compelling us to judge God not so much by the laws of old Rome or the Common Law of England as by the tender life he has himself planted in each human heart. In the parish of Drumtochty was one Lachlan Campbell-a Grand Inquisitorwhose opinion "neither minister nor people could lightly disregard." He stood for "sound doctrine," and sound doctrine with him was the old Puritan kind. The minister was a young man with a love in his heart for Christ and man, and the great beautiful world about. At times he would give his people a sermon which he hoped might awaken in them a love for nature, might help them see God's lessons of hope and comfort in the trees and skies. To Lachlan Campbell, in these sermons "There wass nothing right, for I am not thinking that trees and leaves and stubble fields will save souls, and I did not hear about sin and repentance and the work of Christ. It iss sound doctrine that we need, and a great peety you are not giving it." "I am not liking his doctrine," said the great inquisitor, "and I wass thinking that some day there would be no original sin in the parish of Drumtochty." come that she said to a friend, "It iss a peety you hef not the Gaelic; it iss the best of all languages for loving. There are fifty words for darling, and my father would be calling me every one that night I came home." In this same parish was one Marget Howe. She was the best woman in the parish, so full of love and yet so full of honest common sense. It was she who had helped Lachlin Campbell to ripen into real Christian faith and love. Maclaren gives us a few glimpses into her life, and in them we see the new and loving theology which is replacing that of the days gone. She had a son, George by name. He was "a lad o' pairts"; the dominie was proud of him; he was sent to the University of Edinburgh, where he gained honors; he was destined for the ministry and was made ready for it. All was fair of promise; for honors had fallen thick and fast on the young man from Drumtochty. But a wise and good God planned otherwise. The young man came home to die. One day he was sitting, wrapped in his plaid, outside beside the brier bush. His mother was in the parlor with one of those good-hearted, but wrongheaded, neighbors, who come to comfort those who are beyond them. This neighbor, Kristy Stewart, would warn Mrs. Howe with the consoling thought that "it's an awfu' lesson, Marget, no to mak idols o' our bairns, for that's naethin else than provoking the Almichty." Marget Howe knew God better than that, and so replied: "Did ye say the Almichty? I'm thinkin' that's ower grand a name for your God, Kristy. What wud ye think o' a faither that brocht hame some bonnie thing frae the fair for ane o' his bairns, and when the puir bairn wes pleased wi' it tore it oot o' his hand and flung it into the fire? Eh, woman, he wud be a meeserable, cankered, jealous body. Kristy, wumman, when the Almichty sees a mither bound up in her laddie, I tell ye he is sair pleased in his heaven, for mind ye hoo he loved his ain son. Besides, a'm judgin' that nane of us can love anither withoot lovin' Him." The son heard all this conversation, though the mother did not intend he should. And when she saw When the minister undertook to preach about the higher criticism, Lachlan thought "It iss not goot to meddle with Moses," and he and the minister had a falling out. He was dreaded by the young people who came for examination in their Bible and catechism. Yet in that stern old Scot, wrapped in many hard crusts of Calvinism, was a true, warm heart; and the time came when it was revealed. His daughter, Flora, went astray, and left him, and went to the great city of London. Her father mourned for her, yet in obedience to his sense of duty he blotted her name out of the family Bible, and would have blotted it out of the church book. But the thought was brought home to him how it would do if God were to blot our names out of the book of life for our sins. His sorrow took off the husks which hid his heart, and in time the real, true man came forth. He came to learn that God was a God of mercy and of plenteous redemption, that like as a father pitieth his children so the Lord doth pity. When his daughter returned a penitent she found not that the window was open, she said,— the cold Calvinist, but the Christlike Chris "I didna ken." "Never mind, mither, there's nae secrets atween us; and it gar'd my heart leap to ject to this story and condemn it as a sugarhear ye speak up like yon for God." Then he told her where and how he got his first real idea of a good God. He asked her if she did not remember the night when he was a boy he called to her in fright; for he could not sleep, so terrified was he by a sermon he had heard on hell. "Ye hae na forgotten, mither, the fricht that was on me that nicht?" coated pill calculated to deceive and ruin people. But its beauty, pathos, and truthfulness win our hearts and minds. And we accept the testimony of the hearts which God himself has made rather than of the creeds which metaphysically-demented men have made. The name of this old practitioner was William MacLure,-no man of smooth words, of finest manners, no great "Never," said