were most needed, and, under the auspices of the Society, District Life-boat Associations were established. But though the services rendered by the Institution from year to year were of the highest social value, money, the sinews of strength, was not always forthcoming according to its need, and the supply of life-boats, instead of growing greater in a ratio with our growing commerce, grew lamentably less, while some of the District Associations ceased to exist; so that by the year 1851, there were many places which had once possessed life-boats, but now could boast of none. It was this state of things which induced the "Shipwrecked Fishermen and Mariner's Society," to extend its operations by providing additional boats, and stationing them in places where they were much wanted. It being found, however, that the fact of two Societies pursuing the same object operated in this case injuriously to both, it was resolved between them that the life-boats and life-boat funds of the new Society should be handed over to the older one, which should alter its title to "The Royal National Life-boat Institution." The Duke of Northumberland became president of the Institution in 1863. Through his encouragement the first self-righting boat had been constructed by Mr. Beaching, of Yarmouth, and this was the famous Ramsgate boat to which so many have since owed their lives; it is said to be surpassed, however, by the boat now adopted by the Institution. Of these improved boats, upwards of one hundred and sixty have been built within the last ten years, some of them for foreign governments. The number of lifeboats at the Society's stations is at the present moment qne hundred and twenty-five against thirty-two in the year 1852, showing an increase of ninety-five in the last зleven years. The number of lives saved in the years since 1852 by the boats and the Society's agency is six thousand six hundred and twenty-seven, while the total number saved since the establishment of the Institution in 1824, is now more than thirteen thousand five hundred. Our coloured picture represents one of the Society's model boats returning from a wreck with its precious living freight.

It must not be supposed that because the Royal National Life-boat Institution is thus efficient in saving life, it is accomplishing all that such an institution would be capable of achieving with ample means. The number of lives annually lost by shipwreck on our coasts, in spite of all the efforts that can be made for their preservation, averages nearly eight hundred, and in some years that number is far exceeded, and in 1859, was more than doubled. Nothing is more certain than that these deplorable calamities can be diminished in number by the multiplication of life boats. Wherever a life-boat is established, it is sure to distinguish itself ere long by the rescue of the drowning sailor; its crew are volunteers, always ready and eager to venture their lives for the salvation of others, and whenever the tempest beats upon our coast, they watch for the signals of distress, and dare the direst peril at the call of humanity. Alas! they sometimes fall victims to the dangers they defy, and whole crews of them ere now have perished in the discharge of their heroic duty.

Some idea of the activity and services of the lifeboats may be gathered from the following brief summary of a few days' work performed by them during the tremendous gales of November last, From the barque Ina, of North Shields, fourteen men were saved; from the ship David White Clinton, of New

York, were saved eight; from a Tenby fishing-boat three were saved; from the schooner Margaret aud Jane, of Dublin, five were saved; from the barque Duke of Northumberland, eighteen were saved; from a Filey fishing-boat, two were saved; the schooner Economy, of Portmadoc, was saved vessel and crew of five; the lugger Vigilant, of Peel, was saved vessel and crew of four; from the ship Jupiter, of London, eight were saved; from the schooner Maria, of Almwch, four were saved; the schooner Harry Russell, of Glasgow, was saved vessel and crew of six; from the schooner L'Esperance, of Nantes, two were saved; from the schooner Elizabeth, of Whitehaven, four were saved; from the barque Elizabeth Morrow, of Glasgow, nineteen were saved; and from the barque Confidence, of Liverpool, twenty-three were saved; making a total of one hundred and twenty-five lives rescued from destruction by the life-boats of the Institution in a single week.

On the 20th January, 1864, the life-boat at Grange, on the Isle of Wight, saved the crew of the schooner Thetis bound for London, which during heavy weather had foundered off St. Catherine's Point. The cost of this life-boat was presented to the National Life-boat Institution by the Royal Victoria Yacht Club, by whom the boat was named "The Rescue." She has already been the means of rescuing one hundred and forty persons from shipwreck.

