once more that I live and die a member of the Church of England." And again, "I never had any design of separating from the Church. I have no such design now." More than one circumstance threw a gloom over the later years of Wesley's life. In 1761 he married a Mrs. Vizeille, but the union was not a happy one, and he parted finally from his wife twenty years later. The death of his brother Charles too, which took place in 1788, was another source of grief to him. Charles had faithfully supported his brother throughout his work, and frequently preached for him with great success, though he had not always agreed with him, and his counsel and help were of great service, while his beautiful hymns imparted an element of softness to John's more arduous and rugged labours. It would be impossible to give a detailed account here of John Wesley's immense toils, which extended over half a century, and produced results of which the good can scarcely be exaggerated. At Bristol and Wednesbury, at Newcastle, and Bolton and Walsall, he found the people little better than heathen. At his first visits he was pelted and mobbed, even struck, and violently assaulted, his voice was drowned by blasphemies, his brother's hymns lost in a storm of abuse. Yet when he visited these places towards the end of his life, he was not only welcomed with enthusiasm, listened to with reverence, but he found that hundreds of people had forsaken their old courses, and resolved to conform their lives to the example of the SAVIOUR in Whose Name he preached. Perhaps there is no place where greater love and gratitude to Wesley are still found than in Cornwall. The miners there were in his day so savage, that on one occasion, when he purposed to descend the Botallic submarine mine, he was strongly advised not to carry out his intention. "A man can die but once," said Wesley, and he proceeded to bear his message of peace to the rough toilers under the sea, who listened to his words with rapt and eager attention. One of his favourite preaching places was the amphitheatre at Gwennap, once the scene of the old Cornish "miracle plays," where 20,000 people could hear him, as he stood in the centre, and uttered in his clear, penetrating voice the words of encouragement and hope, which won for his Master's cause so many seemingly helpless outcasts. Sometimes storms and tempests were raging when John Wesley had appointed an out-of-door meeting. He never failed to hold the service, and his listeners would gather in crowds, and stand while rain or snow beat upon their heads, as though they were spell-bound, until his voice ceased. After nearly sixty years of incessant toil, the feelings of the clergy towards "the thirteenth apostle," as his Cornish friends still love to call him, underwent a change. The Bishops had always remained neutral towards him, steadily refusing to forbid his preaching, but as unequivocally declining to approve his irregular ministrations. Towards the close of his work, churches were gradually opened to him, among others that of Epworth, where a new vicar had succeeded his old enemy, and he was frequently invited to assist in Divine Service in all parts of the country. At the end of his life, therefore, he had the comfort of feeling that, as far as he was personally concerned, he was at peace with the Church, and this feeling seems not to have been disturbed by any idea of his having taken the first step towards a formal separation of his society from the Church. He worked on with unabated energy, retaining to almost the very end that health and vigour which had but twice failed him throughout his life. At last, even his mighty strength gave signs of exhaustion, and unmistakable symptoms warned him that his work had come to an end. His last open-air service was held at Winchelsea, where with his long white hair waving in the breeze, his Bible in his hand (a precious little volume, now held by the President of the Methodist Society as the insignia of his office) he discoursed in a voice scarcely audible even to those nearest to him on one of his favourite texts; "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." This was in October, 1790. Five months later, on returning from a visit to a magistrate at Leatherhead, where he had addressed a tiny congregation in the dining-room, he experienced a sudden failure of strength, and was carried by loving hands to his bed, from which he rose no more. His illness was short and painless. To the end he retained every faculty, especially his memory for hymns, which he sang constantly as he lay in bed. On March 22, 1791, surrounded by his dearest friends, and in the arms of John Bradford, one of his most faithful followers, he fell asleep surely to receive the fulfilment of the promise "that they who turn many to righteousness shall be as the stars for ever and ever." A great deal is just now being said as to the present position of the Wesleyan Society, and its relation to the Church of England. However theologians may differ on the subject, some few facts must be accepted. It is certain that even before the death of the founder many of his lay preachers transgressed his commands, and administered the Sacraments, while the persons he "commissioned" for America, and later still, for Scotland, returned to this country, and as might have been foreseen, boldly performed clerical functions. After John Wesley's death, a very large number of his followers attended services held in Methodist chapels, and received the Eucharist from the lay helpers, while still professing to belong to the English Church, and to retain a sincere respect for her doctrine and ritual. The so-called “ordination" of priests by Wesley has been continued by his successors, and thus, though there has never been a formally declared secession, a sect or body of Christians belonging to a humanly constituted