temptations to which a Christian Church or a Christian individual can be exposed; and also within the pale of these seven Churches may be found complete the story of the various modes by which those walking upon the narrow way may rejoin the company traversing that broad and easy path which leadeth to destruction.

You have here how Ephesus "left her first love;" how Smyrna behaved in the midst of poverty and persecution; how Pergamos temporised with the world, and fell into heresy and sin; how Thyatira permitted pride and ambition to lead her to destruction; how Sardis lapsed into mere profession; how Philadelphia was strong in her utter weakness; and how wealthy Laodicea became self-complacent, moral and lukewarm. Every phase of Christian life and Christian death is here-from the martyr, to the backslider; from the humbly dependent, to the self-confident; from the poor and persecuted, to the wealthy and luxurious; from the earnest follower of Jesus Christ, to the half-hearted, half-Christianised heathen; from the simple believer, to the scientific sceptic.

Therefore, in addressing ourselves to the messages which reached the seven Churches, we shall pass over the whole Christian domain; and, had we time to linger, we should find ourselves taking the journey with Christian, from the City of Destruction even to the gate of Heaven, and passing all those incidents again which are ever to be met in the pilgrimage of one of God's children through this world to the other.

At the head of a lovely bay, where the mountain waters of the Cayster empty themselves into the Egean Sea, a colony of Ionians, one thousand years before Christ, founded a city. Principally owing to its admirable position for commercial purposes, Ephesus grew with a marvellous growth, and soon became famous, not only for the wealth and prosperity of its inhabitants, but for the splendour of its buildings. At the time of the Christian era Ephesus had reached the pinnacle of her glory; she was then the capital of Asia-a term given in the New Testament to the Roman province, which included only a portion of that country we now call Asia Minor. But beyond her political and commercial position, she was known to the world as the "Neokoros," or the "warden of Diana." The city had been devoted to the worship of that goddess from time immemorial.

It was not without good reason that the "town clerk" declared it could not be denied that "every man knew that the city of the Ephesians was the temple-keeper of the great goddess Diana, and of the image which fell down from Jupiter."

The city well deserved this world-wide fame. Seven temples to the goddess had succeeding generations raised, each having been burnt; and

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in each case the rebuilt shrine was grander and more imposing than its predecessor. In the third century before Christ they began what to them was a pious task for the seventh and last time; and, as if to accord with the significance of the sacred number, the seventh temple was perfect. When St. Paul was at Ephesus, this magnificent building had stood for generations, unrivalled by any other edifice, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. Though it was not so large as our St. Paul's Cathedral, yet in the richness of its workmanship, in the profuse costliness of its decorations, it must far have exceeded anything modern times has witnessed.

Its roof of polished cedar was a marvel of design; 127 pillars supported it, each sixty feet high, each the gift of a king, and each the work of an eminent sculptor. The altar was the masterpiece of Praxiteles, the greatest of the great Greek sculptors. The folding-doors were of cypress wood, which four generations had treasured; and here was the celebrated picture of Apelles, representing Alexander the Great armed with a thunderbolt.

No wonder the Ephesians were proud of their temple, and no wonder that Alexander and his coppersmiths, and Demetrius and his fellow silversmiths, gained a lucrative livelihood by supplying the strangers who flocked to Ephesus with models of the shrine.

I cannot follow the fortunes of Ephesus; but a blight seemed to fall upon the gods and goddesses of the ancient world as soon as ever the sound of the potent name of Jesus was heard in the neighbourhood of their shrines. Before St. Paul had received his martyr's crown Nero had plundered the great temple. Soon after, the Goths swept down upon the luxury and wealth of Ionia, and when they left Ephesus, the last temple of Diana was a heap of smoking ruins. The city never recovered this blow, and quickly, very quickly, was the candlestick removed out of its place; and now the very sea has retreated from the harbour. A salt marsh marks the site of the splendid Ephesus; and all that is left to tell of her former greatness is the vast amphitheatre, excavated in the side of Mount Prion, which travellers of authority declare must have been one of the largest in the world.

