Scotch figure, to have "a bee in his bonnet." But time has shown that it was only an idea which found quicker and larger hospitality with him, than with his associates. And it never crazed or befooled him. He was able to hold it in patient faith, and at last the world has overtaken him, and will do justice not only to his opinions, but to his character and his genius.

The works of Williams, judged by their literary quality or their present influence, may have no striking importance. Their circulation was narrow. One of them, at least, was burnt. They have not been preserved by any intrinsic vitality of eminent genius. But they take interest from his personality and life. He is greater than they, and they are to be read, to be preserved at any rate, for the light they shed on him, his work and his time. They are a part of the history of human opinion, and of the conflict ideal truth has had to wage in the world. It is the fortune of the soldiers of truth. The victory is won; the weapons are left behind on the field, forgotten. The controversy is antiquated, for we have reached a point where the doctrine of liberty is accepted without question, and where it seems as if it had never been in question. Unless, indeed, the attempts to enforce a semi-religious education in schools sustained by all sects, and to force into the constitution of the United States a profession of religious belief, and to call on the State to support sectarian charities, are indications that one need to revert to the old hero of the Bloody Tenet, and learn of him what be the first principles of spiritual liberty.

PROVIDENCE, R. I.

S. L. CALDWell.

THE THREE SYSTEMS OF BELIEF IN CHINA.

IN

N the sixth century B. C., three men flourished, who founded systems of doctrine which have governed and moulded almost half the human family, for nearly one half the period of its existence on the earth. These three men are Buddha, Lau Tsz and Confucius; or, to be more accurate, we should rather say are called Buddha, Lau Tsz and Confucius; for these are titles rather than personal names. Buddha, meaning "the Enlightened," was of the family of the Sakyas, and belonged to the clan of the Gautames, and was named Sakya Muni; or, Shik ka Mau Ni, as we call it in Chinese. Lau Tsz means the Old Philosopher; it is not certainly known what his name was, but Sz Ma Hien, one of the best Chinese historians, tells us that his surname was Li, and his style Po-yang. Confucius is a Latinized form of King Fu Tsz, which means the teacher Kung.

With the systems of religion and of philosophy which prevailed in the countries around the Mediterranean, and have been preserved to us in the Greek and Latin languages, all are somewhat familiar; but it is only of late years, especially since the Sanskrit and the Chinese have laid open their treasures to competent scholars, that much interest has been taken in the philosophical and religious systems of the East.

These systems demand our attention both as scholars and as Christians, whether we consider them as illustrating how the mind

of man everywhere feels after the good and the true, or reflect how large a portion of our race has lived and died trusting in these unsatisfying systems.

Two of these systems, Tauism and Confucianism, are indigenous to China; the third, Buddhism, was introduced from India. The Chinese class them together as the three Káu or systems of doctrine, and they are often spoken of as the three religions of China. Originally, they were systems of philosophy, rather than of religion; but to-day, Tauism and Buddhism are practically religious systems.

When it is said that the Chinese are attached to these three systems, it must not be supposed that we can say that so many millions are members of this or that sect, or that there is now any antagonism between the adherents of the different doctrines; but rather, that these systems are the three elements which have combined to mould. the present belief of the Chinese. Individual men are more or less attached to the different systems according to the differing tendencies of their minds, or to the circumstances which surround them. With the exception of the Buddhist and Tauist priests, and their lay brotherhoods and sisterhoods, no one calls himself a Buddhist or a Tauist. Confucius is universally revered, and almost any one, if asked to what sect he is attached, will call himself a Confucianist. Yet he is not on this account any the less zealous in worshipping the Buddhist and Tauist idols. Both Tauist and Buddhist priests take part in funerals and other ceremonies. But few of the Chinese have any earnest religious belief in any one system. They rather go on the plan of a man who insures his property in different insurance offices, hoping if one should fail, he will have the other to fall back on. They thus afford a real but sad proof of the inability of any of their systems to satisfy the cravings of an immortal soul. In taking a glance at these systems, we will begin with Buddhism.

Buddhism.

