table." Probably a window in these times was a simple opening in the wall, for the admission of light and for ventilation; if it had shutters, then it was literally a window, or as the Welsh say, gwyntdor, that is a wind-door, or as we sometimes hear it, a windor. In those early days window-glass had not been introduced into Britain. The manufacture of this glass did not take place in England till about the middle of the fifteenth century, a period which, when compared with the introduction of Christianity, is of recent date. This will help us to form some idea of the discomfort of English and British dwellings before this date.

We have no certain knowledge of the introduction of Christianity into the British isles. It is not improbable that it took place about the year A.D. sixtyfour. At this time a horrible persecution broke out at Rome, under the Emperor Nero. Christians were subjected to many cruel kinds of death. To escape the dreadful sufferings to which they were exposed in the city, multitudes of them availed themselves of the permission to flee into other parts. Tranquility prevailed at this time in Britain, being blessed with a succession of mild and excellent governors for many years, during which time it presented an inviting asylum to the persecuted disciples. We cannot reasonably doubt that not a few of them took shelter here, and of course, greatly increased the number of Christians in Britain. We are equally at a loss to say by whom christianity was first brought to our shores. This had been attributed to James, the son of Zebedee, put to death by Herod; to Simon Zelotes, to Aristobulus, mentioned by Paul, Rom. xvi. 10; and to St. Peter. But the accounts on which these statements rest are of a legendary character, and hence cannot be relied upon. William of Malmsbury maintained that Joseph of Arimathea, with twelve others, were sent from Gaul by St. Philip, into Britain, A.D. 63; that they were successful in planting Christianity; spent their lives in England; had twelve hides of land assigned them by the king at Glastonbury, where they first built a church of hurdles, and afterwards established a monastery. The establishment of a monastery at Glastonbury, we incline to believe, was long subsequent to the first visit of Christian missionaries to this country, and not at all in keeping with the intelligence for which the early churches of Britain were distinguished, which must have been of a respectable character, for both Jerome and Chrysostom make frequent mention of their orthodoxy. Learning also was cultivated among them to good account. We may therefore safely assert the improbability of the early establishment in England of a monastic institution, for orthodox views and the cultivation of learning are not favourable to monasteries.

While we are thankful to God for the religious rights and privileges which we enjoy, let us labour both to maintain and perpetuate them, and thus prevent the return of such days as eventually succeeded the days of simplicity and purity which characterized the primitive British churches; and while also we think of the many commodious places of worship with which we are favoured, which inspires the grateful song,

The temples of His grace

In beauteous numbers stand,

The honours of our native place

And bulwarks of our land,

let us not forget that there are yet millions without a sanctuary, of even such an humble character as that built at Glastonbury.

GATHERINGS FROM MEMORY.—NO. IX.

ANECDOTES AND REFLECTIONS.

In many instances impressions which are produced by sudden deaths, are like the morning clouds, they soon pass away. Our inner nature is defiled beyond the power of such impressions to cure; it breaks out like old ulcers, destroying fixed hopes. I have told you of the alarming end of a poor little boy with whom I used to play, and of the impression it produced. Well, soon after this an incident occurred, which shewed me that while I was impressed I was not changed. One Sunday night our chapel had been unusually filled, and the collecting boxes with their contents were in their old place beneath the pulpit, and against the reading desk under it. (You remember it had been built for a Church of England). On coming from my place in the singers' pew, my eye fell upon an object which rivetted my attention and excited strong feelings within me. It was as I thought a penny on the floor, near the boxes. Ah! thought I, the boxes must be well filled to night, and that penny has fallen out as it was being put down. So rapid is thought! As I looked at it I was as if nailed to the floor. The prayer-meeting was going on, people were in the pews on each side of the pulpit, so I could venture to pick it out. I must, however, have made up my mind to take that penny, else I would not have been so afraid of picking it up. Taking the few steps which were between me and the dark round object beneath the pulpit, and grasping the pillar on which the pulpit stood, I fell back to arm's length, and began to swing from side to side, and when I thought no one was looking at me, I shoved my hands down the pillar, still keeping up the swinging motion, and my eyes on the worshippers, and at the supposed penny, but my fingers laid hold of nothing. O what a blank! What was it? It was a round hole in which the head of a large screw was inserted in the block of wood in which the pillar stood. Singular it is that I had never seen this picture of a penny before. My mortification was only excelled by my shame. Now had the penitence arising from my young friend's death been genuine, I would have remained in the chapel to pray for forgiveness. But I have always found, both in myself and others, that when we are only impressed by our natural thoughts, and not by the operations of God's spirit, we rush into fresh acts of sin, instead of going to God for pardon. Sometimes God's children get into "Giant Despair's Castle," though they have done no wrong; in this case, like Paul and Silas, they can pray and sing praises, and then the prison doors are flung open, for there are no bonds or bars that can hold God's free sons long in galling captivity.

