VERDOING is undoing," says an old

proverb; and though this saying has long ago ceased to bear any marks of its birthplace or age, it still continues to be illustrated by events in the history of individuals, communities, and systems. Modern With a Popery strikingly illustrates it. "zeal not according to knowledge," the Papacy has driven its distinctive dogmas to their utmost legitimate issues, so as to show their native deformity so fully as to make them repulsive to the best friends of Popedom.

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In July, 1870, "the Pope was declared to be infallible, and to possess power over every other authority in all matters, civil and spiritual." This formal and extreme act ," and it has proved to be overdoing," "undoing." The "old Catholics," as they call themselves, soon sprang up in Germany, under able leadership, and threaten to effect a permanent schism in the Popish body. French ecclesiastics started back from the course into which Rome sought to urge them. And now it is said that "a new schism is declaring itself in the East." The Patriarch of Babylon, of the Chaldean rite, has published a protest against the Papal infallibility dogma, and all his suffragans are following his example. The Patriarch had pronounced against this innovation in the Church of the Roman Council of 1870, and a very violent scene had taken place at the time between him and the Pope. The Catholics of Syria are also separating themselves. Italy and Rome itself practically deny the false claim of the one who, like the golden image on the plain of Dura, had been set up as God; and instead of falling down at the idolatrous proclamation, they plucked away the temporal crown from the puppet, and left it bald amidst the devotees who had overdone their work to the undoing of their idol. It seems, indeed, as if the convulsive effort to grasp too much had left the Papacy incapable of holding even a little; or as if an ill-timed and violent effort to seize unlimited power had resulted in a final breaking up of its political unity.

Is England now to be betrayed by Popish craft into an employment of its influence on behalf of the Pope? Are we to be wheedled into mischievous alliance with Papal Rome? Soon after the Pope had lost his temporal power, the Jesuits in Rome formed themselves into a committee, taking oversight of

all committees throughout the world, and orders were issued "to address the respective governments, claiming, in the strongest language, the restoration of the temporal power of the Papacy, and to make this the one object in all elections, and in every political movement; and even to league with revolutionists where such a course might strengthen their hands."

Meetings were therefore held in Dublin and London, where Cardinal Cullen and Archbishop Manning countenanced speakers who declared that the restoration of the Pope's temporal power, and, consequently, the estab lishment of his claim to infallible supremacy over all governments, should be made the great object in political agitation; and that if their legitimate efforts were not regarded "it remained for Ireland to draw the sword!" Amidst impudent clamours like these, it is difficult for English Protestants to be patient. They are in danger of becoming bitter, while casting bitter reflections on those whose false liberality gave political power to the slaves of a foreign and hostile despotism. Or they may by their unwise measures illustrate the proverb, "Overdoing is undoing."

Romanism as a system is rather political than religious. It claims to be the Church, and has truth enough in its creed to make its Church claims seem plausible. But, as with some other great carnal systems, one secret of its power and influence is, that it exhibits error clothed with the ornaments of truth, or so associates some leading truths of genuine revelation with its own fatal errors and dark policy as to secure for itself that command over human nature which properly belongs to pure truth. This makes it far from easy for English Protestants to condemn the corruptions of Popery, and to work against its wiles without being seemingly chargeable with sceptical hostility to truth itself. On Papal principles, to protest against Romanism is to be false to the faith. It becomes Protestants, therefore, to shun all appearance of evil; and to act so devoutly, and to exemplify so reverent a love for Christian truth, while they contend against Papal machinations, that they may be seen to distinguish a mere political organization from the true New Testament Church; and that while striving to the very death against Popery as a system, they love every man who, in spite of the system, exemplifies a Christian character.

