is something new in our American theological education. Moreover, the idea has been that teaching and rooms should be furnished to theological students gratuitously. The notion that men preparing for the ministry should pay their way as men do who are fitting themselves for other professions was almost unheard of.

I am not here defending the Harvard idea, nor do I criticise other schools. They have done and are doing good work in the fields that they have chosen. I do not imply that their teachers do not utter their own thoughts freely. They are selected carefully as men whose thought is that for which the seminary exists. The fish cannot live out of water, but that is no matter of constraint. It does not want to live out of water. Many of our seminaries have grown larger and broader in spite of attempted restraint. I merely wish to emphasize the Harvard idea, and to make it clear why the school has not grown more rapidly. The idea of theological education that has prevailed in the past and that prevails to-day is against it. The school is small; it may become smaller yet. It is prepared to accept the consequences of its course, whatever they may be. The past is against it, the present may not much favor it; but we believe that the future at least, and a future not so very remote, will recognize its place and its work.

RELIGION IN AMERICA.

A recent number of the Nouvelle Revue contains an article by M. de Coubertin, giving his impressions of religion in America. The American edition of the Review of Reviews translates and summarizes as follows:

In America the spheres of religion and the State are constitutionally distinct. The government professes to ignore the exist ence of religion, and yet prayer is an invariable accompaniment of all manifestations of the national life.

No foundation stone is laid, no important meeting is held, without an appeal for the divine assistance. Congress has its chaplain, the State legislatures request many ministers of different creeds to preside at the openings of their sittings; in the President's message he summons the people to unite in a common thanksgiving toward the Sovereign

Ruler of the world; in the public schools the Bible is read to children and commented upon; the rules of the army and navy contain provision for the regular celebration of divine worship; and, what is still more significant, the laws relating to property are in favor of benefactions for religious objects.

M. de Coubertin observes that there is one article in the American Constitution which is understood, and which does not appear in the text, but which is in full vigor; namely, "the Christian religion is the religion of the State."

What is this Christian religion? It has undergone an evolution between the years 1620 and 1893. The men of the seventeenth century held a somewhat rigid and intolerant creed. The civilization of Asia and of Europe was odious to them, and their idea of moral regeneration was based upon a stern austerity. It is a different picture in 1893. There is a great assembly of religions. A cardinal of the Roman Church presides. Around him are represented the various Protestant sects, the priests of Buddha, dignitaries of Islam, deputations from the most distant and the most ancient monasteries and temples in the world. We see that what is lost to dogma is gained to sentiment. On the shore of Lake Michigan meets indeed a council, but it is a council without anathema and without excommunication. Coubertin goes on to deal with the curious religious phenomena of America, such as "the revivals." The Americans are essentially more sentimental than any other nation in the world, and this singular religious hypnotism to which they seem to abandon themselves in these revivals is the marvel of all visitors to America.

M. de

Mormonism appears to retain largely its hold upon its adherents. Brigham Young displayed an almost Satanic ingenuity in his teaching of polygamy, for the result has been that the younger generation of Mormons are prevented by public opinion from entering other religious bodies, where they are regarded as illegitimate; and hence it is that the Mormon community is more stable and holds together better than any other religious body except, possibly, the Church of Rome.

M. de Coubertin has a very high opinion of American charity, which is usually anonymous and extremely self-denying.

Perhaps the most ordinary feature of American religious life is the practice of exchanging pulpits. This practice has an extraordinary influence on sermons in America. Thus, if a Baptist minister accepts an invitation to preach in a Presbyterian chapel or if a Congregationalist minister is preaching to Lutherans, it is not with the intention of being disagreeable and of wounding the convictions of his hearers. On the contrary, the preacher seeks, as the Parliament of Religions did at Chicago, for points of agreement, and not of difference. The clergy in America are usually very well educated; and their social influence continues to increase, while their religious rôle decreases.

Of course, with all this there is a certain vague eclecticism, which is curiously seen in the dedication of a church in California to "God Universal."

COMMON THINGS.

Give me, dear Lord, thy magic common things,
Which all can see, which all may share,-
Sunlight and dewdrops, grass and stars and sea,-
Nothing unique or new, and nothing rare.
Just daisies, knap-weed, wind among the thorns;
Some clouds to cross the blue old sky above;
Rain, winter fires, a useful hand, a heart,

The common glory of a woman's love. Then, when my feet no longer tread old paths (Keep them from fouling sweet things anywhere),

Write one old epitaph in grace-lit words,"Such things look fairer that he sojourned

here."

