than it could otherwise have been. and the process of total religious dissolution, to which Protestantism naturally ten ls, was made slower; and even imperfect Christianity is better for society than the entire absence of it. Then, in this state of things, there may be many individuals who, through simplicity on the one hand and the influence of God's grace on the other, have real Divine Faith in those revealed doctrines which they hold, and belong in a certain true sense to the Church, which they do not explicitly recognise. Here that invincible ignorance which is occasionally spoken of may enter to excuse, and I would observe that there is a great affinity, and even identity, between invincible ignorance and an invincibly erroneous conscience. Yet, one difficulty that stands in the way of Protestants, and of their sincerity and good faith, arises from the fact that their professed religion is a religion of inquiry, and the neglect of inquiry is the neglect of an apparently recognised duty. But I am digressing.

I would observe that conscience does not serve as a valid plea before the outward tribunals of the State or of the Church. If a person misconducts himself, and outwardly violates precepts to which he is subject, the mere allegation of a conscientious dictate will not avail to obtain him impunity; and this is not attributable to any mere legal maxims or presumptions necessary for the protection of society. The law, for instance, will not listen, in many cases, to defences on the score of ignorance, though that ignorance may be real and excusable and excusing in the eyes of God, because public policy forbids the admission of what may often be pretexts. But the reason why conscience cannot be pleaded for clearly wrong things is, that, as a rule, it cannot be true that conscience-at any rate an invincibly erroneous conscience-exists to dictate them. It would be easier to suppose madness; and yet other circumstances may negative such a supposition. Hence, even ou side of courts, human society will not recognise those appeals to conscience. Still, if, by a possible or impossible hypothesis, a man were in reality acting, in the worst of these cases from an invincibly erroneous conscience, he would be free from guilt before God.

THE LAMP OF THE SANCTUARY.

FAITHFUL Lamp! how like the sweet star shining
O'er Bethlehem's lowly cave,

Waen Mary to the world ia darkness pining

Its Light and Saviour gave.

Like to that star the Eastern Sages guiding,

Thy gentle radiance tells

Where the Eternal Word made flesh abiding,

Love's willing prisoner dwells.

Here, though unheard, are angels' harpstrings sounding,

And angels' voices raise

Triumphant hymns, as when, that cave surrounding,
They sang the Infant's praise:

E

And, ever from the countless choirs adoring

The hidden Godhead there,

Bright bands to heaven, on starlit pinions soaring,
Our humble homage bear.

Even to-day as yesterday unchanging,

O Lamp! thy tender flame,

'Mid all around from cold to fervour ranging,
Burnest alway the same.

When through the tinted pane on arch and ceiling
The mellow sunshine flows,

And many a form is round the altar kneeling,
Unquenched thy lustre glows.

Or when the shades of night are overspreading
The city's nameless guile,

Thy pure light gleams, though not a foot is treading
The long deserted aisle.

O wondrous thought! O purpose high! excelling
All earth beside may boast-

To guard for aye God's chosen earthly dwelling,
With heaven's attending host.

So may my soul, O beacon softly beaming!
With love unfading shine,

Till o'er its vision breaks the glory streaming
Down from the Throne divine.

W. R.

A GOSSIPING LETTER FROM CALCUTTA.

[The writer, whose lively French is spoiled in this translation, did not mean his letter to be published, but only to be read by his friends at home. The visit of the Prince of Wales to India lends a certain timeliness to these descriptions of "Our Indian Correspondent," though they were not at all written for the occasion.]

You

OU ask me to give you an idea of this country, and a detailed account of our life in this climate. I am at your disposal for the whole of this afternoon, if you come to join me at Park-street, Calcutta.

