treasure given him. What is ambition compared to that but selfish vanity? To be rich, to be famous ! What do these profit a year hence, when other names sound louder than yours, when you lie hidden away under the ground along with idle titles engraven on your coffin. But only true love lives after you, follows your memory with secret blessing or precedes you and intercedes for you. Non omnis moriar—if dying, I yet live in a tender heart or two; nor am lost or hopeless living if a sainted departed soul still lives and prays for me. -- After pointing out to his hearers some of the many lessons the Psalm was calculated to teach, he concluded as follows: When we think of God's goodness to us in creation, in providence, and in redemption, we can use the psalmist's words. He has made us in his own image, has given us souls whereby we may know and love Him, and which, if knowing and loving Him aright, will grow into the image of His own son, our Lord and Saviour. We have eyes to see all that is beautiful in nature, in the forms of those we love, ears to hear creation's manifold sounds and the music of the voices of those dear to us, minds to grasp all that is elevating, purifying, ennobling, to ponder over and make ourselves partakers of the thoughts and characters of all great men, and power to become humble followers of their lives. When we think of the unwearied providence which has watched over us ever since we can remember with all a mother's tenderness and a father's wisdom, of the way in which we have been led and kept in the path of life, of our personal, social, and domestic joys; above all when we think of the inestimable gift we have in the person of Jesus Christ and the redemption which, by His life and death, He hath purchased for us, we may well exclaim with the Psalmist "The Lord hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad." Am I speaking to any sorrowful ones who try hard to make these words their own and are not able to do so, to any burdened hearts which can raise no hymn of praise, and feel no thrill of joy. All I can say to such is "Trust in God. Wait patiently on Him." Could we see as He sees, our calamities might seem our greatest blessings. Let us try to say to ourselves, as we bow 'our heads in resignation, "This trouble, this calamity which makes me so miserable, is sent by God. I must try to see in it the hand of a Father, and believe that all things are working together for our eternal goodthat we are ourselves living examples of the truth contained in the latter part of our Psalm-that in the history of us as individuals, it is as true as in the history of the race that in the lives of men as in the history of races-this truth runs as a gold thread "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy." Who are our sweetest poets? Whose music lies closest to the human heart and lays the gentlest hand upon our lives? Are they not those who learned in suffering what they taught in song? Whose are the lives that live? Those which have been lived on the principle of Christ's life; "Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a grain of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone, but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." They who lose this life find the eternal life of God and Christ. Keep the golden seeds of the grain housed safely in our granaries, away from the damp earth and the drenching rain, the cold and frost of winter, and there is no harvest-no produce-no fruit. But throw it broadcast into the earth, trample it under foot, let it lie hidden away, let the rain get to its heart, let the frost touch the seed, let the winds almost bear away its young shoots, and by and bye, when spring goes and summer comes, we shall have as now, joy in time of harvest. So with our lives. They must be given away. They must be exposed to trial. They must be broken. on the Cross-in tears must we sow, if in joy we wish to reap. Like the life of the Master, must be the life of the disciple. He sowed in tears. He now reaps in joy. He has seen of the travail of His soul and is satisfied. He went forth weeping, but He is to come again, bringing his sheaves with Him-the sheaves of the redeemed lives of the sons of God, made like unto the pattern of His own most perfect life. And oh ! to come to that in any degree to reach to the measure of the perfect man in Christ Jesus---is that not worth sowing seed now, even though it be with tears and weeping? For to be like Christ, who carried about heaven in His heart, is to be in Heaven, and there is no other Heaven that I know of, or can imagine. And being like that, finding ourselves anywhere with such hearts, surely we shall be like them that dream. We shall hardly know ourselves or realise where we are for a time; we shall perchance be "too short in glory yet to speak or sing." But when we find voice, though it be still in dreamland, our mouths shall be filled with holy laughter and our tongue with songs of holy joy. We shall surely be able to look back upon all our past life and say, "The Lord hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad." And more than this, for oh! surely, unless our natures are greatly changed-unless, in one word, they become unchristian-unlike Christ, we shall not be content to rest there, but thinking of the exiles still on earth or anywhere else, still captives to sin, still laden and heavy with some burden, still sore distraught 66 we shall pray the blessed Lord to bring back our captives as streams in the south." "Bring back, O Lord, all exiles from Thy love; all wanderers from the Father's home, all Les Miserables, and for