It might be sufficient to reply, as has often been done, it was in the Bible-in the system of Christianity, in the spiritual and militant church of Christ, which was properly universal, and therefore suffered no essential change in the rejection of the epithet Romish,' and the adoption of the title Protestant. It consisted of those faithful witnesses who long before the Reformation lived in the spirit of primitive Christianity, and mourned over the corruptions and abominations which were gaining ground. They lived in the Spirit of Protestantism, even amidst the darkness and idolatry of popery. This reply I maintain might be enough, but I am anxious to put this question in a position from which the Romanist can find no retreat. I say therefore, the Protestant church before Luther and the Reformation was, where it now is, in England. It is a point of English history too little known and well deserving our attention and remembrance. I will ask in rejoinder, where was the Roman Catholic church before the days of the monk Augustine, who came from Rome under the auspices and support of Pope Gregory the Great, to plant the popish church in these realms ? I will admit the reply, that the church of Rome was acknowledg

ed in many parts of Europe and in other countries; but I will add, that wherever else it was, it was not here, in England. Augustine is recognized as establishing with his forty Romish emissaries, a popish mission; but the BRITISH CHURCH, the antient, primitive, apostolic church of England, had existed in this our native land, from the days of the apostles.

It had grown up and flourished, and spread far and near, even to the remote Hebrides, for a period of more than half a millennium. Never, till A. D. 596, when Augustine and his cohort of Roman missionaries landed in Kent, had the British church known any thing of foreign interference, or any other ecclesiastical regulations than those which had been handed down from the apostolic times.

Christianity was probably planted in England by Paul himself, certainly by apostolic missionaries. In A. D. 157, a British king professed Christianity. In 303, St. Alban, the British proto-martyr sealed the truth with his blood. In the beginning of the fourth century, we find the record of the lives and actions of several British bishops, and abundant documents to prove that a pure and apostolic Christianity had penetrated to the remotest part of our island. The names of Eborus, bishop of York; Restitulus, bishop of London; and Adelphius, bishop of Caerstonupon Usk, are found appended to the council of Arles, A. D. 314— to the council of Sardica, A. D. 347—to the council of Ariminum, A. D. 359. It is stated in Tertullian, who wrote about A. D. 200, that those places of Britain, which the Roman arms had not been able to penetrate, were subject to Christ.'

E. T. B.

IT is always, I think, with a thoughtful feeling, and generally speaking, with a kind of regret, that we review the scenes that have passed away-turn over and look upon the leaves of Memory's pictured volume-live again amongst the dead. And more especially is this the case, when we are conscious that a fair portion of life has been travelled over, and that, in our retrospective movement, we shall be reminded of ties since broken, friendships since dissolved, and joys since withered and gone. But retrospection, however painful it may be sometimes, is yet a salutary and important duty. Its tendency is both to humble and to animate: it humbles by the revived experience of the world's vanity, and our own mortal insignificance; it animates, by the inspiring hope that He who has hitherto been our guide and protector, will not leave or forsake us, even unto the end.

W, the subject of the following little memoir, was born about five-and-twenty years ago, in an adjoining parish to mine. His parents were very poor; and having a large family to provide for, were obliged to struggle hard against extreme poverty and want. Indeed, the straits of this humble family were, I have reason to believe, sometimes, and particularly in seasons of sickness, exceedingly distressing. But even the most pressing destitution was borne by them with patience: one might almost feel assured it was Christian submission. A murmur at their lot, if ever indeed conceived, was never expressed and I am told it was their fixed determination, rather to submit to any hardship, than apply to the parish for relief. Here was at least an admirable feeling of independence: and God

MARCH 1838.

:

forbid that the laws of our country should ever even seem to discourage such a feeling in any one! —a feeling, which is the just boast of our peasantry, and the strength and prosperity of our land. Such being the circumstances of poor W's parents, it is scarcely to be wonddered at, that his childhood was suffered to pass away almost without any instruction. He was left to the natural vanity of his age. His body indeed, was cared for, badly enough it is true; but no one seemed to care for his soul. At the time I speak of, Sunday Schools were far from being universal in the land. One here and one there might meet the benevolent enquirer's eye, scattering in rich profusion their wonderful blessings; but that alas! was all. These were only as garden-spots in the desert, all the rest was still barren and dry. This was the unhappy condition of poor W's parish. No house of mercy and refuge was there for such little wanderers as himself-no Sunday-school to unfold every Sabbath its gates of benevolence and love-no voice of tenderness and pity, directed especially to the weak and helpless lambs of the flock, warning them of their perils and teaching them the way to happiness and heaven. Who can tell the triumphs of such an institution where it is established? how God is glorified, and how man, by his grace and mercy, is benefited and saved! It was about ten since that W. years reside at P. He had left his parents' cottage, and all his agricultural labours and pursuits, for the sake of entering on a new scene, and engaging in new employments. He was now a shipwright's apprentice. This was a great change in his life but it was, no doubt