At the end of his second missionary circuit, St. Paul, in sailing from Corinth into Syria, landed at Ephesus; despite the pressing invitation from the Jews to remain, he could not consent, for he was hurrying to Jerusalem to keep the Passover, Shortly afterwards he visited the city again, and took up his abode there for nearly three years. So effective was his teaching, that many became Christians, and assembled for devotion and instruction in "that way" in the school-room of

Tyrannus. The power of God was present in that city, and when the "possessed man" fell upon the sons of Sceva the priest, who exorcised the evil spirit, using the name of Jesus, "fear fell upon all the Jews and Greeks dwelling in Ephesus, and the name of the Lord Jesus was magnified." As naturally might be expected, such an exhibition of spiritual power brought into disrepute the "curious arts," the magic which the designing priests of Diana had long practised upon the people, and the popular tide turned against the old associations of the city. The charms and books of incantations were brought in quantities, and burnt in the Forum. "So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed." But the silversmiths, finding their craft in danger of being "set at nought," managed to rally the crowd with the ancient cry, "Great is Diana of the Ephesians!" and Paul was driven from the city, and departed into Macedonia. Not many months afterwards he found himself unable to leave Greece and sail across the Ægean sea straight to Syria, for the Jews waylaid him. Being compelled, therefore, to retrace his steps through Macedonia, and passing through Philippi, he sailed to Troas, and so coasted down towards Jerusalem, whither he was going to keep the feast. Finding that time did not permit him to sail up the bay to Ephesus, he landed at Miletus, a few miles to the south, and he sent for "the elders" of the Ephesian Church. And now we find that there was at Ephesus a regularly-organised Church with ordained elders, to whom the apostle gives the charge, "Take heed therefore unto yourselves, and to all the flock, over which the Holy Ghost hath made you overseers, to feed the Church of God." At Jerusalem, according to the predictions of his friends, he became a prisoner, but using his Roman privilege, he appealed to be tried at the Imperial Court in Rome, and thither he was taken. For two years he was at Rome, a prisoner on parole, and then he was released. He seems to have been joined by Timothy, and, in company, they again visit Jerusalem and pro-consular Asia. Finding the Church of Ephesus, to which he had written the deeply spiritual and advanced epistle from Rome, was beginning to feel the evils of contentions and of heretical doctrines, he leaves Timothy as the bishop of the Church. Thus "His son in the faith, still a young man, abides at Ephesus," whilst St. Paul, alone, passed on to pay a promised visit to Philippi, and that winter he spent at Nicopolis, near Actium, and here it was that he wrote his First Epistle to Timothy.

In the spring of the year he visited Corinth, and sailed from thence to Miletus. the next city south of Ephesus, with which it is joined by a road along the sea-coast; most probably he sent for Timothy to meet him here, as he had ten years before for the presbyters of the Ephesian Church.

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The persecution under Nero had now broken out. The Jews of Ephesus, finding the great enemy of Moses and the law," as they held Paul to be, had not ended his life a prisoner at Rome, but was again in their midst, effectually plotted against him. He was apprehended near Ephesus, and, for the second time, he was taken in chains to Rome. Timothy parted from him upon the scabeach in tcars (2 Tim. i. 4). When at Rome he sent his Second Epistle to Timothy-the last letter, so far as we know, he ever wrote, for amongst the last victims of Nero's persecution were the apostles Peter and Paul.

No doubt you have been wondering why I should thus sketch the doings of St. Paul rather than turn at once to the message which reached the Ephesian chief pastor from Patmos. I have done so somewhat particularly, that you may have a clear idea of the relative positions of Paul and Timothy at the time of the apostle's death. Paul was at Rome, Timothy at Ephesus. We know St. Paul was martyred in 67 or 68 A.D., and that Timothy had been the apostle's companion for fifteen years; that, even the year of his death, St. Paul speaks of the youth of Timothy; therefore, if we suppose that Timothy was twenty years old when he first was converted by the agency of St. Paul, he would now be thirty-five. At what period the Apostle St. John took up his residence at Ephesus is altogether unknown; but it is evident that he must have written the Revelation about the year 96, at a time when Timothy would be sixty-two. There is no record or tradition extant which says that Timothy ever left Ephesus, and he well may have been alive, therefore, when St. John was exiled to Patmos, and, if so, he was the "angel of the Church of Ephesus" to whom the Divine message was sent. This idea will be strengthened, if not altogether certified, if you compare the sentences of the message with the injunctions of St. Paul to Timothy in his two Epistles.

