THE CHURCH IN ANTIOCH.

BY THE REV. J. MARRAT. "And the disciples were called Christians first in Antioch." (Acts xi. 26.)

PAUL and Barnabas, having come from Tarsus, entered one of the gates of Antioch. It is not unlikely that they walked up that long and stately street which, like the one in Damascus, called " 'Straight," reached from one end of the city to the other; a street formed by Antiochus Epiphanes, and decorated by the Romans with proud tokens of imperial might. But Christianity had as yet no place in the world's palaces and council-chambers, and the two friends turned aside from those interminable colonnades into one of the obscurer parts of the city. They would be received at the house of one of the new converts to Christ; the news of their arrival would soon spread, and a group of believers be gathered about them impatient for the beginning of their ministry.

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For a whole year the Church was favoured with their labours, and the forceful reasoning of Paul alternated with the consoling strain of Barnabas. We have no record of the discourses delivered in what to spiritual eyes was the golden prime" of Antioch's history; but Christ was the Mastertheme, and if ever the speech of man was as the rain upon the tender herb, and as the showers upon the grass," it was in that happy year. Under the influence of such a ministry, believers would grow in knowledge and in grace, the Jew would be drawn from his selfrighteousness, and the Gentile from his idolatry, or from his scepticism, and the waters of the Orontes be again and again consecrated to the holy sacrament of baptism.

In Antioch the Church began to manifest itself as an institution inde

From the first

pendent of Judaism. many Jews had embraced the new faith; but it was with the conviction that it would be subordinate to Judaism, "a fire infolding itself" in the glory of the Mosaic ritual. They wished Christianity to stand in the same relation to the Levitical dispensation that Mr. Wesley intended Methodism to stand to the Church of England. In neither case was there any thought of separation, but in both a desire that the new wine should be poured into the old bottles. But what God originates must be developed according to God's purpose. It must be acknowledged that a Jew would have difficulty in giving up the sacred feasts, the holy convocations, the sublime worship which raised him so high among the nations, even when politically he was at the lowest point of degradation. We must be slow in judging him harshly because he failed to see in the "upper room" a power more glorious than that which was represented by the rich stone-work, the hallowed lamps, and perpetual offerings of the Temple. But in Antioch the Jews were not so powerfully moved by the splendid sanctities of that holy house, and Gentiles being united with them in the faith, they would as a Church assume a more distinct position than their brethren in Jerusalem. The name given to them, whether derisively or not, shows that they were no longer confounded with the worshippers in the synagogue, but were recognised as a people having laws and usages of their own. "And the disciples were

called Christians first in Antioch."

While Paul and Barnabas were in Antioch, a number of prophets came from Jerusalem. One of whom, Agabus, was impelled by the Holy Ghost to predict a famine, the effect of which

would be severely felt in Judæa. For hundreds of years there had been no manifestation of prophetic power to be compared with the magnificent "burdens" and vast symbolism with which Isaiah and Ezekiel had filled the horizon of the Hebrew people, and the age of prophecy was soon to close with a blaze of glory, making a pile of rocks in the midst of Egean waves radiant as the precious stones in the high priest's breast-plate when the Shekinah shone upon them. But the gift had never been altogether withdrawn, and in the days of Christ and His Apostles, men and women were raised above themselves by the inspiring Spirit, and empowered to foretell the events of coming days. Agabus was a true, though a lesser star in the bright constellation of the prophets, and his pre-intimation of famine excited the sympathies of the disciples in Antioch; and "every man, according to his ability, determined to send relief unto the brethren which dwelt in Judæa which also they did, and sent it to the elders by the hands of Barnabas and Saul." Helena, queen of Adiabene, and her son Izates, gave magnificent relief to the Jews in the time of this dearth; but the contributions carried from Antioch had a deeper significance, inasmuch as they represented hearts touched by a new principle of love, and were not alone the overflow of wealth but the cheerful gift of self-denying poverty. In those contributions there was a recognition of brotherhood in Christ. The Jew was influenced not only by the claim of kindred, but by the higher claim of spiritual relationship. The Gentile had received most excellent gifts from Jerusalem, and joyfully poured his liberality on the city to which he was so much indebted. This expression of thankfulness and tender care has been aptly described as first stretching out of the hand by the

"the

Gentile world across the ancient gulf which separated it from Israel."

THE PASTOR OF THE DESERT.

IN the Huguenot persecution under Louis XIV., of France, many "prisoners of the Lord" suffered together bonds and imprisonment in the Tower of Constance. From time to time one and another were released by order of the Government; but more had escaped by the gate of death. Of the vast number condemned to forced labour at the galleys, two of these faithful men remained. alive in 1775. Their names were, Antoine Riaille and Paul Achard; and these were liberated after thirty years of penal servitude.