Marget; "and never can." professor of religion; nor was he as steady "Ye asked me : "Am I a guid mother tae ye?' And when I could do naethin' but hold, ye said, 'Be sure God maun be a hantle kinder.' "The truth came to me as with a flicker, and I cuddled down into my bed, and fell asleep in His love as in my mother's arms." In our liberal and modern theology we mark the triumph of the pure and noble heart. It sees in God not less than the tenderest human love, but infinitely more. And well does Maclaren make "The Fatherhood of God the final idea of God." "One," says he, "is aghast to discover that the doctrine which Jesus put in the fore-front of his teachings, and labored at with such earnestness, did not leave a trace on the dominant theology of the early Church." But now this doctrine is coming to the front place, and coming to inspire, to cheer, to give hope, to lighten the burdens of life here, and to shed floods of light upon the world to come. Among the very best of Maclaren's essays in his book, "The Mind of the Master," is one on the "Sovereignty of Character." In this he says that "There is nothing in which we differ so hopelessly as creed, nothing on which we agree so utterly as character. Impanel twenty men of clean conscience and average intelligence, and ask them to try some person by his opinions, and they may as well be discharged at once. them to bring in the standard of conduct, and they will bring in a verdict in five minutes. . . . Just as he approximates to the Beatitudes they will pronounce the man good; just as he diverges, they will declare him less than good." Ask in church-going as he himself admits he ought to have been. The brightest woman of the parish said of him that he was a kind heart, "though o' course he has faults like us a', an' he disna tribble the kirk often." His one enemy in the parish found fault with him on the same line that "it was a peety he didna mak mair profession o' religion." But no man in the parish was less appreciative of the noble qualities of the doctor than was he himself. When dying, with his friend Drumsheugh by his bedside, he summed himself up : "It wesna easy for me tae get tae kirk, but a' cud hae managed wi' a stretch, an' a' used langidge a' sudna, an' a' micht hae been gentler, an no been so short in temper. A' see't a' noo." But this was not the estimate put upon his life and work by the people who knew him. He was the only man in the parish who did not know "that he'd githered mair luve than any man in the Glen." The people whose diseases he had healed, whose children, wives, and husbands he had rescued from death, looked on him, as the one who "had a share in a' body's grief, an' carried the heaviest wecht in a' the Glen." The prayers of people and minister together went up for "the beloved physician," that God might "wonderfully bless his skill." Now, what is objected to by the stricter sort is not that Maclaren praises this man of medicine, but that he should give him a place in the land of the blessed. Those of the stricter way hold that only through Jesus Christ, who died and bore our sins on the cross, have we any claim on God for mercy. Good works, kind deeds, and such must not open bliss hereafter. Now this story of the new theology not only praises the old doctor for his deeds of love and sympathy, but takes us to his death-bed and makes us see the gates beyond open to their full width to welcome this rough man of the Scottish glen to the full bliss of God's "Well done, good and faithful servant." With Drumsheugh, his friend, we sit by the bed of this dying Good Samaritan. He asks Drumsheugh to read him a bit out of his mother's Bible. Drumsheugh takes the Bible and says he'll read a word his own mother used to like,-"In my Father's house are many mansions"; but the doctor stops him. "It's a bonnie word, an' yer mither wes a sanct; but it's no for the like o' me. It's ower gude; a' daurna tak it. Shut the buik an' let it open itsel, an' ye'll get a bit a've been readin' every nicht the laist month." The book opened to the parable of the publican and the Pharisee, which Drumsheugh read. The words, "And the publican standing afar off would not lift up so much as his eyes to heaven, but smote his breast saying, God be merciful to me a sinner," pleased the doctor. "That micht hae been written for me." Then follows a prayer that gives our modern theology, our new faith in God, our new, fuller love for him and our strong confidence in his love for us. The doctor asked Drumsheugh to pray, which he did. "Almichty God . . . dinna be hard on Weelum MacLure, for he's no been hard wi' ony body in Drumtochty.... Be kind tae him as he's been tae us a' for forty year.... We're a' sinners afore Thee. Forgive him what he's dune wrang, an' dinna cuist it up to him. . . . Mind the fouk he's helpit.... the weemen an' bairnes. . . . an' gie him a welcome hame, for he's sair needin't after a' his wark.... Amen." Thinking of his patients and of his work, thinking of his mother and his boyhood, he passed away. This man would be excluded from heaven by the old theology. And, indeed, the many comments by some of the church papers of our day do exclude him from a world of hope and