make the same objection The petitions which I have seen might in general be characterized by Πολλὰ δ' ἄναντα, κάταντα, πάραντά τε, δόχμιά τ' ἦλθον. To prevent such faults, therefore, as well as the more serious error of an Erastian spirit, I call upon you to succour, Your's, B. P. M. VIOLATION OF THE RUBRIC IN THE COMMUNION SERVICE. MR. EDITOR,-Whether it be expedient, or not, literally and strictly to abide by the Rubric in every part of the church service, I will not take upon me to say. I mean only at present to notice a glaring violation of it, which is common not only in most parish churches, but even in some cathedrals. Not to mention any thing about the neglect of catechizing and baptizing after the second lesson, and that of reading generally but a part instead of the whole of the Warning for the Communion (and that at the wrong time and place)—the instance to which I allude is this: on comparing the last rubric after the Nicene creed with the first rubric after the communion service, it appears that in the morning service, instead of pronouncing the blessing in the pulpit immediately after the sermon, the priest should return to the Lord's table and begin the offertory, say the prayer for the church militant, and one or more of the collects at the end of the communion service, and conclude with the blessing. But it is well known that this order is now generally disregarded. I know not how we are justified in thus transgressing the rubric, and yet I am aware that the beginning now to observe it (especially in the instances above-named) would breed much dissatisfaction and division in many congregations. Is it not, then, much to be wished that the rubric should be somewhat revised, and made more generally practicable, and then that its observance should be uniformly and strictly enforced by our ecclesiastical superiors? I am, your obedient servant, B. LETTERS ON THE CHURCH OF THE FATHERS. NO. VIII. ONE of the more striking points of Basil's character was his utter disregard of mere human feelings when the interests of religion were concerned. This admirable trait, which is so great a desideratum in our present ecclesiastical temper, appears in his history with a clearness and determinateness which is called harshness by weaker minds. Not only his private substance, but his episcopal revenues, were given up to the service of the poor and the church. He wore the coarsest apparel, and lived on the cheapest food, that he might erect colleges and almshouses. In the midst of his dispute with Anthimus, he was engaged at home in building the cathedral of Caesarea, which he surrounded with other structures for the bishop's dwelling and the inferior VOL. VI.-August, 1834. X ecclesiastics. To these were added apartments for the reception of foreigners, whether passing through the country or afflicted with sickness; and schools for the education of the young. The institution of hospitals is justly considered the legitimate fruit and the boast of Christianity; and Basil seems to have provided for their establishment in all his suffragan dioceses. His own, at Cæsarea, was so large as to be even called "the New Town." It was principally intended for the use of persons afflicted with leprosy, a miserable complaint, as occasioning their banishment from the cities to which each of them properly belonged. This self-sacrifice, which he observed in his own case for the good of the church, he scrupled not to extend to the instance of those to whom he was related, and for whom he had to act. His brother and his intimate friend, the two Gregories of Nyssa and Nazianzum, felt the keenness and severity of his zeal as well as the comfort of his affection. Discerning in each of them gifts which were bestowed for the good of the community, he suffered them not go to waste, but consecrated them, in spite of the reluctance of the possessors, to the service of God. Each of them was raised to the fearful honours of the episcopacy against his will. Nazianzen, too, was placed in an especially arduous and ungrateful post, as if he had been a mere instrument of the church instead of the friend of its ruler; and, not being strongminded enough to take the same view of the case as Basil, he committed himself to the unhappy quarrel of which I spoke in my last paper. And yet, in spite of his deficiency in moral force and stability, and the hastiness of his temper, there is in Gregory a beauty of character, an affectionateness, an amiableness, and an ardent zeal, which must ever recommend him to the love and reverence of the apostolical Christian. His was not that amiableness which is the outward garb of idleness, insipidity, and lukewarmness about great and stirring purposes; nor that, again, which dishonours itself with the embrace of the heretic, the schismatic, and the unbeliever. Bear witness, Constantinople, the imperial city, and the church of Anastasia, which he founded, to the strictness and ardour of his orthodoxy! This is the historical subject which I now wish to approach; though at present I shall not have room to do more than to give the reader some insight into Gregory's character. First, however, it may be right to mention that his difference with Basil soon came to an end, though he certainly thought, even after the death of the latter, that he had not been treated with sufficient consideration. After his ordination, he had fled from the scene of his active duties; but, in a short time, he returned; and the discourse is extant in which he apologizes to his father and his friend for his extravagance. Nothing, [he says,] has more constraining power than age; nothing is more authoritative than friendship. These are they which have led me hither to you, a prisoner in Christ, not with iron chains, but with the inextricable bonds of the Spirit. Hitherto I have considered myself my own master, nor took advice (foolish I!) even of these my loving friends and brethren; so might I attain a free leisure from worldly engagements and follow wisdom in quiet-letting the world do as it would towards me, so might I speak to myself and the Spirit. I set before me the Carmel of Elias, and the desert of John, and the high unearthly life of others like them; and I deemed things present like the sea-surge, and looked about for rock, or