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priestcraft had put around it. You have got the higher faith. And yet you do not lead a higher life! You have taken the honour from Son and Spirit, you ought to have more to give to the Father; but it does not appear. You are pretty much the man you were before you embraced this higher faith! Then I use to you the language I have used in the other case: your inquiry is vain, your questions are idle, your enlightened heterodoxy is a figment. The whole thing is worthless. It is only the spirit of the man who asked, "Lord, are there few that be saved?"

To sum up this: when a man desires to know not in order that he may feel and live, then he is idle. When a man asks, "Are there few that be saved?" and, receiving an answer, would be content with that answer-would not bestir himself to make the few many, or the many more then he is idle. When few or many, none or all, he just goes on in his old way, neither roused to pity, nor stirred to actionthen he is idle. "He who hath ears to hear, let him hear.'

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Thus much on the Spirit of Religious Inquiry. A word or two now on the Limits of Religious Inquiry.

It is very clear, unless we totally misread the meaning of the story, that there are such limits; that while free-thought and speech should never be forcibly repressed, there are regions which we have no moral right to enter and questions which we have no moral right to ask. After all, it is only one side of the truth to say all subjects are fit and proper subjects for free inquiry. I repeat there are some questions that a man has no right to ask. Here is a man who asks respectfully enough, "Are there few that be saved?" and he gets no answer. Why? Because not only was the spirit of the inquiry a doubtful one, but the inquiry itself had no right to be made. It smacks a little of religious impertinence. It is the question of a religious busybody. What concern is it of his? Let him strive to enter in himself, for he runs an awful risk of being shut out.

The thorough consistency of the Saviour in this matter is seen in the fact that on another occasion He gave a precisely similar answer to a precisely similar question. "Lord! and what shall this man do?" says the officious Peter, pointing to the modest John. What has he to do with that? It will take Simon Peter all his time to make

his own calling and election sure. "If I will that he tarry till I come,

what is that to thee? Follow thou Me."

You see then, my brethren, there are limits even to religious inquiry; and the times in which we transgress these limits are the times in which we forget our place and condition in the vast system of things. There are things in God's universe that you and I have nothing whatever to do with. There are doctrines of religion which He has not explained to us, dark mysteries of His providence that He has not revealed to us, pressing problems as to the ultimate issues of things which He has not solved for us; and I am not contradicting a word I have said when I affirm that our attitude in the presence of much here

should be that of patient modest silence. There is a tree of knowledge in the garden of every man's soul, and the Divine word is this," Of the fruit of every tree thou mayst freely eat: but of the fruit of that tree thou shalt not eat."

And why should it not be so? Does any parent here undertake to explain the entire circle of his thoughts and actions to his children? to answer every silly or irrelevant question they may ask? Are there not limits to inquiry in every healthy home? And is God the only parent who does not care that his children shall be taught modesty ? Does a species of intellectual licentiousness, destroying all that is childlike and simple and sweet, belong only to the house over which the Divine Father presides? Must every great question, be fingered and fathomed, or otherwise cast aside and rejected by those who are at best but "infants crying in the night"? Must man set his puny foot on every sunny height; or, failing this, refuse to walk contentedly in the plains below? Must there be nothing to which he will look up in modest wonder, not daring to propound a question, or to institute inquiry?

Brethren, there must be. It is absurd to deny it. It would injure or ruin the Best in us if it were not so. I say there are not only questions which it is not lawful for a man to ask of God, but there are limits even in relation to strictly lawful inquiry. Religious inquiry and wild intellectual vandalism are distinct things; and after all that has been said in favour of free-thought, there is about the religion of Jesus Christ a kind of Divine dogmatism, which, to say the least, it is not modest to call in question, and whose only argument is, Thus, thus saith the Lord."

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Lastly, "Lord, are there few that be saved?" An interesting question, is it not? One, too, that is being asked pretty loudly just now. Ι will tell you of one much more interesting, one which this man totally overlooked. Are you saved? Oh, how men will discuss the one! Annihilation theories-restoration theories-orthodox theories; don't these form interesting topics of social converse? splendid subjects for essays!

Is Christian theology a playground? Sitting in those pews, I say to you, brethren, few or many-are you saved? Have you believed in the Lord Jesus Christ? Are you at peace with God? Oh! cease this solemn trifling with Divine things. Turn to the Lord with full purpose of heart, so shall you find everlasting rest in the everlasting Love.