came to

the means which providence chose for his everlasting benefit. I was not at this time ministerially connected with P.; but an aged relative was-now, I trust, amongst the spirits of just men made perfect in heaven, and forming one of that blessed number who will' shine as the stars for ever and ever.' There was nothing remarkable, I have understood in W's conduct during the term of his apprenticeship: all that could be said of him was, that he was steady and laborious; that he gave satisfaction to his employer, and for this, took credit to himself. The town of P. was then, and had been for a length of time, blest with a profusion of religious means connected with the establishment: the opportunities afforded for instruction and improvement in the great things of God, were both various and frequent. Of some of these, it appears, W. took advantage; and they were blest to his soul. It of

ten happens; indeed, I believe it is always the case, that the work of grace is suddenly made apparent in the soul and to the soul: it may have been in secret silent operation before, like the seed cast into the ground, but it only then begins to be realized and felt-to spring and grow up men know not how. This was exactly the experience of this young man. No particular event or manifest divine interposition was there, which he could look back upon and assign as a preparatory means to the blessed end to be accomplished: he was imperceptibly drawn to the Lord and then, all on a sudden, became a wonder to himself; being utterly unable to account for his changed views, and altered feelings: for to use his own striking language, he seemed to hear with other ears, see with other eyes, and feel with another heart. The great desire and earnest prayer of his heart now was to be kept from falling into sin-to grow in grace-to love the Saviour

more, and the world less-to think more highly of others, and more meanly of himself to live soberly, righteously, and godly, in this present world.' Salvation with all its wonderful connexions and consequences, worthy indeed of the immortal mind to contemplate and rest upon, had given a colouring to all his thoughts; and shed, so to speak, the light of eternity on every path of his life: old things had, indeed, passed away, and all things had become new.

About this time, the subject of our memoir quitted P- for some distant sea-port. The term of his apprenticeship had expired; and he wished to advance himself in his calling. More than a year had passed away before I saw him again. He had returned to P——, where he had some friends, in a bad state of health; he was in an advanced stage of a pulmonary consumption. Oh, how changed was he! Death had evidently marked him for his own, and, I thought, a very early victim;-it was so. During this last part of his illness I had many opportunities of seeing him, and conversing with him. But I shall probably never forget the first interview: it was to me a surprising one; and unusually affecting. When I was informed of poor W.'s arrival, and of his suffering state, I lost but little time before I went to inquire for him. The house where he was languishing was a miserable abode ; cheerless, damp, cold, unhealthy. Immediately on entering, I was conducted to the sick, and soon, alas! to the dying chamber. was a garret and there was very little light in it; the small window had been considerably darkened by the many attempts to keep out the wind and cold from the broken panes. I cast a glance around on the room; but there was no earthly comfort here; my eye could rest on nothing that gave me one idea of the kind: it appeared to be

It

perfect destitution. There, on a low bed, chiefly consisting of old clothes, lay poor emaciated W. As I approached him, and he began to recognize me, his agitation, and internal struggles for composure were most evident, and to me peculiarly distressing. All this, at the moment, I attributed to far other causes than the right one. The fact is, it is hard to write it! Fain would I cast into the deepest oblivion all that I then heard; I would fain erase it from the tablet of my memory: but it must not be; it cannot be! This poor young man had been a backslider! had grievously fallen! Led away by evil company, he had in a great and awful degree, since he left P., gone back to the world, its sinful follies and pleasures. His besetting sin had again acquired a fearful influence over him. He was now brought to almost the brink of despair. Nothing that I could say then appeared to give him any encouragement, any hope.

