old churches in the city, and is closely packed, even to the aisles and pulpit stairs. The number present must be nearly four thousand. The prayers have been said, the anthem has been sung, the immense audience is waiting in breathless stillness. The preacher rises in the little pulpit, tall and graceful, apparently about fifty years of age; of fresh complexion, his abundant hair prematurely almost white. He has a small pocket-. Bible in his hand - Hugh McNeile is one of the very few preachers in the Establishment who do not read their sermons, though the canons of his church require it. He reads his text from the small Bible, and commences his discourse in a style of the utmost simplicity and directness, his countenance radiant with intelligence, his voice of remarkable sweetness, and his whole manner so easy and natural that attention is fixed and riveted at once. He glides gracefully on through an exposition at once evangelical and lucid, with occasionally a passage of unusual force and beauty, holding his great audience breathless for the instant. By degrees he grows warm and earnest, his rich voice becomes fuller and more sonorous, and his action more varied and energetic; until, at length, he finds himself fully launched upon some great principle of evangelical protestantism, or its antagonistical popish dogma, when he pours forth a torrent of indignant patriotism or scathing invective, which would make the vast concourse shout aloud, if the occasion and the place did not restrain them.

The brilliant and stirring eloquence of Hugh McNeile, whether in the pulpit, or on the platform of Exeter Hall, will not soon be forgotten, but he must yield the palm -in the pulpit at least-to Henry Melville. - to Henry Melville. Such a man as Melville cannot pass out of notice, or cease to excite admiration so long as he preaches anywhere; but we love to remember him as the grand attraction at Camden chapel, London, where the usual attendance upon his single Sabbath sermon was hardly less than McNeile's occasional audiences at that season of the year when the Londoners, together with the great company gathered from all abroad, abandon themselves for a time to running after the popular orators whom the May meetings bring together in the great metropolis. It used to be said of Melville at that time, that he was the only English preacher who never

failed. A high position, undoubtedly, and one which it cost him almost incredible labor to maintain. He never preached but once a week, and on that one effort his whole strength was concentrated. It was impossible to hear him without the irresistible impression that he was an ambitious preacher; and so he was. The single sermon of each week was prepared as if Melville had supposed that his fame as a preacher was to be decided by its delivery. Every sentence was composed with the most elaborate care, and every thought was a best thought, and every simile was so beautiful that you could not doubt his familiarity with Jeremy Taylor. When the sermon was finished, in a style of chirography not the most legible, even to himself, it was copied elegantly by a young lady resident in his family; and this was the manuscript from which he preached.

Let us go to Camden chapel on a Sabbath morning when Melville is to preach. It is a chilly November day with leaden sky, and we have not started quite so early as we should have done on a sunny morning. We arrive only half an hour before the commencement of the service, but a great multitude is already within, and the aisles are filled with strangers waiting for a chance for a seat when the regular occupants of the pews shall have taken their places. Before the half hour has elapsed every seat is occupied, and the aisles are still full. The preacher enters in due time, and ascends the pulpit, and you feel sure it is Melville, though you never saw him before. Hardly above middle stature, darker than is usual with the Anglo-Saxon, his features handsome-the mouth expressive of indomitable energy, the eye flashing with intelligence and his bearing full of manly dignity, and not altogether free from the seeming of pride, to look upon him is to feel assured. His voice is of great depth and compass, and characterized rather by the power that arouses and excites, than by the sweet pathos that melts. His action, with which the head and neck have about as much to do as the hands and arms, is more remarkable for energy than gracefulness. His whole manner is commanding, and, if he had a larger bodily frame might be called majestic. His text is from the epistle to the Philippians, fourth chapter, seventh verse: "And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus."

One of the best features of the sermon is, that, with all its freshness of thought and splendor of diction, it is a beautifully simple development of the text, full of evangelical teaching and spiritual consolation. The passage which we best remember at this distance of time was that in which he dwelt on the fact that the heart takes precedence of the mind in the realization of the "peace of God," insisting, with much force and eloquence, that a poor illiterate woman, being a simple believer in Jesus Christ, shall be kept in a serene repose which all the infidel objections in the world cannot disturb, albeit she cannot answer one of those objections.