Now some of you boys (it is to be hoped many of you) will get converted, and occupy, both in the church and the world, honourable positions, to sustain which you must have knowledge. But what is knowledge? Education fits the mind for the reception of clear ideas, and enables it to arrange them in their proper classes, and to use them aright; and it depends upon our power to do this, whether it can be said that we have knowledge. When we have attained it, we are thereby enabled to interpret the laws which regulate surrounding objects-in other words, the laws of nature. Now to reach this elevated position you will have much hard work, but you will find out that the first difficul

ties mastered, the task then becomes more easy, even though the lessons to be learnt are more difficult.

I could give you many instances in illustration of these sentiments. I will relate one. Two boys were in early life deprived of the tender care of their mother, and their father was too ill, both in mind and body, to be of much use to them, so they were left to the care of strangers, and endured many hardships. By a strange Providence these lads were brought to live with me. They had not been more than a year with us when their father died, leaving his sons in my care. In a temporal sense they had been very unprofitable lodgers, for they owed us a deal of rent when the old man died. But as he was a Freemason, my wife-after a deal of trouble-got help from that society in his interment. And having no family of our own, we adopted the boys, as we had got to be fond of them. In course of time I got the elder into the office where I was employed, as an apprentice; the younger was put to sea. Both these boys behaved well, and laboured hard to improve themselves in their respective professions. The elder studied and practised the art of phonography or shorthand writing; and so skilful did he become, that ere his apprenticeship was at an end, he applied for and obtained a situation as reporter on a country newspaper (his master giving him the remainder of his time). This situation he, in a short time, vacated to become a sub-editor of one of the Liverpool papers, with a salary of £150 ayear, and now he is in the receipt of £6 a week, more than many are getting who have paid for a university education! The younger boy found in the captain of his ship a real friend. By his aid he acquired a knowledge of navigation. He was promoted to the position of second mate before his apprenticeship expired. Afterwards became chief officer, and lately, at the comparatively young age of 27 years, he has gone to the West Indies as captain of a ship. Thus you see the value of diligence and perseverance in the pursuit of knowledge. Go after it, and it will reward you.

Hymns and tunes which we have learned in childhood, but which have gone partly out of use, have a wonderful effect upon us in mature life when we hear them. A year or two before my father's death, he came over here on a visit, and on the Sabbath I took him to a camp-meeting, which was being held at the top of Warwick-street. When returning from the prayer-meeting to the stand, Mr. J. Garner, the conductor, began to sing with spirit and vigour, to the original tune, "Come and taste along with me." This used to be sung at camp-meeting processions, when those meetings were famous in our native town, and when my father used to conduct the meeting. Well, the moment it was struck my eye wandered to my father's face, and what I saw prevented me from looking elsewhere. What did I see? The nerves of his face twitched, and tears stood in his eyes: he was greatly excited. That old tune and hymn had awakened recollections, and those had aroused emotions which agitated-not disagreeably his whole soul. I call this element of our nature a holy one, and that which moves it a beam from the Sun of Righteousness.

The recital of this incident brings to my recollection another one, but rather more personal. Soon after we came into the possession of Rathbone-street chapel, and while Mr. Garner was stationed for the first time here, being unsettled in my temporal affairs, through a strike in our trade, which I allowed to move me from my steadfastness in religion, I got to know of a series of services in connection with the district meeting about to be held in the above chapel.

To these services I made up my mind to go. And it was well for me that I did so; because when I heard the old hymns and the voice of my old friend, the late Mr. C. Jackson, I said "I will return home." And when at the close of the day I got back to my residence, I said to my wife, "I've been listening to our old friends the Primitives. I've given my doubts to the winds-let us return." We did so, I am happy.