In illustration of the fearful difference between lifeboat and no life-boat when there is a wreck on the coast, we shall cite two brief narratives-one of personal experience long ago-the other a triumphant tale of yesterday.

About forty years ago, we were sojourning for a few weeks in a small fishing-town on the south-west coast. One night, after a stormy day, we had gone to rest, weary of breasting the high wind for a walk of some miles. Our first sleep, however, was broken by a general movement in the house, the sound of earnest voices, and the dull boom of a minute gun fired out at sea. We rose at once, and with the rest of the household hastened to the beach. There a large fire was burning, and round it were the fishers and their wives feeding it with fuel. A dull red light was seen in the offing, and at intervals the bright flash of a gun shot upwards, followed in a few seconds by the pealing report. Men were reconnoitring with telescopes, and they had discovered before we had gained the spot that the red dull light was burning on the deck of a coasting vessel which had got upon the rock, and must inevitably go to pieces. The watchers had counted eight men clinging to the wreck, all of whom must speedily perish unless assistance was rendered them. An old fisherman, who must have been past threescore, at length beckoned to his son, a lad of eighteen, and the two drew their boat down to the water. Volunteers came forward instantly, but the women clung round them, and would not let them go, and it was not without a contest most painful to witness, that six hardy fellows were suffered to join the old man and his son. They were pushed off on the back of a wave, and giving way with their oars, at once disappeared in the gloom. In a minute they returned the hearty cheer of the shore party; but in less than another minute they were borne back by a monster wave, and dashed broadside on to the beach, the shock staving in the boat and cruelly maiming some of the men, who were with difficulty dragged out of the surf by their friends on shore-all but the old man, who could not be found, but whose body

was recovered two days afterwards, so disfigured that it could only be recognised by the dress. The storm continued all night and all the next day. Long ere dawn the gun ceased its firing, and the deck-fire was extinguished, so that nothing could be known of the fate of the poor fellows on board; but when the laggard daylight came at length, three men and a boy were seen clinging to a portion of the rigging, which was swept continually by the hungry sea. Nothing could be done for them, so fierce and blinding was the storm, and one by one they dropped into their common grave the last poor fellow disappearing just before dark. There was no life-boat.

Now for the contrasting narrative-the tale of yesterday, told by an actor in the scene. The following is the coxswain's report of the important services rendered on the night of the 3rd of December last, by the Ramsgate life-boat to the passengers of the emigrant ship Fusilier, of London; and to the crew of the ship Demerara, of Greenock. On the night in question, Mr. Aldrich, chief officer of the coast-guard at Margate, proceeded with all despatch to Ramsgate, to give tidings of the wrecks. The coxswain states:"We proceeded about 8:45 P.M., in tow of the Aid steam-tug, on our voyage in discovery of the distressed ship: the night was intensely dark. We went in the direction of the Tongue light-vessel. Shortly after passing the North Foreland, we could see the signals going up from both light-ships, and after a great deal of difficulty, we reached the Tongue light about midnight. Having hailed her, we were told by those on board that the supposed vessel was on the high part of the Shingles, bearing north-west from the light. We proceeded in that direction, but, being unable to find her, we made our way to the Prince's light-ship, the Girdler and her firing minute guns continuously. We hailed the Prince's light, and received information from them that there was a large ship on the high part of the Girdler. We again proceeded on our way, and eventually discovered her position by the tar barrels she was burning. After getting into position to reach her, we slipped our cable from the tug. The wind was at this time blowing a complete hurricane from north-west by west, with a terrific sea on, the horrors of which were increased by the darkness of the night, so that we had the greatest difficulty to get alongside. On doing so, we found her to be the Fusilier, of London, bound from that port to Melbourne, with emigrants, and belonging to the Black Ball line. This was about 2 A.M. of the morning of the 4th. We shouted to those on board to first save the women and children, of whom there were a great number. The scene at this time was an appalling one; the howling of the wind, mingled with the shrieks of the women and the rush of the waves against the sides of the ill-fated ship, used as we are to similar sights, made us doubly anxious for the safety of those whom, by God's providence, we had come to rescue. We managed in the first trip to take off twenty-five women and children; these, and the others, whom we afterwards took off, were got into the life-boat by the aid of two of the ship's crew being lashed in bowlines, and slung over the sides of the vessel, who lowered them into the boat by ropes-the task being one that taxed the nerves of all, as sometimes the water was up to her mizen-chains, while at other times it was quite the other way. The first batch having been taken to the tug, which was in the Prince's Channel, about three-quarters of a mile off, we, by her assist

