Go ahead up the hill, and, besides, I'm on that committee and I'll give you a pass," said Davie, appreciating the situation.

Miss Elizabeth laughed, and so did Katie, but when Miss Elizabeth proposed that he should take her place in the carriage, and drive her father up to the stand where he was to sit, Katie laughed more than the occasion required, Davie thought. Of course he could not refuse, and yielded with a good grace.

The field was none of the smallest, and the carriage moved slowly, so that Elizabeth and Katie reached the neighbourhood of the speakers' stand almost as soon as the squire. They were in time to see Clifton help his father up the steps to his place on the stand, where a good many other gentlemen were seated. Then they saw him hand into the carriage a very pretty young lady, a stranger, and drive away with her. Davie looked after them with a grimace.

66 That is cool! Holts indeed."

"I hope my brother is not committing an indiscretion," said Miss Elizabeth gravely. 'Oh, I guess she likes it. And he is one of the managers; he may do as he likes."

"I am not so sure of that," said Miss Elizabeth. "But who is she?" asked Katie; I think she is the prettiest girl I ever saw-and such a pretty dress!"

Yes, she is very pretty. She is Miss Langden. She and her father came last night. They are staying at my brother's. They are friends of Mr. Maxwell's. I hope Clifton has not done a foolish thing in taking her away."

The little carriage was making slow progress round the grounds, with many eyes fixed upon it, and certainly the handsome young people sitting in it were a pleasant sight to see. Many a remark was passed upon them by friends and strangers alike, admiring remarks generally they were, and though they did not reach the ears of the young people, Clifton could very easily imagine them. He enjoyed the situation, and if his companion did not, as one observing lady remarked, "her looks belied her." By-and-by they came round to the stand again and stopped to speak with Elizabeth.

am glad you brought the carriage, Lizzie," said her brother. "It is a sight well worth seeing, and one gets the best view in going all the way round."

It was a sight worth seeing. There were already many hundreds of people on the ground. It was a large grassy field, sloping down gradually, nearly to the river. The Grove, where the speakers' stand had been placed, and where many long tables were spread, was towards the upper part of it, but there were trees scattered through all the field, and groups of people were sitting and walking about here and there through the whole of it, and more were arriving every moment.

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There was a good deal of bright colour about the meeting-clothes" of some of them, and the effect at a distance was pleasing. In the lower part of the field toward the right, where there were trees enough for shade, but an open space also, many children were running about, and their voices, possibly too noisy for the pleasure of those close beside them, came up the hill with only a cheerful murmur that heightened the effect of the scene.

"I consider myself fortunate in being permitted

to witness such a gathering," said the young lady in the carriage. "You must feel it to be very encouraging to see so many people showing themselves to be on the right side."

"Yes, there is a very respectable gathering. There are a great many from neighbouring towns," said Elizabeth; "I am very glad we have so fine a day." "We can make room for you, Miss Holt," said Miss Langden.

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Yes, Lizzie, come; we will drive round again. You can have a far better idea of the numbers when you see the whole field."

But Elizabeth declined. Indeed, she ventured to express a doubt whether it were the right thing to do. But Clifton only laughed and asked her who she supposed would be likely to object.

"All the same, I would rather not do what others are not permitted to do," said Elizabeth gravely. "All right, Lizzie," said her brother.

The young lady at his side made no movement. "Shall we take another turn round the field?" said Clifton. "Oh, yes, Lizzie, we shall be back before the speech-making begins. We would not lose a word of that for a great deal," said Clifton, laughing.

Elizabeth stood looking after them with a feeling of some discomfort. It was very foolish for Clifton to make himself so conspicuous, she thought, and then she turned at somebody's suggestion to go and look at the tables before they were disturbed. Here she fell in with Katie again, and with her cousin Betsey, and they all went together round the tables.

