tary in my chamber at Sir John Coke's," (son of the Secretary,)" Derbyshire, without any acquaintance but my servant about me, and was sentenced to death by my physicians, I began to contemplate more seriously the everlasting rest, which I apprehended myself just on the borders of: and, that my thoughts might not be scattered too much in my meditation, I began to write something upon that subject, intending but a sermon or two; (which is the cause that the beginning is, in brevity and style, disproportionable to the rest ;) but, being continued long in sickness, when I had no books, nor better employment, I followed it on till it was enlarged to the bulk in which it is now published. The first and last parts were all that I intended for my own use; and the second and third parts were introduced afterwards, besides my first intention. This book it pleased God so far to bless to the profit of many, that it encouraged me to be guilty of all those writings which after followed." He adds :-"I came to Major Swallow's quarters, at Sir John Coke's house, in a cold and snowy season; and the cold, together with other things coincident, set my nose on bleeding. When I had bled about a quart or two, I opened four veins; but that did no good. I used divers other remedies for several days to little purpose at last I gave myself a purge, and that stopped it. This so much weakened me, and altered my complexion, that my acquaintance who came to visit me scarcely knew me. When I had stayed at Melbourne in my chamber three weeks, being among strangers, and not knowing how to get home, I went to Mr. Nowell's house at Kirkby-Mallory, in Leicestershire; where, by great kindness, I was entertained three weeks." The gardens, however, are the principal attraction, and in the summer draw great numbers. "They are a curious and elegant relic of the old style of horticul ture," says Mr. Briggs, "which was brought from Holland by William III.; consisting of groves, fountains, statues, &c." There is a remarkable yew walk; the branches so entwined as to form a shelter over-head. Here are sylvan glades, there are rippling fountains; now we come upon some new scene, or the eye is next attracted by a view of some luxuriant foliage, or elegant beds of the rarest plants and flowers.

By the concluding remarks, now to come, the reader will discover what the writer is not at all anxious to conceal,-that he is a Methodist. The chief inducement to spend a day at Melbourne was, that we might be able to attend the Quarterly Meeting, which was held there for the first time. Methodism has long had a footing in this place, dating as far back as the year 1741. It will be seen from the "Memoirs of Selina, Countess of Huntingdon," that about this year the visits of John and Charles Wesley were rather frequent at Donington-Park, distant about two miles from Melbourne. On June 13th, 1741, Mr. Wesley "preached in the morning at Ockbrook, and in the evening at Melbourne." "Finding the house too small to contain those who were come together,” he remarks, "I stood under a large tree, and declared Him whom God hath exalted to

* Baxter's connexion with the army terminated at the time of this sickness.

be a Prince and a Saviour, to give repentance unto Israel, and remission of sins." He also preached here at a later date. Our cause in Melbourne at present is represented by a flourishing Society and Sunday-school; but we augur for it a future of greater influence and prosperity. "Onward" seems

to be the chosen motto of its friends and supporters. The chapel now standing was erected in the year 1816, and will seat about three hundred persons. By a laudable effort, recently made, it is completely out of debt. It is now considered too small, and a building-scheme has been organized, which contemplates a larger and more commodious edifice, the turning the eld one into school-rooms, &c. It is a pleasure to insert here an extract from the "History of Melbourne," in memorial of the late Rev. John Pearson, a young minister of high promise, who was stationed, A.D. 1845, in the Castle-Donington Circuit. His early removal to the celestial paradise caused profound sorrow in the wide circle of his friends. There are flowers which wither in the month of May; and there are such in God's garden. Has He not a sovereign right to pluck them when He pleases? A servant, employed as a gardener, was solicitous to know one morning who had plucked one of his choicest beauties. The proprietor said, “I did.” The servant was silent. "I was dumb," says the psalmist, "I opened not my mouth because Thou didst it." The testimony in question is from the pen of a member of the Established Church :-" Amongst many devoted men who have officiated at the Melbourne [Methodist] chapel was the late Rev. John Pearson, whose private character was much admired, and whose eloquence in the pulpit drew together overflowing audiences. The clearness, beauty, and originality of his sermons have been rarely equalled in any of the chapels in the provinces. In commencing his subject, he opened calmly and deliberately, gradually unfolding the latent meaning of the text, and applying it to his hearers; but, as he warmed, the wonders of science, the mysteries of art, the gorgeous imagery of poetry, were brought forward in illustration of his theme, and pictured in the most chaste and elegant language. These brilliant efforts, however, were made subservient to enforcing and recommending the necessity of the great truths he taught, and were inferior to the power, the fervency, and the zeal with which he advocated important truths. Mr. Pearson made no attempt at display : he seemed anxious rather to repress the ardour of his language, and the glow of his warm imagination, in order to clothe his ideas in the simplest form ; but ever and anon, like some gushing mountain-stream, his eloquence would break forth, speeding on with impetuosity, and overcoming, by the force of argument, every barrier which presented itself against his delineations of Divine truth."-The Quarterly Meeting, to which allusion has been made, was profitably supplemented by a religious service in the chapel, when several Local brethren spoke warmly on the important subject of religious revival, the urgent necessity of it, and the means of promoting it.

