to it beforehand. In some respects the Clergyman, even
the youngest Curate, has dangerous opportunities for _in_ considerate
public action. Take the management of divine Service in illustration. In
his manner of reading, his tone, his pace, the Clergyman may allow
himself, only too easily, to think of himself alone. In the
reading-desk, or at the Table of the Lord, he may consult only his own
likes and dislikes in attitude, gesture, and air. But if so, he is
greatly failing in the homely duty of loyal considerateness. What will
be most for the happiness and edification of the congregation? What will
least disturb and most assist true devotion? How shall the Minister best
secure that the worshippers shall remember the Master and not be
uncomfortably conscious of the servant? The answers to such questions
will of course vary considerably under varying conditions; but it is
_the principle_ of the questions which I press home. Our office, and the
common consent and usage of the Christian people, give us a position of
independence in such matters which has its advantages, but also its very
great risks; and it is for us accordingly to handle that independence
with the utmost possible _considerateness_.

This thought was much upon my own mind lately during the interesting
experiences of a Continental summer chaplaincy, to which I referred in
the last chapter. As usual in a health resort abroad, the English
residents represented many different shades of Church opinion and
practice. By the convictions of many long years, I am an Evangelical
Churchman, in the well-understood sense of the term; and of those
convictions I am not at all ashamed. My manner of conducting public
worship, especially in the Communion Office, would probably make it
plain at once to most worshippers where I stand as a Churchman. But that
does not mean, I trust, that I am to allow myself to be inconsiderate of
the feelings of others in the matter; and on the occasions referred to
it was my earnest and anxious aim to remember this with regard to
worshippers, and particularly communicants, whose beliefs, or however
whose sympathies, were what is called "higher" than my own. On their
account I sought to make it plain that no rubrical direction was
neglectfully treated by me, and that reverence of manner and action was
a sacred thing in my eyes--a reverence not elaborated, but attentive. I
hope I should have been reverently careful whatever the composition of