the walls, and the roof fell in on the faithful and believing crowd, killing three hundred and mutilating as many more.

A violent gale swept over Xeres on Sunday-"the Lord's Day"-May 22nd, 1898. Did it destroy the bull-rings and preserve the churches-the houses of God? No. While the faithful and devout "brides of Christ "-virgins whose lives were dedicated to the service of their God-were engaged in the chapel of the Carmelite Convent, in the most solemn act of worship which the Catholic Church possesses, not only was the chapel struck by lightning at the moment when the priest was administering Holy Communion, but the priest, who was in the act of feeding these brides of heaven with the body of their deity, was injured. When the building in which a Christian bazaar for charitable purposes was being held in Paris, in 1897, was burned down, were those pious and benevolent people who were carrying out the "work of their master" inside saved from the frightful effects of the flames? No. Numbers, and these the most helpless, were burned to death, among whom was a nun in the very act of prayer, believing to the last in the false promises of the deity she placed her faith in. Yet the bazaar was opened with the blessing of the Archbishop, a special blessing from the Pope (the "Vicar of Christ "), and the innumerable prayers of the "faithful.” It was said by a French priest to be the "act of God"; but there were two acts of God which want reconciling: the first, the drawing together his people into an inextricable trap with his blessing; the second, their ruthless and cold-blooded murder, notwithstanding the pleadings of the good nunthe bride of Christ-even in her agonies. The Christian deity has certainly a most extraordinary way of showing his love to his people, for here was one of his own brides allowed to frizzle in the fire in a most cruel manner, while he was carrying out his precept of "chastening those whom he loves." Surely, if the love of this fiendish deity is to be obtained by such cruelty and human suffering, we may be excused for hoping that he will not take it into his head to fall in love with us.

A steamboat called the Stella was carrying passengers across the Channel to Guernsey in the Easter of 1899, and the boat, in a dense fog, ran on to the dangerous "Casket rocks, and was hopelessly wrecked. A number of people

escaped in one of the ship's boats, and, after tossing about all night, were picked up next morning by a passing steamboat. It was recorded in the newspapers that many of them gave themselves up, in their despair, to prayer. They attributed their escape from death as an answer to their supplications, and thanked Providence for saving them. But a Wesleyan minister and a little band of faithful were seen on the deck of the wrecked steamboat in earnest prayer before it sank, and they were all drowned. It did not, apparently, occur to those who were saved that, if Providence could assist a small boat-load, he might have also assisted the confiding man of God and his little band of devotees; further, that an omniscient Providence must have known that the fog would occur, that the captain would miss his way and steer his boat on to the "Caskets," with the inevitable result that it would be lost, and the large number of innocent holiday folk on board would never see their homes any more. Here was another distinct failure of prayer, and another exhibition of divine savagery and malevolence. The extreme egotism of the saved few, in such instances, in imagining that they had been singled out from a large number for special favour by a Providence who had deliberately lured his victims to destruction, is seldom or never noticed by the public.

The son and successor of Spurgeon was lately presiding over a meeting in the Pastors' College adjoining the huge tabernacle built for his father, when news was brought that the latter building was on fire. He then and there prayed that the Tabernacle might be spared great damage. Why did he not pray that the fire might be at once quenched? For could not his God stop the flames as easily as he could mitigate the damage? But Spurgeon probably knew by experience of past fires that they are not quenched by prayers, but by water in sufficient quantity; it was safer, therefore, for his own reputation and influence, to offer prayer where it might appear to succeed than where he knew it could not; to pray that the damage might not be great-and no one could say that it might not have been greater had he not prayed-than to pray for what he knew could not happen. But does this dissembling show faith in prayer? Within two hours the Tabernacle was burned to the ground, regardless of Spurgeon's prayers and of the

Here we see

divine promises made to those who believe. Spurgeon, one of God's ministers, interrupted in the work of his God at the "Pastors' College "; the house of his God burned down; prayers useless; all on account of the hostility of nature. Here was a battle between prayer and nature, and nature won! Is it not easier to quench a fire than to suddenly remove a mountain? Here, in the eyes of a Catholic or a Churchman, the judgment of God destroyed the work of the heretic Spurgeon, as being the work of the devil. Had the building been a Catholic cathedral, Spurgeon would have rubbed his hands gleefully, thinking that the work of the Scarlet Lady was sure to come to naught! Results are made the test of truth only when it is convenient to do so.

