as a musical composer of anthems, songs, psalms, and hymn tunes, he has attained some celebrity. The father's musical gift has passed unto his children, as he has quite a musical family.

His poetic ability has found vent in the composition of various poems which have appeared from time to time in the poet's corner of the local papers. We are not aware that his poems have been collected and published in a volume, but we would give expression to the hope that Mr. Knowles may some day give to the world the productions of his poet's genius. Mr. Knowles is a genial and an openhearted fellow, and highly respected by all who have the pleasure of his acquaintance.

Hartshead Church.

A Meditation.

ANCIENT edifice! venerable pile!
What thoughts arise as on thy rugged walls
We stand and gaze! Historic centuries
Have co-existed with thy chequered course,
And could thy walls receive vocality,
What revelations of the lives and deeds
Of high and low of generations past
We then should have presented to our view!
Monarchs have appeared and have departed,
And left their records to posterity;

And trusted ministers and parliaments
Have had their day, and likewise disappear'd;
The people, too, have struggled and have toil'd
Progressively throughout the centuries
Of misty ignorance, despair and hope,
Right down to this our blest Victorian age,
And having oft their rightful claims declar'd
Have now become a power in the state.

These many changeful times thou hast surviv'd
And unpretentiously thy lot sustained.

Of elevation high, thou art in truth
A landmark 'mongst the many hills around.
From off thy tower what rare expanse of view!
Here may be observed the mountains eastward

Bearing towards the German Ocean; southward
Are the bounding hills of counties Derby
And of Nottingham; then looking westward,
Is the noted backbone of old England;'
And northward is discerned, out-stretching far
In native garb, bold, pleasing Rombalds Moor.
Within thine inner range secluded stands
'Mid stately trees and tinted foliage

The old Baronial home of Armytage,-
The long-renown'd and far-fam'd Kirklees Hall.
Hard by is seen the quaint and weird remains
Of Kirklees' ancient nunnery, and where

Bold Robin Hood' met with his tragic death.
How alter'd is the scene! these hill and vales
Which, times long past, were oft the rendezvous
Of the free-booter and his 'merrie men,'
Now speak to us in times more civilized.
Here husbandry in vastly better forms
Is now in operation; and commerce
In all its many phases and degrees
Is well develop'd; and industrial hives
Now thickly stud the area around:

Yes, through all this, old Kirk, thou hast remain'd,
And hast thy functions quietly fulfilled.

God's house! His temple! His dispensary!
Where He has frequently bestowed His gifts
To way-worn, seeking, and receiving souls.
Here hath the words of life oft been proclaimed
By faithful messengers, and in the roll

A Ryley, Ismay, Harrison, and Wood,
A Hall, a Lucas, and a Roberson,

A Brontë, and an Atkinson. a Webb,
And now, in continuity, a King.*

Thy three old bells have oft-times spoken out
Of local and of national events,

And told of each returning Sabbath day:

But, sad to know, two long have voiceless been,
And have had to rest in sullen silence

To listen to the oft-repeated clang

Of their loquacious but enfeebled mate.†

The Rev. Thomas King, M.A., who is the present vicar.
"There's the old church of Hartshead-cum-Clifton,
Where are two crack'd bells and a snip'd 'un,"

+ A couplet runs :

Although impaired, yet oh, how changeable
That solitary voice within thy tower
Has frequently become! The loving pair
On matrimony bent, have joyfully
Embraced its special invitation, 'Come!'

And then have each to each their troth declared.
The weary toiler, on each holy day

Has listened to the welcome voice, 'Come, come !'
Then with the worshippers has praised his God,
Received the Word, and found his strength renewed.
But, to the funereal retinue

A solemn 'Come, come, come,' that bell has toll'd;
And thus have mourners, sad and weeping, laid
Aside their loved ones in the silent grave.

Around thee rest, in quietness and peace,

The mouldered and the mouldering dust of hosts
Who once did live this mortal life of ours,-
Yes, hosts on hosts of them, both small and great!
And here I may ('tis weakness or 'tis not)

Recall fond memories of those who loved

And cared for me, through childhood and through youth :
A tender father and a mother dear;

And others of my kin, there, there, they rest;
And with the host surrounding, now await
The trumpet-call of resurrection morn.
What is the lesson? All the dead have lived,
And all who live, and shall livé, too must die,-
'Tis God's appointment this with mortal man.
But if man dies, shall he not live again?
Yes, yes; within thy sacred, hallow'd walls,
God's great compassion to a fallen world,
And, in return, man's duty towards his God,
Are ever and anon in love proclaimed.

Thus man may live in peace with God on earth,
And then eternally with God in heaven.

Ancient edifice! venerable pile!
Again we gaze upon thy rugged walls,
Thy walls which, more than seven centuries
Have stood in honour'd form, as now they do,
And as we gaze, may we express the hope
That God, in His abounding providence,