Our Complete Year Book. Ar last we have "a full and particular" account of "the laws and constitution," is all that is possible as a book, or all that is desirable as a denominational compilation; but all will admit it is an unquestionable advantage to have, within the same paper embrace, the whole transactions of the Association, the reports of Mission work in Orissa, Rome, and England, and the full account of the labours of our College. No doubt the "Societies" whose reports are thus bound up with the "Minutes" will reap their reward in the fuller publicity given to their aims and issues, and the larger interest created in their work. It would be a splendid investment, judged from a business point of view, for these Societies to bear amongst themselves the chief expense of issuing "a report" with each published copy of the "Minutes," and so enable the Association to sell the complete Year Book either at the old price or only a fraction above it. Interest grows out of knowledge. Neither man nor angel can grow enthusiastic and self-sacrificing about unknown organisations and societies. If the members of our churches know little about our various work, they will care little for it, and will give, if they give at all, with a perfunctory and languid interest. Advertising is to business what steam is to machinery," said Macaulay; and publicity is to working societies like ours precisely what the advertising sheet is to business. But the Year Book for 1877, full as it is, does not give us all we want. For example, it is only a meagre account we get of our Sunday school work, of our aggressions upon intemperance by Bands of Hope and Temperance Societies, and of the "local" preaching organisations and agencies amongst us. To be sure, there is good reason for this in the fact that the Association, as such, has only just begun to direct its attention to these branches of our activity. Still it is evident from the reports of the churches that the SUNDAY SCHOOL work is not inferior in interest and importance to any of the tasks we have in hand for the extension of our Lord's kingdom. In many of the churches the highest promise of harvest is seen in the Sunday tuition of the young. Where everything else is gloomy and tends to gloom, the school is full of youthful hope and strong encouragement. The additions made to the churches are oftener from these ranks than any other. But, associationally, our contribution to the fire and force of these schools is limited to a brief and hurried Conference, a record of the numbers of teachers and scholars, and a statement of the amount of money collected for this work within the year. Can nothing more than this be done to foster and develop a ministry of such unspeakable gooda ministry that will tell with wondrous power upon the churches and the nations of the future? Have we exhausted resource ? Are our methods perfect? Are there not men amongst us so full of enthusiasm for leading the young to Christ that that they will invent some ways in which our organised existence may be turned to practical account for the larger benefit of the 40,000 children under our charge? What shall these children be? How many of them shall pass from our hands to the "world ?" How many shall be so wisely trained that they shall elect to give Christ all their days? Cannot the churches in their corporate capacity help the schools in their individual work more than they are doing? Could not special services for the young be arranged and conducted? Most assuredly. Let, then, those look to it who ought. To me it has appeared for a long time that there is a promising piece of work waiting to be done in the matter of BANDS OF HOPE. We might accomplish not a little good in this age of prevailing intemperance by electing three or four of our wisest and most discreet men, full of earnestness and tact and practising total abstinence, and appointing them to the work of originating Bands of Hope in all our schools where at present they do not exist, and stimulating and energising those already in operation. This is a form of temperance work all admit to be necessary, wise, and profitable. To distribute correct scientific knowledge of the nature of alcoholics, to warn the young of the dangerous customs of social life, and to form habits of sobriety in youth is one of the capital necessities of the day, and our Association would find itself profitably using its power in helping the churches to meet it. Some persons have a holy horror of Boards. I discriminate. I like to see what is on them before I object. If they sustain a good dinner, and I am hungry, I appreciate the boards for the sake of their burden. We need a Temperance Board amongst our agencies, and need it now. The hour is ripe and the work is urgent. This carries me to another point with regard to SMALL CHURCHES AND LOCAL PREACHERS. Mr. Pike calls our