Leicester.

PEGGY.

" and the speaker looked thoughtfully out of the window by which she sat. Directly she spoke again.

"THEE can find nothing at all to | can do for thee; do?" inquired Elizabeth Steele. "Nothing," replied Peggy Wallace, mournfully.

"Ah, well! I will see what I

"Thee can cook ?" she asked.

"Yes," said Peggy eagerly, "I agreed. friend."

can cook."

"And wash ?"
"Yes, Elizabeth."

"And thee can iron, I know. But think thee that thee is strong enough to do the drudgery of maidof-all-work at a farm ? "

"I will do my best," replied Peggy, with a little sinking of her stout heart.

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"Good-bye, and God bless thee wherever thee goes," said Elizabeth.

Then Peggy Wallace went home. She was very busy the remainder of the evening, getting ready to go with Mrs. Holmes at any time. There were her clothes to be arranged and packed, the housekeep"Well, if thee does thy best, ing to be transferred from her people ought to expect no more; hands to her sister's, various injuncbut the place I have in my mind tions to be given, and plans to be is a hard place. A hard place," formed-not much in themselves, Elizabeth repeated slowly. "The but Peggy, Cecile, and Mrs. WalHolmeses are but common country lace, were all excitement at the folk, and thee will have a great deal prospect of the former leaving to do for little pay; maybe, though, home. thee can make out to stay until a better place opens for thee."

“Oh yes,” assented Peggy; "I am willing to do any kind of work; and small wages are better than none."

"I will get the place for thee, then," promised Elizabeth. "And now thee had better go. I would like to keep thee longer, but neither of us have time to spend in talking. I will see Betty Holmes to-morrow; and do thee be ready to go whenever she sends for thee."

"I will, Elizabeth; and I thank thee for the aid thee is so kind as to promise me," answered Peggy, speaking in the odd dialect. "Thee has always been kind to me. May be, some time I can repay thee," she added, with a little sigh, and tying tl string of her sun-bonnet. "Never do thee mind that," said the other, smiling. "I look not for my eward here. My time is my Master's, and I hope to spend my days working for Him. See that thee forget not His Word, and let not thy feet stray into evil ways. If thee should want help or counsel come to me; and come as often as thee can, any way. I like thee and thy ways, and like to have thee with me at spare times."

"I will come when I can," Peggy

They had kept together as long as possible; but at last poverty stared them in the face, and they knew that one of them must seek work outside of their own door. Peggy, strong-willed and self-reliant, volunteered, and at once sought help of Elizabeth Steele.

The next day Mrs. Holmes came with her husband to market. Elizabeth secured the promised place for Peggy, and the farm-waggon stopped at the door for her on its way home.

She kissed her mother and sister, said Good-bye," and climbing in, the waggon lumbered away towards the Holmes's farm.

The sun was just sinking behind the long line of western hills when they came in sight of the place. They drove into the barnyard amid the cackling and fluttering of fowls. The sheep-bells tinkled, the cattle lowed and looked solemnly at Peggy out of their great patient eyes. And, withal, Peggy thought that everything was very commonplace. Yet she had no right to be disappointed, for had not Elizabeth Steele told her that the Holmeses were but " common country folk"? But, in spite of this, she could not deny a still lower sinking of her young heart.

Supper was not ready, as she house, listening devoutly to the hoped it would be, for she was both tired and hungry.

"We don't have supper till dark," said Mrs. Holmes. "The farmhands are to feed, and they work late. You may start up the fire now, though. Liza, lend her one of your long aprons."

Liza brought a very long and very coarse checked apron from a nail behind the door and handed it to Peggy.

"You'll have to get supper," she said, awkwardly. Peggy smiled cheerfully, tried on the apron, and, after receiving instructions, set to work with a will that impressed her mistress favourably.

"If she'll only be that handy all the time," the latter commented to Liza. "But it soon wears off with 'em all. New brooms sweep clean." But it did not wear off with Peggy. Having put her hand to the plough, she would not turn back. She knew what was expected of her, and resolved to please if possible. She worked steadily and surely to gain the end, and steadily and surely she gained favour with her employers. "She is really handy," praised the mistress, after a week's trial.

