dence that his names were the first two names of the Bishop (Sumner) who was the last to preside over the undivided diocese.* This first Bishop of Chester was one of the commissioners sent by Henry VIII. to Catharine of Arragon when she was required to lay aside the title of Queen. He was deprived under Mary because of his marriage. Cotes was the Bishop, in her reign, who presided over the trial of George Marsh. Scot, his successor, was deprived by Elizabeth. Chaderton had busy work in his large diocese with "recusants," who were abundant in Lancashire and Cheshire. Vaughan caused important repairs to be made in the cathedral, covering the roof of the nave with lead, and supplying the Great Tower with bells. He was translated to London, and his portrait is conspicuous at Fulham. He was popularly known as "the handsome Bishop."

In the seventeenth century there was at Chester a group of Bishops so remarkable, and so remarkably illustrative of their age, that we may refer to them at somewhat greater length. Bridgeman† immediately preceded the times of the Commonwealth, and Walton immediately succeeded those times. Both, though in different ways, were men of mark. The first was a prelate of great energy and industry, and he has left manuscript materials, which ought to be published. His influence was successfully exerted in keeping Chester faithful to Charles I. Afterwards, on the defeat of the King, Bridgeman was sent away from Chester by Cromwell, and died

in retirement in Shropshire. An incident may be adduced from this episcopate which vividly elucidates the temper of those times on their painful side. After Prynne's ears were cut off, his cheeks also being branded with the letters "S.L." to denote that

*In the time of Bishop Sumner the Diocese of Chester was abridged to its present proportions by the formation of the Dioceses of Manchester and Ripon, and the enlargement of that of Carlisle.

The Bishops between Vaughan and Bridgeman were Lloyd and Morton.

SOUTH DOOR, SOUTH TRANSEPT.

Chester were two tradesmen named Ince, and a squire named Bruen, who lived near Tarvin, and whose father had been a very eminent Puritan. These three offenders were obliged by Bishop Bridge. man to make in the cathedral a public acknowledgment of their faults. This was in 1637; and it is not a little curious that this is the very date upon the woodwork (still preserved) of a large and richlycarved pulpit presented by the Bishop. It is instructive, side by side and in contrast with this story, to note the Bishop's real anxiety for effective preaching and for large congregations in the cathedral. He complains that the attendance was scanty. Perhaps one reason was that, besides the stalls, there were no pews or seats.* From Bishop Bridgeman and the Puritans we may now pass to Bishop Walton and the Restoration. With the enthusiasm for the

A narrative of the journey of Prynne, in its connection with Chester, is given by Canon Blomfield, in a paper printed by the Chester Archaeological Society. "Journal," 1876, p. 271.

recovery of monarchy in 1660 was a parallel enthusiasm for the recovery of episcopacy; and nowhere was this displayed more ardently than in Cheshire. The country gentlemen rode two days' journey into Staffordshire to meet Brian Walton, and to escort him to the city. Personally he was worthy of all honour. He was in the highest rank of Biblical scholars. During the troubled years which preceded the Restoration he had been quietly and laboriously engaged at Oxford in preparing his immense Polyglott Bible in nine languages, which was dedicated first to Oliver Cromwell and then to Charles II.

It

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He was the son of the famous Joseph Hall, Bishop of Norwich, and he commemorates this fact in an inscription which he composed for his epitaph, and which will be found on the south wall at the western entrance of the cathedral. Here he says that he was "a hearty though undeserving servant of the Church," and only worthy to be mentioned "because he was the son, or rather the shadow, of his father." Below these words is a lighted candle, with the following addition: "May I be burnt out, if only meanwhile I may shine and give light." We come now to Wilkins and Pearson, both men of the highest

is to be added, however, with a melancholy sense of the transient tenure of human scholarship and human distinction, that he died in London before he had been twelve months a Bishop. This was shortly before the Fire; and it is an interesting fact that half of the stone remains which was placed upon his tomb-one of the scanty relics of old St. Paul's. His immediate successor was George Hall, who is well worthy of respect for a different reason.

A Memoir of Bishop Walton, in two Svo. volumes, was published in 1821, by Archdeacon Todd.

