pressed upon the minds of the Christians of those days-the idea seems to have arisen that neighbourhood of burial to the grave of some martyr might be an effectual way to secure the felicity of the soul. Consequently we find in these chapels that the later Christians, those perhaps of the fifth and sixth centuries, disregarding the original arrangements, and having lost all respect for the art, and all reverence for the memorial pictures which made the walls precious, were often accustomed to cut out graves in the walls above and around the martyr's tomb, and as near as possible to it. The instances are numerous in which pictures of the highest interest have been thus ruthlessly defaced. No sacredness of subject could resist the force of the superstition; and we remember one instance where, in a picture of which the part that remains is of peculiar interest, the body of the Good Shepherd has been cut through for the grave of a child, so that only the feet and a part of the head of the figure remain. There is little reason for supposing, as has frequently been done, that the catacombs, even in times of persecution, afforded shelter to any large body of the faithful. Single, specially obnoxious, or timid individuals, undoubtedly, from time to time, took refuge in them, and may have remained within them for a considerable period. Such, at least, is the story, which we see no reason to question, in regard to several of the early popes. But no large number of persons could have existed within them. The closeness of the air would very soon have rendered life insupportable; and supposing any considerable number had collected near the outlet, where a supply of fresh air could have reached them, the difficulty of obtaining food and of concealing their place of retreat would have been in most instances insurmountable. The catacombs were always places for the few, not for the many for the few who in better times assembled to join in the service commemorating the last supper of their Lord.

It is difficult, as we have said before, to clear away the obscuring fictions of the Roman Church from the entrance of the catacombs; but doing this so far as with our present knowledge may be done, we find ourselves entering upon paths that bring us into near connexion and neighbourhood with the first followers of the founders of our faith at Rome. The reality which is given to the lives of the Christians of the first centuries by acquaintance with the memorials that they have left of themselves here, quickens our feeling for them into one almost of personal sympathy. "Your obedience is come abroad unto all men," wrote St Paul to the first Christians of Rome. The record of that obedience is in the catacombs. And in the vast labyrinth of obscure galleries, one beholds and enters into the spirit of the first followers of the Apostle to the Gentiles.

HONESTY.

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ONE evening a poor man and his son, a little boy, sat by the wayside, near the gate of an old town in Germany. The father took a loaf of bread, which he had bought in the town, and broke it, and gave the half to his boy. "Not so, father," said the boy, "I shall not eat until after you. You have been working hard all day, for small wages, to support me; and you must be very hungry. I shall wait till you are done." "You speak kindly, my son," replied the pleased father; "your love to me does me more good than my food; and those eyes of yours remind me of your dear mother who has left us, and who told you to love me as she used to do; and indeed, my boy, you have been a great strength and comfort to me; but now that I have eaten the first morsel to please you, it is your turn now to eat." "Thank you, father, but break this piece in two, and take you a little more; for you see the loaf is not large, and you require much more than I do." "I shall divide the loaf for you, my boy, but eat it I shall not-I have abundance; and let us thank God for His great goodness in giving us food, and in giving us what is better still, cheerful and contented hearts. He who gave us the living bread from heaven, to nourish our immortal souls, how shall He not give us all other food which is necessary to support our mortal bodies!" The father and son thanked God, and then began to cut the loaf in pieces, to begin together their frugal meal. But as they cut one portion of the loaf, there fell out several large pieces of gold, of great value. The little boy gave a shout of joy, and was springing forward to grasp the unexpected treasure, when he was pulled back by his father. "My son, my son!" he cried, "do not touch that money; it is not ours." "But whose is it father, if it is not ours?" "I know not as yet to whom it belongs; but probably it was put there by the baker, through some mistake. We must inquire: run.' "But, father," interrupted the boy," you are poor and needy, and you have bought the loaf, and then the baker may tell a lie, and " I will not listen to you, my boy; I bought the loaf, but I did not buy the gold in it. If the baker sold it to me in ignorance, I shall not be so dishonest as to take advantage of him. Remember Him who told us to do to others as we would have others do to us. The baker may possibly cheat us; but that is no reason why we should try and cheat him. I am poor, indeed; but that is no sin. If we share the poverty of Jesus, God's own Son, O let us share also His goodness and His trust in God! We may never be rich, but we may always be honest. We may die of starvation, but God's will be done should we die in doing it! Yes, my boy, trust God, and walk in His ways, and you shall never be put to shame. Now, run to the baker, and bring him here; and I shall watch