Ten years later the brave and now venerable Apostle of these children of the "Desert," as they were called, came to the city of Nîmes to end his days. A legacy which had lately fallen to him enabled him to build a small house, with the cheerful aid of his devoted flock, who regarded their Pastor's modest mansion in the light of a memorial to the liberty, peace, and toleration they now enjoyed. It was done with full concurrence of the authorities of the town; and the Catholics were as willing as the Protestants to call, by their Pastor's name, the street in which his house was built at Nîmes.

The Pastor Rabaut had been, for nearly half a century, a prominent man amongst the persecuted but faithful people scattered so widely over the south of France. So constantly had he been seen everywhere, that even the old people regarded him as a Patriarch, and had looked up to him for advice and consolation so long, that they forgot he was their junior. His hair had turned grey at forty; and now, at sixty-seven, he was far

more worn by fatigue, anxiety, and privation than by years.

His had been an adventurous life; the servant had been as his Lord for many years, he had "not where to lay his head" in peace. His only

home had been the forest, the cavern, or the deep ravine; now and then he laid down under a cottage-roof, but he knew all the while its master might betray him, and he himself be led thence, in chains, to torture or the stake. Home he had none; and if you sought him, it must be at the lowly hearth of the afflicted, or the bedside of the dying; or wandering in loneliness and want, exposed to the burning summer sun; or treading some mountain-path in winter, benumbed by the driving snow-storm. One day he might be found consoling and instructing a handful of believers in some secret recess; and the next, lifting up his voice to address thousands who had gathered from distant homes to unite, at the risk of life and liberty, in the great assembly of saints. And how touching were the hymns they sung, the prayers they offered, the tears they shed, meeting thus at rare intervals, with death hovering around, and only heaven above, their sure appointed place of meeting again.

But now settled at Nîmes, many strangers and travellers, attracted by his name and fame, called upon him; to some of whom he would recount his escapes, not boastfully, but with gratitude.

At the very commencement of his career he had a severe fright; and, in describing the circumstances, was not ashamed to say, "I trembled." shall speak for himself:

He

"I was but seventeen, and, with a young friend, Jean Pradel, set out to accompany one of our Pastors on a tour of visitation to the scattered churches. At the close of a long day's march, we reached Congénies, and

asked for a night's lodging with a family called Guérin. We were hospitably received; but, at the moment of sitting down to supper, an alarm was given, a detachment of horsesoldiers came galloping up the street. I was unused to danger then, and was quite overcome by sudden panic. Some of the villagers hastened to the rescue, and our new friends conveyed us with all speed to a deep ravine, where a tangled thicket well concealed us. Any one who saw my condition then, might well have suspected it would be the last time should voluntarily expose myself to similar and far greater dangers. But it was not so; for God's ways are not our ways, nor His thoughts our thoughts. We passed the night in safety, and when the sun rose, it found me rejoicing in a sense of Divine protection, and in being chosen to suffer for His cause. I confessed also that many things might be worse than to pass a night supperless under a canopy of stars; and, as I shook the dew from my hair, my companion said, 'See, we are now truly baptized for the ministry!' and, feeling this, we set forwards on our way rejoicingly." M. D.

THE SELF-SOWN SEED;
OR, AN ATHEIST'S CONVERSION.

DR. LEIFCHILD gives the following remarkable account of the experience of a gentleman with whom he was personally acquainted :—

He had at an early period given way to a sceptical turn of mind, which led him into avowed and practical atheism. In this state of mind he was a wanderer in Australia, which was then far from being known to our countrymen as it has now been for some time. Having discarded the idea of a Deity from his mind, he sought to occupy his attention and divert his thoughts by the

novel scenes and objects that presented themselves to his notice in his wanderings. After a long time spent in this desultory way, his mind took a more deeply reflective and meditative turn; and, by a series of incidents instructive and monitory, and some of them remarkably suited to the awakening of his mind, he became a devout Theist, and eventually a genuine disciple, and diligent teacher of Divine revelation; in which capacity I was acquainted with him. I give the account of one of these incidents in his own words:

"The several particulars of the belief of the being of God obtaining its first thorough and settled hold of my mind were as follows:-I had, in the course of my occupation, to take a journey of several days across a very barren and thinly-inhabited tract of country. I set out on the morning of a day as close and sultry as can well be imagined. As the day advanced, it fulfilled to the utmost its early promise. Long before noon I was so thirsty that, although I could see, by the sandiness of the soil and formation of the country, that there was but little hope of success in meeting with either a running stream, or lodgment of water, I could not refrain from every now and then tracing down the flats and the beds of creeks in search of relief. Noon came, and still every fresh experiment ended only in a further disappointment. On I toiled over the sterile and stony ranges, and across lower tracts of deep, hot sand; for the most part, too, through a country where the timber was so stunted as to cast no serviceable shade. The sky was cloudless, the sun like a ball of fire, the earth and atmosphere glowing with heat, and not a breath of air stirring.

