No. 6.-REFORMERS BEFORE THE

REFORMATION.

On one of the days towards the close of the year 1427, a singular scene was going on in the little town of Lutterworth in Leicestershire. The river Swift which runs by that town, thence into the Avon, the Severn, and the Bristol Channel, was made to convey away from the scenes of his former labours the ashes of one whose name had been on the lips of every man in England forty years before, JOHN DE WYCLIFFE. There you might have seen bishops, chancellors, proctors, doctors, and a great crowd of the town's people of Lutterworth,-some of whom as children had known Wycliffe, and heard him preach in that very church which they were now desecrating,-assembled for the purpose of exhuming his body, burning it, and then casting its ashes thus away; and if, in ignorance of his character, you had asked who he was, and why they were thus strangely violating the sanctuary in which -the dead rest, you would have been told, probably, in the elegant language which prevailed in the religious controversies of those days, that he was "a limb of the devil, an enemy of the church, a deceiver of the people, the idol of heretics, the mirror of hypocrites, an author of schisms, a sower of hatred, and an inventor of lies." If he was all this, he was little fitted to be embalmed with a select band of Christian Heroes: we call him, however, "the Morning Star of the Reformation;" a Light in a dark age.

Dark indeed was the age in England, when Wycliffe's voice was first raised, and his pen first wielded. Twice converted professedly to Christianity, and destined hereafter to be the medium through which the light was to be carried to all nations of the world, the spiritual darkness which then prevailed in it was only less than that in which the first missionaries had found it more than twelve centuries before. The black cloud of Popery, which overhung the adjacent continent, had long since spread over it from beyond the sea. Those mendicant friars, who at that time were the chief agents of the Papal system, had here their free course of oppression and robbery; scarcely ever before had the pope himself been more arrogant in

his demands, or more successful in his impostures; and only here and there was the voice of protest feebly heard, from amongst either princes, nobles, or people.

At this very time, however, was Wycliffe a student in the cloisters of Oxford. There he was, but a young man indeed, but mourning in secret over the prevailing darkness, and over the darkness in his own soul; and, as we are told, passing days and nights alone, "groaning, and sighing, and calling upon God to show him the path he ought to follow." From that solitude he speedily emerged, beginning boldly to utter the truths the germs of which he had already learnt from those Scriptures which he was making his secret study; and, ere long chosen, for his learning and attainments, to office in the university in which he had been a student, he availed himself of the opportunities which his position gave him, to lay open the doctrines which were gradually unfolding themselves to his mind.

At this time the demands of the popedom began to stir England to its centre. Not content with that spiritual authority which he had all along exercised with so little opposition, the pope now demanded to be recognised as political sovereign of Britain, and to have paid him, by Edward the Third, the hero of Cressy and Poictiers, the tribute which his predecessors had forced from the pusillanimous John. In the discussions which followed this insolent demand, Wycliffe earnestly took part. He had already made an onslaught on the impositions and extortions practised under the mask of Christianity by the pope's agents, the friars: and he now applied himself as vigorously to defend his king and country from the arrogance of the pope himself. It was in return for this and other services to the crown that he was rewarded with the rectory of Lutterworth; and here he began, with the boldness of a theologian, and the faithfulness of a christian pastor, to assert the truths which quiet study, and passing events, and above all the word of God, had taught him. Startling indeed must the truths he uttered have been in the ears of some of his auditors. "Christ is the sole mediator between God and man." "God only can forgive sin." "It is plain, therefore, to me, that the prelates, in grant

ing indulgences, do blaspheme the wisdom of God." "The Bible is the only source of religion." "The Roman pontiff is a mere cut-purse." "The believer, in maintaining the law of Christ, should be prepared, as his soldier, to endure all things at the hands of the satraps of this world; declaring boldly to pope and cardinals, to bishops and prelates, how unjustly, according to the teaching of the gospel, they serve God, subjecting those committed to their care to great injury and peril."

But now came the times which were to test the heroism of the reformer. Twice was he summoned to London to appear before a convocation to answer the charge of heresy; and twice did he appear. His name was everywhere branded by the authorities as infamous, and the most shameless misrepresentations were made respecting his opinions and life. The anxieties and conflicts of this period were too much for his feeble frame. His strength was wasted. At one time, he lay on the very point of death. Tradition tells us that at this solemn hour he was approached by four doctors who sought to induce him to recant. The reformer listened to their appeals, and then, rising in his bed, fixed his eyes on them, and exclaimed, "I shall not die, but live, and again declare the evil deeds of the friars."