of love beyond. The older thought, born of some of Paul's rabbinical sayings, of St. Augustine's confessions which are saturated with the stern spirit of Roman law, of Calvin, who thought most of man as a sinner rather than as a child of God,-this old theology condemns such a picture as that given us in this story of the doctor as irreligious and harmful. There is no thought of atonement in it, no redeeming blood of Christ, no scheme of salvation. But it is filled with the spirit of the Good Samaritan, filled with the spirit of Christ, filled with the love of a Heavenly Father. We thank God for this new light and life. We rejoice in it. We bring our tribute of tears to the old doctor's deathbed; and we feel that the man who finds no room in heaven for such as this man, who did his best for "the puîr bodies" of our suffering humanity, will find little room there for himself. It is when one puts some of the older books, older sermons, and older religious stories alongside these stories of Maclaren's that we see the blessed change which has come over our religious thought. "Pilgrim's Progress," a wonderful book, gives us one phase of religion-the old Puritan phase; these stories of "Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush" give us another-the new Christian phase. It is a great change; and thank God for that change! HIS GREAT AND DEEP THOUGHTS. "O, Lord, how great are thy works; and thy thoughts are very deep."-PSALMS xcii. 5. Thy works are true and wonderful, That Thou my life doth keep! Thou always bring'st me back; All bruised, again to rise; Is daily glad surprise, Is deepening of my aching shames Oh, make my thoughts think deep and true When summers stormless shine, As though a holy psalm Makes all I think and do My life's each laughing line to fly On soaring, lyric wing, Pleasant as song it is to think upon thy works, who hast made thy creation out of a loving, rejoicing heart! About me they are in beauty lying, in mystery hiding. Within me they are in dear delights, in infinite, unsearchable deeps. I I would ponder upon them that my heart may admire thy creative beauty. I would so think upon them that I shall love thee as thou art manifested in these multitudes of thy tender and beautiful thoughts. would find thy love to be the secret of all, that my heart and my life may break forth into some glory of gratitude, into some answering love of tender and holy praise. In yon thrush that flies singing thou art hiding, yet how thou showest thyself forth in the beauty of its life! I hear thy voice in its song. I see thy graces in its wing. In this vine that climbs its tender ways to the kisses of the sun, thou art in hiding, yet how thou showest thyself forth in the beauty of its life! Thy breath is its fragrance. Thy kisses of life show in its "globes of honeyed wine." In the deeps of my baby thou art hiding, yet how thou showest thyself forth in the beauty of his face! That dear face is the shaping forth of something of the rapture of thy heart. In his beautiful life something of thy dear eternity lives. O these veils! these veils of beauty everywhere that hide thee! How thin they are sometimes, letting thy great glory through in blinding brightness! And then, again, how they do attemper to our weak gaze thy glory too bright for us, that we may experience thy great love with beating hearts in love with what thy hand hath made! Help me, O Life of life, to find thee everywhere, thinking upon thy children. with a great and holy care! Help me to enter into the deeper meanings of thy thoughts which move within us as a very divine life! Help me to take a deep delight in thy wisdom whose multitude of truthful thoughts are all within and without me in thy beautiful world! May I feel the beatings of thine own heart attuning mine to its own holiness! May I breathe with thee the breath of thy great life! May I see how the universe lieth in divine fatherhood! May I see some little how it is working the will of a perfect loving wisdom, a wisdom in its infinite greatness unsearchable, yet remembering each little bird that sings, each little bud that opens in the woods,- remembering and abiding in them that they live their lovely lives! In this sad history of man may I see the motions of an undefeated, tender love, of a shining, triumphing wisdom! May I know that thou art at work in a sad sincerity which shall yet in a finished work break into a holy, perfect joy! Make me a perfect thought of thine coming forth out of the glory of thy fatherhood! Set a multitude of thy holy thoughts abroad in me, that I shall be like thy revealing birds winging beautiful in the truths of their song! Let something of thy lovings come forth in me and fulfil in a human goodness, gentle like the flocks that bleat in the fields, like the doves that croon in the blossoms! Bring forth within me a childhood innocent and undefiled, filled with the holy joy of thine own great heart! Hide, thou, within the deeps of my being, but only that thou mayest with tender power reveal thyself in all my life, getting to thy name great glory in my strength and my tenderness which are in thee, in words that for thee bless, and in acts that for thee help! PASTOR QUIET. THE NEW CONGRESSIONAL LIBRARY, WASHINGTON.