"At length I cast myself down beneath the most shady tree I could find, unable to hold out any longer, and determined to await the cool of the evening. As I lay thus, after some time, I

saw the seed-stem of a little plant close before me move in the slightest degree several times, each time accompanying the motion with a single low, sharp sound, like the tick of a watch. Interested to discover the connection of the motion and the sound, I leaned over, and examined it. It was a small plant, with a short, and more than proportionally thick, flower-stem, having a single seed-pod at the extremity. The seed-pod was an oblate spheroid, not much larger than a garden-pea; but it was composed of a number of sections, which, shrinking as it ripened, separated themselves from one another; and, finally, each section detached itself from the bottom of the stalk, which ran right through to the upper side, and sprang out, nearly straightening itself; so that, eventually, when all the sections had extended themselves, it would be something like an open umbrella. But to the extremity of each of these sections, before it sprang out, on the inside was attached a single small round seed, which was cast, by the spring of the section to which it belonged, to a considerable distance. I struck the stem lightly, and thus artificially expedited the process of disjuncture, and found that the seeds were thrown out upwards of two feet. On paying close attention to the plant itself, I observed that its stem was so stiff, that the wind could have no power to sway it to and fro, and thus scatter the seed; so low, likewise, that, amidst the surrounding grass, the wind would scarcely ever reach it in force sufficient to carry the seed away; and, lastly, that it was placed in the midst of leaves all spreading upwards and outwards, in a funnel form, from the root; so that, if the seed were not cast beyond them, they would catch, and carry it back again to the bosom of the plant itself. The disadvantage thus was threefold, and so complete as to bar this little fraction of nature from

the performance of one of its grand generic offices, that of properly depositing its seeds. Nothing could relieve it but some mechanical contrivance. And here was that mechanical contrivance; and, not only was it a contrivance in itself, but there was a design and adaptation in fixing the very juncture of its operation. The seed should not be thrown off till it was ripe; and till it was so ripe, that its very reservoir began to separate into fragments, this mechanical contrivance could not act. The completion of the ripening process was the condition on which the contrivance for scattering the seed depended on coming into action. It was an instance of design so indubitable, that there was no leaving it to be accounted for in any way but by the agency of a God.

"The effect on me at the time was highly gratifying and cheering. Immediately I bethought myself that He who thus carefully anticipated and so curiously and faithfully provided for the exigencies of a lonely plant in the wilderness, whose only use seemed to be to blossom and perfume for a few short days the breath of the fragrant air, or perhaps to add the tenth of a mouthful to the provender of some stray forager of an unreclaimed land, that He could by no means be ignorant of, or forget, or despise, the wants of His human creatures.

"But, I thought, that is only a partial view of the case; that little plant has done something more. It has answered a much loftier end. It has acted this very hour upon my mind. It has had the ear of the soul, and determined one of its most important decisions. Can it be a true thing that it has told me? Let me know this before I conclude any further. What it tells me all nature tells me too. I never looked closely at the question as I do now for the first time; but I knew before, these

same marks of contrivance discernible in all things. I am full of them myself. The human frame alone is a work of many volumes, all indicating an origin from design, and wisdom and benevolence as their ultimate proposition. Reason impartially applied, never swerves from this declaration for an instant. Can, then, the most universally attested truth of all truths that could be picked out, be unworthy of credit? There is not a bird, not a tree, not a rock in the bowels of the earth, but has its peculiar task assigned to it, with functions fit for its task in the material system. But, besides the peculiar duty of each in its relative physical position, all concur in their one great office of attesting to man a Creator. There must be a Creator."

He travelled nearly a hundred miles in search of the Volume of Inspiration, which he at length obtained, purchased, and perused with eagerness. It was as a delicious spring to a newly-awakened thirst. And now the desire arose in his soul to return home, which was excited by a passage in the history of the cure of the lunatic by Christ, who, on wishing to remain with Him, was directed first to go home and inform his friends and the members of his own household of the change that had been wrought. This he had done when he was introduced to my knowledge, and received into our communion. His zeal was such as led him at once to engage as a visitor in a society for the instruction of the ignorant around, which he attended to with great assiduity. I was delighted with his strong sense and decision of character, and assisted him in obtaining encouragement as an author.

About this time, a young man, of great literary attainments, and a constant writer in one of our best periodicals, fell ill with over-exertion, and was obliged for a while to desist. He had imbibed infidel sentiments;