this end, give me, even me, the wings of a dove, that I may speed to earth and be a ministering spirit to some erring soul, some lost, unhappy one. I am willing once again to sow in tears if, by that means, I can help others to reap the heavenly joy, to come home to Thee with some sheaves of golden grain. Give me some precious seed and I shall go forth weeping if Thou willest-I shall sow it in some heart, and doubtless I shall come again with rejoicing, bringing my sheaves with me." And then the Heavenly Home will resound with the joy of harvest, and the cry of God's children will be, "The Lord hath done great things for us; whereof we are glad." The following poem is from a charming volume of verse by Miss Ellice Hopkins "Autumn Swallows." Macmillan & Co. BORMUS. A LINUS SONG. THE "Linus Songs" were sung in the harvest-fields, or in the vineyards at vintage. They were of a tender and melancholy character, with a pathetic burthen, in which all joined, beating time with their feet; and seem to have been inspired by some sort of unconscious sense of sadness over the golden corn laid low, and the purpling grapes gathered and crushed. They derive their name from Linus, a beautiful boy brought up among the sheepfolds, and torn to death by wild dogs. Down from the lifted cornfield trips Limp as the meadow-gold new laid; An earthen pitcher gaily swings Water to fetch from sunless springs; Ah! cornflowers blue and poppies red, By paths that through sweet hay new mown Like hillside brooks come leaping down, Past silver slabs of morning, where The wet crags flash the sunlight back, Whose course the purple orchids track, Too soon, ah me, too bitter soon, Into a deep and glimmering pool, And clear-cut ferns green fringe the gloom, And tread our cool translucent floors, Ah! cornflowers blue and poppies red, He dipped his pitcher o'er the brink, But sweeter, wilder, louder still And beckon him, and draw him down The cool-armed silver-wristed nymphs, His warm lips with cold kisses crown; The dim-seen hay cool scents emits, Blue cornflowers weep, red poppies sigh, There is no greater spendthrift than the miser. He wastes his life in order to gain what he neither can nor will enjoy. He who can give much is rich and can we indeed pity the man because of his poverty, who has been able to sacrifice his entire wealth, his abilities, his life for a being whom he loved, or an idea that has become dear to him? If all our labours for the good of our fellowmen were in vain, if even our noblest endeavours remained fruitless, if our desires, directed to what is higher, were not fulfilled, and the beautiful and the good could never be victorious-still, after all, the fairest part of this pitiful existence would fall to those who cherished their illusions to the mouth of the grave; and, although they were not victors, fought, notwithstanding, for noble aims while they had breath. W The Court of the Gentiles. WERE my readers Scotsmen or Scotswomen alone, any explanation of the heading of this column would scarcely be requisite; but as amongst them there are sure to be many who are not Scotsmen or Scotswomen and whose theological and biblical education has been lamentably neglected, it will be requisite, in order to prevent misunderstanding, to say one or two words by way of preface or explanation. The Court of the Gentiles belongs peculiarly to the domain of the theologians, biblical critics, commentators, and ecclesiastical historians, and is one which they can explain and define with authority. I, of course, not writing as one of them, cannot speak with the same assurance or authority, nor can I venture to deliver an opinion, like them, ex cathedra. On the contrary, both now and always, I shall write with their fear continually before my eyes. Still, as some word of explanation is requisite, and as none of that grave and reverend company of precisianists is at hand to say it, I must say it for them. Well then, the Court of the Gentiles was one of the precincts of the Temple in Jerusalem beyond which no one who was not a member of the chosen race was permitted to pass in his approaches to the Holy Place. Now, as the pages of Sunday Talk are to be devoted to Religion, Morals, and Theology, or to such things as belong to our higher and spiritual life, it is obvious that it may be likened to the Temple, if not to the one in Jerusalem, at least to the one of which George Herbert speaks. It is obvious, also that it can only be occupied by chosen vessels, and, moreover, that it is by them alone that it can be properly filled. Now, when you remember these things you will easily understand, why this column is called "the Court of the Gentiles." Not that it is intended to fill it with "vessels of wrath" or with "vessels of destruction," or that any of these will have the slightest hand in it. No; it is just a small corner which we have saved for the world; and just as the Jews reserved their court of the Gentiles for those who did not belong to their peculiar race, so we have reserved this, our Court of the Gentiles, for those who do not speak as theologians, nor as priests or levites, but for writers who having received ordination neither in the Jewish nor in the Christian church, yet having some knowledge of the eternal mysteries of sorrow, of love, and life, and somewhat to say thereon, have said it, unfettered by creeds or traditions, and as the spirit by which they were possessed gave them utterance. As in our other columns, therefore, you will meet with the great spirits of religion, so in this, our court of the Gentiles, we shall introduce to you some of the great spirits of the