It is the law of love!

Let us, then, love each other, forget ourselves, think of others first, and accept as a daily habitual discipline sacrifice and abnegation. We shall in this way have great joy and also much cruel sorrow.

What does that matter, though, if only the heavy responsibility of life weighs less heavily on our shoulders, and if we begin to feel reassured in face of the great mystery which free thinkers in their speeches call the ideal, and which in religion is called God?

Such, then, were my thoughts as I walked along in the funeral procession, and looked on each side of me at the faces in the crowd. That crowd had assembled (I had not forgotten that fact) to pay its tribute of respect, admiration, and gratitude to the memory of Pasteur.

I could not, however, throw off the sadness which haunted me; and the cause of it was just the thought that our men of to-day have no sense of the infinite in their souls, and in thus saluting the coffin of this great man of science their one wish and idea was probably just this: to suffer less, and to live as long as possible.

And is it really so? Are there no traces left on the modern mind of the teaching of Him who from the mountain used to speak to the assembled crowd, and who taught that we must not only endure suffering, but that we must welcome it, and who showed the light of dawn breaking through the chinks of the tomb itself?

If only he could come back,- the divine Master, and teach us his doctrine of pity and of love! If only he could come back to us, he who was so gentle to the little ones, to those who were suffering, and to the simple-minded, blaming all revolt, but performing himself at times formidable deeds, confounding the learned men with their lies, scourging the dishonest merchants, cursing the rich who used their wealth shamefully, and demanding the wages for the workmen !

If only he would come back, commanding us to love one another, announcing the kingdom of the "Father which is in heaven," putting into our hearts new courage and new hope! If only he would come!... Alas! I had only to glance round at the procession in which I was walking, and at the multi

tude assembled to see it pass, in order to guess what would be the fate in store for the Saviour, should he come once more among us. Perhaps just at first these people would welcome him with affection, would listen eagerly to his gentle voice, and would lay down their mantles and palm branches for him to walk over.

But here in this official procession there would be Pharisees to denounce him, judges to condemn him, and soldiers to conduct him to his execution. There would be politicians, too, who would wash their hands, when once the iniquity was committed. And this crowd, the very crowd which would betray him at the last moment, preferring Barabbas to him.

If he came back, the great Healer of souls, we should crucify him a second time. And yet he was and might still be our Supreme Benefactor.

And this great savant, this genius whose memory we honor by our sincere and heart-felt regret, because he alleviated the suffering and prolonged the existence of some of our fellow-creatures, this Louis Pasteur, whose courage and great mind soared above our cowardice and materialism, breathed his last with his eyes fixed on the picture of Christ who had taught us that our suffering was a blessing and that Death was our deliverance.

THE RIVER.

It lay contented on its castled peak,
With the world far beneath it, bathed in light;
But something drew it down the mountain
height,

Rolled turbulent, with many an eerie shriek,
Until it reached the vale, a singing creek;
And there had stayed, and lived the golden
dream,

But forth it rushed, a strong, unbridled stream,

Among the industries of man to seek

A moment's potency, but never rest. For, gathering strength with every passing hour,

Imperious, it sought the ocean's breast.

And so the spirit of humanity,

It may not pause by temple, town, or tower; But it breaks forth in cataracts to the sea.

GERTRUDE RAYMOND.

THE ROMAN CATHOLICS.

The very interesting and able Dudleian lecture given recently at Harvard University by Dr. Brooke Herford, and published in these columns, leads us to think carefully about the spirit of our Roman Catholic friends in this country and Europe, and to suspect that, after all, they are very human and very much like ourselves, as individuals; and individuals make up a hierarchy, although they may differ widely in their interpretation of a narrow, domineering creed and obedience to its mandates. Our neighbors of the American Protective Association show us the old articles of faith; and there they stand in full light of day,-papal infallibility, immaculate conception, plenary indulgences, remission of sins, damnation of heretics, and so on.

We reply, Yes, these articles are all here; but they have no more effect upon the masses of respectable Catholic people to-day than the doctrine of eternal punishment has upon our good orthodox friends.

