She was gone again, and I wondered whether I should ever bring her back!

"You remind me," I said, "of three ladies of good position, whom I met last year. They all professed to thank God for Christ's death; but yet they had no peace, and w not satisfied. Seeing they were in real earnest, I proposed to go over the General Thanksgiving in the Prayer-book with them. They did so, and thanked God for creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life, but above all—then as I emphasized this 'above all,' they said, almost together, 'That is where we are wrong. We have not put the redeeming love of God as shown in Christ's death, above all.' These three ladies found peace and pardon that same evening.”

"That has been my mistake too," said the lady interrupting me. "I have never put Jesus above all; but I do desire to do so, and that with all my heart."

"Then do so," I said, "and thank Him for His love in dying in your stead, and shedding His blood to wash your sins away."

"He shall have all my heart!" she exclaimed.

So saying, she knelt before the crucifix, and bowing gracefully and most reverently, she reproached herself for not putting Jesus first, and said, "Thou art worthy! Glory be to Thee, for Thy great love to me."

Then she rose from her knees, and once more turning to me, said, "Thank you so much! God bless you for your

kindness and patience with me! I cannot tell you how much I thank you. Do you remember once preaching about Abraham offering up his son Isaac? You said, 'God the Father has done more than this for us; and yet how few cry to Him and say, "By this I know that Thou lovest me!" I thought, and felt then, that you knew something which I should like to know; and I have been longing to speak to you ever since. Oh, I do thank you so much!"

A GREAT MATHEMATICIAN.

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"Dear friend, I cannot refuse your thanks, but I should like to see you thanking God more than you thank me."

I knew that she could sing and play, so, pointing to the piano, I asked her if she would sing a hymn.

"Yes," she said, "I will. What shall I sing?"

"Find 'When I survey the wondrous cross,' " I said. She did not need to find the music, for she knew it without; so, sitting down, she began to sing, till the tears came into her eyes, and her voice broke down. "I never knew the meaning of these words before," she said; "Sorrow and love flow mingled down.' How could I be so blind and ignorant? Love so amazing, so divine,' does 'demand my life, my soul, my all!' O Lord, take it !”

After this, I had a few parting words with her, and pointing to the crucifix I said, "Remember, Christ is not on the cross now. He died; that is past. He is risen, and has ascended up on high. The throne of grace is not the crucifix or the confessional, but where Christ sits at the right hand of God; and we, as believers, may in heart and mind thither ascend, and with Him continually dwell. Have done, then, with this dead Popery; you know better now. Testify for the glory of God."

This lady's conversion vexed her husband greatly, and brought down the frowns and disapprobation of the reverend doctor; altogether, it did a deal of mischief in the camp. The "Sisters of Mercy" with whom she was connected were kept aloof from her contaminating influence, and soon afterwards were altogether removed from the place. There was one, however, a particularly hard-headed looking individual, who used to stare at me through her round spectacles whenever I met her, as if I were an ogre. I heard that she was a great mathematician. She looked like it; and evidently there was no fear entertained of her being converted. She and one other were left behind; but otherwise the house,

which had been built at great cost, was empty. The lady was not allowed to speak to me any more; but I hope she continued to go to the true throne of grace, and not to the crucifix-to a living, not a dead Christ.

All this, doubtless, was intended to sicken me of my reverence for the Catholic theory. I was evidently under an infatuation on the subject, which, for the time, nothing could dispel. I had some poetic or imaginary fancy of spiritual catholicity before my mind, which I supposed was something better than the fleshly spirituality of Methodism, to which I had taken a great dislike; but where to find this Utopia, or how to embody it, I knew not. These specimens of catholic people I certainly had no sympathy with; nor had I any patience with their hollow devotion and their studied imitation of Popery. I plainly saw that light could have no fellowship with darkness, or life with death. I was more and more convinced that when a man has more sympathy with dead Catholics than with living Dissenters, he is not a living soul at all. There is no necessity to go to one extreme or the other. I believe the reformed Church of England (in her principles, at least) occupies the middle path between these two extremes, with the excellences of both, and the faults of neither. I think I was permitted to be thus unsettled in my mind, because I did not keep to my work with a single eye to God's glory.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Devonport.

1855.

WAS at this time invited to preach in a church in Devonport, where it pleased the Lord to give blessing to His word. With this exception, my work was, generally speaking, confined to individual cases. I will give an account of a few which present the most instruction and interest.

The first I will mention is that of one of the curates of the church in which I was asked to preach. At this time he was preparing for confession, and his self-examination had brought him to see and feel that he was a sinner. Under this course of preparation, the preaching of the Gospel had much effect upon him, and he came to tell me of his state. I was able to show him from the Word of God that he was in a worse condition than he supposed—that actually, by nature, we are lost sinners now. Under the operation of the Holy Spirit he was brought to feel this also, and was very miserable.

One day, while officiating at a funeral, the Lord spoke peace to his soul; so great was his joy, that, he said, he

could scarcely refrain from shouting aloud in the middle of the service. After it was over he went about everywhere, telling of his conversion, and the Lord's dealings with his soul.

The result of this was that his fellow-curate (who was also preparing for confession) was awakened, and came to me in great distress of mind, declaring he "could not say he was converted," and that he was very unhappy. He acknowledged that he should not like to die as he was, and therefore knew he ought not to be satisfied to live in that state. However, when I got to close dealing with him about his soul, he said that though he could not say he was saved, he certainly thought that he was being saved by continual absolution and the sacrament. Upon this, I was enabled to show him that he did not go to the means of grace, or even to the Lord's table, because he was saved, but in order to be saved; and that he was working for life, and not from life. He gave up disputing, and was not long before he too found peace in believing.

The time was approaching for these two curates to go, as usual, to confession. They came together to ask me about it. I counselled them to go, by all means, to the reverend doctor, who usually received their confession, and to tell him in their own words how the Lord had convicted and converted them. I said that Bilney, one of the first martyrs of the Reformation, when he was converted, went immediately to make confession to Latimer, and by doing so he became the means of his conversion. "Go, by all means; you do not know what use the Lord may make of your testimony."

They went accordingly, but did not meet with the happy success of Bilney, for they were sent indignantly away one after the other for saying their sins were pardoned and their souls saved, and that by direct and personal faith in Christ,