attention most opportunely to the perils of our churches in rural districts. It is painful to notice the increasing signs of feebleness in so many; but we must not suffer ourselves to be discouraged. An old Grecian orator said, "I looked around my audience, and they had dwindled away-only one remained. But that one was Plato, and this was enough for me." Undoubtedly! One hearer like Plato was a multitudinous audience. One member like Lydia of Thyatira is worth five score cackling gossips whose hearts are as dry as leather, and whose tongues breed mischief as the stagnant pool miasma. Our first business is not to get large churches, but to bear our testimony clearly and bravely, do all the good we can in the area we are set to till, and hold a steady faith in the limitless and unseen possibilities of our earnest spiritual work. Let me tell a little of my own experience. On a holiday Sunday, not many years ago, I went to a small ill-placed chapel. It was not very easy to find it; and when found its interest was chiefly of the archæological kind. It was full of the aroma of the past: but when the preacher entered upon his work, you were made to feel that a living, beating heart was present-a heart full of the love of God, and profoundly learned in the mysteries of His grace and favour. The service was rich in spiritual feeling and force to me; and, as I could see in the glistening, tear-cleansed eyes of a few, not to me only. I thanked God for that small church. But the religious statistician has passed its figures by with indifference, and the mere denominationalist has reckoned it at less than nothing, and vanity. There are small churches that are the homes of truth and goodness and kindness; and there are large ones that are empty barns, tenanted by a few empty-hearted though be-ringed and be-jewelled folk. The question is not of size, but of spirit and service. But the suggestion? Well, it is this. Let our organisations for "local" preaching take the shepherding of some of these decaying churches, and collect funds amongst town churches for all necessary expenses the rural districts may be unable to meet. Let the church, where necessary, choose a "local preacher" to assist them in their business, and exercise a partial oversight. Where grouping" cannot be effected, this plan would be found most effective. We shall be very glad to help in bringing about arrangements of this kind wherever it is thought desirable. One point will strike most of the readers of the Complete Year Book, and it is this that, considering the commercial depression of the country at large, we have had a very successful year. It is a fact abundantly attested, that periods of financial difficulty and diminished trade are marked by a diminution of the usual signs of growth in organised religion. Ultimately they may do much good; but concurrently with them there is a smaller supply of the "sinews" of church war, and that means a diminished power of aggression, an inrush of despondency and weakness. Remembering this, the enlarged contributions for evangelising work and the increase of buildings are signs calling for deep and devout gratitude to God. One feature pains us acutely. Some Christians in some of our churches have not yet learnt that the first duty of a Christian is to be kind, forgiving, and considerate, and are guilty of cherishing a spirit of retaliation and unbrotherliness. "These things ought not so to be." "If we do not forgive one another, neither will God forgive us. But many things greatly please us the freshness of phrase in the setting of the reports shows a mental vigour we have not observed to be in such force before; the warm regard for their pastors expressed by many of the churches; additions in one or two cases from unexpected quarters; the spread of an earnest and determined Home Missionary spirit; and a deepening interest in all our united work. Verily the Lord of the hosts of His saints is with us, and in His name we will go forward. JOHN CLIFFORD. Thirty Years Ago-A Chapter in Rural Life. SOME thirty years since, when men were beginning to wonder whether the troubles of the first French Revolution were not going to be revived, and when politicians already heard the murmur which betokened the outburst of '48, the religious world was beginning to be startled by the leaven of Oxford Ritualism so much affecting the Anglican church. In rural districts this was especially the case, and in many villages the rectors or vicars had for more than a dozen years paved the way for teaching which they conscientiously believed to be that of the Prayer Book, if not that of the Bible. Owing to various influences, this teaching was seldom productive of manifest harm, though cases such as that which is contained in this chapter in a wearied life were not rare. In their cottage home, watching the simmering porridge, sit Lucy