the temple for to see him. When S. George was on his knees, and they supposed that he would have worshipped the idols, he prayed our LORD GOD that he would destroy the temple and the idols, in the honour of His name, for to make the people to be converted. And anon the fire descended from heaven, and burnt the temple, and the idols, and their priests. And the earth opened and swallowed all the cinders and ashes that were left. Then Dacian made him be brought before him, and said to him, "What be the evil deeds that thou hast done, and also the great untruth?" Then said S. George to him, "Sir, believe it not, but come with me, and see how I shall sacrifice." Then said Dacian to him, "I see well thy fraud. Thou wouldest make the earth swallow me, as thou hast the temples and my gods." Then said S. George, "Tell me how may thy gods help thee, when they may not help themselves?" Then was Dacian so angry that he said to his wife, "I shall die for anger if I may not surmount and overcome this man." Then said she to him, "Evil and cruel tyrant, dost thou not see the great virtue of the Christian people? I said to thee well that thou shouldest not do to them any harm, for their GoD fighteth for them, and know thou well that I will become christened." Then was Dacian much abashed, and said "When wilt thou be christened ?" Then he took her by the hair, and did cruelly beat her. Then demanded she of S. George, "What may I become? I am not christened." Whereupon answered S. George, "Doubt thee nothing, fair daughter, for thou shalt be baptized in thy blood." Then she began to worship our LORD JESU CHRIST, and so she died, and went to heaven. On the morrow Dacian gave his sentence that S. George should be drawn through all the city, and afterwards his head should be smitten off. Then made he his prayer to our LORD, and afterwards his head was smitten off. This blessed and holy martyr, S. George, is patron of this realm of England, and the cry of men of war. In honour of whom is founded the order of the garter, and also a noble college in the castle of Windsor by the kings of England. Such is the legend which men in mediæ val times loved to tell. Of the mode in which the narrative is embellished, we will not stay to speak. It is, even as it stands, a record of the victories of the Saints, and all may separate the legendary from the purely historical. W. B. F. S. BARNABAS, WE little thought, some time ago, when giving an account of the consecration of S. Barnabas', and praying for the long life and happiness of its PIMLICO. Incumbent, that we should so soon have to record the suspension of his labours. Yet so it is. The causes which have produced this disastrous result need not now be dwelt upon; the riotous mobs that gathered around this beautiful house, and the exclamations of the maddened multitude within the sanctuary itself, are matters of the past, too painful to recall. They have done their work. And he who was second to none in zeal, and energy, and ability, who could move rich and poor alike, he who could gather all hearts around him, who was ever instant in season and out of season, has been compelled to leave the creation of his own labour and toils, and goes forth, to use his own expressive language, "We know not whither." There was something touchingly melancholy in the services of Sunday last-something that stirred the heart from its very depth, and made one look with saddened feeling upon the rich diaper-work, and glorious adornments of chancel, nave, and aisle. Every part was crowded to excess, with persons of all classes of life; and many a tear trickled down the cheek of man, woman, and child. It was evident that he who had done all this, and suffered so much, was most deeply moved at addressing his people for the last time. The text in the morning was from S. John vii. 53, and that in the evening from S. John ix.4. The sermons will, we hope, be published in such a form as will place them in the hands of all our readers. If not, we shall be certainly tempted to make somewhat lengthy extracts from them, as the spread of sentiments such as then were uttered, is most needed at this particular juncture. They were listened to with breathless attention, especially the one in the evening, in which service it was our privilege to take a part. At the conclusion of the sermon, Boyce's "By the waters of Babylon," &c., was sung with more than ordinary feeling. At the conclusion of the service many lingered as if to catch a glimpse of their former pastor, and we could not but think at the time, that it would have been justifiable for him to have dismissed them with his blessing. However this was enjoyed by those who had the privilege of partaking with him the Sacrament of the Holy Eucharist on the Festival of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the last day on which the late Incumbent ministered in the Church. And we were there then. It was our privilege, (and we shall never forget it,) to witness a sight sad and solemn ; yet one which, in spite of all, filled us with hope. The rich strains of the musical cadences, and yet the faltering accents with which, ever and anon, they were uttered; the crowded Church of communicants, all bursting into tears as they received their pastor's blessing; and then the outburst of uncontrolled grief that we witnessed as the service ended, the Priests and Choir sang in slow procession the touching "By the waters of Babylon;" these can never be wiped from our memories. No, we feel no shame to have mingled our tears with those of our bereaved people; and though, as we bade our dear friends the former Priests of S. Barnabas good bye, we could not find words in which to express our farewell; our prayers shall ever be with them that He, Who guideth all things by the power of His might, may yet cause the darkness of the night to pass away, and give that joy which cometh in the morning. W. B. F. Notices to Correspondents. A. G. A. There is no question that the way of receiving the blessed Eucharist, to which he alludes, is the only Primitive and Catholic, and we should advise him not to deviate therefrom. M. D.'s Life of Laud is under consideration. A. L.'s Poem, though marked by much power, is too long, and otherwise not well adapted for our pages. A Student is informed that the heretic Nestorius taught that GOD the Word and the Man CHRIST JESUS were different persons under the same appearance. He was condemned at the Council of Ephesus, 483, when the title of Theotokos, mother of GOD, was defended as that of the Virgin Mary. The PRECEPTS of the CHURCH аre given by Bishop Cosin. See Churchman's Diary, page 30. The Editor has to acknowledge the sum of 10s. received for the Orphan's Home. MR. FAULKNER came at the time appointed, and Caroline, who had kept Marian's counsel, according to promise, was very curious to see how they would behave towards each other. As to Marian, she was just what might be expected,-more cold, distant, and stately than she had ever been to the most vulgar of Mrs. Lyddell's acquaintance. She