ning and present feebleness, is destined for universal prevalence. It began by casting down that which would and did oppose its way. "The stone cut out without hands smote the image upon his feet, that were of iron and clay, and broke them to pieces. Then was the iron, the clay, the brass, the silver, and the gold broken to pieces together, and became like the chaff of the threshing-floors; and the wind carried them away, that no place was found for them." There we see the nothingness of the mightiest human power in collision with the kingdom of God.

Significant as this destruction may be, even more so is the displacement of the image by the stone. Man-created universal empire gives place to a universal empire Godcreated. The worldly rule gives way, that heavenly rule may speedily appear. That the Jewish church was a type of the kingdom of God is a familiar thought. Here emerges another truth, perhaps not so familiar. Those great heathen empires were all unconsciously typical and prophetic of the universal reign of Christ. No worldly dominion has ever become universal since the decline and fall of the Roman empire. None ever will. Vast as may be the dominion on which the sun never sets, the British empire will never sway sceptre over all the inhabited world. The only rule that can become universal is one over hearts, administered from a higher Throne than earth can offer, with resources such as only heaven can command.

That the stone which smote the image will become a great mountain, and fill the whole earth, we devoutly believe. The truth might be argued from the essentially aggressive character of the Gospel. The past tells of constant progress. Single waves have receded, the tide has always advanced. The kingdom of Christ accumulates volume and power as it sweeps down the ages. Its hands are fuller of richer benedictions. That the kingdom of Christ will universally prevail is, to our minds, evident from prophecy and promise. Why should we doubt or fear? Are we not standing even yet in the very vestibule of the Christian dispensation?

"From the rising of the sun even unto the going down of the same, the name of the Lord of Hosts shall be great among the Gentiles; and in every place incense shall be offered unto His name, and a pure offering: for His name shall be great among the heathen, saith the Lord of Hosts." Hereafter there shall be "great voices in heaven, saying, The kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of His Christ; and He shall reign for ever and ever."

Between two and three thousand years ago, in Babylon, the king dreamed a dream. It was interpreted by an inspired prophet of God. In a distant land, in a distant age, we are still watching the gradual but sure fulfilment.

The kingdom of Christ is to be everlasting. It has stood for eighteen hundred years-not, however, because no attempt has been made to annihilate it. Physical force, mental power, transcendent genius, have each and all done their worst. It is the great fact of the world still. Fires of persecution have been lighted; waves of popular hate and indignation have risen; philosophy and science have marshalled successive armies to stand in the assault in the places of the slain; the forked lightning of armed might, the sheet lightning of ridicule, have done their utmost. "Why do the heathen rage, and the people imagine a vain thing?" "He that sitteth in the heavens laughs. The Lord has them in derision." He hath "set the King upon His holy hill in Zion." He breaks Messiah's enemies "with a rod of iron, dashes them in pieces like a potter's vessel." The kingdom "shall never be destroyed. . . shall not be left to other people, but it shall break in pieces and consume all these kingdoms, and shall itself stand for ever."

1 From "Daniel: Statesman and Prophet." Just published by the Religious Tract Society.

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We Travel the Country."

LEASE to buy a basket," said a soft voice; that of a little girl of five or six years old, with two or three small baskets on her arm.

"Who sent you to sell baskets, my little girl?"

"My mother, ma'am. She is on the road with father and the cart."

"And where do you live ?"

"We doesn't live anywhere just now, ma'am. We travels the country all the summer long."

Was it the oddity of the expression, or the truth of the sentiment, or the exquisite melody of the child's voice-soft and sweet as music-that fixed the words in the memory? Long after a toy basket had been purchased, and the child with her father and mother and the travelling van had disappeared, the silvery sounds seemed ringing in my ears; and often since, in trouble and in joy, through the many changes of a changing world, the thought has again returned—“We do not dwell here; we travel the country."

A pleasant enough mode of life-in fine summer weather, at least-must be that of the little wayfarer, roaming over our beautiful land-now along pleasant lanes whose steep banks are thickly sprinkled with flowers and wild strawberries-now across breezy sunny commons-now through cultivated ground rich with corn and waving grass-now on the glorious sea-beach-now skirting the lordly park-now passing by the farm-house, lonely, yet teeming with life and bustle-now nearing the busy town, now the solitary and picturesque village-now climbing the hills, now nestling in the valleys-now fording the streams, now encamping in some forest glade—

"Where the copse wood is the greenest,

Where the fountains glisten sheenest,.
Haunts right seldom seen,

Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green

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and in every scene gathering something for use or pleasure, unmixed with the cares of possession. Yes, spring with its greenery, summer with its flowers, autumn with its berries, may be enjoyed by those who "travel the country."

And yet a wearisome life! On, on, on-without an object, without a home! no cessation from wandering-no rest for the sole of the foot! no spot which the wanderers may

call their own; no dwelling-place, no neighbours, no companions, no friends! pursuing their solitary course from day to day without other prospect, other aim, than that of gaining a daily and scanty subsistence. must theirs be who "travel the country."

Surely a weary life

And we "travel the country." Our beautiful world, is it not a convenient travelling carriage? But, oh! not a home! It has all things needful for a journey; daily food and daily comforts rest, refreshment, even luxuries; but nothing abiding. We cannot remain here-" we travel the country."

We have daily food-what more do we need? daily comforts what more could we enjoy? daily strength--what more can we require? daily labour-it brings nightly rest. If we might make a home here, could we fare better than while, as now, 66 we travel the country?"

Ours may be a pleasant path; soft may be the grass under our feet, blue and bright the sky above us; flowers by the wayside, rich prospects around us: cheerily we march onward, gathering enjoyment by the way; but nothing of all we see is ours; we only travel the country."

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Storms arise; wind and rain and thunder rage aroundwhy should we tremble? We shelter under a rock, and see the fancied possessions of those who have made a frail home of this life swept away by the floods, or consumed by the lightning. We feel compassion for the sufferers; but what have we to lose? "We travel the country."

We pass through a desert land. Dreary wastes lie around us, clouds gather over our heads; rugged and toilsome is the path. Weary and heart-sick, we long for rest. In vain we look around; there is no rest here. Up and on! the clouds are not fixed-the desert is not interminable; every step brings us nearer to its end; brighter scenes may yet rise— we do not remain here-" we travel the country."

We encamp in a pleasant spot-moss and flowers spread a carpet for us, green boughs wave overhead

"Music is round us, and sunshine is on high.”