After passing Chepstow, on the opposite side of the river, and looking down upon it certainly with some desire of being there, in the company of another friend of my earliest days, who resided there, a few pleasantly passed miles brought us to our alighting place. On leaving the coach, we struck across the country by a path unknown to me, and almost so to my dear friend. Had the season been spring, the walk would have been delightful; as it was, I felt much interested. The afternoon was unusually fine; the birds chirped and hopped gaily among the leafless, naked sprays; the merry robin warbled its sweetly simple notes; the ivy growing around the trunks and dismantled branches of the trees, glowed in a variety of shades of beautiful green, and being lighted up with the bright sunshine, contrasted pleasingly with the general apparent deadness; and the landscape, although deprived of its gay colouring, still possessed its inviting character to a mind fond of quietly contemplating the wondrous workings of an Almighty hand, so visible on every side, at all seasons.

We received a very hearty welcome from our dear friends, and spent the evening in recounting the events which had transpired since last we met; and I was reminded of many of the sayings and doings of childhood, by one whose eye and ear were always affectionately engaged in attending to any of my infant words and actions.

The morrow was the Sabbath. A beautifully bright morning aroused me to my duties: the tinkling of the bell at the new chapel of the United Brethren or Moravians-the only house of God in the place-drew us to the public worship of our heavenly Father. The neat, plain building forming the chapel and school-house, is prettily situated on the margin of the Wye; the graveyard being washed by its clear and delightfully flowing stream, which, not far away, rolls over a wear, and continues its tortuous course, shadowed by the high land on either side. Being early, we strolled leisurely around the chapel, and were amused and gratified by watching the country people and children, dressed in neat and simple attire, hastening down over the surrounding hills,

in various directions, towards this secluded house of God, some of whom had instruments of music with which to accompany the choir. The inside of the chapel was quite plain and unadorned. A row of benches, without backs, was ranged on each side, one of which was occupied by the male part of the congregation, the other row by the female. The service commenced; and most agreeably was I surprised at hearing a litany closely resembling that, I think, incomparable one, used in our own endeared church, and still more surprised at hearing some of the responses beautifully sung, in a most solemn and devotional manner, in which the congregation generally joined: it seemed like a sudden burst of heaven's melodies. If memory serves me correctly, the first lesson was 1 Samuel vii.; but I perfectly well remember the text to have been the 12th verse of that chapter. It was an anniversary service-the first of the opening of the chapel. The minister gave a beautifully simple and graphic sketch of the circumstances and prospects and deliverance of the Israelites, as recorded in this chapter; shewing "man's extremity to be God's oppportunity;" that God is a hearer and answerer of prayer: entered into the individual circumstances of his little flock particularly and affectionately; glanced at the founding of the chapel, and the success and blessing which had attended their self-denying efforts and earnest prayers, In the year that had elapsed from the opening of the chapel and school, a large congregation had been formed from among the neglected and destitute population, and a hundred children had been brought to attend the Sunday-school.

I reflected with pleasure on the great blessing likely to rest on this place and neighbourhood, as the result of the building of this chapel, and of the energetic and truly affectionate exertions of its zealous minister and his wife, in regard to both the temporal and eternal well-being of the hitherto spiritually ignorant population; and was greatly gratified at hearing so much affection expressed both towards the work going on, and the devoted minister of God and his lady, who were the instruments in effecting it.

In the evening we again attended the worship of God in this place, and were much pleased with the affectionate familiarity of the minister with his congregation, and their demeanour towards him.

He appeared to be an excellent musician, and possessed a good voice; both of which talents, after divine service, he put into exercise in a manner which at the time very much delighted me. Seated at a piano, which was under the pulpit, and surrounded by his choir, and many of his flock, the good pastor led in singing several beautiful anthems and sacred pieces, in a devotional spirit, and in a style which would have put to the blush many of our congregations much more advantageously situated thus finishing, in a very happy manner, this happy, holy day.

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We retired to our home influenced by novel and very pleasant feelings, and were furnished with topics for many remarks both at the time and afterwards. Memory paints in strong and pleasing colours, many little incidents of that Sabbath-day, spent at this quiet and secluded spot, embosomed among the hills, in the valley of the Wye.