eminence. Wilkins was distinguished both as a theologian and as a man of science. He was a friend of Evelyn, was one of the founders of the Royal Society, and a great experimentalist; and some of his anticipations of modern discovery are very remarkable. Burnet describes him as "a man of as great mind, as true judgment, as eminent virtues, and as good a soul as I have ever known :" he adds, "he was one of the wisest clergymen I ever knew." It is a curious instance of historical retribution that Wilkins married Cromwell's sister. His connection too with another great name ought not to be over

looked. Tillotson married his step-daughter; Tillotson preached his consecration sermon; and at Tillotson's house he died. Pearson had preached at Eastcheap his celebrated lectures on the Apostles' Creed while Walton was preparing his Polyglott at Oxford. These lectures (though in other respects, too, he was great in the world of letters) constitute the chief basis of Pearson's permanent fame: they are a standard and constantly-used work of Anglican theology, both in this country and in America; and this circumstance has led to the erection, in the North Transept of this Cathedral, of the beautiful tomb, the first suggestion of which came from the present Bishop of Maryland. Here again, in the presence of this truthful record of intellectual and theological distinction, we have to record an instance of human weakness and humiliation. Burnet said of Pearson that he was unquestionably "the greatest divine of his age." Bentley said that "his very dross was gold:" during two years, however, before his death he utterly lost his mental powers: he did not even recognise as his own the books of his library, some of which were annotated in his own beautiful handwriting.

Two other Bishops of Chester remain to be mentioned before we pass over our line into the eighteenth century. Cartwright began his career as a Presbyterian; afterwards he changed sufficiently to be made a Bishop. In the end he attached himself to the fortunes of James II., who, when in Chester, touched four hundred and fifty people in the choir of the cathedral for the king's evil. Cartwright "followed James II. to St. Germain's, and accompanied him to Ireland, where he died in 1689." Whether he really became a Roman Catholic is not known. Stratford, who succeeded him, and died in 1707, was an excellent Bishop. His virtues are recorded in a monument on the north side of the choir.t

THE

TWO PICTURES FROM LIFE.

HE design of my two pictures is to show that old age, with all its drawbacks, may be a happy, and even joyous period, and if I can succeed in each case in putting before my readers the image I have in my own mind, they will agree with me.

The first was my grandfather let me try to draw his portrait. He was a most comely old man, portly in figure, and with a large bald head, white and polished as ivory, except for a fringe of silver hair round the sides. His face, which was smoothly shaven, wore the ruddy hue of health, and it so reflected his genial nature that to look upon it was to be prepared to love him. In his clear blue eyes a happy light shone. They were mirthful as a child's, while there was something in them that spoke of peace, and joy that came from no earthly source. This peace was not the result of a naturally easy temper, for in his youth he was disposed to look at the dark side of things; but when quite a young man he had been led to the Saviour, and had found rest and joy in Him.

He

It happened in this way: He was walking through his native town one Sunday morning, when he saw a crowd hurrying in one direction, and heard the people saying, "There's a lady going to preach in the market-place-let's pelt her!" Accustomed to the order and decorum of the Church of England, he was shocked to hear of a woman preaching, and yet more by the reception she would get, for the rabble would try roughly to stop the preaching. went on and found, not a lady, but one of Lady Huntingdon's preachers, who, standing on a cart, as the best pulpit he could command, entreated his hearers in impassioned tones to come to the Saviour. The words sank deep into my grandfather's heart, and to the close of his life he retained a vivid recollection of that scene. The man of God, standing in his rude pulpit unmoved by the missiles that were assailing him, pleading with earnest, burning words that his hearers would leave their sins and accept the offered salvation. From this time my grandfather became a man of prayer, and when he had found for himself the joy and peace that spring from trust in Christ, and obedience to his commands, he determined to give his life to the work of winning souls to Him.

The scene I have described will give some idea of the condition of the people at that time. Whitefield and Wesley, and men of like holy zeal, had done valiantly in rousing our country from its spiritual lethargy, but it was still a time of great darkness. My grandfather, after due preparation, took up his abode in a populous town in his native county, gathered a large congregation around him, and preached Christ with power and success both there and in the surrounding villages.

But it is as an old man that I remember him and wish to describe him. What pleasant recollections I have of visits to his house! The pretty, quaint guest-chamber, with its broad, low window-seat where we used to sit at work, looking into a neighbour's paddock with its lovely shrubs and flowers; the large kitchen, the most spacious room in the house, with its spotless hearth and fire-irons shining like silver in the ruddy glow of the fire; the dear old man in his capacious arm-chair, with his bright, happy face and mirthful laugh; the morning and evening worship, when he read with loving reverence the book of God, and with a glow of holy fervour led us to his footstool. His life was one of patriarchal simplicity. When he came down from his study, where he meditated on the word of God, and held hallowed communion with Him, or read the works of the old divines, his usual place was the chimney-corner of the kitchen. There, after supper, he used to sit, his large black cat purring at his feet, while his old housekeeper sat on the other side of the hearth, or moved about her household duties, kindly though querulous. I think he would have felt himself to be unlike his Master if, in his hours of recreation, he had left his one domestic in solitude.

