kind of throne made of oaken boughs, on which a child is seated, bring up the rear. A great deal of merriment is excited among the boys at the pranks of Master Oliver, who capers about in a most ludicrous manner. Some of them amuse themselves by casting dirt, whilst others, more mischievously inclined, throw stones at him; but woe betide the young urchin who is caught his face assumes a most awful appearance, from the soot and grease with which 'Oliver' begrimes it, whilst his companions who have been lucky enough to escape his clutches, testify their pleasure by loud shouts and acclamations. In the evening the whole party have a feast, the expenses of which are defrayed by the collection made in the morning." Notices to Correspondents. B. D. appears somewhat scandalised at being thought to belong to an extreme party, and is fearful that we may injure our work by our known advocacy of certain principles. We cannot help it. The present crisis leaves no faithful Churchman any option in the matter; and as regards hard names, we would beg him to read what Dr. Hickes says upon the subject-"These, sir," he writes, "as we find from your book, are the men who hate the Clergy above all mortals, and therefore love to dress them up in the bearskins of terrible and odious names, to make them frightful and odious to the people. These are the men whose oracle you are, and whose party language you are speaking, calling us, as I think very finely, High Churchmen, high-fliers, (a cant term of those times,) and enslavers of mankind. But, sir, to let you and your party see how little I am concerned at those names, let me tell you that I glory in them, and here make no difficulty to profess to be all that they truly import. I am for the height, as well as the breadth, and length, and depth of the Church, that is built upon the Apostles and Prophets, JESUS CHRIST Himself being the chief corner-stone. I am as much for the highest pinnacle of it as any other part, though, it may be, you would throw me down headlong from it, if you could, as the Jews did S. James from the battlements of their temple. I also profess to be a high-flier, whose endeavour is to fly upon the wings of the old principles, which you ridicule, as upon the wings of angels, to my SAVIOUR, to the general assembly, to the Church of the first-born who are enrolled in heaven, and to the spirits of just men made perfect. And as to the last and most hateful name, you will find by my answer, I am, as I long have been, one of those whom you call enslavers of mankind, by those strict, holy, and primitive doctrines, with which He That made us hath been pleased to limit the passions and actions of men, and to restrain the lusts and liberties of flesh and blood.'" C. J. is informed that the legend she mentions is "JESUS of Nazareth, King of the Jews." We will endeavour to bring up the arrears she mentions in our next. DISCIPULUS, in describing the state of an individual parish, has painted that of many. It is sad, but it is nevertheless true, that the age is impatient of Catholic practices, because it cannot brook Catholic doctrines; and therefore we ourselves feel bound, in our own sphere, to maintain the former, that we may teach the latter. The arrangements, &c., he mentions, are essentially of this character. The turning to the east in the Creed is in accordance with the practice of primitive antiquity. That the Litany should be said from a low stool in the midst of the Church there is no doubt. It is ordered by the injunctions of Elizabeth, 1559. also Wheatley on Common Prayer, page 164. The frontispiece to Sparrow's Rationale of the Book of Common Prayer (1668) contains an illustration of this. See "Benedict. What, my dear Lady Disdain, are you yet living? "Beatrice. Is it possible Disdain should die while she has such meet food to feed it?" Much Ado about Nothing. THE Lyddell family did not continue in London much longer; it had been a short season, and though the session of Parliament was not over, most of the ladies were taking flight into the country before the end of June, Mrs. Lyddell among the rest, and her husband went backwards and forwards to London as occasion called him. The girls were glad to get into the country, but Marian soon found that she had not escaped either from gaieties or from the objects of her aversion; for Mr. Faulkner brought his mother and sister to High Down House, gave numerous parties there, and made a constant interchange of civilities with the family at Oakworthy. Archery was pretty much the fashion with the young ladies that year; it was a sport which Marian liked particularly, having often practised it with Edmund and Agnes, and her bow and arrows were always the first to be ready. One day when Marian, Caroline, and Clara were shooting on the lawn at Oakworthy, Mr. and Miss Faulkner rode from High Down, came out on the lawn, and joined them. From that moment any one could see the change that came over Marian. Instead of laughing and talking, teaching Clara, and paying only half attention to her own shooting, she now went on as if it was her sole object, and as if she had no other purpose in life. She fixed her arrows and twanged her string with a rigidity as if the target had been a deadly enemy, or her whole fate was concentrated in hitting the bull's-eye; and when her arrows went straight to the mark, or at least much straighter than those of any one else, she never turned her head, or vouchsafed more than the briefest answer to the exclamations around. The others were talking of archery in general and in particular,― just what, if it had not been Mr. Faulkner, would have delighted her; but she would not hear him. He might speak of the English long-bow, and the cloth yard-shaft, and the butts at which Elizabeth shot, and the dexterity required for hitting a deer, and of the long arrow of the Indian, and the Wourali reed of South America, as long as he spoke it was nothing to her, let Caroline smile and answer, and appeal to her as much as she would. Then came a talk about archery meetings and parties, in which at last they all grew so eager, that they stood still round the return target, and Marian could not shoot back again without perilling them; so she unstrung her bow, and stood apart with a stern face, which made her look a great deal more like Diana than she by any means suspected or desired. Two days after there came a note from Miss Faulkner,―Julia, as she had requested to be called,-saying that her brother was so delighted with the archery schemes that had been discussed, that he could not give them up, and intended to give a grand fête at High Down,-archery in the morning, a ball in the evening, and all the ladies who liked to be in costume. She ended by begging Caroline to come to luncheon that day, or the next, to enter into council on the