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that time would have made it a trying post to any man. case of the new vicar, the very name of an Evangelical awoke a bitter spirit of hostility in quarters where it could make itself painfully felt. Every act was watched, and every sermon criticised; and the whole ministerial life was carried on under the consciousness that occasions of attack were being sought. Parochial measures, which were acknowledged to be requisite, were opposed on the simple ground that they were Mr. Cunningham's plans, and that he was damaging the character of the place and of the school by aiming to introduce evangelical religion. "It is a happy thing." he would say, "to be called to preach the gospel, but it is no great pleasure to have to carry it every Sunday into such a stormy pulpit as mine."

Mr. Cunningham early obtained a considerable reputation as a writer. His first publication was an Essay on the Introduction of Christianity into India, which was followed by "The World without Souls," written at Clapham ; "The Velvet Cushion," written at Harrow soon after Mr. Venn's death, in 1813; "Sancho the Proverbialist;" some pamphlets in support of the Bible Society, and on other subjects, some volumes of Sermons, and various poetical productions. In the last species of composition he indulged largely in his earlier years, and those who know his little poem on the Sabbath, beginning:

"Dear is the hallowed morn to me

When village bells awake the day," &c.

will think that he has left something that will last.

The turn of his powers is best shown in "The Velvet Cushion," which went through many editions, enjoyed an extensive popularity, and is still connected with his name. It had the merit of fitting into the thoughts of the time, and of giving a just and moderate estimate of subjects which were then generally the property of prejudice and passion. But even now it can scarcely be read without the feeling that it is not in the category of common books. It keeps us perhaps on the surface of things, yet over that surface there quiver, as it were, faint lights and shades of natural playfulness, of gentle pathos, and of serious purpose, which in their combination and proportions produce an effect altogether peculiar.

But in speaking of his literary work, that which he did for the Christian Observer is not to be forgotten here. Its first (permanent) editor, Zachary Macaulay, often found the benefit of his ready help, and other editors have done so too. In the year 1850 he became editor himself, and when, after eight years, he resigned it into the hands in which it now is, his active connection with it I did not cease. The charge of such a publication was a heavy burden to take up at his advanced age; but it seemed to be made light to him by his settled habits of industry, his singular facility in correspondence, and his warm interest in the work itself.

During a great part of his life, Mr. Cunningham's advocacy rendered important aid to the Church Missionary and British and Foreign Bible Societies. He travelled and spoke in their cause, when they were struggling against the prejudices of the world and of the church. For this work he was peculiarly fitted by the candour and moderation of his own mind, and by his happy talent in the treatment of objec

tions. His speaking was singularly ready, but never without substance; serious and dignified, but cheerful in spirit, and full of lively and unexpected turns of thought. The copy of a Minute adopted by the Committee of the Church Missionary Society, Oct. 14, 1861, lies before us; and an extract from it will supply the best testimony to the estimation in which his services were held:

"The Church Missionary Society owes much to his long and consistent advocacy. In the year 1818 he was nominated an Honorary Life Governor, the terms of his appointment stating that it was made on the grounds of 'able and successful exertions for the Society which need not be recapitulated. '

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"In 1823 he preached the Anniversary Sermon from the memorable words: 'Now is the prince of this world cast out; and I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.' Not to mention his interest in the abolition of West Indian slavery, his exertions on behalf of the introduction of the Episcopal and Christian Missions into British India, his cordial and ready help in founding and sustaining auxiliaries of the Society in the chief towns of England, he took a part in no less than nineteen of the Society's Anniversary meetings between 1816 and 1848. His voice was last heard at the Society's Jubilee, when he was selected to take part in the Special Meeting, as one of the links that bind the present to the past, and as a representative of those great principles on which the Society was founded, and which, under God, are the secret of its strength and vitality."

It was during an absence from home on a similar service that death drew near to his doors. In the depth of a severe winter (1821) he went to Gloucester for the Bible Society, leaving his wife, as he thought, slightly indisposed. The cold became a pleurisy, and he returned to find her dying. It was a death-bed full of the consolations of the word. She spoke continually of sin, of Christ, and of peace. "The sting of death," she said, "is gone; it is so wonderful, because I always had such a fear of death from my youth, but God has taken it all away it is gone, my Saviour has washed me from all my sins." Her last thoughts dwelt upon the words of St. Peter. (2 Pet. i. 11.) Abundantly" was the last sound which was caught from her lips: is-ministered-abundantly-abundantly."

