the dawn of another day was near; and soon the sky in the east grew silver grey, and the sun began to show himself in a red line above the horizon. Not long after that, the two officers went back to their tents; Frank to enjoy an early repast of fried pork and biscuit, and two or three hours' sound sleep on his primitive camp bedstead-Gray to drink coffee, smoke cigars, and write letters.

When Gray first went into his tent, before he lit his cigar, and while the iron saucepan containing his coffee was still simmering on the fire, he took out his Bible and began to read. Another officer of his regiment-a Captain Hamilton-shared his tent with him, and was at this moment stretched his full length on the ground, apparently in a deep slumber. Like many others, Captain Hamilton had not brought a Bible into the Crimea at all, and had never entertained an idea of spending any moment of his hard-earned leisure "over that kind of literature," as he once irreverently termed it. Bnt Gray's quiet, unostentatious habits of devotion, which he never allowed anybody or anything to interrupt, joined with the resolute, manly, muscular character, had taken a deep effect upon many around him -upon all who were brought into immediate contact with him, as Captain Hamilton was. More than once the young officer had regarded him curiously and inquisitively through half-shut eyelids, as he sat by his oil-lamp, reading at night. He had studied the grave, haughty face with wistful intentness, knowing it belonged to one who was the very opposite in all things to his ideal "pious man;" and had pondered the matter in his frivolous mind, deeply and uneasily. He knew one officer-quite a young man who was perpetually boring all the army with tracts, and complimenting his superiors upon their fitness for a certain unmentionable place. He had a strong aversion to this young man, and had "hanged him for a hypocritical ranter" on more than one occasion. And he knew another-also youngwho organized prayer meetings on a large scale, and preached about "conversion" in a very able way indeed. But this man never went to Holy Communion. And though Captain Hamilton had not been many times himself, and did not think much about it on his own account, he argued that if a man professedly went in for religion, and elected himself a teacher and pattern for his fellow-men, he ought at least to be consistent. While there was one other, personally known to him, who had been piously disposed in a great degree on his first entrance into the

army, and then had given the thing up because he was laughed at, and ended by becoming one of the very loosest of his set. Captain Hamilton had lost much of what little reverence for religion his mother had bequeathed to him, through the instrumentality of these men; but in some silent, mysterious fashion Major Lennox seemed to be bringing it back. On this particular night, or rather morning, when he was halfway through the chapter he had chosen, and chanced to look off his book as he turned a leaf, he saw the young officer propping himself up on his elbow, and, as their eyes met, heard the unexpected question 'Major Lennox, would you mind reading that—what you are, reading-out loud?"

tr

Certainly not," he answered, in a cheerful, quiet tone, as if it were quite in the ordinary course of things. "I'll begin it again."

And he began and read through the resurrection chapter in the First Epistle to Corinthians-" Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and wherein ye stand." No doubt Captain Hamilton had heard it before; but he listened as though it were new and strange. Anyhow, the meaning in it had not struck him as it struck him now, enhanced by the tone and expression of Gray's clear voice. During the early part, he attended in a shy, shamefaced way, looking on the ground and twirling the points of his moustache; then he became perfectly still; then he lifted his eyes, and fixed them intently on Gray's face, and never once removed them again till the chapter was done.

Gray quietly closed the Bible, and, without any comment, went to look after his coffee; and following him with his eyes still, Captain Hamilton said

"Thank you, Major Lennox. doesn't it?"

That makes us think of home,

Yes," answered Gray, taking the remark in a wide sense. And then Captain Hamilton rose, and went out to relieve some of the night-workers in the trenches, conscious of a yearning for something he had not felt the want of before. And Gray said his prayers, lit his cigar, drank his coffee, and wrote his letters.

He wrote three letters that morning. The first was to Lord L'Estrange. It was rather a long letter; and it was full of instructions concerning the management of the Warwickshire property, and the guardianship of Margaret's rights and interests in

the event of his death. A tender, affectionate letter, too; for, as he wrote it, the idea that he might not see the face of his old friend, who had had a share in the joys and troubles of so many, many years, again, was rather strong upon him. The second letter was to Lady Dalrymple. This was a long letter, too; and this also was full of tender and deep anxiety for the future welfare of his darling.

If I should die out here," he said, "will you go to her at once? I am afraid of the first shock of the news, for she is not strong yet. She will be terribly lonely, Cecile-more lonely by and by than now while she has the children with her. For in course of time they will marry and disperse; and she will not be likely to marry, and have others to supply their place. Will you look after her, and watch over her, my sweet sister, for me? They are such kind people at Danesfield, but they are not my people; they have not known me as long and as well as you have, and that is what she will think of then. Let her act as proxy for me to the little lad, and be his godmother; hers will be safer hands than mine. And let her talk about me to you whenever she likes: it will not make her more sorrowful; I think it will comfort her. She will understand that death cannot be a separation now. It will only be an interruption for a little time-putting off our wedding day a few years."