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ance, were again able to get into a position to run to the ship again, the second trip bringing off forty women and children, the latter being lowered into the boat in blankets; and in two more trips-making four in all-we got off the male passengers, and placed them on board of the tug, where they were all attended to. It was now 6 A.M., and the sea running high. We laid by the steamer until daylight, when she started for Ramsgate, leaving us to keep by the ship, to aid, if necessary, the captain and crew, who had determined upon remaining by her, the tide leaving the ship. After the tug had been gone an hour and a half, to our surprise we saw her returning towards us, and making signals for us. We slipped from the vessel, and went towards her, and were told by the captain that while returning home, she had discovered another large vessel ashore, and on her beam-ends, on the Shingles-the vessel no doubt seen on the previous night by the light ships. We made all haste to her, and, with great danger, we crossed the Sands, and got alongside of her. We found her to be the Demerara, of Greenock, and found the crew-eighteen in number, together with the Trinity pilot, Mr. Burton-clinging to the rigging. In this position, we were informed, they had been for ten hours. We took them off in a very exhausted state, the sea, during the night, having made a clean breach over them. We transferred them to the tug, and we both returned to this harbour, where we arrived at 12.15, after an absence of about sixteen hours, the chief part of the time being drenched by the sea. We landed in all about one hundred and twenty souls."

We are not going to add a word to the coxswain's statement, but wish that it may circulate throughout the length and breadth of the land. In conclusion, we would, if it were possible, make such an appeal on behalf of the Life-boat Institution, as should bring a liberal and practical response from every man and woman in the country who have the means of responding in their power. We are happy to see now and then in the public prints that some generous-hearted man or woman takes up this subject in a right spirit, and by devoting a sufficient fund for the establishment of a life-boat, render themselves, as it were, part and parcel of the Institution. Surely, looking at it from a moral point of view, this is one of the noblest investments of money. What is proprietorship in house and land compared to proprietorship in rescued lives? Think of an army of thirteen thousand men, all plucked from the maw of the grave by the efforts of this benevolent Association; think of the misery and mourning which their timely rescue has prevented, and ask yourselves whether it is not worth while to. deserve a portion in the gratitude and joy of wives and children who, but for such deeds as we have related, had now been widows and orphans. All are not rich, and all cannot establish life-boats-but all can help in establishing them, by doing as much, however little it may be, as lies in their power towards it. Of all the benevolent agencies at work in this country, there is none which systematically economises its funds better than does this Institution. Its system is, to pay for work done-not for work that might be done; the life-boat crews are not salaried seamen on monthly wages-but volunteers, who rush to the rendezvous when the wreck signal is flying, and win their wage, if they win it at all, in the embrace of the storm. The coxswain alone has a salary of 81. a year, in return for which he keeps the boat in order, selects the

crew, and superintends their arduous labours. Thus the money subscribed is not wasted, but resolves itself into energetic work, and the work* is the saving of life: that, under the Divine blessing, it may be the means of saving more than the life of the body, even of saving souls unto life everlasting-who can doubt?

ARCHBISHOP TRENCH.