society, has sprung up. Though its members profess no feelings of hostility to the Church, the separation is certainly too complete for any but the most sanguine to hope that a re-union may ever be effected. Like all sects the Methodists have been divided and subdivided, and will probably split into many more parties. The danger of course is that the one standard of authority being gone, there is no guarantee against heresy, but each individual, or each little aggregate of individuals, will interpret Scripture as "seems best in his own eyes." The effect of Wesley's work on the Church, and on the religion of the nation, has certainly been very great. Much as we deplore the "rent in the seamless garment of CHRIST" caused by the secession of the main body of Methodists, it must be owned that the existence of other religious communions full of life and energy, and abounding with the zeal and enthusiasm of youth, has roused both clergy and people from the torpor into which they had fallen, and has provoked them to imitate—or rather to emulate and outstrip-the sects, in the performance of good works. Good has thus been brought out of what we must still call evil. Some day perhaps Dante's dream may be fulfilled, and all professing Christians be gathered into one visible fold. Who will say that the work of the great preacher of the eighteenth century retarded such a consummation? Rather let us remember Who it was that said, “He that is not against us is on our part." John Wesley spent his strength, his substance, and his life, in trying to extend the kingdom of his Master,-with one cry on his lips, one feeling in his heart, "Awake, thou that sleepest, and CHRIST shall give thee Light." G. E. W. ANOINTING BEFOREHAND. ANOINT thy brother for his burial : The grave is cold and mute where he must lie Round him, unknowingly, in that place will fall. So may thy name be named in fond record Were lavished on the yet unwounded Feet. ADELAIDE M. HERBERT. "THE SHADOW OF THE MOUNTAINS." WE were in Geneva on a lovely summer morning, and any of you who may have been there will understand how fair was the scene that lay before our eyes. It was very early morning, before the sun had rested too long and too hotly on the flashing waters of the lake and the shining white houses of the town, while the breeze still came down freshly from the half-veiled summits of the snow hills, nor had grown faint and weary in the warm valley at their feet. Quivering and dimpling in the sunlight lay the beautiful Lake Leman, while here and there over its ripples floated the felucca-rigged boats, looking as they spread their tall sails, like gigantic birds skimming the surface of the water. Then beyond the lake came the encircling hills, and above the nearer summits lay that mysterious cloudy region which lends such fascination to Alpine scenery, that region where ever and anon a cloud will shift or melt away and a sudden silvery splendour will emerge for a few moments while you almost hold your breath for wonder and whisper, "Look, the snow mountains." Just at the moment of which I am writing, I must confess, that my husband and I had hardly attention to spare even to look at such a scene as I have described, for we were in the agonies of starting off by diligence to go up among the snow-covered hills themselves, and to spend four days under the very shadow of the great mountain, Blanc himself. We were at the diligence office prosaically fighting for good places on the coach for Chamounix. After a good deal of talk the passengers at last settled down in their seats, and we found ourselves on the right side for the view, being on this journey the left hand side of the coach. Close to us was an English clergyman, with whom we immediately struck up a friendship, which friendship contributed not a little to the pleasure of the next few days. On the seat in front was a party of merry American boys, under the charge of a peculiarly solemn young American tutor. The boys afforded us plenty of amusement; there was something quite sublime in their "cheek," (no other word expresses my meaning,) and the cool way in which they struck into our conversation and gave their opinion on various subjects, was exquisite in its unconscious impertinence. There were other Americans on board," but they conversed among themselves, at least one, a literary lady, (as she took care to inform the company,) imparted information, (generally incorrect,) in a strident voice with a Yankee twang to her compatriots. She constantly mentioned as a great authority, I remember, a certain Mr. Edwin P. Jones. I have since been endeavouring to find out who he is and for what famous, but hitherto without success. We were now climbing higher and higher, and with every turn in the road the views grew finer, until at last came the great effect of the journey, the first sight of Mont Blanc, and to-day the mountain king had doffed his cloud cap and raised his white head openly against the clear blue sky. About this time we passed through the town of Sallanches, where we had hoped that the halt for luncheon would take place, but instead of that the diligences only changed horses, and the travellers were forbidden to descend, the only refreshments to be obtained, therefore, were little baskets of sour-looking fruit, which small boys and girls held up on long sticks to tempt the hungry and thirsty occupants of the high coaches. After Sallanches the road grew steeper, more horses were attached to the heavy vehicles, and we were dragged slowly up the toilsome ascent. One turn in the road I remember well, it looked so precarious; a large piece of rock had broken off the edge of the narrow roadway, and the semicircular rent had been temporarily mended with an arrangement in hurdles and brushwood, which did not look at all fit to bear our weight. We heard afterwards that another |