/i ^ ^ ■M1*«* PRINCETON, N. J. %i % Presented bjPv^S.^^ ^Xt-V^ovAT- V-b-V^r. BV 4225 .B47 1889 Bertram, R. A. 1836-1886, A homiletic encyclopaedia o: illustrations in theology HoMiLETic Encyclopaedia OF JHu^tratioriiSf in Cfjeologj) anD Quorate* e^ HANDBOOK OF TRACTICAL "DIVINITY, A^D 04 COMMENTARY ON HOLY SCRIPTURE. SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY R. A. BERTRAM, Compiler of '■^ A Dictionary of Foetical Illustrations" <&•<; " Great works are not in everybody's reach, and though it is better to know them thoroughly than to know them here and there, yet it is a good work to give a Uttle to those who have neither tirae nor means to get more. Let every bookworm, when in any fragrant scarce old tome ha discovers a sentence, a story, an illustration, that does bis heart good, hasten to give it."— S. T, Coleridge. " The aim of the teacher who would find his way to the hearts and understandings of his hearers, will never be to keep down the parabolical element in his teaching, but rather to make a2 much and frequent use of it as he can." — Archbishop Trench. "An illustration is not a mere prettiness — an ornamental phrase, that might be left out without detriment to the train of thought, — it is something which really lights up that train of thought itself, and enables the reader or hearer to see the aim, as well as to feel the force, of the logic An argument may be demonstrative, — it may thoroughly establish the position maintained, — but it may not at first, and simply as an argument, be fully appreciated ; when, the understanding having done its work, passion and genius shall crown the whole with some vivid illustration, whicb shall make it stand out with a distinctness that shall never be forgotten ! It is one great faculty of the mind holding up a lighted torch to the workmanship of another." — Thomas Binney^ TENTH EDITION. NEW YORK: FUNK & WAGNALLS, Publishers, i8 AND 20 AsTOR Place. 1889. INTRODUCTION. The following facts and suggestions are given for the benefit of all whom they may concern. 1. This work is not merely another volume of Illustrations. It differs essentially from all other collections of Illustrations, except Parad/e j or, Divine Poesy. Its distinctive feature is, that its arrangement is homiletical. The headings under which the extracts of which the various articles are made up, might serve as divisions and subdivisions of sermons, or of courses of sermons. This, however, is not their design, but that thereby the student may be helped to attain to a clear and logical mastery of the subject con- cerning which he intends to speak. 2. This work is intended rather for study than for hasty reference. It is not for the man who, when he finds his ideas running dry, and does not see how he is to finish a division of a sermon effectively, runs to some Dictionary to find something that can be tacked on to what he has written ; but for the faithful preacher, such as is depicted in Ecclesiastes xii. 9, lo, who gives diligence beforehand to find out "acceptable words" and useful ideas. It is not intended for the idler, who preaches under compulsion, but for the' earnest student, to whom preaching is a delight. 3. Those who use this book are counselled to make constant use of the Indexes, especially of the Textual Index. The illustrations in this volume cast jnvaluable side- lights upon more than four thousand texts of Scripture. On this account, they constitute one of the most valuable Commentaries ever published. Many a brief clause referred to in the Textual Index contains material for effective and useful paragraphs. He is the useful preacher who knows how to amplify without diluting. 4. One idea that has sustained the Compiler in the immense labour involved in the preparation of this volume is, that he may thus be useful to his brethren in country districts, many of whom have no access to large libraries, and by a constant inadequacy of income are prevented from largely increasing their own. His hope has been thus to put within tu^ir reach a volume which, because of its wealth of suggestiveness, should be a little library in itself. 5. As far as was possible, care has been taken not to include in this volume anything that has already appeared in "Parable; or, Divine Poesy," or in Bate's or Foster's Dictionaries of Illustrations. 6. Those who use this volume will find much valuable help of another kind in the Compiler's Dictionary 0/ Poetical Illustrations, also published by Mr. Dickinson. 7. Every young minister is strongly advised to make a similar compilation for him- INTRODUCTION. self. Whenever he finds anything (fact, figure, verse, &c.) that seems to him fitted foi effective use In a sermon, let him copy or cut it out. Let him not trust to memory : let him store up the treasure in his Note-book, and then he may reasonably hope to find it when it is wanted. Long experience in this kind of work leads the Compiler to recommend the metliod he has himself followed, and which Mr. Moody was also led to adopt, that of arranging; all the excerpts in large envelopes, such as lawyers use. This method has many ad- vantages ; but it has its disadvantages also, such as that, to carry it out effectively, a large cupboard with pigeon-holes is necessary. A simple and an excellent method is, to have a large manuscript book for each letter of the alphabet, copying, e.g., into the book lettered A all that refers to topics commencing with that letter, " Affliction," "Amusements," &c. Whichever method is adopted, let the copyist write only on one side of the page. Paper is cheap, and a neglect of this counsel will lead to many inconveniences and regrets. Next, let the student insert in his Bible a reference against the passage of which each extract is illustrative. Thus, e.g., when he comes to preach upon John iii. i6, he may find written against that text A 97, which will remind him that in the envelope thus numbered, or on page 97 of the MS. volume lettered A, he will find something that will be helpful to him in dealing with it. All this involves considerable labour, but the compensations for it are abundant This is one of the methods by which the student may attain to a ministry of which the interest, the power, and the usefulness will grow to the very end. HOMILETIC ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF lllitstnitbns in (iLljcologiT antr P^anils* INTROD UCTOR Y READINGS. I.— ON THE IMPORTANCE OF ILLUSTRATION IN TEACHING. (i.) The importance of illustration for the pur- pose of enforcing trutii is so obvious, that it seems a work of supererogation to say one word con cerning it. ... A man may often find materials to enliven a discourse which might otherwise have proved very dull, or to fasten on the conscience a truth or a warning, which otherwise would have fallen on the ear unnoticed, and glided past the mind unfelt. It is not enough that truth be pointed, like a straight smooth piece of steel ; it needs side points, as a dart, that it may not draw out, when it effects an entrance. Anecdotes and illustrations may not only illustrate a point, and make an audience see and feel the argument, but they may themselves add to the argument ; they may at once be apart of the reasoning, and an elucidation of it. Indeed, a just figure always adds power to a chain of logic, and increases the amount of truth conveyed. It is also of great use in relieving the attention, as a stopping-place where the mind is rested, and prepared to resume the reasoning without fatigue, without loss. Al- most any expedient, which decorum permits, may be justified, in order to awake and fix the attention of an audience. Such attention, how- ever, cannot be kept but by truth worth illustrat- ing. Dr. Abercrombie speaks of the importance of illustrations and analogies for assisting and training the memory of children. The same dis- cipline is equally necessary for the hearers of sermons. Although they may have forgotten the text, the subject, and almost the whole design of the preacher, they will not unfrequently carry away the illustrations, and everything in the train of thoughts lying immediately in their neighbour- hood. And, indeed, a single illustration will sometimes flash the meaning of a whole sermon upon the minds that otherwise would have de- parted scarcely knowing the application of a sentence. Every one must have observed the effect of the introduction of such lights and illustrations upon an audience. The whole assembly may have ap- peared up to the point uninterested, listless, even oppressed with stupor ; but the moment the preacher says, " I will illustrate this point by a relation of what took place in the life of such or such a person," an entire change comes on the whole congregation. Every countenance is lighted up with expectation, every mind is on the alert. Even if the minister says, " We will suppose a case for the purpose of illustration," even then the attention of the hearers is at once aroused. The presentation of actual facts, or cases of interest in point, is so attractive, that if real incidents are not at hand, it were better to suppose them than leave the subject without such illustration, in instances where it admits of it. Accordingly, in the Scriptures and in dis- courses of our blessed Lord, it is evident that suppositions are made, and fables are related, to illustrate and enforce truth, to give it life and action. This constituted a powerful charm in our Saviour's preaching, even for those who cared nothing for the spiritual lessons He was enforcing. The beauty and exceeding aptness of His cases and illustrations may have caught many a careless soul when the bare dry truth would have failed to touch the heart. The truth that a man is miserable who layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God, might have been stated in ever so forcible language without reaching the conscience of the hearers. But when our Lord proceeded to say, " The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plen- tifully," with the solemn close of the epilogue, " Thou fool ! this night thy soul shall be re- quired of thee !" what conscience could remain unmoved ? The hearers of our blessed Lord were so deeply interested and absorbed in such narra- tives, that sometimes they seem to have forgot- ten that they were merely illustrations ; and in- terrupted Him, carried away by their feelings, or desiring the thread of the narrative to unwind differently, as in the case when they broke in upon one of His parables with the declaration, " Lord, he hath ten pounds already !" One can see the company, their interest, their eagerness, and the truth taking hold upon them ; we can hear their exclamations, as if a drama of real life were enacting before them. And it was life, taken out of the form of abstract, and dramatised for their life, their instruction. — Cheever. ( 2 ) (2.) The revealing the Word by similitudes is very useful and prolitable ; for it conduces much to make truth go to a man's heart before he is aware, and to impress it upon his memory. Many remember the simile, and so the truth which it conveyed. It is reported of the Marquis Galea- cias, a nobleman of great estates, and near of kin to the Pope, that once coming but to hear Peter Martyr preach, by a mere simile that he used, God smote his heart, and made it the means of his conversion. The simile was thus : Peter Martyr in his discourse had occasion to say, Men may think very hardly of God and His people, but this ;s because they do not know Him : as suppose a man a great way off sees a company of excellent dancers, the musicians are playing, and there is exact art in all they do. At the distance he regards them as a company of madmen, but (added he) as he draws nearer and nearer to them, and hears the melodious sound, and observes the art that they use, then he is much taken and affected. So it is with you. You are a great way off, and look from a great dis- tance upon the ways of God, and so you think His people mad ; but could you come to observe what excellency is in them, it would take captive your hearts. God blessed such a similitude as this to that great man's heart, so that though his wife and children lay imploring at his feet, yet he came to Geneva, and there continued all his days, But we should take some heed here. 1. Similes should be brought from things known. 2. We must not urge similes too far, we must take heed of a luxuriant, wanton wit. 3. And they must be very natural, plain, and proper, or else man will appear in them rather than God. — Burroughs, 1599-1648. (3.) Nothing strikes the mind of man so power- fully as instances and examples. They make a truth not only intelligible but even palpable, slid- ing it into the understanding through the win- dows of sense, and by the most familiar as well as most unquestionable perceptions of the eye. — South, 1633-1716. (4.) A proverb or parable being once unfolded, by reason of its affinity with the fancy, the more sweetly insinuates itself into that, and is from thence with the greater advantage transmitted to the understanding. In this state we are not able to behold truth in its own native beauty and lustre ; but while we are veiled with mortality, truth must veil itself too, that it may the more freely converse with us. — yohit Smith, 1618-1652. II.— OUR LORD'S METHOD OF TEACHING. (5.) With matter divine and manner human, our Lord descended to the level of the humblest of the crowd, lowering Himself to their under- standings, and winning His way into their hearts .by borrowing His topics from familiar circum- stances and the scenes around Him. Be it a boat, a plank, a rope, a beggar's rags, an imperial robe, we would seize on anything to save a drowning man ; and in His anxiety to save poor sinners, to rouse their fears, their love, their in- terest, to make them understand and feel the truth, our Lord pressed everything — art and nature, earth and heaven — into His service. Creatures of habit, the servants if not the slaves of form, we invariably select our text from some book of the Sacred Scriptures. He took a wider, freer range ; and, instead of keeping to the un- varying routine of text and sermon with formal divisions, it were well, perhaps, that we some- times ventured to follow His example ; for may it not be to the naturalness of their addresses and their striking out from the beaten path of texts and sermons, to their plain speaking and home-thrusts, to their direct appeals and home- spun arguments, that our street and lay preach- ers owe perhaps not a little of their power? Illustrating the words of the great English dramatist — " Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks. Sermons in stones, and good in everything," our Lord found many a topic of discourse in the scenes around Him ; even the humblest objects shone in His hands, as I have seen a fragment of broken glass or earthenware, as it caught the sunbeam, light up, flashing like a diamond. With the stone of Jacob's Well for a pulpit, and its water for ate.xt. He preached salvation to the Samaritan woman. A little child, which He takes from its mother's side, and holds up blush- ing in His arms before the astonished audience, is His text for a sermon on humility. A hus- bandman on a neighbouring height between him and the sky, who strides with long and measured steps over the field he sows, supplies a text from which He discourses on the gospel and its effects on different classes of hearers. In a woman baking ; in two women who sit by some cottage door grinding at the mill ; in an old, strong fortalice perched on a rock, whence it looks across the brawling torrent to the ruined and roofless gable of a house swept away by mountain floods — Jesus found texts. From the birds that sung above His head, and the lilies that blossomed at His feet. He discoursed on the care of God — these His text and Providence His theme. — Guthrie. III.— THE FIGURES OF THE BIBLE. (6.) The figures of the Bible are not mere graceful ornaments — arabesques to grace a bor- der, or fairy frescoes, that give mere beauty to a chamber or saloon. They are language. Human speech articulate is marvellous beyond all our thought ; but human words are not sufh- thunders in tropical storms. All deep griefs, and for the most part, tender and exquisite affec- tions, are voiceless. Then i» is, if any speech is attempted, that nature yields another language, and figures, word-pictures, and illustrations, if they do not cient even for human thoughts and feelings. All ] express, at least vividly suggest truths far beyond high and grand emotions scorn the tongue, that j the reach of words or the compass of sentences lies as helpless in the mouth as would be artillery such as men frame for the common use of life. to express the sound and grandeur of mountain | The Bible stands far beyond all other books ( 3 ) in this use of the language of nature. The great globe is but an alphabet, and every object upon it is a letter ; and, from beginning to end of the Bible, these sublime letters are used to set forth in hieroglyphic the truths of immortality. And there is ihis nobility in the use of natural objects for moral teaching, that to the end of time, and to all people, of how different soever language, the symbol used is the same. Artificial hiero- glyphics differ with age and nation. The Oriental cities had their special characters— the Egyptian his — the Aztec his ; and they differ one from another, so that one could not have read the written signs of the other. But the sun, the mountain, the ocean, the storm, the rain, the snow, the winds, lions and eagles, the sparrow and the dove, the lily and the rose, grass, earth, stones, and dirt, are the same in all ages, in all latitudes, to all people. And those truths that are expressed in the figures drawn from the natural world have relationships, and they are the most universal of any in the Bible, and the most frequent. — Beecher. IV.— THE DELIGHT OF THE HUMAN MIND IN (7.) Deep in our nature there exists a tendency to seek amongst all interesting objects points of resemblance, and when some intuition keener than our own reveals that resemblance, we bow to its truths or acclaim to its beauty. For in- stance, when human life is compared to the course of a river— cradled in the moss-fringed fountain, tripping gaily through its free and bab- bling infancy, swelling into proud and impetu- ous youth, burdened with the great ships in its sober and utilitarian manhood, and then merging in the ocean of eternity— who is there that does not see the resemblance, and in seeing it find his mind richer by at least one bright thought? There may be little resemblance betwixt a clouded sky and the human countenance ; and yet when METAPHOR, that sky opens and lets through the sunshine, we say that it is smiling, and when that dull countenance opens and lets out the soul, we say that it is shining ; and in the metaphor we feel that we have given a new animation to the sun, a new glory to " the human face divine." This tendency to metaphor, and the universal delight in parables, comparisons, and figures of speech, are no mere freaks of man's fancy. They have their foundation in the mind and method of Deity, whose thoughts are all in harmony, and whose works and ways are all connected with one another ; so that what we call the imagination of the poet, if his reading be correct, is really the logic of Omniscience. — Hamilton, 1814-1867. \^ — HOMELY ILLUSTRATIONS ARE NOT DESPISED. (S.) God's ministers must use plain and familiar expressions for the better convincing of their people both of their sin and misery. The prophet here (Hcsea xiii.) uses similitudes from a travail- ing woman, from the east wind ; and the Lord, TO BE SHRUNK FROM OR by way of aggravation of their sins, tells them that He had spoken to them by His prophets, and had " multiplied visions," and given them much preaching, yea, and the better to convince them, He had " used similitudes by the ministry of His prophets" (Hosea xii. 10). This is an ex- cellent way of preaching and prevailing ; it both notably illustrates the truth, and insinuates itself into men's affections. Galeacius Caraciolus, an Italian marquis, and nephew to a pope, was con- verted by an apt similitude which he heard from Peter Martyr. Nathan caught David with a par- able, and out of his own mouth condemned him. Christ, who spake as never man spake, whose words were full of power and authority, yet, the better to work upon His hearers, frequently used parables, from the sower, from leaven, from mustard seed, flowers, feasts, from a treasure, &c. ; and the Apostle Paul fetches similitudes from runners and wrestlers. Plain preaching is the best teaching ; it is the best way to convince and convert men ; and if plain, familiar preaching will not work, certainly by dark, mysterious preaching it will never be effected. This made Paul, that he had rather speak five words in a known tongue to edify others, than ten thousand in an unknown tongue. -That is the best preaching which sets forth things to the life, and makes them as plain as if they were written with a sunbeam. — Thomas Hall, 1659. (9.) Let ministers wisely and soberly use this their liberty in teaching, for the edification of their hearers, whom, if they be of the weaker sort, let them not trouble with profound matters which they are not able to understand, but let us be content to use plain similitudes and home- bred comparisons, fetched from leaven, from the meal-tub, or other domestical business ; knowing therein we do no other than Jesus Christ, our great Doctor and Master, Himself did. — Nehemiah Rogers, 1594-1660. (10.) About three years before the death of Rowland Hill, two gentlemen entered Surrey Chapel. They had long been friends, and one of them was shortly to leave this country for India. He was living " without hope and without God in the world." His companion was a decided and consistent Christian, and earnestly desired his friend's salvation. This pious friend, as the time drew near for the young man's departure, begged of him to grant him one especial favour, namely, to spend with him his four last Sabbath evenings, and to accompany him to the sanctuary. The request was complied with, and many pray- ers ascended to God that the sermons might lead the wanderer to the Saviour. The first, second, and third sermons were heard, but no impres- sions were produced. When the last Sabbath arrived, the Christian felt increased anxiety for his friend's soul. He took him to Surrey Chapel to hear good Rowland Hill, and secretly prayed that the preacher might be in a solemn state of mind, and not be permitted to indulge in eccen- tric remarks. The venerable preacher gave out his text: " We are not ignorant of his devices;" and immediately told the following tale : — "Many years since I met ( 4 ) a drove of pig^ in one of the streets of a large town, and, to my surprise, they were not driven, but quietly followed their leader. This singular fact excited my curiosity, and I pursued the swine, until they all quietly entered the butchery. I then asked the man how he succeeded in getting the poor, stupid, stubborn pigs so willingly to follow him, when he told me the secret ; he had a basket of beans under his arm, and kept dropping them as he proceeded, and so secured his object. Ah ! my dear hearers, the devil has got his basket of beans, and he knows how to suit his temptations to every sinner. He drops them by the way ; the poor sinner is thus led captive by the devil at his own will, and if the grace of God prevent not, he will get him at last into his butcherj', and there he will keep him for ever. Oh, it is because ' we are not ignorant of his devices ' that we are anxious this evening to guard you against them ! " The Christian friend deeply mourned over this tale about the pigs, and feared it would excite a smile but not produce conviction in the mind of his unbelieving companion. After the service was over they left the chapel, and all was silence for a season. " What a singular statement we had to-night about the pigs, and yet how striking and convincing it was ! " remarked the young man. His mind was impressed, and he could not forget the basket of beans, the butchery, and the final loss of the sinner's soul. He left this countr}', but has since corresponded with his friend, and continues to rc'er to this sermon as having produced a beneficial, ai-d it is hoped an abiding, impression on his mind. — Metnoir of SL twland Hill. VI.