A NEGRO PREACHER.

I WAS to preach for Brother Anderson. He was a good pastor. Almost the last time I saw him he had just called upon a lamb of his flock to ask after her spiritual welfare, and for fifty cents towards his salary. He had left his tub and brushes at the foot of the hill, and he resumed them when he had made his call; for, like the great Apostle, he used to labour, working with his own hands.

Punctual to the hour, Brother Anderson came rolling across the street, and up to the door, and we went in together. After the usual songs and prayers, I took for my text Paul's counsel to the Corinthians as to their disorderly meetings and meaningless noises. The sermon was, in the main, a reading of the fourteenth chapter of Paul's first letter, with comments and applications interspersed. I spoke for half-an-hour, and, while showing consideration for the noisy ways of my audience, exhorted them to cultivate intelligence as well as passion.

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"When you feel the glory of God in you, let it out, of course. Shout Glory,' clap your hands, and all that. But stop now and then, and let some wise elder stand up and tell what it all means.

Men and boys hang round your windows, and laugh at you and religion, because they don't understand you. Some men have religion all in the head-clear, sharp, dry, and dead. Others, all in the hearts. They feel it in their bones. Now I want you to have religion in your heads and hearts. Let all things be done decently and in order."

I was very well satisfied with my effort; at the time it seemed a success. As I sat down, Brother Anderson got up and stood on the pulpit step to give out a hymn:

"Let saints below in concert sing."

I am not certain that he could read, for he stood book in hand, and seemingly from memory gave the number of the hymn, and repeated the first two stanzas with deep and growing feeling. Of the third he read three lines:

"One army ob de livin' God,

To His comman' we bow;

Part of 'e hos (t) 'av cross 'er flood,
An' part"-

Here he stopped, and, after swallowing one or two chokes, went on to say: "I lub Brudder Beecher. I lub to hear him preach dis

afternoon. He's told us a good many things. He's our good fr'en. An' he sez, sez he, dat some folks goes up to glory noisy 'n shoutin', an' some goes still-like, 'z if they's 'shame of wat's in 'em. An' he sez we'd better be more like de still kind, an' de white folks will like us more. An' den I thinks 'taint much 'count no way, wedder we goes up still-like or shoutin', cause heaven's a mighty big place, brudders; an' when we all goes marchin' up to see de Lord, an I's so full of de lub, and de joy, and de glory, dat I mus' clap my han's an' shout, de good Lord's got some place whar we wont 'sturb nobody, and we kan shout, Glory! Glory! Bless de Lord! I'm safe, I'm safe in de glory at las'! I tell you, brudders an' sisters, dat heaven's a mighty big place, an' dar's room for Brudder Beecher an' us, too." "Dat's so! Bless de Lord! Amen! Glory!" (From the people.) "An' Brudder Beecher sez dat 'tis'n de folks as makes mos' noise dat does de mos' work. He sez de ingins on de railroad only puff— puff-puff—reg'lar breathin' like, wen dey's at work a haulin' de big loads, and dat de bells and de whistles don' do no work; dey only make a noise. Guess dat's so. I don' know 'bout ingins much, and I don' know wedder I's a puff;puff ingin, or wedder I blow de whistle an' rings de bell. I feels like bofe (with a chuckle) sometimes! An' I tell you what, wen de fire is burnin', an' I gets de steam up, don't dribe no cattle on de track; de ingin's comin'! Cl'ar de track!" (This with a voice that shook the little house, and a “magnetism” that thrilled and fixed me. Of course, his hearers were by this time swaying, shouting, and amen-ing splendidly.)

An de boys an' gals, an' de clarks an' young lawyers, dey come up yar watch-night, an' dey peep in de windows, an' stan' roun' de doors, an' dey laff an' make fun of 'lig'n! An' Brudder Beecher sez, Why don't we stop de noise now'n den, an' go out an' tell em' 'bout it-'splain it to 'em. An' I 'members wot de Bible sez 'bout the outer darkness, an' de weepin' an' de wailin' an' de gnashin' ob de teeth. An' if dese boys an' gals stan' dar, outside a laffin', bimby dey'll come to de wailin' an' de weepin' 'fus dey know. An' den wen dey stan' roun' de great temple ob the Lord, an' see de glory shinin' out, and de harpers harpin', an' all de music, an' de elders bowin', an' all de shoutin' like many waters, an' all de saints a singin' 'Glory to de Lam'!' s'pose God'll say, 'Stop dat noise dar, Gabriel! You Gabriel, go out an' 'splain!'

Yes, I see dem stan' las' winter 'roun de door an' under de windows an' laff; an' dey peek in an' laff. An' I 'member wot I saw last

summer 'mong de bees. Some ob de hives was nice, an' clean, an' still, like 'spectable meetin's, an' de odders was a bustin' wid honey! an' de bees kep' a goin' an' a comin' in de clover; an' dey jes kep' on a fillin' up de hive, till de honey was a flowin' like de lan' of Canaan. An' I saw all roun' de hives was de ants an' worms, an' de great drones' an' black bugs, an' dey kep' on de outside. Dey was'n bees. Dey could'n make de honey for darselves. Dey could'n fly to de clover an de honeysuckle. Dey jess hung roun' de bustin' hive, an' live on de drippin's.

