angels, who asked why she wept; and having told the cause, she turned round and beheld Jesus, but knew not that it was He till He had called her by her name. She was then sent to relate the glad tidings to the disciples. As she hastened, the other Mary and Salome joined her ; and while they were together, Jesus Himself met them, saying, "All hail ;" and, when they had worshipped Him, gave them a message to the disciples. Meanwhile the soldiers related in the city what had occurred, and the council of the elders bribed them to spread a false report, that the disciples had stolen the body of Jesus while they slept. This story, though involving many improbabilities and contradictions, became commonly reported among the Jews. Though the apostles received from both companies of the women assurances that Christ was risen, they believed not, but still mourned and wept. Peter, however, went again to the sepulchre; but, the angels having departed, he only saw the linen clothes. From Luke xxiv. 34, and 1 Cor. IV. 5, we find that Christ appeared to Peter before the other disciples, and probably early in the day. His next appearance was to Cleopas and another, in the afternoon, as they went to Emmaus; with them He conversed a considerable time, as recorded, Luke xxiv. On discovering it was their Lord, they returned to Jerusalem, a distance of eight miles, with the glad tidings; and while relating to the apostles what had passed, Jesus Himself stood in the midst of them, conversed with them, showed His hands and side; and when they distrusted for joy, He did eat before them. At this time He breathed on them, and said, "Receive ye the Holy Ghost."

During the rest of this week, those who had seen our Lord informed the other disciples that He was risen, and conversed respecting it; but some still refused to believe, and among them the apostle Thomas.

On the first day of the week following, Thomas, and the rest of the apostles, with other disciples, being together at meat, Jesus again appeared to them. He desired Thomas to touch His wounds, who, being convinced, exclaimed with devout adoration, "My Lord and my God!" Jesus then mildly rebuked their unbelief and hardness of heart.

Some days after our Lord showed Himself in Galilee to the apostles, and to more than five hundred of His disciples, who assembled by appointment for the purpose, agreeably to His words before His death, and after His resurrection. He appeared first at a distance, when some doubted; but for their fuller satisfaction He drew near, and conversed with them, and declared that all power was given to Him, in heaven and in earth.

Subsequently He appeared to Peter and six others of the disciples, who had remained together in Galilee. So little had they anticipated their future honourable employment as apostles, that they seem to have resumed their former humble occupation, and were fishing on the Sea of Tiberias, when Christ had that intimate discourse with them, recorded, John xxi. After their return to Jerusalem, our Lord again gave instructions to His disciples, and commissioned them to preach the Gospel to all nations. Whether this was done upon one or more occasions does not appear.

During forty days He continued to be seen occasionally by them, proving the reality of His resurrection by the most infallible evidence, and conversing with them of the things pertaining to the kingdom of God. When the period drew nigh for His ascension into heaven, He warned the disciples not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait there for the fulfilment of the promise of the Comforter. He even specifically mentioned in what manner they should receive this new Comforter, saying, "John truly baptized with water; but ye shall be baptized with the Holy Ghost not many days hence." At the same time, He issued His command for the propagation of the Gospel, saying, "All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world."

On the fortieth day after the resurrection, Christ led His disciples to that part of the district of Bethany which joins the Mount of Olives, at the distance of a mile from Jerusalem, and recapitulated His former injunctions. There were some among them who still entertained the mistaken notion, that the Messiah should be a temporal sovereign: and they now asked of Him, "Lord, wilt Thou at this time restore again the kingdom to Israel?" But Christ rebuked them; saying, "It is not for you to know the times or the seasons, which the Father hath put in His own power." He then renewed His promise to them, of Divine aid in promulgating the truths of the glorious Gospel; saying, "But ye shall receive power, after that the Holy Ghost is come upon you; and ye shall be witnesses unto me both in Jerusalem, and in all Judæa, and in Samaria, and unto the uttermost part of the earth. And when He had spoken these things, while they beheld, He was taken up; and a cloud received Him out of their sight." Camberwell.

J. M.

FAMILY LIFE AT THE CHATEAU OF COMBOURG IN 1778.