— WHENCE THEY ARE TO BE OBTAINED. ^11.) "Where shall I gather illustrations for my class?" On the source from which they are drawn depends, in a great measure, their value. Good bank-notes come from the banker, not from the counterfeiter. No one has any right to have counter- feits, so no teacher has a right to use spurious illus- trations. Convey the truth by the simplest illustra- tions possible, and with the least circumlocution. Instead of relying on encyclopaedias, &c., go into the streets with open eyes ; pick up the dead, broken branch which lies at your feet, and convert it into an illustration of a blameless Christian life. Be wide awake, be discriminating ; or, if the expres- sion may be allowed, possess sanctified gumption. No teacher has a right to go to his class without an illustration to enforce the truth. The Saviour preached the gospel in the trees, in the fields, in the roads. Why not we ? An illustration is to be used to gain attention, and to carry home the truth. Employ such as are within the comprehension of the child Let Greek mythology alone. Take God's illustrations, scattered on every hand, in the fields, the gardens, the lanes. Look at the flowers, the grass, all nature, and pray God to open your eyes. An excellent help is to have a Bible with a wide margin, in which to note dowa, as you find them, such illustrations as bear upon any particular passage. After a while you will have a book which money cannot buy. Use always the best material you can find, and, if possible, that drawn from your own experience. Do not labour to find great things. Take the little things. Be plain, consistent, con- cise. If your lesson is about Zaccheus, climbing into the scyamore tree, do not picture the scyamore of the Mississippi Valley, with its smooth trunk, but remember the Palestine sycamore. Never use an illustration simply foi its own sake ; ever keep in mind the great object, and let the truth follow the way into the mind and heart which the illustra- tion has opened. VII.— MISTAKES AGAINST WHICH WE NEED TO BE ON OUR GUARD. (i2.) Illustrations have been compared to the barbs that fix the arrow in the target. But it is to be remembered that barbs alone are useless. An archer would be poorly off if he had nothing in his quiver but arrow-heads or feathers. For an illus- tration to be useful or successful, there must be something to be illustrated. A sermon made up of anecdotes and flowers is quite as deficient as a str- mon of the driest abstractions. — Cherver. (13.) Illustrations, however beautiful, are dan- gerous if not employed with care. They may gratify without conveying instruction. When in excess, they become a mere diorama of illustration, leaving gratified curiosity and weariness behind. Superior elocution can do much, but a heavy weight of adornment will enfeeble the strongest. A multi- plication of beauties neither helps the beautiful nor the useful. The choicest tulip-bed in richest bloom loses its attractions if strewed over with buttercups and daisies, and occasionally the tree covered with blossom fails to produce the richest fruit. — Anon. (14.) As I was once endeavouring to explain to t class of children the nature of faith, I told the familiar story of a child on shipboard, from whom a pet monkey snatches his cap and darts with it up into the rigging. The little fellow makes after him, climbing higher and higher, till at last the sailors, to their horror, see him far up at a point where he is growing dizzy. He is just about to pitch head- long to the deck. His father, called up from the cabin, shouts to him to leap out into the water as his only hope. The child hesitates, but finally, trusting his father's wisdom, makes the tremen- dous leap, and is brought up by the sailors safely. One little hearer in the class, as I was rendering the story as vividly as possible, seemed much inr.- pressed, and sat deeply thinking while I tried to make the application. The truth seemed to have taken hold of him. "A hopeful case," I thojght. At last, when he could hold down the ferment in him no longer, and I turned to hear his question, he asked, breathlessly, " Well — but — what became of the monkey?" It was, in his teacher, the old blunder repeated, of making the illustration more impressive than the illustrated truth. — G.B. WUlcox. (15.) I think the question in every instance should be. Does it help? Does that mode of putting it ( 5 ) help? Would it help me? And a canon of our speech for all times should be the canon of the old poet : not too much of anything — to over-colour is to destroy all effect ; not too much detail — to know when to stop ; not too many words — to overlay the ornament is to destroy all the beauty, the harmony, the impressiveness, by destroying proportion. Pei- haps, in the preacher s order of teaching, we must often use more than strict good taste does allow, because we have to stimulate spiritual, and even intellectual, appetites. The severe style tells on educated and refined mmds in a state of prepara- tion ; but just as pictures are for children, so also pictorial words and emotions, which embody, and even startle, must be used in dealing with the multitudes. Still the mind, as it prepares itself, should come back to the question. Will that help ? Is that too much? This will compel the speaker to feel his own images — his own language ; that which is real to him will usually be felt to be real to the audience he addresses ; not in mere C)piousness, but in selectness, is power ; not in the crowd of illustrations, but in the distinctness of one^ Ls power — even as we are lost in a gallery of paintings, until we take refuge in one, and permit it to exercise its impression. But you have to manage your text by illustration, and on this 1 must dwell a little longer. You need good skill here : good taste is only the unison of sound knowledge and correct feeling ; but you will greatly need good taste here, as a rule. If an illus- tration adds at all to the light in your own mind, it will probably add to the light upon the text in the minds of your audience. And first, let me caution you against the improper use of allegory. Do you ever feel any tendencies to the use of it ? It needs superlative genius to be tolerable. A bold, strong, Bunyan-like, Christmas Evans-like mini, may re- cite an allegory like some lofty poem ; but be you very cautious how you yield to the sedunion. —E. P. Hood. St! also on the whole subject of the use of Illustra- tion in Preachings, Beecher's " Lectures on Preach- ing," First Series, chapter vii. ; Parker's "Ad Clerum," chapter xviii. ; and the " ProIe£eir«eaa " to Bertram's '* Parable or Divine Poesy." THE GREATER TOPICS IN THEOLOGY AND MORALS. ADVERSITY. 1. Should be expected by all men. (l6. ) As a wise pilot and governor of a ship will, in calm and fair weather, look for a storm : even so every wise man, in time of peace and prosperity, will prepare his mind for adversity. — Cazvdray, 1609. (17.) God "hath set the day of prosperity and the day of adversity, the one over against the other," as the clouds are gathered for rain by the shining of the sun. —Cecil, 1743- 18 lO. S. IB not necessarily an eTil. (18.) To be thrown upon one's own resources is to be cast in the very lap of fortune ; for our faculties then undergo a development, and display an energy, of which they were previously unsusceptible. — B, Franklin. 8. It Is a means of self-knowledge. (19.) If God should refuse to interrupt the course of men, they would scarcely know the strength of their resistance to Him. It is not when the cable lies coiled up on the deck that you know how strong or how weak it is ; it is when it is put to the test, when it is made to sing like the chord of a harp, in times vi'hen the ship is irr.perilled, and the waves are beating fiercely against it. And it is only when men are brought to the test that they can tell what their real nature is, or how strong their instincts and passions are. A house built on sand is, in fair weather, just as good as if builded on a rock. A cobweb is as good as the mightiest chain cable when there is no strain on it. It is trial that proves one thing weak and another strong. — Beeclier. 4. It shows other men what we are. (20.) Sorrow often reveals and develops the noblest qualities. What prosperity had concealed, adversity brings to light. Nobleness that we never suspected, with powers that would have remained uncultured and unfruitful, have been manifested. They are like some grand mansion surrounded and hidden, in summer-time, by large, full-foliaged trees ; the pa«ser-by cannot discern the fine pro- portions and ornamental sculpture that make it "a thing of beauty ;" but when winter tears away, with ruthless hand, every leaf, until the trees stand clear and bare, then, behold ! the magnificent handiwork appears in all its glory and perfection. The best natures show best when most tried, and they are lovelier in poverty than in wealth. — Braden. B. It Is essential to the development and per- fecting of nobility of character. (31 . ) If you were to hear some men's experience. you would think that they grow as the white pin« grows, with straight grain, and easily split ; for I notice that all that grow easy split easy. But there are some that grow as the mahogany grows, with veneering knots, and all quirls and contortions of grain : that is the best timber of the forest which .las the most knots. Everybody seeks it, because being hard to grow, it is hard to wear out ; and when knots have been sawn and polished, how beautiful they are ! There are many who are content to grow straight, like weeds on a dunghill ; but there are many others who want to be stalwart and strong like the monarch! of the forest, and yet, when God sends winds of ad« versity to sing a lullaby in their branches, they dt not like to grow in that way. They dread the cul- ture that is really giving toughness to their soul and strength to its fibre. — Beecher. (22.) The gem cannot be polished without frio ticil, nor man perfected without adversity. — Eliza Cook, 6. It enables us to discover our real friends. (23.) Oil hearing a sjvalloiv in the chimney. Here is music, such as it is ; but how long will it hold ? When but a cold morning conies in, my guest is gone, without either warning or thanks. This pleasant season has the least need of cheerful notes ; the dead of winter shall want and wish them in vain. Thus doth an ungrateful parasite ; no man is more ready to applaud and enjoy our prosperity ; but when with the times our condition begins to alter, he is a stranger at least. Give me that bird which will sing in winter, and seek to my window in the hardest frost. There is no trial of friendship but adversity. He that is not ashamed of my bonds not daunted with my checks, not aliened with my diserace, is a friend for me ; one drachm of that man's love is worth a world of false and inconsistent formality. — Hall, 1 656- 1754. (24.) Faith and friendship are seldom truly tried but in extremes. To find friends when we have no need of them, and to want them when we have, are both alike easy and common. In prosperity, who will not profess to love a man ? In adversity, how few will show that they do it indeed ! When we are happy, in the spring-tide of abundance, and the rising flood of plenty, then the world will be our servant ; then all men flock about us with bared heads, with bended bodies, and protesting tongues. But when these pleasing waters fall to ebbing, when wealth but shifts to another stand, — then men look upon us at a distance, and stiffen themselves as if they were in armour, lest (if they should com- ply with us) they should get a wound in the close. Adversity is like Penelope's night, — which undoes «11 that ever the day did weave. — Fellham^ 1668 ADVERSITY. ( 7 ) AFFECTIONS. 7. Moreover, it is a test of our religious expe- rience. (25.) A religion which cheers you in prosperity is certainly better than 110 religion ; and faith in God while the sky is blue is better than no faith ; but, after all, taking men as they are, the religion which they need is a religion which is brought into play more in the day of trial than in the day of pro- sperity. What matters it what is the texture of your raiment in August ? It is January that needs thick raiment. What matters it what your expe- riences are in prosperity ? It is aaversity that is to test the nature of your experiences. An anchor is not bad when it lies upon the deck ; it is con- venient when we use it in a tranquil harbour ; but when the stars are hidden, and the storm is on the deep, and you are driving in upon the coast — then it is salvation. We need a hope, a faith, which, while ii will be a convenience in fair weather, will be our mainstay on foul and stormy days. — Beecher. 8. On all these accounts, and on others, It is spiritually less perilous than prosperity. (26.) For my own part, I bless God that hath kept me from greatness in the world ; and I take it as the principal act of friendship that ever you did for me, that you provoked me to this sweet though flesh-denying life of the ministry, in which I have chosen to abide. I had rather lie in health on the hardest bed than be sick upon the softest ; and I see that a feather bed maketh not a sick man well. The sleep of the labouring man is sweet. The plough- man's brown bread and cheese is more savoury to him, and breedeth fewer sicknesses, than the fulness and variety of the rich. This country diet doth not cherish voluptuousness, arrogance, vainglory, earthly- mindedness, uncharitableness, and other selfish dis- eases, as much worldly greatness doth. — Baxter, 1615-1691. (27.) Some ships behave best in a gale ; in light winds they rock themselves to pieces. To a Chris- tian man adversity is not the most dangerous condi- tion ; fine weather tries him more. When we are least visibly strained, we are often most sharply tested. — Birrell. 9. Things to be avoided in adversity. (a.) Selfishness. (28.) One of the worst features of adversity is that it has a tendency to concentrate one's thoughts on one's self. One of the best features of prosperity is that it permits a person to forget himself and help others. If it takes all your strength to stem the tide of trouble, what have you to spare to help a brother afloat? But if you are gliding smoothly down the tide, with sails full spread and favouring breezes, you can have eye, and ear, and helping hand for all endangered and overladen craft. (/3.) Despair. (29.) In the hour of adversity be not without hope ; for crystal rain falls from black clouds. — Nezzoumee. 10. Our supreme duty in adversity : trust In God. (30.) A dark claud hung over the interests of the African race in our land. There seemed no way of deliverance. Frederick Douglass, at a crowded meeting, depicted the terrible condition. Every- thing was against his people. One political party had gone iown on its knees to slavery. Th4 other proposed not to abolish it anywhere, but only to restrict it. The supreme court had given judgment against black men as such. He drew a picture of his race writhing under the lash of the overseer, and trampled upon by brutal and lascivious men. As he went on with his despairing words, a great horror of darkness seemed to settle down upon the audience. The orator even uttered the cry for blood. There was no other relief. And then he showed that there was no relief even in that. Everything, every influence, every event was gathering, not for good, but for evil about the doomed race. It seemed as if they were fated to destruction. Just at the instant when the cloud was most heavy over the audience, there slowly rose, in the front seat, an old black woman, her name " Sojourner Truth." She had given it to herself. Far and wide she was known as an Afnoan prophetess. Every eye was on her. The orator paused. Reacliing out towards him her long bony finger, as every eye followed her pointing, she cried out, " Frederick, is God dead? " It was a lightning-tlash upon that darkness. The cloud began to break, and faith and hope and patience returned with the idea of a personal »kd ever-living God. AFFECTIONS, THE 1. They are irrepressible in their activity. (31.) Love is the great instrument and engine oi nature, the bond and cement of society, the spring and spirit of the universe. It is of that active, restless nature, that it must of necessity exert itself; and like the fire, to which it is so often compared, it is not a free agent to choose whether it will heat or no, but it streams forth by natural results and unavoid- able emanations. So that it will fasten upon an inferior, unsuitable object rather than none at all. The soul may sooner leave off to subsist than to love ; and, like the vine, it withers and dies if it has nothing to embrace. Now this affection, in the state of innocence, was happily pitched upon its right object ; it flamed up in direct fervours of devotion to God, and in collateral emissions of charity to its neighbour. — SoiUli, 1633-1716. 2. Religion calls us, not to destroy, but to con- trol them. (32.) It is not the business of virtue to extirpate the affections, but to regulate them. — Addison, 1672-1719. 3 There is constant need for watchfulness in regard to them. (33.) Affections are, as it were, the wind of the soul, and then the soul is as it should be, when it is neither so becalmed that it moves not when it should, nor yet tossed with tempests to move dis- orderly— when it is so well-balanced that it is neither lift up nor cast down too much. Our affections must not rise to become unruly passions, for then, as a river that overflows ths banks, they carry much slime and soil with them. Though afi"ections be the wind of the ."oui, yet unruly passions are the storms of the soul, and will overturn all, if they be not suppressed. The best, as we see in the case of David, if they do not steer their hearts aright, are in danger of sudden g ists. A Christian must neither be a dead sea nor a raj,'ing sea. —SiblMs, i577'»635. AFFECTIONS. ( 8 ) AFFECTIONS. 4, A comprehensive rule for their exercise. (34.) Do not be over-fond of anything, or con- sider that for your interest which makes you break your word, quit your modesty, or inclines you to any practice which will not bear the light, or look th« world in the face. — Antoninus. 6. The folly and the baseness of setting them on earthly things. (35.) Mercies are love's messengers, sent from heaven to win our hearts to love again, and entice us thither. Our mercies therefore should be used to this end. That mercy that doth not increase, or excite and help our love, is abused and lost, as seed that is buried when it is sowed, and never more appeareth. Earthly mercies point to heaven, and tell us whence they come, and for what. Like the flowers of the spring, they tell us of the reviving approaches of the sun : but, like foolish children, because they are near us, we love the flowers better than the sun ; forgetting that the winter is drawing on. — Baxter, 161 5- 1 691. (36. ) Build your nest upon no tree here ; for you see God has sold the forest to Death ; and every tree whereupon we would rest is ready to be cut down, to the end we may flee and mount up, and build upon the rock, and dwell in the holes of the rock. — Rutherford, 1661. (37.) How many thousands exercise their affec- tions and feelings without recognising God in them all. They much resemble a person who, being put into possession of a fine garden, should experience no other gratification than that of devouring greedily the fruits, regardless of the magnitude of the gift or the bounty of the giver. — Salter. (38.) Suppose a man builds a temple, with one seat in it very high and much ornamented, and another very far below it. You ask him for whom are those seats designed, and he replies, " Why, the most elevated one is for me, and the one below is for God." Now, in this case you can see the hor- rible absurdity and impiety of such conduct, and yet each one of you who continues impenitent is doing this. You have given yourselves the first place in your affections ; you have thought more of yourselves than of God, and have done more to please your- selves than to please God. In short, you have in everything preferred yourselves before Him. — Payson. 6. They find rest only In God. (39.) Every man must go out of himself for enjoy- ment. Something in this universe besides himself there must be to bind. the affections of every man. There is that within us which compels us to attach ourselves to something outward. The choice is not this : love, or be without love. You cannot give the pent-up steam its choice of moving or not mov- ing. It must move, one way or the other — the right way or the wrong way. Direct it right, and its energies roll the engine wlieels smoothly on your track. Block up its passage, and it bounds away, a thing of madness and ruin. Stop it you cannot, it will rather burst. So it is with our hearts. There is a pent-up energy of love, gigantic for good or evil. Its right way is in the direction of our eternal Father, and then, let it boil and pant as it will, the course of the man is smooth. Expel the love of God from the bosom, what then ? Will the passion that is within cease to burn ? Nay, tie the man down, let there be no outlet for his affections, let him attach himself to nothing, and become a loveless spirit in the uni- verse, and then there is what we call a broken heart — the steam bursts the machinery that contains it. Or else, let him take his course, unfettered and free, and then we have the riot of worldliness — a man oi strong affections thrown off the line, tearing himseU to pieces, and carrying desolation along with him. — Robertson, 1816-1853. 7. It should be the chief endeavotir of preachers to win the affections for God. (40.) Come to the sensual and voluptuous person, and convince him that there is a necessity for his bidding farewell to all inordinate pleasure in order to his future happiness. Perhaps you gain his reason, and in some measure insinuate into his will ; but then hi3 sensual desire interposes, and out-votes and ravels all his convictions. As when, by much ado, a vessel is forced and rowed some pretty way contrary to the tide, presently a gust of wind comes and beats it farther back than it was before. If Christ ever wins the fort of the soul, the con- quest must begin here ; for the understanding and will seem to be like a castle or fortified place ; there is strength indeed in them, but the alifections are the soldiers who manage those holds. The opposition is from these ; and if the soldiers surrender, the place itself, though never so strong, cannot resist. — South, 1633-1716. 