isolation and strength of will necessary to the achievement of 'these greater works.' Depend upon it, the task of performing them is not hopeless because it seems stupendous. There are spiritual forces now latent in humanity powerful enough to restore a fallen universe; but they want to be called into action by fire. They are in a cold fluid state, and must be turned into stone. Sublime moment! when, conscious of the Titanic agency within them, and burning with desire to give it expression, men first unite to embody, and then with irresistible potency to impart to others that 'Life' which is 'the Light of men.'" As I was thus speaking, we turned into Piccadilly, and an arm was passed through mine. "Why is it," asked Broadhem, "that men are not yet at all conscious of possessing this spiritual agency?" "Why is it, ask you?"--and the clear solemn voice of my new companion startled Broadhem, who had not seen him join me, so that I felt his arm tremble upon mine. "Ask rather why sects are fierce and intolerant; why worship is formal and irreverent; why zealots run to fierce frenzies and react to atheistic chills; why piety is constrained and lifeless, like antique pictures painted by the old Byzantines upon a golden ground; why Puseyism tries to whip piety to life with scourges, and starve out sin with fasts; why the altar is made a stage where Ritualists delight a gaping crowd, and the pulpit a place where the sleek official drones away the sleepy hour; why religious books are the dullest; why the clergyman is looked upon by the millions as a barrel-organ, whom the sect turns like the wandering Savoyard, unable to evolve a free-born note. There is but one answer----" and he stopped abruptly. "What is it?" I said, timidly, for I was overwhelmed by the torrent of his eloquence. "We have lost our God! That is why men are unconscious of His force within them. It is a terrible thing for a nation to lose its God. History shows that all nations wherein the religious inspiration has gone down beneath formalism, infidelity, a warlike spirit, an enslaving spirit, or a trading spirit, have burst like so many gilded bubbles, most enlarged and gorgeous at the moment of their close. Think of the old Scripture, 'The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.'" "Who is that?" whispered Broadhem. "I never saw him before." "I want to be alone with him," I replied. "Good night, Broadhem. You had better go back now, or you will find your friends gone. Think over what I have said. Once realise the '_mystery_ of godliness,' and the martyrdom which it must entail will lose its terrors."