There are, undoubtedly, narrow and bigoted priests of the Roman Catholic Church in this country who foolishly dreamed that they could break down our public school system; but the more intelligent classes among their people refused to send their children to the parochial schools, in spite of the ban of excommunication. Let us look at the struggle in the English Church to-day. How do those High Church leaders, with Athestan Riley as their mouthpiece, compare with the bigots among Catholics? They are very much like them. They are turning every stone to do away with unsectarian religion, teaching in their Board Schools (public schools), and striving to have laws enacted by which no person shall be allowed to teach in the schools who will not declare his or her belief in the Trinity and the Thirty-nine Articles. Is not this condition of things more disgraceful in the English Church, which professes to be so much broader and higher in its develop ment than the Roman Catholic Church, out of which it sprung? This blow is of course especially aimed at Unitarians; but there are many English Churchmen who disapprove of such bigotry, and the non-conform ists in particular, however much they may differ from Unitarians, are opposed to such

tyranny, and, moreover, are not desirous to see the religious teaching of the young given over to the tender mercies of the Established Church.

We have now, after looking at the attitude of the English Church in this age of freedom, to glance at a political party in this country, the so-called A. P. A., which represents indirectly a large body of our fellow-Christians, Baptists, Methodists, etc.

Are they so much beyond our Roman Catholic friends in enlightenment and the spirit of freedom? They would, if possible, drive every Roman Catholic member off of our school boards, and every Roman Catholic teacher from the schools. What insolence of power might not Protestantism, as a sect, have displayed, if it had had the same chance as the mother Church in the dark ages. Sydney Smith, fifty years ago, berated the English government for its treatment of the Catholics in Ireland, where a costly establishment was maintained, with a dozen people in the church, while the poor priests, with their enormous parishes, were obliged to eke out their living by begging from door to door. The Anglican Church to-day still cherishes its dainty morsels of anathema, to have them read and repeated by clergy and people on festive occasions. The saintly and liberal Maurice, by some twist in his brain, really tried to think that he loved the Athanasian creed. What about Calvin and Servetus and our Puritan Fathers, who persecuted Anabaptists and Quakers?

The Roman Catholic Church is or was an enormous hierarchy, supported in Europe by governments, and mixed up with the intrigues of political ambition. Its errors are deep-rooted in the centuries; and a large number of educated and refined persons in its fold fear to touch them, lest the whole fabric be torn in pieces. They are nominal followers, whose æsthetic tastes enjoy occasionally its music, but are rarely seen within its places of worship. We believe that this Church has in it the seeds of enlargement and reform. It may seem ungracious to Protestantism to say that this might have been ac. complished in Luther's time. But Luther was not responsible for the rash iconoclasm which set Germany in a flame, and made compromise between the two parties impossible. But, as Bunsen says, "God is in history." He is not going to forget the Roman

Catholic Church, but will help it to purify and broaden itself, when the right time comes; and this New World is the open door to this.

This is not likely to be accomplished for centuries, perhaps, by a change of doctrines, inasmuch as its great successor, the English Church, with all its opportunities, is not willing to drop a single article of its creed. But it will be done by a change of methods of action, which is precisely what is happening now in this country. When the pope's emissary comes over here and finds our people indignant at any attack upon our public schools, he sees how unwise it is for his Church to maintain such a reactionary position, and rebukes the arrogance of priests. We do not believe this is mere policy, but that his mind is growing in breadth, and he feels what a mistake it is for his Church to interfere with our institutions, if she desires to maintain her spiritual supremacy among the people. This leaven will in time reach the Old World. We never can tell how many liberal Roman Catholics there are to-day, because their and our systems of isolation keep us so much apart. Ever since Montalembert took his noble position before French Catholics, the world in France was changed. Lacordaire and Père Hyacinthe and Döllinger of Germany,all these men went deeper than mere methods of action. We may say that it is inconsistent for such men to stay in that Church, But we are seeing the same state of things all around us. Religious denominations are fast surrendering what they once thought their strongholds, and yet they retain certain ethical and spiritual qualities, and a set of cherished associations which hold them together; and, like the supposed fixed stars, they may all move in their relative proportion so evenly that the positions. will seem unchanged, and thus we may have the same sects forever, which is not a matter for regret.

We need the Roman Catholic Church, with its forms and symbols, to keep us by its indirect influence from relapsing into the barest and most unlovely worship.

We once heard of two girls in Madrid talking about Protestantism. One said, "What does liberty of worship mean?" The other answered, "Oh, it's a long, narrow room, with benches in it, and a man in a desk, reading."

