advancement had been made since my first visit, some twelve years ago, and to feel that a courteous visitor would find much to admire and much to enjoy. J. B.

THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER.

ONE day a courtier going to see His Majesty Henry IV. of France found him playing with his children. The monarch continued the game, in which the courtier was adroit enough to join; not, however, from magnanimity, but policy. Henry was above the desire of keeping up his dignity, which it is so human to feel, although the "welllanguaged" Daniel says—

"Unless above himself a man erect himself,
How poor a thing is man.'

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Michelet said that genius is the preservation in manhood of what is childlike an openness to the reception of influences around and within us. Without claiming this as the distinguishing characteristic of genius—a vexed question-there can be little doubt that it is a source of some of our purest pleasures. Hence the student of the past loves to linger over the times when the monks of old gathered together to read their manuscript Lives of the Saints, or tell the tales so quaintly moralized in the Gesta Romanorum. There is a charm in some of these old legends, that won the hearts of our forefathers, as they were told around the faggot-fire on the large open hearth, and which we, in this century of universal knowledge, should not disdain. I love to read again and again the legend of St. Christopher; and every time I read it I feel that it embodies a truth which comes home to my heart.

Arprobus, the Syrian, a man of gigantic stature, was feared by all those who dwelt near him, for his feats of strength had been felt by many. But within that huge frame there dwelt a heart that yearned to serve some one greater than himself, yea, the greatest that he could find. Hearing of a king who was reputed to be very powerful, he went to him and proffered his service. It was accepted. After dwelling with him for some time, the king, on a certain day, called in his minstrel, and during the song crossed himself at the name of Satan. Arprobus, who saw the movement, asked the king why he crossed himself during the song. The king replied: "I crossed myself at the name of Satan. I fear his influence over me, for he is the prince of this world." "I pray thee, then," said Arprobus, "that you will give me leave to quit your service, for I desire only to serve him who is the greatest."

Arprobus left the king and wandered in search of Satan, the prince of this world, whom at last he found in the wilderness. His service was willingly accepted, and for awhile he rejoiced, for he saw evident signs of Satan's power. Every one seemed to regard him with fear; and yet almost every one was under his rule. But at last, as they journeyed along, he saw Satan recoil from a crucifix in the road,

and betake himself another way. Wondering what could be the reason of this, he asked Satan why he was afraid of the crucifix. "It is the sign of the King Christ, and before it I must flee away." "Then," said Arprobus, "give me leave to quit your service, for I desire only to serve him who is the greatest."

For years Arprobus searched vainly for the King Christ. Many had sent him to one place or another, but nowhere could he find Him. Meeting with a hermit he asked him how the King Christ could be found? The hermit replied, "By fasting and prayer." "If I fast," said Arprobus, "I shall lose my strength, and I do not know how to pray." He was then directed to station himself by the side of a broad river, and perform works of charity in helping poor people across. He obeyed. Tearing up a huge plant, he used it for a staff, and was instrumental in saving many lives.

One night he heard a voice as of a little child, crying, "Carry me across. He went out, but could see nothing; so he returned to his hut to repose. Again the voice cried, " Carry me across." Arprobus opened the door of his hut, and saw standing before him a beautiful boy. He took his staff and plunged into the river with the boy on his back. When near the middle of the river the winds blew, and the waves of the river rose with the fury of the storm, whilst the boy, who at first had seemed so light, became as heavy as though the whole world rested on his shoulders. It was with extreme difficulty that Arprobus reached the other shore. When there he asked the boy, "How was it that in the river it seemed that when I bore thee I was bearing the whole world?" The answer was, "I am the King Christ, and have come to tell thee that thy service is accepted. Henceforth thy name shall be Christophorus, for thou hast borne Christ. Plant thy staff in the ground, and it shall blossom and bear fruit."

Christophorus sought no other master; he served Christ all his

days.

