If Mr. Lyall imagined that the object of my Lecture was to discourage missionary efforts, he must have found out his mistake, when he came to read it, as I delivered it in Westminster Abbey. I know of no nobler life than that of a true missionary. I tried to defend the labors of the paternal missionary against disparaging criticisms. I tried to account for the small success of controversial missions, by showing how little is gained by mere argument and casuistry at home. And I pointed to the indirect missionary influence, exercised by every man who leads a Christian life in India or elsewhere, as the most encouraging sign of the final triumph of a pure and living Christianity. It is very possible, as Mr. Lyall says somewhat sarcastically, that “missionaries will even yet hardly agree that the essentials of their religion are not in the creeds, but in love; because they are sent forth to propound scriptures which say clearly that what we believe or disbelieve is literally a _burning_ question.” But those who, with Mr. Lyall, consider love of man founded on love of God, nothing but “flat morality,” must have forgotten that a Higher One than they declared, that on these two hang all the law and the commandments. By placing abstruse tenets, the handiwork of Popes and Councils, in the place of Christ’s teaching, and by making a belief in these positive articles a _burning_ question, weak mortals have driven weak mortals to ask, “Are we Christians still?” Let them for once “by observation and experience” try the oldest and simplest and most positive article of Christianity, real love of man founded on real love of God, and I believe they will soon ask themselves, “When shall we be Christians at last?” [Footnote 1: “NOTICE. “Westminster Abbey. Day of Intercession for Missions, Wednesday, December 3d, 1873. Lecture in the Nave, at eight o’clock, p.m. Hymn 25 (_Bp. Heber_) _Wittenberg_ (p. 50). “From Greenland’s icy mountains, From India’s coral strands, Where Afric’s sunny fountains, Roll down their golden sands; From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error’s chain. “What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile! In vain with lavish kindness The gifts of God are strown; The heathen in his blindness Bows down to wood and stone. “Can we whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, Can we to men benighted The lamp of life deny? Salvation, O Salvation! The joyful sound proclaim, Till earth’s remotest nation Has learnt Messiah’s name.