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It was the first of many mournings. Nine children were left, to whom their surviving parent rendered the care of a mother as well as of a father. Six of them in succession were called away. First, the eldest daughter died of a fearful fever. Then four other daughters, two unmarried, and two who were wives and mothers. But the heaviest blow of all was the death of the eldest son, Charles Thornton Cunningham, then Lieut.-Governor of the Leeward Islands: heaviest, because it came most suddenly, and perhaps because he had been most beloved. After the death of one of his sisters by lingering consumption, her picture was sent out to him. He had been anxious for its arrival, but was much agitated on receiving it. After removing the covering, he gazed on it for a moment, then went up stairs, and fell lifeless on the floor. It seemed at first for the poor father a crushing, irrevocable blow; but it was very meekly borne. Some days after he wrote,-" Where the Lord loves, he does not spare the appropriate chastening. I am sure I feel to the quick how much penalty I deserve, and how much amendment I need." Some months later he could write thus,-" We are, thank God, all well; and, I hope I may add, happy. No events ought to interrupt the happiness of a soul that is in any degree authorised to hope that it is accepted in the Beloved.' I have been greatly struck with the spirit of peace in the letters of Newton. It

is a happiness in spite of a thousand heavy trials. I certainly never find that any other principles or style of religion lead to the same results."

Two years after this another sorrow came, in the loss of her to whom these words were addressed. Mr. Cunningham had married again in June, 1827. His second wife was Mary, daughter of Lieut.-Gen. Sir H. Calvert, Bart., and sister of the present Sir H. Verney, M.P., of Claydon, Bucks. She died unexpectedly of a rapid illness in February, 1849. It was no common loss. All who knew her remember her as one whom it was good to have known. The power of conscience and the spirit of kindness were never more perfectly united. The love of Christ was in her heart, in her words, in her life, and even in her countenance. She was called from the home which she adorned; but the three children whom she left were their father's companions in his latter years, and, with the three who remained of his first family, watched by him in his last hours.

Thus, the life had its full share of sorrows; but it had also its full share of pleasures. The faculty of enjoyment was a remarkable characteristic of Mr. Cunningham's mind. "At our last interview," says a friend, "I remember his saying,- Well, I still say it is a happy world after all. Happiness preponderates."" With him, at least, it did preponderate. He had that foundation for it, which his own words lately quoted have revealed. The love of the Saviour, and the promises of the gospel, were always before him. But, in addition to this, he had great natural materials of happiness in his affections, his interests, and his tastes. His affections were warm and tender, and surrounded him with a circle of love, consisting not only of his children and nearest relatives, but of others who felt towards him almost as they did. His power of interest was singular both in extent and duration. "Men felt"-(we use here some words already published*)—" that they had come upon a living link between the present and the past, when they conversed with one, whose recollections of the past were so loving, and whose interest in the present was so fresh. It was wonderful that a mind, which had been so long in contact with this wearying world, should be still so free from weariness, and from the common tendency of old age to shrink into the narrow circle of self. It was wonderful that one, who had passed through such changes of the mental atmosphere, and seen so many different phases of opinion, should still observe with so much interest every new form of thought, and look round on the altered scene with so inquiring and candid an eye." He possessed in a high degree many tastes that minister pleasure; a sense of the beautiful in nature, in literature, and in all things; a love of children and young people; and a peculiar enjoyment of social intercourse, which, where he was present, was always of a higher tone than usual, ever tending to mental improvement and spiritual edification, and free from trivial topics and unkind judgments. "People," he said, "are too apt to put on the judge's cap-the black velvet of condemnation-and then there is an end of all pleasure in society." He hoped well of all; he found good

"Departure into Rest:" a Funeral Sermon preached in Harrow Church, October 6, by the Rev. T. D. Bernard. Hatchard and Co.

where others could not; he delighted to approve and to admire. "How charming was his society!" says the same friend whose words we have quoted above; "I never left him without feeling a sort of fascination. And then, how much he taught me! and yet he never seemed to teach, but only to listen." We believe that this was the common impression of those who partook of his graceful and open hospitality; and the large connection which was thus established, seemed to call upon us to speak thus at length of one whose intercourse so many have enjoyed. But we must hasten to a close.