If we want a moral to this legend it will not be hard to find one. Carlyle says, "The eye sees what it brings the power to see;" hence the legend may find different applications. But of one thing it may remind each of us-that, if we wish to serve the greatest, it must be Christ; and we serve Him by active usefulness, which is perfected when we bear Christ by becoming Christ-like.

VERUS.

THE MALE AND FEMALE INTELLECT. PERHAPS there is no subject of greater interest to mankind than the relation which exists between the sexes; more especially the peculiar mental affinity in each sex. Nor is anything more remarkable than the strange blank which this question has presented in the theology and literature of the Christian world. Indeed, a Sadducean sentiment seems to have overspread a large area of society on this delicate matter. This gross fallacy has been nurtured ever since the celibacy of the

priesthood was set up as a canon of the Church, and the institutions of monks and nuns became a leading feature of religion. The Reformed Church, it is true, made these matters special points of dissent from the Romish communion: still, the old fallacy of the pre-eminent excellence of single life has held a sort of tacit sway over the religious world. Nor is it a little singular that, at this moment, the High Church party in the Anglican communion are favouring the re-institution of a celibate class, at least among female pietists.

These ideas, like some other peculiarities of the old theology, are, however, breaking up; and a spirit of inquiry, which nothing can arrest, assails the venerated customs of the dark ages. It is certainly time to utterly repudiate the false principle-that unmarried life is more agreeable to God than a state of wedlock. There is something truly audacious in the insinuation that God ordained in Paradise anything impure; especially after the Lord Himself has so pointedly confirmed the primeval institution, as we find written in the Gospel (Matt. xix. 4).

The novelist and dramatists have taken up this subject with great ardour; and the poets have asserted in undying lines the sublimity of the relation between the sexes. But the theologians as a rule are slowly moved into new grooves; and their effete ideas do not readily blend with the innovations of practical good sense respecting the immutable and immortal nature of the mental endowments in the male and female minds.

Philosophy, too, is slow in approaching this peculiar question. Indeed, out of the pale of New Church literature there is hardly any recognized philosophy on the subject. There seems to be, moreover, at the present day, a practical tendency to dull the lines of difference in the character of sex. Whilst asserting the important right of the education of women to be placed on a higher level, there seems for the moment a breaking down of the natural divergence in the social walks of man and woman. They are to be admitted alike to all studies, all collegiate honours, and all professions. It is thus the world commonly jumps from one extreme to another.

But what is really the difference between the sexes? Where is the difference? In what part of their nature? And in what does it exist? Properly speaking, the difference between man and woman is not confined to any part of their nature, but common to the whole range of their faculties and senses. It commences in the will; extends to the understanding; continues into the brain and nervous system; and is carried on throughout the body in every bone, fibre, and muscle. These are facts which all science and experience tend to confirm.

If the facts be as I have stated, it is evident at a glance that the universal diversity in the sexes bespeaks the essential design of the Creator, from the union of the two to produce a perfect being. Further, it must be evident that the sexes are not precisely fitted for discharging the same duties, or for discharging them separately, and that for certain duties the peculiar fitness of each sex cannot be a matter of indifference.

The critical question is, How does the primary difference which is in the will affect the intellect?

It is not a question of superiority or inferiority; but rather, of connatus and order. The will of the female differs so much from that of the male that the difference extends to every part of her constitution. How does it affect the understanding? It confers upon the understanding a faculty of rapid perception and easy subjection to the will. It powerfully predisposes the understanding, and inclines all its energies to confirm the view favourable to its ends. It may often be partially the case in the male, but not without distinction ; for were it otherwise there could be no real difference between the male and female intellect. On the contrary, it is the peculiarity of the male intellect to arrive at conclusions slowly and dispassionately step by step. And however rapidly the male intellect operates, it is always in its own order.

If this reasoning be sound, it is plain, as we see abundantly verified in human life, that the female, while perfectly free to form her own conclusions, must be indirectly influenced by the general intelligence of the male sex; and ultimately by preference for the intelligence of some particular man whom she either loves or highly esteems.

