establishment, without enjoying the real advantages of either. And the remainder are Bishops of the Church which at present is happily established in England, but which may again be called to go through the fire of persecution as in the times of old.
While that procession of Bishops advances towards the sacrarium, let us inwardly pray for them, and for the 108 Bishops of the Anglican communion, whom they may be considered to represent.
And now the worship of God proceeds according to the venerable Liturgy of the Church of England. The music and the voices of the choristers are sweet; but, after all, the actual words of the service are its principal charm. These words are heard alike with delight in English Cathedrals and in the rude temples of the American or Australian forests. They are the words of our own mother tongue—good and holy words, whether said, or sung, or merely spoken. The service which I now hear performed with so many splendid accessories, I have known, in the total absence of such advantages, to soften—yes, even to melt, the hearts of rough men in the western wilds.
But the prayers are over, and the Bishop of Oxford takes his place in the pulpit. His text speaks of the building of the second temple of Jerusalem, the tears of the old men and the joy of the young. His words are weighty, forcible, and eloquent. He takes a retrospect of the past efforts of the Church of England, and points out the errors, the defects, and the short-comings which have materially impeded the progress of the work. Above all, he specifies the divisions which have hindered our missionary labours, and delayed the conversion of the nations. Yet he does not forget that
