Southwark, acknowledged that there had been much improvement; but at the same time it was evident that prostitution was never more flaunting than now; and he had learned facts about the condition of things in London in regard to that particular sin which could not be stated in public where ladies were present. He knew something about Southwark, he said; and in proof of this he mentioned the fact, that at his own church some 1,200 persons assembled on the Sabbath, the bulk of whom were of the artisan class. The rector then spoke of his people as a warm-hearted set, while, of course, the existence of such a congregation showed that the industrial orders could be attracted if the old gospel was preached without any adulteration of ceremonialism. Those who lived away from London were then reminded that they did not leave their responsibilities behind them when they went home to their suburban villas; they ought to give something to the places where they made their money, and not be satisfied with merely giving to churches where they resided. The rector did not take an optimist view of the outlook, although he was glad that the missionaries were able to speak as favourably of their districts as they did. The evil which chiefly weighed upon this speaker's mind, was the dreadful spectacle which the immorality of the streets presented at night.

Kent Street is, so far, a classical region, that the Canterbury Pilgrims must necessarily have passed along it after leaving their quarters at The Tabard. For many generations, however, the thoroughfare has been a public disgrace, and before the construction of a broader outlet into the Old Kent Road, many travellers to and from the continent were heartily ashamed of the squalor and degradation which greeted them at the very entrance to London. The statement made by Mr. Baker, who devotes some attention to this district, showed that Kent Street was not reformed. The over-crowding was so dreadful, that sixteen persons and two cats might be found living in one room. Then, the character of the place was so bad, that a large number of degraded women could be collected in a few minutes. There was much Sunday trading in the locality; but an instance was given of a woman who, on being chided for buying food on Sunday, showed conclusively that she had absolutely no place in which to keep any articles purchased the night before. The conditions of life in such a place are little understood by ordinary persons. There is not even a cupboard, in which to keep the household stores; even the coals have to lie in one corner, and besides general confusion and effluvia, which Mr. Baker declared often destroyed his appetite, there is a risk of articles being stolen by neighbours in the next room, if unduly exposed. Beyond all this, he complained more of indifference than infidelity. Kent Street is quite as wonderful a region as ever it was; and our friend was not exagger ating when he said that he could tell things about his district which would make the hair of listeners stand on end.

Pastor B. Brigg, of Drummond Road Chapel, spoke well of employers generally, but still maintained that infidelity was rampant in certain factories: the men encouraged one another in sin, and poor Christians were persecuted. After this, it was encouraging to hear a large employer, like Mr. Samuel Barrow, testify that he did what he could to

encourage Christian visitors in their work, while drinking and swearing on his own premises were generally prohibited. Mr. Pearson, of the London City Mission, also thought that the efforts of the agents of that Society had been highly successful in their work.

As Mr. William Olney was our host, we were all ready to hear what he had to say. He understood that the work of the City Mission was to bring men to Christ, and it was a serious matter if they were going back. He feared the people were getting further from God; were they ever to be reached? How was the work to be accomplished? One remedy consisted in strengthening the hands of the City Mission; for the missionery went where pastors could not go, and blessing rested on their endeavours. Still, comparatively, the work of the Lord was not prospering; and Christians should pray more, and labour more. Believing as they did in the future of immortal souls, what a condition of things were they living under! The people might possibly be more moral and more intelligent than they used to be, but for certain they were more ungodly than they were ten years ago. Since the work was too difficult for them, they must appeal to God to plead his own cause. He suggested that more frequent meetings for prayer should be held between the committee and the City Missionaries, which he believed would soon bring about a brighter and better state of things. After a vote of thanks to the chairman, the conference separated on the understanding that if need arose it should re-assemble. We anticipate the best results from such godly conversation upon the solemn business in hand.

Windmills or Butter-Pats.

