Paul, however, with his two sons, having been fortunately out of the way, escaped the general doom of his companions, and through his efforts the sect again revived and flourished. We do not hear much of them till the ninth century, when one of those little incidents is recorded, which, like a flash of light suddenly illuminating the prevailing gloom, discovers to us more at a single glance, than we can make out during all our previous investigations guided by the dark lantern of monastic history. An aged female Paulician, whom Peter Siculus describes as the tool of Satan, and a fair specimen of her sect, accosts a young man of the name of Sergius, with some flattering remarks on his attainments, and some expressions of surprise that he did not read the sacred Gospels. His immediate reply was: "It is not lawful for us profane persons, but for priests only." She then suggested whether it were not obvious from the Scriptures themselves, that they were designed by their Author for general perusal; hinted at the suspicious motives of the priests in concealing them; and proceeding to read certain portions of the New Testament, the youth became interested, read the volume for himself, and was afterwards numbered with the most zealous of the Paulician missionaries. The anecdote illustrates at once the spirit of the historian, the ascendency which the Oriental priesthood had already obtained over the people, and the character of the means employed by the branded communities of Armenia with a view to diffuse a more scriptural piety. It may be added that Sergius, who took the name of Tychicus, published several writings, which were long after held in veneration by the Paulicians; and that he ultimately gave the most unequivocal proof of the depth of his convictions by suffering martyrdom, being literally sawn asunder," or cut in two pieces with an axe; on which the monkish historian perpetrates a miserable joke, asserting that it was just, that he who had divided the Church, should himself be divided, and consigned to eternal fire."

The subsequent history of the Paulicians is one of bloodshed, oppression, and war. We may form some idea of their immense numbers from the fact which seems almost incredible, but which is boasted of by the inquisitors, that in the ninth century, under the reign of the Empress Theodora, and by her orders, no less than "a hundred thousand Paulicians had been despatched by the sword, the gibbet, and the flames." At length, goaded to madness by the unrelenting fury of their enemies, they raised the standard of revolt, joined with the Saracens, and, under the generalship of Corbeas, Chrosyschier, and others, gained several victories, and made severe retaliation on their enemies. Ultimately, however, defeated, borne down, and dispersed, they retreated into foreign countries, and many of them found their way, by various roads, into the heart of Europe. And thus, as was stated in our opening paragraph, we may trace a con

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nection between the Albigenses of the Alps and the Paulicians of Armenia; nor, after all that has been said against them by their enemies, and repeated by others, do we see anything either unreasonable or discreditable in the connection thus established. It proves the care which God has taken, in the darkest ages, to maintain a race of witnesses to the truth; it affords an interesting illustration of the indestructible power of vital religion; and it shows us that to the East, from which the saving light of the Gospel first shone forth, we are indebted also for the first dawnings of the blessed Reformation.

JERUSALEM.

(From Warburton's " Crescent and the Cross.") AFTER some resistance from the Turkish sentinels, I entered the Pilgrims' Gate, under a lofty archway, and found myself in Jerusalem.

with ruins, and containing a broken cistern, called On the left within the walls is a waste place strewed the Pool of Bathsheba;" on the right is pointed out the Hill of Zion, whereon "David's Tower" maintains its ground in tradition, if not in truth. From this open space three streets, or rather roads (for they are almost houseless), branch off; that to the left leads to Calvary and the Convent of the English Church, and Armenian Convent; and that Terra Santa; that to the right to Mount Zion, the straight onward to Mount Moriah, where stand the Mosque of Omar and the collection of villages that is called the city.

I betook myself to the hospice of the Latin Convent, where I found a white-washed cell and an iron long travel under a Syrian sun prevents one from bedstead at my disposal. It was dismal enough; but feeling fastidious, and it ill becomes a pilgrim to complain on Calvary.

The Convent, whose guest I now found myself, is the wealthiest and most influential of all those in Pa

lestine. It is called, by distinction, the Convent of the

Terra Santa, and has possessions handed down from the times of Godfrey de Bouillon. All the other Latin convents in Syria pay deference to this, the chief guardian of the Holy Sepulchre.