FAMILY life amongst the French noblesse of the ancien régime was as retired in the gloom of the ancestral chateau as it was gay at Paris. Chateaubriand gives us a picture of Combourg that would be very uninviting to the young people of the present day, greedily as they devour the literature that describes the novelist's ideal of these times.

"But distance lends enchantment to the view,

And robes the mountains in their azure hue."

The chateau of Combourg was embosomed in the shade of oaks and chestnut-trees, that in Madame de Sévigné's time were reckoned venerable. When Chateaubriand was a youth, he beheld these trees with one hundred and forty years added to their age. They were disposed in avenues called, respectively," the great and little mall." He says,

During the whole course of the year no stranger presented himself at the chateau, with the exception of a few noblemen on their way to Parliament. They arrived in winter on horseback, with pistols at their saddle-bows and hunting-swords by their sides, each followed by his valet, also mounted, and carrying behind him his lord's portmanteau.

"My father always received his guests at the entrance with bare head, in spite of rain and wind. Our guests recounted their campaigns in Hanover, their family news, and the history of their lawsuits. At night, they were conducted to the north tower, to Queen Christine's apartment; a chamber of honour, containing a bed seven feet every way, with double curtains of green gauze and crimson silk, and supported by four gilt Cupids. The following morning, when I gazed at the face of the country covered with hoar-frost, I saw nothing but two or three travellers plodding along the causeway by the lake. They were our guests wending their way towards Rennes. These strangers, in their brief visits, however, extended our view of life some leagues beyond the horizon of our own woods. On Sundays, in fine weather, my mother, Lucile, and I went to the parish church across the little mall, and along a country road. My father, except at Easter, always went to the chapel of the chateau.

"During winter, whole months often glided away without a human being knocking at the gate of our fortress. The sombre calm of the chateau was further increased by the unsocial disposition of my father. His chamber was in the east tower; his cabinet, in the next. My mother's apartment was above the great hall between the two towers. It had a polished floor, and was ornamented with Venetian mirrors, cut in diamond shapes. My sister's closet opened on my mother's apartment.

"My father rose at four, summer and winter; and at five was served with coffee in his cabinet, where he worked till noon. My mother and sister breakfasted at eight in their chambers. I had no fixed hour. At eleven the dinner-bell rang, which was served at noon exactly. The great hall was both our dining and drawing-room. We dined and supped at its eastern end, and after our repast adjourned to the west in front of the enormous fireplace. It was wainscoted, painted in dull white, and ornamented with portraits from the time of Francis I. to Louis XIV. I remember the portraits of the great Condé and Marshal Turenne were amongst them.

"We remained till two o'clock in the hall. Then my father went, if in summer, to fish in his gardens, and walk; in winter, to hunt; while my good mother retired to the chapel, where she passed several hours of every day in prayer. Lucile, meantime, sat in her chamber, and I scoured the country alone.

"At eight, the bell rang for supper. After supper, we sat (in summer) on the entrance steps, and watched my father firing at the young owls in the battlements. At ten we retired to rest.

"In autumn and winter, however, when supper was over, my mother reclined on a couch by the fireplace, a small table with a light beside her.

Lucile and I sat by the fire. My father promenaded the long hall till the time for retiring, dressed in a robe or half cloak of white ratteen, his bald head covered by a stiff white cap. The vast hall was so imperfectly lighted by the one candle, that at the far end of the hall we ceased to see my father, and only heard his measured step. If he heard Lucile and myself exchange a few low words, he would say, en passant, 'Of what did you speak?' Seized with terror, we made no reply; and he continued his walk. My mother often sighed, and the wind murmured an echo.

"When ten o'clock sounded, my father stopped as if his steps were suspended by the clock. He pulled out his watch, wound it, took up a huge silver candlestick, and retired. We placed ourselves in his way, wishing him good night. He stooped his pale cheek without reply; we kissed him, and soon heard his door close in the east tower. And thus the talisman was broken.

