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And this is indeed the defect of the work. Mr. Blunt may fairly claim to be a genuine historian of the good old school-learned, genuine, thoughtful. He shows that the Church of England is one and the same through its ancient and modern history, and that its variations in the two periods do not imply errors in either, but must be judged on their merits. It appears to us, though, as St. Paul says, we speak as a fool,' that Mr. Blunt does not particularly care for the reformers or the Reformation. He would have liked an external and political reformation to be wrought by Wolsey, but he dislikes the Reformation as wrought successively by Wycliffe, Tyndall, and Cranmer. Mr. Blunt is stating the opinions of a great number of people which ought, perhaps, to be heard at length, but, simply on historical grounds, there are many exceptions to be taken to his argument.

In the department of church politics we have perused with great pleasure a charming little book called the 'Rector and his Friends."* This title rather inadequately describes the contents, for the volume deals with every subject that is keenly discussed in the religious world. It is not difficult to see where the author's opinions really lie, and that they are of a definite and orthodox character; but he states all sides with the utmost keenness and clearness, and a candour that is as charming as it is unique. We begin to believe that a golden age of theological discussion is coming at last.

In the department of natural science we gladly welcome a new edition of Dr. Child's 'Benedicite.'† It has always been a matter of regret to all those who love and seek truth for her own sake that there should be so little of science in religion, and so little of religion in science. This is pre-eminently the age of natural science; and a theology that cannot place itself in harmony with

Anonymous. Bell and Daldy.

'Benedicite; or, The Song of the Three Children. Being Illustrations of Power, Beneficence, and Design.' By G. Chaplin Child, M.D. Murray.

and avail itself of natural science, will have little chance of a hearing among the devoted students of science. Now Dr. Child's work is one that bridges the supposed chasm between these two regions of intellectual life. His work has an affinity to the Bridgewater treatises and the writings of Hugh Macmillan. He is doing in natural science what such men as Hamilton, Mansel, and M'Cosh are doing in mental science. He abounds with chapters alike eloquent and devout, thoughtful and scientific.

In the department of the pulpit we have not sermons, but a book that criticizes sermons. One of the most interesting books of the kind which we have ever seen is Prebendary Jackson's 'Curiosities of the Pulpit. It is a compilation, but it is also much more than a compilation. There is a clear historical view of patristic, mediæval, and continental preaching, with many striking extracts, and some valuable criticisms. As he approaches our own time, Mr. Jackson becomes still ampler, and the reader will gather up a critical and very suggestive view of the modern pulpit. Clerics may read it, and it is to be hoped they will, for it is calculated to do them much good; but the general reader will find it a delightful book, useful to take up at an odd half-hour, useful also for constant reference. Mr. Jackson, in discussing the homely dramatic preaching of the medieval preachers, remarks: It is observable that some of the preachers of Austria and Italy still affect the style and manner of those old times, and that the listener to their discourses might imagine that one of the distressed gargoyles had become suddenly vocal, or that a statue had stepped down from its flamboyant niche and was addressing the congregation.' Mr. Liddon, perhaps the most eloquent preacher of our day, is said to have formed his style by the long study of continental preachers. Prebendary Jackson's venerable

*Condition of the Pulpit and Pulpit Literature.' By Thomas Jackson, M.A. James Hogg and Son, York Street, Covent Garden.

father, the well-known very aged minister who has been several times President of the Wesleyan Conference, and who lately gave the Church of England such an unkind cut in return to Dr. Pusey's conciliatory proposals, has made a contribution to the work.

As we have said, popular preaching is by no means now what it used to be. With the exception of a few such men as Canon Cook, Mr. Molyneux, and Mr. Stopford Brooks, London has nothing like the array of preachers which it once had. In great measure the press has taken the place, and all sides are the better in consequence. Still we believe

that the pulpit has a. mission of its own, and is not the effete institution which it is represented to be, but then it must use more vigorous efforts to reflect the mind and meet the wants of the age. An appalling calculation is sometimes made of the number of sermons that are preached. A still more appalling calculation might be made of the number of dinners that are eaten. But as individuals might strongly object to go without their dinners in order to lessen the appalling average, so there is still a feeling in the British mind that objects to baulking congregations for the sake of critics.

SUB

HELP FOR THE HALT.

URELY some of the middle-aged readers of Charles Lamb's quaint Essay on the Decay of Beggars in the Metropolis must be sensible of having, during the past few years, missed a certain class of wayfarers in our streets. The thought may not previously have occurred to them, and they may not at once discover what peculiar element has so nearly disappeared from among the passengers that they meet in their daily journeys to and from the City; but a minute's reflection will remind them that it is a comparatively unusual event to encounter a cripplemore unusual still to have their sympathies excited by a cripple, either helpless or hopelessly deformed. The two or three stunted, and, as it would seem, incurable cases which have survived that part of the begging fraternity of which they are now almost the sole representatives, are happily such rare objects that they are regarded by us, perhaps unconsciously but none the less really, as anachronisms; and we are surprised that they should continue to exhibit their grotesque and terrible distortions even as a means of obtaining alms. It may, perhaps, be conIcluded that their deformities are now beyond surgical aid, although in some younger and similar cases restorations have taken place which

might give them some hope. However this may be, there is no reason to expect that any such objects of public pity will take their places in the future. Whether the entire confraternity of beggars be ultimately abolished by law or not, there is great probability that the twisted limbs, bent backs, and terrible contortions that were once the acknowledged excuses for mendicancy may altogether disappear from the adult population; and that deformity, even in the case of children, will be altogether an exceptional affliction capable of being promptly and effectually remedied.

