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hands by servants after a meal; the sprinkling of the doorway of a hut with medicinal water to keep away disease; the piling up of memorial stones, etc.

« Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing," Mr. Tyler la boured on after his return to Africa for eighteen years. In 1887 his wife died, and 1889 failing health compelled him to return to the United States.

In regard to the evangelization of this interesting people, Mr. Tyler is a decided optimist. Nor is there lacking evidence

a to confirm his cheerful opinions. Already a great change has taken place in Natal. Native churches are springing up. Zulu preachers are taking the places of white ministers, and thus the missionaries are enabled to penetrate into the regions beyond. Native education is making progress. Heathen children are being trained in the industrial arts and taught the Christian faith. The young in particular are turning to the Gospel ; and native Societies of Christian Endeavour are being organized. What has been accomplished is only an earnest of what shall yet be done. Even the heathen recognize the inevitable destiny of their race. “ It is only a question of time, sir,” said a Zulu father; “our children are yours; they will certainly become Christians."

Macaulay, though by no means an infallible seer, was fond of prediction. In one of his earliest prophetic flights he tells of the ingenuous youths of the distant future being sent to the University of Timbuctoo, and of promising young authors mingling in the polished society of Cape Town. Why should his prophecy not be fulfilled ? And if the rosy prediction of the great essayist ever should come to pass, it will largely be due to the lives and labours of such men as Rev. Josiah Tyler.



I know not if or dark or bright

Shall be my lot ;
If that wherein my hopes delight

Be best or not.
My bark is wafted to the strand

By breath divine,
And on the helm there rests a Hand

Other than mine.

He holds me when the billows smite;

I shall not fall.
If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light:

He tempers all.

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" Who is planned to preach at our chapel this quarter?" was the question generally asked, when the new • Plans" came out, as they did with the utmost regularity on the Stonall Circuit. Stonall was a circuit among the valleys of Cumberland, of some thirty appointments, with about half a hundred local preachers and exhorters, and three "travelling preachers."

Whatever may be the disadvantages of the circuit system, it certainly affords splendid opportunities for godly laymen to “exercise their gifts” very much to their own advantage, and generally to the edification of the Church. Most of the “appointments

very small, in some instances nothing more than the “front room in some Lydia's house, “whose heart the Lord had opened.” Nevertheless, these little gatherings were often scenes of Pentecostal power, and many a champion of our Israel has been won for Christ in a plain little meeting-house, or some saintly widow's cottage.

The “trend" of the times seems to be for the large church and the "station," with the "pastor in charge," virtually relegating the local preacher to the limbo of the past. Whether this “ new departure" is going to be any improvement on the old circuit system, as they have it in the land of our fathers, remains to be seen. Whether it will develop such a healthy, robust, aggressive individualism in the laity, is a question which is open to serious doubt.

This sketch, however, is not to chase a theory, but to portray a man. Our intensely practical age is crying out for the concrete rather than the abstract, for Christianity, as seen in individual life, rather than in the “Creeds of Christendom," or the complex machinery of ecclesiastical organizations. Hence the question with which we began: “Who is planned to preach at our chapel this quarter ?” As many of the appointments could be visited by the travelling preachers only once a quarter, they generally took the opportunity when doing so to renew the quarterly ticket to the little band of members-possibly not more than half a dozen. It will be seen at once that if these little flocks were to have regular Sunday services, at least once in the day, they would be largely dependent upon “the goodly company” of the lay apostles.

As a rule, the local preacher received a warm welcome and was listened to with pleasure and profit, but there were a few who were special favourites, and the new plan was always eagerly scanned by young and old, of the various “appointments " to see if any of these “chosen few were to be on hand during the quarter. Among the special favourites, our old friend

. Robert Lightup probably stood No. 1. Not because of his eloquence

-he hardly knew the meaning of the word. He was a man of plain speech. The tricks of rhetoric were an unknown quantity to him. Nor was it because of his learning or any special intellectual gifts. Technically speaking, his learning was of the most elementary kind; as for intellectual power, he made no pretensions along that line. Yet, be was a man of power; but wherein his great strength lay it was sometimes very difficult to say. Originality, quaintness of appearance and speech, positive. ness of religious convictions, together with an unimpeachable Christian character, would, no doubt, go a long way towards explaining the marvellous outcome of this good man's labours, but after the most searching analysis to find out the constituent elements of our manhood or womanhood, there is often an undis. covered remainder, which, more than anything else, may have had to do with making us what we are.

“Old Robert Lightup preaches at our chapel to-day.” That is enough to secure a full house. Old and young are sure to be there, especially the young. Every available seat is filled before the hour of service begins. Everyone is on the tiptoe of expecta- . tion to see the grand old man take his place. Here he comes ! Three minutes ahead of time, a short, stout man, fast climbing up to “ threescore and ten;" bright, silvery hair falling on his shoulders in wavy circles; round face beaming with inward joy ; lips full of laughter and tenderness; eyes sparkling with gladness, and the entire mien betokening one who lives “quite on the verge of Heaven."