8. How they are to be won. (41.) You cannot attempt to dislodge one object of earthly affection or pursuit without having some other and better to substitute in its room. It was a dictum of the old philosophy that nature abhors a vacimm, and this is as true regarding the moral as the material world. The dove of old, with weary wing, would have retained its unstable perch on the restless billow had it not known of an ark of safety. You cannot tempt the shiveiing child of want to desert his garret or rude shielding until you can promise him some kindlier and more substantial shelter. You cannot induce the prodigal to leave off the husks of his miserable desert exile before you can tell him of a father's house and welcome ; you cannot ask him to part with his squalid rags and tinsel ornaments until you can assure him of robe, and ring, and sandals. The husks and the tatters, wretched as they are, are better than nothing. In one of the islands on our northern coast a daring adventurer clambered down one of the steep clifi's, which rose perpendicular from the ocean, in search of eggs of some seafowl. The precarious parapet or ledge of rock on which he stood suddenly gave way, and with one giant bound plunged into the boiling surge beneath. In a moment the instinctive love of life made him spring from the yielding foot- ing and lay hold on a branch of ivy which clung with uncertain tenacity to the precipice that rose sheer above him. Who wouJd have had the madness or cruelty to shout to that wrestler for dear life to let go the treacherous ivy branch ? Worthless as it was, it was his only chance of safety ; and those on the summit of the cliff, the spectators of his imminent peril, were wise not by word or sign to disturb his grasp of what they anxiously felt might prove a brittle thread in these moments of suspense. But when a fleet foot had returned with the rope, and let it down AFFECTIONS. ( 9 ) AFFLICTION. by the side of the exhausted man, then, with no hesitating accents did they call upon him to let go the fragile support and lay hold of what brought him up safe to their feet. In. the same way do we find the inspired writers dea ing with the human soul. They never exhort to abhor that which is evil with- out telling of some objective "good" to which the heart can cleave instead. " Charge them that are rich in the world that they be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, But in the living God." " Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world . . . The world passeth away, and the lust thereof; But he that doeth the will of God abideth fo r ever. ' ' — Guih rie. (42.) In the spangled sky, the rainbow, the woodland hung with diamonds, the sward sown with pearly dew, the rosy dawn, the golden clouds of even, the purple mountains, the hoary rock, the blue boundless main, Nature's simplest flower, or some fair form of laughing child or lovely maiden, we cannot see the beautiful without admiring it. That is one law of our nature. Another is, that so far as earthly objects are concerned, aftd apart from the beauty of holiness, we cannot help loving what is lovely, and regarding it with aflection. Our affections are drawn to an attractive object as natu- rally as iron is charmed by a loadstone. God made us to love ; and when brought near to such an object our feelings entwine themselves around it, as the soft and pliant tendrils of the vine do around the support it clothes with leaves, and hangs with purple clusters. Such analogy is there between the laws of mind and matter. — Guthrie. 9. How they are to be controlled. (43.) Draw off thy observation from deluding vanities, as if there were no such things before thee. When thou rememberest that there is a God, kings and nobles, riches and honours, and all the world should be forgotten in comparison of Him ; and thou shouldst live as if there were no such things, if God appear not to thee in them. See them as if thou didst not see them, as thou seest a candle before the sun ; or a pile of grass, or single dust in comparison with the earth. Hear them as if thou didst not hear them ; as thou hearest not the leaves of the shaken tree at the same time with a clap of thunder. As greatest things obscure the least, so let the Being of the Infinite God so take up all the powers of thy soul, as if there were nothing else but He, when anything would draw thee from Him. — Baxter, 1615-1691. (44.) On board iron vessels it is a common thing to see a compass placed aloft, to be as much away from the cause of aberration as possible : a wise hint to us to elevate our affections and desires ; the nearer to God, the less swayed by worldly influences. — Spurgeon. (45.) Seek for God in everything, and for every- thing in God. Only thus will you be able to bridle those cravings which else tear the heart. The presence of the ktng awes the crowd into silence. When the full moon is in the nightly sky, it makes the heavens bare of flying cloud-rack, and all the twinkling stars are lost in the peaceful, solitary splendour. So let delight in God rise in our souls, and lesser lights pale before it — do not cease to be, but add their feebleness, unnoticed, to its radiance. The more we have our affections set on God, the more we shall enjoy, because we subordinate His gifts. The less, too, shall we dread their loss, the less be at the mercy of their fluctuations. The capitalist does not think so much of the year's gains as the needy adventurer, to whom they make the difference between bankruptcy and competence. li you have God for your ' ' enduring substance, " you can face all varieties of condition, and be calm, saying : " Give what Thou canst, without Thee I am poor. And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt vway." — iVaclaren. 10. Their free exercise Is necessary to give beauty to tjie religious life. (46.) Christians, however exact and regular in the detail of duties, where the religious affections do not hold dominion, give an impression similar to that of leafless trees observed in winter, admirable for the distinct exhibition of their boughs so clearly defined, left destitute of all the soft, green, luxu- riant foliage which is requisite to make a perfect tree. The affections which exist in such minds seem to have a bleak abode, somewhat like those deserted nests which you often see in such trees. —i>ait€r. AFFLICTION. I. OUli PRESENT PORTION. (47.) When man prospereth, so that all things go well with him, yet it fareth with him as with a flower in the field, which flourisheth for a while, and is pleasant to look upon : within a little while after it drieth up and fadeth away. As long as we are upon earth we are, as it were, in a camp or siege, where we must ever be skirmish- ing and fighting, and know neither who shall break out and give the onset against us, nor how, nor when. — VVerniullerus, 1551. (48.) The present state of life is subject to afflictions, as a seaman's life is subject to storms. " Man is born to trouble ; " he is heir-apparent to it ; he comes into the world with a cry, and goes out with a groan. — Watson, 1696. (49.) The present life is an incurable disease, and sometimes attended with that sharp sense, that death is desired as a remedy, and accepted as a benefit. And though the saints have reviving cordials, yet their joys are mixed with many sorrows, nay, caused by sorrows. Tlie tears of repentance a^e their sweetest refreshment. Here the living stones are cut and wounded, and made fit by sufferings for a temple unto God in the New Jerusalem. But as in the building of Solomon's temple, the noise of a hammer was not heard, for all the parts were framed before with that exact design and correspondence, that they firmly com- bined together ; they were hewn in another place, and nothing remained but the putting them one upon another in the temple, and then, as sacred, they were inviolable : so God, the wise Architect, having prepared the saints here by many cutting afflictions, places them in the Eternal Building, where no voice of sorrow is heard. — Bates, 1 625- 1 699. (50.) The Christian lives in the midst of crosses, as the fish lives in the sea. — Vianney. AFFLICTION. ( lo ) AFFLICTION. (51.) When God built this world, He did not build a palace com])lete with appointnr-.ents. This is a drill world. Men were not dropped down upon it like manna, fit to be gathered and used as it fell ; but like seeds, to whom the plough is father, the furrow mother, and on which iron and stone, sickle, flail and mill, must act before they come to the loaf. — Beecher. II. ITS GRIEVOUSNESS. (52.) Our imagination makes every day of our sorrow appear like Joshua's day, when the sun stood still in Gibeon. The summer of our delight IS too short ; but, oh, the winter of our aflliction goes slowly off. — Adams, 1654. (53.) Sorrow commonly comes on horseback, but goes away on foot. — Adams, 1654. (54.) Every man feels, and not strangely, that there never were such experiences of life as his own. No joy was ever like our joy, no scrrow ever like our sorrow. Indeed, there is a kind of indig- nation excited in us when one likens our gvief to his jwn. The soul is jealous of its experieaces, and does not like pride to be humbled by tlu thought that they are common. For, though we know that the world groans and travails in pain, and has done so for ages, yet a groan heard by our ear is a very different thing from a groan uttered by our mouth. The sorrows of other men seem to us like clouds of rain that empty themselves in the distance, and whose long-travelling thunder comes to us mellowed and subdued ; but our own troubles are like a storm bursting right overhead, and sending down its bolts upon us with direct plunge. — Beecher. (55-) We can recommend so persuasively the cheerful drinking of the cup of sorrow when in the hand of others, but what wry faces we make when put into our own 1 — A. J. Morris. III. ITS DESIGN. 1. To produce repentance and lead to amend- ment of life. (56.) When Almighty God, for the merits of His son, not of any ireful mind, but of a loving heart towards us, doth correct us. He may be likened unto a father ; as the natural father first teacheth his beloved child, and afterwards giveth him warn- ing, and then correcteth him at last, even so the eternal God assayeth all manner of ways with us. First, He teacheth us His will through the oreach- ing of His Word, and giveth us warning. Now, if so be that we will not follow Him, then He beateth us a little with a rod, with poverty, sickness, or with other afflictions, which should be esteemed as nothing else but children's rods or the wands of correction. If such a rod will not do any good, and his son waxeth stubborn, then taketh the father a whip or r. stick, and beateth him till his Dones crack ; even so, when we wax obstinate and care neither for wofds nor stripes, then sendeth God unto us more heavy and universal plagues. All this He doth to drive us unto repentance and amendment of our lives. Now truth it is, that it is against the father's will to strike his child ; he would much rather do him all the good that ever he could. Even so certainly, when God sendeth affliction upon our necks, there lieth hidden under that rod a fatherly affection. For the peculiar and natural property o*" God is to be loving and friendly, to heal, to help, and to do good to His children, mankind. — IVerniuHenis, 15 51. (57.) When the oil of spiritual grace will not mollify our iron hearts, then God makes them soft in the fiery furnace of tribulation. When they are such stiff grounds, that they are not fit for the seed of the Word, then He breaks up, ploughs, and harrows them with afflictions, that so they may become fruitful. And whereas, naturally, we are so blinded with self-love that we do not see our sins, and so puffed up with pride, tliat we will not confess them, when our eyes are anointed with this sharp eye salve of afflictions, we easily discern all our former wicked courses ; and when our lofty hearts are pressed down with the weight of tribula- tions, then we humble ourselves before God, and acknowledge our sins. — Dozuname, 1644. (58.) What does God send forth His arrows for, and shoot this man with sickness, another with poverty, and a third with shame, but to reclaim and to recover them ? to embitter the sweet morsels of sensuality to them, and to knock off their affections from siniul pleasure? For God makes not the miseries, jf men His recreation. It can be no diversion to the surgeon to hear the shrieks of him whom he is cutting for the stone ; yet he goes on with his work, for he designs nothing but cure to the person whom he afflicts. — South, 1633-1716. (59.) By repentance is meant, in Scripture, change of life, alteration of habits, renewal of heart. This is the aim of all sorrow. The consequences of sin are meant to wean from sin. The penalty annexed to it is, in the first instance, corrective, not penaL Fire burns the child, to teach it one of the truths oi this universe — the property of fire to burn. The fever in the veins and the headache which succeed intoxication, are meant to warn against excess. On the first occasion they are simply corrective ; in every succeeding one they assume more and more a penal character, in proportion as the conscience carries with them the sense of ill desert. Sorrow, then, has done its work when it deters from evil ; in other words, when it works repentance. — F. W. Robertson, 1816-1853. ' 2. To prevent us from going astray. (60.) As men clip the feathers of fowls, when they begin to fly too high or too far ; even so doth God diminish our riches, &c., that we should not pass our bounds, and glory too much of such gifts. — IVermtillerus, 1551. (61.) We are furthered by our afflictions in attain- ing to heavenly happiness, as they are used by God to keep us in the way of righteousness which leads to it. For, whereas by our natural corruption we are ready to wander into the bye-paths of sin, being allured by the enticing baits of worldly vanities, the Lord makes afflictions to serve us as a thorny hedge and strong fence to keep us in our right course. And when, sailing in the sea of this miserable world towards the haven of everlasting rest, we are ready to listen to the sweet syren tunes of carnal pleasures, and leaping out of our ship of safety, the true and invisible Church, to perish, by adhering to them in the gulf of destruction, God in love to us uses our afflictions, as wax to stop ou- ears, that we may not hearken to these bewitching songs, but AFFLICTION. ( " ) AFFLICTION. may without distraction hold on our course, which will bring us at the last to the port of blessedness. — Downame, 1644. (62.) The Lord takes away from His children worldly honours, when He sees that they would by them be puffed up with pride. Thus He deprives them of riches, when they would be unto them thorns to choke and hinder the growth of His heavenly grace, or provocations and incitements to sin, or the means and instruments to further them in wicked actions, or, like camels' hunches, hinder them from entering into the strait gate which leads to happiness. Thus, He takes from us parents, children, and dear friends, when, if we should still enjoy them, we would make them our idols, setting our hearts upon, loving, or trusting in them more than in God Himself. So He deprives us of our earthly pleasures when He sees that we would prefer them before heavenly joys ; and causes us to find many crosses in the world, because He knows that if it should smile and fawn upon us, we would make a paradise of the place of our pilgrimage, set our affections upon these transitory trifles, and never care to travel in the way of holiness which leads to our heavenly countiy. As, therefore, the skilful physician does not only apply medicines for the curing of diseases when men are fallen into them, but also in time of infection, and when they see some distemper in them through the abounding of humours, give wholesome pre- servatives to maintain health ; so our Heavenly Physician uses these portions of affliction, not only to cure us of the diseases of sin, when we are fallen into them, but also to purge away our inward cor- ruptions, and so to prevent these deadly sicknesses of the soul, before they have seized upon us, and to free us from all causes and other sins which would otherwise bring us into this dangerous condition. — Downame, 1644. (63.) We who were wild branches barren of all good fruit of holiness, are through God's infinite mercy ingrafted into the true Vine, Jesus Christ, from whom receiving all our grace and sap, we are enabled to bring forth the pleasant grapes of new obedience. Yet, if we were left alone, and suffered to run out with uncontrolled liberty, we would, like the vine which is never pruned, return to our old natural wildness, and bring forth no other fruit than those sour grapes of iniquity and sin ; therefore our heavenly Vintager, for His own glory and our good, cuts away the superfluities of our licentious liberty, and prunes us with this knife of aflliction, that being kept short in our carnal desires, we may become more fruitful in all holy duties (John xv. i, 2). — Dinvname, 1644. (64.) It may be that thy outward comforts are taken from thee that God may be all in all to thee. It may be while thou hadst these things they did share with God in thy affections ; a great part of the stream of thy affection ran that way. Now the Lord would net have the affections of His children to run waste ; He does not care for other men's affections, but thine, they are precious, and God would not have Ihem run waste. Therefore He cuts off thy other pipes, that my heart may run wholly upon Him. If you perceive that one of your servants, because she feeds and tends them, steals away the hearts of your children, you will hardly be able to bear it ; you would be ready to turn away such a servant. And when the servant is gone, the child is at a great loss, it has not the nurse. But the mother intends by her putting away that the affections of the child might run the more strongly towards herself; and what loss has the child, that the affections that ran in a rough channel before towards the servant run ta wards the mother? So those affections that run towards the creature God would have them run toward Himself, that so He may be all in all to thee here in this world. And a gracious heart can indeed tell how to enjoy God so as that God shall be all in all to it : that is the happiness of heaven to have God to be all in all. — Burroughs, 1 599-1646. (65.) The best ground untilled soonest runs out rank weeds. Such are God's children, overgrown with security ere they are aware, unless they be well exercised, both with God's plough of affliction and their own industry of meditation. — Hall, 1 574-1656. 3. To recall us to duty and true happiness, (66.) There is never a schoolmaster taketh any scholar, but he will make these conditions with him expressly : that the lad shall not be self-willed, but with all possible diligence shall take heed unto that which the master teacheth him ; and if he will be negligent, or play the truant, if he, being his master, should punish him therefore, that he be content to take it patiently. The master doth not punish his scholar for any malice towards him, but only that he should learn better afterward. Even so Christ receiveth no disciple but He maketh conditions with him most necessary for every Christian man, which are expressed in Matthew xvi. 24. The Word of God ought to be the only rule whereby we should be ordered ; but we had rather to follow our own head, by the means whereof ofttimes we go away ; and therefore the Heavenly Schoolmaster knappeth us on the fingers till we apprehend and learn His will more perfectly. — We7-mtillertis, 1551. (67.) When a horse-breaker giveth unto a lusty young horse too much of the bridle, he is wild and wanton, and goeth not well, and in a slippery place mitht fall headlong : even so, if our Creator should giv"^ us too large liberty, we should soon wax wild ; arh-l J. might happen that we should destroy our- selves ; therefore He giveth us a sharp bit in our mouths, and helpeth us to bridle our flesh, that the noble and precious soul perish not. Again, as the carter jerketh his horses with tht whip, and striketh them sharply when they will not go forward, and yet spareth them also, that he may enjoy them the longer ; even so God striketh us when we do not right, and yet spareth us, and will not make utterly an end of us. — Wermullerns, 155^' (68.) If a sheep stray from his fellows, the shep- herd sets his dog after it, not to devour it, but to bring it in again ; even so our Heavenly Shepherd, if any of us. His sheep, disobey Him, sets His dog of affliction after us, not to hurt us, but to bring us home to consideration of our duty towards Him. Now, His dogs be poverty, &c. — Cawdray, 1 598-1644, (69.) Afilictions make us most frequent and fer- vent in pouring forth our supplications unto God. In our prosperity we either utterly neglect this duty, or perform it carelessly and slothfully ; but when we are brought into calamities we flee to Him hq^ earnest prayer, craving His aid and help. And aa the child fearing nothing is so fond of his play, that AFFLICTION. ( " ) AFFLICTION. he strays and wanders from his mother ; not so much as thinking of her ; but if he be scared or frighted with the sight or apprehension of some apparent or approaching danger, presently runs to her, casts himself into her arms and cries out to be saved and shielded by her : so we, securely enjoying the child- ish sports of worldly prosperity, do so fondly dote on them that we scarce think of our Heavenly Father ; but when perils approach, and are ready to seize upon us, then we flee to Him and cast ourselves into the arms of His protection, crying to Him by earnest prayer for help in our extremity. — Dowiiame, 1644. (70.) Like the passengers through the tunnelled Alp, from the dark, and the cold, and the stifling air, emerging on the broad light-flooded plains of Lombardy, it is often by a way which they know not, gloomy and underground, that the convoy is carried which God's Spirit is bringing to the wealthy place ; and your present grief you will have no reason to regret, if it introduce you to God's friend- ship, and to joys which do not perish in the using. It may not have struck you, but you have been try- ing to create your own Eden, and it was an Eden with the living God left out. For a time the experi- ment seemed to prosper, but if it is blighted you have no right to complain ; and though it should never blossom again, even the howling wilderness does you a service, if it makes you a pilgrim and turns your face to the better land. Affliction is God's message. This mighty famine is no accident : it is God's voice sounding through the bare country, and saying to you, Come Home. — Hmnilton, 1S14-1861. 4. To restore us to spiritual health. (71.) The surgeon must cut away the rotten and dead flesh, that the whole body be not poisoned, and so perish : even so doth God sometimes plague our bodies grievously, that our souls may be preserved and healed. How deep soever God thrusteth His iron into our flesh. He doth it only to heal us ; and if it be so that He kill us, then will He bring us to the right life. The physician employeth poison to drive out another : even so God, in correcting us, useth the devil and wicked people, but yet all to do us good. As long as the physician hath any hope of the recovery of his patient, he assayeth all manner of means and medicines with him, as well sour and sharp as sweet and pleasant ; but as soon as ever he beginneth to doubt of his recovery, he suffereth him to have whatsoever himself desireth. Even so the Heavenly Physician, as long as He hath any hope to recover us, will not always suffer us to have what we most desire ; but as soon as He hath no more hope of us, then He suffereth us for a time to enjoy all our own pleasure (Isa. i. 5). — Wermullerus, 1 55 1. (72.) Such is our natural corruption, that we are easily made wanton with the fruition of God's bless- ings. Therefore the Lord is after a sort enforced to correct us, that by sorrow and smart He may bring us to know ourselves, and to remember Him. As the wise and faithful physician is constrained, upon the necessity of recovering his patient's health, to prescribe to him abstinence after surfeiting, and bitter potions, when he finds his body distempered with corrupt humours : so upon the like necessity of recovering our spiritual health, the Lord is fain. when we surfeit upon His blessings, to withdraw i them from us, and to appoint us a shorter diet; and when He sees our souls full of corruptions, to give us these bitter potions of afflictions' that the poison of sin may be expelled, and we freed fron the danger of everlasting death. And as in these regards there is necessity of sending these afflictions in respect of every parti- cular faithful man, so also in regard of the whole Church in general. For as it is never more spirit- ually poor and lean, than when it is pampered in worldly pomp and prosperity ; so it is never richer, or in better liking, than when it is outwardly pinched with misery and affliction. And as by too much fulness, it falls into consumption, and by being too rank is easier laid with every storm of temptation, so it grows fatter by fasting, prospers better when it is bitten and snipped. — Downame, 1644. (73.) Sickness is God's lance to let out the im- posthume of sin (Isa. xxvii. 