And he did not die. The great idea had now seized him of translating the Holy Scriptures into the language of the common people, and of carrying those scriptures into the homes of the poor. To these great works, and to writing on the superstitions of the Papacy, the rest of his days was devoted. He was, indeed, unacquainted with the original languages of the Bible, and was compelled, therefore, to content himself with translating from the Latin vulgate: and of course he availed himself in his work, though to what extent we know not, of the assistance of his friends and fellowworkers. Between ten and fifteen years, however, his task occupied him. All that time, while working hard in public, and constantly occupied with the duties of his pastorate, his study window, often illumined far into the night, gave evidence to those around of the earnest purpose which engaged him. Year after year passed over, and he felt the feebleness of age overtaking him, but still he toiled on. At last the work was completed. Away went copies of the Bible, increasing constantly through

the labours of the copyists, to every part of the country. We can imagine the curious looks with which the strange volume was taken up here and there; but in many cases it was welcomed as the Word of God, which was able to save the soul. Of course, it was condemned by the clergy. Wherever Wycliffe went, he was now more violently attacked than ever. Once more he was summoned to appear before his judges; assembled this time, however, at Oxford. Boldly, therefore, he turned his face towards the city, which he had first gone to with the trembling excitement of a student and a boy. With solemn mien and lofty countenance, the now old man stood amidst the crowd which assembled on his arrival. "The truth shall prevail," said he. He was again condemned. How it came to pass that he was permitted to leave Oxford in safety has never been ascertained: but he once more retired to Lutterworth. At last, he was summoned to Rome. Increasing infirmities rendered it impossible for him to obey the summons. But he continued to preach and to labour, nor did he even yet fear what his enemies could do to him. A dungeon, or the fire, was what he looked for, and he was prepared for either should it come. But a quieter death awaited him. On the 28th or 29th of December, 1384, as he stood before the altar, in the midst of his flock, he was suddenly seized with the paralysis, which had before threatened him. "It was within that old church, which is still standing, that his last sickness came upon him. Through that low arched doorway, which still looks towards the spot on which the rectory house then stood, we see him borne;" and after an interval of two or three days and nights, while the last bells of the old year are ringing, the weary frame of John de Wycliffe sinks and is at rest. "Of the Book that had been a sealed-up book, He tore the clasps, that the nation With eyes unbandaged might thereon look, And learn to read salvation.

To the death 'twas his to persevere,

Though the tempest around him rattled; And wherever Falsehood was lurking, there His heroic spirit battled."

Amongst those who owed much to Wycliffe, and carried on his work, were JOHN Huss, and JEROME OF PRAGUE. Huss ap

peared in Bohemia about the same time that Wycliffe died in England. At first he viewed the doctrines of Wycliffe with disapprobation; but his daily study of the Bible, and the flagrant abuses of the pope

dom, soon opened his eyes. He early began to attack even the highest clergy on the scandal of their lives and the gross corruptions of their system; and the simplicity of his doctrine, and the eloquence of his style, attracted great numbers to hear him preach. Against him, therefore, as against all assertors of the truth in those times, the arm of persecution was raised. The anathemas of the Vatican were thundered forth against him. He was even summoned to appear at Rome, but refused to obey the summons. Before the Council held at Constance, for "the healing of divisions, and averting the dangers of Christendom," he, however, felt it his duty to appear. Not that he deceived himself as to the perils of his position, for he said in departing, in a letter to his friends, " Therefore, my beloved, if my death would contribute to God's glory, pray that it may come quickly, and that I may bear my calamities with constancy." But his trust was in God; and his spirit was expressed in the words, "I confide altogether in the all-powerful God, my Saviour; I trust that he will listen to your prayers, and that he will accord to me bis Holy Spirit to fortify me in his truth, so that I may face with courage, temptations, prison, and, if necessary, a cruel death."

Soon after his arrival at Constance he was arrested and thrown into a noisome dungeon, to which he was speedily followed by Jerome, who had been his friend and pupil. It was at this time that the order was given that Wycliffe's remains should be disinterred and scattered. Great was the cruelty now shown both to Huss and

Jerome. For a whole year, the former remained in his dungeon, heavily ironed, and chained to a beam. At last, on the 7th of June, 1418, he was brought before the council. Recantation or death was the alternative offered him. But his firmness did not forsake him. "Even supposing," said a doctor to him, "that the council were to affirm that you had only one eye, when you have in reality two, it would be your duty to agree with it in the assertion." "As long as God shall preserve my reason," replied Huss, "I shall take care not to assert any such thing." On the sixth of July, his forty-second birth-day, he was condemned to death. On his way to execution, he was detained to witness the burning of his books in the churchyard, and smiled at the sight. When the pile in which he was bound was to sing a Bohemian hymn. The last words he was heard to utter, were, " Jesus, son of the living God, have mercy on me!"

lighted, he began

It was not long before Jerome followed. When he was brought before the council, a paper crown was offered him in scorn; he placed it on his head, saying, " Jesus wore a crown of thorns for me: I willingly wear this for him." He, also, was burnt, crying, "Lord, into thy hands, I commit my spirit."

So suffered the early Reformers of the church, whose names we now mention with so much love and reverence. What crimes have been committed in the name of Christianity! How much of Heroism was needed by those who witnessed in those days for their Lord and his truth!

