DEAR is the ancient village church, which rears
By the lone yew, or lime, or elm-girt mound,
Its modest fabric: dear, amid the sound
Of bells, the grey embattled tower, that wears,
Of changeful hue, the marks of by-gone years;
Buttress and porch, and arch with mazy round
Of curious fret, or shapes fantastic crown'd;
Tall pinnacles, and mingled window tiers,
Norman, or misnam'd Gothic. Fairer spot,
Thou giv'st not, England, to the tasteful eye,
Nor to the heart more soothing. Blest their lot,
Knew they their bliss, who own their dwelling nigh
Such resting-place; there, by the world forgot,
In life to worship, and when dead to lie.

PAROCHIAL SERVICE.

AND dear it is, within the village fane
To go and worship! Simple though it be,
Whate'er of prayer, or holy mystery,

To cleanse or strengthen, God hath will'd ordain,
And priest, and sacred truth's unsullied strain,
Are here: nor wants there voice of psalmody,
Rude, but not coarse; then sweetest, when most free
From art, and led by yonder youthful train.
God owns the worship which His laws approve,
Whether 'mid populous city, nor the less
In lonely hamlet. Lift thy heart above,
And prosper! He religion's costly dress
Rejects not, worn in meekness, faith, and love;
And He the lowlier village rites will bless!

From Musings on the Church and her Services,
by BISHOP MANT.

AGNES AND CLEMENT.

CHAPTER 1.

Thy precious things, whate'er they be,
That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain,
Look to the Cross, and thou shalt see
How thou may'st turn them all to gain.
Christian Year.

THE parish church of the little village of Planiston is prettily situated under a hill, and surrounded by venerable old yew-trees. It has been there longer than any of the oldest inhabitants of Planiston can remember, and is quite grey and moss-covered' by age. At the foot of the lane 1 with a species of moss called lichen.

K

leading to the church is the parsonage-house, a pretty cottage half-covered with roses and honeysuckles. Agnes and Clement Leslie live there, with their good uncle Mr. Herbert, the rector of the parish, and his sister, in whose charge they were left by their parents at their death. They may often be seen frisking about like little playful kids on the lawn before the house, or trundling their hoops along the high-road on a cold frosty morning. They have two little gardens of their own, in which they are fond of working, and often carry nosegays from their flower-beds to their aunt. One fine 29th of June (St. Peter's-day), when Agnes was about ten years old and Clement eight, they brought her a beautiful bouquet; for they had roses, and pinks, and mignionette, and many other gay-looking and sweet-smelling flowers to gather for her. She was

walking on the lawn, when they came with their little offerings, exclaiming, "Aunt Mary, here is a beautiful nosegay for you to-day!"

Clement. "I am so glad my rose is blown; I have been watching it every day, and I was afraid it would not be out in time for to-day. I ran to see, the moment my lessons were finished, and you said that I might have a run in the garden. I did run indeed, Aunt Mary; I don't think I was a minute getting from the hall-door to the hedge between our gardens and Uncle Herbert's; and I was in such a fright lest the rose should not be quite blown enough for me to pick it, that when I came to the hedge I was afraid to look. I held my breath, and peeped through the bars of the gate; and when I saw the beautiful red flower I was so glad! What are you laughing at, Aunt Mary?"

Aunt Mary. "At you, you little chatter-box, for being so eager about your flowers."

Clement. 66 Oh, you know I should have been so sorry if I had not had a nosegay to give you on a Saint's day." Agnes. "And Aunt Mary would have been sorry not to have it."

Aunt M. "Yes; but I don't think I should have cried about it."

C. "No, I suppose not; because you are so old and wise. I wonder whether I shall care no more for things when I am old than you do?"

A. "O Clement! what do you mean? Aunt Mary cares for things very much, and for people too; she cares for Uncle Herbert, and for you and me, and for all her friends."

C. "Yes, I know she does; but that is not the sort of care I mean."

Aunt M. "Well, tell us what you do mean."

C. "Why, when my bird is ill, or my flowers die, or the rabbits eat them, I am so sorry, I can't help crying; but if your flowers die, or anything vexes you, you don't seem unhappy. Yesterday, I know you wanted very much to ride over to see Mrs. Andrews; but your poney was lame, and so you were obliged to stay at home. I thought you would have looked very grave and unhappy; and I whispered to Agnes, 'We must not ask Aunt Mary any questions now, for she is very unhappy.' Agnes was frightened, and asked what was the matter; but when I said, 'Did not you hear Richard tell Aunt Mary that she could not ride to-day, because Grizzle was lame,' Agnes