subject. There was great delight; such an entertainment was quite a novelty in the neighbourhood, and the costume seemed to make it all the more charming in the eyes of Caroline, Clara, and their mother; all were talking at once, and wondering what it could or should be, while Marian went on reading imperturbably without one remark. "It ought to be in Robin Hood's time, if only for the sake of Maid Marian," said Caroline. "She will be quite sure to win the prize." "O yes, that she will,” said Clara ; "she shoots so much better than any one else." "I shall not shoot in public," said Marian, looking up for a moment, and then going on with her book. "You will do nothing to make yourself particular," said Mrs. Lyddell: "it will be very silly to set your face against this fête, when every one knows how fond you are of archery." "We don't know anything yet about what is to be," said Caroline, quickly; and at that moment Elliot, coming in, offered to ride with her to High Down, whereupon she hastened to get ready. Such an obliging offer from her brother was certainly too uncommon a thing to be neglected, in spite of the unwonted graciousness and amiability which Elliott had for the last few weeks assumed towards Caroline. When she was gone, Marian and Clara resumed their ordinary occupations, and one of them at least troubled herself no more about the fête until, shortly before dinner-time, Elliot, Caroline, and Mr. Faulkner all rode up to the front door together. Mr. Faulkner, it appeared, was come to dinner, and to carry on the consultation, since he was extremely eager about the plan, and no time was to be lost in sending out the invitations. The Sherwood Forest plan had been talked over, and abandoned, as too commonplace. It was to be a Kenilworth fête; eight young ladies of Lady Julia's especial party were to appear in the morning in a pretty uniform dress, a little subdued from the days of the ruff and farthingale; and in the evening there was to be a regular Kenilworth quadrille, in which each lady and gentleman was to assume the dress of some character of Queen Elizabeth's court. In fact as Mr. Faulkner said,— Gorgeous dames and statesmen bold Amy Robsart, Katherine Seymour, Anne Clifford, Elizabeth Walsingham, Mildred Cecil, and other ladies of the time were mentioned, and then came the counting up of their eight living representatives, the two Misses Faulkner, Caroline, yes, and Clara herself, who started and danced with ecstasy, then glanced entreatingly at her mother, who looked doubtful; Marian, two cousins of the Faulkners, who were always ready for anything, and a Miss Mordaunt, were reckoned up, and their dresses quickly discussed; but all the time Marian said not a word. She was thinking of the waste of time and consideration, the folly, levity, and vanity, the throwing away of money all this would occasion, and enjoying in her own mind the pleasure of resisting it in toto. She supposed she must go to the archery meeting, though why people could not be contented to shoot on their own lawns, instead of spoiling their pleasure by all this fuss, she could not guess; but make a show of herself and her shooting, be stared at by all the world,—that she would never do. Nor would she make a figure of herself at the ball, and spend the money which she wanted very much for her poor people and her books, now that her court dress and London finery had eaten up such an unconscionable share of her allowance. Increased as it was, she had never felt so poor as at present; she wanted Mrs. Jameson's "Sacred and Legendary Art" for herself, and there were all the presents to be sent to the old people at Fern Torr; and should these be given up for the sake of appearing as the fair Anne Clifford, or some such person for one evening, during which she would be feeling most especially unnatural and uncomfortable? No, indeed! and she trusted that she had a very good and sufficient defence against all such foolery, in the slight mourning which she was wearing for one of the Marchmont connection True, she had thought of leaving it off next Sunday, but no matter; it would be such armour as was not to be lightly parted with; and if she went to the ball at all, it should never, never be as the heiress of the Cliffords, but as the faithful mourning relation of old Mr. Thomas Marchmont, her second cousin once removed, whom she had never beheld in her life, and who would have been dead at least nine weeks by the time it took place. She said nothing about it in the drawing-room; but when they went upstairs, she told Caroline not to reckon upon her, for she should be in mourning, and could not wear a fancy dress. Caroline looked a great deal vexed. "It was a great pity," she said, "and Julia Faulkner wished it to be all their own set. Besides, would not Marian shoot,—she who did it so well?" 'O, no, no, I could do no such thing with all those people staring." "Not even for a silver arrow? You would be sure to win it." "I should be ashamed of the very sight of it ever after. O no! I should like at least I should not mind seeing it all as a spectator, but as to making a part of the show, never, never, Caroline!" "Well, I know it is of no use to try to persuade you!" said Caroline, with a little annoyance in her tone. Good-night." 66 Lady Julia, with her son and daughter, came to call the next day. Marian thought herself fortunate in not being in the drawing room. She put on her bonnet, slipped out at the garden door, and walked away with a book in her hand to the remotest regions of the park, where she sat down under a thorn-tree, and read Schiller's Thirty Years' War with a sort of exemplary diligence and philosophy, till it was so late that she thought herself perfectly secure of the Faulkners being gone. Yet she only just missed them, for their carriage was driving off at one door as she reached the other. "Where have you been, Marian?" was the first greeting. "I have been walking to the old thorn." "O, have you? We hunted for you everywhere in the house; we would hardly believe Fanny when she said you were gone out, for I knew you meant to walk with us." "I thought you would be engaged so long that it was not worth while to wait for you." "Well, but did you know you had missed the Faulkners ?" said Clara. "I knew they were here." Every one understood this except Clara, and very little did it please Mrs. Lyddell or Caroline. "Marian," said Mrs. Lyddell, "you really must not be so absurd about this matter. Your mourning is nothing. You need not be wearing it even now; and it will annoy Lady Julia, and put her to serious inconvenience, if you continue to refuse." 66 “I am sure I do not wish to inconvenience her," said Marian; "but there must be many young ladies who would be only too happy to take the part." "Of course," said Mrs. Lyddell, "any one else would rejoice to |