Letters, and other Papers." This work excited great attention on its first appearance from the vivid view which it gave of the society of her day. It was at the commencement of the present century that this branch of the Trench family was settled in Hampshire. This was at the village of Botley, in the neighbourhood of the New Forest and of Waltham Chase. In due time Mr. Trench graduated at Cambridge in 1829. It is remarkable that he took no honours either in classics or mathematics. At the same time he must have been even then a most diligent student. His studies those defined by the university curriculum, extending were of a larger and more general description than especially to theology and modern languages, in which he attained to unusual proficiency. He has, however, that we are surprised he is not among the Fellows of given such abundant indications of exact scholarship Trinity College. We afterwards find him settled in a country curacy, and later he became the incumbent of Curdridge, a chapelry in the parish of Bishop's Waltham, in Hants. Here he brought out two volumes of poetry, "Sabbation, Honor Neale, and other Poems," and "The Story of Justin Martyr." He has also produced three other original poetical works, "Genoveva," "Poems from Eastern Sources," and "Elegiac Poems.” In 1841 the incumbent again became a curate, at Alverstoke under the present Bishop of Oxford. Four years later he became the rector of Itchin Stoke. Some of his more important prose writings had now appeared-we would especially mention the work on the Parables. In 1845 he was both Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge and also an examining chaplain. He has also been one of the examiners for the government at Woolwich. In 1847 he was appointed Professor of Theology at King's College, London. In the year 1856, on the death of Dean Buckland, he became, with general approbation, Dean of Westminster. This is usually considered the first deanery in England, and its dean has been termed a bishop without a bishopric. For a dean of Westminster to become a prelate has been a very general rule, which in the prehis appointment to Dublin as successor to the excellent Whately.

THE recent appointment of Dr. Trench to the archbishopric of Dublin has in every quarter been a matter of congratulation. He has for many years been prominently before the view of the public, and before now has been confidently named for a mitre. Those who have listened to his teaching, and those in very much larger number who are familiar with his books, know him as an earnest, catholic, evangelical clergyman. The direct influence of Dr. Trench, in his more popular writings, has been not inconsiderable, and his indirect influence has been very considerable indeed; for to a great extent he has largely influenced minds that in ordinary course largely influence the minds of others. Scarcely any name is more familiar than his at the universities. Scarcely any books are to be found more often than his in the libraries of the clergy of all denominations. More emphatically than any other title does the honourable title of student belong to Dr. Trench. He has been one of the most laborious and most successful of the literary men of the age. The list of his avowed publications comprises no less than twenty-one different publications. The great bulk of them are entirely devoted to theological subjects, and of the remainder there are none that do not more or less bear on theology. The character of the literary man has always been subordinated to the character of the Divine. Dr. Trench's first literary essays were in poetry, and his latest labours have been greatly concerned with philology; but both the lighter and the severer pursuit has been consecrated to religion, and, as we have indicated, the greater part of his writings are directly and exclusively theological. His works are characterized, in the first place, by learning of the most broad and massive description; and in the second place, by the good taste, instinctively unerring, which presides over The unwieldy apparatus of book knowledge is throughout relieved by touches of poetry, elegance, and pathos. Best of all, they are faithful in their teaching, consolations, and warnings; nor will the reader arise from their perusal without feeling that indeed they had been written, as their author expressly says of one of the number, not without many prayers that a blessing from on high might rest on them.

its use.