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"Thou, O man of God. . . follow after righteousness, godliness, faith, love, patience, meekness; fight the good fight of faith; lay hold of eternal life." 'Thou, therefore, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus." "Study to shew thyself approved unto God." Several times he warns him to shun profane and vain babblingsscientific reasonings (falsely so called)—foolish and unlearned questions. The character which needed these warnings and exhortations is very evident. Timothy was full of activity and zeal, daring and headstrong in opposing all opposers, liable to go to extremes, fond of commanding, of organisingfor which very quality the apostle had placed him over the Ephesian Church.

But it would appear, if our conjecture be right, that Timothy allowed his personal religion to wane; he lost his own love to God in the work

of the Church; he became a zealous bishop, but a lukewarm Christian; vigorous in God's work, not living close to God. Read the message:"I know thy works, and thy labour, and thy patience, and how thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars and hast borne, and hast patience, and for my name's sake hast laboured, and hast not fainted. Nevertheless, I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love. Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do thy first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and remove thy candlestick out of its place, except thou repent."

And yet the bishop had holden "fast the doctrine" as his father in God had adjured him; he knew well enough that works would not save, and he also knew that faith without works would not save, for he was the orthodox champion against the Nicolaitanes, who seem to have been the Antinomians of the time-men who held that so long as they professed to have "faith" they might live as they liked. And yet, though he knew so well, and worked so well, "he had left his first love;" and it was as with the minister so with the people. "Left their first love."

Perhaps, reader, you are zealous for God; you "hate evil," particularly in others; you hold sound doctrines, and are very hard upon others who do not agree with you; you attend worship regularly; you read your Bible; you pray night and morning, and perhaps at noon-day; you attend the Holy Table, you have done so for years.

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Have not these things become to you habitual? But what are they? The outward and visible signs which may exist without the inward and spiritual grace. The question which you have to ask yourself is, "Do I love Jesus Christ?" You ask "What is love?" I answer, "Love is the resting of the affections." Do my affections find their resting-place in Jesus Christ? Is He the hope of my hopes, the brightness of my joy, the object of my desire, the receiver of my confidences, the rock of my trust, my hiding-place, and my exceeding great reward?

There were times when I knew His peace, and verily felt His presence-blessed times! Have I, by prayer and meditation, and a still heart, kept myself close to Him? Do I know more of Him than I used? And now that the time is short, and I soon must meet Him, does my heart yearn for the day, do I love His appearing? And do I look forward to being greeted by the best and dearest friend I ever knew? These are plain questions, readily answered; and the answer will reveal "if you have left your first love." If you have, the message is to you.

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"Repent; " turn round your face towards Him: do your first works;" be as earnest as you used to be; be as simple, as trusting; in the words of the message-" be overcoming; " be rising above everything which separates you from your Saviour. And as you approach Him your heart will catch the glow of His love; you will begin to realise how He loves you, and you will love; for the disciple who loved Jesus was the disciple "whom Jesus loved."

CHAPTER I.

CRAIGAVON CASTLE.

HE Castle of Craigavon was

an imposing structure, on the Welsh coast. It was situated on a rocky promontory, called the Megin, nearly a hundred feet above the sea; and dominated to right and left the bays of Ogof and Ton. The names were significant: Megin, or bellows, blowing the Ton, or wave, through the Ogof, or cavern, hollowed beneath the castle by the persistent attacks of the sea. As the bays were deeply indented, the promontory stretched far out into midocean, and the situation of the castle was, conse

quently, singularly wild and romantic. Towering cliffs, coloured like the rainbow, surrounded the bays, from the summit of which lofty hills rose skyward. Although the castle itself was almost bare of vegetation, fields and woods appeared where the promontory joined the mainland; and the Lord of Craigavon ruled not only the sea, but the hill-side. He was, literally, "monarch of all he surveyed."

It was said that Craigavon Castle originally belonged to a British king, but that, as time went on, a Norman knight gained possession of it, from whom the present earl was descended. He, as lord of the manor, received not only tenths and tithings from his tenants, but the waifs and strays cast up by the

to any ship that struck on them; therefore, before philanthropists built lighthouses and established life-boats, the lord of the manor gathered a fine harvest from the perilous sea.

