zeal will brook of no delay, and it is intimated to her by her too reasonable parent that she has had enough cherries for one day, and that she must come at once or not at all. So, throwing what is obviously a caustic observation in Basque to the little boy and a smile to myself, she is off on the trail of Mocha.

On a religious festival, which is also a wet one, the church seems to offer a suitable refuge, and, as there is no train for another hour or so, I am considering the advisability of attending vespers, when an old lady in a post-card shop across the way mysteriously beckons to

She has placed two chairs under the shelter of the overhanging eaves of her house, and she is preparing for a good gossip with the solitary stranger. It soon appears that, though a Basque, this old lady is not dévote, and has no opinion of fête days, especially when they are wet and bring so few visitors to the town. She has not been to Mass, oh no! but a rumour has reached her that after the Basque sermon this morning a pastoral letter has been read in French from the bishop of the diocese. Can mademoiselle tell her if this is really so? I reply in the affirmative, and explain that the letter was to beg for help for the church from the congregation, the Pope not having seen his way to consent to the compromise accepted by the Associations cultuelles. Madame becomes contemptuous, but interested. 'Ah! mon Dieu! Did he really read that again? That was the doyen, I'll be bound,' and she calls to a young man who is passing on his way up to the church, 'Was not that Monsieur le doyen who read the pastoral letter this morning, hein?' He nods in assent. That is our tenor,' she explains to me in parenthesis. They will have the vespers of the Sacred Heart; you must go in and hear him.' Then, reverting to the original subject, she tells me that for her part she considers they have heard enough of the separation. Les curés se plaignent toujours. Meantime it is we poor people who have to keep them. Oh, yes, the vicaire receives six hundred francs a year-he is old-but the young ones nothing, and our hands are always in our pockets.' It is curious to hear such anti-Church opinions upon the borders of Spain and within so short a distance of Bayonne, where a few days past a very revolutionary sermon was listened to in the cathedral by a respectful and sympathetic congregation.

But it is always interesting to see the other side of the coin, and there is, no doubt, a good deal of truth in madame's grievances. She is obviously a very red republican, and she is also a shrewd and cynical old woman, quite as irreproachable probably in her own estimation as the Servante de Marie herself. Tell me, mademoiselle,' she continues, in your country when you have buried your dead it is finished, is it not; your expenses are over?' I reply that this is so. Ah, vous avez un autre bon Dieu que nous,' she says with a sly twinkle in her hard eyes. Here we have to pay all the time. Think of it, mademoiselle, 4 francs 50 centimes for each Mass into Monsieur le curé's pocket.

To be buried is enough to ruin you,' she continues with unconscious humour, and to have your body taken into the church you must pay extra!' If you are contented with two clergy to officiate she admits that you can do it for less, but to be buried with only two clergy is obviously not at all comme il faut. My thoughts turn involuntarily to a pathetic procession I have seen the day before wending its way under the oak trees up from the valley to a little church standing on the fortifications above a village. It was evidently a very humble funeral, and I find myself wondering whether Monsieur le curé under his umbrella, assisted by only one priest, was really so callous and so mercenary. My memory, however, rather retains the impression of a long cortège of shabby and weary mourners who have trudged so far to lay their dead under the ground with every sign of reverence, but with no superfluity of clergy. Madame recalls me to my obligations. That is the organist who has just passed, mademoiselle; the bell is about to stop, and you must go.' She has no intention of attending vespers herself, she has more important matters to attend to, but for the visitor it is another matter, and with such a tenor the vespers of the Sacred Heart are worth hearing.

An hour later as I climb rather thankfully into the train down below in the valley the clouds have all rolled away, and this last day of May is ending in a singularly lovely evening. The citadel stands out well above the houses of St. Jean Pied de Port, which are clustered on either side of the river. The slanting golden sunlight catches the windows here and there, shines upon a big gilt cross in the cemetery, and glints across the water through a row of poplars. Beyond, clear cut against the blue of the sky, towers a mighty bulwark of mountains, through which runs the Pass of Roncevaux, on the road to Pampeluna.

The little station, which is the last on the way to Spain, is a scene of considerable activity this evening. Arrivals by the last train have been numerous, and the platform is crowded with mysterious bales of merchandise which are to be despatched by road over the frontier. It takes some time to get the outgoing train ready. At the end of a fête day there are many travellers, and much local gossip has to be exchanged with the officials. At the last minute Marthe and her family arrive, escorted by the fisherman and Mocha. It is a sleepy and rather fractious Marthe, with a dangling hood and limp uncovered curls, who is exhorted in vain to say polite things to the kind gentleman who has taken her out fishing. A flash of reviving interest appears in her adieux to Mocha, but she is glad enough to be hoisted by the patient bonne into the train and to find comfort upon that ample, solid shoulder. The little brother follows, docile as ever. He has helped to catch no fish, but has spent the afternoon in the stuffy inn, amusing himself in the mysterious fashion acquired by patient and unimaginative children, whilst the bonne has chattered with the landlady, and the mother has

slept upon the bed provided for her refreshment. Such is the injustice which from time immemorial has been awarded to the meek. But who can say that with his Basque patience and promise of future industry he may not some day inherit the earth?

