upon it are best illustrated by his speech at the Festival of the Truro Church of England Mutual Improvement Society on Jan. 22, 1883. After an address to the young men who composed it, in presence of a crowded audience, the Archbishop-Designate said :

It may not be possible I shall again have the opportunity of speaking to such an assembly of Cornishmen and Cornishwomen as this is, and therefore I must break off by thanking you for the great kindnesses, the tenderness, the simplicity of affection with which you have treated me ever since I came into Cornwall. The moment I set foot in Cornwall you were willing to believe far more good of me than ever was or can be true, and ever since whatever little efforts I have been able to make you have welcomed with regard tenfold more than they deserved; and whatever mistakes I have made you have been willing quite to overlook, because you know-what is truth-that my heart is with you-my heart is with you and it always will be. I hope you will not consider it boasting if I say I know Cornwall about as well as any Cornishman can possibly do. It would be very wrong--I should have misused all my opportunities-if I did not, because there is scarcely anyone who has been carried as I have been into every part and corner, and parish of it, and wherever I have gone I have never left without loving and caring for Cornwall. You Cornish people have received a very noble inheritance. It has very strange, and very interesting, and very remarkable characteristics, and you will do well always to keep it so, and look upon every one of its characteristics as your inheritance-not foolishly to brag of any of it, or misrepresent it, but to calmly and quietly, like true descendants of your ancestors, look over every part of it, and know that which is good in it, put away everything evil in it, and go on improving and improving until all the glorious things that God has put into your hands are really dear to you, and all regarded by you in the very spirit of God. You must try to make Cornwall altogether a sweet and holy place. Why should it not be so, here in this Western sanctuary, the place where every Christian virtue can bud and blossom like a rose? Canon Mason has told you that I have been called to occupy a seat more ancient than the Throne of Queen Victoria; but you will remember this,

that if there is anything that has dignified the seat, if there is anything that is characteristic of it, it is that through all the dim antiquity through which it comes down, it has always been the loyal subject and servant of the Sovereign's Throne and of the people. I should like to go through the history of that seat with you, but its history is now very accessible and can be read by all. Its history tells us of those wonderful times when Lambeth Palace was built on the other side of the Thames from the King's Palace, because the people felt that if a tyrant came upon the Throne, or a press of nobles gathered about the English Throne, they ought to have close by, and invested with full power, in order to do their work, those who had risen from themselves, and who would be able to confront any oppression and stand up for the people on the principles of the law of Christ, so that, as an historian says, the Archbishops of Canterbury were the tribunes of the people as well as faithful to the monarchy. It is a very remarkable office to which I have been called, and one which ought to and really does crush one to the earth while one thinks of its responsibilities; absolutely faithful to the monarchy, and at the same time looked upon and trusted as the best representative of the people by the side of the monarchy. Since those days this office has passed through many vicissitudes; but I ask you as a last request to pray God for this, that it may please Him that it may ever be the seat of those who wish to be most devoted to the Throne of England and most devoted to her people. If you give me your prayers for that you will give me the very best gift you can possibly give, and in return I need hardly promise you, dear Cornwall shall ever be in my daily morning and evening prayers; and if you are kind enough to regard it as an honour that your first Bishop, who accepts the offer with much simplicity and fear and trembling, is called to that office-you will only accept that as a tribute to yourselves, and consider it is wrapped up with the love I shall henceforth carry with me to my grave-you will honour me still more.

On Sunday, February 25th, the Archbishop-Elect preached a farewell sermon at Kenwyn Church, as stated above. He took for his text 2 Cor. i. 12, "For our rejoicing is this, the testimony of our conscience, that in simplicity and godly sincerity, not with fleshly wisdom, but by the

grace of God, we have had our conversation in the world, and more abundantly to you-ward." The subject of the sermon was "Simplicity." He ended with the following words :

...So, dear friends, since there is so much good going on, and so many loving hearts at self-denying work, let us as we pass say that we are sure that He who has wrought this good work will continue it to the day of Christ. Here for six years we have worshipped together in this simple quiet church, where the stone of the wall and the beam of the roof bear witness to us of past generations.

The bright clear well outside tells us of a holy man who laboured and preached here, and baptized our forefathers, 1200 years ago: then 600 years later the Bishop of Exeter consecrated the altar so one generation declares God's works to another down through the ages. And then John Wesley stood against one of those pillars and preached, and Henry Martyn talks of the quiet Sunday afternoons he had in Kenwyn Church, and George Cornish, the friend at once of three such diverse men as Newman, Keble and Arnold-these men so different from each other and others who are still living, have stood and preached the truths of Christ on this spot. How continuous the flow of God's truth has been since the heathen had their heads bathed in the well outside! And now there is another little crisis in this parish, not to be compared with those great times, for other men have laboured and we have entered into their labours, and God has showed them His work and us, their children, His glory. Your vicar goes to another parish, and I part from this church I have loved and go to a house whose walls bear witness of Wickliffe, Anne Boleyn, Cranmer, and Laud, and through all we see that it is not change, but continuity, which is the great law of God. The little particles, you and I, pass away to holier worlds, but the work goes on: the change is small, the continuity long. O that we may take our part in the stream of holiness, and while we live do our part to roll the stream of good down to the ages that are to come after us.

So let us know each other, and love, and be together in mutual intercession: pray you for me, if you will be so kind, and I for you, I steadfastly promise you. We may not see each other's faces, but God will see us both, and we are one in Him.

Our very words of parting witness that change is not the great law of life. The Greeks parted from each other with the word xaîpe, "rejoice." The Roman farewell was "Vale," "be strong," and our English "farewell" means go on, go forward, go on from strength to strength, fare well." So our common word Good-bye is simply "God be with you." Each recognises as each passes away from each, perhaps to see his face no more, that God will be with them both, that they will be one in His presence. May our parting be of this true and noble kind: joy,-strength,-progress, the Presence of God.

CHAPTER XVI.

ADDINGTON.

"Then said Christian to the Porter, Sir, what house is this?...The Porter answered, This house was built by the Lord of the Hill, and he built it for the relief and security of Pilgrims.”

BUNYAN'S Pilgrim's Progress.

ABOUT a month before Archbishop Tait's death I went with my father and mother and eldest sister to stay at Addington. Archbishop Tait, who knew himself to be on his death-bed, desired my father's presence because, as afterwards appeared, he had strongly in his mind the belief that the Bishop of Truro would eventually succeed to the Archbishopric; my father and mother saw him once or twice, the rest of us not at all, as he was confined to his bed, but he daily sent us affectionate messages. To my father the visit was like a patriarchal benediction.

I do not know why, but it was very strongly borne in upon my mind as by a presentiment, that Addington would be our home, from the first moment we entered the Park gates. One evening in the falling twilight I walked with my father up and down the drive, the breeze blowing very fragrantly out of the wood. My father talked about Addington, and said that no future Archbishop could ever live there; that it was too much in the style of the grand seigneur, and that it was a most