confidence of those whom he is bound, on so many titles, to win to God. He never succeeds in securing their love and esteem, and thus never succeeds in laying the foundation of all true influence over them. He forgets the example of his Divine Master, who drew these same little children to His breast with such a wealth of infinite condescension and love, who laid His hands upon them and blessed them.1 He forgets the teaching of St. Paul, who tells him that he is to instruct, in a spirit of meekness and charity: Instruite in spiritu lenitatis,2 and who himself acted with his flock as a nurse with the children committed to her care: Tanquam si nutrix foveat filios suos. He makes out for himself a different line of conduct from that suggested by St. Bernard, who tells us that we are to act as mothers, and not as lords and rulers: Matres esse, non dominos; and then he cannot understand how it is that the children fly from him, that they never attend his instructions but with repugnance; that they listen to him with undisguised weariness or affright when they chance to come; that they seize every opportunity, lawful or unlawful, for remaining away.

Thus, he takes a great deal of pains perhaps, and yet there is no result. He sows, it may be diligently and laboriously, and yet he never reaps. Ah! if he would only try to realize the infinite love of Jesus Christ for the young and the ignorant, and the infinite tenderness of His dealings with them; if he would learn how to speak to these persons with sweetness and affability; if he would only get rid of the knitted brow, the unsympathizing look, and the cold, harsh word; if he would only learn to be a little forbearing with the levity and the natural inconstancy of the child, and a little patient with the stupidity of the poor, ignorant adult; if he would only put on the spirit of St. Bernard, the spirit of St. Paul-in one word, the spirit of Jesus Christ, meek and humble of heart-of Jesus Christ, who came to cast the fire of His love upon the earth of Jesus Christ, whose last words were a prayer for the ignorant and the erring; then would things go very differently with him. Then would his labour be no longer thrown away, nor his toil without profit or fruit. Then would it be his happy and his blessed lot to reap the good fruit a hundredfold in this world, and in the world to come life everlasting.

If sweetness be one of the characteristics of true zeal, prudence is no less essential. As we all know, there is a zeal which is not according to knowledge-a zeal which is ill-regulated and undisciplined, and which, on this very account, is injurious in its very earnestness, and fruitless in its most laboured efforts.

1Mark x. 16. Gal. vi. 1. 1 Thess. ii. 7.

M. Hamon, in his excellent work, treats this matter very fully and very practically, in showing the different objects upon which the true spirit of zeal will naturally be employed.

And, in the first place, he shows how absolutely necessary the spirit of prudence is for self-government; that a man may know how to restrain himself, and regulate the sallies of that impetuous zeal which is frequently so ill-judged and so unfortunate in its results. If a man deliver himself over to the dominion of that false zeal, which receives every suggestion of the imagination as a manifestation of the will of heaven, he will frequently be led grievously astray; and one sally of this false spirit will often be sufficient to alienate the hearts of the young and the ignorant hopelessly from him. The zeal which is regulated by prudence never acts upon a first impulse, or listens to the first promptings of the heart; but it waits until the fervour of that first impulse has passed away, until that first prompting of the heart has been subjected to the test of reason and of reflection. It calmly calculates the consequences of every measure before adopting it-the result of every word before uttering it. In one word, the man whose zeal is regulated by prudence, is never governed, in his intercourse with others, by merely natural instincts, nor are his acts the manifestations of his merely natural character.

Prudence is equally necessary to enable a man to adapt himself to the various classes of persons to whom his ministry may be addressed. There are some who require to be restrained, others who need to be stimulated and urged on. There are some circumstances in which a man must be sweet and gentle, and know how to console and encourage; others, in which he must be prompt to reprove and correct. In his dealings with boys, he must be firm when he speaks to them in general, mild and gentle when he addresses anyone in particular. His intercourse with young people of the other sex must be regulated by the very contrary principles: that is to say, when he addresses them in general it must be with the utmost affability and gentleness; when he has occasion to speak with anyone in particular, he will employ the utmost caution and reserve. And from these brief remarks it is easy to see how essential it is that our dealings with others, especially the young, be regulated by that prudence which knows how to adapt itself to circumstances, that prudence which is the offspring much more of sound sense, than of any mere technical rules or suggestions.

The man whose conduct is regulated by prudence will never be guilty of such an indiscretion as that which is committed by him who, in his dealings with his flock, shows any exception

