Nazareth. When he took the Lord's Prayer from the lips of children who had not passed through a condition of human experience which marks the history of the regenerate, he showed that he had only skimmed the surface of some wide, deep abysses of thought. He is not, for all his popularity, the preacher for this age which is now appearing. That talk about the ever-old but ever-new truth, does not fit this case. All the very greatest preachers have responded to the deepest wants and cries of the age into the midst of which they came. And there are wants, as every student of history well kuows, which are characteristic of each period. The one that is now passing is critical but earnest; daringly speculative, but keenly scientific. It uncovers the past, and looks at the old with unhesitating criticism. And yet there is a deep devoutness at its heart which has only to be appealed to with the might of a burning enthusiasm, to wake up its best life, and bring it to the world's Redeemer and Lord. Therefore it wants sympathy. He who speaks to it from the highest vantage ground must show that he understands its yearnings, and that he does not despise its associations. Mr. Spurgeon has given proof of his incapacity or unwillingness for understanding the profound life which once obtained some of its highest expressions in art. He is apt to be narrow and one-sided. He who would put his finger upon the best pulse of our modern life must be broad and many-sided. He must know how to view this great tide of thought and feeling with the rapt passion of a generous friend of humanity, and the confidence that he has a loving testimony to declare from a God who is greater than any sect or party has ever known Him to be. Mr. Spurgeon is one of the last products, and one of the most striking of that bustling, defiant, brusque Puritanism which does its own work, and hardly cares to understand any other.

ANDREW MARVEL AND HIS FRIENDS.

A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF HULL.

BY MARIE HALL, née SIBREE,

Author of "Sermons from the Studio," "The Sculptor of Bruges," &c.

CHAPTER XL.-A MORNING AT WHITEHALL.

THE Parliament that had assembled in the year 1661 was not, as we have said, more lenient towards those who had opposed the Royal party than the previous one had been. If a Parliament could have been dispensed with altogether it would have well

pleased the King and Court, but as this could not be, the election of members was so managed that very few besides those in the King's interests were allowed to stand. Andrew Marvel was one of those few, and it is much to the credit of his constituents in Hull that they returned, as their representative, so honest and faithful a

man.

We cannot suppose that they did this without an effort; Hull was too notorious and important a borough to escape notice, and Marvel's sentiments were too well known for the Court to reckon

on his support. We know that throughout the struggle there were many in Hull who felt strongly in favour of Royalty, some occupying positions of influence, others who, from policy and selfishness, would always belong to the side that was in the ascendancy, while the lower orders had mostly applauded what was popular at the time, and a few specious promises soon awakened their enthusiasm. But we may presume that the more intelligent part of the population were still attached to the principles which they had so boldly defended, and were not blind to the present tendency of public affairs.

What Marvel suffered during the first sitting of this corrupt assembly of 1661 we can imagine, for, writing to his friends in the North, he assures them that his sleep was broken, and that he was somewhat "bound up" so that he could not write about their affairs as he used to do. It would seem as if the measures proposed to be carried out during the next session were such that Marvel (unable to make any effectual resistance) chose rather to vacate his seat in the House for a while, than stay and witness their execution.

Vane and others had been removed from the Tower to a lonely prison in the Scilly Isles where they were kept in perpetual twilight, to listen to the ceaseless waves that washed their dungeon walls and to wait the sentence of death that they knew was only delayed. In England and Scotland victims were being constantly hunted out to satisfy the insatiable revenge or cupidity of the Court, and even some who had fled to the Continent were arrested and sent to England or fell by the hands of assassins.

The Act for Universal Conformity had been brought before the House, and after giving notice of this fact to the authorities in Hull, Marvel set out for Holland and did not appear again in his seat for nearly a year and a half.

It was not without reason that Alice trembled for her husband's safety; she argued that when the most eminent men of the Commonwealth were disposed of, those who had played a subordinate part would be called to account. Already the manor of Patrington, near Hull, had been wrested from its owner and bestowed upon Sir

Henry Hildyard, and what more likely than that the much finer estate of Winestead should be deemed a desirable possession by one of the many favourites of the King?

In the month of March a private communication reached Sir Ralph, warning him of pending danger, adding, that his name had been mentioned in a manner, and by persons that looked ominous to those who knew their poverty and avarice. No name was attached to the letter, but there was every cause to believe that it was sent by a friendly hand and that more was meant than the writer chose to express. Ralph said he was prepared for the worst, and calmly discussed the subject with Sir William Lister. But Alice was greatly disturbed, and Kate earnestly besought her brother to take refuge in some foreign city, proposing that he should embark in the first merchant vessel leaving for Denmark if he could not trust himself in Holland. Ralph only smiled at her, and quietly declared that if the King sent for him he would be found in his own house. Alice did not think now of flight; she was meditating a bolder course, and very soon she was brought to a fixed determination, for the steward at Winestead brought word that strangers had been twice seen looking round the park, and once had asked leave to inspect the Hall. In her own mind Alice fancied that the warning letter came from Ralph's brother, and her plan was to go up to London herself and see Sir Harry and request his interference.