And the sea at that particular spot was generally perilous. Besides the quicksands, there were great rocks hidden beneath its treacherous breast, which were as sure as the jaws of the fabled monsters of old to break up or engulf the unfortunate vessels that happened upon them. It was a playground of demons visible and invisible. The visible demons were the wreckers, who allured by false lights the ships' crews to death; the invisible, the devil and his angels, urging on the visible.

On a dark night, somewhere in the last century, a storm brooded over the Megin and its bays. The castle faced the west, and, while deep in shadow itself, looked upon the last rays of a lurid sunset. More than one vessel was dimly visible on the perturbed horizon, and an occasional flickering streak of light showed that they were tossed about on the distant waves. People were watching in some of the castle windows until the sun went down and darkness settled on the face of the deep; " then an uncertain gleam flickered here and there on the frowning towers, until darkness veiled them also.

But there was a moving light upon the cliffs. This was not unfrequently seen there of a stormy night; and the Welsh, then a more superstitious people than now, believed it to be a corpse-candle-a portentous sort of ignis fatuus,, that presaged the death of some dweller amongst the mountains. It certainly flitted strangely from place to place, seeming most conspicuous on the elevated and dangerous points. Although the night was threatening, the storm still kept at a distance, an occasional far-off peal of thunder, with its messenger flash of lightning, being its precursors. It was curious to see the meteor flit about, and difficult to imagine how it would appear to the crews of the distant ships.

At last the storm came down, but the heavy rain did not extinguish the corpse-candle; and such peasants, farmers, or fishermen, as chanced either to be abroad or to glance from their houses, would silently wonder which of them was next to be borne to the old churchyard in the glen. As the tempest increased the waves rose higher and higher, dashing with impotent fury against the impregnable rocks, and bounding through the great caverns underneath the castle which they had themselves excavated.

In a momentary lull of the storm there came a signal of distress from the sea. Another and another sounded through the dreary darkness. Minute-gun on minute-gun echoed with the echoing thunder, and, without timely aid, it was evident that the ship whence they came was doomed.

Meanwhile, the wandering light on the cliff became stationary for a while, as if in confirmation of

the superstition respecting it. A sudden flash of lightning revealed a ship battling with the waves beneath the cliffs and near the quicksands opposite the glare of the meteor, which presaged the death of many instead of one, and had possibly drawn towards it the ill-fated vessel. But no sooner were cries of distress audible from the sea, than it moved again. It now went steadily onwards over the cliffs towards Craigavon Castle, disappearing when it neared the promontory, where the cliff-path terminated in the road that led to the castle, but re-appearing from time to time as the road ascended or descended. The prophetic gleam was pitiless indeed, for, just as a shrill cry of despair echoed across the bay, it vanished into the great quadrangular battlemented court of the castle, leaving behind, around, above, and beneath, the utter darkness of night.

WHILE the storm was raging, the inmates of Brynhafod, or the Hill Farm, were engaged in reading the Bible. Old Farmer Pennant sat at a round table in the chimney-corner, with the Book of Life before him. He was a hale man of seventy-five; and although his hair was white, his voice was clear, and he read without spectacles. His daughter-in-law was seated opposite, her knitting in her lap, her head slightly bent, her eyes closed. She was dozing, under the influence of a huge wood fire, that flamed and crackled on the hearth. Her husband, young Farmer Pennant, as he was called, sat erect on the corner of a settle, opposite his father, a grave, attentive look on his fine face. Caradoc and Michael Pennant, their sons, were near their mother, on low stools in the chimney-corner, the arm of the elder placed protectingly round the neck of the younger. Marget, a middle-aged servant, in Welsh costume, with a high beaver hat surmounting her snow-white cap and pinners, sat bolt upright, her eyes fixed like pole-stars on the reader. She was at the extreme end of the settle, nearly opposite the fire. Close to her, in an old-fashioned arm-chair, was Benhadad, the farm-man, and at his right, Benjamin, the plough-boy-known as Big Ben and Little Benwho both slept at the farm.

When the weather was tempestuous ld Farmer Pennant always chose the 107th Psalm. Just as he read the words, "They reel to and fro and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wit's end," Caradoc started from his seat, exclaiming, "The gun! Grandfather, I hear the gun!"

"Let us pray!" said the old man, interrupting himself in his reading, and kneeling down. All the family knelt with him.

"Lord have mercy on those who go down to the sea in ships. Make the storm a calm, so that the waves thereof be still," he prayed, in the fine, ancient