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the gold until he comes." So the boy ran for the baker. "Brother workman," said the old man, you have made some mistake, and almost lost your money" and he shewed the baker the gold, and told him how it had been found. "Is it thine ?" asked the father; "if it is, take it away." 'My father, baker, is very poor, and"Silence, my child; put me not to shame by thy complaints. I am glad we have saved this man from losing his money." The baker had been gazing alternately upon the honest father and his eager boy, and upon the gold which lay glittering upon the green turf. "Thou art, indeed, an honest fellow," said the baker; "and my neighbour, David, the flaxdresser, spoke but the truth when he said thou wert the honestest man in our town. Now, I shall tell thee about the gold. A stranger came to my shop three days ago, and gave me that loaf, and told me to sell it cheaply, or give it away to the honestest poor man whom I knew in the city. I told David to send thee to me, as a customer, this morning; and as thou wouldst not take the loaf for nothing, I sold it to thee, as thou knowest, for the last pence in thy purse; and the loaf, with all its treasure-and certes, it is not small!—is thine; and God grant thee a blessing with it!" The poor father bent his head to the ground, while the tears fell from his eyes. His boy ran and put his hands about his neck, and said, "I shall always, like you, my father, trust God, and do what is right; for I am sure it will never put us to shame."

JESUS-SAVIOUR.

dead to good; anguish drove me to despairnothing remained but to die and sink to hell." "Let them threaten me with banishment and death, with the torture and the stake," he says in a later letter," what is all this to me? it all makes no impression on me, it is all the merest trifle to the agony I endured in my religious life before I found a Saviour." Now, to a soul in this state of religious anxiety, the whole Catholic system is one great and gloomy barrier standing between it and its Redeemer. Luther struggled like a giant; he fought as for life, and broke through the dark obstacle, and found a Saviour-he found, he embraced, he believed, he felt, he knew that he was saved, and he felt it with a joy as mighty and overwhelming as had been his anguish. Thenceforth there was to him but one mighty idea-SALVATION and a SAVIOUR.

When, late in life, he was complimented on the wonderful courage and energy he had shewed in conceiving and carrying on the great enterprise of civil and religious reform, he seemed lost in thought for a time, and then said: "Strange, I never thought of any of those things; all I wanted was salvation, salvation, if salvation were possible."

And having found Jesus, he proclaimed Him; and when he saw the Catholic Church putting anything in place of Jesus, he tore it down; and when he found, to his amazement, that the whole Catholic establishment was not accidentally but designedly standing between the simple, common people and their Saviour, and meaning still to stand there, then it was that he undertook to fight the whole Church.

JESUS.

We are informed that this habit was peculiar to himself, and was not common to other writers of the period; and, connected with facts in his history, it is very affecting. Luther, like all great reformers, was a man of one idea; but that one idea was not what historians have generally supposed-it was not civil liberty, nor liberty of opinion, nor opposition to forms, nor any abstract love of truth; but the one idea was-JESUS-SAVIOUR. No human being ever felt with deeper anguish what it was to be lost. Language cannot have a more terrible earnestness than that wherein he has described the death-agony through which he passed when he felt his sins, and the majesty of God, and the desperate hopelessness of any effort to approach Him, or bring his fallen nature up to that immeasurable height of purity. “It was all over with me," he says; "the sin of my nature tormented me night and day-there was no good in life; sin had taken possession of me -my free will hated God's judgments-it was

sage of Scripture: "I have set the Lord always before me; because He is on my right hand, I shall not be moved."

When on his way to the Diet at Worms, he stopped at Erfurt, and crowds flocked to see the doomed man, alone and helpless, marching onward, to all human view, to certain and horrible death-the church was crowded to overflowing; and at this time, when, like Jesus, he was going up to Jerusalem, or, like Paul, was bound in the spirit, knowing nothing, except that in every city bonds and afflictions should abide him, of what did he speak? Of Luther and Luther's trials, and Luther's dangers-of Charles, of the pope, and princes of the empire? No, none of these; nor yet of civil liberty and rights of conscience. Hear his text: "Then the same day at evening, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came JESUS, and stood in the midst, and said unto them, Peace be unto you! and when he had so said, he shewed them his hands and his side;" and the whole discourse was a simple and pathetic illustration of this truth,

that the presence of Christ and the remembrance of His sufferings, is the Christian's support in times of affliction and danger.