It is not alone the absence from the streets of cripples who have taken up the trade of begging, however, that gives rise to this expectation. In those neighbourhoods of London inhabited by the poorer classes, deformity is far less common than it was twenty years or even ten years ago. Those who are in the habit of visiting the homes of the working community remark with gratitude that the poor little cripple' of the family, once so commonly regarded alike as a burden and an object of the deepest anxiety, is no longer consigned to a life of wearisome dependence. Only the culpable neglect of parents need prevent the crooked being made straight, and the poor little lan

guishing bodies being restored to comparative grace and agility, by the application of means which must be called 'surgical' only in the old and grand sense of chirurgical,' or hand-skilfulness, since the newer and better science of healing spares the knife and saves the patient, in the vast majority of those restorative processes that make the lame to walk and the halt to dance.

The very word 'dance' at once suggests immediate reference to one of the institutions where a great proportion of these results have been effected-to a charity now some eighteen years old, where, without governor's order or letter of recommendation, the poor of the metropolis, and especially those of the Eastern and North-Eastern end of London, may apply for advice and assistance; and where every week thirty 'new cases are received and placed under the most experienced

care.

That this most admirable institution should be called the City Orthopaedic Hospital is, perhaps, a misfortune, since, although the mispronunceable title is very distinctive, it by no means expresses all the objects constantly attained. To say nothing of the slight orthographic and orthoëpic difficulties attendant upon the word orthopedic, and of the probability of giving it a foot too much or too little, in endeavouring to bring it into rhythmical cadence, the calamities that are every day alleviated at this hospital for the cure of deformities include wry neck, contorted face, and all the sadly various malformations of joints and limbs that can afflict humanity. It is a pitiable, yet a cheering, rather than a depressing sight, that awaits the visitor who is permitted to note the throng of patients in that old-fashioned room of the oldfashioned house to which they so often go almost hopeless and come away rejoicing. Cheering in the obvious processes of restoration that are going on-the gradual but certain conversion of the helpless to activity, the re-formation of limbs that have hitherto been powerless it would need a long series of visits

to note fully the marvellous work that is effected there; the singular changes that come upon the faces of the little patients steadily acquiring straight, strong, and healthy bodies in place of those poor little crippled forms; the changes, too, in the looks of anxious, yearning mothers, who note the swift but gentle hands, the earnest, encouraging looks of those who will leave no effort untried until they give the means of a new life, a new future to their little ones.

Poor little Tiny Tim! We are not informed in what particular way Mr. Scrooge manifested his interest in the crippled boy after that wonderful Christmas Eve when the visions of the Goblins did their work; but as Scrooge was a shrewd old fellow, and doubtless knew as much about charitable efforts within a certain radius of the City as most people, there can be no doubt that he took him either to our hospital in Hatton Garden, or to the house of Mr. Chance or of Mr. Stevens, the surgeons of that admirable institution. It is quite certain that he was a good deal too shrewd to leave his tiny protegée without their aid; and though there is no record of the boy having become an in-patient, inasmuch as there is no such name as Timothy Crackitt on the books, yet the sound of so many little crutches has been heard on those broad old stairs, that a whole army of Tiny Tims have had their lives made hopeful and happy by the list of subscriptions and donations in which Scrooge doubtless figures anonymously or only under an initial. Alas! that we should have to say it! but unless a good many more Scrooges are brought under the influence of beneficent spirits, or a good many of those who have no sympathy whatever with the sentiments once held by that converted man of business are induced to help on the good work on behalf of the children whose mute appeal no pen could put in words, the beds in those upper rooms in the old house in Hatton Garden will never all be filled, though there are patient sufferers waiting, hoping, almost wearily begging for immediate aid.