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and beneath the smile of God on our toil, what a change came over the face and heart of our Societies! Our Superintendent had found, as he said, "death in the pot ;" but now there was life everywhere-fresh, healthy, fruitful life. New-born souls flocked around us. Happy homes were created and multiplied. The houses of prayer were filled, and the little churches rejoiced in a full sense of freedom-Christ had made them free. God had brought us first "into the wilderness," but He spoke comfortably unto" us; and we now saw a fulfilment of His promise, "I will give her her vineyards from thence, and the valley of Achor for a door of hope; and she shall sing there, as in the days of her youth, and as in the day when she came up out of the land of Egypt." The light of such Pentecostal times brings heaven nearer to the Church militant, and more clearly reveals its future joys; but at the same time it deepens its pleasures of retro

spect, and gives renewed interest and a fresh charm to the "small and feeble things" of its earlier life. While its new-born "sons and daughters prophesy," and its "young men see visions of the future, its "old men," with "youth renewed like the eagle's," "dream dreams" of the happy past. And it did seem as if we witnessed something like a spiritual parallel or answering 1eflection of that rich mingling of present and past, jubilant and plaintive, which marked the turn of ancient Judah's captivity, when "all the people shouted with a great shout, when they praised the Lord. . . But many of the priests and Levites and chief of the fathers, ancient men, that had seen the first house, when the foundation of this house was laid before their eyes, wept with a loud voice; and many shouted aloud for joy: so that the people could not discern the noise of the shout of joy from the noise of the weeping." There were a few elders among us whose joy in present blessings was enriched by personal

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recollections, and who cherished that reverent regard for the traditions of their fathers which sometimes gives a more solemn fulness to the pleasures of spiritual revival. I had one venerable friend whose every joy over daily additions to the Church appeared to make his recollections of former days and of departed spirits more and more precious. He had a gracious fear lest what he held to be sacred in the past should, amidst the glow of advancing success, melt away like unworthy memories. It was pleasant, now and then, to provoke him to enthusiastic chat about dear old places, people and times. And my jottings, after such seasons of reverent intercourse with the lovable old antiquary, have formed a little chronicle which my heart not unfrequently finds it pleasant to review.

"I should like if I could," he would say, "to save worthy names from oblivion. I am grown old, and my writing shows it; but before my right hand forgets her cunning,' let me tell you. Mr. Daniel, whom I remember well, and brothers of the Bunt family, were among the few early if not the earliest friends of Methodism in the neighbourhood of Liskeard. You will remember St. Clear, a few miles out towards the high moor-lands, remarkable for its beautiful 'holy well,' but more remarkable still as the dwelling-place of Mr. Daniel, and the scene of John Wesley's visits. Daniel was a relative of Alice Daniel, of Morva, whose memory was so pleasant to Wesley. It was Daniel's house of which Wesley says 'In the evening of Tuesday,' Sept. 24th, 1751, 'reached St. Clear. The house would not contain one half of the people; so I stood in the porch, that all, both within and without, might hear. Many from Liskeard were present; and a solemn awe was upon the whole assembly.' Another preaching place, a mile nearer the town,' was Cove Mills, the house of John Bunt. Liskeard had pleasant recollections for John Wesley. 'I think,' he said, it is one of the largest and pleasantest towns in Cornwall. I preached about the middle of the town, in a broad, convenient place. No person made any noise at all.

At six in the morning I had nearly the same congregation. Afterwards I examined the Society, and was agreeably surprised to hear that every one of them had found peace with God; and (what was still more remarkable) that none of them has left their first love; that at this day not one is in darkness! That was in September, 1757. The broad, convenient place' was known as 'the Bull-post,' the place for bull-baiting.

Wesley, however, found it a place of no noise at all.' Liskeard afterwards had the ministry of the celebrated Sir Harry Trelawney, whose valued labours as an evangelist continued from 1775 to 1786. My uncle Samuel, a pious young man, who died in 1783, was among the most devoted of Sir Harry's followers. He led his sister, my dear mother, as her own lips told me, to the castle to hear Trelawney. It was the dawn of my dear mother's religious character. She removed for a time to Plymouth Dock, now Devonport, and there accompanying those with whom she lived to the Methodist services at the lower room,' she became a Methodist, during Mr. Wesley's time. She soon married. My father died when I was eleven months old, and I was brought by my mother, a babe, back to her father's farm, Trembraes, near Liskeard. When a little boy I was taken to the Town Hall to hear a funeral sermon for Mr. Wesley, preached by Benjamin Rhodes, from 2 Kings ii. 12.