We returned home by a different route. In passing near Breedon-Hill, a grey curtain of fog was collecting around its base. We never go this

way without being brought under some influence of the associations of the old church, which stands upon the summit of this limestone rock. So true is it, that "the memory of the just is blessed." The grave-yard of Breedon church contains much precious dust, which, at the sounding of "the trump of God," will, doubtless, have part in the first resurrection. As we neared home, the sun had sunk below the western horizon; but, in the twilight of a summer's evening, the land-rail was uttering its plaintive notes, and some smaller birds had not ceased to twitter in their nightly roosts. Thus pleasantly ended our day at Melbourne.

B.

AN ANCHOR WITHIN THE VEIL ;

ÖR, THE STATE AND Hope of the cHURCH OF CHRIST.

"And do we not sometimes lay too much stress, as grounds of our confidence, on the outward and visible' signs of our religion-on the prestige of success, on the antiquity of great recollections, on the breadth of Christian civilization, on the progress of Missions, on the numbers of true Christians amongst us?"-Howson's Hulsean Lectures, p. 246.

How difficult it is to take a fair estimate of the state of true religion in the living world around us! We can read the history of a past age, and with comparative ease pronounce on its character with some degree of accuracy. But a thousand things prevent the effectual exercise of our understanding and skill, when we look into that still throbbing, active, busy world, of which we ourselves are a part; whose pulsations of life include the beating of our own hearts; whose energy would be the less for the slackening of our own hand; in the ocean of whose seething waters we are, however, as a drop. No sooner do we step out of ourselves, leaving the question, "Is my own heart right with God?" than our difficulties begin. For men do not present a window in their breasts, or carry their hearts in glass-cases, so as to be open to our sight and inspection. And we have no stethoscope, no moral sound-conductor, with which to test the throbbings of their conscience, or ascertain the dictates of their will. As we thread our way from home, through the mazes of social, ecclesiastical, commercial, and political life, we feel more and more bewildered and lost in the attempt to discern between the righteous and the wicked, and to draw a fair proportion between the numbers of the two, or tell how that proportion works to affect the collective character of our age for piety and morality. We feel the "multitude thronging " us, and ourselves in contact too close by far to allow a clear and full view of the characters of men, so as to speak dogmatically on this high question. We want some mountain of vision apart, whence we could serenely survey the scene of human life; and even then we should need some plain, unmistakable mark in the forehead of men, that we may count up respectively the numbers of those who

worship God, and of those who worship the beast. True, our Lord says, "Ye shall know them by their fruits." But there is considerable difficulty in the application of this criterion. The comparison is not literal between a tree in the garden and the tree of human life. There you know what you are gathering, whether an apple or a pear, and can taste its quality. But the actions of men are not so easily read; nor is the quality of the spring so soon discovered. "The Lord is a God of knowledge, and by Him actions are weighed." But among men many a casuistical question has been raised, and hotly debated, concerning the true character of an action. Moreover, we are not always correct in taste, or clear of sight. The film of ignorance, of prejudice, of love, of lust, of self-interest, obscures our vision, and forbids us to detect with confidence whether what we handle is a grape or a fig. And our too morbid palate does not always detect whether the grape is sour or sweet. The mysteries of human character and life are among those which will defy our ken and acumen as long as time shall last. Since this is so, we are not likely to gain any such aggregate idea of the state of religion and morals around us, as shall form a sure and certain ground of calculation and hope.