headland, or fort, under which I might find shelter. "Let others," I said, "have labours and honours-others, wars and victories. It is enough for me to look to myself instead, and to make shift to live as I best can, voyaging over my brief sea in a humble bark, and, by this poor sojourn on earth, gaining me some lowly place of rest hereafter. A grovelling ambition perhaps, but, on that account, safer-to be removed at once from rising and falling." Such were my wishes, while I yet had leave to dream, and to banquet my mind with vain imaginings......It is altered now. Friendship has defeated me; the grey head has taken me captive;-the aged wisdom of a father, in his tranquil winding-up of life, and the friendship of one who is rich unto God, and makes many rich......Now, then, I cast away my anger, (hear, O ye meek men, and be cheerful of heart!) and I look mildly upon that ordaining hand which was my tyrant, and I can smile upon the Spirit's work, and my heart is quieted, and reason returns to me; and friendship, as a flame that has burned low, again rekindles from its embers. My soul refused comfort, and my spirit was overwhelmed within me. "Never again," cried I, "will I trust friendship; and why should I hope in man?".. There is no profit in relating all the thoughts and feelings of my grief, and of my troubled, or rather darkened, mind......Now I recant my words, for what is truer and more becoming?...... In truth, exalted prelate, thou hadst not the heart to make the cause of the Spirit second to thy friendship; and, as I was more precious to thee than other men, so the Spirit far more than I. Thou hadst not the heart to let the talent lie buried in the earth; to let the light remain within the bushel, as thinking that occupation was my light and my province. Thou art Paul, and thou makest search for thy Barnabas.........So thou bringest me into the midst, and stayest me when I would flee, and placest me beside thee, as if thou saidst, "See what sort of wrong it is I shew thee!" And so thou makest me to share thy cares and thy glory. Gregory does the same justice to Basil's conduct towards him in his sermon on the death of his friend, while, at the same time, he declares his own feelings upon it. After expressing pain at what he still accounted want of consideration in Basil, he adds, "unless, indeed, I may be suffered to make this excuse for him, that, having views beyond this earth, and having departed hence even before life was over, he did every thing for the Spirit's sake; and, knowing well to reverence the claims of friendship, yet slighted it whenever the things of God required his duty. And his future hope withdrew him from interests which perish." On the other hand, Gregory was quite aware, and on his guard against, the hastiness of his own temper; allusion to which is made in his poeins, e.g.— Again, I lost, O Lord, the use of yesterday; Anger came on, and stole my heart away. O may I find this morn some inward-piercing ray! The serpent comes anew! I hold thy feet, O David! list, and strike thy harp-strings sweet! Hence! choking spirit, hence! for saintly minds unmeet. The same besetting infirmity is alluded to in his verses for morning and evening: MORNING. I rise, and yield my clasped hands to thee! Calm stationed at my post, and with free soul My hoary head, thy table where I bow, EVENING. O Holiest Truth! how have I lied to thee! This day I set apart, thy feast to be; Yet I am dark ere night. Surely I made my prayer, and I did deem My feet have slipped; and, as I lay, he came, In the verses on Morning a reference may be observed to his priesthood. It was a just and oppressive sense of the dignity of the holy office which made the early Christians averse to undertake it. The following is on the same subject: In service o'er the mystic feast I stand; 1 cleanse thy victim-flock, and bring them near Though Gregory did not retire into the solitudes of Pontus with his friend, and had perhaps more of what is now called a domestic character, yet he was not less devoted than Basil to that state of life which, in the primitive church, was considered the highest, though not imperative on any one. There is frequent evidence of this in his poems; and it is necessary to be aware of it in order fully to enter into the child-like and heavenly simplicity of his mind. For instance :As viewing sin, e'en in its faintest steps, Murder in wrath, and in the wanton oath The perjured tongue, and therefore, shunning them, And hence our ample choir of holiest souls Are followers of the unfleshly seraphim, And Him who mid them reigns in lonely light. These, one and all, rush towards the thought of death, And hope of second life, with single heart, Free of the rule and clog of marriage-vow. For I was but a captive at my birth, Sin my first law, till its base discipline Revolted me towards a nobler path. Then Christ drew near me; and the Virgin-born Spoke the new call to join his virgin train. So now towards highest heaven my innocent brow I raise exultingly, sans let or bond; Leaving no heir of this poor tabernacle To ape me when my proper frame is broke; But solitary with my only God, And truest souls to bear me company. It so happens that we have a vast deal of Gregory's poetry, which he doubtless never intended for publication, but which forms the recreation of his retirement. From one of these compositions, the following playful extract, on the same subject, is selected : As when the hand some mimic form would paint, It marks its purpose first in shadows faint, And, spurning father in his mortal state, Ye countless brethren of the marriage-band, The married many thus might plead, I wean; "List, you shall hear the gifts of price that lie Who raised the town?-who gave the type and germ Who filled the mart, and urged the vessel brave "Nay, list again! who seek its kindly chain, "Nor say it binds to an ungodly life; When want is urgent, prayers and vows are rife. Hearthless, and stern, bereft of the soft charm Which steals from age its woes-from passion's sting its harm. No child's sweet pranks once more to make us young; No ties of place about our heart-strings flung; No public haunts to cheer; no festive tide, Where harmless mirth and smiling wit preside; A life, which scorns the gifts which Heaven assigned, |