ercise of their hospitality towards their friends who come from a distance, are yet strictly and properly religious meetings having been made such by the influence and zeal of the Welsh ministers. The ministers, I am told, would generally be glad to dispense with them, as they do not think them, on the whole, most advantageous to the interests of religion; but there is a kind of social intoxication in these large convocations, to which a people, so retired from the more stirring scenes of the world, and rarely assembling in great multitudes, are strongly attached. It is certainly to the great credit of the Welsh ministers, and proves that the principality has undergone no inconsiderable religious reformation, that they have been able to redeem these large assemblies of the people from their former corruptions, so far as to make them innocent, and perhaps useful.

The preachers have great power over the people on these occasions; their language is peculiarly favourable for outof-door effort; their lungs are stentorian, and capable of bringing back echoes from the sides of the mountains; the people are animated by the pastoral, or wild, or craggy scenery, with which they are surrounded; the heavens over their heads are an emblem of the residence of the God whom they worship, and of the final home which they are taught to hope for; they delight to hear the voice of prayer ascend from the place where they stand to that throne above them, from which nothing but the stars and empyrean blue divides; and when all the voices of such a vast concourse are united in their religious anthems, the whole creation seems to be praising God. I heard a Welsh minister say, that he has known an assembly of this kind apparently so transported with the effect of their own singing, as to repeat the last couplet of the last stanza of a hymn for a whole half hour, with increasing, and the most perfectly enrapt enthusiasm! This repetition is more apt to occur when the hymn terminates with something like a "hallelujah." This would seem like Handel's hallelujah chorus, a strain of ecstasy, that is reluctantly brought to a close. Impromptu, extemporaneous feeling is much encouraged and indulged in, in the religious assemblies of the Welsh. I have listened to accounts of the effects of preaching and of devotional exercises on these great occasions, almost incredible. They seem at least to prove, that there is much and a quick religious feeling among the Welsh; and we cannot doubt that there is a great deal of genuine religion there-a leaven which, we may hope, will ultimately purify the mass.

"If I must give you my opinion," said a Welsh minister to an English clergyman, the latter of whom had challenged his brother from the principality for his opinion about English preachers as compared with the Welsh, "although I

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had rather be silent in such company, I should think that you in England have no good preaching.' "None ?" said the English clergyman. "None at all," added the stranger from Wales. I know," said the English minister, “that you are famous for jumping in Wales; but that, I suppose, is not owing so much to the matter of preaching, as to the enthusiasm of the character."—" Indeed," said the stranger, "if you had heard and understood such preaching, you would jump too."-" And do you not think I could make them jump," said the Englishman, "if I were to preach to them ?" -"You make them jump" said the Welshman; “you make them jump! A Welshman would set the world on fire while you were lighting a match."—" Pray, give us a specimen," said the Englishman. "What, in English? Your poor meager language would spoil it. It is not capable of expressing the ideas which a Welshman conceives."

The Welshman, however, after much persuasion, gave from memory the following English version of a passage from a sermon of the Rev. Christmas Evans :

"When our world fell from its first estate, it became one vast prison. Its walls were adamant, and unscalable; its gate was brass, and impregnable. Within, the people sat in darkness and the shadow of death; without, inflexible justice guarded the brazen gate, brandishing the flaming sword of eternal law. MERCY, as she winged her flight of love through the worlds of the universe, paused to mark the prison aspect of our once paradisiac world. Her eye affected her heart. Her heart melted and bled, as the shriek of misery and yell of despair rose upon the four winds of heaven. She could not pass by nor pass on. She descended before the gate, and requested admittance. JusTICE, waving the flaming sword in awful majesty, exclaimed,-No one can enter here and live!'-and the thunder of his voice outspoke the wailings within.