It ought to be known that the great body of Luther's preaching was not controversial, but consisted of such plain, practical efforts to lead the weak and ignorant to a Saviour, as would befit a city missionary of our own times; for "when I preach," said he, "I preach not for learned men and magistrates, of whom there are but few; but for the poor, the women, and children, and servants, of whom there are some thousands." Might not some modern ministers derive a useful hint from this?

It would seem to be a time now, when it is necessary for every minister and private Christian, like Luther, to inscribe the name of JESUS on every effort, and set Him always before them.

As no one can reproduce the enchantments of art but one who has been himself enchanted, who has gazed whole days, who has lingered on every line and lineament, marked every tone of colour and tremulous vibration of shade; so no one can reproduce Christ who has not seen Him, felt Him, and been thrilled to the heart's depths by His loveliness, and with whom He is not, as with Luther, the one idea, so that over every effort, of whatever kind, it should be the strong impulse of his heart to inscribe the name JESUS.-Miscellanies, by Mrs H. B. Stowe.

THE BENEFACTIONS OF LITTLE CHRISTEL.

I.

GOING home from the house of God,

The flower at her foot, and the sun overhead,
Little Christel so thoughtfully trod,
Pondering what the preacher had said.

"Even the youngest, humblest child
Something may do to please the Lord:"

"Now, what," thought she, and half-sadly smiled, "Can I, so little and poor, afford?”

"Never, never, a day should pass,

Without some kindness, kindly shewn," (Little Christel look'd down at the grass,) Rising like incense before the Throne.

"Well, a day is before me now;

Yet, what," thought she, "can I do, if I try?
If an angel of God would shew me how!
But silly am I, and the hours they fly."

Then a lark sprang singing up from the sod,

And Christel thought, as he rose to the blue, "Perhaps he will carry my prayer to God;

But who would have thought the little lark knew?"

II.

Now she enter'd the village street,
With book in hand, and face demure,

And soon she came, with sober feet,

To a crying babe at a cottage door.

The child had a windmill that would not move,
It puff'd with its round red cheeks in vain,
One sail stuck fast in a puzzling groove,
And baby's breath could not stir it again.
Poor baby beat the sail, and cried,

While no one came from the cottage door;
But little Christel knelt down by its side,
And set the windmill going once more.

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Then babe was pleased, and the little girl
Was glad when she heard it laugh and crow;
Thinking, "Happy windmill, that has but to whirl,
To please the pretty young creature so!"

III.

No thought of herself was in her head,
As she pass'd out at the end of the street,
And came to a rose-tree tall and red,
Drooping and faint with the summer heat.
She ran to a brook that was flowing by,
She made of her two hands a nice round cup,
And wash'd the roots of the rose-tree high,
Till it lifted its languid blossoms up.

"O happy brook!" thought little Christel,
"You have done some good this summer's day
You have made the flower look fresh and well:"
Then she rose and went on her way.

IV.

But she saw, as she walk'd by the side of the brook,
Some great rough stones that troubled its course,
And the gurgling water seem'd to say, "Look!
I struggle, and tumble, and murmur hoarse!
How these stones obstruct my road!

How I wish they were off and gone!
Then I would flow as once I flow'd,
Singing in silvery undertone."

Then little Christel, as light as a bird,

Put off the shoes from her young white feet;
She moves two stones, she comes to the third,
The brook already sings, "Thanks! sweet! sweet!"

O then she hears the lark in the skies,
And thinks, "What is it to God he says?"
And she stumbles and falls, and cannot rise,
For the water stifles her downward face.

The little brook flows on as before,

The little lark sings with as sweet a sound, The little babe crows at the cottage door, And the red rose blooms, but Christel lies drown'd.

Then a little stream crept into the place,
And rippled up to the coffin's side,
And touch'd the corpse on its pale round face,
And kiss'd the eyes till they trembled wide!
Saying, "I am a river of joy from heaven,
You help'd the brook, and I help you;

I sprinkle your brows with life-drops seven;
I bathe your eyes with healing dew."