It must appear, then, that although the male and female are equally endowed with understanding, the intellectual faculty can never act in precisely the same manner in each; and that they are equally imperfect in isolated action. We may also conclude that woman, from her very nature, is not fitted to enter into any realm of purely abstract inquiry, although she may earnestly embrace the results of such inquiry and pronounce a clear judgment thereon.

It would extend this paper too far to enter into illustrations, drawn from eminent examples in point, touching both the sexes. But it has appeared to me, that a remarkable instance in verification of the principles laid down is furnished in the case of the late Miss Martineau ; and it may be interesting to adduce this example.

Miss Martineau is generally admitted to have been eminently endowed with understanding, and to have been a profound thinker. It appears to me, that her early associations strongly contributed to the formation of the character subsequently so exceptionally developed. She was carefully brought up under the peculiar religious influences of her family, and seems to have been for some time a zealous religionist in her way. But her religious culture was of a somewhat negative kind; not devoid of strong feeling probably, but savouring too largely of critical and historical grounds. She was educated in the most intense dogmas of the Socinian school, so adverse to the proper spirituality of Scripture and the Deity of the Saviour; so that there was hardly, in her case, that profound homage for Revelation which exerts so necessary and powerful an influence over the serpentine vagaries of the human understanding. Under such circumstances, her intellectual culture rapidly assumed a decidedly analytical turn, and she naturally glided into the professional and political authoress. It will be some

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forty years when, on recovering from a period of illness and delicate health, she wrote a book entitled Life in a Sick-Room, which displayed her peculiar practical and observing intellect. She especially treated the subject with regard to the best means for increasing the physical comfort and the spirits of the invalid during a protracted illness. On recovering her health, she pursued her literary career with unabated ardour, choosing subjects for her pen which are commonly supposed to lie outside the sphere of female advocacy. Gradually bursting from the moorings of religious conviction, she at last wandered forth on the troubled sea of negative science. It is ill for a man when he removes himself from the influence of the Word; but it is worse for a woman. For in her case the feminine impulsiveness of her nature acts with a syren power over the intellect: she loses her balance, and soon finds herself gliding, in a mental whirl, down a fatal facilis descensus. In such a condition people catch at straws; and Harriet Martineau found a straw in the acquaintance of a gentleman, with whom she entered into a long correspondence, and whose name has become more known through his celebrated pervert than might otherwise have been his fortune. This baneful influence seems to

have completed Miss Martineau's sceptical career. She now openly avowed herself an unbeliever, and abandoned all faith in an Almighty Being and in human immortality. The idea of annihilation has filled the masculine mind with horror:

Back on herself, and startles at destruction?"

But Miss Martineau, it is said, could contemplate the utter disintegration of all human ties, and even consciousness itself, with calm satisfaction! Surely this once keen intellect had fallen into a mortal stupor !

Miss Martineau, it appears, had several bodily peculiarities. Her deafness probably inclined her more thoroughly to study and authorship. But there was also something singularly abnormal in her vision. She relates that she could not, when a child, see the ocean that was spread out before her; and was unable to perceive the brilliant comet of 1811 when pointed out to her in the sky. On this remarkable fact a literary lady in the North of England has lately written some striking lines, from which I quote the following verses :

"Strange blindness thine! whose young eyes failed to see
That ocean lay expanded to their view;
Strange the bright comet shone in vain for thee:
Tale of thy childhood, self-told, therefore true.

"Type of the inward blindness that was thine-
Eternity's vast ocean at thy feet!

Type of faith's day-star that in vain might shine-
Thy spirit's darkness failed its rays to greet.'

It is due to Miss Martineau's memory to add that she possessed many sterling virtues; that her character was unstained by meanness or vice; and that she appeared incapable of deceit. Let us hope the black cloud which overspread her mortal existence may, under more favourable circumstances, be dispelled.

ROBERT ABBOTT.