There will come to many of the children now in our homes and schools, seasons of affliction, when they will be wellnigh crushed beneath the burden of life, when its dull monotony or poignant anguish will make them yearn for the rest and peace of death. There will come to most of the children of the rising generation, seasons of fierce mental conflict and dense spiritual darkness, when they will feel painfully conscious of the mystery of existence, and painfully unconscious of any satisfactory solution for the mystery. Faith for them, believe me, will be no easy matter. Scarcely a week will pass but they will read in some newspaper or review ingenious and powerful attacks, not only upon Christianity, but even upon theism. They will not be able, like so many of their predecessors, to believe that they believe everything which has been handed down to them upon authority. In the agony of scepticism many of them may be driven for the moment to think, with Schopenhauer, that the universe is an egregious blunder, that life is a horrid mockery, that there is nothing desirable but annihilation. We tremble as we picture to ourselves the voyage of these little ones over life's wild waste of waters. Yet we need not despair. We too perhaps have

to say,

been overtaken by the same terrible tempest, and enveloped in the same blackness of darkness. Through the storm, however, there have come echoes, faint but passing sweet, of the music of our childhood. There have thrilled through us memories of the time when we were first taught "Our Father." And we have taken courage; hoping even against hope, that after all there may be a meaning and a use in our calamity, that the tempest may be but wafting us more swiftly to a desirable haven, that the darkness may be but the prelude of dawn. We have been enabled to say with poor broken-hearted Job, Behold, I go forward, but He is not there and backward, but I cannot perceive Him: on the left hand, where He doth work, but I cannot behold Him He hideth Himself on the right hand, that I cannot see Him. But He knoweth the way that I take: when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold."

:

One of the most difficult problems in the present day, is this,-what are we to teach our children? We cannot teach them all the complicated and unsatisfactory theology of the past. What are we to put in its place? Well, if you can honestly and earnestly teach them the first two words of the Lord's Prayer it is quite

U

enough. Teach them to believe that they have a Father in heaven, and they will have all the theology they need. Teach them to feel it, and they will have all the could desire for them. If you teach them this, their future can never be altogether wretched. If you do not teach them this, their future can never be for any length of time even tolerably sweet.

religion that even Christ

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Eternal Life.

(EASTER-DAY SERMON.)

"To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life." -REVELATION ii. 7.

"SHOW me," says Fichte, "what thou truly

lovest, show me what thou seekest and strivest for with thy whole heart, and thou hast thereby shown me thy life. and central part of thy being.

is that thou livest."

This love is the root

What thou lovest

There goes a man shabbily dressed, looking very anxious and careworn. He is hurrying on at a great pace, but suppose we stop him and say, "Sir, what is life?" "What is life?" he replies; "why, life is money. I toil and scheme for it day and night. I am worth a good deal already. I may one day be a millionaire. That is my fondest

hope. Then I may truly say I have lived." With this short but pregnant reply he hastens on his way.

He has no sooner gone than we meet a young man, faultlessly attired, with a remarkably handsome, and still more remarkably vacant, countenance, lounging slowly along, looking unutterably bored. Let us ask him the same question. "Life," he replies, "is pleasure. Man's chief end is to enjoy himself. Philosophers, poets, statesmen, philanthropists, scientists, all earnest thinkers and workers,-I look upon either as drudges to be pitied or as fools to be despised. I go in for enjoyment. I have broken my mother's heart; I have sent my father in sorrow to the grave; I have ruined scores who were fools enough to trust in me. I wish there were more pleasure than there is to be thus obtained. It is much less than it ought to be. Still it is the only thing worth living for. To continue in this course as long as possible is, I believe, to make the best use of my existence." With these remarks he leaves us and saunters on.

We next encounter a placid-looking couple, man and wife. There is nothing at all noteworthy in their appearance. They would seem to be moderately well to do, and in all other