Richard Chenevix Trench was born in the year 1807. His family is of Irish extraction, belonging to the county Galway. This renders his appointment to an Irish archiepiscopate not inappropriate on merely personal grounds. It may, moreover, be stated that an immediate ancestor of his was an Irish bishop, the Bishop of Waterford. He is a scion of the noble houses of Clancarty and Ashtown, his father being a younger son of Lord Ashtown. His mother was a lady of unusual ability and accomplishment, and her son has edited her "Remains-Selections from her Journal,

*Contributions are received for the Life-boat Institution by all the London and country bankers, and by the Secretary, Richard Lewis, Esq., 14, John Street, Adelphi, London, w.c.

sent instance has been carried into excellent effect on

first known, and we would therefore first make some It was by his poems that Archbishop Trench was all the measures of sacred song. In the management selections from his poetry. He has musically sounded of the sonnet especially Dr. Trench has displayed a mastery equal to that of the Italian writers. The following are examples :

"An open mound that has been cleaned anew;
A stream dried up that once again is fed
With waters making green its grassy bed;
A tree that withered was, but to the dew

Puts forth young leaves and blossoms fresh of hue,
Even from the branches which had seemed most dead;
A sea which having been disquieted

Now stretches like a mirror, calm and blue-
Our hearts to each of these were likened well.
But Thou wert the Physician and the balm;
Thou, Lord, the Fountain whenee anew was filled
Their parched channel; Thou the dew that fell
On their dead branches, 'twas Thy voice that stilled
The storm without; Thou didst command the calm."

SORROW.

"If sorrow came not near us, and the lore Which wisdom-working sorrow best imparts Found never time of entrance to our hearts; If we had won already a safe shore,

Or if our changes were already o'er,
Our pilgrim being we might quite forget;
Our hearts but faintly on those mansions set,
Where there shall be no sorrow evermore.
Therefore we will not be unwise to ask
This, nor secure exemption from our share
Of mortal suffering and life's drearier task-
Not this, but grace our portion so to bear

That we may rest, when grief and pain are over,
With the meek Son of our Almighty Lover."

Let us, to exhibit another phase of Dr. Trench's poetry, take the simple but beautiful little poem, "A Walk in a Church-Yard." In this composition the reader will hardly fail to detect the benign influence of Wordsworth. It has Wordsworth's extreme simplicity of idyllic beauty, but is more direct in its Christian teaching than Wordsworth's suggestive manner. In a volume of poems which he has edited, "Sacred Poems for Mourners," Dr. Trench takes as his motto those inspiring words of Holy Writ, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory ?"

"We walked within the church-yard bounds, My little boy and I

He, laughing, running happy rounds,
I pacing mournfully.

'Nay, child, it is not well,' I said,
'Among the graves to shout,
To laugh and play among the dead,
And make this noisy rout.'

A moment to my side he clung,
Leaving his merry play,

A moment stilled his joyous tongue
Almost as hushed as they.

Then quick forgetting the command
In life's exulting burst
Of early glee, let go my hand,
Joyous as at the first.

And now I did not check him more,
For, taught by Nature's face,

I had grown wiser than before,
Even in that moment's space.

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She spread no funeral pall above That patch of churchyard ground, But the same azure vault of love

As hung o'er all around.

And white clouds o'er that spot would pass

As freely as elsewhere;

The sunshine on no other grass

A richer hue might wear.

And formed from out that very mould

In which the dead did lie

The daisy with the eye of gold
Looked up into the sky.

The rook was wheeling overhead,
Nor hastened to be gone-

The small bird did its glad notes shed,
Perched on a grey headstone.

And God, I said, would never give
This light upon the earth,
Nor bid in childhood's heart to live
Those springs of gushing mirth,
If our one wisdom were to mourn
And linger with the dead,

To nurse as wisest thoughts forlorn
Of worm and earthy bed.

O no, the glory earth puts.on
The child's unchecked delight,
Both witness to a triumph won
(If we but judged aright),-

A triumph won o'er sin and death-
From these the Saviour sayes;
And, like a happy infant, Faith

Can play among the graves."

"The bright memories of the holy dead,
The blessed ones departed, shine on us
Like the pure splendour of some clear large star,
Which pilgrims, travelling onwards, at their backs
Leave, and at every moment see not now;
Yet, whensoe'er they list, may pause and turn,
And with its glories gild their faces still:
Or as beneath a northern sky is seen
The sunken sunset living in the west,
A tender radiance there surviving long,
Which has not faded all away, before
The flaming banners of the morn advance
Over the summits of the orient hills."

