had done this. The one idea of relief, by going to S. Alban's, had, however, remained fixed in her mind, and she started up at once to go there, unrefreshed and wearied as she was. She was soon dressed; and the first breath of the cool, dewy morning air was inexpressibly delightful to her. Maude walked quickly on, and was soon within sight of the Church; but her astonishment was very great to find that the bell was ringing after all, although she knew, from Mrs. Crowther, that the Sunday service was at the usual hour of eleven. The chimes were, however, certainly pealing, though very gently, and several persons were passing quietly through the churchyard to the open door. Thinking that perhaps it was some special occasion, Maude looked for some one whom she might ask, and she soon perceived the poor old woman whom she remembered to have seen the last time, standing at the door of her cottage, with her Prayer-Book in her hand, evidently waiting to go to Church. Maude stopped, and asked her if there were service every Sunday at that hour. "Yes, sure," she replied, "and the LORD be thanked; Sunday and work-a-day we has our blessings there, and may He send a double portion to them as gives them to us!" "But I thought it was at eleven o'clock?" said Maudę. "And so it is; them as can't get in the morning, can stop then. But I likes it best the first thing in the morning. We must seek it, you know, ma'am, afore meat or drink; and it's all so quiet-like just now, and beautiful: I seems as I could stop all day, when once I gets there of a Sunday at the dawning." Maude only half understood her, but she saw that there really would be service, and gladly went on into the Church. On entering it, however, she was at once struck by the conviction, that there were preparations for some ceremony, which was not the same as the ordinary matin prayer she had already witnessed there. She could hardly tell in what the difference consisted, yet she felt that there was a peculiar solemnity and stillness throughout the whole Church, and a deepened awe in the looks and attitudes of the worshippers, which seemed to indicate that some very holy rite was about to be celebrated. The choir-boys also were absent, and the benches where the little school-children sat so demure and quiet, were empty; whilst every individual within the Church was kneeling, with bowed head and motionless attitude. Maude could only distinguish the details of the altar arrangements very dimly where she stood, as the dawning light of the autumnal morning had not yet dispersed the soft shadows that filled the chancel, and tempered the bright colours of the stained 66 glass and the altar vestments; but she could just discern that all was not as it had been before. The Agnus Dei" indeed stood out in strong relief against the crimson velvet of the frontal, which was uncovered as before; but on the altar, and falling at the two sides, she saw that there was now a snowwhite covering, of apparently the most delicate texture, and surrounded with lacework; whilst various things that seemed very beautiful, though she could not discern their use, were placed upon it. Maude could not venture, however, even to look long in that direction, for the impressive stillness of all around her filled her with a sense of awe, such as she had never felt before; and without daring to advance into the Church, she stole into the seat nearest the door, which was almost in darkness, and crouched into the farthest corner of it, where she knew no one could see her. The perfect peace and tranquillity of this place of holy refuge was inexpressibly soothing to her; and she knelt, like the rest, with her head in her hands, feeling as if the attitude were not unmeaning, even though neither her heart nor her lips were praying. Presently there came a quiet sound, harmonising so well with the silence, that it seemed scarcely to break it, the measured tread of steps going up through the nave to the chancel. She knew it was the Priests, from the waving of their white robes as they passed her; and when the echo of their footsteps ceased, and all was again still, she looked up, expecting to see them in the choir, whence she knew the prayers had been said on the previous occasion. But they were not there. One was kneeling before the altar, and the two others on a lower step at either side, having all of them their faces eastward turned. After a few moments of stillness, one voice, low and yet distinct, began to utter certain words, which she did not recognise as forming part of any service she had ever heard. It was not until she saw the Deacon going round to collect the offerings, that she understood she was in fact about to assist at the sacrifice of the most Holy Eucharist. She had never been accustomed to think of this blessed celebration with any feelings of awe or reverence; in fact, she had never thought of it at all: but now everything conspired to fill her with an intense longing to witness a rite, for which even the silent preparation was conducted with so much solemnity, and which seemed, by its very anticipation, to produce so profound an effect on all present. She was unobserved by the Deacon as he passed, and therefore remained quietly in her corner, while the offering of the Eucharist proceeded. And now, in a record like this, when we have often to repeat light words that were spoken by those whose bistories we relate, we dare not enter on any description of that august solemnity, We can but tell how Maude drank in every word, though they were unfamiliar to her, and often mysterious; and how a holy terror, and an awe most sweet, though solemn, deepened and deepened in her soul, as that highest act of worship rose step by step to the crowning point of incomprehensible condescension, when the most blessed sentence that ever is uttered in mortal ears came thrilling to hers with a sudden power, and the uplifted hands and voice of the Priest proclaimed, "This is My Body," "this is My Blood!" Then it was almost as though she had been struck by lightning; for the very soul within her bowed itself, and constrained her body to sink prostrate on the ground, even as Manoah and his wife fell on their faces, when the angel of the LORD did