of intelligence, of largeness of
view, of judicious moderation, which is so alien from the theological
spirit, can still look for support from the memories of Lambeth.
Whatever its influence may have been, it has not grown out of the noisy
activity of theological "movement." Its strength has been to sit still
and let such "movements" pass by. It is by a spirit the very opposite of
theirs--a spirit of conciliation, of largeness of heart, that it has won
its power over the Church. None of the great theological impulses of
this age or the last, it is sometimes urged, came out of Lambeth. Little
of the theological bitterness, of the controversial narrowness of this
age or the last, it may fairly be answered, has ever entered its gates.
Of Lambeth we may say what Matthew Arnold says of Oxford, that many as
are its faults it has never surrendered itself to ecclesiastical
Philistines. In the calm, genial silence of its courts, its library, its
galleries, in the presence of its venerable past, the virulence, the
petty strife, the tumult of religious fanaticism finds itself hushed.
Amongst the storm of the Wesleyan revival, of the Evangelical revival,
of the Puseyite revival, the voice of Lambeth has ever pleaded for a
truth simpler, larger, more human than theirs. Amid the deafening
clamour of Tractarian and anti-Tractarian disputants both sides united
in condemning the silence of Lambeth. Yet the one word that came from
Lambeth will still speak to men's hearts when all their noisy
disputations are forgotten. "How," a prelate, whose nearest relative had
joined the Church of Rome, asked Archbishop Howley, "how shall I treat
my brother?" "As a brother," was the Archbishop's reply.

CHILDREN BY THE SEA.

Autumn brings its congresses--scientific, ecclesiastical,
archaeological--but the prettiest of autumnal congresses is the
children's congress by the sea. It is like a leap from prose into poetry
when we step away from Associations and Institutes, from stuffy
lecture-rooms and dismal sections, to the strip of sand which the
children have chosen for their annual gathering. Behind us are the great
white cliffs, before us the reach of grey waters with steamers and their
smoke-trail in the offing and waves washing lazily in upon the shore.
And between sea and cliff are a world of little creatures, digging,
dabbling, delighted. What strikes us at first sight is the number of
them. In ordinary life we meet the great host of chi