I took no guide but memory; and, mounting a fresh horse, I repassed the gate by which I had entered on the southern side, and rode forth to make a circuit of the city-" to walk round about her, and mark well her battlements." Sadly has all been changed since this proud challenge was spoken, yet the walls are still towering and imposing in their effect. They vary in height from twenty to sixty feet, according to the undulations of the ground; and architraves, as old at least as the Roman-conquered are everywhere in good repair. The columns and city, that are worked into these walls instead of ruder stones, bear eloquent testimony to the different nature of their predecessors. A bridle-path leads close to their base all round; the Valleys of Hinnom and Jehoshaphat yawn suddenly beneath them on the Gihon, the Hill of Evil Counsel, and the Mount of west, south, and north, separating them from Mount Olives. These hills are utterly barren, and lonely as fear can make them. Though within gunshot of the city, robberies are here committed with impunity, and few people venture to leave the walls without being well armed and attended. The deep gloom of the Valley of Hinnom; silence and desolation so intense, yet so close to the the sterility of all around; the city; the sort of memory with which I could trace each almost familiar spot, from the Tower of Hippicus

to the Hill of Scopas, made this the most interesting excursion I ever undertook. Now we look down upon the Pool and Valley of Gihon from the summit of Mount Zion; now upon the Vale of Hinnom, with the Pool of Siloam, and Aceldama beyond the brook; now over Mount Moriah, with the Valley of Jehoshaphat beneath, and the village of Siloam on the opposite side, scattered along the banks where Kedron used to flow. Then, passing through the Turkish cemetery and over the brook Kedron, we come to the venerable garden of Gethsemane, in which, say the legends, still stand the olive trees that sheltered Christ. This garden is only a small grove, occupying perhaps two acres of ground, but it is one of the best authenticated scenes of interest about Jerusalem. From it a steep and rocky path leads to the three summits of the Mount of Olives, on the loftiest of which stands the Church of the Ascension. An Armenian priest admitted me into the sacred enclosure, motioned to a little monk to lead about my horse, and led the way in silence to the roof of the church. From hence is the most interesting, if not the most striking, view in the world.

From such a summit might the great leader of the people have viewed the land which was to be the reward of their desert wanderings. From it is laid bare every fibre of the great heart of Palestine. The atmosphere is like a crystal lens, and every object in the Holy City is as clear as if it lay within a few yards, instead of a mile's distance. Each battlement upon those war-worn walls, each wild flower that clusters over them; the dogs prowling about the waste places among the ruins, and cactus, and cypress; the turbaned citizens slowly moving in the streets; all these are recognisable almost as clearly as the prominent features of the city.

The eminence called Mount Moriah lies nearest to our view, just above the narrow Valley of Jehoshaphat. The city wall passes over the centre of it, embracing a wide enclosure, studded with cypresses and cedars, in the centre of which stands the magnificent Mosque of Omar. This is of a very light, fantastic architecture, bristling with points, and little spires, and minarets, many of which have gilded crescents that flash and gleam in the sunshine; while the various groups of Moslems, sitting on bright carpets, or slowly wandering among the groves, give life and animation to the scene. The Mosque occupies the site of the Temple, and is held holy by the Moslem, as the spot where Abraham offered Isaac to be a sacrifice. To the left of the Mosque enclosure, within the walls, is a space covered with rubbish and jungles of the prickly pear; then part of the Hill of Zion, and David's Tower. To the right of the enclosure is the Pool of Bethesda; beyond which St Stephen's Gate affords entrance to the Via Dolorosa, a steep and winding street, along which Christ bore the cross in his ascent to Calvary. To the right of this street, and towards the north, stands the Hill of Acra, on which Salem, the most ancient part of the city, was built, they say, by Melchisedek. This hill is enclosed by the walls of the modern town; but the Hill of Bezetha lies yet farther to the right, and was enclosed within the walls that the Romans stormed. Beyond Bezetha stands the Hill of Scopas, wherefrom Titus gazed upon Jerusalem the day before its destruction, and wept for the sake of the beautiful city.

Whatever beauty may have distinguished the city in the day of its evil pride, there is little within the wide enclosure of its walls to claim an interest, except the unchangeable hills on which it stands. Here and there is a cluster of flat-roofed buildings, then a space bewildered with weeds and ruins; here is a busy street, with vines sheltering its bazaars, and gorgeous-looking crowds streaming through it; and there is a deserted garden, with a few dreary olive trees and

cypresses shading its burnt soil; here is a mosque, with its heavy done and its pert minarets; and there is the capacious church that covers the Holy Sepulchre.