He

as in

was

had sinned so grievously-forsaken such infinite mercies-gone against such light, such knowledge!-so caused the religion of Christ to be spoken against-so injured his blessed cause in the world! Here was the most heartfelt compunction, the deepest penitence. He cried indeed with an exceeding bitter cry. "Oh, that I were months past! I could see the unutterable language of his bursting heart. Dark and awful was the cloud that hung over this poor, trembling, guilty soul; and yet it was not impenetrable. A ray of hope and mercy was even now scattering the darkness. Such penitence, contrition, and selfabasement were certain evidences that the Lord had not utterly forsaken him; that his eye was still upon him for good; that he was bringing him back, though with much and severe scourging, to his rest and his God.

My next visit to poor W. found

him more composed. He had evidently been taking comfort from some of the scriptures that I had referred him to; particularly that remarkable one, Jer. xxxi. 18-20: and also this, "the blood of Jesus Christ his Son, cleanseth us from all sin." 1 John i. 7. The assaults of the great enemy were, at certain seasons, most afflictive. He had at times, he said, scarcely a fragment to lay hold of, and thought that there was no help for him; that he must sink hopeless and unpitied in the deep waters! There

was however, an Almighty Saviour nearer to him than he supposed: one, who stretching out his arm, said to him, "O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?" "Believe only!" At other times he was animated even beyond himself by the most assured and glorious hopes-hopes full of immortality! Peace, at these precious moments would flow into his soul like a river; and he seemed to experience the blessed foretaste of eternal joys; of those unspeakable pleasures which are at God's right hand for evermore. It was now quite evident that poor W. was sinking fast. There was a sad alteration in him every day. The hour of nature's greatest trial, was surely near at hand! The next time I called, shortly after this, he was, to the surprise of every one, considering his sufferings the past night, still living: the flame of life still lingering in the socket. He was sensible, and knew me. I intimated to him, of which he was perfectly aware, that his time was very short; that in a few hours he would be with that blessed Saviour whom he so loved, and who had done such great things for him! At this he looked up with inexpressible animation; all heaven's delight seemed to be beaming on his countenance. He could not speak. The powers of utterance were gone. I proceeded to take leave: his counte

nance wore more strongly than just before, the character of death; but it was still illuminated by the same sweet and heavenly smile. He pressed my hand-he looked unutterable things. I departed. Early the next morning I was informed that the undying spirit had fled. And may we not hope, that this poor repenting sinner had "entered into the joy of his Lord"?

O reader! beware of sin!-thy

besetting sin! It will surely find thee out at the last! if hardened and impenitent, in the endless ruin of thy soul! if otherwise, in the miserable clouding of thy Christian experience, and the embittering of thy last and dying moments! Seek earnestly that it may be mortified and subdued, and that by the power of divine grace, you may break its yoke and walk in the paths of holiness.

J. R.

you

SIR-There is a subject which I have often wished to see taken up by some of the Religious Periodicals of the day, because I think it of greater importance than may generally be supposed; and if have no objection I shall be glad to see it opened to the pages of the Christian Guardian.' The subject I allude to is that of Evening Lectures and Prayer Meetings. Perhaps it would be better to put it in the form of a question in discussion at a clerical or social meeting. I shall be glad then to have the opinion of your Clerical Readers on the following question -Do EVENING Lectures and Prayer Meetings tend to advance the cause of Christ or not? Do not the evils attendant upon such meetings, particularly in the dark nights of winter, greatly counterbalance any good result?

My own experience of ten years in the ministry is decidedly against them. I believe they are some of those things which we have copied from dissenters, in order to compete with them in making Proselytes, but that with us as with them, it has been productive of the most serious evils. Any one who has paid common attention to the subject, must be aware of the state of dissenting places of worship at

their Evening Meetings. In my own parish, the chapel at such times is a disgrace to civilized society, and from all I hear, we are not singular in this respect. Till within the last year 1 have had an Evening Lecture in the week, and frequently on Sabbaths in the school, and I discovered that with all my care it led to great improprieties of conduct. I also found that it was the means of breaking up family and domestic religion. Most of my more respectable and serious people, complained that if they attended my Lecture their domestics were usually in mischief, and if they allowed them to go, it was only an excuse for other things, and that they found great evil to be the result. I have therefore upon mature consideration for some time past given up my Evening Lectures, and intend to have an afternoon lecture instead. I do think it would be much better to exhort our people to spend their 'evenings at home,'-particularly their Sabbath evenings, in catechizing their children and servants, and hearing them read the word of God. This is a good old custom, now laid aside. The question is, are we the better for it?

CLERICUS D—.