to join a set composed of the most pleasant people in the world, clergymen, authors, artists, men of business, and farmers, whose company will be as instructive as it is enjoyable, but you may meet the reverse of all this; if so, however, you have the remedy in your own hands; take the coach next morning if you cannot find lodgings elsewhere; but truth compels me to say, that I have never heard of this course being rendered necessary.

An hour or so before tea, visitors generally take another ramble. Some go down to the Iron Well on the moor, while others go and have another wash in the Black Well. There are no more tumblers of saline to be quaffed-morning alone is the time for that work-and until the coach comes in as it did last night, the Wells remain as quiet as they have been ever since the departure of the visitors in the morning. After tea,

which is of the same substantial character as the breakfast, and though the dinner was good, the tea cannot be dispensed with, eating being a necessity of the place, the gardens around the house are filled as if by enchantment with the company of the morning. The groves again resound with the pleasant hum of chit-chat and laughter, when a horn is heard in the distance, and soon afterwards the sound of wheels announces that the coach is on its way. It is heard, long before it is seen, and a skilled ear will profess to tell whether it is heavily or lightly loaded. The landlord and his servants all come to the door, and you may see what good the place is doing you by the fact that you are really excited by such a common occurrence as the arrival of a coach. Up it drives, and as its passengers, it may have friends of your own who no more expected to meet you, and whom you no more expected to see at Llandrindod than-than-imagine the most impossible thing in the world, for surprise has slightly dumbfoundered you. The newly-arrived travellers go through the same programme as yourself on the previous evening, and after supper, which I am compelled to state is also a plea

sant and desirable meal at Llandrindod, you go out and enjoy once more the silence and the stars.

Such is a day's life at the Wells; and a month of such days, with very little variation in them, will pass only too quickly away without the visitor feeling wearied, or mentioning the word monotony. As to the beneficial effect of the waters, combined with the complete change which the neighbourhood secures for the visitor, he will not be there long without hearing, and perhaps coinciding with, the most extravagant expressions of satisfaction. One gentleman used loudly to affirm that he came down there a half-animated parcel, and that the waters had restored him his humanity. “A fortnight ago, sir," thus he would talk, tumbler in hand, "I felt myself the most stupid atom in all the stupid world that stagnated around me; I could not think, I could not finish a sentence that I began. I was actually asked to go to Paris by one of my deacons! Paris to a man in my state! I was asked to go to the seaside; the seaside to a man in my state; here, doctor, another tumbler: ha! this is good, better than all the seaside with its pier-band polkas and fashions to match. I was a half-animated parcel, sir, ready to be packed off to any quarter of the world, and to be left there till called for; providentially some one put a ticket on me and sent me to Llandrindod, and I am myself again, sir.”

I am afraid that to the uninitiated such expressions of satisfaction will appear exaggerated; but I should most unfaithfully discharge the duty I set myself of describing this spot, if, through fear of being charged with too highly colouring, I failed to set forth the enthusiasm with which these famous springs are regarded by Welsh people especially, but by all visitors more or less. All readers who are acquainted with the place, will readily subscribe to what has been written, and think at the same time that the picture presented is far below the subject.

If we except the occasional visit of a travelling German band, down here of all places in the world, or the

coming of a conjuror who performs his tricks in that stone building outside, to which reference has been, or impromptu talks with the quaintest of poultry sellers to be met with in all directions, life at Llandrindod flows on from day to day in the manner I have described, although it must not for a moment be imagined that it is not possible to put more excitement into it, if desirable.

After a few days the visitor is perhaps strong enough to form the resolution to look about him, and to see what is to be seen further off. Llandrindod with its umbrageous walks, breezy common, nibbling sheep. rough cattle, civil damsels, medicinal springs, pleasant fishing stream, and generous table, with a glimpse of a newspaper two days old, are attractions quite strong enough for any reasonable man, you will unhesitatingly be told. But if you will go here and there, the mountains are within a fair walking dis tance, or there is a horse in the stable that will take you to some of the grandest bits of the scenery of the Wye, to Builth, to Rhayader, or, in short, to any of the many picturesque places not far off. The mountain excursion is not very popular, because to be enjoyed it ought to be accomplished on foot, and that means a walk, against the collar, of twelve good Welsh miles. Consequently, a visitor in a hundred perhaps will attempt the task. I had my own reasons for setting out by myself one morning, for I wished to see a heap of stones on the top of a mountain around which when I was a child of five years of age, I would not have walked for the best plum-cake that was ever baked. It was called "the Devil's Heap of Stones," and the legend was, that the Evil One, who in that neighbourhood was likened unto a blacksmith with a capacious leathern apron, had at one time determined to build himself a mighty castle on the top of the hill overlooking the village. He had spent all night in gathering together the biggest stones he could find, and had his apron nearly full, when startled by the crowing of the cock, he let them fall, and there they have remained