Its founder, Buddha, was born at Kapilavastu, capital of a kingdom of the same name, situated at the foot of the mountains of Nepal, north of what is now called Oude. He was son of the king, and belonged, therefore, to the warrior caste. His mother died seven days after his birth, and the father entrusted him to the care of his deceased wife's sister. 'The child grew up a beautiful and most accomplished boy, and soon knew more than his masters could teach him. He refused to take part in the games of his playmates, and never felt so happy as when he could sit alone, lost in meditation, in the deep shadows of the forest. In order to prevent the young prince from

becoming a dreamer, the king determined to marry him at once. When the ministers mentioned the subject to the future heir of the throne, he demanded seven days for reflection, and, convinced at last that not even marriage could disturb the calm of his mind, he allowed the ministers to look out for a princess. The beautiful Gopâ, daughter of Daudupâni, was the princess selected. The young prince overcame all the opposition of his future father-in-law, by distancing all rivals, both by feats of arms and power of mind. The marriage proved a very happy one, and Buddha seemed all his life attached to his wife; but he was still absorbed in meditation on the problems of life and death. "Nothing is stable on earth," he used to say, “nothing is real. Life is like the spark produced by the friction of wood. It is lighted and is extinguished,-we know not from whence it came or whither it goes. There must be some supreme intelligence where we could find rest. If I attained it, I could bring light to man; if I were free myself, I could deliver the world." The king tried by every means to divert the mind of the young prince from his melancholy speculations, but all in vain.

M. Barthélemy St. Hilaire, in his work on "Buddha and his Religion," gives the following account of the circumstances which determined Buddha to betake himself to an ascetic life:

One day when the prince, with a large retinue, was driving through the eastern gate of the city, on the way to one of his parks, he met on the road an old man, broken and decrepit. One could see the veins and muscles over the whole of his body; his teeth chattered; he was covered with wrinkles, bald, and hardly able to utter hollow and unmelodious sounds. He was bent on his sticks, and all his limbs and joints trembled. "Who is that man?" said the prince to his coachman. "He is small and weak, his flesh and his blood are dried up, his muscles stick to his skin, his head is white, his teeth chatter, his body is wasted away; leaning on his stick, he is hardly able to walk, stumbling at every step. Is there something peculiar to his family, or is this the common lot of all created beings?"

"Sir," replied the coachman, "that man is sinking under old age; his senses have become obtuse, suffering has destroyed his strength, and he is despised by his relations. He is without support and useless, and people have abandoned him, like a dead tree in a forest. But this is not peculiar to his family. In every creature youth is defeated by old age. Your father, your mother, all your friends will come to the same state; this is the appointed end of all creatures."

"Alas!" replied the prince, "are creatures so ignorant, so weak and foolish, as to be proud of the youth by which they are intoxicated, not seeing the old age which awaits them? As for me, I go away. Coachman, turn my chariot quickly. What have I, the future prey of old

age, what have I to do with pleasure?" And the young prince returned to the city, without going to his park.

Another time the prince was driving through the southern gate to his pleasure garden, when he perceived on the road a man suffering with illness, parched with fever, his body wasted, covered with mud, without a friend, without a home, hardly able to breathe, and frightened at the sight of himself, and the approach of death. Having questioned his coachman, and received from him the answer which he expected, the young prince said: "Alas! health is but the sport of a dream, and the fear of suffering must take this frightful form. Where is the wise man who, after having seen what he is, could any longer think of joy and pleasure? The prince turned his chariot, and returned to the city. A third time he was driving to his pleasure garden, through the western gate, when he saw a dead body on the road, lying on a bier, and covered with a cloth. The friends stood about, crying, sobbing, tearing their hair, covering their heads with dust, striking their breasts, and uttering wild cries. The prince, again calling his coachman to witness this painful scene, exclaimed:

Oh, woe to youth, which must be destroyed by old age! Woe to health, which must be destroyed by so many diseases! Woe to this life, when a man remains so short a time! If there were no old age, no disease, no death; if these could be made captive forever! Then betraying for the first time his intentions, the young prince said: "Let us turn back; I must think how to accomplish deliverance."

A last meeting put an end to his hesitation. He was driving through the northern gate, on the way to his pleasure gardens, when he saw a mendicant, who appeared outwardly calm, subdued, looking downwards, wearing with an air of dignity his religious vestment, and carrying an alms-bowl.

"Who is this man?" asked the prince. "Sir," replied the coachman, "this man is one of those who are called bhikshus, or mendicants. He has renounced all pleasures, all desires, and leads a life of austerity. He tries to conquer himself. He has become a devotee. Without passion, without envy, he walks about asking for alms." "This is good and well said," replied the prince. "The life of a devotee has always been praised by the wise. It will be my refuge, and the refuge of other creatures; it will lead us to a real life, to happiness and immortality.' With these words the young prince turned his chariot and returned to the city.

After having declared to his father and his wife his intention of retiring from the world, Buddha left his palace one night, when all the guards that were to have watched him were asleep. He first