Are the elders of the Covenanted Church worthy of their predecessors? Do they measure up to the standard of fortitude in the faith, self-immolation for the truth, intelligence in the Scriptures, enthusiasm in Christ, and hopefulness that has no sunset? Are they leaders of the people in every good enterprise? Are they defenders of the flock against all defection? Are they carrying the banner of Christ forward, even beyond the ministers, where the testimony for King Jesus requires it? For all faithful elders, seats in glory are prepared round about the throne of God. * * * * * POINTS FOR THE CLASS. 1. Whence did the Presbyterian Church get its name? 2. What is the only Scriptural form of church government? 3. What dread responsibility attached to this office? 4. How did the persecuted Church keep up her force of elders? 5. Describe the service some of them rendered; Hall, Nisbet, Garnock, Miller. 6. What questions should our elders apply to their own conscience? XLVII. A HOME DESOLATED. "See the top of yon hill?" said the shepherd's wife, pointing to the highest crag of Cairn Table. "Keep that in yir e'en, and ye'll come to John Brown's grave." Our way lay through a pathless moor, covered deep with grass, rushes, and moss; and we had asked direction to the spot where the martyr's body sleeps. The day was wet, the pasture was beaded with drops, and the rushing streamlets disputed our crossing yet a passionate longing to see the place where John Brown, known as the "Christian Carrier" had lived, and was buried, overcame every difficulty. The walk covered three miles. At length we ascended a knoll, and, lo, the monument stood before our eyes, and almost at our feet. Now we were on ground, where one of the most tragic scenes of Scotland was transacted. Cargill very beautifully said, "The moors are flowered with martyrs' graves." Here is one of these flowers; a century plant it is, watered with precious blood, and abloom in sweet solitude. The buildings are gone; not a trace of them is left. The grave was made, it is said, where the martyr fell, in front of his cottage. It is enclosed with a stone wall breast high. A flat stone lies over the remains, bearing a copious inscription. The solitariness is oppressive; death and desolation here bear undisputed sway. The blood ran in chills, as the cold grey stones gave their testimony, amid the gusts that played with the heather, and the drizzle that sprinkled our bare heads. The thoughts of the heart played wildly; imagination refused to be bridled; in a moment former conditions were, in vision, revived. The monument had given place to the dwelling, and the dreariness was astir with the scenes of busy life.