9). — Watson, 1696, (74.) It is a sword which pierces the heart, and makes the corrupted matter flow from it. — Massillon. 6. To test our character and Christian profession. (75.) By trouble will God prove and assay how deep thy heart hath entered with God, how much thy faith is able to bear, whether thou canst forsake both thyself and all other creatures in the world for His sake. He will try how thou wilt behave thy- selt, when He taketh utterly from thee that where- in thou most delightest. God knoweth well enough before, how thou wilt take it and behave thyself; but He will show and declare to thyself and to others also, what is in thee. A man cannot learn to know a stout man of war in the time of peace, but best of all in the time of war. When a great tempest ariseth in the sea, then doth it appear whether the shipmaster be cunning in ruling the stern or no. — Wermullerus, 155 1. (76.) The Lord tries us with afl3ictions, to make it known whether we be sound Christians, or whether we deceive both ourselves and others with shadows only. Our Saviour has taught us in the parable, that there are some hearers like unto the stony ground, who receive the seed of the Word with joy, and bring forth a fair green blade of an outward profession, but yet, having no root in themselves, when the hot sun of affliction shines upon thern, wither and fall away. That these time-serving hypocrites may be discerned from true professors, He causes this sun of tribulation to arise. We profess to be gold fit for God's treasury, and corn meet for the garners of eternal blessedness ; and yet there is among us more dross than gold, and more chaff" than wheat. T'nerefore the Lord casts us into the furnace of affliction, that the pure metal may be tried, and in trial purified ; and that the drossy substance may be severed, and in the separa- tion consumed : and fans and winnows us with th* strong wind of tribulation, that the chaff" may be blown away, and the pure corn remain for His own use. We profess ourselves trees planted by God's own hand in His garden of grace, and houses fit for His own dwelling, which have a good ground and sure foundation, even the rock Jesus Christ : whereas it truth there are many plants of the devil's setting, which have no other hold but the weak and short AFFLICTION. ( 13 ) AFFLICTION, roots of camal ends and worldly respects, which are there planted by Satan to hinder the growth, to suck away the nourishment, and to shade and annoy, dis- order and disgrace those fruitful and choice trees of God's own grafting ; and many houses which are not built upon the rock Christ.but upon thesandsof human inventions and traditions, upon the examples of their superiors or their own good meaning and ungrounded superstition. Therefore the Lord causes the winds to blow, and the tempestuous storms of troubles to arise, that His own trees may take the more deep rooting ; that those plants of Satan's setting may be overturned and rooted up ; that the temples of His own erecting for the habitation of His Holy Spirit may by their standing in all these storms, approve the skill of the workmaster ; and that these chapels of the devil, which, being gilt by hypocrisy, make no less a show, may be overturned and utterly ruined. Finally, we profess to be soldiers of the Church militant, fighting under the standard of the Lord of Hosts. Therefore the Lord suffers Satan and the world to assault us with afflicuons and persecutions to try wliether we be traitors, who upon the first encounter will join with the enemy, or true-hearted soldiers, who will live and die in our Lord's quarrel ; whether we be such cowards and dastards as will presently yield at the first onset, though before we have made many brags of our strength and valour, or such courageous and magnanimous spirits as will not fly back one foot to save our lives. And thus our Saviour tried the young man in the Gospel, who though he seemed at the first sight a great worthy of undaunted courage, yet when our Saviour did but speak of those two enemies, poverty and the cross, at the very naming of them he was discomfited, and ran away (Matt. xix. 16-22). — Downavie, 1644. (77.) Gold is both the fairest and most solid of all metals, yet is the soonest melted with the fire; others, as they are coarser, so more churlish and hard to be wrought on by a dissolution. Thus a sound and a good heart is easily melted into fear and sorrow for sin by the sense of God's judgments, whereas the carnal mind is stubborn and remorseless. — HalU 1 1574-1656. (78.) A sanctified person, like a silver bell, the harder he is smitten, the better he sounds. — Sum nock, 1 6 73. (7Q.) The design of God in all the afflictions that befall His people is only to tjy them ; it is not to wtong tliem nor to ruin them, as ignorant souls are apt to think. " He knoweth the way that I take ; when He hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold," says patient Job. So in Deut. viii. 2, " Thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee and to prove thee, to know what was in thy heart, whether thou wouldest keep His command- ments or no." God afflicted them thus, that He might make known to themselves and others what was in their hearts. When fire is put to green wood, there comes out abundance of watery stuff that before appeared not ; when the pond is empty, the mud, filth, and toads come to light. The snow covers many a dunghill, so does prosperity many a rotten heart. It is easy to wade in a warm bath, and every bird can sing on a sunshiny day. Hard weather tries what health we have ; afflictions try what sap we have, what grace we have. Withered leaves soon fall oft' in windy weather ; rotten boughs quickly break with heavy weights. Afflictions ar« like pinching frosts that will search us : where w« are most unsound we shall the soonest complain ; and where most corruptions lie we shall the soonest shrink. — Brooks, 1680. (80.) Sharp afflictions are to the soul as a soaking rain to the house ; we know not that there are such holes in the house, till the shower comes, and then we see it drop down here and there ; so we beforf did not know that there were such unmortified lusti in the soul, till the storm of affliction comes, then we spy unbelief, impatience, carnal fear, we see it drop down in many places. — iVaison, 1696. (81.;) Every man will have his own criterion in forming his judgment of others. I depend very much on the effect of affliction. I consider how a man comes out of the furnace : gold will lie for a month in the furnace without losing a grain. And, while under trial, a child has a habit of turning to his father : he is not like a penitent who has been whipped into this state ; it is natural to him. It is dark, and the child has no whither to run but to his father. — Cecil, 1743-1810. (82.) A man who swims upon bladders is apt to conceive that he could easily dispense with the sup- port and still keep his head above the waters ; nor is it easy to ascertain what resources he had in him- self for swimming until the artificial support is with- drawn. Let me say that, by way of making trial of His children, or ascertaining, or rather of certifying to themselves (for He must know without being cer- tified) how far they have their treasure in heaven, and set their affections on things above, God some- times removes our earthly treasures, and withdraws one or more of the swimming bladders. He strikes perhaps with His dart some friend or relation who was dear to us as our own soul, and to whom our affections were beginning to cleave idolatrously. — Goulburn. 6. To measure tlie progress we have made la the Divine Life. (83.) As we are tried with afflictions, whether webf true Christians or no ; so also thereby God shows unto what measure of grace we have attained. For, as when we are winnowed with the wind of afflic- tion every small blast is sufficient to drive away the chaff, so when a stronger gale blows, there is a second division made ; for howsoever the weakei and stronger Christians remain together, as it wer« in the same heap, yet when any strong blast of temptation blows, those that are weaker in grace, like the light corn, fly back, whereas the strongei keep their place, like tlie purer wheat and weighliei grain, with undaunted courage. — Doivnaiiu. (84.) By afflictions the Lord discovers how much we are weaned in our afi"ections from the world. For as the grain of corn, which is full and ripe, is no sooner touched with the flail, but presently flies from the straw ; while if it be small and light it is beaten out with much more difficulty ; but if it be alto- gether empty and unripe it remains in the straw, and is cast out with it : so those who adhere to worldly delights, like the corn to the ear, if they be full of grace and ripe in godliness, are with the least touch of this flail of afflictions severed from the world ; whereas if they have made as yet small pro- AFFLICTION. ( 14 ) AFFLICTION. gress in holiness, they are not weaned from these worldly vanities, except they be much beaten with many crosses; but if they be quite empty of grace, then they in tlieir affections stick so fast to the things of this life, that though tliey be never so much beaten witli tribulations, they cannot be dis- joined, and so are rejected of God, perishing to- gether with these transitory evils, because ll.ey will not be divided from them. — Doivnaiiic, 1644. 7. To purify the people ot God. (85.) Whilst we lie at ease, we become, like standing waters, corrupt and noisome, and are fit to bring forth nothing but those toatls and venomous serpents of sin ; but when we are stirred and troubled, or have a passage and current over the sands and stones of aftliction, then are we purified from the slime of corruption, and attain to crystalline purity. — Dmvname, 16^4. (86.) God says by His prophet to His sinful people, " I will turn My hand upon thee, and purely purge away thy dross, and take away all thy tin," Isa. i. 25. With which consideration Augustine comforts himself, because his tribulation was but his purgation, whereby he was freed from the dross of sin. For which purpose the Lord, like a skilful goldsmith, uses the world for 11 is furnace, the devil and wicked men as straw and fuel to maintain this fire of affliction, who do but consume them- selves whilst they purify God's elect, like gold, from the dross of their corruptions. — Dmvnanie, 1644. (87.) Sharp afflictions are a fire to purge out our dross, and to make our graces shine ; they are a potion to carry away ill-humours ; they are cold frosts, to destroy the vermin ; they are like the north wind, that dries up the vapours, that purges the blood, and quickens the spirits ; they are a sharp corrosive, to eat out the dead flesh. Afflictions are compared to baptizing and washing, that take away the filth of the soul, as water does the filth of the body (Matt. x. 38, 39.) God would not rub so hard, were it not to fetch out the dirt and spots that be in His people's hearts. — Brooks, 1680. (88.) Affliction is God's flail to thresh off our husks ; it is a means God useth to purge out sloth, luxury, pride, and love of the world. "God's fur- nace is in Zion," Isa. xxxi. 9. This is not to con- sume, but to refine : what if we have more affliction, if by this means we have less sin. — Watson, 1696. (89.) Human nature is very much like some ele- ments of vegetation. In tapioca, one of the most harmless of all articles of food, there is one of the most deadly of all poisons ; but the poison is of such a volatile nature, that when it is subjected to heat it escapes, and leaves only the nutriment of the starch. 1 think that the heart of man originally is full of poison, but that when it is tried by affliction, little by little the poison, the rancour, the virus exhales, and leaves all the rest wholesome indeed. — Beecher. (90.) Upon a glowing fire rested a crucible, at the bottom of which lay a piece of gold. More and more intense became the flame ; hotter, and still more heated, grew the vessel — and then the precious metal melted, till it trickled like v/ater. " Unfortunate creature that I »m, '.o have J^en cast into this place 1 " it ciJod. '* No ; not unfortunate," replied the Furnace. " Is it not my misfortune to be such a sviTerer?" said the Gold. " Not your misfortune," answered the Furnace. " 1 shall certainly be consumed 1" exclaimed iha Gold. " No ; not consumed," said the Furnace. " Alas ! you have no consideration for me, surely I'' observed the tried Gold. " I am truly concerned for your best welfare," replied the Furnace. "Then why must I suflfer this agony?" asked the glittering Gold. " It is to purge away your dross, that you maybe purer, and therefore more valuable," answered the Furnace. "Oh! when will it be ended?" said the Gold, stirred at the bottom of the crucible. " As soon as possible ; but not a moment before the good purpose is accomplished," kindly remarked the P"urnace. "How may it be known?" inquired the Gold, which increased in brightness. " Immediately that the watchful Refiner, who is sitting by, shall see His face reflected in you," re- plied the Furnace, " at which instant the process will end, and you come forth the belter and richer for the fire." — BinuJen. 8. To deyelop and display tbe fraces of God'a people. (91.) If, as Chrysostom affirms, Satan had not pierced, and, as it were, bored holes through the body of Job, with all those plagues and punishments which he inflicted upon him, the bright beams of his graces would have been hidden within him, and would not have shined unto us. If he had not sat down in ashes, we had never come to the knowledge of his spiritual riches, — Downat?ie, 1644. (92.) If, like spices, we be pounded in the mortar of affliction, the odoriferous smell of our spiritual graces, which before were scarcely discerned, now spreads abroad, to the comfort and refreshing of all that stand about us. And whereas if, like roses, we grow untouched, we do but for the present semi forth some sweet smell to those who are next to us; contrariwise, if we be distilled with the fire of aftlic- tion, we shall yield sweet waters of durable comfort even to those who Te far distant, and to such as live in after ages, when by. report this sweet odour of our fame shall come to them (Phil. i. 13, 14). — Downame, 1641. (93.) {On the blowing of the fire.) We beat back -the flame, not with a purpose tc suppress it, but to raise it higher, and to diffuse it more. Those afflictions and repulses which seem to be discouragements are indeed the merciful incitements of grace. If God did mean judgment to my soul, He would either withdraw the fuel or pour water upon the fire, or suffer it to languish for want of new motion ; but now that He continues to me the means and opportunities and desires of good, I shall mis- construe the intentions of my God, if I shall think His crosses sent rather to damp than to quicken His Spirit in me. O God, if Thy bellows did not sometimes thai breathe upon me in spiritual repercussions, I should have just cause to suspect my estate. Those few weak gleeds of grace that are in me might soon go AFFLICTION. ( 15 ) AFFLICTION. out if they were not thus refreshed. Still blow upon tliem till they kindle, still kindle them till they flame up to Thee. — //a//, 1 574-1656. ^94.) A youth who had a lighted link in his hand being offended thereat because it burnt so dark and dim, the better to improve the light thereof he beat, bruised, and battered it against the wall, that the wick therein might be spread out, and the pitch, with other combustible matter, which before stifled the light with its over-stiffness, might be loosened, which presently caused the link to blaze forth in a brighter flame. Thus God deals with our souls : that they may shine the brighter before men, lie buffets and afflicts us with several temptations, to give us occasion to exercise those graces which other- wise would lie dormant within us ; and such cor- rections will, in fine, greatly add to our spiritual life and lustre. — I-ulUr, 1608-1661. (95.) Grace in the saints is often as fire hid in the embers, affliction is the bellows to blow it up into a flame. The Lord makes the house of bondage a friend to our grace : now faith and patience act their part ; the darkness of the night cannot hinder the brightness of a star : so, the more the diamond is cut, the more it sparkles ; and the more God alTlicts as, the more our graces cast a sparkling lustre. — IViiison, 1696. (96.) God delights to see grace in us at all times ; but He loves not to see it latent. He desires it to be in exercise. And in order to bring it into exer- cise He uses the instrumentality of suffering. The leaves of the aromatic plant shed but a faint odour, as they wave in the air. The gold shines scarcely at all as it lies hid in the ore. The rugged crust of the pebble conceals from the eye its interior beauty. But let the aromatic leaf be crushed ; let the ore be submitted to the furnace ; let the pebble be cut and polished ; and the fragrance, the splendour, the iair colours are then brought out : — •'This leaf? This stone? It is thy heart : It must be cru^lied by pain and smart. It must be cleansed by sorrow's a-rt— Ere it will yield a fragrance sweet, Ere it will shine, a jewel meet To lay before ihy dear Lord's feet." — GotiTbiirn. (97.) ^Vho is there that does not know that there is a joy higher and more stately than is known to our ordinary experience ? There are some natures that only tempest can bring out. 1 recollect being strongly impressed on reading the account of an old castle in Germany with two towers that stood up- right and far apart, between which an old baron stretched large wires, thus making a huge /Eolian harp. There were the wires susjiended, and the summer breezes played through them, but there was no vibration. Common winds, not having power enough to move them, split, and went through them without a whistle. But when there came along great tempest-winds, and the heaven was black, and the air resounded, then these winds, with giant touch, swept through the wires, which began to ring and roar, and pour out sublime melodies. So God stretches the chords in the human soul mhich ordinary influence do not vibrate ; but now and then great tempests sweep them through, and men are conscious that tones are produced in them which could not have been produced except by some such storm -handling. — Beecher. (98.) The harp holds in its wires the possibilities of noblest chords ; yet, if they be not struck, thev must hang dull and useless, bo the mind is vestea with a hundred powers, that n.ust be smitten by a heavy hand to prove themscxves the offspring of Divinity. 9. To prepare our hearts for the reception ol Divine truth. (99.) As it is not only the property of the plough to root up all briers and weeds out of the arable land, but also to prepare the same to 'eceive the seed when it shall be sown upon it : so likewise it is the quality of affliction, not only to root out of the earthly heart of man all the weeds of concupiscence and worldly delights, but also to make ready his heart and soul to receive the wholesome seed ol Christ's doctrine, when it is by His faithful ministers preached. — Cawdray, 1 598- 1664. (100.) "Unaccountable this! "said the Wax, as from the flame, it dropped melting upon the paper beneath. " Do not grieve," said the Taper, " I am sure it is all right." "I was never in swch agony!" exclaimed the Wax. still dropping. " It is not without a good design, and will end well," replied the Taper. The Wax was unable to reply at the moment owing to a strong pressure ; and when it again looked up, it wore a beautiful impression, the counterpart of the seal which had been applied unto it. "Ah! I comprehend now," said the Wax, no longer in suffering ; " I was soffened in order to receive this lovely durable impress. Yes, I see now it was all right, because it has given to me the beautiful likeness which I could not otherwise have obtained." Afflictions are in the hand of the Holy Spirit, to effect the softening of the heart in order to receive heavenly impression. Job said : " God maketh my heart soft " (23, 16). As the wax in its naturally hard state cannot take the impress of the signet, and needs to be melted to render it susceptible, so the believer is by sanctifiexl trials prepared to receive, and made tp bear, the Divine likeness. " In whom also after tnal ye believed (says the apostle), ye were sealed with that Holy Spirit of promise" (Eph. i. 13). " Who hath also sealed us, and given the earnest of the Spirit in our hearts" (2 Cor. i. 22), — Bowden. 