THERE is a quaint story of a giant, who had long fed upon windmills, and at last was choked by a pat of butter; and, assuredly, his counterpart may be seen in the evolutionists of our day, who are unable to receive the Bible account of the Creation. The hypotheses of our present philosophers are enough to tax the credulity of a monk of the middle ages, yet many take down these windmills as pigeons swallow peas. The teaching of revelation is fitted for the capacity of a child, but our wise men are choked with such simple fare. We confess we have not enough faith to be an infidel, or an agnostic, or even an evolutionist. We find ourselves standing up for once for reason, and demanding that our faith should not be overstrained. We can believe what is revealed; for, sublime as it is, there is a kind of truth-likeness about it; but we cannot believe what we are now taught with such tremendous authority; for, in the first place, it is not worth believing, and, in the next place, it looks so dreadfully like a lie that we had rather not. No, thank you, dear sir, we will keep to our bread and butter; our throat is not yet adapted to the disposal of windmills.—

C. H. S.

William Kellner; or, from Darkness to Light.

PART I.

BY PASTOR R. SHINDLER.

HE decay of evangelical religion in both the Lutheran and Reformed churches, in the last century, is a fact generally known. It was marked by great unsoundness of doctrinal teaching, and by a lack of the chief essentials of a healthy Christian life. Germany was not alone in the defection, though the Pietists of Halle exercised some counterinfluence. The creeds and standards of these churches remained the same, but they were ignored, explained away, or otherwise displaced by Rationalistic theories and "philosophy falsely so-called." The inspiration of the Holy Scriptures, the Deity of Christ, his death as an atonement for sin, the need of conversion, the personality and divinity of the Holy Spirit, his work in divine renewal, the reality of the miracles of the gospels, justification by faith in Christ, and almost all other important truths taught by Luther and Calvin as Bible verities were either denied or practically renounced. As a consequence, formalism, worldliness, licentiousness, and impiety of every shape were dominant. Politically, the crushing effects of the Thirty Years' War in Germany were still traceable, and the pernicious influence of the French sceptical writers was only too manifest in the practical ungodliness and low moral habits of the people. Religiously, the pastures of gospel grace were trodden under foot, and the pure waters of evangelical truth were defiled with the mud and scum of human teaching, which was often more in harmony with Voltaire than with Jesus Christ. No doubt some read their Bibles in secret, or sang some of the grand old hymns of Luther, Gerhardt, and other masters of sacred song, which remained as a priceless heritage. But, speaking generally, "darkness covered the land, and gross darkness the people. The pulse of true religion was feeble, and there was a reign of something very like death.

During this state of things William Koellner was born, in the year 1760. His life was to be life of struggle both within and without, while he was to be a witness of the outburst of the French Revolution, and a sufferer from the lawless violence of the brutal soldiery of the gross despotism which flaunted the banner of "Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity."

The vicissitudes and sorrows through which he passed give a deep interest to his eventful life, while his inward struggles, resulting in his gaining a firm hold of gospel truth and a happy realization of gospel liberty, point a lesson for the wavering and the unstable. Out of mist, and darkness, and error, he groped his way into the light and joy of God's salvation; or, rather, by the discipline of fiery trials and the inward teaching of the Holy Spirit, he emerged from the barren land of neological speculations into the fruitful garden where the sun of truth always shines, and the waters of salvation flow unceasingly.

Koellner's early religious education was very defective. "I only knew God as a wrathful Judge," says he, "a severe Lawgiver, who. with uplifted rod, regards those who do evil only to punish them." Of the truth that "God was in Christ reconciling the world unto himself"

he knew nothing. Slavish fear and dread filled his mind, with only an indistinct glimmering of the scheme of redemption, and hence he was a stranger to the love of God, and almost so to hope.

And yet he must be prepared for "confirmation," while there was little in him to confirm, excepting error and sin. The minister who undertook to "prepare him was as blind as himself, and more hard; for Koellner was conscious that he was every way unfit to partake of the Lord's Supper, and it made him so unhappy that he would have absented himself had not the influence of his superiors prevailed. He entered the university to qualify himself for the ministerial office. Here the hopeful exercises of a mind partially awakened, and a heart in which the Holy Spirit had been striving against darkness and sin, were almost wholly quenched by the subtle teaching of the professors; so that, to use his own words, his faith became "like a reed blown hither and thither by the wind, or as a ball with which they played at their pleasure."