* A SERMON BY REV. J. T. SUNDERLAND. "These words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart; and thou shalt teach them diligently to thy children; . . . and thou shalt write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates."-DEUT. vi. 6, 7, and 9. During a recent visit to Washington, it was my privilege to spend several hours making a somewhat careful inspection of the splendid new edifice which is being built, and is now almost finished, for the Library of Congress. In the rotunda, or great central reading-room, of that magnificent building, I found a sermon, which I am going to try to give you this morning. * Preached in the Unitarian Church, Ann Arbor, Mich., Nov. 22, 1896. Jesus and his apostles, as well as the Old Testament prophets, used events of the hour and scenes passing before their eyes as material for their discourses. Why should not we to-day? serve the needs of Congressmen, it is also for the use of the public. Any resident of Washington, or any visitor, will be welcome to go there and read, and will be served with what he wants. At the same A few preliminary words will be fitting time, special and very extensive arrangebefore I come to my sermon proper. The new Congressional Library building is not only very large, but very fine as a work of art. Its cost has been a little more than $6,000,000. The style of architecture is Italian Renaissance. The inside finish, decoration, and ornamentation are elaborate and showy; yet I think it is generally agreed that there has been little or no sacrifice of real art to show. The building may almost be thought of as a vast art gallery, there is through it all such a wealth of ornamental painting, statuary, carving, and mosaic work. And an American naturally feels a little pride in knowing that it is all from the brains and hands of American artists. No fewer than forty-seven of the foremost painters, sculptors, designers, and decorators in this country have been employed in filling the new edifice with the wealth of beauty which the visitor sees there to-day. Many of these are artists who were prominent in connection with the art work of the "White City" in Jackson Park, Chicago, three years ago. And one sees many things here that remind him of that beautiful dream of now vanished beauty. I shall not attempt any detailed description of the Washington building, or its adaptation to library purposes. It is enough to say that it is constructed in the most thorough and substantial manner. It is nearly or quite fire-proof. It will have shelving put into it now for the seven or eight hundred thousand volumes at present in the library; but it has room for shelving for three million volumes more, when the library shall have increased so much. It is supplied with every plan and device known to librarians for the rapid handling of books and the quick service of readers,-including underground communication with the Capitol, two or three blocks away, whereby Congressmen in either house may send communications to the librarian and receive books from him, through pneumatic tubes, with the least possible delay. While the library is called the "Library of Congress," and is designed primarily to ments will also be made for the accommodation and assistance of persons who desire to prosecute any kind of special research. Thus, the purpose is to make the library a great centre of knowledge and light for the nation. There is something very suggestive in the fact that Congress has created for itself a great library. It means a more or less clear recognition of the fact that law-making, to be wise and enduring, must be done in the light of the world's experience. It is not enough that a body of men shall come together and legislate for the American people according to their best judgment, unless their judgment is enlightened. They are bound to bring to their task the wisdom of the past and of other lands. I say the Congressional Library is a recognition of that. Hence we see what it signifies in the direction of permanent benefit to the nation. It means nothing less than a higher standard of national legislation. And not of legislation only, but of everything pertaining to the conduct of the government,-less ignorance, less partisanship, less jingoism; more intelligence, more wisdom, more breadth of view, more justice to other nations, and more safety to the higher interests of our own. That great and splendid library, if we take building, books, and all, has cost the nation as much as perhaps two battle-ships. Does any intelligent mind doubt that it is a greater source of safety to the nation thau twenty battle-ships? But let me hasten to the central rotunda, or reading-room, on the walls of which I found what I want to call special attention to this morning. The room is situated under the great dome. It is octagonal, and is one hundred feet in diameter, and one hundred and twenty-five feet high. In the wealth of art displayed on its walls and ceilings there is hardly a more magnificent room in the world. Certainly, there is nowhere a finer reading-room. The decorations have been so arranged that the eight sides of the room |