The Sword and the trowel . st solitude is the truest com-pany. Farewell, ye sandy shores of human trust! Adieu, ye greenhills of human admiration! At last, we lose sight of even you, yehighest peaks of trusted attachment! Now our soul waits only uponGod, and our expectation is from him. Above, beneath, around, is theGodheads fathomless sea! God the horizon, and the zenith, and thewhole circle! Now we dare fly before the wind, and leap the billowswith delight. There are no rocks or quicksands here! 0 coasters!could ye but know this liberty and life, ye too would fly your presentfancied safety.
The Sword and the trowel . st solitude is the truest com-pany. Farewell, ye sandy shores of human trust! Adieu, ye greenhills of human admiration! At last, we lose sight of even you, yehighest peaks of trusted attachment! Now our soul waits only uponGod, and our expectation is from him. Above, beneath, around, is theGodheads fathomless sea! God the horizon, and the zenith, and thewhole circle! Now we dare fly before the wind, and leap the billowswith delight. There are no rocks or quicksands here! 0 coasters!could ye but know this liberty and life, ye too would fly your presentfancied safety. C. H. S. 1G THE horrible tragedies which have recently occurred at the East Endhave at least had the effect of directing public attention to thatvast and crowded area about which respectable people know too have had descriptions true to life, or coloured with sensationalexaggerations ; but now all alike are outdone by the details of the grimreality which has startled and shocked the public to a degree hardly ever. W. EVANS HURNDALL, before paralleled. Some of us have long known that the streets ofLondon at night represent the very saddest phase of sin in our fallenworld ; but because the subject was not one to be talked about, orwritten about, the truth has not been understood because it has beenso little known. Now, however, whether respectability will have it soor not, the hideous thing has stalked forth out of the darkness to pro-claim its true character in the broad daylight of our every-day life. Weare not pessimists, for we know too much of the work that Christians W. EVANS HURNDALL IN EAST LOMDON. 17 are carrying on to allow of our taking despairing views of the situa-tion. But while we do not anticipate a repetition in London of theFrench Eevolution, and while we regard the Whitechapel murderer as aghoulish phenomenon which will not repeat itself once in a century, thevictims of the nocturnal adventurer are representatives of a class theexistence of which
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