unto this day. These stones were a terror to the children of the village. and they would just as soon look through the keyhole of the church door after walking backwards nine times round the building, as go near them. The children of the village in the present day have no such dread; an elegant school-house with an intelligent master are at the bottom of the hill which used, to the imagination of many, to be crowned with such mystic horrors. Those children will perhaps talk cleverly with you about Druids and Druidical circles, and tell you many stories about those old barbarians, who had hearts as hard as their oak groves. If you are at all of an antiquarian turn, a visit to any of the stone heaps of the Welsh mountains will well repay your toil in reaching them. I had no adventure worth recording in my little excursion; simply a good walk through shady lanes at first, and then over brooks across which would be thrown poles for bridges, which required the pedestrian to become an amateur Blondin for the nonce, through meadows flocked with geese and ducks, and occasionally seeing the heron flapping his great wings in the air, by quaint old hovels of wood and thatch, along the turnpike-road dotted with farmers slowly riding their little cobs, and with old ladies in their steeple-crowned hats industriously knitting as they walked, and so on up the steep mountain with its magnificent view of the Breconshire hills until I arrived at the heap, on the biggest stone of which, having inflicted a harmless knock for the terror its grey old face and moss whiskers excited thirty years ago, I returned by the way I came to a dinner-tea of ham and eggs, and was fairly ready for my twelve tumblers at six o'clock the next morning.

The excursion to Builth is a more popular one, and no wonder that it should be so. Here you may see the Wye, not as it is by Ross and Tintern Abbey, flowing on with a gentleness akin to Haydn's descriptive pastoral, but fretting itself "in foamy agitation" as it dashes its spray over steep ledges of rocks, hurrying

its swelling flood from one impeding rock to another, and forming innumerable cascades of surpassing beauty. The scenery of the Wye and the beautiful river itself are attractions sufficient to many tourists, although a few from Llandrindod who happen to have a weakness for fishing, cannot let the opportunity slip of having a throw above the bridge for a Builth trout. The generous river still yields plenty of fish as pleasant to invalids as anglers, both of whom crowd the little town during the summer season. There are mineral springs here also, and if nauseousness be any test of their strength, they are certainly stronger than those at Llandrindod. They are very much patronised by those who desire to combine the life of a thoroughly Welsh little town with their course of medical treatment. The town of Builth is simply one long street filled with shops, over the doors of which are names as Welsh as can be found anywhere. Style of architecture there seems to be none; an ugly clump of ill-built houses seems set down in the most beautiful and romantic country that perhaps South Wales can show. Every shopkeeper appears to be a butcher, for there is scarcely a shop of any kind in which you will not see meat exposed for sale. The people for the most part speak Welsh, and here the English tourist will meet with plenty who will repeat to him the only two Welsh words he happens to remember for any purpose of anecdote telling, "Dym Sassenach," or "No English." The church in Builth is well worth looking at, if only out of respect to the town's-folk who are very proud of their church, although not too many of them are ever seen in it on Sunday. Nor must you forget the Castle, which was formerly of some consequence. Did not Reynald de Bruse, in the year 1217, who had joined most cordially with Lhewelin ap Jorwersh in opposition to King John, come to terms clandestinely with Henry III, and did not the indignant prince turn his arms against his faithless ally, and spoil him of all his possessions, except the Castle of Builth, which

was so well provided with the means of defence, as to venture on resistance to the summons of its superior lord? And did not Lhewelin ap Gruffyth, in the year 1221, take this castle in the night without opposition or bloodshed from Roger de Mortimer, who then possessed it, and adhered to the English king, contrary to his solemn promise? And was not the fate of this prince the last of the high-minded race, who contended even to death for their natural rights, known to have been accelerated by the traitors of Builth?"

