The only one with any doubt concerning the issue of the job, was the one who knew most about it, and that was Robin Cockscroft. He doubted not about want of strength, or skill, or discipline of his oars, but because the boat was not Flamburian, but borrowed from a collier round the Head. No Flamborough boat would ever think of putting to sea on a Sunday, unless it were to save human life, and it seemed to him that no strange boat could find her way into the native caves. He doubted also whether, even with the pressure of strong motive put upon him, which was not of money, it was a godly thing on his part to be steering in his Sunday clothes; and he feared to hear of it thereafter. But being in for it, he must do his utmost.

With genuine skill and solid patience, the entrance of the cave was made, and the boat was lost to Janetta's view. She as well was lost in the deeper cavern of great wonder, and waited long, and much desired to wait even longer, to see them issue forth again, and learn what they could have been after. But the mist out of which they had come, and inside of which they would rather have remained perhaps, now thickened over land and sea, and, groping dreamily for something to lay hold of, found a solid stay and rest-hold in the jagged headlands here. Here accordingly the coilings of the wandering forms began to slide into strait layers, and soft settlement of vapour. Loops of hanging moisture marked the hollows of the landfront, or the alleys of the waning light; and then the mass abandoned outline, fused its shades to pulp, and melted into one great blur of rain. Janetta thought of her Sunday frock, forgot the boat, and sped away for home.

(To be continued.)

were

THE LATE CANON MOZLEY.

INCE the day, now nearly five and thirty years ago, when the Rev. J. H. Newman left the Church of England, there has not arisen within it any so solid and powerful theological teacher as James B. Mozley, the late Professor of Divinity in the University of Oxford. A teacher I call him, though it was by the pen, rather than by the living voice, that he taught his fellow-men. Looking back over the long interval that has elapsed since that great crisis, among the many able preachers and teachers in the Church of England, no one appears with a mind so massive and so profound as his. His voice, indeed, was seldom heard from the pulpit, or in any public place; he took little or no outward part in the movements of ecclesiastical affairs; yet from the retirement of his study he furnished his Church and his country with a body of thought larger and more substantive, he produced more work that will be a permanent possession, than any other contemporary teacher of the Church to which he belonged. In addition to this native power, his course and his teaching receive new interest from the fact, that having entered on life bound by strong party ties, and by intimate affection to the great leaders of his party, to whom he looked with all the reverence of admiring youth, in early manhood he found himself constrained, by the vicissitudes of the time, and by his own inward bias, to stand comparatively loose of those early bonds, and to shape a path of thought for himself. Yet he continued to the last loyal to his Church, and to the traditions which she inherited, while he brought to the defence of her faith, as need required, new weapons fetched from resources of thought which was original, and of conviction which was independent.

James Mozley, as he was familiarly called, in early Oxford days, to distinguish him from his elder brother, was a native of Gainsborough, in Lincolnshire, the eighth child of his family. From infancy his mind busied itself with grave thoughts, which took such hold of him that he was from the first ready to be their champion. It is told of him that in the nursery he did battle for free will against his nurse, who, led away by a popular curate, had adopted fatalistic opinions. The controversial spirit, by which is meant not partisanship, but the willingness to combat for what he believed to be great truths, went with him through life. The thoughts and interests with which he began it, he held to its close, whatever variation in form and colour they might be forced to assume. The strong grip of great truths-intense tenacity of thought and of affection-that was James Mozley's main characteristic from first to last. To a boy of this cast of mind home, not school, was the most congenial place. And so, though he went to a school of

age of

Newton-it does not seem to have left any stamp upon him. It was otherwise with his advent to Oxford. In October 1830, at the seventeen, he entered Oriel College, not to undergo the usual probation of a freshman, but to be made free, almost from the outset, of the society of the most gifted men whom Oxford has in this century produced. His entry to this society was secured by the position of his brother, the Rev. Thomas Mozley, who was at that time a Fellow of Oriel. The Common Room of that college was then in its prime, the focus of whatever intellectual life and religious zeal were to be found in Oxford. Whately and Arnold had not long left it; Dr. Pusey had but recently laid down his Oriel fellowship for a Christ Church canonry. But it still numbered among its Fellows John Keble, John Henry Newman, and Hurrell Froude. That company, who were all of them his brother's friends, naturally admitted 'young Mozley,' as he was called, to their familiar intercourse. His home letters at that time bear witness to the intense interest with which he listened to the talks, discussions, and debates of that high-souled brotherhood. Especially he was riveted by the dashing wit and daring sallies which in Hurrell Froude played above a mind of unusual depth and severe intensity. Froude knew that an early doom was hanging over him, and seemed in haste to utter what was in him, while he might, by any form of condensed epigram and defiant paradox. Who can refrain,' wrote one at that time, from tears at the thought of that bright and beautiful Froude! He is not expected to last long.' But most of all, Mr. Newman unconsciously drew Mozley with the spell of that marvellous attraction which no gifted youth who in those days came within its influence was able to resist. These men were in themselves stimulative, and the time was a stirring one. For this was the simmering time that prepared for the great Oxford movement. Oriel Common Room was the place, and those Fellows were the men in whose minds the simmering went on. At length, in July 1833, the movement for the first time found a voice in Keble's famous Assize sermon, preached in St. Mary's before the judges, on National Apostasy.' The occasion of this sermon was the suppression by the State of ten fresh bishoprics which was one of the first acts of the Whig Ministry, recently restored to power by the Reform Bill. It is thus noticed in the 'Apologia': 'I have ever considered and kept that day' (Sunday, July 14, on which the sermon was preached) as the start of the religious movement of 1833.' Young Mozley wrote home at the time to tell of the way that sermon had startled Oxford, and regretting that he had been prevented from hearing it. Then followed in rapid succession The Tracts for the Times,' and all the literature which went to make up that movement of which the world has since heard so much. In opposition to the politicians who were suppressing bishoprics and thinking to mould the Church of England to their will, the leaders of the movement asserted:

1. That the Christian Church is no mere creature of the State,

to the earth from a superhuman source, and informed by a Divine life, which neither politicians nor any machinations of man, can give or take away.