"MERCY expanded her wings to renew her flight among the unfallen worlds. She reascended into the mid air, but could not proceed, because she could not forget the piercing cries from the prison. She therefore returned to her native throne in the heaven of heavens. It was a glorious high throne from everlasting;' and both unshaken and untarnished by the fallen fate of man and angels. But, even there, she could not forget the scene she had witnessed and wept over. She sat and weighed the claims of all the judicial perfections of Jehovah, and all the principles of eternal law; but, although they arose upon her view in all their vastness, she could not forget the prison. She redescended with a more rapid and radiant flight, and approached the gate with an aspect of equal solicitude and determination; but again she was denied admission. She stood still-her emotion was visible. JUSTICE Ceased to brandish the sword-there was silence in heaven.

"Is there admission on no terms whatever?' she asked. 'Yes,' said JUSTICE; but only on terms which no finite being can fulfil. I demand an atoning death for their eternal life-blood Divine, for their ransom.'-' And I,' said MERCY at once, accept the terms.' It was asked, on what security, and when they would be fulfilled?— 'Here,' said MERCY, 'is the BOND-my word! my oath! and, four

thousand years from this time, demand its payment on Calvary,-for I will appear in the incarnate form of the Son of God, and be the Lamb slain for the sin of this world!'

"The BOND was accepted without hesitation, and the gate opened at once. MERCY entered, leaning on the arm of JUSTICE. She spoke kindly to the prisoners, and gave them some hints of her high undertaking on their behalf. All were amazed, and many melted, by this timely and tender interference; and, to confirm their hopes, MERCY from time to time led the captivity' of some 'captive,' that their salvation might be the pledge and prelude of eventual triumphs.

"Thus the gathering of the first fruits' in the field, of redemption went on for ages; and at last, the clock of prophecy struck the fulness of the time.' Then Mercy became incarnate in the person of the Son of God, who appeared in the form of a servant, publishing his intention and determination to pay the mighty Bond. And soon the awful day of payment arrived;-then the whole array of the judicial attributes of Jehovah took their stand on Calvary, with Justice at their head, bearing the Bond of Redemption. Angels and archangels, cherubim and seraphim, principalities and powers, left their thrones and mansions of glory, and bent over the battlements of heaven, gazing, in mute amazement and breathless suspense, upon the solemn scene-for now the Mediator appeared without the gates of Jerusalem,' crowned with thorns, and followed by the weeping church. As he passed along the awful array of the judicial perfections of the Divine character, none of them uttered a word of encouragement-none of them glanced a look of sympathy to him. It was the hour and power of darkness.' Above him were all the vials of Divine wrath, and the thunders of the eternal law, ready to burst on his devoted head-around him were all 'the powers of darkness,' on the tiptoe of infernal expectation, waiting for his failure. But none of these things moved him from the purpose or the spirit of redemption. He took the BOND from the hand of Justice, and moved on to the cross, 'as a lamb to the slaughter.' He resigned himself to that altar of ignominy.

"Then JUSTICE unsheathed the flaming sword, and marshalling all his terrors, went up to enforce his claims. The rocks rent under his tread-the sun shrunk from the glance of his eye. He lifted his right hand to the eternal throne, and exclaimed in thunder-' Fires of heaven! descend and consume this sacrifice.' The fires of heaven, animated with living spirit by the call, answered- We come !-we come!-and when we have consumed that victim, we will burn the universe!' They burst-blazed-devoured, until the humanity of EMMANUEL 'gave up the ghost;' but the moment they touched his DIVINITY, they expired. That moment JUSTICE dropped his flaming sword at the foot of the cross; and the law joined the prophets in witnessing to the righteousness which is by faith;' for all had heard the dying Redeemer exclaim, in triumph, 'It is finished!'

"The weeping church heard it; and, lifting up her head, cried-'It is finished.' The attending angels caught the shout of victory, and winged their flight to the eternal throne, singing-' It is finished." The powers of darkness heard the acclamations of the universe, and hurried away from the scene in all the agony of disappointment and despair-for the bond was paid, and eternal redemption obtained."

THE WELSH MARTYR DOG-CILIART.