It was a real benediction to see the sunny-faced, saintly old man stand up in the old-fashioned square box of a pulpit. With a strong Cumbrian accent, he would begin by saying:

« Christian friends! We are in our Father's banqueting-house, and we ought to be thankful for what we have enjoyed, and more than thankful for what we may enjoy. Our good Lord has spread a bountiful table to-day, and he says, Eat, О friends; drink, o beloved, and let your souls delight themselves in the Lord. Praise the Lord, it's good to be here! Now, let us sing the 349th hymn. I don't mean hum it, or dumb it, but sing it in such a way as will clearly show that you are honestly endeavouring to thank God for what He has done for you. Three hundred and forty-nine:

O Heavenly King, look down from above !

Assist us to sing Thy mercy and love ;
So sweetly o'erflowing, so plenteous the store,

Thou still art bestowing, and giving us more.' The stanza was sung with that rare spiritual fervour so characteristic of the worshippers who delighted to gather in these little Bethels of the valley.

Well, that's very good,” said Robert Lightup, and “what a privilege it is to sing God's praise! We can only hear ourselves sing, but what a multitude of the heavenly host are joining with


They sing the Lamb in hymns above,
And we in hymns below.'

“If this little chapel were transformed into a cathedral a hundred times larger and grander than St. Peter's at Rome, if all the kings and queens, all the great men and wise men, all the great musicians and singers of the whole world were here to-day, it wouldn't be half so grand a gathering as we are permitted to form a part of, as we join in singing the beautiful words of this hymn. If good old Victoria were here—God bless her! and if I asked you to sing "God Save the Queen,' wouldn't you all put forth the biggest effort of your life to make the rafters ring with the stirring strains of our national anthem? I know you would. No matter how wheezy and cracked your voices may be, you would be ashamed to keep still. If you couldn't do anything else, you would wave your hats in token of your loyalty to the Queen.

“Very well, follow this principle right up to where we stand to-day, not in the presence of our Sovereign Lady, but in the presence of the King of kings, an innumerable company of angels and the spirits of the just made perfect. Surely that's enough to make us shout for joy-yes, shout for joy! This whispering, whimpering religion is a very tame affair. There's nothing catching about it, nobody wants to own it. Like a homeless cat, it seems to think about nothing but how to hide itself in any dark corner. Shout for joy! Think what we have to make us happy. God's increasing, unchanging, everlasting love. If God's love won't make us happy, singing happy, ay, shouting happy, then the sooner we ask God to drive us from the habitations of men and cat grass with the oxen, like Nebuchadnezzar, the better for all concerned.


“ The love of God; that's what we and the angels are to sing about now and forever.

“* Wherefore of Thy love, we sing and rejoice

With angels above, we lift up our voice,
Thy love each believer shall gladly adore,
Forever and ever, when time is no more.'”

It is needless to say that after such stirring words by the way, every body in the little meeting-house “sang with the spirit and with the understanding also.” Hearts were keyed up to such notes of praise as are heard in the sanctuary above.

Then followed the prayer-sympathetic, tender, intensive and fervent. The good man talked with God. Like Moses, he bore on his heart the sins and sorrows of the people that bowed with him in supplication at the throne of grace. With what fervour and humility he pleaded for the pardoning mercy of God. How earnestly he voiced the wants, the discouragements, the difficulties and the struggles of that little company. Referring to the shadows and clouds which are sure to creep over the landscape of life, bis voice would drop and tremble with deepest emotion, showing a heart full of pity and compassion, ready to weep with those that weep. His prayers were brief and full of child-like trust. They were prayers which made all feel that God was present to hear and answer.

The reading of the Scripture lesson was always a profitable and enjoyable religious exercise. His bright, pithy, quaint comments as he went along, opened up the Word to the dullest hearer, and made it a feast of fat things to all.

"You will find our lesson,” said old Robert Lightup, “in the tifteenth chapter of the Book of Proverbs: “A soft answer turneth away wrath, but grievous words stir up anger. It's not good generalship to fight fire with fire; water will serve a better purpose every time. One angry man will do much harm, but two will do the devil's work to his entire satisfaction. When the destroyer of peace urges you to have the last word, say, "Get thee behind me, Satan, for I do not well to be angry.' The best proof that we can have that Hannah was a good woman, was when old Eli called her a drunkard and she didn't retort by calling him a liar. Keep a bridle on your tongues, and set a watch at the door of your lips. If a man chooses to get angry, let him alone, he'll soon get ashamed of his pig-in-the-parlour performance.

The tongue of the wise useth knowledge aright, but the mouth of fools poureth forth foolishness.'

" The difference between a wise man and a fool is just here,

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