They were twelve in number, and were capable of seating not quite five hundred, but a great many people, and they were loaded with good things of all sorts. The speakers' table was splendid with flowers, and glass, and silver. The good and beautiful from all baskets, or a part of whatever was best and most beautiful, had been reserved for it, and Katie hoped that the stranger young lady had got a good view of it. The other tables were loaded also. There did not seem to be a full supply of plates and knives and things on some of them, but that would doubtless be considered a secondary matter as long as the good things lasted; and there seemed little chance of their failing.

The supply reserved for the second tables, and even for the third and fourth tables, seemed to Miss Elizabeth to be inexhaustible. Baskets of cookies and doughnuts, and little cakes of all kinds; great trays of tartlets and crullers, boxes of biscuits, and buns and rolls of all shapes and sizes, fruit pies, and crackers, and loaves of bread: there seemed to be no end of them.

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"End of them! If they hold out, we may be glad," said Miss Betsey. Every child on the field is good for one of each thing, at least, biscuits and cookies and all the rest, and there are hundreds of children, to say nothing of the grown-up folks. They've been all calculating to have the children come in at the last, but two or three of us have concluded to fix it different."

The speaking was to come before the eating, and as the crowd who would wish to hear would leave no room for the children, Miss Betsey's plan was that they should have their good things while the speaking was going on, at a sufficient distance to prevent their voices from being troublesome, and that the tables should be left undisturbed. Some

dozens of young people were detailed to carry out this arrangement, and Davie and Katie were among them. Miss Elizabeth would have liked to go with them, but she was a little anxious about her father, who had been made the chairman of the occasion, and did not wish to be far away from him.

The children's tea was the best part of the entertainment, Davie said afterwards. There was some danger that the third, or even the second tables would have little to show, for it had been agreed by those who served the children, that while any of them could eat a morsel, it should be supplied. And it was a good deal more than Miss Betsey's one apiece all round" of everything. The quantity that disappeared was amazing.

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Miss Betsey came out wonderfully in her efforts in behalf of the young people. Miss Elizabeth had been rather surprised to find her in the Grove at all, and had quite unintentionally allowed her surprise to appear. It was not like her cousin Betsey to take part in this sort of thing, on pretence of its being a duty, and her thought was answered as if she had spoken it.

"I told mother I wasn't going to set up to be any wiser than the rest of the folks this time. It's a good cause, and if we don't help it much, we can't do much harm. I mean the children shall have a good time as far as victuals are concerned." And so they did.

Betsey sacrificed her chance of hearing some good speaking, which was a greater disappointment to her than it would have been to some others, and Katie stayed with her. But when the children were at last satisfied, they turned their faces towards the stand, still hoping to hear something. They passed along slowly, for there was a great crowd of people, not half of whom were listening to what was said. At one side of the stand, a little removed from it, but yet near enough to hear if they cared to listen, they saw Miss Elizabeth and her brother, and Miss Langden. Katie pointed her out to Miss Betsey.

"How pretty she is, and such a pretty dress, and everything to match! Look Miss Betsey. Did you ever see anything prettier ?" "Why, yes. I don't know but I have. The dress is well enough," said Betsey. Which was faint praise. The dress was a marvel of elegant simplicity in some light material of soft dim grey, with just enough of colour in flowers and ribbons to make the effect perfect. It was worth while coming a long way just to see it, more than one young person acknowledged. The dress and the wearer made a very pretty picture to many eyes. She was very modest and gentle in manner, and listened, or seemed to listen, like the rest, but Clifton Holt claimed much of her attention, smiling and whispering now and then, in a way that made his sister uncomfortable, she scarcely knew why, for the young lady herself did not seem to resent it. Betsey had not lost much, it was several times intimated to her during her progress up the hill. "The speakers from a distance" had all failed to appear except two. The forte of one of these seemed to be statistics. He astonished his audience if he did not edify them, putting into round numbers every fact connected with the temperance cause that could possibly be expressed by figures-the quantity of spirits consumed in Canada, the money paid for it, the quantity of grain employed in its manufacture,

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the loss in flour and meal to the country, the money received for licences, the number of crimes caused by its use, and the cost of these to the country. The other "went in" for "wit and humour," and there was much clapping of hands and laughter from such of the audience as had not heard his funny stories before, and his was generally pronounced a first-rate speech.