From the time when the great

necessity for some such charity led to the establishment of this hospital by the Rev. Thomas Gregory, its present chairman, and the late Mr. Ralph Lindsay, it has never been able to receive more than twelve in-patients, although the premises adjoining the house could be adapted for the reception of eighty adult or juvenile sufferers, for whom permanent cure would be almost certain. As it is, fourteen thousand patients have been treated since the foundation of the charity, by the earnest co-operation of Mr. E. J. Chance and his colleague, both eminent in the profession for their knowledge of this class of cases. These patients have received constant attention, medicine, and assistance by the loan of instruments; but it has been a hard fight. So many charities, of apparently greater urgency, claim public attention, and it would appear that people who hear of the City Orthopaedic Hospital fail to realise all that its name implies; let them think of what the cure of deformity means-of what a lifetime of hopeless, helpless suffering and dependence means,-and they will discover in its appeals something that should challenge their attention. It would be a good thing for the Institution-a good thing, too, for themselves-if some of those who are just now hesitating, and judiciously hesitating, to subscribe to some societies which seem to have been misdirected, so that they rather promote pauperism than ultimately alleviate distress,-would visit the old house in Hatton Garden, on one of the 'patients' days,' and see the work that may be done there. The house itself is bare and dingy and dim enough, for no money can be spared for beautifying it, but it is a grand old place for all that: keeping up some faded indications of its former state in the midst of the general upheaving that has come to the neighbourhood, and the chaos amidst which even London cabmen fail to find a clue.

Ely Place, where the gardens of the Bishop's palace once bloomed, and whence the poor prelate-mulcted of his estate by the dancing Chancellor, who skipped into the royal

favour of Elizabeth-still claimed the privilege of gathering twenty bushels of roses every summer, will soon be obliterated. There are no strawberries to be seen anywhere near that spot, though the Duke of Gloucester sent thither for a pottle or two from the reverend borders. Even Hatton Garden itself is being invaded, just as the episcopal palace that once stood there was ruthlessly destroyed by the Hatton family. The dancing Chancellor danced into debt, and died of a broken heart; and even when his nephew and successor died, and the widow married Sir Edward Coke, there was no peace, for the estate had got into the law courts, and-what some people might think worse-into the ecclesiastical law courts by that time, and the bishops were trying to get back the inheritance of the see, and the proud Lady Hatton, who had conquered her husband and worried the life out of that great lawyer, defied the clergy, and the bench, and the bar, combined.

Can it be wondered at that the legend properly belonging to another Lady Hatton, or to some remote lady of another name in Yorkshire, was applied to this imperious dame, and that she was popularly represented as having made a compact with the Evil One, who, coming like a satanic sheriff's officer, in the guise of a guest at a grand ball, took her at his own suit, and that with such determination not to be foiled by her vigorous resistance, as to leave her very heart behindthat portion of her anatomy being afterwards found on a spot ever since known as Bleeding Heart Yard? At any rate it was not till her death that part of the estate reverted to the see of Ely, and a rentcharge was made on the Lords Hatton, till the family had all died out. By that time everything around had changed; orchard, and pleasant rose-garden, and stately avenues, gravelled walks and fishponds, had given place to high, wide- staircased houses of the Georgian era; then these became deserted of the rank and fashion for which they were built, and were consigned, metaphorically, to the

owls and the bats,-practically, to the rats, and the spiders, and the cats, that prowl in such faded neighbourhoods. One after another these tenements were occupied as offices, as workships, as places of business, and one or two of them as private residences. One of them was tenantless in 1851-the year of the Great Exhibition-the year, of all others, when a few benevolent gentlemen had their attention directed to the terrible prevalence of various kinds of deformity amongst the

children of the poor. It was determined during that year that a hospital should be established for such cases, in some place as near as possible to the City, so that it might be readily accessible to patients coming from districts where the need was greatest. It was in this way that the old house in Hatton Garden was put to a new use, and that help to the halt and the lame was found in the place once associated with the dancing Chancellor. Т. А.

THE CHRISTMAS ENTERTAINMENTS.

ISLANDS.'

T

HE contest for supremacy in pantomime now lies virtually, between Covent Garden and Drury Lane. The smaller West End' houses, with the single exception of the Lyceum, have retired from an unprofitable and utterly hopeless attempt to compete with the two great houses. Ten years ago we had pantomimes, not only at Drury Lane, but also at the Prineess's, Adelphi, Haymarket, and Strand Theatres. The Princess's was a great pantomime house some fifteen years ago, when 'Harlequin Bluff King Hal,' Harlequin King Jamie,' and 'Harlequin Billy Taylor,' all excellent in their way, were produced under the management of the late Mr. Maddox. Little boys, in those days, dated back by the pantomimes of past years, and spoke of King Humming Top's' year as sporting men speak of Musjid's year, or as old Cambridge men, of Kaye's year-but they don't appear to do so now. I gather from this fact, more than from any other, that the taste for pantomime is on

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MR. STOTLE AS 'THE KING OF THE CANNIBAL the decline. The fact that it has dropped out of the regular programmes of the smaller houses may be accounted for by the employment of the vastly superior stage resources of the two larger houses, and the expenditure of enormous sums upon pantomimes by their respective managers -combined causes which have had the effect of placing competition in this special department of stage amusement out of the question; but the fact that boys don't date back by the principal pantomimes of past years is, to my thinking, conclusive evidence that, notwithstanding the augmented glories of modern pantomimes, the taste for them is on the decline. A pantomime is simply a series of two or three gorgeous spectacles, at long and dreary intervals, the culminating effect being a gorgeous but utterly

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