Athanasian, and Nicene; all which the little things repeated after the
archbishop, with great decorum, and probably with the same amount of
understanding that we, when children, had of the Assembly's Catechism.

The venerable archbishop was ushered into the pulpit by beadles, with
gold lace cocked hats, striking the ground majestically with their
long staves of office. His sermon, however, was as simple, clear, and
beautiful an exposition of the duty of practical Christianity towards
the outcast and erring as I ever heard. He said that, should we find a
young child wandering away from its home and friends, we should
instinctively feel it our duty to restore the little wanderer; and
such, he said, is the duty we owe to all these young outcasts, who had
strayed from the home of their heavenly Father.

After the sermon they took up a collection; and when we went into the
vestry to speak to the archbishop, we saw him surrounded by the church
wardens, counting over the money.

I noticed in the back part of the church a number of children in
tattered garments, with rather a forlorn and wild appearance, and was
told that these were those who had just been introduced into the
school, and had not been there long enough to come under its modifying
influences. We were told that they were always thus torn and forlorn
in their appearance at first, but that they gradually took pains to
make themselves respectable. The archbishop said, pleasantly, "When
they return to their right mind they appear _clothed_, also, and
sitting at the feet of Jesus."

The archbishop sent me afterwards a beautiful edition of his sermons
on Christian charity, embracing a series of discourses on various