-Spectator.

KEEPING SABBATH.

Among the more remarkable of the newly published "Logia" of Jesus is one bidding the disciples observe the Sabbath. It is very naturally felt that this is hardly in accord with the spirit of the teaching in the gospel that "the Sabbath was made for man," but did not Jesus say he came to fulfil the law? The whole history of the subject illustrates the division of feeling between rigidity of ceremonialism and the liberty of reverent intelligence.

A story is told that a certain Rabbi Solo

mon fell into a slough on a Saturday, and would not suffer a Christian to pull him out because it was the Jewish Sabbath; and the next day the Christian would not pull him out because it was the Christian Sabbath. But the true principle of Sabbath observance sets us free from such mental bondage. Those Jews who would not visit a sick relative on the Sabbath because the distance was over two thousand paces were slaves to the letter of the law, and did not remember that the Sabbath was made for man. Those who brought ladders, ropes, and pulleys to lift the ox out of the pit, would have deserved praise, had they been actuated by humane feeling instead of a mere desire to save their property. The casuists of the Roman Church show their good sense in allowing medical men to visit their patients on Sundays and notaries to receive wills, butchers to kill their meat and farmers in some conditions of weather to reap and sow. But excepting such cases of necessity-of which they give a listthey regard work on holy days as a mortal sin.

Lists and codes are a mistake: it would be wiser to teach the general principle that the Sabbath was made for man. That will guide us as to whether we may write a letter, or work the pumps of a fire-engine, or drive to church, employing horse and coachman, or take a railway journey. If the journey is to fetch a physician, go. If the letter is to cheer a friend, write it: if it is only on worldly, money-making business, defer it. If the drive to church enables either you or a feeble friend to be at a service when you could not walk, there is something to be said for the arrangement. Your coachman can come within the door: your horse can rest on Saturday, like a Jew.

But, in judging of the circumstances, we must keep in mind the principle that we are to seek the highest good, for ourselves and for others. If Jesus had said to the Jew, "Instead of two thousand paces you may walk five miles," he would not have mended matters: five miles is labor to one, and recreation to another. One doctor lives six miles away, another is close at hand. Hard and fast rules are for children and the ignorant, and it is better that each should be a law unto himself; but, then, it was not intended that law should become

license. Sabbath leisure is too precious to go uncultivated. I went by the field of the slothful; and, lo! it was grown over with thorns and nettles, and the stone wall thereof was broken down. I reproved the man for his folly; but he said he was within his rights: the field was made for man, and not man for the field. It was true, indeed; yet, while he was idle, the field was not made for him. And, if he and his family danced upon it, there would still have been no corn at harvest time. There is no harm in a Sunday walk,—nay, there may be benefit to body and mind in an hour spent in lanes and fields; but the day is long enough for walk and worship, too. When Jesus walked through the corn-fields on the Sabbath, he did not spend the whole day in the occupation. Our Sunday reading need not be confined to the Bible, nor to Zimmermann on Solitude and Drelincourt on Death; but we shall scarcely benefit by society newspapers and Marie Corelli's novels. It is not necessary to afflict the soul, and much less should we condemn our children to painful restriction and dulness; but let us not turn the Sabbath into a bank holiday or a day for cycling and picnics.

Sunday in itself may be no holier than other days; but, then, every day is sacred. Wise people, though not "esteeming one day above another," will strive to raise all other days to the level of the Sabbath. The Sunday should be, and may be, the brightest and happiest day of all the week, and all the more so because a part of it is spent in attending public worship. Some one has said, "If you could take the spring out of the year and youth out of life, you would not do a greater injury to the human race than if you took Sunday out of the week."-Inquirer.

FLEE AS A BIRD.

"In the Lord I put my trust: how say ye to my soul, Flee as a bird to your mountain ?"- PSALM xi. 1.

My soul is a bird

Flying so free. My soul is a bird

Thy happy eyes see.

Through its music is heard
Thy love's holy word.

True may it be
And loving as thee,
My soul that's a bird
Flying so free,
Singing
And winging
In thee,

Lord, in thee!