Squire Holt was in "the chair," but the duty of introducing the speakers was performed by Mr. Maxwell, for the squire was feeble, and not equal to all that devolved upon him. Indeed, he dropped asleep, poor old gentleman, while the statistics were being given, and lost the point of the stories and got very tired, as Elizabeth could see. But Mr. Maxwell did his part well, and just as Betsey settled herself to hear, he introduced Mr. Langden, a friend of the cause from the States.

He was

Mr. Langden gave them some statistics also, and expressed himself delighted with the gathering, and the evidence of interest in the good cause. delighted, too, with their little town and the waterpower, and with their country generally, which was a finer country than he had imagined it to be, and not so far behind his own section. He said a great many agreeable things, and though it did not in the opinion of the critical part of the audience amount to much as a temperance address, it was such a speech as it was pleasant to hear.

Then Mr. Burnet came forward and charmed the audience with his grand flowing periods. But though his words were splendid they were few, for Mr. Burnet did not care to waste his words on a weary and hungry people. And then came the speech of the day.

Just as Mr. Maxwell was considering whether he should give the people a ten minutes' address, as was of course expected, or dismiss them at once to the tables towards which some of them were already directing their steps, Clifton Holt came on to the stand and whispered a few words to him, and then came forward, asking leave not to make a speech, but to introduce a new speaker. He did make a speech, however, short but telling, and was cheered heartily, but the cheering rose to its loudest and longest, when Mark Varney came forward on the stand.

Was it Mark Varney? It was a very different man from the down-looking, heartless poor fellow, who had disappeared from Gershom two years ago. Erect, and broad, and brown, he stood, with a look of strength and firmness on his face, though his lips trembled, that no one remembered to have seen there since his early youth, before his foe hal mastered him.

In the silence that fell after the first shout of welcome, the people pressed forward eager to see and hear. A movement toward the point of interest took place through all the field. Those who had. grown tired of listening, and those who had not cared to listen, drew near, and several of those on the platform pressed forward the better to see and hear.

Mr. Maxwell did not; he drew back rather, after a glance toward the spot where Miss Holt and Miss Langden were sitting, and resting his elbow on the back of Squire Holt's chair, leaned his head on his hand. Miss Langden did not see the glance, for she was listening to Clifton, who had returned and was saying something to her. But Elizabeth saw

that there was a strange look, grave and glad, on his face, and that he was very pale.

Gradually the rustle and movements which had given Mark time to quiet the trembling of his lips came to an end, and then he and all the throng were startled by a sudden cry-loud and strong, though it was but one man's voice:

"Mark Varney, before all !"

It might have terribly spoiled the effect, but it did not. It gave poor Mark, who was no orator, and who with his heart full, did not find the right words ready, a beginning.

Yes, Tim Cuzner, it is Mark Varney, who hasn't been seen in these parts for two years, nor for a good while before that, in his right mind-and you are the very man I want to talk to, Tim, you and a few others. I've got something to tell you. A few others? Yes, I've got something to say to every young man in this Grove. I am not going in for a temperance lecture, though it wouldn't be the first time. I was a living temperance lecture in the streets of Gershom for a long while, as Squire Holt and Jacob and all the folks here know.

"But I want to say a word to every young man here, because there isn't a young man in this Grove, I don't care who he is, whose feelings as to liquor I don't know all about. I know, and I remember this minute, just how it feels never to have tasted a drop. I remember how the first temptation to drink came to me, and I know how it feels after the first glass, and the second, and the third. I know just how strong and scornful a young man feels when folks begin to warn him, and how impossible it looks to him that danger should be near. I know every step of the dark way that leads down to the gates of death-to the very gates-for I have been there.

"I don't know just how far down that road any of you young men may have got by this time, but I know that some of you are on it somewhere. I know where you used to be, Tim Cuzner, and you haven't been standing still since then. No. Come now, don't get mad and go away. If my life would help you to set your feet on solid ground in any other road, you should have it and welcome. But it wouldn't, no, nor ten such lives.