2. That, notwithstanding all her imperfections, and sometimes degradations, a Divine promise is with the Christian Society as the visible witness on earth of the Invisible God and Christ.

3. That if one pillar of Christianity is Scripture, another as ancient and as essential is the Divine Society, which comes direct from Christ himself, and to which the Scriptures have been committed for their keeping.

Without staying to inquire into all that these principles involve, and the many adjuncts of the priesthood, episcopacy, and other matters which the movement incorporated as essential parts of the system, it may be said that it was well that the high and Divine origin of the Faith should be reasserted against politicians and the world, ever ready to attribute to it a merely mundane character. These were the views which Mozley, on his first coming to Oxford, imbibed at their fountain head. In the first flush of the movement he, no doubt, accepted readily all that leaders he so reverenced were battling for. As time went on, and as he came to think more for himself, he let drop much which at first he had accepted unhesitatingly. But we are told that to the end his sympathies continued to be with those who claimed for his Church and faith a high origin, which connected her with antiquity, and attributed to her catholicity. He graduated in 1834, but missed the highest honours, because his mind was more absorbed in other subjects than those required in the schools. For good or evil, it was characteristic of the finer young spirits of that time to regard academical honours as a very secondary affair, compared with the higher religious thoughts that were then abroad. For ten years after graduation he continued more or less under the Oriel leaders. But though brought thus early within so powerful an attraction, he was not formed by nature to be a partisan, either to lead or to be a blind follower, in any public agitation. He was too much of an independent, and, in some measure, of a lonely thinker. He had a deep natural insight into character; he looked beyond the outside, and judged of men rather by their inner quality than by their outward environment or their party distinctions. He, who a few years later wrote thus, could never have been the bondslave to party:—

Esprit de corps, in an intense form, when the individual is absorbed in blind obedience to a body, corrupts the quality of religion: it ensnares the man in a kind of self-interest, and he sees in the success of the body the reflection of himself. There has been certainly an immense produce from it; but the type of religion it has produced is a deflection from simplicity; it may possess striking and powerful qualities, but it is not like the free religion of the heart; and there is that difference between the two, which there is between that which comes from a second-hand source and from the fountain head. It has not that naturalness (in the highest sense) which

As early as 1838 he took to what was to be his real vocation, that of writing, and contributed a number of articles to The British Critic,' then the organ of the new Oxford party. In 1844 he became joint editor and mainstay of The Christian Remembrancer,' a quarterly periodical, which succeeded to 'The British Critic' as the exponent of High Church views. From the time that he began his editorship in 1844, till 1854, Mozley continued to write in it, continuously, essays which formed its chief attraction, very unlike the ordinary Review article-long, massive essays, weighted with thought and research, yet full of suppressed fire and vehemence. Of some of these essays something will be said further on. The power of them was felt at the time far beyond Oxford, or even England. I remember to have heard that when Mr. Emerson first visited Oxford, late in the 1840's, one of the only men there he inquired after was the writer of the paper on Luther, and of others like it, in The Christian Remembrancer.' So powerfully had the Pantheistic American been impressed by those Essays, so unlike his own both in thought and manner. Those who knew Oxford during those years can well remember the appearance of the young editor of The Christian Remembrancer,' as he went forth for his afternoon walk from the cloisters of Magdalen, to a fellowship of which college he had been elected in 1840. He might have been seen then any day-the tall, pale-faced, dark and lank-haired, shortsighted, spectacled young clergyman-tall, but with a forward stoop, as he passed either up High Street, or over Magdalen Bridge, engaged in earnest discussion, evidently on some important subject, with the companion of his walk. It was not by any easy process that Mozley attained to the solidity of substance and the power of expression which distinguished his contributions to the 'Remembrancer.' As an undergraduate, and for some years after he took his degree, he could utter the thoughts that were struggling within him, only with stammering tongue and baffled pen. He had, indeed, shown some hint of his powers in a vigorous English Essay on The Ancient Oracles,' with which he gained the Chancellor's Prize shortly after his graduation. He felt, and his friends knew, that he had much to say, and he could bide his time till his thoughts were ordered, and his expression worked itself clear and disembarrassed. When he addressed himself to writing, first in 'The British Critic,' afterwards in 'The Christian Remembrancer,' it was not merely to dash off brilliant articles, telling for the moment, then to be forgotten, that he purposed. But he read much, and thought much. He hated showiness, looseness, slovenliness of thought. When controversialists were speaking loud and strong, he used to complain, we are told, that people won't think.' One who knew him well writes that his repeated criticism on imposing and popular theories was, that their arguments wanted underground work. By unstinted underground work he prepared himself for any important task-by hard, silent, severe thinking, and self-questioning, and laborious research whenever it was needed-underground work for which he