Unlike McNeile, Melville invariably reads every word, almost as if it would be a sin to look away from his manuscript, or as if he thought himself set for the defence of that canon of his church which requires the reading of sermons. It must be an orator of no common order who can triumph over so serious a disadvantage; and Melville does triumph over it. You can see that his eye never once leaves the manuscript, yet he makes you forget that all he is uttering has been carefully precomposed and written; for every thought seems to come new-born and fresh from his soul. You will not believe, as you listen to him, that he needs his manuscript, or hardly that he uses it from choice. He appears like a strong eagle careering in the heavens, but withheld from his loftiest flight by a cord which fastens him to the earth; and, just as you would gladly cut the cord and set the noble bird at liberty, so you will long to snatch away the manuscript which draws down the head and eyes of Melville, never doubting that such a master as he would rejoice in perfect freedom from all such fetters, and display new and higher powers of oratory, when his soul was enkindled by the animated faces of a great assembly.

It is to be expected that, with such a ministry as we have described, the Church of England will be found to comprise a high order of personal piety among her private members. This is unquestionably the fact. We do not affirm that the number of those who are thus distinguished is very large in proportion. We shall not deny that it may be extremely small. It may even be necessary to admit that the great mass of the members of the Establishment are singularly deficient in the manifesta

tions of the spiritual life. They exhibit, it may be, a measure of worldly conformity which well-nigh deprives them of the claim to be considered Christ's disciples at all. Where the true spirit of Christianity does appear, however, in the members of that communion, their piety is universally admitted to be of an unusually elevated character. It stands out in bold distinction from the spirit of the world. You cannot mistake it. It gives to social intercourse its prevailing character and tone; lends a peculiar charm to the abodes of wealth and elegance; consecrates daily toil and commercial enterprise; and prompts to the noblest efforts for the elevation of society at home, and the diffusion of truth and righteousness throughout the wide world.

ARTICLE VII.

SHORT SERMONS.

"I am the vine, ye are the branches."-John xv. 5.

OUR Saviour here declares the great principle of the union of believers with himself.

1. The basis of this union:

We find it in the eternal purpose of God; "He hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the world"; in the covenant of the Father with the Son; "Jesus Christ who gave himself for our sins . . . according to the will of God"; in the incarnation of Christ; "In all things it behooved him to be made like unto his brethren "; and in the recreating act of the Holy Ghost; "We are his workmanship."

2. In its nature:

This union is legal, federal, or answers the end of the law. Christ takes our sins, and we take his righteousness; "Christ is the end of the law for righteousness," [Greek] justification. It is spiritual. The Spirit of Christ claims possession of the believer. "He hath given us of his Spirit." It is life-giving; "I am the vine, ye are the branches." It embraces the body as well as the soul; "Your bodies are the members of Christ." It is indissoluble, "They shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand."

3. In the method of its establishment:

God by regeneration begets a disposition for holy exercises; "Created anew in Christ Jesus unto good works.” Man completes the bond of union by faith in Christ, and the other fruits of the Spirit that succeed it; "Forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified, by faith that is in me."

4. The fruits of this union:

The exchange of our sins for Christ's righteousness; "Ye are complete in him"; adoption into God's family; "As many as are led by the Spirit of God, they are the sons of God"; a sealing of the Holy Spirit unto salvation; "After that ye believed, ye were sealed with the Holy Spirit of promise"; increasing likeness to Christ; "When he shall appear, we shall be like him"; fellowship with Christ in his saving work; "That I may know him, and the fellowship of his sufferings "; his sympathy with us in all our trials; "Lo, I am with you always"; a heavenly inheritance; "If children, then heirs."

Conclusion. "Whether we live, we live unto the Lord; and whether we die, we die unto the Lord. Whether we live, therefore, or die, we are the Lord's."

“Every man is tempted when he is drawn away of his own lust, and enticed. Then, when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death."-James i. 14,15.

THE apostle is showing that God does not tempt any man to sin. In showing this he unfolds the genealogy or pedigree of sin. He marks, chronologically, its inception, development, and results. In following the apostle we notice:

66

1. The terms he uses. 66 Lust," not necessarily libidinous desire, but any inordinate, or ill-directed passion,-'envia. "Enticed," more than led along, ensnared,—dɛλɛagóμɛvos, entrapped. The man is caught and held fast under the first motion of an irregular desire. "When lust hath conceived it bringeth forth." Guilt lies in the conception of the evil act, while "bringing forth" is but the manifestation, the overt act, the matured fruit. Sin, when it is finished, bringeth forth death." The sinful act thus matured brings its own punishment, death. But the figurative language must not lead us to the conclusion that punishment is only an offspring of sin, an outgrowth. Punishment is two-fold, natural and positive. The former is necessary as a fruit, the latter is optional with God, being sovereign and governmental.