The first result of the insidious teaching of the professors was the arousing of a suspicion as to the inspiration of the Holy Scriptures. When faith in the inspiration of the Bible is gone there remains nothing that can be "most surely believed," and the way to every kind of heterodoxy and error is easy and short. Man's reason being exalted above revelation, there remains nothing of religion but the form, nothing of Christianity but the name. It is a system of philosophy, not of faith; of salvation without a Saviour, of Christianity without the Christ. The things he heard from the professional chair excited his surprise for a time, but first the ear and then the heart became accustomed to the most daring assertions or doubts.

Sometimes, however, he was led to question their conclusions. "What becomes of Jesus Christ if he is not the true God, and my Mediator and Redeemer? What can be the meaning of his wonderful condescension, and his more wondrous death, if that death was not a sacrifice for sin? And if his death is not the great means of my reconciliation, and if he did not shed his blood for the remission of my sins why did he die, and what hope is there for a guilty soul?" At such times he would find himself suspecting the wisdom of the professors, but the doubts as to their being right were as chaff before the wind of their arguments, and as feathers on the stream of their eloquence. He could not resist them. He was almost hopelessly entangled in the web of their sophistries. The consequence was, he lost all power in prayer, for he could not ask in faith, nothing wavering, when he was tossed on a sea of uncertainties. How little he was fitted to discharge the duties of a minister of the gospel all spiritually enlightened persons can judge.

But there were two circumstances which prevented his being quite carried away into dangerous error: one was he kept up a correspondence with a friend who held evangelical sentiments, and who knew how to wield the "Sword of the Spirit," so that Koellner could not repel his attacks; the other was that after he left the University he married the daughter of a minister holding evangelical views, whose steadfast faith and holy life spoke volumes to the heart of Koellner in favour of those doctrines he had been taught to despise. But he was not free from his

entanglement. The rationalistic system, pandering as it does to human pride, and fostering man's vain conceits, while it denies or ignores his moral corruption, and blindness, and helpless guilt, held him fast in its toils.

About this time he was entrusted with the care of a school of some seventy boys, and, with the vision of his father-in-law's simple faith and holy life before him, which revived in part what he had heard of the old faith in his boyish days, he resolved to instruct these boys in the doctrines of Christianity, so far at least as he remembered them. This came to the ears of his superior, who insisted that he should not take up the time of the boys with dry speculative matters of faith, but teach them morality alone, as the chief thing.

At the age of thirty-four he undertook the pastoral charge of the village of Naurod, near Mayence, together with a neighbouring chapelof-ease. Like James Hervey, John Berridge, Thomas Chalmers, and, alas not a few others, he began his ministry in the wrong spirit, and worked on wrong lines, having no proper views of the grandeur, and solemnity, and responsibility of the work, and being equally wanting in the chief elements of fitness for it.

His first sermon to his congregation was a solemn lie. The text was Rom. i. 16. The truth is, he was ashamed of the gospel, and knew nothing of its power. In after years, the remembrance of "that first deception practised on his congregation" gave him great pain, and made him ashamed, indeed, not of the gospel, but of himself. Only one thing occasioned him the least pleasure, he says, in entering on the ministerial office, and that was the extensive glebe he would have to farm. How much the glorious gospel he had both neglected and despised raised his views and transformed his character, will be seen further on.

But he was not left to himself and his devices. The Holy Spirit strove with him, and then there were endeavours to obtain more light, to rise to something better, something higher and holier. In the case of his father-in-law he had observed a serenity of mind, a calmness, a degree of spiritual enjoyment to which he was a stranger, and he inwardly longed, and sometimes prayed, though in a feeble way, that he might possess the same. God was about to answer his prayers, but by methods strange and discipline painful to endure.

It was in the year 1795, when the golden sheaves of autumn were bestudding the plain, and the grapes were ripening in the cluster on many a sunny hill-side, that the allied army, sent to check the ravages of the French, having suffered severe reverses, were compelled to retreat from the Lahn across the Mayne. The victorious French pursued them, penetrating as far as Mayence. The village of Naurod lay in the line of march, and shared the fate of other villages, the houses being pillaged, and the peaceful inhabitants exposed to great barbarity from the licentious soldiery.

"This advance," says Koellner, "cost me dear; for scarcely had we perceived the enemy in our little village than they came in crowds to the parsonage, and plundered it. These monsters paid no attention either to my prayers or to the lamentations of my wife, expecting soon to be confined, or to the doleful cries of my children. Stones would have