and another intensely human heart-cry for direction and companionship in the hour of need—Henry Francis Lyte’s “Abide with me, fast falls the eventide: The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide.” It is interesting to know that both of these hymns were composed on the sacred day of rest: Newman’s, on Sunday, June 16, 1833; and Lyte’s, on Sunday, September 5, 1847. Newman has left us this very entertaining description of the circumstances under which his hymn was written: “I went to the various coasts of the Mediterranean; parted with my friends at Rome; went down for the second time to Sicily, without companion, at the end of April. I struck into the middle of the Island, and fell ill of a fever at Leonforte. My servant thought I was dying, and begged for my last directions. I gave them, as he wished, but I said, ‘I shall not die.’ I repeated ‘I shall not die, for I have not sinned against the Light; I have not sinned against the Light.’ I have never been able quite to make out what I meant. “I got to Castro-Giovanni, and was laid up there for nearly three weeks. Toward the end of May I left for Palermo, taking three days for the journey. Before starting from my inn, on the morning of May 26 or 27, I sat down on my bed and began to sob violently. My servant, who had acted as my nurse, asked what ailed me. I could only answer him, ‘I have a work to do in England.’ [Illustration: uncaptioned] “I was aching to get home; yet, for want of a vessel, I was kept at Palermo for three weeks. I began to visit the churches, and they calmed my impatience, though I did not attend any of the services. At last I got off in an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. Then it was that I wrote the lines, ‘Lead, Kindly Light.’ We were becalmed a whole week in the Straits of Bonifacio. I was writing the whole of my passage.” Elsewhere he informs us that the exact date on which the hymn was written was June 16. It is pleasant to think that this much-loved hymn, the fervent prayer of a doubt-tossed soul, was written in one of the majestic calms that sometimes lull to sleep the sunny waters of the Mediterranean; and that it caught some of its delicious fragrance from the perfume that was wafted over the waters from the golden cargo with which the vessel was freighted. It would require but little imagination to picture the scene: the clumsy boat, the idly-hanging sails, the listless, swarthy crew, the brilliant young minister emaciated by mental and physical suffering, the solemn sea, and over all the matchless Italian sky and the tender twilight calm. Fit hour and surroundings for such a hymn to have its being.