senger from the Queen must have called him secretly. He will come back, and I will wait for him upon my knees. But I am not sure; I think he is not gone; I think some evil-" The door opened and Antonio came in, followed by a man-at-arms, whose stupid face was flushed with Christmas cheer. Margaret looked hard into the velvet shadow of Antonio's eyes-was he false or true?-and suddenly she saw her lover's fate there. She made a step with hands outspread, faltered and dropped upon the floor, falling her length, with all her brown hair loose and long, at the feet of these men entering. old Kate, and stony terror on the face of Alice Tilney, she had been carried away, still as if dead, to her own room, Sir William, his voice and his whole frame shaking, called Antonio to his side. "Your pen, Tony!" he said. "Sit you down and write a letter to my Lady Marlowe. Ask the meaning of these things,-tell all that has come to pass, and how her mad stepson's doings have well-nigh killed my Margaret.” "Ah, dear Sir, 'tis the shock, she will recover," Antonio said in his softest voice, and smiled with an exquisite tenderness. "Let us wish Queen Margaret joy of her knight,-on his way to her!" he added inaudibly. (To be continued.) Later, when with tears and sobs from THE ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY IN AMERICA.* This little, unpretending volume has yet something about it of greatness. It is a sincere and simple record of a great occasion, honestly, faithfully, and diligently turned to advantage. The first visit of an Archbishop of Canterbury to the English-speaking population of the New World must always in a sense have been an event,-a memorable moment, at any rate, in the chronicle of ecclesiastical history. But it might have been no more. It was a "Christian opportunity," to use the phrase which the Archbishop happily seizes on to describe it. But it might have been only an opportunity lost. Archbishop Davidson did not lose it. By God's grace he was enabled to make much, very much, of it,-much that appears already, much more that will have its quiet influence for the future. The striking success of the visit came "The Christian Opportunity: being Sermons and Speeches Delivered in America." By Randall Thomas Davidson, Archbishop of as a surprise both to himself and to the world in general. That it should have surprised himself may be set down to his modesty. The world was surprised because it has hardly quite realized the Archbishop for what he is. He is, in truth, a very remarkable man. With no particular advantages, he has risen to the first ecclesiastical position in the English-speaking communities, and he has done so more rapidly than any of his recent predecessors. He is not a great orator, or a great divine, or a great scholar; he is not at first sight gifted with the genius for sympathy or the personal fascination which have often aided and sometimes betrayed, great and successful prelates and pastors. He is, indeed, far more of each and all of these than is often understood. He is an excellent speaker, a sound and well-informed theologian; his Life of his father-in-law is written with a skill and propriety and charm which many scholars and men of letters miss; and, as all admit, he has the temper and sagacity of a statesman. But in this visit, and in these addresses and sermons, he showed these qualities raised to a higher power. They have an eloquence, a vividness, and an interest which it is impossible not to feel. If, as Disraeli said, one of the most conspicuous marks of genius is rising to the occasion, the Archbishop may be said to have shown here just that with which he had not hitherto been credited, genius. What was the cause? Something, no doubt, was due to the occasion itself; but more was due to a cause far deeper and higher, the spirit and the aim with which he went. There is a shock and a stimulus in the New World, especially to one who belongs to, and represents much that is oldest in, the Old. To step from Lambeth on Thames-side to the St. Lawrence with Quebec and Montreal is to experience a startling contrast. But this is in reality a very small part of the matter. Far more important is it that the Archbishop went as an apostle and in the truly apostolic spirit, an apostle of that simple Gospel which is new among the old, and old among the new, which overleaps both space and time. This it was that gave him a simplicity, a forgetfulness of self, which is the greatest secret of the potency of these addresses and sermons. It is wonderful how the old apostolic methods and apostolic phrases seem to suit the situation. It has been said that nothing could be less like St. Paul than an Archbishop of Canterbury. Yet Archbishop Davidson is best described in terms of the methods and the language of St. Paul. We see him here becoming in the best sense "all things to all men," to the Americans an American; to the Canadians a Cana dian. What could be more happy than his generous tribute ("as one of your own historians has said") to the Jesuit missionaries of early Canadian days, spoken in that historic city the most conspicuous object of which is the glittering roof of the Laval College; or, again, than the allusions in the same address to "the open Bible in the English tongue," to the Bishop of New York, and the great New England poet. The Archbishop has not been thought of as a great man. He nowhere claims that title; indeed, he disclaims it. He is there to fulfil his duty and his mission, "only caring to be great but as he saves