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the Lamb.” The outsiders begin to mock, but “the power of God” descends, and fills even them with awe, and notoriously profane men are seen prostrate on the grass in sore spiritual distress praying for mercy and life. When they find liberty," shouts of “ Glory be to God” rend the sky.
Back to the waggon. William Towler's pale face is flushed. His eyes sparkle like diamonds. His fine form is instinct with emotion; his soul is on fire. Now look out for something to be remembered. “Men and brethren,” he cries, “this is the day of salvation. . Who wants to be saved ? . . . . I am here to proclaim redemption.
... Blessed be God! Christ died on Calvary for you. Sinners, come down before Him. . . . Hallelujah, He is here to save you.
Come, ye wounded, contrite spirits,
You that long have toiled in vain,
Now can save from every stain;
Gaze upon the Lamb of God,
As you plead His precious blood;
Peace and holiness below,
This we all on earth may know;
Countless millions have been washed as white as snow. Sinners, backsliders, wretched souls, come to Jesus now, and glory eternal shall be yours.”
Here is an orator indeed ; every word tells. His action is graceful, voice sweet, face attractive, earnestness overwhelming, and the people sway like a forest when the breath of God blows upon it. A true orator, and a man of a thousand, is he.
It is now noon, and we break up for dinner. Every Primitive keeps open house, and all along " the pit row may be seen the good people enjoying the viands-chiefly roast beef and plum pudding. No beer is visible; teetotalism reigns supreme. After dinner comes a quiet pipe, much talk on preaching, stories of conversions, singing, and extemporised prayer meetings. How merry these Primitives are! “Is any merry ? Let him sing psalms.” So they do sing. As we saunter along “ the row” we hear one group singing:
“Come, soldiers, can't you rise and tel!
The wonders of Immanuel ?” Another
“ March on, happy pilgrims, the land is before you,
And soon its ten thousand delights we shall prove;
Yes, soon we shall walk o'er the hills of bright glory,
We will go, we will go, we will go, we will go,
Oh, yes, we will go to the Eden above."
“My God, I am Thine; what a comfort Divine,
Hallelujah! send the glory. Hallelujah! Amen.
Hallelujah; send the glory. Revive us again.” The afternoon congregation is immense. Some wonderful preaching is expected. Praying men-famous for miles roundare here. Binds of singers have come in. Fresh processions from Hunston, Arthur's Hill, Nelson Street Chapel, Gateshead, and other places, have arrived. “Surely a great day is here. The heavens will pour down blessing on the hosts of Israel. It is a Pentecost.
God came from Teman, and the Holy One from Mount Paran,' and surely God will come to us to-day." Such is evidently the belief of these Primitives; so let us wait and see.
William Towler is at his post, but looks pale and worn. He gives out the hymn
“ Jesus, the name high over all,
In hell, or earth, or sky;
And devils fear and fly.” And it is sung with great spirit; and then follow three enthusiastic prayers from brethren in front of the waggon. Then another hymn which somebody began of his own accord, and because he could not help it :
“ I'm happy in Jesus, and cannot forbear,
Tho' sinners despise me ; His grace I'll declare,
To yonder bright mansions prepared on high.
I love Thy dear people, Thy ways, and Thy word;
For Jesus bath died to redeem them from woe.
In sweet meditation He always is there ;
All glory to Jesus who reigns in my heart.” Serinons, prayers, hymns follow in rapid succession, and the religious excitement is very great. Young women go off into agonies. Sinners of evil fame fall to the ground and pray with tremendous earnestness for mercy. Backsliders are found out by their friends and prayed with there and then. Triumphant songs break forth from men whose faces shine with joy. The sermons grow more powerful, and the words of the preachers are like hammers and swords, and many are “the slain of the Lord.” It is a great day in Israel. But, see, here comes the man of the hour-1 min of rough face, shaggy hair, big head, loud voice,
flashing eyes, strong brain, horned hands, stalwart frame, and fearless mien; a man who spends hours and hours in solitary prayer ; who sees Satan and fights with him; who believes in God, Christ, heaven, and hell as rcalities; who reads volume after volume of theology after his day's toil; whose sermons are brooded over until they are as hot as his own coke-oven; a man of faith, and
prayer, and spiritual struggle such as we seldom see—THOMAS WALLER, OF BLAYDON. He looks like a man going to fight; he has prayed for hours about this season; tears have deluged his face; he has entreated God to bless him as he never did before, and he said to a friend, “I've got the promise.” So expect something glorious. “Thomas Waller is up" is whispered through the crowd, and all press towards the stand. We are breathless, listening for the text, and at last it comes from the preacher's lips : “IF THE RIGHTEOUS BE SAVED, WHERE
UNGODLY SINNER APPEAR?” It is like a crash of thunder. Both saints and sinners feel thrilled. None dare stir. This rough coke-burner is as Elijah, the prophet. The sermon scathes like fire. It is an appeal to saints to battle against sin, and to sinners to flee to Calvary. He spares none. Knowing as he does, and says he does, the plague of sin in his own heart, he dilates on heroism in God's service, on self-mastery, and on “perfect sanctification," until his fellow Primitives groan and pray for holiness as they stand in deep and awful attention before him. Then he suddenly turns to the sinner. With his Bible in one hand and his coloured silk handkerchief in the other, he appeals to him to repent and seek salvation. “Where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear ?” he cried aloud in a terrible voice. “ Where? when God shall come down with clouds of darkness round about Him. Where? when God shall rain snares, and fire, and brimstone, and a horrible tempest upon the wicked. Where? when hell shall move from beneath to meet the sinners, and to swallow them up.” But this man is after all a messenger of peace. “Sinner,” he cries, “thou art close to hell, but see, Christ is coming from His cross and crown to save thee.
