Should some person, eighteen hundred years hence—provided time should last so long—write a history of the present period, as he cast his eye over the literature of our day, he would find that, in all parts of this country, Christians were in the habit of assembling on Wednesday evening, for the purposes of worship. Would he, therefore, be justified in concluding that Wednesday is regarded by us as peculiarly sacred to the Lord? You answer, No, and most properly, for you know that our motives are entirely different from what he would understand them to be. So, too, with Troas. Granted, for the sake of the argument, that, as the writer claims, they were in the habit of assembling on the late Sunday evening; it by no means follows that they did so because they regarded it as devoted to the Lord. Does he say that they partook of the sacrament on that day? Grant that, for the sake of the argument. But does not every student of the Bible know, and is it not the conviction of the world to-day, that the Lord’s supper can be partaken of with as much propriety at one time as at another? Is it not a fact that the time of its institution did not coincide with Sunday? Is it not true that originally they partook of it on all days of the week? (Acts 2:42, 46.) If so, it would manifestly be unsafe to attach any special significance to the fact that, at this time, it was celebrated on the Sunday, So much for the hypothesis of the _custom_, in question. Now that we have said what we have with reference to a custom made out, it will be well to inquire in the next place, Has the writer established the usage which he sought to prove? If so, we have failed to discover the process by which it has been done. Has he found an explicit statement that the church at Troas was in the habit of meeting on the first day of the week? Very far from it. Having traced the sacred narrative for twenty-six years—mark it, reader, over one-fourth of a century—he has found a solitary assembly of Christians convened on the first day of the week. But what were the facts in the case? Was this an ordinary occasion? Were they by themselves alone? No; it was a time of unusual interest. The great apostle to the Gentiles was there, paying them a flying visit. He was about to depart on the morrow. It was perhaps the last time they would ever see him. They wanted to partake of the emblems of the Lord’s body from his venerated hand. They wanted to shake that hand in a final farewell, and to plant the kiss of love upon his careworn face. The circumstances, then, were unusual. The same combination of facts might never exist again. There is, therefore, so far as the general view is concerned, nothing which would justify the decision that they had ever convened for like reasons, previously, at the same time of the week, or that they ever would thereafter. The writer evidently felt this, and, with an acuteness of intellectual perception which to the common mind is almost incredible, he has