He had the same courteous, genial manner with people used to call him the Apostle John, because of every one, young and old, rich and poor. His his fatherly, affectionate nature; yet, if rebuke were needed, he did not spare. His simple guileless spirit and playful humour gave him a feeling of companionship with young people, and in the society of his grandchildren he was thoroughly happy. When he came to our house he was oftenest in the nursery,

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One October day, when he was in his eighty-fourth year, he went to call on two sick people. They lived at some distance from each other, but knowing how much they would be cheered by a visit from him, he made an effort to get to both. He returned home very unwell, and when the doctor saw him he looked grave, and ordered him to bed. In a day or two, it was seen how serious the case was, and he was told that his hours were numbered. How beautiful were those last days of waiting on the threshold of heaven! My mother wrote, "We are in the land of Beulah, within sight of the heavenly city. I have never seen, never read of a death-bed like this such holy joy, such longing for the summons into the presence of his Lord, such Christlike humility and patience. My father's face is as the face of an angel."

He was constitutionally timid, and shrank from suffering, of which he had had but little during his long life-less than is common. But now his strong confidence in Christ, and the fixed desire he had to honour Him by his death, made him triumphant over pain. He had several days of agony at the commencement of his illness, and afterwards he had to undergo an operation twice a day, which tried him severely. At such times he would fix his thoughts on God, and give utterance to such expressions of love and praise that the sick room became none other than the house of God, and the gate of heaven."

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Being at a distance, I reached him when he was near the end of his days, and the worst was over. He threw his arms round me when I went to his bedside, and kissed me again and again. Then he said, "It is a long time since I have seen this little face-let the light fall upon it, that I may see it well. My child, you have come to see your grandfather die; but the day of a good man's death is better than the day of his birth. His birthday introduces him into a world of sin and sorrow, but his death-day into one of holiness and peace and joy." His delight at having his children and so many of his grandchildren about him was very great. "I am surrounded," he said, " by young virgins and Christian matrons, but by whom shall I be surrounded soon? The change, how great!-the scene, how new! Many dear friends shall I meet there, but it is the presence of Christ that makes a heaven.

"Oh that the happy hour were como
To change my faith to sight!

I shall behold my Lord at home
In a diviner light.""

To two of his grandchildren who had been much with him, and ministered to him, he was full of playful allusions to past subjects of merriment. To the old charwoman, who had begged to be allowed to see him, and who had put on her best cap for the occasion, he said, “Why, Betty, even you like a bit gay ribbon to make yourself smart, I see." She wept, and said, "I shall never have such a kind master again." "Oh yes," he replied, "you have a better, kinder Master than I have ever been to you. Trust Him, Betty; keep very near to Him, and He will be to you all you need."

of

To some Unitarian gentlemen who visited him and

hourly expecting a summons into the presence of the Holy One; yet without fear-without a shadow of fear because I am trusting in Christ my Lord and Saviour. I know whom I have believed, and that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him against that day.'" When the conflict with the last enemy began he begged that we would all pray for him, and exclaimed in a firm voice, "Mighty Lord, set me free from this body of sin! Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord, God of truth." Thus he passed from our midst, leaving in the minds of those who knew him a lovely picture. A life of holy love, and faithful service, with its fitting end-an eager, glad response to the summons, "Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.”

Seldom has there been a more striking example of the estimation in which simple, unaffected goodness is held than in the case of my grandfather. Every clergyman and minister in the town called again and again during his illness in the hope of seeing his beloved face once more, and all followed him as mourners to the grave, amid such a concourse of sorrowing people that the simple funeral procession made its way with difficulty along the streets. On the following Sunday funeral sermons were preached for him in every church and chapel in the town, and to this day his name is beloved and revered in all that region.

The other example of happy and comely old age is that of my own mother, whom I will try to delineate by a few slight touches. In personal appearance she was somewhat like her father, having the same clear healthy complexion, the same look of inward peace; but she was characterised rather by modesty and warmth of affection than by sportive gaiety. Like her father, also, she had naturally an irritable, nervous temperament, which caused her in early life and in middle age a good deal of unhappiness. But when the burden and heat of the day were over, when the shadows were lengthening, and the sun began to sink towards the horizon, she laid all her burdens down, and, resting on the Saviour's love, she awaited in perfect confidence all that He should appoint for her. Strong only in her affections and in her faith in God, she was to her. grandchildren the type of all that is beautiful in old age. She had the unconscious charm of a heart at leisure from itself, and in their childish confidences she took as lively an interest as if she had been one of themselves. The youngest of them had not a more humble, child-like spirit.

For more than fifty years she was the truest and tenderest of wives, reverencing her husband after the true scriptural and Miltonic fashion :

"He for God only-sae for God in him." She could never be contented for more than a few days away from him. Yet when he was called away from her side, to enter into the joy of his Lord, she gave him up with a quiet acquiescence that astonished those that knew the strength of her affection for him.

"I am coming to thee scon, my love: just a little while, a very little while, and then we shall be together again, to be for ever with each other and with the Lord." This was what she was heard to say to him as she kissed his marble face, before he was carried to his last resting-place. He was gone

where he would never more need her gentle ministry. He had joined the company of whom it is written, "They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes." The loss was hers only she had always set his happiness before her own, and so now she rejoiced in his joy, looking not backward to what she had lost, but forward to the bright and blessed home to which Christ had taken her dear one, and towards which she was hastening.