The month of Mary is over. The hay is cut and the roses are falling. The fields have been duly blessed and must be left to ripen to the harvest, watched with all the faith and piety which, the old lady at St. Jean Pied de Port notwithstanding, still belong to an ancient and childlike people.

ROSE M. BRADLEY.

CHURCH REFORM-II. AUTONOMY IN THE ANGLICAN CHURCHES

IN a paper on the subject of Church Reform contributed to this Review last month the present writer pointed out that the Church of England stands alone among those of the Anglican Communion, as possessing nothing which the loosest usage of the term can describe as a constitution. To support this allegation is the purpose of this contribution to the subject. At the outset clearness will be consulted by a brief recapitulation.

The Church of England in former days possessed powers of selfgovernment. We defend neither the character nor the exercise of those powers. It is merely observed that they existed. Parliament then contained none but Churchmen: and thus in its own inadequate fashion-inadequate owing to the very partial sway of the franchise— it represented, and legislated for, the Church. Since the abolition of Parliamentary representation, nothing has ever been granted to the Church to replace it. When in those days Church questions were treated in the Legislature it could not have been objected that they were being handled by persons who were external to the body to which such questions belonged. But when, with the lifting of all religious tests from the consciences of members, Parliament ceased to be an ecclesiastical court, the Church was bereft of its popular constitutional voice, and that voice has not been raised since.

With the revival of Convocation came no revival of constitutional existence. This ancient body was purely clerical. To the laity it gave no voice in administration. The creation of the Houses of Laymen some years ago in no proper sense qualifies this assertion. These, as in its normal functions Convocation itself, are deliberative only, and have hitherto had no share in that limited ad hoc authority conferred at long intervals upon the Clerical Houses by Royal Letters of Business, as at the present juncture. The temporary powers this rarely issued instrument granted are conferred only upon the ancient Synod.

We pass in rapid review those western communities which,

It is scarcely necessary to point out that 'western' is here used in the ecclesiastical, not in the geographical sense.

either as established, unestablished, or disestablished, are permitted to manage their own internal affairs, and for this management enlist the services alike of clergy and laity in free co-operation.

(1) The Irish Church.-The Disestablished Church of Ireland is our first study. Here we encounter a Church whose situation entails peculiar difficulties, and it may be said without fear of contradiction that, if difficulties have not proved insurmountable there, they are not likely to prove so elsewhere.

At the date of the disestablishment, thirty-eight years ago, the Irish Church Convocation, though nominally existent, had not been convened since 1711. The collective voice of the Church, sitting in Synod, had for 159 years been silent. Application was made to the Government of the day for permission to call the Synod together. This was asked in view of the imminency of disestablishment. It was granted, and Convocation forthwith authorised the calling of a General Synod, in which the laity should sit with the clergy. This led the way, after the passing of the Disestablishment Act, to the creation of a formal constitution. The Lay Conference consisted of representatives chosen by the parochial delegates, who had themselves been elected at a meeting of parishioners who were also members of the Church. By a resolution of the Lay Conference, it was decided that the laymen in the Convention should be in the proportion of two to one. This proportion was embodied in the draft constitution presented to the Convention, and ultimately accepted. Through Select Vestries the government of the parishes was largely in the hands of the laity. The Cyprian boast can be that of the Irish Bishops, their election being entrusted to the Diocesan Synod, provided two-thirds of each order of its members were agreed. A board of patronage on which four Diocesans sat, and jointly with them three parish representatives, had the appointments to vacant cures.

Experience speedily proved that the rights of the bishops and clergy in matters purely spiritual were amply guarded. Hasty changes are rendered practically impossible by the proviso that majorities of two-thirds of both the clerical and lay order in two successive years are requisite to pass any such measure. Moreover, on any question the House of Bishops can vote separately, and they possess the power of vetoing any measure by a final majority of twothirds.

The difficulties referred to above were largely incident to the situation of a Church planted in an alien soil, surrounded by members of the Roman Communion. This rendered its members suspicious of any presumed Romeward tendencies. The young constitution was to be tried to the uttermost by the seven years' controversy over the Revision of the Prayer Book. Notwithstanding that from the Select Vestries and the Diocesan Synods liberty of discussing points of doctrine or of ritual was withheld, the hot Irish nature could not