Did prayer save the hundreds of innocent people who were the victims of the outbreak of fever in the hop district of Kent in 1897? No; prayers went up to a silent heaven, where we are told dwells a loving father, but he was dumb and inactive while child was taken from parent, and parent from child. And it was only when the polluted water-the cause of the outbreak-was purified, and sanitary science was brought to bear upon the question, that the epidemic ceased. The clergy, tired of praying to a silent and unresponsive deity, turned their attention to the sanitary authority, whom they roundly abused for its neglect. But where was the logic of this? If it was sanitary science that stopped the epidemic, it was not prayer that did it. Then, where does the efficacy of prayer come in? And where was the divine justice in striking down with fever hundreds of people who had nothing to do with the pollution of the water which they innocently drank, and who probably were most careful, by cleanliness of person and dwellings, to keep free from disease? The deity was silent to their appeals for mercy and deliverance, while he permitted the guilty ones to escape. But we are reminded of the words of the Lord as given in Isaiah (xlv. 7): “I make peace and create evil; I, the Lord, do all these things "; also, "Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it ?" (Amos iii. 6).

Were the lives of the late Prince Consort, the Duke of Clarence, the Czar of Russia, the German Emperor, or of Presidents Lincoln and Garfield, saved because of the national

prayers that went up for them? No, these all died in the prime of life because their physicians were unable to cure them. When the Prince of Wales recovered from his fever, thanksgivings went up all over the land to the imaginary throne above, and he went in public procession to St. Paul's Cathedral to return thanks to the deity, his recovery being attributed to prayer. But no explanation is offered for the silence of the deity in the former cases, and no one can say that the lives of those eminent persons were not as valuable as the Prince's life. If the triune God, who is represented as being no respecter of persons, could save the Prince of Wales, why not the others ? And why should favour be shown to the Prince, and not to them? The only rational explanation is that the Prince was cured by his physicians, and the other eminent persons died because their physicians were unable to cure them.

It may be said that there are instances in which prayer has apparently been answered; but, in order to assert positively that a certain event is the result of prayer, the possibility of any natural cause must be first shown to be nonexistent. But do praying people ever take natural causes into consideration, or permit them to enter the thoughts --where faith is to reign supreme-for one moment? Or do they not rather make the wish the parent to the thought, and discard, as a temptation of the devil, the possibility of natural causes? In this mode of reasoning all the facts that tell for prayer are allowed to count, while all that tell against it are carefully excluded. If what they pray for happens, that proves the efficacy of prayer; if it does not happen, that proves nothing. We see frequently instances of this in illnesses. Prayer offered up for sick persons likely to recover apparently succeeds, whereas, when offered up in incurable cases and it does not succeed, it is not allowed to count. Such is the logic of superstition!

It is impossible to help noticing that praying people have an instinctive habit of making full use of mundane assistance, or, to use the words of Mr. Foote, of "keeping their powder dry" at the same time, on the principle that "God helps those who help themselves," in the carrying out of which cunningly-devised clerical principle it is difficult to see where "God's help" comes in. We are frequently told, when the prayers of the faithful fail in their efficacy, that

"God has some good purpose." This may sound plausible, and may satisfy the inquiries of children, but is hardly a satisfactory answer for inquiring adults who possess ordinary intelligence.

Have praying people really faith in their praying? We have seen Spurgeon's son praying, not that the fire might be at once quenched (for the fire engines had not arrived), but that as little damage as possible might be done. Had his father any greater faith in prayer? He had a huge congregation of admirers praying for him in London when he had the gout, yet he rushed off to Mentone, and, as soon as the Mediterranean air and sunshine had produced an improvement in him, he wrote to his congregation: "Beloved, the Lord has heard our prayers." However, notwithstanding the improvement reputed to be due to the collective praying at home, he shortly after died. But we hear nothing about the sad failures of the prayers in this instance. And why could not prayer have produced the same improvement in the South of London as in the South of France? We ask again, therefore, Does this running off to Mentone show faith in prayer? If ever there was a good test for the efficacy of prayer, this was one; for here was a minister of the Lord, with probably the largest following of faithful and believing of any minister in the country, and one who could rely implicitly on the prayers of this large number, yet whose prayers failed when they were most required.

The bishops and clergy of the State Church not only pray largely themselves, but are largely prayed for; yet we continually hear and read announcements of their visits to the Riviera and other pleasant places abroad in the season, along with the fashionable world, it is carefully statedfor the benefit of their health. But where is the logic of this? And why could not prayer restore them at home-in the bishop's palace or the country vicarage?

At the time of writing, the death is announced of the late W. E. Gladstone. The Rev. Stephen Gladstone, his son, had to be summoned to the bedside of his father, from Colwyn Bay, where he had gone, we are told, "for the benefit of his health." But why did not the Rev. Stephen rely on his prayers to restore his broken health, and remain at the bedside of his dying father? Here we have a family remarkable for their religious fervour and piety, and if