more remarkable than this attempt to force on the people of Scotland a form of worship which they did not favour. With certain classes and individuals the feelings which the attempt left have long since died out, but the memory of them remained for many a year. I am not one who has been trained to regard the ceremonies of the English Church with marked reverence, especially when they turn towards the “high” development. With men like myself I venture the remark that the Church of England is never so strong as when she adheres to her simplest teaching. Her ritual is never so impressive as when stripped of strained formality; it is then that, in spite of ourselves, we must feel and admire all the strength and beauty of her liturgy. It is not easy to comprehend how thoughtful men can advocate the introduction of extreme ceremonies, which even many Anglicans themselves regard as theatrical accessories. It has been my good fortune to attend the English Church service in some of the noblest cathedrals in England; at Westminster, Canterbury, Chester and St. Paul’s, unrivalled in its classic excellence: and I have at such times felt how decorous and impressive it can be made when the ritual is not encumbered with the observances which a strong party in the Church of England regard as unseemly, and which, with my feelings, I hold to be unnecessary. With this limitation this form of prayer, in my humble view, appears peculiarly adapted to the English mind and character. For more gorgeous ceremonial, I have witnessed the Mass at St. Peter’s, one of the grandest temples erected by man for the worship of his Maker. Never in any church was I ever present at a scene and service more memorable than the evening prayer on the deck of the “Polynesian.” The military chaplain, in his white surplice, appeared with the three medals on his breast and his Bible and prayerbook in his hand, walking slowly once or twice up and down the deck, by way, as he afterwards explained, “of ringing the bell.” In this manner the passengers generally were collected into picturesque groups. He took an elevated position; his white dress and his long white hair moving in the breeze, formed a striking contrast to the dark funnel, masts and spars in the background. He repeated the simple words of the Anglican liturgy in a clear, natural voice. He spoke briefly and forcibly, as possibly he had often done on the eve of battle. He conducted the singing of some of those touching hymns common to all branches of the Christian Church. The congregation, consisting of all sects and beliefs, was unaffectedly serious and devout, and many voices joined in earnest praise.