"But I'll tell you what will help you, and what every young man here who feels the curse of strong drink needs as much as you do, and what we all need to keep us safe from the temptations that are everywhere. There is only one thing in the earth beneath or the heaven above that will touch the spot, and that's the grace of God!

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That doesn't seem much, does it! The grace of God! You've heard old Mr. Hollister tell about it time and again, and you've heard Mr. Maxwell, and the folks in conference meeting talk of it, and it has got to seem to you just like a word, a name, and that's all. But I tell you, Tim and boys, it is a power. I know it, for it has dealt with me, and broken me to pieces, and made me over new."

Mark was no orator, though he had the clear, firm, penetrating voice of one, but his words, because of the surprise of his presence, and the change which had been wrought in him, and because of his earnestness and simplicity, had on his audience all the effect of the loftiest eloquence. He had a great deal more to tell them of the darkness and misery and sin through which he was passing, when the minister found him and laid hands on him, and

followed him, day in and day out, and never got tired of him, nor discouraged about him, but laboured with him, and encouraged him, and gave him the hope that though he could not save himself God could save him.

He tried to say a word about the night which they two passed together beside his wife's coffin, but he broke down there, and went on to tell how he went away to give himself a chance, because it had seemed to him then, that if he should stay among his old companions and the daily temptations of his life nothing could save him.

He did not tell his mother, and he did not write to her, because at first he never knew what day his enemy might overcome him, and then she would have had to put away hope and take up her old burden again.

But he had fallen into good hands over yonder in the States, and he had much to tell of the kindness shown him there, and the Lord had stood by him and helped him, as He would help all who came to Him in their need.

The people who heard all this were moved by it in a wonderful way. It was like a miracle, they said to one another, that Mark Varney's lips should be opened to speak as he was speaking. It was like life from the dead to see him standing there, they said, as indeed it was.

"And you must excuse me for saying so much about myself, because that is just what I came here to do. I was coming home soon, at any rate, but when I saw in a newspaper a notice of this gathering in Finlay's Grove, I thought it would be as good a time as any to come and show which side I am on now. And if I can, I mean to get back my farm again. And if I can't, why I shall have to get another, and if God will let me help Him to save two or three such as I was when our minister found me, I'll be content with my work. I can't talk. I don't suppose I shall ever speak from a platform again as long as I live, but I mean to help some poor souls I know of up out of the pit.

"And I tell you, I'm glad to get home. I have only just seen mother a minute and my little Mary. And I haven't seen Squire Holt yet to speak to, nor the minister."

Then he turned his back on his audience, and a good many people thought that was a lame ending to a good speech, but all did not think so. At least it was good to see the old squire holding his hand, and to hear him telling him that he had got to his right place at last. And it was good to see how he and Mr. Maxwell were shaking hands, and all the rest of the people on the stand crowding round to have their turn. Indeed, it seemed to be a general business, for Mr. Burnet was shaking hands with Mr. Maxwell, and so was the old squire, and John McNider clambered up on the stand on purpose to do the same thing, and so did several other people.

By-and-by the minister came forward and they all thought he was going to make a speech. But he did not. He told them tea was ready, and that all the elderly people were to go to the tables first, and that the young people were to serve them. But nobody seemed in a hurry to move, and then Squire Holt came forward, and instead of making a speech he asked them to sing the Doxology.

And didn't they sing it? Mark Varney, who had led the choir once on a time-and a good many in

the crowd vowed that he should lead it again-began in his wonderful clear tenor, and then the sound rose up like a mighty wind, till all the hills echoed again. And then they all went to tea.

Elizabeth meant that her father should go home at this time, but when Mr. Maxwell brought him down to her, he declined to acknowledge himself tired, and went to the table with the rest, and Elizabeth took her place to serve. Miss Langden had a seat at the "speakers' table" and was well served, as was right. Clifton had the grace to deny himself the pleasure of sitting down beside her, as there were more than guests enough for all the seats, but he devoted himself to her service, as every lady said, and enjoyed it as well as he would have enjoyed his tea.