of persons. It is very natural for one to be more attracted to
a child who is handsome and well-dressed, than to one who is
ill clad, and who exhibits in his person, his language, and his
whole deportment the marks of that poverty and indigence in
which he has been reared. Now, if the catechist so far forget
himself as to be influenced by these merely human instincts;
if he show more affection for the rich than for the poor, for the
well-dressed and genteel than for the shabby or the ragged; if
he speak more gently to the one than to the other; if he
reward the respectable child without being equally liberal to
the poor one, who may be just as meritorious, he will inflict an
irreparable injury upon the work of his ministry, since he will,
by this ill-judged and human preference, infallibly alienate from
himself the heart of the child who is thus unjustly slighted
and passed by. When the heart is thus alienated, that mutual
confidence, which is the foundation of all the good that one
man may hope to do another, is inevitably swept away. The
children who are thus slighted, because they are poor, and poor
without any fault of theirs; or because they are rough, dirty,
or uncouth-and, God help them, how could they be other-
wise?—will be quick to perceive the affront, and as quick to
resent it. That sensibility which fills so large a place in the
heart of a child, which is so keen in its perception, and so
bitterly resentful of contempt or neglect, will be hopelessly
wounded, and turned away from the pastor who acts in this
unworthy manner. Nor is the sensibility of a child less keen,
or his perception of neglect less acute, because he happens to
be poor.
On the contrary, it is all the more so on this very
account. The child-the Catholic child at all events-who is
kicked about and buffeted by the world at large; who scarcely
ever sees a kindly look, or listens to a gentle word, turns to its
priest with an unwavering confidence, so full, so generous, and
so complete, as to seem like a very instinct of its nature. That
instinct seems to prompt it to look to him alone in all the
world, for sympathy and for equal-handed justice. The little
face, so pinched and care-worn, brightens up when he ap-
proaches; and the kind word of encouragement, or of conso-
lation which drops from his lips, is treasured up and remembered
with an effusion of grateful recollection which is as precious in
itself as it is, in all probability, unthought of and unheeded by
him who utters it. The man who does not realize these
things-who speaks to the poor child harshly because it is
poor-who turns away from it, with ill-disguised disgust,
because it is uncouth or badly clad-who fails to see the face
that brightens up, and the eye that fills with light, on his
approach-who cannot perceive the timid, yet trusting, confi-

dence with which his presence is hailed, and his words received, throws away and rejects a treasure of confidence and love, which is all the more priceless because it is not really his but his Master's-all the more priceless, because if it once be lost it will be lost for ever.

Nor are the evil results which follow from this imprudent exception of persons confined to the children alone. The parents will be equally quick to take offence-to resent the affronts or the slights passed upon their children; and, on this account, to withdraw their confidence and their obedience from their pastor.

The prudent pastor will avoid these inconveniences, so grave in themselves, and so disastrous in their consequences, by the strict impartiality and the even-handed justice of his dealings with the members of his flock. He will treat all alike. When he rewards the child of wealthy parents, he will reward the poor who may be equally deserving. If he speak to the one, he will address the other in terms no less warm and kind. In one word, as we have already said, if he ever be led to make an exception, it will be in favour of virtue, piety, docility, and obedience alone.

In fine, the prudence of the pastor who possesses this virtue, will manifest itself in the manner in which he will adapt himself and his discourses to the age, the character, the capacity, and the special necessities of his hearers, The froward will be rebuked, and the timid will be encouraged. Those who are doing their best, in spite of ignorance or natural incapacity, will be stimulated and urged to persevere; whilst those who are abusing or neglecting to cultivate the talents which God has given them, will be reproved, and, if reproof be found insufficient, punished. And most especially will this spirit of prudence be shown in the treatment of those delicate subjects which cannot be passed over in silence, but which require the utmost tact, knowledge, and discretion in him who undertakes to speak of them to the young, the ignorant, and the innocent. The prudent man will guide himself in this matter by those rules and principles of action which avoid the two extremes, equally dangerous and pernicious, of saying too much or too little.

JOHN KNOX AND THE FIRST-FRUITS OF
PRESBYTERIANISM.

JOHN

OHN KNOX, the great father of Presbyterianism, was born in the year 1505, in East Lothian, in Scotland; some say in the little village of Gifford, but according to others near the town of Haddington. His panegyrists describe his parents as landed gentry, whilst others contend that they were members of the Guild of St. Crispin. A like uncertainty prevails as to his place of burial. It is generally supposed that he was interred close to St. Giles', Edinburgh, and in the Canongate there have been erected, sacred to his memory, a free kirk and a museum. The so-called "John Knox's House" was occupied, until lately, as a barber's shop, and over its door, for a sign, there was a statue of the "Reformer," enclosed in a pulpit, and adorned with a rich-flowing green beard,1

The circumstances of Knox's death, as described by his interested admirers, would recall the dying scene of the Apostle of the Indies, or of St. Francis de Sales; but, as recorded by cotemporary writers, his last moments were far more like the death-bed struggles of Calvin and Queen Elizabeth. His friends assembled around him to receive his dying instructions, but for a long time he could utter no articulate words, his voice sounding like the barking of a dog. When consciousness returned, he dwelt upon the mysteries of some infernal art, and spoke about the war which then menaced with ruin his long-loved kirk. One of the company who had taken the pen to note down his dying words, desisted from writing, thinking that he was in delirium; Knox, however, perceiving it, angrily upbraided him, saying, "thou good-for-nothing man-dost thou distrust thy master?" then ordered them all to retire for a few minutes, promising to perform a new and unheard-of miracle in confirmation of his preaching. They obeyed, but when after a short interval they returned to his room, they saw, to their utter horror, his deformed corpse lying lifeless on the floor.2

But we must leave for awhile these private scenes of the apostle of the new creed, to consider the public acts of the Presbyterian "Congregation." One of the first great deeds in which the Fathers of Presbyterianism were engaged was`a

1 Gordon's "Scotichronicon," page 304.

2 The authority for the above account of Knox's death is the amanuensis referred to in the text. See Archibald Hamilton, "De Confusione Calvinianae Sectae," page 64, seqq.