But let us not lose our equilibrium. We do not intend to teach that all is darkness around us,-that no adequate idea can be gained of the state of religion among us. There are outward and visible signs, to which we may trust, at least in some degree. They may serve as sign-posts on our path of spiritual investigation, and will do good service if we pursue the road to which they point us. There are symptoms of religious decline and disease, there are prognostics of spiritual health and blessing, to be noted. And, moreover, there are the statistics of the churches. But frank are we to confess that we lack the skill for a thorough diagnosis of this whole subject; and, if we had it, we should be slow to display it. For he who sits down to become the critic, perhaps the censor, of his own age and fellows, requires indeed to be wise as the serpent, and harmless as the dove; else his word will "eat as doth a canker," and he himself be branded with the name of Diogenes. Yet, in passing, let us say, there are some symptoms or features of our religious life much talked of, and much trusted in, which to us are little better than the brilliant eye and the hectic flush of a consumptive patient. On the other hand, we refuse to be numbered with those who have set up some impracticable ideal of perfectibility for the churches, in lack of which they count all zeal as nothing, all effort as worthless. And we mourn over the petty censurers who hover around the working bands of our churches, finding fault with all that is attempted, and with everybody who joins in the attempt, yet never touching the burden of work with one of their fingers.

One question just suggested to us is, How far may the social morality of life be considered a test of the healthiness, vigour, and prevalence of true godliness? Doubtless, it is a fruit of godliness, and obtains in proportion to a prevailing influence from above, direct and indirect. But may we not make too much of it? may we not argue too much from it? Setting aside

the thought that social morality itself is a rather indefinite, intangible sort of thing, there may be a liability to error in excess when we say, Given a certain amount of social morality, that indicates a certain corresponding amount of true piety. Allowing that there is ever a proportion between the two, yet, let us remember, that proportion is not invariable throughout all classes and stages of society. In such a state as ours, where the sound of the church-going bell is regularly heard,-where religiousness, as distinguished from spiritual piety, is a broad characteristic,-where men have a very great respect for appearances,—it is an error on the right side, if an error at all, to caution ourselves against strong conclusions as to the power of godliness, because of the prevalence of outside morality. Morality, in its general worldly acceptation, is a centipede. It walks on many feet. It is the expression of many mixed motives; the result, perhaps, of antagonistic motives, each counteracting the other. No sin is committed against charity, if we say that one reigning motive with us is the desire to be "passing fair" in the eyes of our fellow-men. We must not, then, make too much of morality, as an indication of the vigour of true godliness. None can deny to the Pharisees of old their due meed for outward decorum. If they were sepulchres, they were "whited sepulchres." They made clean the "outside of the cup, and of the platter." Yet we could infer nothing of true faith and inward holiness from this. With such a beacon before us, we must be careful not to draw too largely on the moral state of society for proof of the promising state of vital religion.

But what shall we say of the statistics of the churches?-These form one of the anchors we cast out of the stern, when we wish for the day. They are our readiest appeal and criterion. "How are your numbers?” is a common question, and a fair one. For vigorous life will give increase, and increase can be counted. "Numbers" open up our approach to the real state of things, and give us some indication of what it is. But how near will they lead us to the truth itself? Let us not lay emphasis on a truism, that numbers are not an infallible test. Of course, they are not; and what else is there, in this world, which may be so regarded? Yet numbers are often quoted, and made to be a very kaleidoscope of argument. In the hands of an adept, they rival those figures of rhetoric with which the orator leads captive his spell-bound audience. But there is something intensely literal about figures of arithmetic. Let us, then, inquire a little into their value as representing the state of the church of Christ.

Our own section of that church has been mourning over a decrease during the ecclesiastical year which last closed. All have felt there is cause for humiliation before God, not so much because of the decrease of thirty or forty members, as because of what that decrease indicated, and especially at such a time. Looking at the signs of unprecedented peace and prosperity, in every other sense,-at the compact and facile efficiency of our discipline, as a system,—at the completeness of the Connexional equipments,—at our manifold agencies,-at the spirit of enterprise displayed, and the arm of effort put forth, we might have calculated on an increase of thousands.