'She don't get out of humour, either," added Liza.

And one after another bore testimony as to her cleverness and good behaviour.

No one could bake bread like Peggy. The loaves always came out of the oven light, white, and sweet. No whiter washing was hung out for miles around than at Holmes's farm after the new girl came; and no smoother clothes could be found in any woman's linen-closet than in Betty Holmes's. Peggy, modest and cleanly, kept her own garments neat and in good repair. She remembered Elizabeth's admonition, and every Sabbath found her regularly at her place in the country meeting

sermon. No prayer found her on unbended knees; and when the congregation sang, her clear voice went soaring out in glad praise of the Redeemer.

She always felt better for those Sundays. They strengthened her for the work of toil before her, unbroken by anything softer or tenderer than thoughts and memories of her "home, sweet home.” She took up her burden bravely week after week, murmuring not, and saving up her scanty wages with the joyful knowledge of how much they would bring to the waiting ones at home.

A holiday came at last. It was while the long days slept peacefully upon meadows and hill-tops. The harvest was past, and the fields lately golden with the swaying wheat were bare and brown. The white and red roses had bloomed and died, and the stately lilies no longer shook their dusky gold over river and lake.”

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The market-waggon stood again in the barn-yard, but the horses' heads were turned toward the great gate that swung slowly back, and Peggy was "going home."

"Home!" Her heart outran the slow-going team, and before the woodbine-shaded door came in sight she knew two pair of eyes were anxiously watching for her.

Elizabeth Steele's home stood by the wayside, and Elizabeth herself was at the window motioning the farmer to stop. Directly she was at the side of the waggon.

"I have good news for thee, Peggy," she said, smiling. "Can thee guess what it is?” Peggy could not guess, but her face was eager.

"Something very good, surely, Elizabeth, or thee would not have stopped us to tell me."

And does thee think I do not rejoice to see thee?" reproached Elizabeth. "Does thee think I

would not have stopped thee to shake hands? Aye, would I, Peggy, for I am right glad to see thy face once more. But thee is impatient to hear the news. Well, I won't tell it thee. Wait till thee gets home."

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"Not forgotten you, Uncle Richard," she replied, smiling; only you have been away so long. I have not seen you since I was a child."

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Mrs. Holmes declined an invitation to get down and rest, but She stepped back, laughing at wanted to know when Peggy would Peggy's disappointed face, and mo-be ready to return to her place. tioned Farmer Holmes to drive on. Peggy's good-humour came back as the wheels began to roll round. "I'll remember thee for that, Elizabeth," she cried, shaking her head merrily.

A few minutes more and they were in front of Peggy's own home. She sprang out, embraced her mother and sister, and turned to be introduced to a kindly-faced, white-haired man.

"Uncle Richard," said Cecile, proudly.

Never," Uncle Richard answered for her. "Marguerite goes with me to Willow-dale to-morrow." "La!" cried the farmer's wife, in dismay. "And are you the gentleman that's bought Willowdale?"

"Yes," said Mr. Wallace; and Cecile added, "We're all going to live there with Uncle Dick."

So ended the summer for Peggy the servant-girl, and Marguerite began a bright and happy life at Willow-dale.

"Uncle Richard!" exclaimed And Elizabeth Steele smiles, and Peggy. says: "The Lord knew thee was She proffered her sun-browned doing thee best in an humble posihand shyly, but the old man drew tion, child, so He gives thee this her to him, saying softly, "Mar- that thee may work yet more guerite, my little Marguerite, I good. Truly, the last shall be believe you have forgotten me." first!""

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VISIONS AND VOICES FROM THE HOUSE OF
PILGRIMAGE.

I. SONGS IN THE HOUSE OF PILGRIMAGE.

BY THE REV. R. H. ROBERTS, B.A.

Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage.” Psa. cxix. 54.

THREE main reflections seem to me to have taken hold of the Psalmist's mind, and to be running through this inspired poem. First and foremost stands out the glory of the Word, which is the central theme of his celebration, and the stimulating source of his poetic fervour, "More to be desired than gold; yea, than much fine gold." Then, begotten of this, there glows upon us a sense of present and joyous blessedness. His "heart is overflowing with a good matter." The Word, which is "more to be desired than gold," is "sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb." And yet, side by side with this-in some respects its strange contrast, and in others its necessary

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