gave a chilling bend to repel his attempt at shaking hands, made replies of the shortest when he tried to talk to her, and would not look up, or put on the slightest air of interest, at all the entertaining stories he was telling at dinner. The others were all extremely pleased with him. Elliot had never before brought home so agreeable a friend; a person who could talk of anything but hunting and racing was a new thing among his acquaintance, and every one was loud in his praise. Caroline, from having been prejudiced against him by Marian's history, was more surprised than the others; and scolded Marian in the evening for not having told them how very agreeable he was. "I never can think any one agreeable when I know there is hollowness within," said Marian. "I suppose Lord Marchmont knows," said Caroline, in a tone of annoyance and of a little doubt; and there the conversation ended. Few people were ever more agreeable than Mr. Faulkner. He had read everything, travelled everywhere, and was full of conversation suited to every one. If Marian had not heard Lord Marchmont's account of him, she must have liked him; but knowing it, she could and would not: looking at him something as Madame Cottin's Matilde first looked at Malek Adel, and not suffering herself to lose any of her horror. For the first day or two her frigidity was something wonderful, as she found him inclined to make some attempts at cultivating her acquaintance; but she thoroughly succeeded in repelling him. He left off trying to talk to her; and one day when they were obliged to go in to dinner together, he only exchanged the fewest and most formal of words with her, and positively neglected her for his other neighbour. After this, Marian did not quite so much overdo her stateliness. She could afford to be like herself with the others, even when he was in the room; and though she never voluntarily took part in a conversation in which he was engaged, and her coldest air came over her whenever he approached, she was at ease even though he was in the room. And it was well for her she could be so; for he stayed more than a fortnight, decided on buying the estate of High Down, and was asked to come again and make his head quarters at Oakworthy, while superintending the alterations. All were sorry when he went; even the boys, whose first holiday week had been rendered very agreeable by his good nature. Johnny and Gerald vied with each other in his praise, heaping together a droll medley of schoolboy panegyrics; and Marian, not wishing to tell them of her objections, allowed that he had been very kind to them. The Christmas holidays passed, and left no change in the impression on her mind regarding Gerald; only she heard no news of her two sovereigns, and he did not so much as give her the opportunity of speaking to him alone. The heartache was growing worse than ever, and she was beginning to have a sort of desperate feeling that she would-she would do she knew not whatwrite to Mr. Wortley-write more strongly to Gerald than she had ever yet dared to do when one morning a foreign-looking letter arrived, in hand writing she knew full well, though it had never before been addressed to herself. There was company staying in the house, and Marian was not sorry it was impossible to read it at the breakfast table. She did not know what she was eating or what she was saying, and ran away with it as soon as she could, to enjoy it in her own room. A letter from Edmund! Could it be possible, or could it-O, disappointment!-be only some enclosure for her to forward on. In alarm at the idea, she tore it open. A long letter, and quite certainly to herself; for there stood the three welcome words," My dear Marian." She glanced hastily down the first page, to make sure that there was nothing the matter; but no, it was all right-he wrote in his own lively style. He began by saying it was so long since he had heard from England, that he was growing afraid he was quite forgotten, and felt quite small when the letter-box came in, and brought something for every one but him; and he was going to try a fresh person, since he was growing desperate, and had sent appeals in vain to all his correspondents. He asked many questions about home friends, and about Marian herself; and then told much to interest her about his own doings, his way of living, and his hunting expeditions with all the strange wild beasts with which they had made him acquainted, and he concluded thus :- -"I hope you will write soon, and that you will be able to give me a flourishing account of Gerald. His silence may mean nothing, but it may also mean so much, that to hear he is going on particularly well would be double satisfaction just at present. Therefore, with a view to what passed in our last walk at Oakworthy, tell me if you are completely satisfied with regard to him.” It was a ray of light upon all Marian's perplexities; showing her what course to take, and filling her with hope. Her confidence in Edmund's power of setting everything right was still unchanged, and when Gerald's case was fully before him, he would know how to judge, and what to do; it would all be safe and off her mind, She felt sure that this had been the very reason of his writing; and full of gratitude, and infinitely relieved, she opened her desk, as if to answer was the easiest and most comfortable thing in the world. She did not, however, get on quite as fast as she expected; she dreaded equally the saying too much, or too little, the giving, Edmund actually a bad impression of her poor Gerald, or letting him think that there was no cause for anxiety. Then she thought the best way would be merely to give the facts, and let him draw his own conclusions; but these facts were in themselves trifles light as air, and it seemed unkind to send them across half the world. She left off trying to write, and resolved to give herself time for consideration; but time only made her more perplexed. She waited a week, wrote at last, and as soon as her letter was fairly gone, thought of forty different ways of saying the thing better and more justly, dwelt again and again on each line that could convey a false impression one way or the other, and reproached herself by turns for having spoken disadvantageously of her dear affectionate brother, and for not having let her cousin fairly see the full extent of the mischief. On the whole, however, she was much happier now that it was all in Edmund's hands; so much so, that when Mr. Faulkner came again, she could not be quite so stiff; and being quite relieved from the fear of his taking any notice of her, could do him the favour of laughing when he told anything amusing. Winter and early spring came and went; the Easter holidays brought Gerald home, and she tried again in vain to get him to write to Edmund; but she could bear it better now that she had hopes. They went to London, and Marian was carried into the midst of all the gaieties supposed to befit her age and situation. Mrs. Lyddell would have thought herself very far from "doing her |