or serves" the Church and the cause whose minister and missionary he is. But he does not disclaim or disparage his position. He "magnifies his office," or, as the Revised Version more faithfully renders it, he "glorifies his ministry." He holds it no little thing that at last, in the fulness of time, it should be given to the Archbishop of Canterbury to speak to the New World. "Popes of a new world," Papae alterius orbis, the Archbishops of Canterbury were, indeed, called long ago in a famous phrase. That title he does not covet. "Not a pope but a pivot," is his own description of himself, "a human centre, round whom the work of the English Church and the English-speaking Churches may revolve," and who thus by giving them a common centre may help toward their essential unity and co-operation. For this was the real text of the Archbishop's sermons, that the English race are brethren, and that that large brotherhood may lead up to the still larger unity and brotherhood of Christianity. Much, he feels, under God's providence, Christianity owed to the Graeco-Roman system, with all its faults; to that pagan Empire, combining the work of Alexander and of Caesar, under which St. Paul was born and educated and worked. Much it might still owe to the British Empire; still more to the Englishspeaking race. It was his large and liberal grasp of this idea that made the Archbishop so fully at home in the New World. He is filled with hope. He feels the sense not only of a new world but of a new era. "No other period of Christendom," he said in the memorable and typical "Salutation" at Washington, the central point of a great service on behalf of Christian unity at which, it is said, not less than thirtyfive thousand persons were present"no other period of Christendom can compare with ours in the possibilities which are set within our reach. No other part of Christendom, as I firmly believe, can do for the world what we on either side of the sea can do for it, if we only will. God give us grace to answer to that inspiring call!" The moments in this opportunity were many. We follow the Archbishop as he lands in "fair and famous Quebec," then up the wide-flowing St. Lawrence to Montreal, on to the Great Lakes and Toronto; then to the quiet country church in North-East Harbor where he preached his first sermon on the soil of the United States; next to sunny Washington, and to Philadelphia, in its very name the City of Brotherly Love; then to busy New York, and last to Boston and the manymemoried Faneuil Hall. Everywhere the same dominating note resounds through different harmonies. "I am conscious," he said at Philadelphia, in language which was received, we read, with great and continued applause, "that the words that have been spoken to-day, and the reception given them, are meant to express what you feel about the Church of which we are members, the absolute oneness of our Church, the almost oneness of our na The Spectator. tions." "We are one," he went on, "in heart and soul and resolve, whether as citizens or Churchmen." "The courtesy of your act to-day," he said in Faneuil Hall, "is another instance of the strength of those links which bind our peoples, as it seems to me, absolutely, indissolubly, together... links which nothing, so far as I can see, that can in the changes and chances of life come about, is likely to sever or impair." "We join hands," he said in concluding the last address contained in these pages, that to the Evangelical ministers and Methodist students at Boston,-"we join hands in behalf of a common cause, the setting forward of our Master's kingdom, both in the Old World and the New.... That our gathering may with God's grace cement more closely what is deepest and best in the bonds which unite us across the sea in matters national, religious, moral, and social is my eager wish and shall be my continuous and anxious prayer." Straight, simple, terse, there is something soldierly, something that reminds of a very different theme and volumeCaesar's Commentaries—in these brief utterances. They are the speeches of a practical, sagacious, shrewd man. stirred to deep emotion. They move and touch the reader because the speaker was touched and moved in no common way. To all who hope for and long to help our age, to the true Christian and the true patriot on both sides of the seas, in the new home where the speaker spent so happy and fruitful a sojourn, in the old to which he has re turnéd, as we hope, refreshed and en couraged, we commend these hopeful prayerful, suggestive words as in a very real sense the best of Christmas tide reading. THE "LITTLE FATHER" AND HIS CHILDREN. The incompetence of the Czar has been displayed on a larger stage than seemed likely to be open to it till this day week. No single circumstance that can make his weakness more visible has been wanting. The revolutionary movement in St. Petersburg-if that can be called revolutionary which, in the first instance, was only a strike of workmen against conditions of labor which they regard as intolerably hard -was of a kind which it rested with him, and with no one else, to control and keep harmless. The language of the petition contains, indeed, much that goes beyond the ordinary complaints of workmen against their employers. There is enough of political unrest in Russia-arising, to a great extent, from the want of any regular means of making political wants known-to ensure the introduction of such questions into any document that expresses the feelings of a large number of men. But