My soul is a flower
Blooming so sweet.
My soul is a flower

Thy happy smiles greet. Thy truth sends the shower,

Thy love sends the heat, That my soul as a flower

Its being complete.
My soul is a flower

Thy happy eyes see,
Blooming,
Perfuming,
For thee,
Lord, for thee!

My soul is a child,

Love in its eyes. My soul is a child.

Unto thee are its cries!
The earth hath beguiled
Thy heart undefiled,
That it may arise

Thy love, holy, wise,
In me as thy child
Thy happy eyes see,
Smiling,
Beguiling,
To thee,

Lord, to thee!

There are many storms that buffet. There are many arrows that are winged of death. Whither shall we find refuge from the storm?

for enmity will find its defences frail. Flee

ing to these, the soul is like the bewildered bird flying into the snare, thinking it a safe refuge. In them is no defying fastness, no hidden cave, no peaceful nest.

But in the secret places of my soul where Thou dwellest, Lord, is safety. The mountains of thy holiness are a safe defence, a sure refuge. There would my soul flee as a frightened bird. No arrows of death can search those heights. In fastness of those hills no fowler can snare.

Thou takest me into thy heart until the storm is overpast. How safe the great peace of thy soul! What a sunny, holy deliverance from every danger of sin! What pure skies thy love weaves, that my soul may fly and sing out its praises! Truly, thou art the home of my soul. There flee I as a bird to its mountain. From thence fly I forth with strength in my wings and sweetness in my song, to enchant the lower winds with something of that heavenli

ness.

My refuge is in thee, the Perfect, who guidest me through flying arrows, who giveth me the victory over sin, and whose name is the beauty of my praise that sings that victory. "Therefore will I not fear, for thou makest me to dwell in safety."

From the mountains of thy holiness I can send the victorious arrows until all the plain of my lowest life is swept of the foes, and becomes a habitation of peace where thou mayest walk with me in holy comradeship. In my lowest, outermost life will be the footfalls of thy holiness, and the winds sweet with thy discourses of love. Sin cannot hurt more, sorrow cannot wound: Death lifts its veil of darkness, and, lo! is the shining of thine own face.

Until this blessed consummation shall come, grant me ever to see thy light in my darkness. Grant me to follow that light until I see thy face filled with the peace that is eternal. When I cannot feel them, grant me to trust that the everlasting arms are underneath, keeping me unto my soul's satisfying in thy perfect love. Then will the nights be rest, and the days praise. Then will thy soul rejoice in my soul that is perfecting. PASTOR QUIET.

We live no more of our time than we spend well.-Carlyle.

STEPHEN H. CAMP.

Mr. Camp was born in Windsor, Conn., near the city of Hartford, May 29, 1837. He was the son of James and Huldah (Moffat) Camp, and one of nine children.

Mr. James Camp moved with his family to Rochester, N.Y., when his son Stephen was a boy of fourteen.

At fifteen, in the year 1852, he entered a machine-shop in Rochester; and a few years later he went to Milwaukee to follow his trade.

Here the young man, cherishing high aspirations, came under the influence of that noble soul, Rev. Nahor Augustus Staples, who recognized his rare natural qualities, and opened a way to his entering the School of Divinity at Meadville, Penn., in September, 1859. Four years were passed there of great enjoyment and profit. The opportunity was eagerly seized. Mind and soul expanded under the leading of Dr. Oliver Stearns.

His

The charming social advantages then offered to the students opened a sphere of life not less valuable than the mental training. Mr. Camp came to be loved in a large circle both in and out of the school. quick social instincts, his joyousness, his love of nature and of music, his devout spirit, and his religious enthusiasm all gave promise of a useful ministry. In 1863 he was graduated, just as the nation was in the throes of the Civil War. He had been greatly interested in the anti-slavery movement. He was a friend of the colored man; and he gladly accepted the offer of the post of chaplain in a colored regiment, afterward stationed at Port Hudson.

He had great influence over the men, and they came to love him; and, after the war, he received letters from his loyal colored boys, filled with grateful expressions. It was a year of noble service to a lowly race. In September, 1864, Mr. Camp was settled in Toledo, Ohio.

In July, 1865, he was married to Susan Adams Forster, daughter of Charles and Susanna Forster, of Charlestown, Mass., a lady of sweet spirit and noble qualities of mind and heart. She died Aug. 17, 1882, beloved and honored. His loyalty to her memory was ever true and abiding. They had two children: one died in infancy; the