endeavouring to create as many points of contact
as were compatible with holding fast the truth. The errors of all
religions run into each other, just as their truths do. There was, no
doubt, some exaggeration in the statement of the Roman Catholic
authority who declared that "there is but one bad religion, and that is
the religion of the man who professes what he does not believe." But
there was no reason why, because the Church of England had done in times
past and was still doing grand work, there should be no place for the
Nonconformists. Church people rejoiced, and Nonconformists might
rejoice, that the prayers of the Church of England were enshrined in a
Liturgy radiant with the traditions of a glorious past. But that was no
reason why there should be no room where good work was being done for
men who preferred the chances of extemporaneous prayer--a custom of
Apostolic origin, and perhaps (very daintily this was put) fittest for
the exigencies of special occasions.

If some of the extremer Nonconformists, desirous of wrapping
themselves in the mantle once worn by Churchmen, and possessed by a love
for uniformity so exaggerated that they would tear down ancient
institutions and reduce all Churches to the same level, there was no
reason why Churchmen should return evil for evil and repay contumely
with scorn. There was a nobler mission for Christians than that of
seeking to exterminate each other, a higher object than that of
endeavouring to sow the seeds of vulgar prejudice either against new
discoveries or ancient institutions.

DR. MOFFAT.

Dean Stanley preached his sermon within the chancel, and it formed part
of the customary afternoon service of the Church of England. Dr. Moffat
delivered his lecture in the nave, its simple preface being the singing
of the missionary hymn, "From Greenland's icy mountains."

The pioneer of missionary labour in South Africa was at this time close
upon his eightieth year, but he seemed to have thriven upon hard work,
and showed no signs of physical weakness. His full, rich voice, musical
with a northern accent, which long residence in South Africa had not
robbed of a note, filled every corner of the long aisle, and no section
of the vast congregation was disappointed by reason of not hearing.
Wearing a plain Geneva robe with the purple hood of his academic degree,
he stood at the lectern, situated not many paces from the grave where
his friend and son-in-law, Dr. Livingston