We need this Church to hold the great ignorant hordes who are pouring into our country. We need to have our liberal orthodox brethren still believe in the Trinity, in order to keep Unitarians from running away into a cold intellectualism, and losing the divine humanity of Jesus. People say, We must be on our guard against the Catholics, however tolerant we may be. Certainly, we answer. All religious sects need watching as much as political parties.

The Church of England to-day needs watching. It is trying, through its schools, to destroy religious liberty.

The Congregational body here is in danger of violating its trust deeds, in order to preserve its college bequests and preach a broader theology.

The Baptists and Methodists, through their political representatives, are striking a blow at American liberty, not only in our schools, but in the world of industries and business.

It is fortunate that there is a sensible, calm judgment among the people, high and low, of this great country, which prevents the majority of them from being carried away with the extremes of religious sects and political parties. It is wonderful how, with such untamed hordes constantly pouring in upon us, we manage to have so good a government, and so much liberty, combined with moderation in thought and action. The genius of our nation rides down all factions, fuses discordant races and relig ions, and will march them all along to progress and perfection if we are faithful to our great opportunities.

MARTHA PERRY LOWE.

A PRAYER.

Thou art not lonely amid thy worlds, O Lord. Thou hast countless gracious companionships. Thou art at fellowship with thy sun, and together the ways of silent joy thou goest on all these fruitful journeys of the light. Thou art at fellowship with thy stars. Thou enjoyest their beauty. Their beams athwart the night are the dancings of thy gladness. Not a world is but it is child of thy laughter, and holdeth its way in thy dear companionship. No grass-blade grows but that it comes to its glory of green in

thy friendship. All flowers open to thy kisses, and their answerings to thy love are their fragrance on the winds. No beast is anywhere but in companionship of thine it fulfils its joying life. No bird flies any wind but that the breathings of thy glad ness in its life doth hallow its each wingbeat, each pulse of song. No man is but he is in thee, a child of thine own love, so happy to bring him forth and give him journey in thy life. Some footfall answers his in everlasting companionship. It is thine. Across all the winds of his journeying some heart-beat answers his. It is thine. Around and about and within him thou art, and so savest thyself from loneliness, and hast a friend. And so not anything is lonely in its life; for thou art ever near, its answering life, its fellowship divine. O dear Companionship! the world's becoming and its joy! Make us all conscious of this grace divine. May we each know thee, dear eternal Friend, than any brother closer cleaving unto us,-yea, our own lives' dear grace and greatness, breathing blessing without end!

And yet to this high fellowship so many

are not conscious of thou dost not limit us. Thy stars flock in thy sky, across the infinite spaces calling to their friends, as bird's voice answers bird. No grass-blade dwells alone, nor any flower, nor beast nor bird. Indeed, these come by some sweet dwelling together in unity. They are but fellowship realized. By some dwelling together in unity, the violet opens in the sun; the dew, the winds, the rain, the soil at friendship in its seed, became this glory of their friendship. The thrush flies out to bless the winds, a fellowship. It came by love of mate and mate, trees, suns, and winds, the grains and fruit for food,— all these some gladness had together, and out of it these wings of singing flew. And to us children of the human heart thou comest in many blessed friends. The flowers, and beasts and birds, night skies with stars, day skies with clouds and sun, all beauty and all life, save us from loneliness, and crowd our life with hallowing friends.

And, then, these beloved of the human kind, how they enrich our lives! We thank thee for them, these friends, the old, the new; for new beauties in the old that love may see; for the wonder faces of the new who in our dreamings awaken their riches.

In gratitude, so full of love, we thank thee, Lord, that thou hast given us friends, art giving them unto us through all the years. May we ennoble in these fellowships, until all our dwelling together in unity may always become some new beauty of holiness, some large unselfish service to the world! So always unto every good word and work may we give ourselves to others, and receive them given to us, until the best life is lived, the noblest church and state achieved, the holiest race of men come forth upon the earth! So comes thy kingdom, Lord, thy will on earth as gracious done as is it in thy heavens. Amen. PASTOR QUIET.

A FABLE FOR THE NEW YEAR: AT WHAT SHALL WE AIM?

Once upon a time, in the far-away days, lived a noble earl.

High on a commanding hill-top stood his ancestral castle home, whose watch-towers overlooked miles and miles of the surrounding country. Rich in broad lands, welltrained faithful followers, and his inheri tance of accumulated treasure, he yet valued all this as nothing compared with his two fair sons, who were his joy and his pride. They were trained in every courtly grace by their mother, the best of teachers; while the earl himself delighted in his task of teaching them the use of the sword, and especially of the bow and arrow, in which he himself had great skill.

