believe in Mr. Work's ser

but to be candid I did no

ssed against her mother's heart, had been lain down at last in her little cradle. Jennie, her

e other side. My church was converted into a court-room, I into an advocate. If I believed Mr. Work's doctrine wa

r Hyacinthe's discourses the following paragraph--from an address delivered o

s--awaited you in our Church, and in that sacrament which so powerfully attracted you, even when you but half believed it. In your own worship, as in the ancient synagogue, you found naught but types and shadows; they spoke to you of r

I should turn Roman Catholic. And Mr. Work this morning confirmed

scopalians are wrong, to us who are open Communionists that the close Communionists are wrong. As there does not happen to be either Romanist, Episcopalian, or close Communionist in our congregation, I cannot say how efficacious his arguments would have been if addressed to any one who was in previous doubt as to his conclusions. Then he proceeded to expound what he termed the rational and Scriptural doctrine of communion. It is, he told us, simply a memorial service. It simply

tion. I was obliged to confess to myself that it was unsatisfactory. If I were obliged to choose between t

, not in the head, in us, not in the symbols that we eat. Did you not feel the Real Presence when Father Hyatt in the afternoon broke and blessed

proved the morning's sermon, tho

gs of old age; but his heart is young, and I verily believe he looks forward to the hour of his release with hopes as high and expectations as ardent as those with which, in college, he anticipated the hour of his graduation. This was the man, patriarch of the Church, who has lived to see the children he baptized grow up, go forth into the world, many die and be buried; who has baptized the second and even the third generation, and has seen Wheathedge grow from a cross-road

ing Saviour. It was not of the Christ that died, but of the Christ that now lives, and intercedes, and guides, and preserves, and saves, he spoke, with voice feeble with old age, but strong with love. And as he spoke, it seemed to

, "Yes, Jennie, there was a Real Presence in Father Hyatt's breaking and blessing of the bread

king how of old time Christ appeared in the breaking of bread to the disciples whose eyes were holden. And to-night, John, as I have been rocking baby to sleep I have been reading Tennyson's Holy Grail, and think

om that strange poem, whose meaning, I sometimes t

Holy Grail, descend upon the shrine: I saw the fiery face as of a child That smote itself into the bread, and went, A

rstand nor interpret. Baby is not only up-stairs, John; he is in my heart of hearts. And you are never away from home, husband mine, though often in the city, but are always with me. And my Saviour he is not far away, he is not in the heaven that we

the communion this afternoon, Jenn

Work would advise him not to tal

m a note,

mount of Transfiguration, we do not care much for Peter, James or John. And so, dear, I recommend you to do as I do--if the minister must give us a doctrinal disquisition, or a learned argument, or an el

te to us the emblems of Christ's love, believe me that the communion never reaches its highest end, save when you interpret it to us, not merely as a flower-strewn grave of a dead past, but as a Mount of Transfigu