It is very hot. The thermometer, which I have just consulted, is 101 Fahrenheit, in the shade. In whatever direction you look from my windows, you can see nothing but white houses, which, turned to the four winds, have no shade on any side, except from their eaves, and a little further on in an old cemetery, a number of obelisks, without shade upon any of their sides, so completely vertical is the sun! And although dressed very lightly-a white calico cassock, without buttons, a white band, white trousers, and white shoes-we still feel the burning of the tropical sun a good deal. Happily we have a

breeze, which, without lowering the thermometer, refreshes us considerably. But we are sometimes without it, and when that is the case, the floor is watered with great drops of perspiration as big as a florin. Those who then wish to supply the place of the breeze are punkah'd What is that? To understand it, come into S's room. He is seated, dressed entirely in white, at his desk, in the middle of a large room; about a yard above his bald head bangs a great white rectangle, about three yards long, horizontally, and about a yard high; a string is tied to it, which passes through a pulley fixed in the wall, and ends in an Indian, crouched on the ground, dressed in his black skin and a strip of cloth. This human machine has no other occupation but to pull the string, which causes the other machine which I have described to you, the rectangle, and which is called a punkah, to swing continually over S-'s head. Now don't go and imagine that S- is a sybarite. There are punkahs everywherein the parlour, in the refectory, &c. Many people are punkahed in bed all night. These instruments are not in use in the Catholic churches; but every man and woman in the congregation continually uses the fan, which is also called a punkah here. Different countries have different customs: a punkah here is more necessary than a coat; and to make up for this there is not a single fire-place in the whole house.

No fire-place, you will say; do you cat your rice raw then? To this I have two answers: first, that the kitchen with us, as with our neighbours, is not in the house, but in the compound:-that is, the large space which surrounds the house. And next that the kitchens, without a single exception, are without fireplaces. These black Indians, who are our cooks, are accustomed to light the fire without caring for the smoke, which escapes where it can, through the windows, or the skylight, or through the holes in the roof. If you were, as I am, philosopher enough to eat cockchafers, I would introduce you into the kitchen: but I think you would hardly like to go into that hovel for fear of losing your appetite for ever. Let us leave the Indians in their dens, and go into the refectory to sit under the punkah. To-day we shall have mutton and fowl, to-morrow fowl and mutton; sometimes nothing but fowl. As for vegetables-but if you trust me, you will not touch them; they taste of nothing but stagnant water. Besides the morning breakfast, and dinner which is at halfpast three, we have two other meals a day. One at noon, called tiffin, is composed at most of a glass of beer, a crust of bread and some fruit; for many amongst us it is reduced to one of these things, and for several, and me in particular, to nothing at all. The other meal at eight in the evening, consists of a cup of coffee, with or without bread. And now let us leave this place of misery to return to it no

more.

Come and see my room. It has no punkah, but four windows open night and day; two on the south, where the sun never comes in, and two on the east, where outside shutters prevent its entrance every morning. My bed is a kind of large sofa, on which there is a something which is neither a palliasse nor a mattress. It is a flat sack, not

quite three inches thick, filled with horse-hair; over this two sheets (which is a luxury; most people use but one), and a pillow as hard as the mattress. But what is most to be admired are the four posts supporting a horizontal rectangle to which is hung the mosquito curtain. This mosquito curtain is used here all the year round. It is a piece of cotton lace, the end turned under the mattress. Behind this slight rampart, if there is no hole in it, one enjoys the pleasure of hearing the mosquitoes hum, powerless and enraged. In December and January there are clouds of them, but one appreciates, while listening to them, the line of Tibullus:

"Quam juvat immites ventos audire cubantem!"

What is a mosquito? It is first cousin to the European gnat, generally smaller, but just the same shape; it hums and stings like the gnat, only its sting is rather more painful, and is followed by a larger and more lasting swelling. Nothing can preserve one from its attacks: its sting penetrates even a double covering of linen.

