or observances of a religious character should be forbidden. When they can be introduced in an edifying and inoffensive way, they should not be objected to; but the true theory of civil government forbids the use of State money or State authority in any way that contravenes individual rights of conscience. The whole controversy about the use of the Bible in public schools is greatly to be deprecated. It is damaging to the interests of both education and religion. The time will come when a great deal of moral and religious truth will be taught in the public schools, not theologically, but educationally. There is a religious common law accepted by everybody, which will yet be embodied in text-books, and taught in every school without offence. It is not dogmatic religion in any full sense, but it comprises cardinal religious doctrines, and a complete code of the highest and purest morality; and men of all creeds and characters in our land acknowledge in some form the authority of this religious common law. The existence and government of God constitutes its great controlling feature, and from that is developed the whole code of moral duties. The power of these higher obligations in forming the character of the young, and in controlling men through life, has been recognized in every age and nation. The fact that Mr. Huxley, a distinguished sceptic, is now endeavouring to compel the reading of the Bible in the public schools of England, furnishes only another addition to the multitudes of cases in which persons without a religious faith have testified to the disciplinary value of the teachings of Scripture." In further confirmation of this point, the Report contains an extract from an article in the Princeton Review, written by Dr. Hodge, regarding national education in Prussia :-' "Prussia, if judged by her institutions and laws, must be regarded as the most thoroughly Christian nation in the world. As the Prussian system secures that every man shall be a soldier, so it secures that every man shall be a Christian, so far as knowledge and profession are concerned. No child, although barefooted, of twelve years of age, can be found in Berlin or Halle who cannot read and write, and who is not familiar with Scripture history. The experiment has been often made. The children are all required to go to school. The pastors are required to devote so many hours a week to their religious instruction. The hymnology of Germany is probably richer than that of any other Christian people, if not than that of all other nations combined. The Germans are a musical people, and these hymns are sung not only in the churches, but in the homes of the poor all over the land. Hence, while the French soldiers are roused by the 'Marseillaise,' the Germans nerve themselves by singing the grand old hymn of Luther, 'A sure defence is our God, a trusty shield and weapon.' The churches throughout Prussia, as a general thing, are crowded with worshippers. The rich and titled may or may not be there in curtained stalls, but the body of the church is thronged by the common people. While, therefore, in Prussia, as elsewhere, many of the educated, and especially of the scientific class, have given themselves up to scepticism, the nation, as a nation, is eminently Christian." I believe that Dr. Hodge here reveals the true source of that mighty power which has raised Prussia to the first rank among the nations of the world. ON PRAYER.* [The great work from which we take the following paper is now complete. The third and concluding volume has just issued from the press. The whole constitutes a grand summary of revealed truth, presented in those forms of thought and expression that are familiar to our own generation. The work will be the witness of this age to the next of the whole counsel of God in the gospel.] he is not only able but also willing to hold intercourse with us, to hear and answer; that he knows our thoughts afar off; and that unuttered aspirations are intelligible to him. Thirdly, it assumes that he has the personal control of all nature—that is, of all things out of himself; that he governs all his creatures and all their actions. It assumes that he has not only created all things, and endowed matter and mind with forces and powers, but that he is everywhere present, controlling the operation of such forces and powers, so that nothing occurs without his direction or permission. When it rains, it is because he wills it, and controls the laws of nature to produce that effect. When the earth produces fruit in abundance, or when the hopes of the husbandman are disappointed, these effects are not to be referred to the blind operation of natural laws, but to God's intelligent and personal control. There is no such reign of law as makes God a subject. It is he who reigns, and orders all the operations of nature so as to accomplish his own purposes. If the world is full of the evidences of spontaneous action on the part of man, nature is full of evidence of such action on the part of God. The evidence is of the same kind, and just as palpable and irresistible in the one case as in the other. It is admitted of necessity by those who deny,it. Darwin's books, for example, are full of such expressions as "wonderful contrivance," "ingenious device," "marvellous arrangements." These expressions reveal the perception of spontaneous action. They have no meaning