Then a rose-branch in through the window came,
And colour'd her cheeks and lips with red;
"I remember, and Heaven does the same,"
Was all that the faithful rose-branch said.

Then a bright small form to her cold neck clung,
It breathed on her till her breast did fill,
Saying, "I am a cherub fond and young,
And I saw who breathed on the baby's mill.”

Then little Christel sat up and smiled,
And said, "Who put these flowers in my hand?'
And rubb'd her eyes, poor innocent child,
Not being able to understand.

THE CHURCH IN THE HOUSE,

WITH LIVING PREACHERS.

AN IMPORTANT QUESTION.

"IF the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" What an important question this is! There are many important questions now occupying people's minds,-political questions, sanitary questions, social questions; but here is a question worthy of the profoundest consideration which the human mind can give. The characters referred to in this question are, the ungodly and the sinner. There were many such eighteen centuries back, when those words were written by St Peter, and there

are many now.

The question is not as to the present condition of the ungodly-Where do they now appear? Some appear before the world in purple and in fine linen, and some go about the streets in rags and in hunger. Some live in halls of splendour, covered with cedar and painted with vermilion; others dwell in the abodes of poverty and frequent scenes of vice. Some are drinking wine in bowls, and chanting to the sound of the viol; others are mourning in solitude and in sickness. Some are dishonouring this Sunday evening as recklessly as if there were no God to worship-no Saviour to seek-no death-bed to prepare for no soul to be saved-no eternity to meet; while some ungodly sinners are here now present, listening, I trust profitably, to these things. But the question is not, Where are they now? but Where shall they appear hereafter? They will not appear in this world long-that is certain. Soon, very soon, we shall go hence, and be no more seen." Men may inquire for the ungodly man at his home-he is not there; at his workshop or his place of business-he is not there. His companions may look for him at the public-house or the theatre. The place that knew him now knows him no more. Don't forget that. Now you are in this world. You will not be seen long here. Death will come-he is now coming. Nothing can put him back. He comes alike to all. He cares no more for the robe of ermine than for the beggar's rags. He comes-steady, certain, inexorable to take you from your bed of down, or from your bed of straw. Hour by hour he is advancing nearer and nearer. No matter whether you are awake or whether you are asleep, he will soon be here; and you will see his dark spectral form standing, like Balaam's angel, right across your path, with uplifted dart; and when you shall feel his cold arm holding you as a prisoner in his grasp, then, let me ask, "Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" In this world he "appears" no longer. Friends may visit his grave-and there, inscribed upon the stone, may "appear" his name, how long he lived, and when he lived no longer. His body,

mouldering to dust, lies there; but what is become of his living soul? Where does he appear? Ask the infidel; he shakes his head with shame, and answers, "I cannot tell." That was a matter of great interest mentioned in the Times newspaper a few days ago. "Last week the president of an infidel society at Nottingham, a framework knitter, publicly announced his secession from the doctrines he had long advanced; and he came forward and said he thought it right publicly to acknowledge, in the place where he used to hold his infidel lectures, that he had had great misgivings in regard to the existence of God; and for the last five years he had been uneasy in his mind in respect to Christianity. This uneasiness increased when he found himself upon a sick-bed; and on reviewing his creed he found it utterly worthless in the prospect of death. He had therefore determined, after considerable struggle with his pride, to avow his entire renunciation of his infidelity and his unbelief in Divine revelation. A working man, in proposing a vote of thanks to the chairman for his lecture, to which he had listened, avowed that he had held the same infidel sentiments as the other; but he had been led to see his error, and now publicly thanked God, who had in great mercy brought him out of darkness into his marvellous light." No, friends; we need not go to infidelity, like Saul going to Endor, for false and borrowed light upon the appalling mysteries of the future. The Bible holds up the torch of truth, and lights up the dark valley of death through which men must pass, and unveils the hidden realities that lie beyond the grave. Ask, then, the oracles of God, "Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" Let St Paul answer the question: "We must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, to give an account of the things done in the body, whether they be good or bad." "Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" Let the Apostle John answer the question: "I saw a great white throne, and him that sat upon it, from whose face the earth and the heavens fled away. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; and the books were opened, and the dead were judged out of those things written in the books according to what they had done." And if that answer were not enough, ask the Saviour himself, “Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" "When the Son of man shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory: and before him shall be gathered all nations, and he shall separate them as a shepherd divideth his sheep from the goats; and he shall set the sheep on his right hand, but the goats on the left. Then shall the King say to them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. And then shall he say to them on his left hand,

Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire, prepared for the devil and his angels. And these shall go away into everlasting punishment; but the righteous into life eternal." Do you ask the question, then, "Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" Bring back to mind that piercing expression, "These shall go away" these ungodly men and women who lived without Christ, and who died without pardon-" shall go away,"-away from God, who urged them to repent; away from Christ, who died to save sinners; away from that blessed Spirit, who strove with their consciences to bring them to Jesus; away from Christian friends, who spoke to them for their good, and would fain bring them to the narrow road. "These shall go away;" but nothing can save them. All the tears they will shed, all the wailing they will utter, all the torment they will endure, will be of no avail. They cast off Christ, and Christ casts off them. Men cannot save them; devils will not save them if they could. Oh! where, where, "WHERE shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?'

Brethren, I bring you good news. The door of mercy is yet open: the outstretched arms of Jesus are ready to receive every one. Then be encouraged by the promise of Jesus-" Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out."-Mackenzie.

LIFE THOUGHTS.*

WE are apt to believe in Providence so long as we have our own way; but if things go awry, then we think, if there is a God, He is in heaven, and not on earth.

The cricket in the spring builds his little house in the meadow, and chirps for joy, because all is going so well with him. But when he hears the sound of the plough a few furrows off, and the thunder of the oxen's tread, then the skies begin to look dark, and his heart fails him. The plough comes craunching along, and turns his dwelling bottom side up, and as he goes rolling over and over without a home, he says,—

"Oh, the foundations of the world are destroyed, and everything is going to ruin!"

But the husbandman who walks behind the plough, singing and whistling as he goes, does he think the foundations of the world are breaking up? Why, he does not so much as know there was any house or cricket there. He thinks of the harvest which is to follow the track of the plough; and the cricket, too, if he will but wait, will find a thousand blades grass where there was but one before. We are like the crickets. If anything happens to overthrow our plans, we think all is going to ruin.

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THE growth of Christian life is to be measured by the growth of love; and love itself is to be measured in its progressive states by its restfulness, its undisturbed trust, its victory over every form of fear. The state of perfect loving is incompatible with distrust. When the heart is first awakened to affection, it is disturbed and agitated. It fluctuates with every shade of hope and fear alternately. It rushes from one extreme of confidence to the opposite of doubt. But this is only while it is filling. The heart beginning to love is like a bay into which the star-drawn tides are rushing. The waters come with violence. They stir up the sand and sediment. They dash and murmur on the edges of the shore. They whirl and chafe about the rocks, and the whole bay is agitated with strife and counter-strife of swirling waters, until they have nearly reached their height. Then, when great depth is gained, when the shores are full, when no more room is found for the floods, the bay begins to tranquillise itself, to clear its surface; and effacing every wrinkle, and blowing out every bubble, and hushing every ripple along the shore, it looks up with an open and tranquil face into the sky, and reflects clearly the sun and moon that have drawn it thither. And so does the soul, while filling, whirl with disquiet, and fret its edges with wrinkles and eddies; but when it is filled with love, it rests and looks calmly up, and reflects the image of its God!

As ships meet at sea, a moment together, when words of greeting must be spoken, and then away upon the deep, so men meet in this world; and I think we should cross no man's path without hailing him, and, if he need, giving him supplies.

PRIDE slays thanksgiving, but a humble mind is the soil out of which thanks naturally grow. A proud man is seldom a grateful man, for he never thinks he gets as much as he deserves. When any mercy falls, he says, "Yes, but it ought to be more. It is only manna as large as a coriander seed, whereas it ought to be like a baker's loaf."

How base a pool God's mercies fall into, when they plash down into such a heart as

that!

If one should give me a dish of sand, and tell me there were particles of iron in it, I might look for them with my eyes, and search for them with my clumsy fingers, and be unable to detect them; but let me take a magnet and sweep through it, and how would it draw to itself the almost invisible particles, by the mere power of attraction! The unthankful heart, like my finger in the sand, discovers no mercies; but let the thankful heart sweep through the day, and as the magnet finds the iron, so it will find in every hour some heavenly blessings; only the iron in God's sand is gold,