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All which historical information, which has been gathered from Mr. Benjamin Heath Malkin, of seventy years ago, produces no very exhilar ating impression upon Brown, the tourist's mind, when it is told him, and he asks weariedly, "Is there anything more."

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Not much indeed, good Sir, look you, unless hur cares to see Nant yr Arian ?"

"What does that mean?

"Nant yr Arian, look you, is Money Brook."

"Is there money in it, then?" "Deed no; but when the plague was in Builth years ago, people from the country used to put their baskets of food down at Nant yr Arian, iss they did, indeed; and the Bulith people dropped the money in thebruck,' iss they did, to prevent the infection spreading; iss they did indeed."

Jones submits to a visit, and then Builth has been "done," and the horses heads may be turned towards Llandrindod once more.

Too much of this excursioning will defeat the object you had in coming to the Wells, and produce physical conditions unfavourable to the efficacy of the medicinal springs. It need hardly be said, however, that many people visit Llandrindod who have really nothing the matter with them, who merely want a little change to set them all right. These choose the place as being a quiet home in the midst of the most delightful scenery, and go hither and thither with a fund of robust health always accompanying them for which they ought to pay forfeit to

full-orbed view of the Saviour's character and work, and enable our readers to use His different titles not as sounds without sense, but as signs of things, each having its own significance and answering its own end.

The titles we select denote the most prominent features in our Saviour's character and work, and give us opportunity of presenting those truths in relation to Him which it concerns us most to know. That which stands at the head of this paper may fitly introduce the others. It will prepare the way for, and assist us in, our study of the others, when we understand in what sense He is called, The Light of the World."

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We do not know how the Saviour could more clearly assert His claim to Divinity than by the assumption of such a title; and we are at a loss to know what consistent explanation can be given to it, if His Divinity be not recognized. It seems to us to compel the acknowledgment that He was either more than man, or did not possess that perfection of character which is generally attributed to Him. If He be nothing more than His outward circumstances proclaim Him to be-if His manhood be the whole of His nature, then considering the training that manhood received, the circumstances amidst which it was developed, and the few advantages it enjoyed, we cannot regard such a pretension as this, save as a display of the most offensive egotism. It evinces not only that ignorance of Himself which disqualifies Him for being a teacher of others, but that ostentatious and presumptuous vanity which is a glaring defect in character, and never fails to expose its subject to the pity or the derision of mankind.

For who is it, on this hypothesison the supposition that He is a mere man-who is it that makes this pretension? A youthful Galilean peasant-the son of a carpenter, who until lately had remained under His father's roof-the native of an obscure village of bad repute, in an inferior province of a despised country-one who has had no

education beyond what is common to His class, no access to books, no intercourse with the learned either of His own or other lands! And what does He claim to be? The Light of the World! Not the oracle of His village merely-that might be possible. Not merely the prophet of His own country-though, considering the great names to which she lays claim, that would seem presumptuous enough, and certainly without parallel in any that preceded Him, wise and gifted as they were. But the Light of the World! Not the teacher of one, but of every nation, though there must have been many of whose existence He was ignorant -surpassing all the teachers who had gone before, though He did not know even the names of some of them, and still less their systems of doctrine-anticipating the discoveries of all who might come after, though some of them would be men of the mightiest minds, and would profit by the labours and intelligence of their predecessors. The Light of the World! In the spiritual and moral world what the sun is to the natural-enlightening the intellect, purifying the heart, transforming the character; and performing these functions, notwithstanding all future advances and discoveries, until the end of time! Could anything be more preposterous than such a claim put forth by any man, not to say a man of the stamp we have described? Why, no language can be strong enough to denounce such pretensions. We speak mildly when we say that it is either the raving of insanity or the blasphemous effrontery of an unblushing impostor.

And yet, strange to say-strange if He be only a man-no candid reader of the New Testament receives such an impression of the Saviour. Even those who deny His Divinity, so far from applying to Him these epithets, are constrained to admit and admire His matchless excellence. To every such reader there is nothing either startling or surprising in this lofty pretension. It appears perfectly natural when made by Jesus of Nazareth. We are not shocked; we do not wonder