world, and report some of their brightest, deepest, and most wonderful sayings. The first we propose to introduce to you is HEINE. Heinrich Heine! Who does not know him? Who that does not ought not? And who that knows him does not find an ever new delight in his brilliant pages? He calls great men "the stars of the earth," and was himself one of the brightest. Wit, humour, pathos, a marvellous suggestiveness, an irony flashing in clear, sharp, incisive words, destructive of hypocrisies, and letting in the light of heaven upon things long hid and smothered up, imagination and fancy, an impassioned love for humanity, inexhaustible sympathy for the suffering and oppressed, and withal a style of exquisite beauty, and a manliness and frankness which wins and charms and fascinates-all these are to be found in subtle and harmonious combination on almost every page of Heine's writings. The story of his life is soon told. Born at Düsseldorf on the Rhine, of Jewish parents, in December, 1779, he was intended for commerce, but not liking it, studied for the bar. His success as a lawyer was not great; it is doubtful, indeed, whether he desired that it should be, literature having far greater charms for him than jurisprudence. In 1825 he became a Christian, and received the certificate of baptism, that "card of admission," as he called it, "to European culture." For the most part he lived at Berlin, Hamburg, and Paris, at the last of which places he died in 1856, after lying many years in his "mattress-grave," and after seven years of the most intense suffering. Heine's writings are in French and German, for he was master of both. The difficulty of translating him is known only to those who have tried to render him into English worthy of his German or French. Happily we are spared the trouble, Mr. J. Snodgrass having rendered into admirable English Heine's Religion and Philosophy in Germany, and also a number of selections from his other writings; and as we cannot hope to rival Mr. Snodgrass as a translator, we shall cull the sayings we now propose to present our readers from his extremely meritorious volumes.* *Wit, Wisdom. and Pathos from the Prose of Heinrich Heine, London. Trübner & Co.; Paisley, A. Gardner. Religion and Philosophy in Germany, by Heinrich Heine, London, Trübner & Co.; Glasgow, D. M. Main, "When I hear anyone disputing the existence of God I am overcome by a strange anxiety, an uneasy dread, such as I once experienced in visiting New Bedlam in London, when I had for a moment lost sight of my guide and found myself surrounded by madmen. 'God is all that is,' and doubt as to the existence of God is doubt as to life itself; it is death." "Christ is the God whom I love best-not because he is a legitimate God, whose father was a God before him, and has since infinite time ruled the world; but because he the born Dauphin of Heaven-has democratic sympathies and delights not in courtly ceremonies; because he is no God of an aristocracy of crop-headed theological pedants and fantastic warriors, but a modest God of the people, a CitizenGod, un bon dieu citoyen." "Christianity-a democracy: one God, who has created and upholds the universe; but who loves all men alike, and protects all his dominions equally. He is no longer a national, but a universal God." "The duration of religions has ever been dependent on human need for them. Christianity has been a blessing for suffering humanity during eighteen centuries; it has been providential, divine, holy." "Eternal praise is due to the symbol of that suffering God, the Saviour with the crown of thorns, the crucified Christ whose blood was, as it were, the healing balm which flowed into the wounds of humanity." "As the stars are the glory of the sky, so great men are the glory of their country, yea, of the whole earth. The hearts of the great men are the stars of earth." "Poverty sits by the cradle of all our great men, and rocks them up to manhood; and this meagre foster-mother remains their faithful companion throughout life." "John Bull is a born materialist, and his christian spiritualism is for the most part traditional hypocrisy, or mere material dulness of intellect—his flesh resigns itself because the spirit cannot come to its aid." "I was young and proud, and it still further raised my vanity to learn from Hegel that, not as my grandmother supposed, God, who lived in heaven, but I myself, here on earth, was the real god." "The merchant, all the world over, believes in the same religion. His office is his church, his desk is his confessional, his ledger is his Bible, his warehouse is his holy of holies, the exchange bell is his summons to prayer, his gold is his god, and credit is his creed." "Holy men, like the Stylites, are now an impossibility; for philanthropy would speedily have them shut up in a madhouse." "Luther shook all Germany to its foundations; but Francis Drake pacified it again: he gave us the potato." "Does the oil which is poured on the head of kings still the tempests of their minds." 