Davie was on the "tea and coffee committee," and his business at this time was to be one of several

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to carry great pitchers of one or other of those beverages from mighty caldrons, where they were being made in a corner of the field, to a point where cups could be conveniently filled and distributed at the tables.

But from the midst of the pleasant confusion that reigned supreme in this department, Davie suddenly disappeared, leaving the zealous but less expert Ben to take his place.

"He's got something else to do, I expect, Aunt Betsey, and you'll have to get along with me somehow, for I saw him tearing down toward the river like sixty, and there would be no catching him even if I was going to try."

"There was nothing the matter, was there, Ben?" asked Katie; but so little did she think it possible that she did not even wait for the answer which Ben was very ready to give.

THE words Theism and Deism should, according to their derivation, have exactly the same meaning. The former is derived from the Greek the latter from the Latin form of the old word in the Aryan language which signifies God. And, indeed, the general signification of each may be said to be the same; each representing some doctrine or system of belief about God, and, conventionally, about God apprehended as a single, distinct, and personal Being. But the term Deism, in ordinary, perhaps invariable usage, has been limited, ever since its introduction, to those systems of misbelief which lie between atheism and Christianity. It is spoken of by Viret, a French Protestant Divine, in a work published in 1563, as a new name lately devised by certain persons in France and Italy who rejected Christianity, but professed to believe in God, and on this belief alone proceeded to found the doctrines and lessons of natural religion, in which, however, they differed very considerably among themselves. Theism, including these, and all other similar systems since propounded, is used in the larger sense which has been indicated as properly belonging to both terms, and is applicable to opinions on the subject of Deity professed by those who lived in the ante-Christian period, or who, living in the present day, hold the truth of the unity of the Godhead as the fundamental article of their faith, with or without the acknowledgment of the authority of the Christian revelation.

Ancient Theism is generally understood as the common title of those theistic theories of the origin and constitution of the world which were maintained by philosophical thinkers among the Greeks and Romans, and by their disciples, in more or less consistent opposition to the atheistic and pantheistic theories of other teachers and schools, and to the prevailing polytheism of the age. It may also be taken to include as much of theistic doctrine and sentiment as can be extracted from the sacred books of the Hindoos, the Buddhists, the Persians, and the Chinese. The records and teachings of the Hebrew or Old Testament Scriptures must also be taken into account, as presenting us, independently of

I.

their claim to be a Divine revelation, with a system of Theism which is of a far higher antiquity than the very earliest intimations of theistic belief preserved, even in a traditionary form, in Greek or Oriental literature.

But before proceeding to consider and compare the direct and positive teaching on the subject which may be gathered from these sources, we are bound to give our attention to some remarkable indications which are afforded us of the possession and consciousness-we can hardly say the knowledge of certain important truths and principles of Theism in au age, and among a people, the chief religious characteristic of which was almost unlimited polytheism

the acknowledgment and worship of "gods many and lords many "-sustained by an apparently already venerable mythology, or mass of legends, relating to the actions of their deities. The oldest relics of Greek literature are the Homeric poems, consisting principally of the two great epics, the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey." They were composed probably before the art of writing was known, or commonly practised, in Greece; and cannot reasonably be referred to a later date than the era of David and Solomon. Whatever may be thought of their historical value as to events, they doubtless represent to us the actual state of society, the tone of morality, the general sentiments and beliefs, of the period in which they were composed, or that, certainly not long preceding it, in which their action is laid. Their author, or authors, we may readily suppose, were in advance of their age, as has been the case with distinguished men in the literary as well as general history of almost every country; but they would reflect, even though they might improve and embellish, the ideas and feelings prevalent among the most intelligent of their coutemporaries. They belonged to a class of which they were the noblest and best, but this was a class of the really, though comparatively, noble and good, to which they addressed their strains, and on the sympathies of which they depended for the com prehension and favourable reception of all that was most elevated and pure in their compositions.