thoroughly incensed, and she was justly so at that time; and pretty well and pretty loudly did she exclaim against the Miss Sockets, for turning me adrift in a strange place. Nor was her example disregarded by my young companions nor the teachers ; so that the three sisters were obliged to make the best of the matter, humbly beg my aunt's pardon, and entreat that their mamma might not be told of what they had done.

• Thus terminated our day. I was taken home, but not in Mr. Socket's coach, and put to bed upon some mulled wine and suppet. And here ended my first attempt to form an intimacy with the great.

• And this was a lesson which, anong many others of different description, was blessed to my improvement,' continued the venerable mother, that is, to the advancement of my self-knowledge, and to the teaching of my mind that truth which is the sum of human wisdom, viz. that man is nothing, and God is all in all.'

Having concluded this narrative, the old lady permitted us to take our leave, promising us another anecdote, when next we should have the pleasure of meeting.


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It is pretty generally understood that, on the fourth of this month, a recollection dear to all the people of God will be mutually promoted among them, by addresses from the pulpit, and references made in the social circle, to that blessed link, in the glorious chain of Reformation mercies, which especially concerns our own country—the completion, by Bishop Coverdale, of his heaven-directed work, his translation of the whole word of God into our native tongue.

How delightful is the retrospect! How bright are the memories of that “goodly fellowship” of true prophets who uttered their scriptural protest against the awful delusions of the papal anti-christ—that “noble army of martyrs ” who shrank not from the fiery trial, who “ loved not their lives unto the death,” but took joyfully, alike, the spoiling of their goods, and the torturing of their bodies, and the pains of a cruel, violent dissolution ; so that their testimony might stand strong, unwavering, and unflinching. They stood fast in the cause of that Gospel which was to them, indeed, a pearl of such price, that the suffering of all things was as nothing in comparison of the glory by it revealed, and through its unhesitating reception, secured to their rejoicing souls ! It would be delightful to follow the intrepid Martin Luther through his brilliant career; and to dwell for a while on each endeared name, precious to the church of Christ, both among those of our own country, and those who bore their witness in other lands. But I pass by the enumeration, to ask what it is, in this galaxy of confessors, that advances an especial claim on our fond and grateful commemoration. Was it the zeal that inflamed them to make a mighty stand against the cowled and armed legions of Rome? Was it the constancy that upheld them under every variety of affliction—the love that enabled them, amid the stubborn contradiction of sinners, steadily to hold forth the lamp of divine truth even to those who were, by that act, enabled to aim aright the death-bolt at their bosoms ? Was it their touching fellowship in the sufferings of a despised and crucified Master; their confiding faith in His promises, their assured · hope that, through His merits, His righteousness alone, they should find an abundant entrance into His kingdom, and reign with Him for ever? Does the meekness of our own heavenly-minded Bradford, the blazing zeal of Philpott, the unwavering fidelity of the venerable Latimer, kindle our affections and move us to a secret hope that if tried like them, we also, as they, should be found faithful unto death? Do our bosoms thrill with somewhat like envy, when we read of the devoted Augustus Bernher, carrying his life in his hand, and fearlessly passing from dungeon to dungeon, God's minister of mercy and consolation to His suffering, dying saints ? Some of these reflections must surely mingle with our centenary meditations ; and gladly would I arrest the feeling, to bid it linger in every Christian bosom, until I have pointed out a legitimate object for its immediate, active exercise.

Yes, ye rejoicing Protestants, there is a church even now, at your very doors almost, where you may trace, without the straining of a single point, all that makes the memory of the sixteenth century so precious to you. Bear with me, while I briefly pourtray its present aspect. That church-Ireland's church-had been established many a year, with the avowed object and intention of chasing away the dark shades of popery from the land which, by English instrumentality, they first overspread.-I need not remind my readers of the bull by which Adrian commissioned our second Henry to invade that island, and reduce it into subjection to the Romish see.--The Protestant church of Ireland was established in more recent days, to purge away that fatal blot: but alas! the spirit of slumber was upon her ministers ; ecclesiastical appointments became a matter of sordid gain; the priest's office was sought after for a morsel of bread; and while the faithless shepherd secured the fat and the wool, the wolf was allowed to ravage and destroy, without even an effort to rescue the flock; save when a Bedell, or an Usher, was raised up to testify, by word and deed, against the dreadful neglect of such an awful charge.

At length-and many of us can remember the time—the Lord began to pour forth his Spirit on that slumbering church; one after another awoke to a thrilling sense of his terrible responsibilities, and with zeal proportioned to the emergency, betook himself to the awakening of those around him. Here and there a glimmering light shone from scattered pulpits, like stars gradually appearing in the evening twilight, scanty enough to be seen at a

glance, and numbered by a child. But faster and faster they appeared, multiplying as they brightened; and, simultaneously with their increasing lustre, the night blackened around them. Believe, Christian ladies, the testimony of one who speaks not from report, but from close and continued personal observation. I dwelt among them, when the reign of terror was commencing. I beheld their rapid increase, in numbers, in zeal, in devotion to God and their flocks; I witnessed their fervent wrestlings with Him, in continual prayer for those who already menaced their existence: and truly can I aver, that, even so long back as in the year 1823, the lives of Ireland's spiritual country-clergymen, were as the lives of those men whose blessed memory you are now consenting to celebrate-so perilous and so pure.

The work has continued: God's work in his beautiful church, and Satan's work in his Babylonish synagogue.

Menaces, which were freely uttered ten or twelve years ago, have been ful. filled, by the assassination of several individuals among the clergy, and more widely in the temporal ruin brought on their families throughout the land. Their present position is that of men, urging the acceptance of the bread of life upon those who, with weapons pointed at their bosoms, have wrested the daily bread from the lips of their wives and children. Those devoted wives, the zealous, patient, cheerful fellow-helpers of their husbands, in this work and labour of love Those sweet children, who, clustering like olivebranches round their father's table, received the nurture of divine truth, and were growing up to carry

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