The two youths grew up to manhood graceful and kindly, strong in body and keen of mind.

One New Year's day, in the clear, bracing air of their hill-top, the earl and his two sons were practising with their bows and arrows on the wide, snow-covered lawn that stretched from the castle gate to the hill's first slope toward the valley below.

The lads were shooting better than any youth of the country-side, yet their father was not satisfied. Taking the beaviest, strongest bow, and carefully selecting an arrow from the quiver, he slowly adjusted it to the string. Then, after a powerful backward sweep of his right arm, the loosened arrow, with a joyous "whirr," flew far beyond any that had come from the bows of

the earl's sons. Not a word was spoken; but the brothers exchanged a glance, and began to walk slowly back to the castle. "I have not worked hard enough in my practice," said one to himself.

The other thought, "I have not done my very best on every day"; and both resolved that the next New Year should see them equal their father's power.

The days and weeks went by. The brothers, each in his own way, worked faithfully on their archery practice; and, when again the late-rising winter's sun saw the beginning of a new year, it found them eager to show their father that they had gained in strength and skill.

Again on the castle lawn were set the targets. Arrow after arrow pierced the small black circle. The eyes of the old earl shone with pleasure. The brothers seemed evenly matched. And now came the test of strength. The elder brother took his heaviest bow. His eye carefully measured the castle's imposing height, and the distance from its southern wall, which was facing them, to the rear wall, which met at its base the solid rock itself, as it rose steeply from the bed of a rushing river, hundreds of feet below. The young man in silence drew taut the cord. The arrow rose, up and up, till it turned gracefully in the air far above the castle's highest turret. Then, clearing by several feet the farthest wall, it plunged swiftly down to the stream at the base of the hill. It was a mighty shot, but the earl said nothing.

The younger son had been busily thinking. "My brother has shot over the highest point on the hill," he mused. "At what can I aim?" As he raised his head thought fully, the mid-day sun struck his eyes, and flashed a ray of light into his brain. "It will be a symbol of what I mean to do throughout my life," he thought. Then, raising his bow from the ground and half closing his eyes, that they might not be blinded by the intense light, he aimed his arrow straight at the sun. It whizzed from the cord, it rose like a bird into the air,rose till lost from sight. Then, after long seconds of suspense, the watchers saw it falling, falling, till it buried itself in the dense grove of firs on the slope of the hill. The shot of the elder brother had been mighty. This was mightier. "Well done!"

said the proud father, giving a hand to each son. "It is good to achieve that for which we aim, as did you when you shot over the castle; but you," turning to the younger lad, "by aiming at the very highest, though you did not hit the mark, yet sent your arrow far above the other's loftiest curve." MARY A. TILDEN.

HIS TITHE IN THE NEW YEAR.

They had a new minister at Seabrook. Old Pastor Thornleigh, who had kept the flock for forty years, had gone to his long home; and in his stead had come an honest, plain-spoken young divine, with an earnest, fearless eloquence of his own. And now the worn door-stone of the little gray church on the hill was once more trodden by feet which had long been strangers to it. The minister boarded, having no family, at Deacon Larrabee's.

"He's the least bit uncertain on some points," said the deacon, leaning on his hoe handle and talking across the fence to his neighbor Gray, who leaned on his hoe handle to listen. "A bit uncertain. But I like him, I do, no mistake; and I believe the Lord's going to bless us through him." "Amen!" was Neighbor Gray's hearty

response.

They hoed a dozen hills in silence, their hoes keeping time to the merry song of a bird in the orchard. Then Mr. Gray paused to wipe the perspiration from his face.

"This hot weather's liable to make sickness," said he. "I suppose you've heard that one of the Widow Sperry's boys is down with a fever?"

"Sho! now you don't say so!" exclaimed the deacon, commiseratingly. "Make it hard for her, won't it?"

"Yes, particularly when she's so lately lost her cow. I've been saying that we'd all ought to take hold and make it up to her. If I'd more than one cow on my place, I wouldn't stand to talk long, I tell you; but I lost my two best ones last spring. If I hadn't—”

It might have been unintentional, that sudden facing about as Mr. Gray threw his glance toward the hill pasture where his neighbor's cows were quietly feeding. At