The eye wanders away with a feeling of relief from this most mournful city, to the wide, strange prospect that surrounds it. Far to the south, we look over the barren but magnificent hills of Judah, with vistas through their rocky glens of the rich Valley of the Jordan, and the calm, green waters of the Dead Sea, whose surface gleams on either side of a foreground formed by the lofty village of Bethany. Beyond Jordan and the Sea of the Plain, the mountains of the Moabites tower into the clear blue sky, and are reflected in brown and purple shadows on their own dark, mysterious lake.

Beneath us is the garden of Gethsemane, the Valley of Hinnom with its Tophet, and the Vale of Jehoshaphat with its brook Kedron, which meets the waters of Siloam at the Well of Joab. The Tombs of the Kings, of Nehemiah, of Absalom, and of the Judges, lie before us; the Caves of the Prophets everywhere pierce the rocks that have so often resounded to the war-cry of the Chaldean, the Roman, the Saracen, and the Crusader. Beyond the city spreads the Vale of Rephaim, with Bethlehem in the distance; every rock, and hill, and valley that is visible, bears some name that has rung in history. And then the utter desolation that everywhere prevails as if all was over with that land, and the "rocks had indeed fallen, and the hills indeed had covered" the mighty, the beautiful, and the brave, who once dwelt there in prosperity.and peace. No flocks, no husbandmen, nor any living thing is there, except a group of timid travellers-turbaned' figures, and veiled women, and a file of camels-winding along the precipitous pathway under the shadow of the palm tree.

Descending from the Mount of Olives, I re-entered the city by St Stephen's Gate, where Turkish soldiers constantly keep guard; turning to the left, I visited the Pool of Bethesda, and then wandered slowly over the Via Dolorosa, in which is pointed out each spot where the Saviour fell under the burden of the cross, as he bore it to Calvary along this steep and rugged way.

In after days, I impatiently traversed the squalid city, with a monk for my guide, in search of its various localities of traditionary sanctity; but I will not ask the reader to stoop to such a labour. My monkish cicerone pointed out to me where Dives lived, where Lazarus lay, where the cock crowed or roosted that warned Peter of his crime, and even where the blessed Virgin used to wash her Son's linen.

The character of the city within corresponds with that of the country without. Most of it is very solitary and silent; echo only answers to your horse's tread; and frequent waste places, among which the wild dog prowls, convey an indescribable impression of desolation. It is not these waste places alone that give such an air of loneliness to the city, but many of the streets themselves, dark, dull, and mournfullooking, seem as if the Templars' armed tread was the last to which they had resounded. The bazaars and places of business are confined to one small quarter of the city; everywhere else you generally find yourself alone. No one is even there to point out your way; and you come unexpectedly upon the Pool of Bethesda, or wander among the vaulted ruins of the Hospitallers' courts, without knowing it. The remains of the ancient city that meet your eye are singularly few; here and there a column is let into the wall, or you find that the massive and uneven pavement is of costly marble; but, except the Pools of Hezekiah and Bethesda, the Tower of Hippicus, and some few other remains, preserved on account of their utility, there is little of art to connect the memory with the past.

for fifty years rushed into his mind, and all the sins of his long life were in array before him. "I cannot lose the sight of them," he said, "and they are more than can be numbered."

I conversed with him, endeavoured to set some great truths before him, and then prayed with him. On the whole, I was pleased with the state of his mind, and the thought greatly cheered me: Well, the prayers of his excellent mother and sister are at length to be answered on his behalf.

As he had made me promise to call again in the evening, I went. I found his mind more awfully impressed, and that every encouraging word which I presented, he only took occasion of to aggravate his own sin. I reasoned with him on the greatness of the sacrifice provided, and on the unbounded fulness of divine mercy in Christ Jesus to the repenting sinner. "Ah!" he replied, "if I could repent, indeed there might be hope." "I trust that you do repent, and that all your present feelings are an evidence of it." "No, no," he answered, "I do not repent; my heart is as hard as a rock: what I feel is not repentance it is only the forebodings of damnation.