10. To prepare us for greater usefulness and fruitfulness. (loi.) If the gardener cut off the knobs and the crooked boughs from the trees in his garden, and loppeth them a little, yet as long as the roots remain, the trees are never the wor.se, but wax nevertheless, and bring forth fruit : even so doth God lop and hew the crabby old Adam with the cross, not to the intent to harm us, but to keep us in awe, and to teach us godly manners. And surely, as long as the root of faith remaineth with us, though we be spoiled of all riches, and of all manner of worldly comfort, yet shall we bring forth good fruits to the high honour of God's holy name. — Wermulkrus, \^^\, (102.) God's ploughing of us by affliction is to kill the weeds of sin; His harrowing ol us if to AFFLICTION. ( i6 ) AFFLICTION. break the hard clods of impenitency, that the heart may be the fitter to receive the seeds of grace ; and if this be all, why should we be discontented ? — Watson, 1696. (103.) God's stretching the strings of His viol, is to make the music better. — Watson, 1696. (104.) It is possible that the most generous of plants, fixed in the richest soil, and visited with the most benign influence of sun and weather, may yet not fructify till they are pruned, and rid of those superfluous branches and suckers which steal and intercept that sap, which, according to the prime intention of nature, should pass into fruit. And therefore the great Husbandman of souls takes this course with His spiritual vines, to add the pruning- hook of His judgments to the more gentle manuring of His mercy. — .S^«/y4, 1633-1716. (105.) Creature comforts are often to the soul what suckers are to a tree, and God takes off those that this may thrive. — Rylaud. (106.) Earthly suffering seems to weaken men, to discourage them, and to destroy them ; but the fact is that it does not really destroy or weaken them. That part in us which suffering weakens is usually that very part which ought to be weakened. The great trouble in turning flax into thread or cloth is caused by that which gives the green plant its very power ; for when the flax is growing it needs two things : one is its ligneous or woody structure, and the other is its gluten. But when it has grown enough, and man wants it to make gar- ments, to furnish the queen in the palace and the peasant in the cottage, he must get rid of these two things. And how is the flax separated from them ? It is plucked and thrown into the field, that under the influence of repeated rains and dews, the wood may rot ; then the flax is taken and put through the brakes until every particle of the stiffness and strength that it had is destroyed, and all but the stringy fibres can be shaken to the winds ; then it is subjected to certain cliemical processes by which the gluten is taken away ; and not till then is it in a proper condition to be carried to the spinning- wheel and the loom, and manufactured into mate- -u'ls for use. So it is with men. There are a great many ^'i,:lities which they need up to a certain point, Lut which beyond that are a disadvantage to them. We need a given amount of self-will and independ- ence ; but after these qualities have been carried to a certain point, the necessity for them measurably ceases, and there must be superinduced on them opposite qualities. For man is made up of con- traries, lie is to be as firm as iron, and as yield- ing as silk ; he is to be persevering, and yet the most ready to give up ; he is to be as steadfast as a mountain, and yet easy to be entreated ; he is to abhor evil, and yet to love with an ineflhljle love ; he is to be courageous, and yet to have that fear of the Lord which is the beginning of wisdom. Cer- tain qualities, when they have served their purpose, must give place to opposite qualities. Afflictions, under the supervision of Divine Providence, are working out in those that are exercised thereby beneficial results ; so that suffering, while it seems frequently to be wasting and destroying men, is only wasting and destroying that part of them which they are better without han with. — Betcher. (107.) An inexperienced young miser, we will suppose, inherits ihe Almaden mine. Great heaps of ore are thrown out, and he goes and looks at it, and says, " I am a mountain rich." He gives directions to have this ore prepared for market The labourers take it and throw it into the furnace ; and he watches the process with greedy eye, say- ing, " What ! putting my precious silver in the fire?" And it begins to melt, and flow out, and grow less and less ; he is appalled to see how it ij wasting away. But the men that smelt it laugh, and say, " You have lost nothing ; you have gained by as much as it has shrunk ; for it was nothing but ore, and nine-tenths of it was good for nothing, and that which was good was so tied up that it could not serve you at all. It was necessary that you should lose nine-tenths of it in order that you might have the benefit of the other tenth." In this life, that which seems to men to be wasted and destroyed, is frequently that which they can better afford to lose than to keep. — Bedcher, (108.) What can diflTer more than the aspect of the on-corning and the whole phenomenon of a summer's rain, and its actual after results? The sun goes out. Birds cease their singing. Low and terrific sounds and voices, vengeful thunders, are in the air. Great winds come as avant-coweurs, sweeping onward, and causing the trees to groan and writhe as if in pain. Weakly leaves are shreded off and hurled hither and thither. All beasts hide themselves. Everything looks dark as the judgment day. Then comes, with mighty roar, the outpouring and beating rain, that still further shreds off the leaves, and tears the trees, and beats down the grass, and overwhelms the grain, and dishelves the flowers. In the midst of this storm let a man look out, and he will sceptically say, "Is this the refreshment of Nature? Is this the cup that is put to the lips of flowers that they may drink and be revived ?" And yet let the hour go by ; let all its gloomy works and seemings be swept away with it ; let the sun re-appear ; let the birds begin to sing again ; let the trees shake them- selves of drops of rain ; let the grass lift itself up once more, and then man will instinctively praise God for that which before seemed to be only a pro- cess of destruction. The storm seems to have gone ; but it has not gone. Those things which at first appeared — all the external signs of fury — these have passed away ; and now the storm is at work on the root, and every blade of grass is drawing, and evei-y tree is pumping, and eveiy flower is drinking. Who could have cleansed the air as that breathing wind has? Who could have swept the vapours out of the heavens as that tornado has? Who, by any appliance of human skill, could have watered the acres as that rain has? Who could have given new life to the wasting herbage as that thunder- storm has, which went tramping through the valley and the wilderness apparently a messenger of evil ? One hour after it is gone all things silently thani; God that one hour before shuddered and trembled, and said, " llast Thou forgotten to be gracious?" So it is witli the ministrations of suffering and sorrow. While the storm pelts, men shrink. While the thunder sounds, they slink down. While the tempest rages, it is as if they were ruined. But when the violence abates a little, they begin to lift up their head, and to perceive that it was not all dark, that it was not all thunder, that it was not all beat> AFFLICTION. ( 17 ) AFFLICTION. ing, that there was an element of good in it ; and giadually tliey learn the sweet bounty and benefit that God meant to bestow upon them by afflictions. — Beecher, (109.) When trees grow so that their branches are mostly on one side, we never restore branches to the deficient side by cutting the opposite side. We cut the most barren side, and there Nature, in seek- ing to restore what we cut, drives out new buds and Dranches. The gardener lrse by it), it is a curse though sweet to thy sense. There are sweet poisons as well as bitter cordials. — Guriiall, 1617-1679. 9. It Is the duty of the afflicted to look at life as a whole. (166.) Our hours of misery become such, because we feel them singly, and apart from the rest of life. But we know not what those shades will be, when the whole, with its reliefs and lights, is seen to- gether. The minute insect which moves upon '.he face of a pictured landscape, as upon a wide and boundless plain, may feel itself at times buried in the deepest gloom of midnight ; while the eye that takes it all at once, sees in those dark lines the contrast which gives effect and brilliancy to the general design. — IVoodward. (167.) Though it be not in our power to make affliction no afiliction, yet it is in our power to take off the edge of it, by a steady view of those Divine Joys prepared for us in another state. — Atterbury, 1663-1732. (168.) There are many scenes in life which are either sad or beautiful, cheerless or refreshing, ac- cording to the direction fiom which we approach them. If, on a morning in spring, we behold the ridges of a fresh-turned ploughed field from theii northern side, our eyes, catching only the shadowed slopes of the successive furrows, see an expanse oi white, the unmelted remains of the night's hail- storm, or the hoar-frost of the dawn. We make a circuit, or we cross over, and look behind us, and on the very same ground there is nothing to be seen but the rich brown soil, swelling in the sun- shine, warm with promise, and chequered perhaps, here and there, with a green blade bursting through the surface. — troude. 10. To seek deliverance by the use of all ap- pointed means. (169.) When a little child, that can scarcely go, chanceth to stumble upon a stone, he falleth down, and there lieth, crying till somebody take him up. But people of reason and understanding must not do like children, but must endeavour, what sickness or inconvenience soever happen, so far as is pos- sible, to remedy it. — WermulUrus, 1551. (170.) Ordinary means are not to be contemned. Like as a shipmaster being upon the water, and foreseeing a tempest, calleth upon God's help ; and yet hath also a sure eye to the stern, to rule that as handsomely and cunningly as he can (Acts xxvii). Even so in all manner of necessities and perils, it is lawful to use all manner of honest and convenient means ; as medicines in sickness ; labour in poverty ; the power and authority of the magistrate in wrong ; battle array against the enemies of our country, and such like : so that no man build nor trust in any manner of thing, saving in the very living God only, who can help, deliver, and remedy all things, without any middle or mean, if there were none at hand. — Wcrmullerus, 1 55 1. 11. But they ftre not to seek comfort In worldly things. (171.) Whosoever followeth but man's reason to teach comfort to the troubled mind can give but a counterfeit medicine ; as the surgeon doth, which colourably healeth, or the physician which giveth medicines that do but astonish the sore places AFFLICTION. ( 27 ^ AFFLICTION. and so deceive the patient. But the true healing of sorrow they had not, for they lacked the ground ; they lacked that that should heal the sore at the bone first, that is, true faith in Christ and His holy Word. All medicines of the soul, which be laid on the sores thereof, not having that cleanser with them, he but over-healers : tliey do not take away tlie lankHng uilhin ; and many times, under colour of hasty licclinL;, they bring forth proud (lesh in the sore, as evil or worse than that which was fust corrupt — IVeriinillcnis, I551- 12. Nor unduly to depend on buraan aid. (172.) hi. a passenger in a storm that, for shelter against the weather, betaketh him to a fair spread oak, standi'th under the boughs, and findeth good relief thereby for the space of some time, till at length Cometh a sudden gust of wind, that teareth down a main arm of it, which, falling upon the poor passenger, maimeth him that resorted to it for suc- cour ; thus falleth it out not with a few, meeting in the world with many troubles, they step aside out of their own way, and too often out of God's, to get under the wing of some great one, and gain, it may be, some aid and shelter thereby for a season, but after awhile that great one himself, falling from his former height of favour or honour, they are also called in question, and so fall together with him, that might otherwise have stood long enouigh on their own legs, if they had not trusted to such an arm of flesh, such a broken staff, that deceived them. — Ca.'aker, 15 74- 1 654. IS. Nor to seek relief by sinful methods. (173.) Turn a four-cornered stone how thou wilt, and it will always stand right up; even so, howso- ever a right Christian be tempted and assaulted, he will ever notwithstanding remain upright. — / Venn ullertis, 1 5 5 * • (174.) A man that is unskilful in swimming, hav- ing ventured past his depth, hastily and inconside- rately catcheth at what comes next to hand to save himself; but often layeth hold on sedgy weeds, that do but entangle him and draw him deeper under water, and there keep him down from ever getting up again, till he be (by that whereby he thought to save himselO drowned indeed. Thus it is that, whilst many, through weakness of faith and want of Eatience, are loth to wait God's good pleasure, and, eing desirous to be rid in all haste of the present aOliction, they put their hand oft to such courses as procure fearful effects, and use such sorry shifts for the relieving of themselves as do but plunge them further and deeper into such a labyrinth oi evils, out of which they seldom or never get again. — Gataker, 1574-1654. (175.) I have of^en seen young and unskilful per- sons sitting in a little boat, when every little wave sporting about the sides of the vessel, and every motion and dancing of the barge, seemed a danger, and made them cling fast upon their fellows ; and yet all the while they were as safe as if they sat under a tree, while a gentle wind shook the breeze into a refreshment and a cooling shade. And the unskil- ful, inexperienced Christian shrieks out whenever his vessel shakes, thinking it always a danger that the watery pavement is not stable and resident as a rock ; and yet all his danger is in himself, none at all from without ; for he is indeed moving upon the waters, but fastened to a rock ; faith is his founda- tion, and hope is his anclior, and death i« his har- bour, and Christ his pilot, and heaven his country 1 and all the evils of poverty, or affronts of tribunals and evil judges, of fears and sudden apprehensions, are but like the loud wind blowing from the right point ; they make a noise, and drive faster to the harbour ; and if we do not leave the ship, and leap into the sea, quit the interest of religion, and run to the securities of the world, cut our cables, and dis- solve our hopes ; grow impatient and hug a wave, which dies in its embraces, we are as safe at sea, S'lfcr in the slonn tliat God smds us than in a calm when befriended by the world. — Jeievty laylor, 1612-1667. 14. But to look up to God. (176.) 2 Cor. iv. 18.— Mr. Astor, once fording the Susquehanna on horseback, became so dizzy as to be near losing his seat. Suddenly he received a blow on his chin from a hunter who was his com- panion, with the words " Look up." He did so, and recovered his balance. It was looking on the turbulent waters that endangered his life, and look- ing up saved it. 15. And to seek relief and strength in prayer. (177.) We must also pray either that God will help and deliver us, not after the device of our own brains, but after such wise as shall seem unto Hii godly wisdom, or else that He will mitigate our pain, that our weakness may not utterly faint. Like as a sick person, although he doubt nothing of the faith- fulness and tenderness of his physician, yet for all that desireth him to handle his wound as tenderly as possible ; even so may we call upon God, that, if it be not against His honour and glory, He will vouch- safe to give some mitigation of the pain. — Wermullerus, 1551. (178.) That grace which will carry us through prosperity will not carry us through sufferings : the ship needs stronger tackling to carry it through a storm than a calm. — ll'atsoii, 1696. VI. CONSOLATIONS FOR THE AFFLICTED. 1. Affliction is apportioned and limited by God. (179.) We a.e not equally afflicted with the same diseases, or all in need of an equally severe method of cure. Hence we see different persons exercised with different kinds of crosses. But whilst the Heavenly I'hysician, consulting the health of all His patients, practises a milder treatment towards some, and cures others with rougher remedies, yet He leaves no one completely exempted, because He knows we are all diseased, without the exception of a single individual. — Calvin, 1509-1564. (180.) The Lord does not measure out our afflictions according to our faults, but according to our strength, and looks not what we have deserved, but what we are able to bear ; for, as the prophet says, in wrath He remembers mercy (Hab. iii. 2), which makes Him in all our chastisements to intend our profit, and not our punishment. Neither does He give to all His servants a cup of like size, or a burden to bear of the same weight ; but either fits their afflictions to the measure of their strength, or their strength to the measure of their afflictions. He does not observe in sharing of afflictions an arithmetical proportion, giving to all indifferently the same number and measure, but like a wise geo- metrician. He proportionates them to ilie strength AFFLICTION. ( 28 ) AFFLICTION. of the bearers, allotting a greater burden to the strongest, and a less to the weakest. In the Word of God we have an express promise, that the Lord will not suffer us to be tempted above that we are able, but will with the temptation also make a way of escape, that we may be able to bear it (i Cor. X. 13). — Downtime, 1644. (iSi.) Afflictions proceed from God our heavenly Father, whose wisdom is infinite, and whose love is incomprehensible. And therefore, if earthly parents — out of their small model of love and little pittance of affection, guided by their shallow discretion — do not give to all their children the like measure of chastisement, though they be alike guilty of the same fault, but have respect to their age and big- ness, giving less to the youngest and weakest, and more to those who are older and of greater strength ; because if they should receive these greater stripes, they would (exceeding their strength) make them dull and desperate, and if these should have the lighter chastisements they would hereby grow care- less and negligent ; how much more then will the Lord, so far exceeding them in love and wisdom, thus proportionate His chastisements to the strength of His ch'ldren, seeing lie does not in His chastise- ments aim at the satisfying of His justice by punish- ing the fault, but does all out of mere love for the reformation of the offender. — Downavie, 1644. (182.) If we see all who are wise and just to have regard not to oppress tlieir inferiors with labours, but fit their employments according to their abilities ; if no good schoolmaster will appoint his scholars longer or harder lessons than they can learn, nor correct them with more or greater stripes than is fit for their age ; if no good master will give his servants a greater burden than they can carry, but allot the heaviest to the strongest, and the lightest to the weakest ; yea, if a good man will be merciful to his beast, fitting its load to its strength, and not oppress- ing it with more than it can bear ; how much more may we be assured that the Lord will be more careful over His own children, in proportioning their burden to their strength, that they may not sink under the weight of their afflictions, especially con- sidering that lie perfectly knows their power and ability, and can as easily add to their strength as detract from their burden ! — Downame, 1644. (183.) As no man is so loaded with benefits, as that he is in all respects happy ; so there is none so oppressed with afflictions, that he is in every way miserable. And this mixture the wise Judge of heaven and earth has made, to keep us in a mean, who are too prone to run into extremes. And because we would be too much exalted with con- tinual prosperity, and too much dejected if we should feel nothing but affliction, the Lord never suffers us to abound with worldly happiness, but that we have something to humble us ; nor so to be plunged in misery, but that we have some cause of present comfort or future hope. And like a wise father, He does not too much dandle us, which would make us wantons, nor always- beat us, which would make us desperate ; but He judiciously mingles the one with the other, not letting us have our wills in al! things, lest we should neglect Him ; nor yet always crossing us in them, lest we sliould hate and rebel dgainst Him ; not always cockering us, lest we should grow proud and insolent, nor always correcting us, lest we should become base and servile ; but He gives gifts ihat we may love Him, and stripes that we may fear Him. Yea, oftentimes He mixes frowns with His favours, when they make us malapert, and kind speeches with His rebukes and chastisements, to show in the hatred of our faults His love to our persons, when He sees u? humble and penitent ; that so He may make us in all things to reverence Him, and no less to feat Him in His favours, than to love Him in His chastisements. — Downame, 1644. (184.) As the wise commander does not always wear out his servants with long marches, wearisome wacchings, and fierce skirmishes and assaults ; but after their tedious labour brings them into garrisons, that, taking their rest, and refreshing themselves with some wholesome diet, good lodging and pleasant recreations, they may renew their strength and courage, and afterwards be more fit for service : so deals our great Commander with us, in this spiritual warfare, giving to us a breathing time after our fight, rest after our labours, recreation after sorrows, and after troubles and afflictions, comforts and refresliings ; that so having recovered our strength, and taken new courage unto us, we may the better be enabled to do Him further service. Yea, He does not only interchangeably let one of these succeed the other, but like a prudent general, He intermixes them, giving to them in the time of their greatest labours some rest, and in their sharpest encounters with afflictions some breathing and refreshing ; even as contrariwise He does not, when they are in the garrison of prosperity, suffer them to languish in idleness, and to spend their whole time in pleasure, which would make them unfit for service, but sometimes inures them to labour, watching, and warlike exercises, for the preserving of their strength and manlike courage. — Doiv7iame, 1644. (185.) Not to be afflicted is a sign of weakness ; for, therefore God imposeth no more on me, because He sees I can bear no more. God will not make choice of a weak champion. When I am stronger I will look for more ; and when I sustain more it shall more comfort me that God finds me strong, than it shall grieve me to be pressed with a heavy affliction. —Hall, 1574-1656. (186.) When an unskilful eye looks upon the threshing of corn, he says, " Why do they sjioll the corn?" But those that know better say, " The flail does not hurt the corn ; if the cart-wheel should pass upon it there would be spoil indeed, but the flail hurts not." Now, there is no aftliction or suffering that a godly man meets with but is God's 3ai!. And if you look into Isa. xxviii., ye shall find the Lord promises, under a similitude, that His cart- wheel shall not pass upon those that are weak. God will always proportion His rod to our strength. ..." I am God's corn," says the martyr, " I must therefore pass under the flail, through the fan, under the millstone, into the oven, before I can be bread for Him." And if our chaff be severed from our graces by this flail, have we any reason to be dis- couraged because we are thus afflicted? — Bridges, 1600-167C. (187.) God doth moderate His stroke (Jer. xxx. 11), " I will correct thee in measure." God will in the day of His east wind stay His rough wind (Isa. xxvii. 8). The physician that understands the crasis and temper of the patient will not give too strong AFFLICTION. K 29 ) AFFLICTION. physic for the body, nor will he give one drachm or scruple too much. God knows our frame, He will not over-afflict. He will not stretch the strings of His viol too hard, lest they break. — IVatson, 1696. (188.) "I had," said Latimer, describing the way in which his father trained him as a yeoman's son, " my bows bought me according to my age and strength ; as 1 increased in them so my bows were made bigger and bigger." Thus boys grew into cross-bowmen, and by a similar increase in the force of their trials. Christians become veterans in the Lord's host. The affliction which is suitable for a babe in grace would little serve the young man, and even the well-developed man needs severer trials as his strength increases. God, like a wise father, trains us wisely, and as we are able to bear it He makes our service and our suffering more arduous. AS Doys rejoice to be treated like men, so will we rejoice in our greater tribulations, for here is man's work for us, and by God's help we will not flinch from doing it. — Spiirgeon. 