ing sectarianism, with this difference, that the sects would all be represented in one single community, and the closeness of their intimacy, and the antagonisms to which their conflicting interests would give rise, would render anything like government impracticable. Thus, there seems to be an insurmountable difficulty in the way of attaining to order on the basis of Liberalism. Now, what the world requires to-day is something more than diffusive and sentimental good nature. It needs philanthropic effort, concentrated and well-directed endeavor, which can only proceed from bodies-bodies complete and in substantial harmony. Sin is in earnest, crime is intensely so, and they both strengthen their hold on humanity by evil confederacies, and at least are strong enough to defy the attacks of such undisciplined forces as Liberalism can bring into the field. If Christianity is to succeed, it must be in earnest, too, and if it is, then it must build up organizations on a definite faith, having a common aim, and a united heart. Only through such means can it expect to prevail against the foes which swarm around it, seeking its utter overthrow.

Believe me, we shall attain more speedily the harmony of views, and the victory over evil which we all so long to achieve by faithfulness than by this perversion of charity. So much is now said in praise of this latter grace that we have quite overlooked the higher and nobler one Faithfulness. And yet it is the heroic quality — that to which we can trace not only the preservation, but the progress of religion; that which sheltered the infant church, defended her purity from tyrants, and guarded her life from corruption. How many volumes have been written to record the victories of freedom, of prayer, of love, and how much has even been ascribed to the unsettling influence of infidelity. Doubtless they all have been potent; but the deeds of Faithfulness will compare with any of

THE THREAD OF HONOR.

265

them. It was Faithfulness that saved Christianity when threatened by the Empire, that rescued it from Romanism, and that delivered it from Secularism. But for her it would have been exterminated by the one, paganized by the other, and thoroughly corrupted by the third. Faithfulness defied the emperors, sang her song to the

accompaniment of growling lions in the arena, wrote her belief on dungeon walls, and shouted it amid the hiss and the roar of martyr-fires. Faithfulness prayed when others cursed, circulated the gospel while others slept, contended for every inch of the ground with error, detected its devices, resisted its encroachments, thrust her bleeding form in the way of its progress, and when crushed, rose again to pluck from its hand the victory it had nearly won. Let this magnificent record assure you that your usefulness will be measured by your loyalty more than by your liberality, and that your success in overcoming the enemies of Christ, and in harmonizing His friends, will depend more on your fidelity to principle than on your tolerance of error. Both graces are of the highest moment; but let it never be overlooked that the beautifying one is charity, while the practical one is faithfulness. So sublime is this virtue that it excites admiration even in its enemies. Frederick Robertson, when illustrating the poetic sentiment in conduct, describes how a company of soldiers were separated from their command among the mountains of India, and how they were butchered by the hill tribes. When their bodies were found, around the wrist of each dead soldier was tied a red thread, a tribute which the savage foe had paid to their valor. It signified that the men fell at their post, and by fidelity had won this red thread of honor. Singular treatment this, but not uncommon. Whenever Faithfulness has shown herself in this feculent world she has been pelted with mud. Literary scullions, reputationless hirelings, the low camp-followers of vice and degradation,

have never hesitated to chase her up and down the streets and trample her in the mire. Nor may she ever look for a more kindly reception while society remains the coarse and vulgar and ungenerous thing that it is. But it is not for her to be dismayed. In patience she must possess her soul. The hounds may bay on! The devils may howl! No devil yet has ever been able to stamp out the glory of an angel's plumage; and no breath of slander and no attack of calculating maliciousness shall ever permanently stain the robe of Faithfulness or mar her beauty. Enemies may assault her; they may cast her body into the vale beneath the height on which she dwells; but even in their dastard hearts there will be found a lurking admiration for what they cannot imitate; for while they curse they will twine the red thread of honor round her wrist. They cannot but reverence what they would destroy; and future generations, when these enemies lie ignobly forgotten in the dust, will rise up and call her blessed, and motive this for every heart to give her loyal entertainment.

FORMALISM.

"The good Lord pardon everyone that prepareth his heart to seek God, the Lord God of his fathers, though he be not cleansed according to the purification of the sanctuary." 2 Chron. xxx, 19.

W

Ceremony leads her bigots forth,
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth;
While truths on which eternal things depend
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend;
As soldiers watch the signal of command,

They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand;

Happy to fill religion's vacant place

With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace."

Cowper.

HEN Goethe was a boy the controversies which agitated religious circles, and which resulted in the secession from the established church of the Separatists, Pietists, and Moravians, impressed his precocious mind very deeply, and led him to devise a worship of his own. The young priest felt that the Almighty should not be approached through ecclesiastical ceremonies, but through the things which He had made; and yet, instead of communing directly with Him through nature, he patterned after the very ritualists from whom he dissented, and reared unto Him an artificial altar. A red-lacquered musicstand, beautifully ornamented, and rising like a four-sided pyramid, was chosen as the foundation of his pious work. This he covered with ores and other natural curiosities, crowning the summit with a fine porcelain saucer, from which he desired a flame to ascend emblematical of the heart's aspirations. How to produce this flame occasioned him some perplexity; but at last his ingenuity suggested

the use of fumigating pastiles, which, though they would only sputter and sparkle, would at least emit a pleasant fragrance. The arrangements being perfected, and, kindling his pastiles one fine morning, with the aid of a burning-glass, he performed his devotion in an edifying manner, and to his own entire satisfaction. But the course of worship, like that of true love, is not always smooth, and Goethe found that his experiment was doomed to meet with ignominious disaster. Undertaking to repeat his adorations, he discovered, when too late, that the porcelain dish had been removed, and that his aromatic cones must be placed directly on the upper surface of the music-stand. In that position they were kindled, and the result was that they mercilessly burned into the red lacquer and the gold flowers, sadly and ineffaceably marring the beautiful and valuable work of art. The effect of the mischief, as may easily be imagined, was not conducive to piety. What the youth said on the occasion is not recorded; but in his Autobiography, where this narrative in his own words is found, we have the following reflections on the occurrence: "The spirit for new offerings was gone, and the accident might almost be considered a hint and warning of the danger there always is in wishing to approach the Deity in such a way."

Had the boy been content to draw near to God by “the true and living way," in lowliness and simplicity, his ardor would have escaped the chill it experienced on account of this absurd anti-climax, and probably would have saved his manhood from moral blemishes and irremediable mistakes. The old saying, "the child is father to the man,” was never more completely verified than in the case of Goethe. He was essentially artistic in his tastes. His religion was æsthetical, not ethical and devotional. In after years we recognize in his writings the spirit of the boy-ritualist. He has passed from altar-building to litera