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A mighty wave of love burst over the world from Christ's open grave, and the wan-nailed form upon the tree stirred up the souls of men to its lowest depths. The old world felt the force of the child born in the manger, and

"Lust of the eye and pride of life

She left it all behind,

And hurried, torn with inward strife,

The wilderness to find.

"Tears wash'd the trouble from her face!

She changed into a child.

'Mid weeds and wrecks she stood-a place

Of ruin-but she smiled!"

Eighteen centuries have run their course, and the great apostle of culture tells us that men no longer believe

"Now he is dead. Far hence he lies

In the lorn Syrian town,

And on his grave, with shining eyes,

The Syrian stars look down."

and he adds

"Your creeds are dead, your rites are dead,
Your social order too.

Where tarries he, the power who said:
See, I make all things new?"

That Christianity has lost its power we do not believe. The Star that shone in the East still illuminates the world, and the precepts from the Mount still influence the lives of men. In the march of progress dogmas and narrow superstitions which hid the living truths from men have alone perished. The age we live in is one of inquiry and examination, but inquiry and examination cannot affect truth. A modern writer has well said, the spirit of inquiry and examination is in itself a good spirit. It is an angel which God has sent to us, though in the darkness we take it for an enemy. If, instead of fleeing from it in cowardice, we wrestle manfully with it with zeal, with purity of heart, with a determination to live according to the truth which we discover, then the angel will bless us when the day breaketh.

T.

SIR GARETH.

KING Arthur, when his Table Round
Had filled the world with waves of sound,
Which still were broadening more and more,
Nor yet had broken on the shore
That limits scope of human praise,-
King Arthur in those golden days,
As Pentecost was coming on,
Betook him to Kinkenadon,
Within his sea-beat castle wall
To hold high state and festival.
Now yearly on that holy day
The King was used to delay

From hour to hour the tempting feast,
Till from the North, South, West, or East,
Appeared some marvel to behold;-

For full of marvels manifold

The pregnant mouths were numbered then,
Nor much at marvels wondered men;
But, when a day without them passed,
That day seemed dull and overcast.
So at that time, like one amazed,
King Arthur through the casement gazed:
He watched the breaking lights of dawn,
The growing of the purple morn;
He felt the warmth about him play
That only burns in noontide's ray;
He saw the sun sink low in heaven,
And still no sign to him was given,
Till fleeing from the shadows black
That sun athwart the waves a track

Had gilded for the raptured eye
To trace in dreamful ecstasy,

With some vague thought of blissful isles
Basking in joy's perennial smiles.

Then, as he turned him from the glare

Of sunset, Arthur was aware

Of a strange company of four

That hied them to the castle door.
One as a poplar tall and straight

Weakly declined his helpless weight

Upon a serf on either hand,

That scarce with labour made him stand; A dwarf his faltering steps behind,

The puniest of his puny kind,

Upheld; a stunted pollard he

To stay that stately poplar tree.

Then, smiling on his famished lords, The King spake brief but welcome words: "To dinner! Lo, a sight indeed!

The saints have helped us at our need."
Then swelled the sound of revelry,
And flowed the wine right royally,
And light reflected from the bowl
Shone like a sun in every soul

Save Arthur's: in his heart there burned
A curious longing: oft he turned
An absent glance upon the door,

And marvelled ever more and more

What the strange thing that he had seen
Before his castle-gate might mean.

At last, the tedious banquet o'er,
About his dais came the four,
And he their goodly leader spake:
"I come, O King, my prayer to make
That I thy bounty may partake.
Three are the boons I crave to name-
The first I fain to-day would claim;

The two shall be disclosed anon,
If only thou wilt grant the one."
So saying with an effort slight
He drew him to his princely height;
The King, admiring, inly sware
That comelier person none was there,
And musing thus mild answer made:
"In whatsoever I can aid

Thy just desire, that aid is thine;
For, if thy lineage I divine,

A scion thou of noble line;

Or arms or knighthood thou wilt crave,
And arms and knighthood thou shalt have."
"Nor arms, nor knighthood at thy hand,
O bounteous King, is my demand
As at this time, but food and cheer
Of thy provision for a year."
Then Arthur with o'erclouded brow
That did his thoughts but half avow:
"That is a thing, as all may know,
I never stinted friend or foe.

Sir Kay shall feed thee of the best
That lines my larder. For the rest
I pray thee of thy courtesy

That thou reveal thy name." But he-
"My name, O King, I may not tell."
Then blurted out Sir Kay: "Tis well!
Thy hands, if not thy tongue, a name
Shall furnish; they shall give thee fame,
Not by their handling of the spear,
But by their useless beauty dear
To women. Beaumains be thou hight.
No touch, I trow, of lord or knight
Quickens thy boorish blood derived
From yokels still with yokels wived.
Come, I see hunger in thy face;
The kitchen be thy dwelling-place:

I warrant thee, within the year,
Plump as a hog with fattening cheer
Of brewis! Come, thy paradise

Awaits thee: shall I bid thee twice?"

He spake, and scornful led the way:
The other meekly did obey

His bidding, neither gibe nor taunt
Provoking him to answering vaunt.
But, ere he went, a look he cast
Upon his retinue, who passed
In silence through the open door
Into the night, and came no more.

Meanwhile, Sir Kay had Beaumains set
Among the scullions, and had met
Great-hearted Lancelot and Gawaine,
Who chid him for that he did stain
His knighthood with discourtesy:
And Lancelot to the scullery

Went softly, and to Beaumains there
Made proffer of less sordid fare
And lodging meet for such as be
Of knightly birth and high degree.
But he, though from his kindling face
His grateful thought did half erase
His sorrow, answered, where Sir Kay
Had placed him, there would he assay
To bear whatever might befall.

So for a year before them all
He bore him with humility,
And suffered jeers and raillery

With patience: nay, there were who said
That passion in his soul was dead:
But they who watched his flushing cheek,
His lips that trembled fain to speak,
His downcast eye and hands that sought
Each other-they had other thought.
So in the lap of flowery May
Was born again the holy day

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