"An' de boys an' gals come up yar, an' hang roun'. Jess come in, an' we'll show you how de gospel bees do. Come in, an' we'll lead you to de clover! Come in-we'll make your wings grow. Come in! won't ye? Well, den, poor things, let 'em stan' roun' de outside, an' have de drippin's. We's got honey in dis hive!"

Raising the hymn-book, and with tender voice, he took up the stanza just where he had left it

"Part of 'e hos' av cross 'er flood,

An' part are crossin' now."

Sing, brudders," said he; and to his "lining out" they sang the whole hymn only as they can sing.

All this was ten or twelve years ago. I remember that while he was speaking my sermon seemed to shrink and fade. And now, as I recall the scene and record his words but in part, I am feeling the power of his truth. Heaven's a mighty big place. The Father's house hath many homes, and places prepared for many.

Was he dreaming of these as he went about our streets with tubs and brushes to whiten and sweeten the homes of men? Did he wear his rags contentedly, mindful of his robes shining and exceeding white as snow? In that day when those that are last shall be first, few will look down to find Brother Anderson.-Rev. T.K.Beecher.

HE BLANK PULPIT.

BY A DEACON.

SOME time ago I called to transact a little business with a friend.

When it was completed we sat chatting for half-an-hour or so, the conversation glancing rapidly from theme to theme. Among the topics I referred to was Mr. Spurgeon's recent utterance on the

subject of " a strike" amongst ministers; and my friend reminded me of the Yorkshireman who said when the Congregational Union met at Halifax that it looked as if all the parsons were on strike.

When I reached home in the evening I took down "The Eclipse of Faith," and, sitting by my fireside, read the well-known chapter on the "Blank Bible." Tired, I suppose, with my day's journey and work I became somewhat drowsy and at length fell asleep, and quietly dozing on I dreamed a dream, curiously compounded of my morning conversation and my evening reading.

And so dreaming, I fancied that it came to pass that the Congregational Union was solemnly convened by a circular written in cypher, invented by Mr. Binney, and held a solemn and secret session. How I, a deacon, happened to be present I could not tell, but these incongruities do occur in dreams. When we met together I found the object of the meeting was to discuss the subject of ministers' salaries; and, if possible, to form some organisation which should effect their immediate increase. I listened eagerly for an hour and more to an animated discussion, and as I did so I got the impression that I had heard much on such a subject before. I then remembered that this must have been some three years ago, when the Congregational Union talked itself dry on the subject of a Sustentation Fund, and when all their talk came to nothing.

At length I saw my own pastor on his feet. Now I knew exactly the amount of his stipend, for I had paid it myself for the last ten years, and had always supposed it was a pretty liberal one. But somehow that morning my heart smote me, and I hoped he would not catch my eye. He began by saying that ten years before he began his work in a small town, on a salary of £120 a-year. Since then he had married, and four children had been born in his house. Meanwhile, the price of all kinds of commodities had steadily increased, so that household expenses were nearly double what they were ten years ago. Still he had received the same stipend from the Church as at first. Ten years ago he had no children to clothe and educate, now he had four, yet his people had not even hinted that they feared he would find some difficulty in maintaining them. He knew he had been faithful to his calling (an inward "Hear, hear," from me.) He could call his people to witness (he did not know I was there) that he had fed them willingly, and taken the oversight not for filthy lucre's sake, but of a willing mind; and now, if it were not for the thoughts that troubled him when he looked at his wife's anxious face, and at

his children's uncertain future, he would not be present at that meeting. But the question had become a serious one. All other means had failed. Deacons had been standing by with indifference. Churches had been content to let their ministers suffer. The end had come. "And now," he exclaimed, raising his voice, "I propose that we take sword in hand, and cut the Gordian knot. I propose that we strike!"

The effect of his words was electrical. The whole assembly rose to its feet. The Congregational Trades' Union was formed, and, after some discussion of details, the assembly broke up.

I went home with thoughts strangely agitated; but I did not venture to observe to anyone what I had seen and heard. When Sunday morning came I went, as usual, to the vestry. My fellowdeacons were there already, and were eagerly discussing the meaning of a letter which had just come from our minister, and which they were requested to read from the pulpit. The letter contained an account of the ministers' meeting, and a justification of the step upon which they had resolved.

Accordingly the letter was read, and the effect produced would have satisfied any orator's heart. Some faces were blankly incredulous, others were indignant, a few sneered, and several looked ashamed and conscience-stricken. The deacon who read the letter only remarked that, in a crisis so serious and so unexpected as this, the soberer our thoughts and words the better. He would therefore ask one or two to pray. He afterwards dismissed the congregation, with a request that they would all meet in the school-room on Monday evening to discuss the matter.

But who shall describe that Sunday? At one place, a young man, who parted his hair down the middle, and had often declared that the ministry was behind the age, was asked to preach in the evening. He consented, and gave an address on “The four Gospels considered as an outgrowth of the God-consciousness of humanity." At another the senior deacon read one of Mr. Spurgeon's sermons; but not having previously studied it, unexpectedly found himself urgently entreating that all his hearers should be immersed. Some young people went to the Ritualistic Church, and said they should go again : "it was so nice." The Plymouth Brethren looked upon the affair as a conspicuous triumph of their principles. But others took different views from these. I met a poor hard-worked servant-girl, who burst into tears and sobs at seeing me, and cried, "Oh, sir!

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