I still love sin, and should sin on if I had the power. There is no change here in this respect. That dreadful sentence will soon be fulfilled: He that is guilty shall be guilty still; and let him that is filthy be filthy still."" I felt myself in new and affecting circumstances, and quite unequal to meet all the objections of an old professor, and of one who knew the Gospel in theory, and could have split hairs in divinity; I therefore urged it on him to see his once respected and valued minister. "Oh!" he said, "I have used him so ill, he cannot come to see me." I replied, "He would soon come if he knew you were in mental distress." "But who can I send to him?" "I will go." "Well do," he said; "but how can I meet him, I have done him so much injury?" I called on Mr told him

the state of the case, and he said, "No time is to be lost; I will go directly." I called in the evening on Mr. -, merely to learn what his views of him were. He was out, but his daughter told me, "I never saw my father in such agony before; when he came in from seeing Mr he exclaimed, on entering the study, "O, my dear, the Son of man is coming! poor is in despair; it will end in derangement;" and she said he literally rolled on the carpet, and sobbed aloud, saying: "All his hearing will end as I have often feared." The prediction proved too true. The poor sufferer could not sleep; conscience seemed already like the gnawing worm. In the course of a few days reason was partially dethroned, and we heard nothing from him but that he had no right to eat-nothing that was brought to the table belonged to him; and we were obliged to adopt many modes, almost of deception, to prevail on him to eat.

One morning, I said "What kind of a night have you had ?" "I could not sleep," he said, "there was such an insufferable smell of brim

stone. Oh," he said, “all, all must be told, to warn others."

The day before he died, I was sent for early. I found him standing against the back of a chair, with nothing on but his night-clothes, where he had been standing for four hours. I endea voured to prevail on him to get into bed. With a horrible whine, he said: "How can you be so cruel as to wish me to get into bed? You know if I do, I shall never see the precious light of the sun any more. Blindness is a dreadful calamity? O my precious eye-sight!" In order to rouse him, I said, "You seem to be more concerned about your eye-sight than about your soul." With what one would conceive to be the yell of a fiend, which chilled my blood, and followed me for weeks, he cried out, "O my soul ! that is damned, damned, double damned. O that I had never seen a Bible! O that I had never heard a sermon !"

This was the last effort of reason-he soon went off again to complain of his eyes; he became outrageous; would take no food; was confined in a strait waistcoat; and, without any disease, actually died from starvation.

Awful, awful close to such a life! O my soul! it becomes thee to mourn in secret over the sad exit of one who was once a friend, a companion in worship, and a partaker in many innocent and delightful recreations.

If mercy came to him, it was left in such dark uncertainty as that surviving friends scarce dare entertain a hope. Where, ah! where, shall we find him at the last great day? Tremble, my soul, lest thou shouldst be deceived by the deceitfulness of sin. Lord, what are means of grace, without thy Spirit's influence? How will they become amusements to cheat the soul out of heaven, if the heart be left to itself! O for the grace of means, to give efficacy to the means of grace!

No. II.

"The memory of the just is blessed, and God regardeth not the rich more than the poor."

WILLIAM ARMSTRONG was first brought to the knowledge of the Gospel by hearing that excel lent clergyman, the Rev. William Cadogan at Reading. At this time he was a farmer's servant, residing a few miles from that place Many people from the village went to hear this great man preach, and William Armstrong was induced to go with the rest. He had never heard a Gospel sermon before, and was much struck with the difference in manner and matter from anything he had ever heard. After this first taste of the truth, he took advantage of every opportunity-was convinced, melted, believed, and was edified. The lamented death of Mr Cadogan occurred soon after, and Reading was left without a light in the Established Church.

William Armstrong soon afterwards removed to a situation near Maidenhead, and soon found in the ministry of the late Rev. J. Cooke that bread after which his soul fainted. He be

came a regular hearer and consistent member, and a very affectionate and liberal contributor to the cause, in proportion to his means. For a very long series of years he was the faithful and respected servant of the late Mr L. There was so much Christian kindness and affection about him, that he was universally beloved by the Christian Society with which he was connected, and by the venerable pastor, to whom his respect and attachment were bounded only by the deep-felt conviction of the advantages he had derived from his ministry. As the days drew near that this good man should die, one thing was eminently remarkable-his constant and serious attendance on the means of grace. Paroxysms of rheumatic pains, which would have detained most men from the house of God, could not keep him away; for, as he said a few days before he died, "Ah! there's Mr

has for a long time absented himself from the prayer-meeting; tell him from a dying man, that I have found my interest in being constantly there."