As I have named camp-meetings, I will tell you that these meetings and love-feasts were services of which I was especially fond in my young days. Great numbers used to attend them from all parts of the "branch," and much sorrow was produced by unfavourable weather. My brother and I used to go miles to enjoy such meetings, and we were not ashamed of joining in the processions. Our camp-meeting was held for years on Harris moor, two miles from the chapel, and we used to sing all the way thither. At a tea-meeting, in Rathbone-street chapel some years back, Rev. James Smith (who came from my native circuit) related his experience of one of those meetings. It seems that the editor of a newspaper belonging to my native town had come to this meeting for the purpose of making sport thereof in the next issue of his paper, he having already abused the Primitives therein. Poor Smith was the first to preach on the occasion, "and," said he, "as I was about to begin, this horrible man, with his paper and pencil in hand, took his stand close to the cart and began to take notes of what I said. Putting my trust in God, I made an effort to proceed, and before long I was glad to see his paper and pencil put away, and he listened with much attention." Before the day was over this champion of evil was enquiring" What shall I do to be saved ?" Not long after he took the chair at a missionary meeting in Mount Pleasant chapel, and in his speech related the events of that memorable day. Afterwards he came to London, where he was connected with the Mercury. He has been dead a few years, and I hope he never lost the good which he got on Harris moor.

Missionary meetings, likewise, were very attractive to me, and I was partial to those men who dealt in anecdote and missionary adventure. Once Mr. Clowes came to one such meeting. He was aged and feeble at the time. In the prayer-meeting which followed the Sunday evening sermon, I missed him from among those who assembled for prayer in the chapel bottom. He had not left the chapel I was certain; where then was he? I ran into the singers' pew behind the pulpit, but I could not see him; hence I went into the gallery and looked into the pulpit, and lo, on the floor of that small structure, with his head bent to his knees, was that wonderful man earnestly engaged with his God. As Moses stood on the mount with uplifted and outspread arms, praying for the success of the hosts of Israel below, so Clowes in the pulpit was pleading for. the success of that church which years before he had done so much to plant and rear. This was the last time my eyes looked upon this good man; may I next see him before the throne of the Lamb. Amen.

"HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY."

WE often say, and hear it said, that "Honesty is the best policy," and no man can read police reports or indeed observe the conduct and the lives of those

around him, without agreeing with the good old proverb. Still it does seem to me that we often overlook it in the most important point of all. Some of us are as honest as the day is long with other people, and yet not honest with ourselves. I wonder how many folks we could find who are cheating themselves, or allowing themselves to be cheated by others, about things in regard to which they should, as sensible people, be most honest of all.

Everybody knows and agrees that he is not to live for ever, and yet how very often we delude ourselves into the belief that somehow or other it will be all right in the end! The writer was asked but a day or two since to go and see a dying man. The poor fellow had been acting through the greater part of life just in this way. He had not been honest to himself, and when he asked him how he felt in prospect of the change so soon to come upon him, the answer which he gave was, "Not first rate." We tried our best to teach him the story of the Cross, to point him to the Great Physician, to tell him about God, who, like the father of the long-lost prodigal, would see his wandering son a long way off, and "run to meet him;" but still, in spite of loving words and earnest

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prayers, the “ Not first rate” was evident enough upon his countenance, and the " peace which passeth understanding" did not come. This poor man died within a few hours of our visit. He may, like that poor burdened soul who asked for Christ's remembrance when he was upon the cross, have found mercy at the last. God grant he did! But still how foolish, how fearfully perilous, how "dishonest" to his own soul, for a man to tamper with his future until he comes to die! We felt how true it is that, in thinking of the future," honesty is the best policy."

"Honesty," in this matter, "is the best policy." The fact is, a multitude of people cheat themselves into the belief, that, because they are neither very bad nor very good, somehow or other it will be well with them in the long-run. Dear reader, do not be offended if I ask you to look this honestly and fairly in the face. Let us look at it together, at the beginning of this new year, and talk about it in plain common English.

You make, my reader, no profession of religion; you are (to use perhaps your own straitforward words) no "canting Methodist; " you do not go to meeting and sing psalms, and you know nothing about what is called conversion, and a new birth; but you do no harm to any one, you pay your way with honesty and punctuality, you are kindly and good-hearted, and your friends esteem you very highly—and so you think it must be right with you at last. Sometimes you fancy that you are better off than either the religious man, or the thoroughly wicked one.

But have you ever seriously sat down to reason out the grounds for thinking so? It may seem strange to you to say so, but it seems to me that your position is even more inconsistent than that of him whom you would characterize as thoroughly wicked. Let us look at the matter "honestly" together. Оп the one hand you see a Christian man, one whom you believe to be, cr, in fact, one whom you know to be, God's faithful servant. You have, perhaps, sometimes laughed at him, you have scoffed at him, and called him a "saint." But let us quietly think if he has not some advantages at least which some of us have not. He has strong faith in the truth of all God's words; he believes that he is saved through the death of Christ; he says that he has felt a change of heart, and nothing shakes his faith in this; he finds his pleasure in religious