except on the assumption of such action. "Contrivance," "device," imply design, and would not be used if the perception of intention did not suggest and necessitate them. Some twenty times already, in the course of this work, it has been shown that, in many cases, those who begin with denying any spontaneous action in nature, end with asserting that there is no other kind of action anywhere; that all force is mind-force, and therefore spontaneous as well as intelligent. Spontaneous action cannot be got rid of. If denied in the present, it must be admitted in the past. If, as even Professor Huxley teaches, "Organization is not the cause of life; but life is the cause of organization," the question is, Whence comes life? Not out of nothing, surely. It must have its origin in the spontaneous, voluntary act of the ever and the necessarily Living One. The theory of the universe which underlies the Bible, which is everywhere assumed or asserted in the sacred volume, which accords with our moral and religious nature, and which, therefore, is the foundation of natural as well as of revealed religion, is that God created all things by the word of his power; that he endowed his creatures with their properties or forces; that he is everywhere present in the universe, co-operating with and controlling the operation of second causes on a scale commensurate with his omnipresence and omnipotence, as we, in our measure, co-operate with, and control them within the narrow range of our efficiency. According to this theory, it is not irrational that we should pray for rain or fair weather, for prosperous voyages or healthful seasons; or that we should feel gratitude for the innumerable blessings which we receive from this ever present, ever operating, and ever watchful benefactor and Father. Any theory of the universe which makes religion, or prayer, irrational, is self-evidently false, because it contradicts the nature, the consciousness, and the irrepressible convictions of men. As this control of God extends over the minds of men, it is no less rational that we should pray, as all men instinctively do pray, that he would influence our own hearts, and the hearts of others, for good, than that we should pray for health. It is also involved in the assumptions already referred to, that the sequence of events in the physical and moral world is not determined by any inexorable fate. A fatalist cannot consistently pray. It is only on the assumption that there is a God, who does his pleasure in the army of heaven and among the inhabitants of the earth, that we can rationally address him as the hearer of prayer. In like manner, it is assumed that there is no such foreordination of events as is inconsistent with God's acting according to the good pleasure of his will. When a man enters upon any great enterprise, he lays down beforehand the plan of his operations; selects and determines his means, and assigns to each subordinate the part he is to act: he may require each to apply continually for guidance and directions; and may assure him that his requests for assistance and guidance shall be answered. Were it possible that every instance of such application or request could be foreseen and the answer predetermined, this would not be inconsistent with the duty or propriety of such requests being made, or with the liberty of action on the part of the controller. This illustration may amount to little; but it is certain that the Scriptures teach both foreordination and the efficacy of prayer. The two, therefore, cannot be inconsistent. God has not determined to accomplish his purposes without the use of means; and among those means, the prayers of his people have their appropriate place. If the objection to prayer, founded on the foreordination of events, be valid, it is valid against the use of means in any case. If it be unreasonable to say, "If it be foreordained that I should live, it is not necessary for me to eat," it is no less unreasonable for me to say, "If it be foreordained that I should receive any good, it is not necessary for me to ask for it." If God has foreordained to bless us, he has foreordained that we should seek his blessing. Prayer has the same causal relation to the good bestowed, as any other means has to the end with which it is connected. The God of the Bible, who has revealed himself as the hearer of prayer, is not mere intelligence and power. He is love. He feels as well as thinks. Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them. that fear him. He is full of tenderness, compassion, long-suffering, and benevolence. This is not anthropomorphism. These declarations of Scripture are not mere "regulative truths." They reveal what God really is. If man was made in his image, God is like man. All the excellences of our nature as spirits belong to him without limitation, and to an infinite degree. There is mystery here, as there is everywhere. But we are all used to mysteries, the naturalist as well as the theologian. Both have been taught the folly of denying that a thing is, because we cannot tell how it is. It is enough for us to know that God loves us and cares for us; that a sparrow does not fall to the ground without his notice, and that we are, in his sight, of more value than many sparrows. All this for the believer is literal truth, having in its support the highest kind of evidence. The "how" he is content to