The disease that was commissioned to hasten this humble saint to heaven was rapid in its progress, and attended with most excruciating bodily suffering. I have seen him, with huge drops of perspiration rolling down his face from the violence of pain, look up with cheerfulness, thankfulness to heaven, and admire the grace which had made him to differ. When he was taken ill, his beloved pastor was in London, consequently he sent for me. I was surprised to find him so ill, as I had noticed him the day before at the Sabbath morning prayermeeting, and at the public service.

He pressed my hand with great fervour, and said: My pain is very, very great; but it is all right. Pray to the dear Lord to give me patience and faith." He then recounted to me the few particulars above named, in reference to his early life, and was overwhelmed with a sense of the mercy of God in bringing him to the knowledge of the Lord Jesus. He was calmly resting on the Redeemer, as most unworthy, and yet most favoured. He said: "Satan has been very busy during the night, in trying to disturb and distress me; but he can't— the Lord lifts up a standard against him.". He expressed the great advantage and pleasure he had found in the house of God, and spoke of some of his fellow-Christians and fellow-worshippers who had entered into rest; and said: "I shall soon be with them, through the precious blood of my dear Jesus." His heart was filled almost to overflowing with love to Jesus, and to his people.

The next morning, before I was out of bed, I had a message from him, that he wished to see me. I hastened to him. As soon as he saw me, he said: "Oh! my dear friend, I sent for you to pray to my dear Lord to take me home, if it be his blessed will. My agonies are great, as you see by my great sweat; but he enables me to bear it; but I long to be at home."

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Then I said: "You do not imagine your soul will have a long journey after it leaves the body, before it reaches heaven ?" "O no," he replied; "heaven is only on the other side that curtain" (pointing, to the curtain of his bed). "Absent from the body, present with the Lord," I rejoined. "Yes, that is it; my dear Lord is at hand, and I desire to commit my spirit to him." He then desired his niece to hand me a hymn, and to point out one he meant. She found it, and he said: "Forty years ago, or more, that hymn gave me great light and comfort, and I do not recollect having seen it since, till yesterday, and it brought so many things to remembrance, that I cannot tell you the good it did me. I wish to hear you read it to me." I began

"Jesus, thy blood and righteousness

My beauty are-my glorious dress.
Midst flaming worlds in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head.'

As the hymn went on, rising from thought to thought, from triumph to triumph, he raised his hands higher and higher, while his fixed eye seemed almost to penetrate the sky, and his pains, which perhaps those of a martyr in the fire could not exceed, seemed all forgot.

When I closed, he exclaimed (seizing my hand): "There, my dear friend, that's my hope; won't that do?" "Yes! yes!" I said. "Yes," he rejoined :

Bold shall I stand in that great day; For who aught to my charge shall lay, When through thy blood absolved I am From sin-the guilt, the curse, the stain ?"— Never, never did I see so affectingly illustrated the truth of that text: "This is the vic

tory that overcometh the world, even our faith."

The Lord did not long delay an answer to his, suffering servant's prayer; for, after enabled to commit his soul into His hands, and a few more struggles and sufferings, he was so fall asleep in Jesus.

DEMONIACAL POSSESSIONS.

BY THE REV. PATRICK FAIRBAIRN, SALTON. WHAT are called demoniacal possessions were those cases of distress, so often occurring in New Testament history, in which the unhappy persons afflicted are spoken of as being under the malignant power of evil spirits or demons. The symptoms of the awful visitation are described as partly mental and partly bodily; and for the most part seem to have presented the appearance of a sort of madness, coupled with epilepsy. One of the most striking cases on record, as it is also one of the most fully detailed, is that of the man who resided among the Gadarenes.--Luke viii. 26-40; Mark v. 1-12. (Matthew mentions two, though one was probably so much the worse of the two, as to be alone noticed by the other evangelists.) Like a fierce and gloomy maniac, he shunned the haunts of living men, and tock up his dwelling among the tombs. From his wild and savage ferocity he had become the terror of the whole neighbourhood.

The