such has been the course of the bible on earth."--_Theodore Parker._

"I must die--abandoned of God and of men."--_Voltaire._

THREE REASONS FOR REPUDIATING INFIDELITY.

Bishop Whipple says, "I once met a thoughtful scholar who told me that for
years he had read every book which assailed the religion of Jesus Christ.
He said he would have been an infidel if it had not been for three things:

" 'First, I am a man. I am going somewhere. I am to-night a day nearer the
grave than last night. I have read all that they can tell me. There is not
one solitary ray of light upon the darkness. They shall not take away the
only guide and leave me stone blind.

" 'Secondly, I had a mother. I saw her go down into the dark valley where
I am going, and she leaned upon an unseen arm as calmly as a child goes to
sleep upon the breast of a mother. I know that was not a dream.

" 'Thirdly, I have three motherless daughters. They have no protector but
myself. I would rather kill them than leave them in this sinful world if
you could blot out from it all the teachings of the Gospel.' "

COL. INGERSOLL IS A PHILOSOPHER?

Col. Ingersoll tells us that "intellectual liberty, as a matter of
necessity, forever destroys the idea that belief is either PRAISE OR
BLAMEWORTHY, and is wholly inconsistent with every creed in Christendom."
Again, he says, "No man can control his belief." Notwithstanding all this,
his whole occupation consists in traveling over the country and blaming
men, women and children for their belief. He is consistent? He is a
Scientist, you know? He does nothing that is absurd? He is a philosopher,
sitting on the bones of Moses and making grimaces at the faith of Moses,
when neither Moses nor his friends could control their belief? He works
hard for no purpose if men can't control their belief, and does men
injustice, IF HE BLAMES THEM FOR THEIR FAITH?

"No man can control his belief." Then why labor to make your brother of
humanity believe that he is but--

The pilgrim of a day?
Spouse of the worm and brother of the clay,
Frail as the leaf in autumn's yellow bower,
Dust in the wind, or dew upon the flower?

A child without a sire;
Whose mortal life and transitory fire
Light to the grave his chance-created form,
As ocean wrecks illuminate the storm.

And then--

To-night, and silence sinks forevermore!

If these--

The pompous teaching