THE HE little babe was born at Berkhampstead, on a summer day of 1637; but he scarcely knew his mother, for she died before the first sweet years of his infancy were past. The family were old and honourable, but it was not rich now; and the little boy was carried by his eldest sister to live in her own home.

This sister was married to Izaak Walton. You do not know Izaak Walton. Sometime perhaps you shall hear how he angled in the pleasant Dove, and how he wrote of his angling-and how he wrote the beautiful lives of many good men, and touched them all with his own quaint goodness-sometime you shall surely know. 'My Kenna,' Izaak Walton called his fondly loved wife, with a lingering delight in her name, and he cherished the little Thomas Ken, her brother, whom nature had gifted well.

So, on the peaceful banks of the Dove, the future bishop's boyhood was passed; and he grew up skilful in music, with a voice that was wonderfully sweet.

When he went to Oxford his love of music still clung to him. Cromwell was then Protector; the Puritans were in power; and music, like all the fine arts, had begun to be looked on with a grudge. But Ken still cherished his beautiful art, and played on the organ and the lute; and in 1657 became the member of a musical society at Oxford. He also wrote a long poem which has been forgotten quiteit was but through his holy hymns his memory was to live.

When Cromwell was dead and Charles Second was restored to the English throne, Ken was presented to the rectory of Little Easton in Essex; and here he lived

for two pleasant years, and then his life changed again. He was called to Winchester by the bishop of that place, and lived in the bishop's palace, which was indeed a home-for here his beloved sister and Izaak Walton her husband had already made their abode by desire of the grateful bishop Morley. Izaak Walton had sheltered Morley in his little cottage on the Dove, in the days when the roundheads were strong, and the royalists were their foes. And when the king came home, and Morley was made a bishop, he remembered the kindly Waltons, and made his palace their home.

But Ken was not long in Winchester. Bishop Morley made him rector of Brightstone. Brightstone is a fair little village which lies in the Isle of Wight; and here two other happy and busy years were spent by Ken. And they are years over which it is pleasant to linger, for the place was very sweet, with a far view of the sea and waves which rolled in ceaselessly with a glorious psalm of God. It was indeed a place most fitted for holy song; and here, Ken wrote those two beautiful hymns which we still so often sing. Walking, it is said in the rectory garden, beneath its tall hedge of yews, he composed those long-loved, familiar hymns for morning and evening time.

EVENING HYMN.

'All praise to Thee, my God this night,
For all the blessings of the light;
Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
Beneath Thy own Almighty wings!

Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son,
The ills that I this day have done;
That, with the world, myself, and Thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace may be.

Teach me to live, that I may dread The grave as little as my bed; Teach me to live that so I may Rise glorious at the awful day.

O may my soul on Thee repose,

And may sweet sleep mine eyelids close; Sleep that shall me more vigorous make, To serve my God when I awake.

Direct, control, suggest, this day,
All I design, or do, or say;
That all my powers, and all my might,
In Thy sole glory may unite.

Praise God, from whom all blessings flow; Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host; Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.'

In these same peaceful days in the Isle of Wight, Ken composed his Midnight Hymn. Little known now, it yet has comforted many in painful and sad hours. But Ken was not to rest long in this quiet retreat, writing hymns and teaching the simple people he loved. He was called once more by Bishop Morley to Winchester. And then follow many years of no quiet life to Ken-years of which I cannot tell you much. When you grow to be a man, and know something of the struggles and ambitions of life, of all its cares and all its prizes, you shall understand them better. You shall hear of a tour he made through Italy, with his nephew, young Izaak Walton, the son of Izaak Walton the angler, of whom I have told you already-you will hear how he went to Holland as Chaplain to the young Princess of Orange who was afterwards Queen of England. You will hear how, after he returned from Holland, he was sent abroad again as Chaplain-inchief of King Charles Second's fleet, which was in the Mediterranean Sea. When Ken returned home in the first week of April, 1684, he found that old Izaak Walton had died some months before. Izaak Walton was buried in the Cathedral of Winchester. He was ninety years old. He had left to Ken a blood-stone ring, on which was carved an effigy of Christ on the Cross. With this sacred ring, Ken afterwards sealed all the letters he wrote. It was about this time that Charles Second made him Bishop of Bath and Wells. And how busy and how kind was his life, I cannot tell you truly. Preaching in the churches, and teaching the poor people, he travelled much through that part of the country which was under his care. Usually when at home on Sundays he had twelve poor men and

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women to dine with him in his hall, and while they ate the abundant good things before them, he talked with them kindly and comfortingly; and then he would send them home laden with help for those they loved.

This was the kind of life he lived, till at length he displeased the king. Charles Second was now dead. James Second was king. He was a Roman Catholic, and displeased with Bishop Ken. So Ken was arrested with six other bishops of whom sometime you will read much in history. But you cannot yet understand the cause of their imprisonment. They were cast into the tower of London, and then tried by judges as if they had been guilty of a crime against the king. Happily they were soon set free. It was by the next king, William Third, (William of Orange he is called,) that the bishoprick was taken from Ken. For Ken was still loyal to the Stewarts, and thought William should not be king. James Second, who was then in distress and banishment, he still called his king. Thus Ken, in his old age, had to leave the bishop's palace he had no home of his own, and scarcely any money left. He had once a small fortune left him of four thousand pounds, and immediately sent it all to the relief of the homeless Protestants of France. But he was much richer in friends than he was in money. Many were eager to befriend him, and make their homes his. And perhaps this part of his life was the peacefullest of all. He travelled from village to village on an old white horse, teaching the poor people as he had done long ago. When the old white horse grew too old, Ken travelled on foot, slowly, with staff in hand, gathering the people by the waysides or under the village elms.