I wonder what ailed Gray, to make him write like that! His third letter was to Margaret herself. It was not so long as the others; for, as soon as he began to write it, there came a roar of artillery into his ears-a roar like thunder among alpine heights-which never ceased until he finished it. Every now and then he paused and looked up, as he distinguished the faint shriek of a shell, or the throb of one of the deadly "Lancaster” missiles in the tortured air; and whenever he paused he seemed to hear the knell of that bright hope which he had so dearly, dearly cherished. It was but a short letter; but there must have been something in it to counterbalance that defect; for afterwards Margaret enfolded it in a little silken case, and hung it round her neck. And there it lies unto this day.

THE VISION OF (CONCERNING) PIERS

PLOWMAN.1

BY REV. W. L. BLACKLEY, M.A.

IN these days, when there are so many writers that the great marvel is where the readers come from,-when such multitudes of scribes of every kind seem to have followed the modern factory fashion, and taken shares in the Great British and Universal Paperstaining Company (Unlimited),-it is somewhat refreshing to come upon a volume like the present, which bears throughout traces of diligent and persevering labour, and may fairly claim the merit of doing worthy service to the literature of our country. Every one who pretends to the slightest acquaintance with the outlines of our literary history must be familiar with. the name, at least, of the work before us; and yet so little known and read has it been, that very few who speak glibly enough of "Piers Plowman's Vision" are aware that such a mention exposes the fact of their never having perused the remarkable poem to which they give this inaccurate appellation. Piers Plowman is the name of the leading figure set forth as having appeared in a vision-not as having himself beheld it; and Mr. Skeat has done well in so framing his title-page as to correct this error, by styling the work "The Vision of William concerning Piers Plowman." We give the editor's words on this point:-"Many persons, even scholars and antiquaries, have loosely used the title Piers Plowman as though it were the name of an author, instead of remembering that it is the name or subject of a poem. It would be a mistake exactly similar to this to attribute the 'Pilgrim's Progress' to Christian."

Now that this error should be so common as it is (for it runs through most of our text-books of English literature) proves one fact very clearly, namely, that multitudes of people speak of "Piers Plowman" who have never read it at all; and the purpose

"The Vision of William concerning Piers Plowman," together with "Vita de Do-wel, Do-bet, et Do-best, secundum Wit and Resoun;" by William Langland (1362 A.D.). Edited from 'the Vernon MSS. by the Rev. W. W. Skeat, for the Early English Text Society, 1867. London: Trübner.

of the present paper will be fully answered if it succeed in leading some of our readers to examine for themselves this earliest text of a really noble work, which has been brought before the public in an elegant, accessible, and inexpensive form by the enthusiastic and exhaustive labour of Mr. Skeat.

The poem has been generally attributed to Robert Langland, a priest who lived in the fourteenth century; but our present editor gives, in his preface, interesting proof that its author was no priest (indeed, from the subject-matter of the work, which is a caustic satire against priestly corruptions, a most unlikely thing); and further, that his Christian name was not Robert, but William. The period assigned, which is well ascertained and substantiated by abundant internal as well as external evidence, will show him to have been a contemporary of Chaucer; and those who have read and delighted in the "father of English poetry" as an expositor of the upper English life of his time, will rejoice to recognise in the author of the "Vision" a worthy supplementer of many other points in other walks of English life and morals, which are most instructive and interesting. If a comparison may be allowed us between this and another pair of satirists, we would illustrate their poetic relation by calling Chaucer the Horace, and Langland the Juvenal of their day: the former touching, with deft and apposite description, the follies and the fancies of his time as they meet him, smiling or thoughtful as the case may be, showing the world as it is, nor much examining the cause of its so being; the other, with graver purpose and deeper feeling, starting from the principle of right and truth and holiness, showing what the world should be by exposing what it is, and lashing vice, impurity, and wrong by the sharp righteous scourge of his indignant satire. This solemn, earnest purpose is apparent from the following lines (Passus I., 68-84), in which the poet describes his seeking to Holy Church for aid in working the will of Christ. We much modernize the spelling, and in a very few instances the expression:

"Then had I wonder in my wit, what woman it were

That such wise words of holy writ me showed;

And halsed (hailed, adjured) her in the High Name, ere she thence yode (went) What she were verily that wised (taught) me so fair.

'Holy Church I am,' quoth she, thou oughtest me to know;

I thee underfong (received) first, and thy faith thee taught;

Thou broughtest me Borwes (gavest me pledges) my bidding to work,

And to love me leally, while thy life dured.'