2. Afflictions do not necessarily prove that God Is angry with us. (1S9.) Every severe dispensation is not an effect of God's anger. The same effect may proceed from very different causes. Love is sometimes put upon the rigour of those courses, which at the first aspect seem to carry in them the inscriptions of enmity. God may sweep away a man's estate, snatch away a friend, stain his reputation ; and yet the design of all this not be revenge, but remedy ; not destruc- tion, but discipline. He sees, perhaps, something evil in us to be cured, and something worse to be prevented ; some luxuri- ances to be abated, and some malignant humours to be evacuated ; all which cannot be effected but by sharp and displeasing applications. And in all the hard passages of Providence when God strips a man of all his externals, God's intent maybe, not to make him miserable, but to make him humble ; not to ruin, but to reduce him. If you look only upon the outside of an affliction, you cannot distinguish from what principle it may proceed. Gehazi's leprosy and Lazarus's sores may seem to be inflicted by the same displeasure, and yet one was a curse for hypocrisy, and the other a trial of humility. David's and Saul's afflictions were dispensed with a very different hand. Saul could not pursue him so fast, but mercy followed him as close. Stephen was stoned as well as Achan ; but certainly God did not with the same arm fling the stone at the one with which He did at the other. Consider the saints (Heb. xi. 37), "Afflicted, tormented, naked, destitute, sawn asunder." And what could anger itself do more against them ? And yet the God who did all this was not angi7. That very love which makes God to be our friend, makes Him sometimes to appear our enemy : to chastise our confidence, to raise our vigilance, and to give us safety instead of security. Persons who are truly holy, are yet very apt to look upon God's dealings on the wrong side, and to make hard conclusions concerning their own condi- tion. David is an example of this ; through the transports, sometimes of diffidence, sometimes of impatience, he is high in his expostulations with God (Ps. Ixxiv. I, Ixxvii. 9) ; not considering (as he does elsewhere) that when God dsals with His chosen ones, with "the sheep of His pasture," His rod is still attended with His staff"; and as with one He strikes, so with the other He supports. So, on the other side, men of a morose, unchari- table temper, from such instances of outward mise- ries, are as ready to denounce God's anger agamst others. If such dogs meet with a Lazarus, instead of licking his sores they will bite his person, bark at his name, and worry his reputation. Nothing can befall any man, besides themselves, but presently it is " a judgment." Let us rest assured of this, that the roughest of God's proceedings do not always issue from an angry intention : it is very possible, because very usual, that they may proceed from the clean contrary. The same clouds which God made use of heretofore to drown the earth. He employs now to refresh it. He may use the same means to correct and to l)ettef some that He does to plague and to punish others. The same hand and hatchet that cuts some trees for the fire may cut others into growth, verdure and fertility, — South, 1633-17 16. 3. On the contrary, they may l^i an evidence of our acceptance with God. (190.) Furthermore, be it in case, that the father hath two sons, whereof the one behaveth himself wickedly, and yet his father correcteth him nothing at all ; the other for the least fault that he doth is corrected by and by. What thing else is the cause of this, but that the father hath no hope of amend- ment at all of the one, and therefore mindeth to put him clearly from his heritage, and to give him no part thereof? For the heritage pertaineth wholly unto that son that is chastened. And yet the same poor son that is thus chastened thinketh in his mind that his brother is much more happy than he, forasmuch as he is never beaten ; and therefore he mourneth by himself, "Well, my brother doth what he will against my father's will, and yet my father giveth him not one foul word ; and towards me he showeth not so much as a good look, but is ever in my top, if I do but look away," &c. Here now mayest thou mark the foolishness of the child, which hath respect only unto the present grief, and never considereth v/hat is reserved for him. Even such imaginations have Christian men also, when they suffer much tribulation, and see on the other side how prosperously it goeth with the wicked ; whereas they ought rather to comfort themselves with the remembrance of the heritage that is reserved for them in heaven, which apper- taineth unto them, as good and virtuous children. As for the other, that hop and spring, make- merry, and take their pleasure now for a while, they shall be deprived of the heritage everlastingly,, as strangers, and shall have no part thereof (Heb.. xii. 6-8). — Wermullerus, 1551. (191.) The herdman will suffer such calves as are- appointed shortly to the slaughter to run about in the pasture of pleasure ; and again, such as are reserved to labour are kept under the yoke. Even so Almighty God doth permit unto those ungodly persons, whose destruction is at hand, to accomplish their pleasures and desires ; but the godly whom He will use to His honour and glory, those keepeth He under the yoke, and restraineth them from the pleas- ant lusts of the world. — Werntullerus, 155 1. (192.) We are trees of righteousness which God's. AFFLICTION. ( 30 ) AFFLICTION. right hand has planted. Let us not, therefore, fear to be pruned with alllictions, seeing God thus pares away our supertiuous branches that we may bring forth more fiuit, as our Saviour teaches us (John XV. 2). Yoa, rather, we had great cause of fear, if we were exempted fron these calamities. " For as that is a fruitless tree which is suffered to grow wild and untouched, and is t^or',-fore daily in danger to be cut down an cast into the tire, because it does no jjood by standing and growing : so it is a sign that we are fruitless treos still growing in the wild wood of the work!, which must one day be cut down and cast into everlasting fire if our Heavenly Husband- man takes no care to prune us with crosses and •llliclions. We are vines of God's own setting, whose glory »nd excellency consists not in the broadness and beauty of our leaves, nor in the handsomeness and Btraightness of our body and branches, but only in our fruilfulness, whereby we bring forth great plenty of the ripe and sweet grapes of holiness and right- eousness. And, therefore, when we have the beauty aiid bravery of our outward estate taken from us, and have these leaves of earthly vanities blown away with the winds of adversity, and our super- fluous stems of worldly substance pruned and plucked from us in the winter of affliction, there is no cause for grief or mourning, seeing our chiefest excellency is not hereby impaired ; yea, rather, because it is nr.uch advanced, in that we are made more fruitful, ' / how much the more we are by these afflictions pruned from our superfluities, this may justly in- crease our joy and comfort. — Downaine, 1644. (193.) Our afflictions are notable signs of our effectual calling, whereby we are severed from the world, and admitted into God's church and family. For they are Gotl's livery and cognisance which He gives to all to wear who will be flis disciples; for "as many as will live godly in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution." As when the masons and carpenters polish their stones and square their timber with their tools and axes, it is a sign that they have chosen them for the use of building ; whereas that which is untouched is left as refuse, fit for nothing, to be cast into the high- way, and to be burned in the fire. So when the Lord doth polish, square, and plane us with troubles and afflictions from the knots and knobs of sin and corruption, it appears hereby that fie has made choice of us to be stones in the building of His spiritual temple ; whereas those who are let alone, and not h'^mmered and squared by this Heavenly Workman, are rejected as refuse stuff", which is altogether unfit for this holy building. — Daivtiame, 1644. (194.) " Wiom the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom He receiveth " (Heb. xii. 6, 11). Misunderstand not, then, the prognostics of your present sorrows. Think how tliey will v.'ork, as well as how they taste. They bode good, though they are unpleasant. If you were bastards and reprobates, you might feel less of the rod. When the ploughers make furrows on you, it prepareth you for the seed ; and the showers that water it prognosticate a plenteous harvest. Think it not strange if He thresh and grind you, if you would be bread for your Master's use. He IS not drowning His sheep when He washeth them, nor killing them when H-e is shearing them. Dut by this He showeth that they are His own ; and the new-shorn sheep do most visibly bear His name or mark, when it is almost worn out, and scarce discernible, on them that have the longest fleece. — Baxter, 161 5-1 691. (195.) \Vhen sickness and disease attack the saint, or when death enters the saint's home and darkens it by his overshadowing presence, when poverty like an armed man attaclcs him, or when the wicked revile and persecute him, or when heart and flesh fail, it appears as though God did not care. But these very circumstances are signs of His care. The plough, with its broad and sharp blade or furrow-slice driven into the land, is a sign of culture and of ownership. The harrow, with its long prongs drawn over the field, is a proof of con- cern for its fertility. The sharp threshing instru- ment having teeth, is a sign of something being thought worthy of the garner. — Samuel Mai-tin. (196.) Lawns which we would keep in the best condition are veiy frequently mown ; the grass has scarcely any respite from the scythe. Out in the meadows there is no such repeated cutting, they are mown but once or twice in the year. Even thus the nearer we are to God, and the more re- gard He has for us, the more frequent will be our adversities. To be very dear to God, involves no small degree of chastisement. — Spurgeon. 4. Afflictions assttre us tliat we are in tli» heavenward way. (197.) Passengers that have been told that tlieir way to such a place lieth over a steep hill, or down a craggy rock, or through a moorish fen, or dirty vale, if they suddenly fall into some pleasant meadow, enamelled with beautiful flowers, or a goodly corn field, or a fair champaign country, look about them, and bethinking themselves where they are, say, " Surely we are come out of the way ; we see no hills, nor rocks, nor moors, nor fens : this is too good to be the right way." So in the course of our life, which is but a pilgrimage on earth : when we pass through fields of corn or gardens of flowers, and enjoy all worldly pleasures and con- tentments ; when the wind sets in such a corner as blows riches, honours, and preferments upon us ; — let us then cast with ourselves, " Surely this is not the way the Scripture directeth us unto ; here are not the temptations nor the tribulations that we must pass through : we see little or no footing of the saints of God in this road, but only the print of Dives' feet : somewhere we have missed our way ; let us search and find where we went out of it." It is veiy true that God hath the blessings of this life and that which is to come in store for His children ; when He seeth it good for them, they may go to heaven this way ; but, certainly, afllictions and troubles are surer arguments of God's love, and a readier way to heaven than the other. — Alphonsus ab Avendano, 1590. 6. God is present with His people In all their afflictions. (198.) The Lord does not only behold our tribu- lation as it were afar off. He being included in heaven, as we are in the earth ; but as He fills all places with His essence, so after a more especial manner lie is present with the faithful in all their afflictions. As the careful physician watches ovf»» AFFLICTION. ( 31 ) AFFLICTION. his patient, that he may apply to him fit medicine, which may so purge away the corrupt humours as that in the meantime nature itself be not too much weakened ; and as the goldsmith, when he has cast his gold into the furnace, does not carelessly leave it, biit watches by it, that he may moderate the fire, an 1 so order it, in respect both of the heat and the time of enduring it, that it may be purified from the dross, and not consumed in the purest substance ; so the Lord stands by us, that when we are according to His own mind purged and purified, He may withdraw his bitter potions, and pull us like pure metal out of the fire, that we may not in our spiritual parts receive any hurt. — Dcnvname, 1644. 6. God sympathises wltli His people In all tbeir •orrows. (199.) Canst thou not read God's gracious indul- gence in thine own disposition ? Thou art a parent of children : perhaps thou findest cause to affect one more than another, though all be dear enough ; but if any one of them be cast down with a feverous distemper, now thou art more carefully busy about him than all the rest. How thou pitiest him ; how thou pliest him with offers and recipes ; with what silent anxiety dost thou watch by his couch ; listen- ing for every one of his breathings ; jealous of every whispering that might break off his slumber ; answering every of his groans, with so many sighs ; and, in short, so making of him for the time, that thy greatest darling seems the while neglected in comparison of this more needful charge. How m.uch more shall the Father of Mercies be com- passionately intent upon the sufferings of His dear children, according to the proportion of their afilic- tions ! — Hall, 1 5 1 4- 1 656. 7. God succours and sustains His people accord- ing to their need. (200.) Although in winter the trees appear not only unfruitful, but utterly dead, yet the sun, when the winter hath taken her leave, doth so warm both the earth and the trees that they bud out again, wax green, and bring forth fruit : even so when the faithful seem as though they were utterly forsaken, yet doth the heavenly Spirit in due time lighten, warm, and strengthen their hearts to all goodness. As the young infant is not able to go of himself for very tenderness and lack of strength, but must be holden up, and led with the hand of the nurse ; and like as a woman, weakened with sickness, is not able to go one step, but some strong woman must take her under the arm, and lead her, even so are we not able to go of ourselves, but God with His mighty hand and present power sustaineth us. The Spirit helpeth our infirmities (Rom. viii.) — VVerniidlerus, 1 5 5 1 • (201.) As the tender mother teaching her young child to go oftentimes seems to leave him to his own strength, when in truth he goes by her help support- ing him ; and to let him alone to his own care, when in the meantime she has a watchful eye to him, so that he is no sooner ready to fall but with nimble speed she catches hold of him, and prevents his danger. So the Lord deals with us His children, whilst in our nonage and greatest weakness He teaches us to go in this rough path of afflictions which leads to His kingdom. For when He seems to neglect us He watches over us ; and when, in our sense and feeling, He l-l ves us to ourselvp.s. even then He stays us by His strength ; and when we are in greatest danger of sinking and falling. He stretches out with speed His powerful hand, and pre- serves us from receiving any harm. — Downame, 1644, (202.) We see in the body if any member bo hurt, thither presently runs the blood to comfoit the wounded part. The man himself, eye, tongue, and hand is altogether employed about that part and wounded member, as if he were forgetful of all the rest. So we see in the family, if one of the children be sick, all the care and kindness of the mother is about that sick child, so tliat all the rest do as it were envy his 'sickness. If nature does thus, will not God, who is the author of nature, do much more ? For if an earthly mother do thus to a sickly and suffering child, will not our Heavenly Father, who has an infinite, incredible, and tender love to His people? This is the difference between God and the world, the world runs after those that rejoice in prosperity, as the rivers run to the sea when there is water enough already. Rut God comforts us all in our tribulations. His name and style is, " fie com- forts those that are cast down." The world forsakes those that are in poverty, disgrace, and want ; but God vouchsafes most of His presence to them that holily, meekly, and patiently bear the afflictions which He lays upon them, and one drop of this honey is enough to sweeten the bitterest cup that ever they drank of. If God be with us, if the power of Christ will rest upon us, then we may even "glory in infirmities," as Paul did. — Matiton, 1 620- 1 667. (203.) It is a vciy true saying, the sharper the lye is the cleaner taketh it away all manner of filth. Even so our corrupt and poisoned nature had need of a biting medicine. The sharper the trouble the more filth it biteth away. For a weak stomach, which is of a naughty digestion, bitter wormwood is very good and wholesome ; even so for the weak and feeble soul is bittri affliction. — WennuUerus, 1551. S. Afflictions minister to our true wellbeing. (204.) A water that is continually standing, how clear soever it seem, is corrupt ; but that water which hath his continual course, the more it rusheth and struggleth over the stones and sands the better it is ; even so a godly man, in the absence of the cross, is sluggish and dull ; but through the cross and affliction he is quickened, and increased in all goodness. Rusty iron through the file is made bright and smooth ; even so the old rusty Adam hath neeil of trouble to purge him from the cankered rust of sin, — Wermulleriis, IS5I. (205.) The soldier when he first enters into the field fears when he hears but a false alarm, and is ready to duck at eveiy shot, whereas after he has passed desperate dangers, and has been long exer- cised in many conflicts and skirmishes, he becomes so courageous that he dares to enter upon the push of the pike, and to fight at the cannon's mouth ; now less fearing the cruel enemy and killing bullet, than when he was first trained, the paper shot and the seeming encounter of his friends and fellows. There is no combatant that contends against his adversary with that spirit and courage when he first comes into the theatre, as he does who has been accustomed to these exeicises ; and is not only heartened with easy victories, but also after many AFFLICTION. ( 32 ) AFFLICTION. foils and falls, dangerous wounds and much blood- shed, has in the end prevailed, and by many perils has made his way to a glorious triumph. There is no mariner so bold and cheerfully con- fident in the least show of a seafaring danger, when he first enters the ship, and in his moving house becomes an inhabitant of this new appearing world Df dreadful waters, as he who, after innumerable storms and dangerous tempests, has oftentimesarrived safely at the wished-for haven. And thus it also fares with us in these spiritual combats with troubles and calamities. For howso- ever in the first conflict we are marvellously cowardly and impatient in suffering the least pain, yet when we have been long exercised in these skirmishes, and after many foils and falls, have in the end, through God's gracious assistance, obtained a joyful victory, we exceedingly increase in Christian valour. ' — Dcrwname, 1644. (206.) Experience teaches us that as other creatures, so also men, are made much more tender by gentle usage, and much disabled to bear the brunt of any outward violence, and contrariwise that they are much strengthened to endure any hardness, when they are inured into it by continual custom. Severe training maUes the best soldiers, and, by continual custom, causes want and watching, pains and toilsome labour, scant diet and hard lodging to become familiar and easy to be endured. Mariners who have been accustomed to storms and tempests find small alterations in their bodies in the roughest seas and foulest weather, whereas fresh- water soldiers and tender passengers cannot brook the smell of the ship, nor sight of the water, and are extremely sea-sick when they are but a little tossed with some ordinary winds. The daily traveller goes longer journeys with little weariness, whereas they that keep at home are soon tired and surbaited with going a few miles. The tender gentleman takes cold being in a warm house and well clothed, whereas the poor husbandman dares the cold winds and nipping frosts with his bare head and naked breast ; and is strong to endure the whole day any toilsome labour, when the other pants and faints with weariness if he work but one hour. And as it thus fares with the body inured to pains and labour, so with the mind exercised with troubles, and accustomed to bear the burden of the cross. — Daiuname, 1644. (207.) Afflictions are a notable means to crown as, even in this life, with a good name, which is better than all riches, and sweeter than the most odoriferous per- fume. For, whereas, whilst we live in ease and pros- perity, the spiritual gifts and graces which God has bestowed on us, lie hid and undiscerned. When they come to the trial of tribulation, they are plainly dis- covered to all men. And as the stars cannot be seen in the sunshiny day, but when the darkest night comes, they appear in all their beauty ; so these shin- ing virtues and graces of God have their light much obscured in the day of prosperity, but when the dark night of affliction comes, then they shine gloriously. The precious ointments send forth their most odori- ferous smell, when our earthen vessels and these brittle glasses of our bodies, wherein they are con- tained, are cracked and broken, by being smitten with calamities. This sweet incense of grace and virtue yields the most fragrant scent when it is cast into this fire of afflictions. Then does this spiritual gold appear true 2 ad good when it is tried in this burning furnace. Then is the strength of our faith manifested to God's glory and our praise, not when we sit idly still, but when we wrestle and contend with strong temptations. Then oui Chris- tian valour and fortitude most plainly appears, not whilst we lie at ease in the safe garrison, but when we are assailed with these mighty enemies, and after many conflicts get l.he victory. — Downame, 1644^ (208.) Look upon a painted post or sign whose colour is laid in oil, how the rain beats upon it in stormy weather, that one would think all the colour would be washed off; yet how the water glides away, and leaves it rather more beautiful than before. And thus it is with every child of God : being well varnished and garnished with the graces of the Spirit, let the wind of persecution blow, and the floods of persecution lift up their voice, they shall never •disfigure, nor deface, but rather add unto their besiity. Such is the condition of grace, that it shines the brighter for scouring, and i« most glorious when it is most clouded. — Jenkiii, 1612-16S5. (209.) Afflictions do increase grace, as the wind serves to increase and blow up the flame. Grace spends not in the furnace, but it is like the widow's oil in the cruse, which did increase by pouring out. The torch, when it is beaten, burns brightest : so doth grace when it is exercised by sufferings. Sharp frosts nourish the good corn ; so do sharp afflictions grace. Some plants grow better in the shade than in the sun, as the bay and the cypress. The shade of adversity is better for some than the sunshine of prosperity. — Watson, 1696. (210.) Christians all want to have graces, but they are not so willing to take what is necessary in ordei to obtain them. The pale think it a fine thing to be painted— all the lovely flowers and gay colours so skilfully laid on by the cunning hand of the artist ; but when it comes to being daubed all over with some dark substance, when the very gold that is upon them becomes as black as ink, when they arc thrust into the heated furnace, how then? — how thenf Christians are like vases, they must pass through the fire ere they can shine. And often the very fur- nace and the flame which they call destruction is only burning /« the graces which are to be their everlasting beauty and glory. — Beeclur. (211.) Our afflictions are not for naught. They are the fruitful seed of future glories. They are blessings in disguise. They are meant for good, and are productive of good. They are like the early processes of the garden, when the soil is broken up and weeded, in order that fair flowers may at length adorn it. They are the quarrying and the chiselling of the marble before the living statue can stand out* in symmetrical proportions. They are the tuning of the instruments, without which no harmony can be secured in the ultimate concert. They are the medi- cine of our convalescence, the drudgery of our edu- cation, the spring pruning of our vine trees,, without which we can never be healthy or happy, fit for heaven, or qualified to bring forth fruit whereby our Father may be glorified. — Norton. (212.) It is a remarkable circumstance that the most brilliant colours of plants are to be seen on the highest mountains, in spots that are most exposed to the vildest weather. The brightest lichens and AFFLICTION. ( 33 ) AFFLICTION. mosses, the loveliest gems of wild flowers abound far up on the bleak, storm-scalped peak. One of the richest displays of organic colouring I ever beheld was near the summit of Mont Chenebettaz, a hill about 10,000 feet high, immediately above the great St. Bernard Hospice. The whole face of an exten- sive rock was covered with a most vivid yellow lichen, which shone in .he sunshine like the golden battlement of an enchanted castle. There, in that lofty region, amid the most frowning desolation, ex- posed to the fiercest tempest of the sky, this lichen exhibited a glory of colour such as it never showed in the sheltered valley. I have two specimens of the same lichen before me while I write these lines, one from the great St. Bernard, and the other from the wall of a Scottish castle, deeply embosomed among sycamore trees ; and the difference in point of form and colouring between them is most strik- ing. The spedmen nurtured amid the wild storms of the mounta'n peak is of a lovely primrose hue, and is smooth in texture and complete in outline ; while the specimen nurtured amid the soft airs and the delicate s^iowers of the lowland valley, is of a dim rusty hue, and is scurfy in texture, anrd broken in outlin^. And is it not so with the Christian who is afflicted, tempest-tossed, and not comforted ? Till the storms and vicissitudes of God's providence beat upon him again and again, his character appears marred and clouded by selfish and worldly influences. But trials clear away the obscurity, perfect the out- lines of his disposition, and give brightness and beauty to his piety — " Amidst my list of blessings infinite Stands this the fnremost, that my heart has bled; Fcr all I bless Thee, most for the severe." — Mactnillan, f. Afflictions do not debar us from usefulness. (213.) If thou canst not help the great cause of God in any other mode, at anyrate there is open to thee that of fervent prayer. How much may be done for the Master's kingdom by the "king's remem- brancers," who put Him in mind day by day of the agonies ot* His Son, and of His covenant and promise to give Him a widening dominion ! I doubt not that many sick-beds in England are doing more for Christ than out pulpits. Oh ! what showers of blessings come down in answer to the prayers and tears of poor gcdly invalids, whose weakness is their strength, and whose sickness is their opportunity. In all buildings there must be some unseen stones, and are not those very often the most important of all ? In the very foundation of a church I should place those who are mighty in prayer. They are hidden as it were beneath the sods of obscurity where we caniiot see them, but they are upbearing the entire structure. My dear afflicted brethren and sisters, when at any time you are cut off from the active rainistnes which have been your deJight, solace yourselves with this, that your sacred patience under suffering, and your fervent i>rayers for the promotion of the Redeemer's kingdom, are a sacrifice of a sweet smell, holy, acceptable unto God. — Spurgeon. 