When she first proposed going to London, as she expected, Ralph would not listen to such a thing; her project seemed to him wild and vague, for she dared not mention his brother's name, knowing that Ralph would never consent to ask any favour from him. Alice respected this feeling, but she did not think it prevented her applying for assistance, if done without compromising her husband. At any rate she believed that if she could reach the city something might be done, even if part of their property must be sacrificed. So importunate was Alice that at length Ralph gave way, inwardly gratified by her persistence in trying to help him. Then came the question of an escort, and what must be done on her arrival in London. Alice spoke of Colonel Gilby, the other member for Hull, with whom she was slightly acquainted, and of one or two gentlemen they had met when last in town, who might introduce her to some one of influence at Court. The first difficulty was soon removed by Will Lister offering to take Alice himself, and bring her back safely; he advised her to wait until her arrival before she arranged what step to take next. There was some risk in Sir William going, for he too had held a commission under the Parliament, but he had not taken such a conspicuous part in the rebellion, and his fortune was not large enough to tempt any greedy adventurer.

Ralph thankfully accepted his brother-in-law's services, and without delay the pair set out, attended by four men-servants and a staid waiting-woman. They travelled as rapidly as the roads and their horses would permit; to Alice it seemed slow and tedious work; she would have kept her saddle night and day if it had been possible, without regard to fatigue, for every horseman they met she looked at with suspicion, lest he might be carrying an order of arrest for her husband before she could intercede on his behalf. It was late in the afternoon of a bleak day in March when they rode into London, dusty and jaded with the last long stage of the journey, and Alice was pale and trembling when she dismounted in Cheapside, in the court-yard of a busy, lively inn. Sir William seconded her idea of applying to Ralph's brother, but as nothing could be done that night, Alice was persuaded to take some rest while her cousin sallied forth to make inquiries, and to learn, if he could, whether Sir Henry was in town and where he might be found. He was not long in gaining all the information he needed, for the Court was by no means private or exclusive in its doings. Admission was easy, and without much ceremony, to the apartments of any member of the Royal household.

Shortly before noon, therefore, on the following day, a hired coach conveyed Alice to Whitehall, alone; she had dressed herself with extreme care, hoping to make a favourable impression upon her brother-in-law at once. As she rode along, with beating heart and a prey to alternate hopes and fears, she could not but observe the change in many things since her last visit to the City. The grave character of the citizens' dress had given place to a richness of style and a profusion of ornament that surprised her, while the cavaliers that thronged the principal streets seemed all in holiday costume, with their slashed satins and velvets and filmy laces, with flowing curls, and drooping plumes, and flashing jewels, altogether forming a striking contrast to the Puritans who mingled with them, though in fewer numbers. But the greatest change was at the Palace itself, where the first thing Alice noticed was a group of pages and grooms in the entrance-hall, throwing the dice, and swearing at their good or bad luck. When they caught sight of Alice, they paused in their play and stared at her with an effrontery that brought the colour to her cheeks.

"Will some one have the goodness to show me where Sir Henry Hildyard's apartments lie?" she asked, quickly recovering her dignity.

A gaudily-dressed page came forward and motioned for her to follow him, while the others resumed their occupation, praising and criticising the unknown lady's beauty, in coarse, familiar terms. As Alice followed her guide up staircases and along galleries, she

heard bursts of merriment from several half-open doors; from one of these a scarcely sober gallant looked out and muttered an unmeaning compliment, so that she was relieved when the page stopped at a door in the west gallery, and asked if he should carry her name to Sir Henry.

"No," replied Alice; "if he is within I will introduce myself." "As you will, my lady," said the boy, who was sure of Alice's quality; and he opened the door, ushered her in without a word, and closed it behind her. It was a lofty apartment in which she found herself, luxuriously furnished, but rather in disorder, and with no signs of a woman's presence or oversight; then Alice remembered to have heard that Sir Henry had been a widower for some years. At the far end of the room a gentleman sat by a window, reading; he turned as the door opened and looked with some surprise at a visitor entering unannounced. Alice could not question for a moment who the gentleman was, he bore such a strong family likeness to her husband and Kate, though his hair was lighter, aud his complexion of a more florid hue.

"I ask your pardon, Sir Henry," faltered Alice, with a deep curtsey, conscious that her situation was rather awkward. "I feel I am intruding upon you, but there is no time for ceremony. I come here on a matter that may be one of life and death."

She paused, and Sir Henry advancing, prayed her to be seated. There was something in her face and manner that strangely attracted his interest; she looked younger than her years and she was certainly lovely; but it was not her loveliness—he was accustomed daily to the sight of much more dazzling beauty-it was the air of purity and refinement, the sweet modesty that marked her looks and movements; this was the charm he felt, the charm that was missing in the ladies of the Court.

"I shall be very unwelcome, perhaps, when you know who I am," resumed Alice. "I am your brother Ralph's wife; I am Alice Hildyard."

"And my sister-in-law; is it so, indeed? Then we are not strangers, and you must not imagine yourself unwelcome," and Sir Henry frankly offered her his hand. The tears filled Alice's eyes; this was so different from the cold reception she had anticipated.

"Of course I think my brother in the wrong, grievously so, and I am sorry it has separated us so entirely, but I wish him no ill, and am glad to see and know his wife. I hope all is well with him and with Kate."

"Kate is well, but my husband-'tis on his account I am here, though he knows nothing of my coming to you; he would never