THE PASTOR'S CALL.

BY H. E. BRADBURY.

"Mr. Harlow has received a call." "You don't say so!"

"Yes, and everybody says he'll go." "Everybody" meant a majority of the good people in the little village of M

Deacon Granger said he had plainly seen, for more than a year, a little restlessness on the part of Mr. Harlow. He had shown a willingness, yea, almost a desire, to exhibit his talents in large cities, had accepted several invitations to lecture before literary societies. All this looked,

the deacon said, as if his pastor was seeking notoriety.

"Our village is too small for a man of his intellectual capacity," chimed in Squire Verney, the village lawyer; "Mr. Harlow ought to be settled in Boston, New York, or Philadelphia, where his talents can be appreciated. If he has half the common sense which I think he possesses, he will accept the offer. Why, only think, fifteen hundred dollars per year! in a large, flourishing city, too, where he can labour for a new interest, and have the advantages of literary society, and the best schools for

his children; while we pay only six hundred dollars, and have no literary advantages; 'tis my opinion he will go;" and the lawyer drew his quill from its restingplace amongst the slightly grizzled locks above his right ear, and, with a very sage expression, resumed the filling of his brief.

Dr. Manson was sure he would go; fifteen hundred dollars were not offered a man every day; it did not grow on every bush; and a man of such extraordinary intellect as the Rev. Eugene Harlow possessed, would not cramp himself in a country village, forty miles from a railroad and the telegraph wires, when such a broad and desirable field of usefulness was open to him, right in the centre of all these modern improvements. Moreover, it was the Doctor's opinion that a young man with a family ought to accept a situation that paid well; and he sagely quoted from the wise man, "He that provideth not for his own household," &c.

Mrs. Storer said he would go. She thought the pastor's wife had never felt at home with them; and no wonder; she had been delicately reared, and fashionably educated; her friends all lived in the city, and, of course, her feelings would have some weight with the pastor.

Miss Darling was sure he would go. She said he had an exquisitely nice ear for music, and somebody told her father that Professor Frederick Heidlestein played the organ in High Street Church (where Mr. Harlow was solicited to go), and that alone would be sufficient to tempt her to leave our musty, old-fashioned village. She thought our singing was perfectly horrible; the tenor voice was sharp and wiry, the soprano weak, and the bass harsh and rough, while the organ was no better than an old spinning-wheel. She wondered Mr. Harlow should attempt to preach after such murderous attempts to praise God by

the choir.

Mr. Bartlette thought he would go, and 'twould be no great loss either, he said. For his part, he wanted to hear good common-sense, practical sermons, and he did not know who could understand Mr. Harlow's lofty flights, and poetical quotations. The sermons were literary and beautiful, he doubted not, but they always reminded him of the exclamation of the prophet's servant when he lost the axe: "Alas! master, for it was borrowed." He did not approve of weaving in high-flown sentences

from Tom, Dick, and Harry, and calling it a sermon. It was all gas, and if city people fancied such trash, they were welcome to it; he would rather hear Elder Foster tell his experience.

Old brother Ellis seemed tolerably well resigned to the idea of his leaving. He had never been able to gather that satisfactory evidence of Mr. Harlow's piety which was desirable. He was sometimes afraid his pastor's heart was not in the work, because he went to parties, and in various ways mingled with the world's people; no good would ever come of it.

Mrs. Blake never did wish to be forward in expressing an opinion, but she thought there was no harm in saying a word in her own parlour (the members of the sewing circle being convened there). She said the prayer-meetings were growing dull and wearisome, and much as she admired Mr. Harlow's pulpit style, it was not quite the thing for social meetings,-it wanted point and spirit. In truth, her pastor was no revivalist, never encouraged the sisters to use their gifts, and she had no doubt the standard of piety would be raised if Elder Smithson could be obtained in his stead.

Mrs. Haines thought he would go. She lived next door to the pastor, and she said he had made no arrangements for winter, by banking his house, supplying his woodshed, &c. (It was now late in the fall.) He must be on the point of breaking up housekeeping, or he was unpardonably careless.

Nearly every member of the circle thought he would go; but one elderly lady, whose large grey eyes beamed with benevolence and kindly feeling,-Mrs. Clavers,-thought he would remain.

"And what in the world do you think will keep him here?" asked Mrs. Storer. "His salary is not half large enough for the times. Flour, meat, wood, and all kinds of clothing materials, are one-third higher than usual. Then he has so little encouragement here; nobody seems to appreciate him. Why, last Sabbath I had the curiosity to look around in sermon time, and I counted ten church-members asleep! Just look at our old barn of a house, and ask yourself how we can expect to keep a decent minister."

Mrs. Clavers was willing to admit the truth of all Mrs. Storer said, but still her opinion remained unchanged. Mr. Harlow would not accept the call. She knew it