10. Afflictions prepare us for greater happiness and honour. (214.) Not only does the Lord always advance by afflictions the spiritual and everlasting good of the faithful, but somet'mes also turns them to their greater benefit evec in the thinj.s of this life. A§ we may see in the example of Joseph, who was sold as a slave that he might be made a great commander, and lost his patrimony at home that he might re- ceive a much more large inheritance in a strange country ; and therefore he professes that when his brethren intended evil against him, God disposed it to the good, not of himself alone, but of many others. And thus also Job by his afflictions was not only assured of heavenly glory, but also got endless fame on earth, and was not alone enriched much more with God's spiritual graces, but also had a twofold increase in his worldly estate. Neither ought this to seem strange, that God through His infinite wisdon and power should be able to bring happiness out of misery, comfort out of crosses, and so much good out of tl»ese afflictions which both to the flesh and the world seem so evil ; seeing it is a familiar course with earthly physicians, by medicines to make men weaker that they may recover strength, and sicker for the present that they may be more healthy ever after ; and with surgeons to cut, lance, and torment their patients with tor- turing corrosives, that they may cure their wounds and give them perfect ease for the time to come. — Dow name, 1644. 11. Afflictions are among the means which God uses to make us " meet for the inheritance of th« saints in light." (215.) " Eveiy branch that beareth fruit. He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit." They assuredly are right who recognise in this "He purgeth" no direct, but only a secondary, allusion to temptations and afflictions, as the means by which the purging is effected. It is the whole process of sanctification, the circumcision of the Spirit, by whatever discipline brought about, of which Christ is speaking, and to which He pledges His Father here. At the same time, seeing that afflictions play so large, so necessary a part in the process of sanctification, it is in a secondary sense most true that there is here a reference to these. Regarded as a means of this purifying, as an evi- dence of the intention of the Heavenly Husbandman that the fruit-bearing branches shall be more fruit- ful still, these may be welcomed, may be contem- plated in some sort as rewards of obedience. St. James bids the faithful to welcome them, for the blessing they bring with them (i. 2-4, 12, and compare Heb. xii. 11 ; Rom. v. 3-5). To how many dealings of God with His own, mysterious, inscrutable, inexplicable otherwise, will this, kept properly in mind, furnish us with a key ! Often- times the fine gold of some saint appears to us as if cleansed from all its dross ; ' but the inexorable refiner, who sees with other eyes than ours, and detects remains of dross where we see only gold, flings it again into the furnace, that so it may be purer yet. Augustine has a striking 'mage in illus- tration. Many a time, he observes, a portrait seems perfect in the judgment of all eyes save those of the artist who drew it. Others would fain see him now to hold his hand ; they count that he cannot im- prove it, perhaps may mar it ; but he returns it to the easel, touches and retouches still. And why ? Because, being this artist, there floats before his mind's eye an ideal perfection, to which hitherto his work has not attained, but to which he would fain see it apcroach more nearly yet. — Trench, AFFLICTION. ( 34 ) AFFLICTION. 12. Our aflaictions axe but " for a moment." (2 1 6.) Often at sea men are heartily sick, yet no man hardly there doth mind or pity them, because the malady is not supposed dangerous, and within a while the sight of land will relieve them. It is our case : we passing over this troublesome sea of life ; from inexperience, joined with the tenderness of our constitution, the changes and crosses of for- tune make us nauseate all things, and appear sorely distempered ; yet is not our condition so dismal as it seems ; we may grow hardier, and wear out our sense of affliction ; however, the land is not far off, and by disembarking hence we shall sud- denly be discharged of all our molestations. It is a common solace of grief, approved by wise men, si gravis, bi'evis est ; si longus, levis ; if it be very grievous and acute it cannot continue long, without intermission or respite ; if it abide long, it is sup- portable ; intolerable pain is like lightning, it de- stroys us, or is itself instantly destroyed. However, death at length (which is never far off) will free us ; be we never so much tossed with storms of mis- fortune, that is a sure haven ; let what pains or diseases soever infest us, that is an infallible remedy for them all. Shall I die ? I shall then cease to be sick ; I shall be exempted from disgrace ; I shall be enlarged from prison ; I shall be no more pinched for want ; no more tormented with pain. Death is a winter, that as it withers the rose and lily, so it kills the nettle and thistle ; as it stifles all worldly joy and pleasure, so it suppresses all care and grief; as it hushes the voice of mirth and melody, so it stills the clamours and the sighs of miseiy, as it defaces all the world's glory, so it covers all disgrace, wipes off all tears, silences all complaint, buries all disquiet and discontent. Barrozu, 1630-1677. 13. Our light affliction " is but for a moment." (217.) Oh, comfort one another, Christians, with this ; though your life be evil with troubles, yet 'tis short ; a few steps, and you are out of the rain. There is a great difference between a saint in re- gard of the evils he meets with, and the wicked ; as two travellers riding contrary ways, both taken in the rain and wet ; but one rides from the rain, and so is soon out of the shower ; but the other rides into the rainy corner ; the farther he goes the worse he is. The saint meets with troubles as well as the wicked, but he is soon out of the shower ; when death comes, he has fair weather ; but the wicked, the farther he goes, the worse ; what he meets with here is but a few drops, the great storm is the last. The pouring out of God's wrath shall be in hell, where all the deeps of horror are opened, both from above of God's righteous fury, and from beneath of their own accusing and tormenting consciences. — Gurnall, 161 7-1679. (218.) Affliction may be compared to frost ; it will break, and spring-flowers will come on. *' Sor- row and sighing shall fly away." Affliction hath a sting, but withal a wing, sorrow shall fly away ; this land-flood shall be dried up. — Watson, 1696. 14. Our present sorrows are not to be compared With the glory which Is to be revealed in us. (219.) As the globe of the earth, which, impro- perly for its g-eat show and bigness, we term the world, and is, »fter the matliematician'» account, many thousands of miles in compass, yet, being compared unto the greatness of the starry sky's circumference, is but a centre or a little prick : so the sorrows of this life temporal, in respect of the joys eternal in the world to come, bear not any pro- portion, but are to be reputed as nothing, or as a dark cloud that cometh and goetb in a moment. — Boys, 1 560-1643. 15. Our present sorrows will give zest to oui future joys. (220.) By our afflictions our ensuing prosperity is made more delightful and grateful ; these bitter crosses make us to relish much better the sweetness of God's blessings. The sparing of the coarsest fare makes it to have a good relish, and to become pleasant to the taste and appetite (Prov. xxvii. 7). The day's brightness, if it were continual, would become tedious ; and the glorious light of the sun would bring weariness, unless it were made grateful by the night's darkness. In a word, pleasure itself would not long please us, if the glutting satiety, of these sweetmeats were not taken away by abstinence, or sauced, as it were, with the sour sauce of intermingled miseries. Health when it is continually enjoyed is scarce thought on, but then it is sweet and most highly prized when we have long wanted it. Liberty, though it be precious as life, is but little regarded of those who have never felt the misery of restraint ; but after long imprisonment it becomes most delightful. Riches are most esteemed by those who ha;'e formerly been pinched with poverty, and meat is most savoury when it is sauced with hunger. That victory is fullest of joy which is hardly obtained after a long, doubtful, and dangerous fight ; and the safe harbour is then descried with njost comfort of the passengers, after they have escaped the perils of tempestuous storms. The delights of the spring are much more delightful because they follow the nipping frosts and foul weather of lowering winter. All pleasures become much more pleasing, when they succeed and are interchanged with miseries. In all human affairs there can scarce be any true joy, unless doleful sor- rows have gone before, and the bitterness of some passed griefs doth the more commend the sweetness of ensuing gladness. Therefore, seeing by these afflictions the Lord doth but sauce His benefits that we may enjoy them with the more delight, and takes away for a while the earthly blessings that after they are restored they may bring with them the greater pleasure, let us by this consideration be moved to bear these crosses with patience : and as the usurer, though he make an idol of his god, yet is content to want it for a time, because when the term is expired he expects to have it with some increase ; so, though our hearts too much adhere to earthly things, yet let us be content to forbear their company for a while, seeing upon their return the joy and comfort which we take in them shall be much increased. — Downame, 1644. 16. Afflictions bring ub even now into closer communion with God. (221.) Hast thou seen the rainbow in the blue sky, when the bright sun shineth without a cloud in the summer's heaven ? Hast thou seen it in the driving tempest, when the whole horizon gathered blackness ? No ; but when the cloud of rain waa AFFLICTION. ( 35 ) AFFLICTION. in the sky, and the sun looked upon it from the otlier side of licaven, then did the falling drops receive the slanting beams, and untwisting their seven colours, return them to the eye of the beholder, a beautiful bow, "a faithful witness," the truth of God. And thus it is not chiefly in the bright season of worldly comfort that the faithful witness of God is seen and felt ; nor is it always in the season of affliction ; for affliction may be un- sanclified. But when the Sun of Righteousness sendeth forth Mis bright beams into the cloud of tribulation, then is the faithfulness of God per- ceived, then is His love felt, then are His promises enjoyed, then " we glorv in tribulations also, know- ing that tribulation worketh patience," &c. — SalUr, X840. Vir. OUR AFFLICTIONS ARE INTERMIT- TENT. (222.) Our troubles are not at all times alike troubles to us. Even the sea ceases its motion at times, and its, surf forgets to murmur. Griefs and cares, bitter memories, and heavy troubles intermit their tyranny, and come ayain with redoubled oppressions. Like tides, sonvrv. seems sometimes to flow out, and leave the sands bare. But again they sometimes rush in upon us like tides, as if they feared that something should have snatched from them their lawful prey. — Beecher, VIII. IS NOT IN ITSELF SANCTIFYING. (223.) To the wicked the issue is sad ; first, ii. regard of sin, they leave them worse, more impeni- tent, hardened in sin, and outrageous in their wicked practices. Every plague on Egypt added to the plague of hardness on Pharaoh's heart. He that for some while could beg prayers of Moses for him- self, at last comes to that pass, that he threatens to kill him if he come to him any more. Oh, what a prodigious height do we see many come to in sin, after some great sickness or other judgment ! Children do not more shoot up in their bodily stature after an ague, than they in their lusts after afflictions. Oh, how greedy and ravenous are they after their prey, when they once get off" their clog and chain from their heels ! When physic works not kindly, it doth not only leave the disease uncured, but the poison of the physic stays in the body also. Many appear thus poisoned by their afflictions, by the breakmg out of their lust afterward. Secondly, In regard of sorrow. Every affliction on a wicked person produceth another, and that a greater than itself. The greatest wedge comes at last, which shall rive him fit for the fire. The sinner is whipt from affliction to affliction, as the vagrant from constable to constable, till at last he comes to hell, his proper place and settled abode, where all sorrows will meet in one that is endless. — Gurnall, 1617-1679. (224.) One may have trouble for sin, yet not be a new creature. Trouble of spirit may appear, while God's judgments lie upon men ; when these are removed, their trouble ceaseth. "When He slew them, then they sought Him ; nevertheless they did flatter Him with their lips" (Ps. Ixxviii. 36). Metal that melts in a furnace, take it out of the furnace, and it returns to its former hardness : many in time of sickness seem to be like melted metal : what weeping and wringing of hands ! what con- fessisas of sin will they make I Do not the^e look like new creatures ? But as soon as they recover, they are as bad as ever ; their pangs go off again, and it never comes to a new birth. — Watson, 1696. (225.) AfiQiction has a tendency, especially if long continued, to generate a kind of despondency and ill-temper ; and spiritual incapacity is closely connected with pain and sickness. l"he spirit of prayer does not necessarily come with affliction. If this be not poured out upon the man, he will, like a wounded beast, skulk to his den, and growl there. — Cecil, 1 743-1 8 10. (226.) Affliction has its dangers as well as pros- perity. The one is a smooth sea with rocks beneath the shining surface. The other is a troubled ocean in a dark and stormy night. (227.) The apostle rejoiced, not that the Corin- thiat s sorrowed, but that they sorrowed unto repent- ance. Sorrow has two results ; it may end in spiritual life, or in spiritual death ; and in them- selves one of these is as natural as the other. Sorrow may produce two kinds of reformation — a transient, or a permanent one — an alteration in habits, which originating in emotion, will last so long as that emotion continues, and then after a few fruitless efforts, be given up — a repentance which will be repented of; or, again, a permanent change, which will be reversed by no after-thought — a repentance not to be repented of Sorrow is in itself, therefore, a thing neither good nor bad ; its value depends on the spirit of the person on whom it falls. Fire will inflame straw, soften iron, or harden clay ; its effects are determined by the object with which it comes in contact. Warmth develops the energies of life, or helps the progress of decay. It is a great power in the hot-house, a great power also in the cofhn ; it expands the leaf, matures the fruit, add* precocious vigour to vegetable life ; and warmth, too, develops, with tenfold rapidity, the weltering process of dissolution. So, too, with sorrow. There are spirits in which it develops the seminal principle of life ; there are others in which it prematurely hastens the consummation of irreparable decay. —F. W. Robertson, 1816-1853. (228.) Trust not in any unsanctified afflictions, as if these could permanently and really change the true condition of your heart. I have seen the characters of the writing which the flames had turned into a film of buoyant coal ; I have seen the thread which has been passed through the fire retain, in its cold grey ashes, the twist it had got in spinning ; I have found every shivered splinter of the flint as hard as the unbroken stone : and let trials come, in provi- dence, sharp as the fire and ponderous as the crush- ing hammer, unless a gracious God send along with these something else than these, bruised, broken, bleeding as thy heart may be, its nature remains the same. — Gut/uie. IX. ITS DIVERSE EFFECTS. (229.) The stalk and the ear of com fall upon the threshing-floor under one and the same flail, but the one is shattered in pieces, the othe"- preserved. From one and the same olive, and from under one and the same press, is crushed out both oil and dregs, but the one is tunned up for use, the other thrown out a.s unserviceable ; and by one and the same breath the fields are perfumed with sweetness, and annoyed with unpleasant savours. Thus afflictions are inci- AFFLICTION. ( 36 ) AMBITION. dental to gcod and bad, may and do befall both alike, but by the providence of God not upon the same account. Good men are put into tlie furnace for their trial, bad men for their ruin ; the one is sancti- fied by afflictions, the other made far worse than before ; the self-same aflliction is as a loadstone to the one, to draw him to heaven, as a millstone to the other, to sink him down into hell. — Pinto, 1584. (230.) There is as much difference between the sufi'erings of the saints and those of the ungodly as there is between the cords with which an executioner pinions a condemned malefactor and the bandages wherewith a tender surgeon binds his patient. — Arrowsmith, 1602-1659. (231.) Afflictions sent by Providence melt the constancy of the noble-minded, but confirm the obduracy of the vile. The same furnace that hardens clay liquefies gold ; and in the strong manifestations of divine power Pharaoh found his punishment, but David his pardon. — Colton, 1832. {232.) How different are summer storms from winter ones 1 In winter they rush over the earth with their violence ; and if any poor remnants of foliage or flowers have lingered behind, these are swept along at one gust. Nothing is left but deso- lation ; and long after the rain has ceased, pools of water and mud bear tokens of what has been. But when the clouds have poured out their torrents in summer, when the winds have spent their fury, and the sun breaks forth again in glovy, all things seem to rise with renewed loveliness from their refreshing bath. The flowers, glistening with rainbows, smell tweeter than before ; the grass seems to have gained another brighter shade of green ; and the young plants which had hardly come into sight, have taken their place among their fellows in the borders, so quickly have they sprung among the showers. The air, too, which may previously have been oppressive, is become clear, and soft, and fresh. Such, too, is the difference when the storms of affliction fall on hearts unrenewed by Christian faith and on those who abide in Christ. In the former, they bring out the dreariness and desolation which may before have been unapparent. The gloom is not relieved by the prospect of any cheering ray to follow it ; of any flowers or fruits to show its beneficence. But in the true Christian soul, "though weeping may endure for a night, joy cometh in the morning." A sweet smile of hope and love follows every tear ; and tribu- lation itself is turned into the chief of blessings. — Spurgeon. (233.) •' You smell delightfully fragrant," said the Gravel-walk to a bed of Camomile flowers under the window. " We have been trodden on," replied the Camo- miles. "Does that cause it?" asked the Gravel-walk. " Treading on me produces no sweetness." " Our natures are difierent," answered the Camo- miles. " Gravel-walks become only the harder by being trodden upon ; but the effect on our own selves is, that if pressed and bruised when the dew is upon us, to give forth the sweet smell which you now per- ceive. — Bowden. X. SHOULD BE ANTICIPATED AND PRE- PARED FOR. (234.) Look for them. The first day .tliai we begin to be Christians we must reckon of the cioss. Christ has drr.wn up the form of our indenture, to which every one must yield and consent before he can call Him Master. " If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow Me." In Luke it is, " take up liis cross daily." Though there be fair days as well as foul in Chris- tianity, yet we must every day be ready. As porters stand in the street waiting for a burden for them to carry if they be hired to it, so must a Christian every day be prepared to take up his burden, if God shall call him to it. — Ma7iton, 1620- 166 7. (235.) Be prepared for afflictions. To this end would Christ have us reckon upon the cross, that we may be forewarned. He that builds a house does not take care that the rain should not descend upon it, or the storm should not beat upon it, or the wind blow upon it ; there is no fencing against these things, they cannot be prevented by any care of ours ; but that the house may be able to endure all this without prejudice. And he that builds a ship, does not make this his work, that it should never meet with waves and billows, that is impossible ; but that it may be light and staunch, and able to endure all weathers. A man that takes care for his body does not care for this, that he meet with no change of weather, hot and cold, but how his body may bear all this. Thus should Christians do ; not so much to take care how to shift and avoid afflictions, but how to bear them with an even quiet mind. As we cannot hinder the rain from falling upon the house, nor the waves from beating upon the ship, nor change of weather and seasons from affecting the body, so it is not in our power to hinder the falling out of afflictions and tribulations : all that lies upon us, is to make provision for such an hour, that we be not overwhelmed by it. — Manton, 1620-1667. (236.) Do not imagine that because you have hitherto experienced but little trouble, your path shall always be smooth and easy. No ; it is a thorny wilderness that you have to pass through, and a troubled ocean that you have to navigate ere you can reach the desired haven. The mariner, when scarcely launched upon the deep, does not expect that the breeze shall be alike gentle to the end of his voyage ; he prepares for storms, that he may be ready to meet them when they come. In like man- ner, you also will do well to prepare for seasons of adversity and trial. — Simeon, 1 758-1836. AMBITION. 