(To be continued.)

THE WILDERNESS MADE TO BLOSSOM. It was on one of the early Sundays in Advent, in the autumn of 1832, that, passing incidentally near the spot where now stands the Church of the Epiphany [New York,] then a wretched and neglected quarter of our city, I encountered throngs of idle, destitute children, loitering through the streets, or lounging in the sun. Addressing one of their groups with the inquiry why they were not at Sunday-school? the answer was, there is no Sunday-school." Why not at church? "There is no church.” Who preaches in this neighbourhood? "Nobody preaches here." Why then do you not read your Bibles at home on a Sunday? "We have no Bibles, and we don't know how to read." Where is your school? "There is no school." Have you never been taught about your God

and Saviour, and heaven? "We don't know." Would you learn, if a good friend were to come among you and teach you? To this inquiry some said, "yes," others, "no," the greater part, "don't know." This conversation, on my return, was reported to two Christian ladies, to whom God had given alike the means and the will to engage in schemes of benevolence, one of whom was soon after called to her reward-the other still lives to witness and enjoy the blessing that awaits a Christian word spoken in season. Their response to my narrative was 75 dollars placed in my hands with the words, "we will have on that spot a Mission Church-do you preach, and we will help you."

The

Thus encouraged, a room was sought, and with some difficulty obtained, not far from the chosen spot. On the Sunday following, our beautiful Church Service first consecrated these walls and that neighbourhood, in a small dark upper room over an Engine-house in Alleyn Street, where six adult worshippers with two PrayerBooks, and the few ragged children that could be persuaded to enter, represented as it were the first-fruits of the harvest that has since so abundantly followed. second Sunday saw the room filled, and a Sunday-school formed. The third witnessed our removal to a larger and more commodious apartment, at the corner of Allen and North Streets-where on Sunday, January 6, 1833, being Epiphany, or the day of manifestation of CHRIST to the Gentiles," I preached to a crowded and attentive audience, the fulfilment to them that day of that blessed promise, "This day (said I) is this word fulfilled in your ears," and urged upon them their immediate union in a Church to be named in memory of that day, "The Church of the Epiphany." The call was responded to, the resolution unanimously taken, and a permanent lease soon after obtained of a building corner of Essex and Stanton Street, to serve as a Church Edifice.

But the increasing labours of the task now required the services of one less encumbered with other duties, and the question was asked of its early promoters, "Whom shall we get to carry it on?" The answer of Mrs. L. was, "Write to a country clergyman whom I

will name to you in Massachusetts, and who is exactly the man for the duty; propose to him to come and take charge of your labours, and we will guarantee his support for the first six months. GoD's Providence will then open his path." The letter was accordingly written and sent the invitation accepted, and in the person of the unknown brother I had the pleasure of greeting him to whose zealous and self-denying labours in this field under God has its subsequent prosperity been owing. He entered on it in faith, as a labour of love, not knowing whence should come his support, and the God in whom he trusted has not only opened but blessed the path before him.

The importance of the scheme now demanded other than individual management: and in the ensuing month of February, 1833, the incipient Church, with its school and lease and small balance of funds, was transferred to the fostering care of the City Mission Society.

After this, so rapid was its growth, that the lease was given up, and the erection of the Church determined on, retaining the spot chosen, and the name already given; and in six months after was the corner-stone laid of this noblest of our Mission Churches, "The Church of the Epiphany," a name that seldom fails touchingly to recall to my mind the heathen answers that had on that very spot been given by the children, "We have no Church,' There is no Sunday-school,' 'We read no Bible," "We hear no preaching about a Saviour."-Rev. Dr. M'Vickar, New York.

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ABSENT WITHOUT LEAVE.

"THERE is a great evil under the sun among our Sabbath teachers, though not a few seem to look on it as but a small matter, not deserving much reprobation. We refer to the custom of some teachers absenting themselves from their duty without either previous intimation, sending an apology, or providing a substitute. This may proceed, in some cases, from a natural fickleness of disposition; in others from carelessness or thoughtless