The condition of the parish of Harrow at the end of Mr. Cunningham's ministry was very different from what it was at the beginning. The Public School, of which he was a governor, and in the state of which he was always deeply interested, had undergone a change of character, on which he dwelt with continual thankfulness. Dr. Vaughan's administration had not only restored its numbers, but raised its spirit, and given it a kind of reputation which attracted to the place such a class of residents as the vicar wished to see around him. The more distant hamlets had been separated into two important district parishes; a third had been formed at the time of his death, and the church stands ready for consecration. The parish church enlarged, restored, and crowded, first-rate schools erected, parochial institutions of all kinds at work, schools and services in the remaining hamlets, the ministerial labours divided among three curates, and assisted by helpers in various departments of usefulness, enabled him to look round with thankfulness on the scene of activity over which he presided. No man could be more ready to acknowledge in all this the munificence and zeal of others, or be more grateful to God for the union and co-operation which made the latter part of his pastorate so different from those earlier days when he had scarcely a helper in his parish. He would sometimes contemplate a resignation of duties which required powers still in their vigour. But old age like his was a talent in itself, adding reverence to holy ministrations, and creating around him the spirit of kindly service and filial deference. Nor did he cease to minister, receiving his Bible classes at home when he could not go abroad, and preaching in the church till within a few Sundays of his death. His last sermon but one, on "The things which must be hereafter," left deep and sweet impressions on the hearts of some who heard it. "He seemed," said one, "to realize so fully the things that must be to the believer."

He was soon to know more of the things of which he spoke. The signs of approaching change were more and more evident. He went for a month to Eastbourne, and in three weeks after his return the end came. The companions of his last days, ever accustomed to see him happy and seeking to make others happy, were yet peculiarly impressed with the spirit of sweetness and serene enjoyment which marked him then; while there were at the same time many tokens that he felt himself on the verge of life, and that his mind was conversing more than usual in another world. Not only his own family observed it, but others who met with him. A clergyman who called upon him at Eastbourne writes as follows:

"I see afresh the beaming look of his face, as we lately contemplated together the end of our labours, and the possession of our promised inheritance: and when prayer

closed our meeting, the good old man seemed lost to me for a time, as though his spirit were occupied in realms above mortal observation. I shall never forget that moment, or the parting that followed. Ministerial trials had depressed me, and it seemed as if God had sent me to his aged servant for comfort and encouragement to go forward."

On his return home he seemed revived, and everything was being arranged for his comfort in the winter. Yet, as if by a secret warning, he hastened some final arrangements, most of them acts of kindness, and took some. farewells, which were yet too vague and distant to be painful. Then a slight ailment turned the scale of life. He went to his room with a greater sense of weakness, fell soon into a state of unconsciousness, lingered in it for a week, and passed into the presence of his God.

His parish followed his body to the grave, like one great family mourning for a father, and every mark of affectionate honour was shown in the place with which he had been so long identified.

The Christian Observer, with which he had been associated still longer, could not withhold its own tribute of regret. But "regret" is a cold word to be written by the hand which has been employed upon these pages, and which thus records the loss of a fatherly affection which never varied, and of a happy and holy connection which can never be replaced.

THE SO-CALLED "CATHOLIC AND APOSTOLIC CHURCH."

The Restoration of Apostles and Prophets in the Catholic Apostolic Church. London: Bosworth and Harrison. 1861.

FROM the beginning of the work which has resulted in the erection of a gorgeous building in Gordon Square, in which services are carried on with all the pomp and ceremony of the Sistine Chapel, we have pointed out the tendency of the views put forth by the late Mr. Irving. Our pages were early open to the controversy concerning a supposed case of healing in the instance of Miss Fancourt, and upon fitting occasions we have always kept an open eye upon the doings of the people who assemble in that building.

For a long time, it is true, their doings were hidden from our eyes. It seemed as though they had ceased to work: the noise of unknown tongues was absent from our ears: the rumours of renewed prophetic utterance had died away. All that was known was that in a bye-street from one of the great thoroughfares they had a place of meeting, and that there they sought to show some fancied copy of Levitical rites and services. It has even been asserted that they are in the habit of repeating the sacrifices of the Mosaic law. This, however, is not true in the letter; it has arisen from the line of thought and of teaching in use amongst them, in which they constantly refer