These insects are not my only companions. There are, besides, at this moment, in my room, some millions of red or black ants, hundreds of which I crush every day in vain; then there are lizards, which are not mute as in Europe, but which from time to time give us a short song. These lizards give chase to the insects, so I take care not to drive them away. There are also in my room horrible caucrelats (cockroach) great dark brown insects about an inch and a half long, and which have the privilege of inspiring universal horror. To like them one must be as great a poet as M. Victor Hugo, who had an affection for "the toad, that poor monster with the mild eyes." There are little white fish, insects which do not live in the water, but which abound especially in the rainy season. These fish, in less than no time, make large holes in linen and cloth. During the night I sometimes hear the rats and mice scampering about; the mosquito curtain protects me from them. As to bats, owls, and screech owls, I do not think they ever enter our open windows.

Birds of prey are very numerous here, and wherever I may be in my room, there are, I cannot tell how many, kites contemplating me from the tops of the neighbouring houses. The carrion crows are another kind of animal, as curious as they are annoying. They frequent the river, into which the Indians throw their dead; and one may often see two, three, or more in the middle of the river apparently sailing in an invisible boat; which boat is a corpse which they devour as they go.

Sometimes the jackals dispute with them for this horrible prey, and you may see these animals, at some distance from the town, trotting along with some human limb in their jaws. In the town the crows live upon scraps of all sorts; they sp cially frequent the kitchen doors; during our meals there are always from twenty to thirty outside the refectory. There they appear to be begging for bones, crusts of bread, &c., and willingly accept all that is thrown to them. The kites, less numerous and less audacious, but much more voracious, stand sentinel over them; and often rob from them, on the wing, what the

poor crows had picked off the ground. But it is worth while to watch a kite in his turn gnawing a bone of which he has obtained possession. If he is not careful to perform this operation in the air, he is invariably flanked by two crows, one of which pull constantly at him from behind, to provoke him, whilst the other takes advantage of his impatience to peck at the bone between the very claws of the kite. After some time the crows change places, and each in his turn takes the chestnuts out of the fire. I see at this moment in our courtyard, another bird, less common than the two former species, but not at all rare. The name which it commonly goes by here is adjutant, in other places he bears the much more picturesque name of philosopher. To give you an idea of it, imagine an ordinary heron, the size of a small ostrich, the beak is about three inches wide and more than eighteen long, the claws and legs are very white and thin, and nearly a yard and a half long; the neck, which nearly always hangs in folds, and forms a kind of crop, measures nearly twenty inches. Between these two extremities place a large white body, covered with great dark grey wings, you will have a pretty good idea of the adjutant or philosopher, which last name he well deserves by the pedantic gravity of his carriage, and the foolish expression of his countenance. However this bird is very useful. They say he eats an immense number of serpents and dangerous creatures; he looks splendid on the wing; he hates the kites and protects the crows.

From the description of my house I have been drawn on to give you a little course of natural history; let us now pass to other things. There is nothing else curious in my room, unless it be the two partitions which, with the walls of the house, form the enclosure. These partitions are little more than six feet high, but it is 16 feet from the floor to the ceiling. They are arranged thus to give a free passage to the breeze.

As we go downstairs, let us take a look at the back rooms, a dozen in number, in which there is not a single bath, but great earthenware vessels, always full of water, and little copper vessels which hold about a quart. You stand on the pavement; then fill the little vessel from the big one, and pour the contents about fifty times over your head. That is called taking a bath. It is said to be very healthy, everybody in this country takes a daily bath-except me, for want of time; everybody also has been more or less ill-except me, for the same reason.

It would be impossible to find on the European continent a race more devoid of musical feeling than our pupils. It is not taste they want, but good taste. Several amongst them have an instrument, rather like an accordion, which they call a concertina. They have the courage to spend all their recreations for more than three months in playing one air. I have heard "God save the Queen" thousands of times. Once would have been enough to have disgusted you with it for ever; you may judge whether I am in love with it! Besides it is time to take our walk.

They

The English went very simply to work to create Calcutta. just traced a large circular road, to make the boundary. Three Hindoo villages, Fort William, and some European factories, were enclosed in