wondrously, and ascended in the flame from the altar. Maude was utterly ignorant of the meaning of all that had been done, but that which smote her inmost spirit with such exceeding power, was the simple conviction that those wordsthe words of eternal life-which had been uttered, WERE TRUE, though she knew not how; and it is not to be wondered at if she was overpowered with the discovery, thus made for the first time, that the High and Lofty One Which inhabiteth eternity, doth also come to abide on earth with him that is of a humble and contrite heart. Motionless she lay crouching on the earth, making no attempt to unravel the labyrinth of new and marvellous thoughts in which her soul was wandering, till she became aware that there was a gentle fall of footsteps stealing past her; and then she looked up, and saw that, one by one, the worshippers approached the altar, and kneeling, bowed themselves lowly before it. She saw not what they did there, nor could she hear the softly whispered words that were uttered to them; but an ungovernable desire to know what these were made her search in her book, where she knew she could find them, and she saw that they contained a solemn promise of everlasting life to soul and body alike. Everlasting life !-a life pure and beautiful, as surely the unending existence bestowed by an all-good GOD must be. O, was it never to be for her?-never, never for her? For look, they all partake! not one is condemned to abstain from the Bread, of which, having eaten, they shall never hunger more, save only her, the neglected, ignorant outcast, the wicked daughter, the careless, thankless creature of GOD's creation! If Maude had felt friendless and lonely on the former occasion, when she had seen herself excluded from the ordinary matin prayers in which the worshippers of S. Alban's had appeared to join with one heart and one voice, what was not the bitterness of her desolation now, when she had seen them all, as the beloved children of one blessed family, fed with the Meat that endureth unto everlasting life, prepared for them by the Pierced Hands, that thus spread them a table in the wilderness of this world! She read on every face, as they came back from that sacred banquet, the rapture of peace it had the power to bestow; and the anguish of the contrast with her own condition seemed at last too great for endurance. So soon as the marvellous rite was over, and the door opened by one who had been sitting near it, she started up, and stole out from the Church; for it seemed to her as if the very air were too holy for her to breathe, and her agitation was no longer controllable. Scarce thinking what she was doing, she flew to the shelter of the yew tree, whose broad shadow seemed to afford a refuge, and sinking down on the seat, with her face buried in her hands, gave way to a burst of tears which she could not repress. She had not sat there many minutes, when suddenly a voice sounded close to her, low and calm, yet so gentle, that the tone was inexpressibly soothing. "I fear you are in great distress," were the words addressed to her. "Can I be of any service to you?" She looked up, and met the compassionate eyes of the Vicar fixed upon her with a look of tender pity, such as a father would have cast on a suffering child. The look inspired poor Maude with a confidence, such as she had never felt towards any one before, and her habitual reserve was quite subdued by her emotion. That he-that the Priest whom she had seen dispensing the sacred gift-should actually speak to herself, seemed already a sort of wonder of mercy; and when he repeated, "Can I help you?" she clasped her hands with a sudden impulse, and exclaimed, "O, if you could!-if I might be like them!-I am so wicked, so wretched, so lonely, so helpless !" And again, half ashamed of her incoherent words, she hid her face and sobbed. Then the gentle voice spoke again. "My child, I am the servant of Him Who came to heal the broken-hearted, to bind up the wounded spirit, and let the prisoner go free; and He hath left us, His Priests, to carry on this His blessed work, till His coming again. Come, then, with me, and you shall tell me all your grief; it may be He will teach me some means whereby to comfort you." He put out his hand, and raised her up; then walking before her, signed to her to follow, and she went after him, as the lamb that has been wounded and weary, straying in the wilderness, follows the shepherd, who goes forth to seek it, and lead it back unto the blessed refuge of its own safe fold. THE "FRIEDHOF," OR COURT OF PEACE.* "SWEET sister, come, and let us roam away o'er the fine arched bridge, "No," said the girl with the golden hair, Whose blue eyes spake of Heaven and prayer; The Court of Peace, where the lindens grow." "Come, come, let us hie to the free broad road-the folks are all passing that way, With cheerful voices and gaily decked-for you know it is festival day. The harps are twanging beneath the trees, and there's nothing save joy and singing And we shall hear o'er the valley lone all the bells so merrily ringing." "No," said the girl with the golden hair, Whose blue eyes spake of Heaven and prayer; The Court of Peace, where the lindens grow." "There are whispering leaves down this green lane amid the old crofts and trees It is long and winding, but sweet scents float to allure the good honey-bees; It leads to the solemn, cloistered pile, and over the beautiful plains Soft musical winds for ever sweep past, as if murmuring anthem strains." "So," said the girl with the golden hair, Whose blue eyes spake of Heaven and prayer ; The Court of Peace, where the lindens grow.' The brother and sister were parted wide; but when fleeting years rolled by, He returned to his native land to breathe a last and penitent sigh. 'Mid the chequered scenes of a roving life-in hut or 'neath gorgeous domeThese words still haunted the brother's heart, and recalled the wanderer home: "For," said the girl with the golden hair, The Court of Peace, where the lindens grow." Home of the prodigal! rest for the weary! the path of the just below "Thus," said the girl with the golden hair, The Court of Peace, where the lindens grow." * Or "burial place," in German, C. A. M. W. |