and her widowed mother, Mrs. Conran. "What is the meaning of skittles ?" asks Lucy, turning to her mother. "It is the name applied to a popular game, child," replied Mrs. Conran, with an exactitude of pronunciation that showed she had seen better days." "But it is such a queer word. I should have expected a more elegant name for a game taught by preachers and curates. Is it foreign, like chess, I wonder ?" "I dare say it may be,” replied the mother; "your father used to say that the foreigners whom he had dealings with frequented low public-houses in Liverpool where this game was played." The sound of footsteps and the click of the latch announced the coming of the widow's eldest, son, John, a ruddy youth about seventeen, who was now an apprentice to a village tradesman. The lad took his seat beside the fire. The kitchen clock slowly struck eleven. It was the old clock which had stood in the servants' hall in the great house which Mrs. Conran had to leave when her husband was buried. Its heavy notes always brought mournful recollections of the past. John reddened when the stroke after the tenth was given. He suddenly turned round and declared that " the clock must be wrong." "Ah! no, child," said his mother, "my heart has been beating the time— this long waiting has made the minutes drag slowly." "But Mr. Billings, the curate, was at the reading place till now." "Was he playing skittles ?" inquired Lucy. "Yes." "Well it must be a very intellectual game for such learned men as he and the vicar to encourage it." 66 Nonsense, Lucy; you know nothing about games,” replied John peevishly, as he took out his pocket handkerchief—a pencil dropped to the floor—and what was that? Mrs. Conran started to her feet and simply said, "Well, John” A small new pipe and two or three playing cards had fallen as the handkerchief was drawn out. Mrs. Conran was rather impulsive. She sank into her chair, and hiding her face in her hands and apron, sobbed. "Oh don't cry, mother; perhaps John does not use these," said Lucy, with faltering accent. "But I do-and mean to, if you carry on in this style," said John, though he felt to the quick the conduct of his mother, and vainly tried to look unconcerned. Lucy quietly laid out the evening meal-little of which was eaten. Mrs. Conran's plate was untouched. She felt that the child in whom she had trusted was beginning to become peevish at home, to enjoy the companionship of young card-players-and perhaps worse. He used to come home with a smile, and tried to comfort his mother, whom he loved. But this was gone. Her heart was sore. A few days after, Mr. Roberts, a farmer living near, called, and having read a chapter, offered hearty prayer to Him who had promised to be with the widow and the fatherless, and especially asked for the Divine care of the youth just growing into manhood. When they rose from their knees, Lucy and her mother looked to the floor-tears were rolling down their cheeks. John looked to the fire, turning one finger round the thumb. "Good night" being said, the door was locked and supper commenced. "What a Methody old Roberts is," said John. "He is a good man," said Mrs. Conran; "though I am sorry he does not come to church to hear our good vicar and Mr. Billings." "He seems to take against that reading-room the vicar has started; but he did not like to say much when he knew John went there," remarked Lucy, as she was pouring out the supper. "Ah, poor fellow, if he only knew what we thought of him there. Mr. Billings, who was teaching us the old game of 'ombre' with cards, told us yesterday how the Spanish Christians-I think he meant the Catholic priestsused to have to play that game to cheer their hearts after seeing that the heretics were burnt at the inquisition hall. The priests were obliged to get these heretics burnt, or they would make the people infidels by spreading Bibles, which would only puzzle the ignorant villagers. The vicar said last Sunday that those who go to the chapel near Mr. Roberts' were heretics; they do harm by their stupid nonsense. They are all hypocrites." "Do not speak so strongly," said Mrs. Conran, who, with all her veneration for the vicar, could not relish this. "Hypocrites! yes. They only go to chapel to have a religion more agreeable to their taste than that of the old church; they are not brave enough to be infidels. Inclination is the rule of their religion." "Mr. Roberts," said Lucy, "tells us that some have rules of life, and canons and rubrics, made by men. He only takes the Bible." "Nonsense! it is not what the Bible, which we don't understand, says, but what the church says, which is right. Mr. Billings, the curate, explained that." "But I don't like that young curate. He asks me such strange questions when I go to confess," said Lucy, blushing. "What are they ?" said Mrs. Conran, noticing the embarrassment of her child. "I