leave unexplained. It is an objection often urged against the propriety of addressing prayer to God, that it is inconsistent with his dignity as an infinite Being to suppose that he concerns himself with the trifling affairs of men. This objection arises from a forgetfulness that God is infinite. It assumes that his knowledge, power, or presence, is limited; that he would be distracted if his attention were directed to all the minute changes constantly occurring throughout the universe. This supposes that God is a creature like ourselves; that bounds can be set to his intelligence or efficiency. When a man looks out on an extended landscape, the objects to which his attention is simultaneously directed are too numerous to be counted. What is man to God? The absolute intelligence must know all things; absolute power must be able to direct all things. In the sight of God, the distinction between few and many, great and small, disappears. In him all creatures live, and move, and have their being. Light out of Darkness. A STORY OF THE FRANCO-GERMAN WAR. BY ANNIE LUCAS. AWA CHAPTER XII. PARTING. "Earth's watchword is, 'Farewell !'"-MONTGOMERY. HEN the gate had closed behind us, and the high garden-wall rose between us and the public pathway, I drew a long breath of relief. Captain von Edelstein turned to me with his own peculiarly brilliant smile, in which I always thought the eye took as much part as the lip, "Now you feel safe, do you not?" "Yes; oh, Captain von Edelstein! "Will you not rest here awhile before you go on? You do not fear now, and I want to speak a little with you; may I?" "Oh yes; but ob, it was frightful!" I still shook with agitation, and sank gladly on the seat in the sheltered arbour to which he led me. "Poor child! you have indeed been 'under fire' this afternoon. I little thought to what my presence would expose you when I sought you on the hill." "So I had; but circumstances occurred to necessitate an earlier return than I had expected. Barbe told me you were in the garden; but only finding Blaise there, I inquired of him, and ascertained you had gone up the Colline Rouge. Fearing you might meet with some annoyance or fright, I ventured to follow you-little thinking I should be the means of exposing you to what I wished to shield you from." "You were very kind. Who do you think fired that shot? Was it a franc-tireur?" "I think not." Who, then, could it have been? It came from that point of wood that runs almost up to the path. Ah! I know; it must have been old-" "Hush!" said my companion quickly; “do not tell me who it was!" Yes, I did know; so was silent. But I do not think Captain von Edelstein had forgotten the story I had told him of poor old Jacques Lechere, the charcoal-burner, whose lonely cottage stood in that very belt of trees, and whose two stalwart sons, the pride and stay of his failing years, had both fallen on the bloody field of Wörth. Since the fatal day when the crushing tidings reached him, the old man had seemed to have but one thought-one feelingbitter, revengeful, mortal hatred against the Germans, by whose steel his brave boys had died. It was not hard, then, to guess whose dimmed sight and trembling hands had made that bullet pass wide of its mark. Then I thought of the second report; after being assured of my friend's safety, I had almost forgotten that. "But I heard a second shot fired." "Yes." Something in the look and tone made me say quickly and apprehensively, "But it did not hurt you?" "No," he replied; "but God's angel was round about us, mademoiselle; that first shot was close to both of us-the second was closer still. Look here!" He took off his cap and showed where the bullet had singed the outer rim. My cheek blanched, and I could not speak. One inch nearer! The thought was terrible. Neither of us spoke for some moments, then Captain von Edelstein said, "You must have thought me very rough, very cruel, mademoiselle, in the way I shook you off. There was no time for ceremony. I knew a second ball would almost certainly come. I was the mark, but it might have taken you in its course. It was the only thing to be done." “Oh! I did not think of it. I only thought of your danger-it seemed so base to leave you alone. I could not bear to do it." He flashed a bright, sweet look upon me-a look so infinitely glad and bright-I can see it now. O Conrad! Conrad! After a time he said, "This day is full of events, Mademoiselle Léonie; that bullet was not the only unwelcome reminder I have met in its course." "Is it not-why? "Not exactly," he replied, smiling a little; "though they cause me pain.” "Ah! I thought you looked so troubled, so sad, so unlike yourself as we came down the hill." "Did I?" Then, after a pause, "Mademoiselle Léonie, I was thinking of you." "Of me!" "Yes; I have received orders. We leave Drécy to-morrow." "To-morrow!" I faltered. "Yes; you noticed those columns of troops marching through the valley from the top of the hill?" "Yes." "They were the reinforcements for which we have been waiting. We must be on the march before daybreak to-morrow." It had come, then-the waking from my dream. The pain was very sharp. What should I do without the friend, the teacher, the companion, who in that eventful week had become so very dear to me so necessary to my happiness. Tears welled up to my eyes and fell-great burning drops, that bring no relief. "Do you care so much?" said Captain von Edelstein, in a low tone of deep emotion, taking my passive hand in a clasp of gentle tenderness. I raised my tearful eyes to his. "How can I do otherwise?" I said; "what have you not been to me this week?