“By faith I view my Saviour aying on the tree:
To every nation He is crying, “Look to Me!”
"Long as I live I'll still be crying, Mercy's free!
And this shali be my song when dying, Mercy's free.
I'll sing while endless ages last, Mercy's free!'” The effect of these lines, delivered as they were with a combination of earnestness and winning tenderness, was wonderful. Preachers and people wept; praying men shouted, “Lord! save now.” The erowds bowed their heads and prayed, and for a time heaven seemed to visit earth with mercy, joy, and love. Aiter a hymnn and prayer, the camp meeting came to an end, and Richard Raine, melodious as ever, marched the people from the field, singing :
“Oh, then we'll shine, and shout, and sing,
When all the saints get bome;
For Jesus bids us come.
And claim a maision there;
Where we shall part no more.' At the gate of the field many part to meet again only in Canaan for evermore. William Towler died abroad; Robert Foster has joined him in the skies ; Thomas Waller is gone too, and many “ devout men” who were at that meeting are now with him in the celestial spheres, and know, with Hugh Bourne, William Clowes, John Flesher, and James Watson-men of whom the world was not worthy—that “the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in
Of the others, many continue to adorn Primitive Methodism, and to make it a source of pure and blessed light unto thousands of people in the Northern counties. But they grow older, some are gray and feeble, yet, full of faith and of the Holy Ghost, they patiently wait for the opening of the golden gates, that they may enter in with songs and everlasting joy upon their heads, and be
“ Far from a world of grief and sin,
With God eternally shut in."
WALKS AND WANDERINGS IN THE CITY OF PROVERB
AND THE GARDEN OF PARABLE.
BY THE REV. E. PAXTON HOOD.
WALK VII.-PROVERBS AND PARABLES CONCERNING KICKING
DEAD LIONS, AND GOING TO THE Dogs. ONCE upon a time the lion was found dead in the forest; it was a time when the beasts had a much more united manner of action than they have now, although my parable does not appear to give them credit for any greater superiority in their natures. The lion had been a very respectable beast, with much greater strength and courage; he had really possessed more equanimity and regality in his animal activities. All the other beasts, too, had been very
much afraid of him, not merely when his tremendous roar shook the forest and resounded through the wilderness, but they had respected also a certain reticence when his majesty strode with majestic steps along the solitudes of the woods, occasionally meeting some terrified creature, to whom he gave a dignified and cheerful “good day,” condescendingly shaking his magnificent head and mane; but now the king is dead he lies there in the forest shades, the sunlight gleaming over his tawny hide, his massive jaw fallen, and every movement utterly extinguished, nor any possibility longer of agitated and nervous twitch in whisker or in tail. The monkey discovered him first, and in ten thousand indecent gambols jumped upon the king's body, grinned, and gibbered, playing all the games of a disreputable antic, as every one knows he is. Having satisfied his jocularity by slapping the face, tweaking the whisker, playing with the tail, he bethought to start off and apprise the other beasts that old King Tawny was dead. Knowing that the monkey had no great regard for truth they crept along slowly and cautiously, and behaved themselves in a very modest and seemly manner until they were quite certain that the breath was fairly out of the royal body, and then with sundry and manifold indignities they all began to discuss and depreciate his claims to be regarded as the king. The jackal and hyæna both declared that he was wholly deficient in courage; the wolf said for his part he could not understand how it was that they had ever praised his majesty or strength ; an ugly ola baboon exceeded the monkey in his indecent behaviour. Encouraged by the apparent amity and unanimity subsisting among the beasts, even a donkey sidled in, venturing to dispute the majesty of the lion's roar; he set up a loud demonstration in his own peculiar line of music, and, putting it to the company whether that was not really a far nobler sound, he gave a few hearty kicks to the dead body and then disappeared, lest he should excite the affectionate interests of his fellow mortals in too appetising a manner. Finally, a little bit of a dog approached, and after setting up a bark to intimate to the company that he was there, he proceeded to sniff, in a contemptible manner, round and round the poor king; and then in a peculiarly unseemly manner he insulted the royal remains.
It is a parable which has been often acted out in human life. History is full of such instances of the treatment of dead lions. Here is a striking instance in the history of Franee in the great days of the League. The Duke of Guise was a great man-a very great man. He represented the chivalry of France in his day; he