must not say, of course-nothing-but somehow it is strange to be asked if I" "Remember the confessional vow," said John, who was getting angry with Mr. Billings, but did not like to see his hero brought down before his mother. Mrs. Conran said nothing. She felt a pang in remembering how her husband, who was a lawyer, used to speak against the confessional, which he had seen do harm amongst the Catholics. But the vicar was a Protestant clergyman in the good old Church of England. Was he not the successor of good old Sir Walter Vaughan, whose name everybody loved? It occurred to her that the vicar might be deceived in another clergyman-but no. As to card-playing; if the vicar allowed it in the reading place, all was well; he knew best. Mr. Roberts no longer called to see Mrs. Conran. He had cares enough of his own. The vicar had ridden over to the farm with the steward-he was not on good terms with the landlord. They talked about the meeting-house, which the vicar said was pretty. He wished to go inside, and pleasantly thanked Mr. Roberts for showing it. Next week was the beginning of August. A notice to quit came. The curate spread a rumour that none but churchmen were to hold farms on the neighbouring estates. Mr. Roberts had spent three thousand pounds on his farm, part of which was borrowed. The good squire was in Italy, or he would soon have put things to the right about. The steward was inexorable. Mr. Roberts was a ruined man. "Ruined by the 'cuteness of a Christian minister," half-witted Jack said. The parish was peaceable. The vicar was loved, and so was the curate, by those who liked card-playing. Young John Conran enjoyed the reading-room, and began to think that dissent and the devil were both bad, the latter being the more hopeful. Mrs. Conran did not exactly like this; but she and Lucy went to matins and confessed weekly. One spring afternoon John did not as usual come home to dinner. His master came to explain. The shop till had been robbed. John was known to have lost much money in playing cards. He was suspected. Marked coins were found upon him. He was now in the lock-up. Mrs. Conran fainted. There was sobbing and crying in that house until after midnight. Mr. Roberts called next morning. The three knelt down in prayer, with broken hearts-hearts broken by the work of one who plotted the downfall of the meeting-house. When John came out of prison in twelve months' time, there was but one breaking heart. Mrs. Conran and Mr. Roberts were dead. In twenty-five years' time John Conran, his wife, and eldest boy came over from America to see that a tombstone was erected upon the grave of Maria Conran and her daughter Lucy, and to subscribe £250 towards building a new MEETING-HOUSE. The tombstone was never put up, though carved and chiselled. It lies to this day in a summer-house in the stone-mason's garden, because the vicar will not permit stones which have no cross carved on them. John indignantly refused to be contaminated with the ritualism he now hates. R. FOULKES GRIFFITHS. KITTY CLOVER is a pretty child, but she is always in a fret. Morning, noon, and night, you hear Kitty Clover crying. Her aunty said the other day that she thought she really would have to go abroad. She could not live another year in the same house with a girl who was for ever in tears. The day begins in this way with Kitty: Mamma says, time to get up. The first bell rang five minutes ago." "Come, darling, it's "O dear!" says Kitty, "I haven't had half enough sleep. I can't wake up yet!" "But, my love, you have not time to lie still. Breakfast will be ready, and you have your lessons to look over, and nine o'clock will soon be here." Very ungraciously Kitty rises. She pokes out first one foot and then the other, and she looks about to see what she can find as a cause of complaint. "Must I wear that hateful dress ?" she exclaims presently. "I want to wear my new one, and my ruffled apron." "That dress will do for you this week, dear," mamma answers, cheerfully. But it is no use. Kitty Clover cries. Between daylight and dark she sometimes cries sixteen times. Yet, strange to say, it is only at home that she behaves so. In school, her teacher tells us, she is a very good child. Nowhere, except where mamma is, is our little girl so cross and fretful. What shall we do with Kitty? We are afraid that a pucker is growing on her pretty forehead, and that the tears will wash all the brightness out of her blue eyes. Is there nothing that Kitty herself could do to help mend this dreadful state of affairs ? "THE ability to produce good deacons is a high test of civilisation," says Joseph Cook. Tried by that test, it will have to be admitted that the Free Churches win the prize; and moreover, that the freer the church the larger its capacity to produce deacons who purchase to themselves a good degree and great boldness in the faith. |