-protector, teacher, friend-no brother could be kinder, more sympathizing, more helpful than you have been. You have shown me the light-taught me the truth-led me to Jesus; and now you are going away into danger, perhaps to death-and I shall be alone. Oh! how shall I keep right with no one to help me, no one to teach me. And I so ignorant and weak!" The look of intense pain that passed over my companion's face as I spoke made me pause. For an instant-less-his fingers closed convulsively on mine, his lips parted as if to speak, then that stern, rigid look I had noticed on the hill-side returned. He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, and when he removed it, his face was serene and calm, and not without a certain kind of brightness, though my eyes dropped before the look of love and sorrow that met mine. "Léonie, dear Léonie," he said, "I may call Have you had bad news?" you so-may I not? You have called me friend brother. You will let me live in your memory as your friend Conrad, not as the German Captain von Edelstein, will you not? And when I am gone, Léonie, you will not forget me, I know. There is one place where we can always meet—at the throne of grace. I shall not forget you there -will you too think of me?" "Ah yes! I will indeed. But oh! I shall be so lonely I shall lose my way-get into darkness!" "No, dearest Léonie, no; you will not be alone -you will have One ever near, the Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, who has said, 'I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.' Trust him; he will teach you, guide you, sustain you, supply all your need-ALL" "But I shall have no light, not even a Bible!" "He can make even that loss up to you," he replied; "I would leave you mine, but it is my dear mother's gift." "Oh no, no! you will need it too; no, I could not have robbed you of it, even had it not been your mother's gift, it is so precious and necessary to you. I know you would miss it even more than I." "Yes; but oh, Captain von Edelstein, my father is better, much better!" "Truly, and I hope you may not need to follow this advice; but it is well to be prepared. And do not venture beyond the garden; it is not safe, as you have seen to-day." "And you," I said, after a time; "where are you going?" "To join Von Werder in the south," he replied. "Will your post be a dangerous one?" I asked. He smiled. "A soldier does not think of that," he said; "and however it may be, mademoiselle, remember a Christian bears a charmed life." "Do you mean that you are sure God will keep you from being wounded, or"-I shuddered— "being killed." But "No," he answered gently, "I cannot say that. I do not know whether bullet, or shell, or steel may not be the instrument my Father may choose to bear me his message, 'Come up hither.' I do know that no weapon can touch my true life, none wound me, that it is my Father's will to avert. And I trust he will let us meet again in happier times, even here. If not, we have the certainty of meeting above." Then he uttered a short, but deeply earnest prayer. Every word lives in my memory still; but it is too sacred-too solemn to be recorded even here. Silently, and with lingering steps, we walked up the path towards the house. What a change since we last paced it in holy, happy talk that morning. Then the glad early sunshine beamed brightly upon us and on the many-tinted leaves and flowers. Now the shades of the gray stormy evening fell thickly around; the drenched flowers "Well, I will try and find means of procuring and sending you one. Or, rather, I will ask the Lord to do so. He can. Meanwhile he will keep you in the path, for he is 'the Way.' Rest on him. And now, Léonie, a few words before we go in. You will remember I tried to induce your father to let me procure a safe-conduct to secure your travelling at once to Munich, where you would be in peace and safety till the war is over. I saw it was vain to urge it upon him, he is evidently resolved not to leave his old home. But for you, Léonie, if you should need a pro-lay stained and prostrate on the earth; the wind tector, if you should be left alone in the midst of this strife-my poor child, I would not distress you-I trust it may not be; but, if what we fear should come to pass, will you seek refuge in Munich-you and Barbe-with my mother and sister? They know of you. I have written to them of you; they will receive you gladly. By way of Switzerland, you might reach them without much difficulty. I would have procured a safeconduct, but in the unsettled state of affairs it would be useless to do so beforehand. Will you promise me this?" swept wailing and moaning round the house, scattering the sere leaves from the creaking branches. A heavy shower had fallen as we sat in the arbour; the rain had ceased, but the damp chill struck to my very heart. Yet one live coal glowed in it. Conrad's words had not been in vain. Heavenly hope and trust gleamed sweetly over my soul's troubled waters: with two such stars the night could not be all darkness. As we entered the house, Conrad asked me to leave him a short time alone with my father that evening. He wished to speak with him of one or |