SILVER SLIPPERS.

"I HAVE not done yet!"

"Indeed! Surely you have said enough against young ministers. If I am not mistaken they will give you small thanks for PER CONTRA. It would be as well to let them alone, or your Church may be long enough without a minister."

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My conscience is clear in that quarter, but there are some other things I want to speak about. Young Churches have their faults as well as young ministers; and although I am no reverend gentleman, but an old deacon—a layman, my eyes are not shut to faults in Church members. You remember reading in 'Bunyan's Pilgrim' about religion in silver slippers. That is the case just now; and here's a specimen of how she pulls them on.

"There's a Church in our town where God's people had long worshipped in the good old ways. They came twice every Sunday, wet or dry, generally before the time, had Bibles and hymn-books, which they used in the service. Every one sang as best he could,

and tried to find profit in the sermon. But about the time of which I am speaking, several families had grown well-to-do, taken larger houses, and moved in better society. Their children went to high-class schools, learned music and dancing, frequented the opera and the theatre; became, in short, very polished and genteel. One result of this was that the Chapel singing was compared with that of the famous tenor they had been hearing the evening before; and the preaching with the declamation of a popular actor. No wonder the Chapel was considered slow. One family took the lead in this. They were called Basington. Fred Basington, the father, when I knew him first, lived in a house at four shillings a week. I had every reason to remember this, because the house was mine, and the rent seldom paid. He was several pounds in debt, when one day, in great spirits, he said,

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"I am leaving in a month: here's your rent.'

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'Halloa, friend,' I said, 'what's to do?'

"Ah, ye see, a brother o' mine went over to the Indies, among them black people. Saved lots o' money, and then took sun-stroke. He made his will in my favour.'

"This was news. And what a change came over the Basingtons! They would scarcely recognise me in the street. They formerly had a back pew in the Chapel, but now demanded one of the best down stairs; cut the company of the poor; and, when they spoke to them, did so in a style of patronage as insulting as it was disgusting."

"Take care, friend; I shall think you have been over to Paris among the Communists, if you don't mind what you say about the rich.'

"You may think what you like; I mean to speak out the truth, whoever is pleased or displeased. But to show you that I am not looking with a jaundiced eye upon the wealthy, I may say that in Basington's Chapel there was a man of wealth whom every one reverenced; a Christian gentleman, every inch of him. Ferguslie was his name; quiet and unassuming, seeking no office, and giving no trouble; ready at all times with his purse; never patronising; as much a gentleman to the brother who was supported by the poor fund as to the great men of the town. When troubles came, his influence was on the side of peace; his support ever with the right. His family were models of quiet goodness; regular in their attendance at Chapel, respectful to all, yet so acting that no one could encroach upon them.

"But these Basingtons were a vulgar lot, and to my surprise, the disease was catching. A number of the congregation became dissatisfied with everything in the Chapel, except their own conduct. The singing,

for instance, they found out to be all wrong; and to show their displeasure, were snobs enough to keep their seats when others stood up to praise the Lord. Miss Basington complained that the choir girls did not behave modestly-that they opened their mouths too wide; while Master Basington found out that the tunes were not selected with taste. The members of the choir, hearing the silly cackle, were much

annoyed. Now, I am aware that the singing was not all it might have been. The tunes were often unsuitable, and had been sung to the same hymns till one felt disgusted. The noise made in the singing-pew was most unseemly. But if the Misses Basington and Master Basington thought themselves fit to criticise, the best thing for them to do was to enter the choir and show the right style. They were too great for that. Little cared they for the spirit of him who said, 'I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.'

"They found fault with the Chapel. It was only a brick building, in an obscure street, and the people around it were not genteel. It was not a good neighbourhood-'good' meaning houses of at least £50 a year rent, however great scoundrels might dwell in them. The inside of the Chapel was not to their mind the seats were uncomfortable, and not finely painted. Everything was wrong."

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But, my dear sir, perhaps there was some truth in what they said. Why should we have an ugly Chapel if we can get a handsome one? Stone is surely better than brick. The seats in some Chapels are instruments of torture. If we can get it, we should have the house of God as comfortable and beautiful as the average home of the people who worship in it.'

"And you are right; but with Dissenters a great deal depends upon, 'If we can get it.' Wait till you hear my story. The Basington clique got restless. Common sense would have said, 'Set about altering the Chapel; or, if that is impossible, begin a fund to build