any one who reads the long introduction which ushers in the specific remedies demanded will see that the petition is far more an utterance of discontent with their own material condition than a demand for Constitutional changes. Some of the commonplaces familiar in all such manifestoes are to be found in this one, but others are curiously wanting. The responsibility of Ministers, the separation of Church and State, a progressive income-tax are all here; but there is no mention of universal suffrage, of vote by ballot, or of the convocation of a National Assembly. The gist of their complaint is the exploitation of the workmen by capitalists and Government officials, and the little that is known of Russia supplies no assurance that this is not a well-founded grievance. But whether it be well founded or not, it did not lie with the Czar to refuse to take account of it. Autocracy, like every other form of government, has its special obligations. Under all other forms some channel exists in which those who think themselves oppressed can make their voice heard. There is some Chamber in which the working class have a share of representation, however small, and can, on occasion, make that share audible. In Russia alone there is nothing of the sort; in Russia alone is the Sovereign the sole source, whether of justice or of mercy. And, therefore, in Russia alone has the Sovereign no right to refuse to consider in his own person the prayers of his subjects. The Czar cannot pass on these prayers to a Ministry or a Parliament. Parliament there is none, and the Ministry is only a term of courtesy for a group of clerks who have neither position nor authority, except as the creatures of the Sovereign's will. Even a Czar cannot have things both ways. If he is an autocrat, he must behave as an autocrat, or have his incapacity for his place and function demonstrated to the world. This is the choice which Nicholas II. has this week had to make. He may, indeed, have persuaded himself that he has evaded responsibility by running away, and that a Czar whom his people do not know where to find is a Czar who cannot be blamed for anything that follows upon his flight. He may even hope that the massacre of Sunday will be laid at the door of the Grand Dukes, and that his other shortcomings will be excused on the score of his being an obedient nephew. Unfortunately for him and for his dynasty, these flimsy pleas will be forgotten as soon as they are set up, and fused them such hospitality would have Another duty which was left to such stray hangers-on was the collection of dandelions, their juice being a remedy decreed to my Indian aunt, who, like most Anglo-Indians of that date, had brought back from her long residence abroad what we called "a liver." There were, therefore, generally three or four old crones seated round a flat stone outside the kitchen-door, gabbling Irish and pounding vigorously at the green heap before them, till a wineglassful of a most nauseous fluid had been extracted. As the nearest medical practitioner resided in the town of Galway, we relied almost entirely upon home doctoring, and the prescriptions in Vogue were mostly of the same primitive nature. If any one was considered to stand in need of a tonic or strengthening medicine, it was concocted by the simple expedient of heating the poker whitehot, and stirring a mug of porter therewith. Our poorer neighbors also came to us for medical advice, and I well remember any of them who were suffering from chills, or such ailments, being enjoined to take a hot bath, on their return home, in their churn, that being the only vessel in an Irish cabin capable of containing the human form. My grandfather, indeed, who was prin cipal medical adviser to the district, had but one sovereign remedy, which he prescribed with the utmost impartiality for all ailments of whatsoever nature they might be. He used to powder a huge lump of rhubarb on a pewter-plate-its being pulverized upon pewter being considered to play a very important part in the efficacy of the recipe-and blend it with a bottle of port. This he administered by spoonfuls to all who came to consult him. "The Masther's medicine" was held in high repute, and was more sought after than the prescriptions of a specialist would have been, if such had existed in those days. The ordinary wages of a laborer at that time were five-pence a day, and we kept forty in constant employment. They dined every day in the haggard, called in from all parts of the farm by the clanging of the yard-bell. Amongst those who never failed to respond to the summons was one strangely assorted couple. The steward, having been sent to a neighboring fair to purchase a pig, intended in due time to replenish the household stores of ham and bacon, reported on his return that he had bought "a nate, cliver, grave, gay little pig." The animal possessed of so many and somewhat conflicting qualities was of the true old Galway breed, lean and long-legged as a greyhound, and possessed, moreover, of a turn of speed and staying powers not common to the porcine tribe. By what means Sal-for so with total disregard of sex we named him-arrived at an understanding with Chance our pointer, no one ever knew. Every morning, however, as soon as they were set free from kennel and sty, they set out together for the woods, where they hunted in company-Chance working his way into the rabbit-holes to bolt the rabbits, and Sal standing in readiness to pounce on the prey as it came out, after which they shared the spoils |