"I remember that a horse used to be sent, at that time, from Liskeard to St. Germans to meet the Dock Local-preachers, and bring them to the little meeting-room to preach on Sunday evenings. The names of many of them are balmy to me. Their kind words, when they put their hands on the head of the fatherless child, were not without fruit.

"In those days of the French Revolution, on the one side were High Church and Tory principles, and on the other Republicanism and Deism were rampant in the town. The few simple Methodists were by the one party persecuted, and by the other scorned. By favour, from childhood, my seat in the little meeting-house was in the pulpit behind the preacher. A little window was close behind me, at which a furious mob came and bellowed, Burn Trudgeon'-the name of the preacher and Tom Paine !' The latter was burnt in effigy, and many would have thought it doing God service to burn Trudgeon in reality. About 1792 many religious miners came to the neighbourhood, among whom was one who became my father-in-law. My dear mother's house soon became the first home of the once-in-three-weeks' preachers in the town. On the preacher's Sunday evening it was my privilege to sit up to supper, and to hear conversations on affairs of the Society. And the listening, wondering child received impressions which served, in some way, to prepare him for many of the experiences of after life. The names of the preachers of those times are well remem

bered, as my dear mother provided a book in which it was my duty on Mondays, according to my early capacity, to write in full the texts of the preceding Sundays, and the names of the preachers. In 1801 several intelligent Methodists made Liskeard their home. And I was permitted sometimes to be present at their meetings for conversation; and, at length, I was led by one of these kind friends to receive from the preacher a note of admission on trial as a Methodist. The first Methodist meeting-house to which I was taken when a child, and about which I have already told you, was a little, low-roofed, thatched out-house, then under the castle, in what is now Castle-street. It was set apart for Sunday evening service in 1776. The first erected chapel was built in Dean-street, some two or three years after Launceston was made the head of a Circuit, 1794.

"This is all I can tell you about the early days of Methodism in Liskeard."

Thus ends my dear old friend's chronicle. His "right hand" has not yet "forgotten its cunning;" nor has his heart ceased to beat in unison with the grace of good old times.Ah! what a shadow is this mortal life! Since I wrote the last sentence, William Beal, truly the Reverend William Beal, has fled to his rest!

I have lived to see chapel after chapel follow each other on the ground near the spot where my revered friend used, when a child, to sit under the low, thatched roof; and each "latter house," in succession, has claimed "greater glory" than "the former." But to me the memory of the old chapel in Dean-street is most dear. Many a hallowed association with that house is worthy of record, but one shall have the preference :

I was sent for one day to visit a woman who was said to be dangerously ill. She was the wife of a horse-keeper at the hotel. She had been in the town about three months, she told me, but had never gone to a place of worship, and since her affliction she, for some time, had encouraged no serious thoughts. Now, however, her heart was broken. She had "considered her ways," and her spiritual distress seemed to be more than her bodily pain. She had sent for a minister, that she might be directed to a Saviour. I tried to lead her to Christ; and after recommending her to Divine mercy, I left her earnestly pleading with God for pardon. My visit was soon repeated. Again and again she was encouraged to come to Him Who saves the afflicted. And at last I had the joy of

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hearing her humble but confident confession
of faith in Christ, and her happy expression
of peace through believing. In the course of
a following visit she turned smilingly to me
and said, "Now I must tell you how the Lord
has brought about this comfortable change in
I told you that for some time after my
affliction came on I had no serious thoughts.
My pain of body took up all my thoughts.
But on the Sunday evening before your first
visit my pain was quieted a little, and I fell
asleep. I had a dream. It seemed like life.
I thought I went to a chapel, and though I
had never seen your chapel, I could tell you
all about it from what I saw in my dream.
I thought as I went in I looked up, and saw
the preacher in the pulpit. He looked at
me. I shall never forget the look; it seemed
as if he knew all about me.
Then he gave
out the hymn; and it appeared as if his voice
was all one with his look. The verse which
he read came ringing into my heart. The
words were-

When shall Thy love constrain,
And force me to Thy breast?
When shall my soul return again
To her eternal rest?'