66 'By no race was a belief in immortality more strongly held than by the Celts: one might obtain the loan of money from them to be repaid in the next world. Pious Christian usurers should take an example from them." "It is only kindred griefs that can draw forth our tears, and each weeps really for himself." "The music at a marriage procession always reminds me of the music of soldiers entering upon a battle?" "What is truth? Bring me the wash-hand basin,' is the reply of Pontius Pilate." "Who maketh the Clouds His Chariot." Psalm civ. 8. Oh! make my clouds Thy chariots to bear my spirit home, Oh! make my clouds Thy chariots, let them raise me from the dust, From the mean, and poor, and earthly, from the moth and from the rust, From the selfishness that wearies, from the vanity that cloys, Oh! make my clouds Thy chariots, wherein this heart shall run, Oh! make my clouds Thy chariots, so shall I learn to see That the mist that dims the glory is itself a light from Thee, For the shadows of the wilderness to me shall sing aloud When I find Thy nearest coming in the advent of a cloud! GEO. MATHESON, D.D. OCTOBER: When treacherous Autumn, Winter's smooth-faced spy, The flaunting colours of the camp to wear, ISABELLA STUART. Cathedrals I have Seen. ST. ANDRÉ, BORDEAUX. HAT a fine old pile this looks as it stands bathed in the afternoon sunshine; its peaks and towers standing out so sharply against the southern sky. Its stones, from their original grey, have worn themselves quite brown with age, and here and there, in high solitude, grows a tuft of grass, or a sprig of wallflower in quiet serenity among the towers-with only the pigeons for companions-and we have often watched. a young family of these feathered creatures flutter in and flutter out in alarm when the great bell begins tolling its message to the sleepy town. And what a solemn toll that bell has-you hear it wherever you are; its deep-toned tongue booms out beyond every other bell or sound and insists on being heard. Up till a few years ago there was nothing but a wooden paling round the old church, but now a handsome iron railing protects it, and the building itself stands in a pretty clear space, many of the old houses having been pulled down to give it breathing room. Still, there are one or two left clinging tightly to the sacred walls and leaning back confidingly against its buttresses as if for protection in times of trouble, and there they have been allowed to remain. "We have been so long together, why separate us now?" they seem to say. And while we are still outside, let us look at that strange, tall tower, standing in such solitary grandeur by itself, quite separate from the Cathedral, and yet so near it, looking from the ground up to its tall head like a guardian angel at the gates, spreading its shadow across the older building in sweet companionship. And away up at the top, what is that that crowns it so nobly and shines so brightly in the sun, causing us to shade our eyes to look at it? Now we see it is a huge figure of the Virgin Mary with the blessed Child in her arms, standing far above the common things of this earth, and smiling down upon us with that benign look in her face that we have seen in so many statues of her abroad. We perceive she is radiant in golden apparel, which accounts for her shining so brightly. This tower was begun many, many years ago, in dedication to the Virgin, but only finished lately-in fact, it grew so slowly, that at last a little band of priests and deacons connected with the Cathedral could bear it no longer and decided that it must be finished, so a list was made, with the dear old Cardinal heading it, and the oath taken, that not only would they collect funds for it, but they would each sell some of their earthly goods to go towards the sum, and so it was gradually finished-the concluding ceremony consisting of the installing of the gigantic figure of the Virgin and Child on the top, and securing her there for all ages to come. There is also a sad story connected with this tower. It was the scene of the suicide of a handsome young Roman Catholic priest who had strayed from the narrow path and fallen deeply and passionately in love with the daughter of a citizen of the town. Of course, the forbidden love was discovered, and the girl being sent away, died from a broken heart among strangers in a nunnery. The lover, hearing of her death, and feeling that it would be a long agony to pass the remainder of his days with the awful secret weighing on his soul, forgot his duty to God-his Church and his sect, and demanding the keys of the tower from the unsuspecting warder one lovely moonlight night, stole slowly up the tortuous stairs of the tower-up-up till he came out on the parapet at the top bathed in a flood of silver light. One prayer-one name-one sigh-and then-eternity! His mangled corpse was found at the foot, in the cold dawn, by the watchman. In one hand he still clutched tightly a lock of soft brown hair, and in the other his only hope of salvation—a cross. But come, we must go inside and see the Cathedral. So in we pass under the rows of carved saints who keep watch so silently over their shrine, and dropping a few sous into the blind beggar's hat at the door, pass the western portal. What a cold air meets you and fans your face, so different from the furious blaze outside, that seems to burn the very soles of your feet. How cool the stones are, and the shaded light is so grateful to the eyes. Quiet figures of men and women pass to and fro, some kneeling for a few minutes on the steps of the altar; some leaning in attitudes of devotion on the back of the little wooden chairs (prie-dieus); while round one of the stone pillars three ragged little children are having a game of "tig, their little wooden sabots sounding clack, clack, on the quiet air. But no one seems to mind, and the children are as familiar with their church in which they have been brought up as if it were their home, which it surely is to all the poor. Having seen enough of the altar and choir which seems to stand boldly out into the church, we think of going round to see what is at the back of the altar where so many steps are being directed. Here we find the usual chapels or cluster of |