se which creates the difficulties.
It does not account for all the facts of existence--nay, it is logically
contravened by the most conspicuous and persistent of them. Instead of
modifying or transforming his theory into accordance with the facts, he
rushes off with it into the cloud-land of faith. There let him remain
as he has a perfect right to. Our objection is neither to reason nor to
faith, but to a mischievous playing fast and loose with both.

Mr. Brown opines that Christ will reign until all his enemies are under
his feet. And who are these enemies? Not the souls of men, says Mr.
Brown, for Christ "loves them with an infinite tenderness." This
infinite tenderness is clearly not allied to infinite power or the
world's anguish would long since have been appeased and extinguished,
or never have been permitted to exist at all. The real enemies of Christ
are not the souls of men, but "the hates and passions which torment
them." Oh those hates and passions! They are the dialectical balls with
which Mr. Brown goes through his performance in that circle of _petitio
principii_ so hated by all logicians, the middle sphere of intellects
too light for the solid earth of fact and too gross for the aerial
heaven of imagination.

It will be a fitting conclusion to present to Mr. Brown a very
serious matter which he has overlooked. Christ, "the blessed and only
Potentate," came on earth and originated the universal religion nearly
two thousand years ago. Up to the present time three-fourths of the
world's inhabitants are outside its pale, and more than half of them
have never heard it preached. Amongst the quarter which nominally
professes Christianity disbelief is spreading more rapidly than the
missionaries succeed in converting the heathen; so that the reign of
Christ is being restricted instead of increased. To ask us, despite
this, to believe that he is God, and possessed of infinite power, is to
ask us to believe a marvel compared with which the wildest fables are
credible, and the most extravagant miracles but as dust in the balance.

THE PRIMATE ON MODERN INFIDELITY.

(September, 1880.)

A bishop once twitted a curate with preaching indifferent orthodoxy.
"Well," answered the latter, "I don't see how you can expect me to be as
orthodox as yourself. I believe at the rate of a hundred a year, and you
at the rate of ten thousand." In the spirit of this anecdote we should
expect an archbishop to be as ortho