At the base of Snowden, the highest mountain of Wales, is a stone standing at this day, called Bedd-Gelert, or the Grave of Ciliart. There, many centuries ago—for the last Welsh king was slain in 1283-was buried a favourite dog of Llewellyn the Great, of which and his end we have the following pitiful story :—

Llewellyn had come to this place, with his wife and family, to spend the hunting season, of which sport he was passionately fond. He had among his pack a favourite dog of the name Ciliart; or, as it sounds in English-Gelert. He missed him one day in the chase, and was much vexed to be obliged to return without his usual success, on account of the absence of this dog. His wife had been with him, as it was the custom of the time for females to engage in such exercises. As he dismounted and entered the door of his house, followed by his wife, the first object he met was Ciliart, who came wagging his tail, and expressing all the welcome characteristic of that faithful and affectionate animal. Llewellin would have rebuked him for his absence from duty that day, and for the subtraction he had occasioned from their pleasures; but his mouth, and head, and parts of his body were stained with blood! "What!" exclaimed Llewellyn, raising his hand, and at the same moment, his wife leading the way, they both rushed into the nursery; and, as they saw the floor marked with blood, they hastily snatched the curtain from the cradle, and their infant babe was gone!! The mother cast one glance at the savage animal that came following after them, screamed with horror as she pointed her finger to the cause, rolled her eyes wild and madly to heaven, and fell backwards. The father drew his sword, and with one thrust transfixed the monster, which fell at his feet, still wagging his tail, and looking duty and affection, as if in mockery of the deed he was supposed to have done! He howled out the expression of his own agony, moaning piteously, and expired—his eye, even in death, still fixed upon his master.

Llewellyn, in his distraction, upset the cradle, and underneath it safely lay, sleeping, with a smile on its countenance, the infant babe! In another part of the room he found the body of a wolf, torn, mangled, and dead! He turned his eye to Ciliart, and he too was dead! What would he not have given to restore him to life! The instinct of the faithful animal had discerned the waylaying and near approach of the wolf, and withdrawn himself from following his master to the chase; he had watched the movements of his adversary, and found that he had scented human flesh in his master's habitation; his sagacity had contrived to remove the babe, and to deposite it safely beneath its cra

dle, in anticipation of the coming fight; he had obtained the victory; and he waited for his master's return, to deliver up his charge, and be caressed for his fidelity.

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"It is not true," said a gentleman, who was one of the listeners to this story, as it was narrated by a Welshman,"it is not true," he said, as he leaned his elbow on the table, supporting his head by his hand, which also covered his eyes. "If you subscribe to the doctrine of Leslie's Short Method with the Deist," said the Welshman, "you must also admit this. For there is the stone-the monument-set over the grave of Ciliart to this day; there is the village, erected on the spot, and bearing the name of the dog's grave-BeddGelert; and the same story has come down with these monuments from generation to generation. The story and the monuments are corroboratives and living demonstrations of the facts."

"Well, then," said the gentleman, still leaning on his hand and covering his eyes, "the dog has done sufferinghas he not? I am glad that he has no protracted and conscious existence, to remember that he became a martyr to his fidelity-that he died for saving the life of his master's child. But I seem, even now, to see him wagging his tail, moaning, and looking submissive, as he lies weltering in his blood, with his eyes fixed upon his master, in the agonies of death. I wish I could get rid of the idea."

I have now lying before me on my table "Jones's Views in Wales," and in No. 2 will be found the village of BeddGelert, with Snowden's lofty peak rising on the left, and merging in the clouds. It is interesting not only as a production of art, exhibiting a captivating group of the magnificent works of God, but it is especially so as a standing verification of the story just narrated. Bedd-Gelert is the Welsh-English of Bedd-Čiliart, the Grave of Ciliart-Bedd being the Welsh for Grave, and Gelert the English form, or enunciation, of Ciliart in Welsh. I used to lodge with a friend who is minutely acquainted with the spot by ocular inspection, and to whom indeed I am indebted for the first narration of the story. He avers it to be of unquestionable authenticity.

BURDENS OF THE ENGLISH.

THE annual sum necessary to be raised by the British government, to pay the interest of the national debt, and for other purposes, is, in round numbers, £43,000,000. For the poor there is raised in England alone, by the parish authorities, £7,000,000. For all the purposes of religion in the Establishment and among Dissenters, in England, Scotland,