You agree," said Ellen, "with the German artist Overbeck, (whose pictures in his day were said to be as good as sermons), that a deep devotional feeling is the true source of an artist's inspiration.' But I fear I must leave you now, for my uncle is calling me," continued

Ellen, and with a willing promise to visit the sisterhood again before long, Sir Henry and his niece returned to Walton Abbey.

PART THIRD.

THE Welcome news that Mr. and Mrs. Graham and their little boy were expected in a few days, gave Sir Henry and Lady Milton great pleasure. Lucy Graham was their eldest daughter, and having married a clergyman in the North of England, it was but seldom that they could visit Walton Abbey. Ellen had often heard of her cousin Lucy, and had the deepest respect for the character of Mr. Graham, nor was she disappointed in her expectations of them both; and their highspirited and perfectly obedient little Edward, added greatly to the mirth and life of the house. The cousins had many walks together to the neighbouring villages, where Lucy was well remembered and loved by all her poorer friends.

"You must come and stay with us some day, Ellen," said Lucy, "and

see

our parsonage; cold as our region is, it is very comfortable; and our church, how you will like it, it is close to the house, with its beautiful little steeple-tower keeping watch over us. When I look at this abbey, continued Lucy, smiling, it seems so magnificent compared to our village church, but yet it is all so perfect in its way, so true in its simplicity. I am sure Mr. Graham loves it, as if it were another child. I sometimes tell him I fear it takes my place in his affections.

"You are not jealous of such a rival?" said Ellen, laughing.

"Oh no!" replied Lucy, "and besides, it is as dear to me as to him. You should see our church-yard, with its peaceful graves surrounded by flowers, telling every spring their hopeful lesson of the Resurrection, and you would hardly think,

to hear the chanting of our choir, that you were in a country village, in a remote part of England, but I believe fully that they feel, that their 'music is for God and not for man --and hire.'"

"Is it a large parish?" enquired Ellen.

"Yes, and so scattered that you would be surprised to see how full the church is every morning, for many have a long distance to walk. Mr. Graham has two curates; one resides with us, and the other has a house at the extreme end of the parish."

"Such a parish of course has great expenses," remarked Ellen.

"Mr. Graham's great wish has always been," said Lucy, "to try and live, as much as possible, upon our own small income, so as to spend the stipend of his living upon his parish and church. Some years we succeed in this better than others; but of course it requires a good deal of management and some little self-denial in our private life; still it brings with it its own rich reward, in the flourishing state of those committed to his care, and in the love and reverence they feel for their minister."

When the cousins returned from their walk they found luncheon on the table, and little Edward busily engaged at his usual dinner-for themselves, as it was Friday, a few biscuits were provided. When the child's tart was placed before him, he whispered something to his mother, who kissed his forehead, with a smile of consent, and he immediately left the room, carrying his tart with him.

"Edward," said Mrs. Graham, "has asked leave to take his tart to the child at the lodge; he has once or twice before acted in this way, but I have never urged it, or made any remark, thinking it best that he should learn self-denial from

the example of those he is with, and contenting myself with teaching him the right motives for such actions."

"So young as he is, are you sure, Lucy, he understands the right motive, and does not act to gain your praise?" said Lady Milton.

"Praise he never has from us on such occasions,” replied Lucy, "we are most anxious to teach him to seek the approval of an All-seeing God, in every action of his life; but, dear mama, you can ask him any question you like to satisfy yourself."

Lady Milton did so; for when she was alone with the child she enquired how little Robert had liked the tart?

"Oh, so very much, grandmama, so he divided it between his brothers and sisters."

"Why did you give it him," enquired Lady Milton.

"Because he is poor, and I know we should give what we can to the poor."

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"Why, dear?"

"For Jesus Christ's sake," replied the child reverently. "When we give to the poor, we give to Him.'

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"Because she always has a regular levec from breakfast time to luncheon, every Saturday, in her poor-room."

"Have you never been introduced to this part of the house, Ellen?"

"No, where is it, and what is my aunt's occupation there?"

"It is near the housekeeper's room," replied Lucy, "and is fitted up entirely for the poor. There are books in abundance to be lent or given; a large wardrobe with every kind of clothing; a medicine chest, for mama is librarian, doctor, and even butcher also, for every Saturday morning, the meat that was not used on Friday is divided amongst the poor, generally given to the old and infirm."

"The fast that I have chosen," said Ellen, "is it not to deal thy bread to the hungry?"

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Exactly," continued Lucy, "this was mama's motive; and in a large establishment, where several joints a-day are eaten, it becomes no slight boon to the poor."

"Do you follow the same plan at the Parsonage?" enquired Ellen.

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No, replied Lucy, we cannot afford to do so; and besides, what is saved on a fast-day in our household, would not go a great way amongst the poor."

"I should like to see my aunt's poor-room," " said Ellen.

"You shall," replied Lucy, "when they are all gone; but mama prefers being quite alone. She says that they become more intimate with her in consequence, and many of them tell her their domestic sorrows, and ask her advice, which they would not like to do if strangers were in the room."

"Riches are, indeed, a blessing," said Ellen, "when they are thus employed; and to see my aunt and uncle, gracing as they do the society in which they move, one would

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