"My mother, sister, and I, who had been transformed into statues by my father's presence, recovered the functions of life. The first effect of our disenchantment displayed itself in a perfect torrent of words. If silence had before oppressed us, we made it pay dearly now. When the torrent was exhausted, I summoned my mother's femme de chambre, and attended her and my sister to their apartments, and retired to my turret. Montaigne's father awoke his son by a gentle harmony. I was awakened by the voice of my father, like the last phantom of the night, regularly sounding through his castle at four in the morning.

"The embrasures of the narrow trefoil-shaped windows were so deep, that they formed cabinets, around which ran benches of granite, secret passages and stairs, cells and dungeons; a labyrinth of open and covered galleries, subterraneous vaults of unknown ramification; silence, darkness, and an aspect of stone ;-such was the feudal chateau of Combourg, whose towers peered from its venerable woods."

Such was the abode of Chateaubriand's childhood. Children need not envy their compeers in the old time. Let them not abuse their superior privileges; for what child of the middle ranks now-a-days is not infinitely better off than the children of the old French noblesse ?

R. R. T.

METHODIST CLASS-MEETINGS AND CLASS-LEADERS.* THERE is no more important question for Methodists of the present day than, How shall we preserve our class-meetings, as they are the expression of a spiritual life, and the medium of a Christian fellowship? How shall we best hand down to posterity what we ourselves have so richly enjoyed as a heritage from our fathers,-hand it down in its simplicity as a means of religious communion, and in its vigour as an instrument of diffusing, as well as sustaining, vital godliness around us? This inquiry has been made

*The Causes of Decrease, and the Means of Revival and Increase: A Word to Methodists. By the Rev. J. H. Rigg. London: Tresidder.

ever and anon from the days of Wesley, and by Wesley himself, to our own; and it is now made, with deeper earnestness than ever, by all who, having in any measure the spirit of Christ, have also a personal interest in the conservation of Christianity and the conversion of the world.

It is mainly to this question that the writer of the pamphlet named at the foot of the page addresses himself, adding another to the forcible appeals already current among us, which leave no member or leader an excuse for neglecting a high duty, or foregoing for himself and others an inestimable privilege. The following are some of his important remarks on this vital subject.

THE Class-Meeting is the inmost institution of Methodism,-the germcell, to borrow an illustration from vegetable physiology, out of which the whole tissue and texture of Methodism is perpetually reproduced and developed. The Methodist church is a web of Class-Meetings; unloose them, and the whole is unravelled. The Class-Meeting is the matrix within which every element characteristic of Methodism is nurtured. In these small, fervent, confidential meetings, the power of simple, homely, and ready speech, in regard to spiritual truths and experience, is acquired. Here the gift of social prayer is called forth. Here the future preacher first gives token of his powers, and receives his earliest training. Here the future "leader" gives proof of his character and qualifications. It is to its Class-Meetings that Methodism owes the fluency and fervour so characteristic of those who lead its assemblies in prayer, or who habitually address its congregations. It is to the same institution, not less, that the brotherly freemasonry is owing which makes the Methodists one people all the world over, which makes the Methodist stranger who brings with him his "note of removal" feel himself to be at once "at home" in a Methodist " ClassMeeting," and as a "member of the Society," either in Lancashire or in Sussex, in Yorkshire or in Australia, nay, even in London or in Inverness. Very foolish indeed therefore are the suggestions of those who urge that, to meet the views of the present enlightened age, Methodism should multiply and adorn its sanctuaries, should thoroughly educate and polish its ministers, but should abolish or "modify," should at least abate, its ClassMeetings. This would be to garnish the sepulchres of Methodism; to sap the springs from which all its life has flowed. Its supply of preachers would presently run dry; the power of its preaching would die out. The sinews of its strength would be unbound; its vital energy would decay to nothing; its heart would collapse; its "leaders" would be no more; its army of lay preachers, never replenished, would moulder away; Methodism, in fact, as such, would be at an end.

And yet we hear complaints, again and again, that the Class-Meeting is not so popular an institution as formerly. It would appear that some shrink from it, that others complain that it is an uninteresting and unprofitable ordinance, that, for one reason or other, not so large a proportion of the hearers in Methodist chapels now become "members" as formerly. It