ored for the benefit
of the whole church. And, so far from professing to be another sect,
they believe that their special mission is to unite the scattered members
of the one body of Christ. The speciality of that religious belief--that
by which they are distinguished from other Christian
communities--consists in their holding apostles and prophets to be
abiding ministeries in the church.

EDWARD MIALL, ESQ.

In these latter days men have come to think that no man has a right to
enter a pulpit unless he prefixes Rev. to his name--unless he wears a
white handkerchief round his neck, and scorns to get a living except from
the revenues of the Church. With them a daw

'is reckoned a religious bird,
Because it keeps a cawing from the steeple.'

You have been ordained, therefore some mysterious virtue attaches to you.
You have ceased to be a man, and become a priest. You live in a
different world to what we common-place sinners do. The priest has a
different tailor to the rest of mankind. We can tell him by his
superfluity of white linen and superabundance of black cloth. We can
tell him by the downcast eye and the short-cut hair. We know him not by
his works, by the beauty of his living faith, or the savour of his holy
life, but by his dress. The tailor makes us. One dummy it adorns with
red, and that is a soldier. Another it dresses in fashionable costume,
and that is the star of Bond-street and the lion of the ball-room.
Another it arrays in antiquated vest and sober black, and that's the
divine. Manners do not make the man, but the tailor does.

Yet, happily, the world is not given up to universal flunkeyism. We have
still some who recognise the god-like and divine in man; women not
everlastingly falling in love with new bonnets, or manhood not utterly
lost in the contemplation of new atrocities in the way of checks for
trowsers or stupendous collars for the neck. Strange as it may seem, it
is no more strange than true, that there are some who can see poets in
shoemakers or whisky-gaugers; heroism in the daughters of fishermen;
philosophy in Norwich weaver boys; apostles in tent-makers or Jewish
sailors; and something greater and grander still in the 'Galilean Lord
and Christ,' the faith in whose divine mission has made Europe and
America the home of civilisation, of intelligence, and life. Faith in
reality has not yet died out amongst us. There are still men who dare to
take the