From this time her communion with God was closer day by day. While taking a quiet interest in everything that went on around her, and returning the love of her children and friends with unfailing warmth of affection, yet was the Heavenly Bridegroom more constantly present with her spirit than any earthly friend. As she sat amongst her children, unconscious that she was putting her thoughts into words, those who sat nearest to her could hear her murmuring, “Precious, precious Saviour! oh, eternity's too short to utter all Thy praise!" and other such expressions of the feelings that habitually dwelt

in her soul.

To the last day on which she got downstairs she gently persisted in being led to her chamber for her evening devotion, and there left alone with God. For nearly eighty years she had found strength and refreshment, kneeling by her bedside at the close of the day. As a little child, she had there prayed for forgiveness and blessing; as a matron with a large family around her, she had gone after days of busy cares, and there, at the footstool of the Divine mercy, her soul had been lifted up into the region of heavenly peace and sacred joy. And so the place and the posture had become dear and sacred to her, and she could not give them up. Many times have her daughters listened trembling outside the door, when her weakness made it unsafe for her to be left alone, while she, all unconscious of everything besides, poured out her soul before God.

The obliviousness of self continued even when the infirmities of age and the sufferings from disease would have made it natural to be absorbed in self. Day after day she persevered at some warm stockings she was knitting for one of her children, and her anxiety to get them finished before her right hand should forget its cunning was very touching.

The doctor's daily visit was almost amusing; some such conversation as the following would take place: "Well, ma'am, how are you this morning?'

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Pretty well, doctor, thank you."

I fear you are very far from well. What pains have you to tell me of?"

"Oh, nothing to speak of, sir, thank you. I am surrounded by mercies. I think no one ever had so many mercies as I have."

"But I should like to know your symptoms. I could relieve you, probably."

Oh, thank you, sir, I am sure everything is done for me that can be done. My daughters are devoted to my comfort, and my God is unspeakably good to me. Goodness and mercy have followed me all the days of my life."

The doctor would leave, saying, "I wish all my patients were like you. What an atmosphere of praise I should live in!"

One of her daughters taught a large class of young people in the dining-room on Sunday afternoon, and as long as it was possible she was present. Sitting in an easy-chair, with her large Bible open before her, she listened with child-like docility to the lesson, and joined in the singing with manifest enjoyment. On the last Sunday that she was carried downstairs, about ten days before the end, though so weak that it was with difficulty her whispered words could be caught, she insisted on having the children in to hear them sing once more and bid them a last farewell. Silently they filed in-rough, irrepressible boys and little children, hushed into solemn, tender stillness. Standing around her they sang, "There is a happy land, far, far away;" and those who saw the radiance that lighted up her pale, worn face knew that to her that land was very near. She begged for another, and they sang, "I'm but a stranger here, heaven is my home.' Then she pressed the hand of each, and in solemn, silent. reverence they went out. One of the big boys, who was in a sceptical state of mind, whispered to a companion as they left, "If there is a heaven, she is going there." Every one of them loved her, and from allusions that have since been made by different members of the class (which was composed of all denominations, and of some who were outside any denomination), it is plain that the sight of her sweet, gentle face, as they saw it Sunday after Sunday, growing more heavenly in its serene peacefulness, has made an indelible impression upon them.

On the very last night of her life one of her sons arrived from a distance to see her. "I fear you are very ill, mother," he said. With her usual forgetfulness of self, thinking only of comforting him, she replied, "No, love, not very ill--not very." A few hours afterwards her gentle spirit left its work of praise on earth for the unveiled presence of the Saviour in whom her soul delighted.

Old age without God is a joyless, hopeless period, but with his presence in the soul, and immortal joy in prospect, it may be, as we have seen, a time of happy anticipation-a very foretaste of heaven. "The hoary head is a crown of glory, if it be found in the way of righteousness." If the whole force of the sentence lies in that little word if. This is the question we have to ask each one of himself: "Am I living to God? Are my health and strength, my gifts, whatever they may be, used as coming from Him and devoted to his service?" If so, old age will be looked upon but as the last stage of the journey to a beloved home, where will begin the new life of immortal vigour and unfading joy.

THE LOT APPOINTED BY GOD.
"Thou maintainest my lot."-Pɛa. xvi. 5.

THAT our lot in life, with all its circumstances, is appointed for us by God, is a truth of which we need continually to remind ourselves; for it is one that we are continually tempted to forget, or even to deny. Hence arises endless repining; we fancy that we would have better opportunities for doing good if we were more rich; better tempers if we were among more amiable people; better health if we lived in some other place. We imagine we would be happy if we were delivered from some present