This story fitly illustrates the present relationship of the Church and the world. Organised religious communities may establish their societies, may erect their places of worship, may give their lectures with the object of reclaiming the masses from vice and irreligion, may proclaim the sinfulness and the duties of men—and yet their labours may achieve only partial success. The means may be admirable, but the spirit that breathes through them may be defective. There may be a great show of concern, the conscientious performance of a duty, but an absence of that cordial, hearty interest which is requisite to kindle sympathy. Surely there is a philosophy in the use of religious agencies as in ordinary affairs. In our efforts to evangelize the poor—to whom originally the Gospel was preached, and amongst whom, it should never be forgotten, were its greatest triumphs—we are bound to consider the probable results of the _means_ put in operation, as well as the _end_ sought, unless we expect God to work a miracle. Otherwise, with all the elements of success, we may make no progress; and, perchance, pull down with one hand while we are building up with the other. Is it reasonable, or at all in accordance with experience, to suppose that the way to reach the hearts of the people is to put ourselves into direct antagonism to their rights, habits, or wishes? Do we commend the Gospel to them by fostering the notion that men may be made religious by Act of Parliament, or the fiat of the Crown—by insisting that they shall “keep” the Sabbath according to our notions, not their own—by clamouring to curtail the means of obtaining pure air and recreation one day out of seven, because we consider it “sinful?” The religious world is absorbed with its “causes” and “interests,” “enjoyments” and “privileges;” and, while thus systematically turning its attention _inwards_, and calculating every pulsation of the great world around in relation to itself, is too apt to forget that there is a moral law whose foundations lie deep in the principles of revealed truth—and that any violation of the precepts of that law, whether by abrogating natural rights, dictating the actions and occupations of others, or coercing them into an apparent piety of heart and life, is altogether foreign to the genius of Christianity. Our Lord has given his followers an injunction to preach the Gospel—the power of which over the heart none who have felt it can mistrust. If by this agency, and this alone, the affections of man are to be changed and a new life created within him—if, in a word, the world is to be _won_ over to the cause of truth, by the exhibition of God’s love—surely it indicates a want of worldly wisdom as well as distrust of the Divine power and promises, for the disciples of Christ to be calling to their aid extraneous help;—at one time relying upon the sword of the civil magistrates—at another on Parliamentary legislation. If its