He was now aged and feeble in health, but his wakeful nights he filled with hymns. He died on a March day, 1711, seventythree years old. He was buried under the chancel window of the church of Frome, Selwood, while the village children sang round his grave his own Morning Hymn. For it was in the early spring dawn that the bishop was laid to rest.

H. W. H. W.

ΑΝ

N old legend tells us that when St. Francis was passing through the Venetian lagoon, vast numbers of birds were singing; and he said to his companion, 'Our sisters, the birds, are praising their Creator; let us sing with them.' And he began the sacred service. But the warbling of the birds interrupted them; therefore St. Francis said to them, 'Be silent till we also have praised God.' And they ceased their song, and did not resume it till he had given them permission.

On another occasion, as he was sitting with his disciple Leo, he felt himself penetrated with joy and consolation by the song of the nightingale; and he desired his friend Leo to raise his voice, and sing the praises of God in company with the bird. But as Leo objected, because his voice was bad, St. Francis began to sing himself. When he stopped, the nightingale took up the strain, and thus they sang alternately, until the night was far advanced, and St. Francis was obliged to stop, for his voice

failed. Then he confessed that the little bird had vanquished him. He called it to him, thanked it for its song, and gave it the remainder of his bread; and having bestowed his blessing upon it, the creature flew away.

Though only a legend, this tale of St. Francis points out one lesson we should learn from the sweet song of the birds. It reminds us of the words of the poet:

'Sweet birds that breathe the spirit of song,
And surround heaven's gate in melodious throng,
Who rise with the earliest beams of day,
Your morning tribute of thanks to pay;
You remind us that we should likewise raise
The voice of devotion, and song of praise:
There's something about you that points on high,
Ye beautiful tenants of earth and sky.'

It is a good thing to give thanks unto the Lord, and to sing praises unto His name; to shew forth His loving-kindness in the morning, and His faithfulness every night. When the winter is past, and the time of the singing of birds is come, surely we

should join with all nature in offering the tribute of praise to our great Creator and Redeemer.

Songs of praise are a sacrifice wellpleasing to the Lord. When powerful enemies came against Jehoshaphat, he prayed to the Lord; but as soon as a promise of deliverance was given, the Levites stood up to praise the Lord God of Israel. And when Jehoshaphat had consulted with the people, he appointed singers unto the Lord, and that should praise the beauty of holiness, as they went out before the army, and to say, Praise the Lord; for His mercy endureth for ever. And when they began to sing and to praise, the Lord set ambushments against the children of Ammon, Moab, and Mount Seir, which were come against them; and they were smitten. (2 Chron. xx. 21, 22.)

Songs of praise have power to still the enemy. It was when Paul and Silas prayed and sang praises unto God, that the prison doors were opened, and every one's bands were loosed. It is God who giveth songs in the night.

In the late American war a battle was fought at a place called Shiloh, in Tennesee. A captain, who had been mortally wounded, lay on the battle-field, suffering greatly from his wounds and from thirst. He said, 'The stars shone out clear and beautiful above the dark field; and I began to think of that great God who had given His Son to die a death of agony for me; and that He was up there, up above the scene of suffering, and above these glorious stars; and I felt that I was going home to meet Him, and praise Him there; and I felt that I ought to praise God even wounded, and

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With what gracious words did Jesus begin His sermon on the mount?

How many times did He pronounce the word blessed?

What blessing did He pronounce on the poor in spirit?

Why are those who mourn for sin called "Blessed'?

What blessing belongs specially to the meek? Why is it a blessed thing to hunger and thirst after righteousness?

What strong obligation to be merciful is here pointed out? Mat. 18. 32, 33.

Who alone shall see God? Psa. 51. 10. What special blessing does Jesus confer on the peacemakers?

What class of sufferers does Jesus pronounce blessed?

What striking emblem here describes the utter worthlessness of mere profession?

By what two emblems are true believers described?

What motive should impel them to let their light shine?

[These are NOT Prize Questions; but intended solely to encourage the study of the Scriptures at home.]

singing that beautiful hymn, 'When I can read my title clear.' And there was a Christian brother in the bush near me. I could not see him, but I could hear him. He took up the strain; and beyond him, another and another caught it up, all over the terrible battle-field of Shiloh. That night the echo was resounding, and we made the field of battle ring with hymns of praise to God.'

Competitors will please observe to address their answers now to Rev. JOHN KAY, Edinburgh.

4 Where is the fate of one who acquires wealth unjustly, illustrated by an ornithological fact? 5 Quote a verse to shew that sincerity and conscientiousness are not sufficient to keep us out of fatally dangerous paths?

6 Where, in the epistles, are we warned in four words; and where, in three, against breaking the first commandment?