They went through me, and made me tremble so that I awoke; and when I awoke the words were ringing in my ears

When shall Thy love constrain,
And force me to Thy breast?'

I could think of nothing else. My pain of body seemed nothing now. I wanted something, I could scarcely tell what, something for my soul. I was miserable for want of it. My trouble went worse and worse. Until I said to my daughter, 'Do go out and try to borrow a hymn-book, perhaps we shall find the hymn.' I had never seen a Methodist hymn-book; nor, as far as I remember, had I ever heard the words before I heard them in the dream. My daughter got a hymnbook, and I said 'Turn to the 134th page.' There was the hymn! And as she read it to me, it went to my heart again, as it did at first. At last I said, 'You must go and ask for some minister to talk to me, and pray with me, for I cannot live like this.' She went and brought you, Sir; and as you came in you looked at me as you did in my dream, for you were the very person that in my dream I saw in the pulpit! God sent you, and sent mercy to me by your means! 0, how good He is to think of me, and to send a messenger to me, when I was nearly perishing, so far away from Him, in affliction and

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sin! I wish I could sing that precious hymn which He sent to me

'My worthless heart to gain,
The God of all that breathe
Was found in fashion as a man,
And died a cursed death.

*

'I sink by dying love compell'd,
And own Thee Conqueror!

It was not long before she did sing. She was taken into the choir above. One remarkable fact must not be forgotten. I always kept a record of the hymns I used, as

And on

well as the sermons I preached. referring to my note-book I found that at the time she was dreaming, in the same hour, on that same Sunday evening, I was in the pulpit of the chapel which, in her dream, she entered, and was giving out the same hymn

"When shall Thy love constrain,

And force me to Thy breast?"

Did the woman's spirit wander in her dream to the house of God? Who can tell? All I know is the fact as I record it.

"I have fought a good fight, 1 have finished my course, I have kept the faith: henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the Righteous Judge, shall give me at that day and not to me only, but unto all them also that love His appearing."—2 TIм. iv. 7, 8.

NOUGH has been said to prove John Wesley's untiring zeal, but the other sides of his character must not be forgotten.

No doubt, method was his chief characteristic. He ate, worked, slept by rule. Extreme neatness was always shown in his dress, though he did not indulge in unneces sary expense. All his papers, books, etc., were kept in order, and his punctuality was amazing. When delayed ten minutes on one occasion he grieved over the thought that ten minutes were lost for ever, had past unemployed, and borne away no record of good deeds.

For about fifty years he rose at four in the morning, and generally preached at five. He usually slept a little in the afternoon; indeed, no frame could have supported his fatigues and responsibilities without due repose. He was also providentially furnished with that peculiar power of calling sleep for a few minutes, just when he had time for it. It is said that once, when greatly tired, he took a nap while his congregation sang a hymn, and waked up refreshed for his serFor many years he travelled about five thousand miles annually, that is nearly equal to going from Land's End to John o' Groat's nine times, which before the days of

mon.

railways was no small matter. He rode an active, strong pony, until his increasing age made it necessary for him to go in a carriage. Besides all this travelling and preaching, and the time taken up in meeting Societies and speaking to individuals, he kept up a correspondence with his preachers, friends, and numbers of his converts.

He was a great reader, and he abridged or corrected more than a hundred books for the use of his followers, besides writing a great number of grammars, sermons, letters, tracts, etc. In fact, such was his industry that he has left behind him as many books as we should expect from an author who devoted his whole time to literature.

He had strong common-sense and a keen wit. He often enjoyed a joke, and even in his Journals we see touches of humour-restrained, perhaps, but still evident. For instance, he tells us how the rabble at Windsor had laid in a stock of gunpowder, and boasted that they would stop his preaching on a certain day. Impatient to begin their mischief, they went in the meanwhile "and bestowed a few of their crackers upon their brother-mob at Burnham Fair. But these, not being Methodists, did not take it well, turned upon them, and gave them chase." In vain they took refuge in a house: their angry victims broke in, and "seized on as many as they could find; who, upon information made, were sent to gaol," where they were kept out of mischief till Wesley's undisturbed visit was over.