After a long silence, Dr. Trench's muse was latest heard in a specimen of translated verse. This was a poetical translation from the writings of Calderon, the Spaniard, with an Essay on his Life and Genius. The dramas he selected were "Life's a Dream" and "The Theatre of the World." Calderon is a poet beloved by poets, and there is grave moral purpose in these works. The mastery over the Spanish is clear and complete. It is to be remarked that Dr. Trench never deals with any subject, not even with philology, which has generally though wrongly, been regarded as the driest of all subjects, without extracting any hidden poetry it may yield. Dr. Trench has a great regard for the literature of the East, which he uniformly turns to excellent account. In his work on the Parables, in illustration of the Talents, he quotes "an instructive

Eastern tale, which in its deeper meaning runs remarkably parallel to this parable.' It is at once seen that the poetical dress in which the story is presented is Dr. Trench's own :

"There went a man from home: and to his neighbours twain
He gave, to keep for him, two sacks of golden grain.
Deep in his cellar one the precious charge concealed;
And forth the other went and strewed it in his field.
The man returns at last-asks of the first his sack:
'Here, take it; 'tis the same; thou hast it safely back."
Unharmed it shows without; but when he would explore
His sack's recesses, corn there finds he now no more:
One half of what was there proves rotten and decayed,
Upon the other half have moth and mildew preyed.
The putrid heap to him in ire he doth return,

Then of the other asks, 'Where is my sack of corn?'
Who answered, Come with me, and see how it has sped,'
And took and showed him fields with waving harvests spread.
Then cheerfully the man laughed out and cried, This one
Had insight, to make up for the other that had none.
The letter he observed, but thou the precept's sense,
And thus to thee and me shall profit grow from hence;
In harvest thou shalt fill two sacks of corn for me,
The residue of right remains in full for thee."

"To what

No less poetical, though in a prose form, is Dr. Trench's rendering of an ancient Jewish parable. It is occasioned by the question, Why the good so often die young? and the answer given is, That God foresees that if they lived they would fall into sin. is this like? It is like a king who, walking in his garden, saw some roses which were yet buds, breathing an ineffable sweetness. He thought, If these shed such sweetness while yet they are buds, what will they do when they are fully blown? After a while, the king entered the garden anew, thinking to find the roses now blown, and to delight himself with their fragrance; but arriving at the place he found them pale and withered, and yielding no smell. He exclaimed, with regret, 'Had I gathered them while yet tender and young, and while they gave forth their but now I have no pleasure in them.' The next year sweetness, I might have delighted myself with them, the king walked, in his garden, and finding rose-buds scattering fragrance, he commanded his servants, 'Gather them, that I may enjoy them before they wither, as last year they did.'

In 1851, Dr. Trench published his important little book on "The Study of Words." This constitutes a noticeable land-mark in the history of his literary life, inasmuch as it was the precursor of a long series of philological labours. All that he originally contemplated was a series of lectures to the pupils of the Diocesan Training College, at Winchester. Finding that others would be present, he somewhat enlarged the scope of these lectures; and finding again that there was no popular work that dealt adequately with the subject, he issued his interesting volume. It is not impossible that Dr. Trench's taste in this direction was first excited by Coleridge, to whose teaching, as a young man, he had leaned much, and from whom he has, doubtless, learned to dissent in much. "And they were not among the least of the obligations which the young men of our time owed to Coleridge, that he so often himself weighed words in the balances, and so earnestly pressed upon all with whom his voice went for anything, the profit they would find in so doing." "I am sure, at least," says Dr. Trench, full of enthusiasm for his study, "that for many a young man, his first discovery of the fact that words are living powers-are the vesture, yea, even the body, which thoughts weave for themselves-has been like the dropping of scales from