1. Is in itself a beneficial Impulse. (237.) One of the strongest incitements to excel in such arts and accomplishments as are in the highest esteem among men, is the natural passion which the mind of man has for glory ; which though it may be faulty in the excess of it, ought by no means to be discouraged. Perhaps some moralists are too severe in beating down this principle, which seems to be a spring implanted by nature to give motion to all the latent powers of the soul, and is always observed to exert itself with the greatest force in the most generous dispositions. The men whose characters have shone the brightest among the ancient Romans appear to have been strongly animated by this passion. — Hughes. AMBITION. ( 37 ) AMBITION. %, Yet the craving for prominence Is often the mark of a poor nattire. (238.) The nettle mounteth on high; while the violet shrouds itself under its own leaves, and is chiefly found out by its fiagrancy. Let Christians be satisfied with the honour that comoth from God only. — Salter, 1840, 3. It is usually unwise. (239.) Seek not great things for yourselves in this world, for if your garments be too long, they will make you stumble ; and one staff helps a man in his journey, when many in his hands at once hin- ders him ; but labour to do great things for God, and God will do great things for you. — Bridge, 1600-1670. (240.) Who would not be covetous, and with reason, if health could be purchased with gold ? Who not ambitious, if it were at the command of power, or restored by honour ? But, alas ! a white staff will not help gouty feet to walk better than a common cane ; nor a blue ribbon bind up a wound so well as a fillet ; the glitter of gold or of diamonds will but hurt sore eyes, instead of curing them ; and an aching head will be no more eased by wearing a crown instead of a common night-cap. — Sir. W. Temple, 4. It blinds the understanding. (241.) Ambition is to the mind what the cap is to the falcon, it first blinds us, and then compels us to lower, by reason of our blindness. — E, Cook. 6. It Is unsatiable. (242.) Ambition is like the sea which swallows all the rivers and is none the fuller ; or like the grave whose insatiable maw for ever craves for the bodies of men. It is not like an amphora, which being full receives no more, bul its fulness swells it till a still greater vacuum is formed. In all proba- bility, Napoleon never longed for a sceptre till he had gained the baton, nor dreamed of being emperor of Europe 'ill he had gained the crown of France. Caligula, with the world at his feet, was mad with a longing for the moon, and could he have gained it the imperial lunatic would have coveted the sun. It is in vain to feed a fire which grows the more voracious the more it is supplied with fuel ; he who lives to satisfy his ambition has before him the labour of Sisyphus, who rolled up hill an ever- rebounding stone, and the task of the daughters of Uanaus, who are condemned for ever to attempt to fill a bottomless vessel with buckets full of holes. — Spiirgeon, 6. It causes men to set aside all moral restraints. (243.) What are not men ready to do to gratify an inordinate and insatiate ambition ! You know how the old Romans built their military road 5. They pro- jected'them in a mathematical line, straight to the point of termination, and everything had to give way, there could be no deviation. And so on went the road, bridging rivers, filling up ravines, hewing down hills, levelling forests, cutting its way through every obstacle ! Just so men set their lust upon self-emolument, some height of ambition, the attain- ment of place, rank, power, and hew their way to- ward it, not minding what gives way. No obstacle is insurmountable, health, happiness, home-comfort, honesty, integrity, conscience, the law of God, everything is sacrificed to the god of ambition ! — A 71 Fierson, 7. It exposes us to bitter disappointments. (244.) Ambition may rear turrets in emulation (A heaven, and vainglory build castles in the air ; but they shall have no roof, as the latter shall have no foundation. Philip threatened the Lacedemonians, that, as he entered their country, he would utterly extinguish them. They wrote him no other answer but Si (if) ; meaning, it was a condition well put in, for he was never like to come there. — Adams, 1653. (245.) Could we know the secret heart-breaks and wearinesses of ambitious men, we should need no Wolsey's voice crying, "I charge thee, fling away ambition ; " but we should flee from it as from the most accursed blood-sucking vampire which ever uprose from the caverns of hell." — Spiirgeon. 8. The penalties of successful ambition more than outweigh its pleasures. (246.) Envy, a mischief not to be avoided of the great. This shadow follows ihat body inseparably. All the curs in the street are ready to fall upon that dog that does away with the bone ; and every man hath a cudgel to fling at a well-loaded tree ; whereas a mean condition is no eyesore to any beholder. Low shrubs are not wont to be struck with lightning ; but tall oaks and cedars feel their flames. While David kept his father's sheep at home, he might sing sweetly to his harp in the fields without any disturbance ; but when he once comes to the court, and finds applause and greatness creep upon him, now emulation, despite, and malice, dog him close at the heels wheresoever he goes. Let him leave the court, and flee into the wilderness ; there these bloodhounds follow him in hot suit. Let him run into the land of the Philistines; there they find him out, and chase him to Ziklag. And if at the last he hath climbed up to his just throne, and there hopes to breathe him after his tedious pursuit, even there he meets with more unquietness than in the desert ; and, notwithstanding all his royalty, at last cries out, " Lord, remember David and all his troubles." How many have we known whom their wealth hath betrayed, and made innocent male- factors ! who might have slept seciie'y upon a hard bolster, and, in a poor estate, outlived their judges and accusers ! Besides, on even ground, a fall may be harmless ; but he that falls from on high cannot escape bruising. He therefore that can think the benefits of eminence can countervail the dangers which haunt greatness, let him affect to overtop others : for me, let me rather be safely low than high with peril. — //a//, 15 74- 1656. (247.) As for worldly greatness, affect neither the thing nor the reputation of it. Look up, if you please, to the top of steeples, masts, and moun- tains, but stand below if you would be safe. Though the chimney be the highest part of the house, it is not the cleanest or the sweetest part ; it is more scorched with th^ fire and suffocated with the smoke than other parts. — Baxter, 161 5-1 691. (248.) The tallest trees are most in the power of the winds, and ambitious men most exposed to the blast of fortunes. — E. Cook. 9. Its triumphs are soon ended. (249.) I cannot but look upon all the glory and dignity of this world, lands and lordships, crowns ANGELS. ( 38 ) ANGELS. and kingdoms, even as on some brain-sick, beggarly fellow, that borrows fine clothes, and plays the part of a king or lord for an hour on a stage, and then comes down, and the sport is ended, and they are beggars again. — Baxter, 1615-1691. 10. It mu£t be checked In its commenceinent. (250.) The smallest root of it, if not quickly p'ucked up, presently becomes a tree, the deep and strong roots whereof twine about the heart. — Fenelon. 11. There Is a Christian ambition by which we should all be inspired. (251.) lie who diffuses the most happiness and mitigates the most distress within his own circle is undoubtedly the best friend to his country and the world, since nothing more is necessary than for all men to imitate his conduct, to make the greatest part of the misei7 of the world cease in a moment. While the passion, then, of some is to shine, of some to govern, and of others to accumulate, let one great passion alone intluence our breasts, the passion which reason ratifies, which conscience approves, which Heaven inspires,— that of being and doing good. — Robert Hall, 1764-1831. ANGELS, THE. 1. Reasonableness of belief in their existence. {252.) There are many who deny the existence of any spiritual beings save God and man. The wide universe is to them a solitary land, without inhabitants. There is but one oasis filled with living creatures. It is the earth on which we move ; and we, who have from century to century crawled from birth to death, and fretted out our little lives upon this speck of star-dust which sparkles amid a million, million others upon the mighty plain of infinite space, we are the only living spirits. There is something pitiable in this impertinence. It is a drop of dew in the lonely cup of a gentian, which imagines itself to be all the water in the universe. It is the summer midge which has never left its forest pool, dreaming that it and its companions are the only living creatures in earth or air. There is no proof of the existence of other beings than ourselves, but there is also no proof of the contrary. Apart from revelation, we can think about the subject as we please. But it does seem incredible that we alone should represent in the univeise the image of God ; and if in one solitaiy star another race of beings dwell, if we concede the existence of a single spirit other than ourselves, we have allowed the principle. The angelic world of which the Bible speaks is possible to faith. — Stopford Brooke. 2. How little we know of them. (253.) Little is said [in the Bible] of angels. They are like the constellations in space : there is light enough to reveal, to show that they are ; but more is needed to reveal all their nature and func- tions. — Henry Batchelor. 8. Their appearance to the shepherds. (254.) There is something so unspeakably great and glorious in this union of earthly obscurity with heavenly splendour, of angels with shepherds, of tb"* form of a serva» t with the majesty of a king, that the well-known saying, "It is not thus in- vented," can never be better applied than to the whole narrative. — J. J. Van Oosterzee. 4. Inseparable frova. our conceptions of Christ. (255.) Their airy and gentle coming may well b<* compared to the glory of colours flung by the sun upon the morning clouds, that seem tc be born just where they appear. Like a beam of lighi striking through some orifice, they shine upon Zacharias in the temple. As the morning light finds the flowers, so they found the mother of Jesus; and their mes- sage fell on her, pure as dewdrops on the lily. To the shepherds' eyes, they filled the midnight arch like auroral beams of light ; but not as silently, for they sang more marvellously than when the morn- ing stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy. They communed with the Saviour in His gloiy of transfiguration, sustained Him in the anguish of the garden, watched Him at the tomb ; and as they had thronged the earth at His coming, so they seem to have hovered in the air in multitudes at the hour of His ascension. Beautiful as they seem, they are never mere poetical adorn- ments. The occasions of their appearing are grand, the reasons weighty, and their demeanour suggests and befits the highest conception of superior beings. Their very coming and going is not with earthly movement. They are suddenly seen in the air, as one sees white clouds round out from the blue sky in a summer's day, that melt back even while one 11 )oks upon them. We could not imagine Christ' history without angelic lore. The sun without clouds of silver and gold, the morning on the fields without dew-diamonds, but not the Saviour without His angels. — Bac/ur. 5. How they set us an example. (256.) No sooner did one angel of the Lord announce the manifestation of God in the flesh, than the whole multitude of the heavenly host immediately are on the wing, breaking forth into the harmonious praises of their Creator, that by their example they might teach us, as often as any one of our brethren should proclaim aloud the lessons of Divine wisdom, or as often as we ourselves should ponder on any sacred truths we have heard or read, that we should at once give praise to the Lord by word of mouth and in our hearts and lives. — Bede, 672-725. 6. Their Interest In man. (257.) The interest felt by the angels in all that concerns the Gospel, and the eternal interests of men, put on their probation, form a very humbling contrast to our cold indift'erence in what concerns us much more nearly than them. It is as if, on a ship nearing a lee shore in the midst of tremendous breakers, while every inhabitant of the neighbouring coast was watching her progress with beating hearts, and longing to see her delivered, the passengsrs and crew should pursue their wonted amusements ; or, hanging over the straining sides, idly speculate on the number of billows, and sport with the ragmg foam. Alas ! with the hosts of heaven there is all sympathy and intense interest — with perishing men, aJl apathy and madness. 7. Their care for God's children. (258.) Lot's guests were his best friends ; he had entertained angels, and they now deliver him ; he ANGELS. ( 39 ) ANGER. would have preserved them, and they did preserve him. Where should the angels lodge, but with Lot ? The houses of holy men are full of those heavenly spirits, though they be not seen ; their protection is comfortable, though not visible. In our tents they pitch their tents ; and when devils would mischief us, they turn them out of doors. It is the honour of God's saints to be attended by angels while in life, and to be exalted by angels when they die. Lazarus was "carried by angels into Abraham's bosom." As, in a family, the greater children carry the less, so God has charged His elder sons, the angels, to bear up our souls. — Adams, 1653. 8. Their Joy In the conversion of sinners. (259.) "A child lost in the forest 1" Such was the cry which startled the inhabitants of a remote and thinly-populated district in the wilderness. After a search of three days, the child was found, feint and famished, and well-nigh dead with weari- ness and terror. With songs and shouts they bore him back in their arms, swift runners going before, and crying " Found, Found I" The entire ham- hct was stirred by the tidings, and broke forth into thanksgivings. All participated in the happiness of the parents ; and though there were a hundred children in the settlement, more joy was felt that night over the one little wanderer rescued from death, than over the ninety and nine that had been exposed to no danger. This touching incident well illustrates the joy of angels over the repentant sinner — that thrill of rapture every conversion sends through all the ranks of the blessed. And why do they so re- joice? Conversion brings a new servant to their Lord. It is the accession of a new individual to that holy kingdom of which God and His Christ are the head. Satan loses a vassal, and God re- claims a subject. In every individual converted and saved, they also behold a living manifestation of divine mercy, a new trophy in the temple of Christ's praise, a new jewel added to His crown, a new star lighted up in the firmament of His glory. And then, as they reflect on the misery he escapes, the gloom, and the flame, and the groans of the prison-house from which he has been delivered, and think of the overflowing glories and transports of a blessed immortality awaiting him in their happy society, is it any wonder that they should burst forth in triumphant hosannas, and make all heaven ring with this outgushing joy? We may illustrate this by an incident which occurred in connection with the wreck of the ill- fated steamer Central America. A few days after that startling event, which sent hundreds to a watery grave, and plunged the nation in grief, a pilot-boat was seen, on a fair, breezy morning, standing up the bay of New York. The very ap- pearance of the vessel gave token that she was freighted with tidings of no common interest. With every sail set, and streamers flying, she leaped along the waters as if buoyant with some great joy ; while the glad winds that swelled her canvas, and the sparkling waves that kissed her sides, and urged her on her way, seemed to laugh with conscious delight. As she drew nearer an un- usual excitement was visible on her deck : and her captain, running out to the extreme point of the bowspiit, and swinging his cap, appeared to be shouting something with intense earnestness and animation. At first, the distance prevented hia being distinctly understood. But soon, as the vessel came farther into the harbour, the words. Three more saved I Three tnore saved I" reached the nearest listeners. They were caught up by the crews of the multitudinous ships that lay anchored around, and sailors sprang wildly into the rigging and shouted, " Three more saved I" They were heard on the wharves ; and the porter threw down his load, and the drayman stopped his noisy cart, and shouted, " Tk^f-ee more saved!" The tidings ran along the st-eets ; and the newsboys left off crying the last murfler, and shouted, *' Three more savcdl" Busy salesmen dropped their goods, book- keepers their pens, bankers their discounts, tellers their gold, and merchants, hurrying on the stroke of the last hour of grace to pay their notes, paused in their headlong haste, and shouted, " Three more saved!'''' Louder and louder grew the cry — fast and faster it spread — along the crowded piers of the Hudson and East River — up by the graves of Trinity, the hotels of Broadway, the marble palaces of the Fifth Avenue — over ihe heights of Brooklyn — across to Hoboken and Jersey City — away, away, beyond tower and pinnacle, beyond mansion and temple, beyond suburb and hamlet— till a million hearts pulsated with its thrill, and above all the sounds of the vast metropolis, mightier than all, hushing all, rose the great, exultant shout, " Three more saved I Three more saved I " If cold and selfish men will thus stop short in the eager quest of gain or of pleasure, to let the voice of humanity speak out, and to express their joy that three fellow-beings have been rescued from the ocean depths, shall we deem it an incredible thing that the holy and loving denizens of heaven should rejoice when a sinner repents, and is de- livered from the abyss of hell ? — Ide, (260.) I have read that when the Declaration o. Independence was being made in Philadelphia, in 1776, the people were so anxious to know the exact moment when the document was completed, that they placed a man at the door of the hall where the delegates were assembled, and another man on the stairs leading to the tower, and another man with his hand on the rope of the bell ; and then, when the last signer of the Declaration had affixed his name, the man at the door shouted up- ward, ^'' Ring!" and the man on the stairs heard it, and shouted upward, ^'' Ring I" and the man with his hand on the bell of the rope heard it, and sounded the tidings over the city. If to-night, in the strength of Christ, you would make your declaration of independence from the power of sin, there would be great rejoicing on earth and in heaven. I would cry upward to the angels poising in mid-air, Ring! and they to those stand- ing on the battlements of heaven. Ring I and those on the battlements to the dwellers in the temples and in the mansions. Ring I and all heaven would ring, and ring, at the news of a soul redeemed. — Talmage. ANGER- 1. Defined. (261.) Aristotle, in his Rhetoric, , . . defines anger to be " a desire, accompanied by mental un- easiness, of avenging one's self, or, as it were, in ANGER. ( 40 ) ANGER. Piicting punishment for something that appears an unbecoming sliglU, either in things which concern one's self, or some of one's friends." And he hence hifers that, if this be anger, it must be invariably felt towards some individual, not against a class or description of persons. — VVhately. 2. Differs from hatred/ (262.) There is a great difference between the sin of one who is angiy, and the cruelty of one who holds another in hatred. For even with our children are we angry ; but who is ever found to hate his children? Among the very cattle, too, the cow, in a sort of weariness, will sometimes in anger drive away her suckling calf; but anon she fmbraces it with all the affection of a mother. She is in a way disgusted with it when she butts it ; yet, when she misses it, she will seek after it. Nor do we discipline our children otherwise than with a degree of anger and indignation ; yet we should not discipline them at all, but in love to them. So far, then, is every one who is angry from hating, that sometimes one would be rather con- victevi of hating if he were not angry ; for suppose a child wishes to play in somr; river's stream, by whose force he would be like to perish, if you see this and patiently suffer it, this would be hating — your patient suffering him in /lis death. How far better is it to be angry than to suffer him to perish. Great is the difference, indee(f, between one's ex- ceeding due limits in some words through anger, which he afterwards wipes off by repenting of it, and the keeping an insidious purpose shut up in the heart. — Augustine, 353-429. {263.) Anger is a transient hatred; or, at least, very like it. — South, 1 633-17 1 6. (264.) Adam Smith, in his Theory of Moral Sentiments, seems to consider as the chief point of distinction between anger and hatred, the neces- sity to the gratification of the former that the ob- ject of it should not only be punished, but punished by means of the offended person, and on account of the particular injury inflicted. Anger requires that the offender should not only be made to grieve in his turn, but to grieve for that particular wrong which has been done by him. The natural gratifi- cation of this passion tends, of its own accord, to produce all the political ends of punishment : the correction of the criminal, and example to the public — Whately. 3. A compotuid of pride and folly. (265.) He does anger too much honour who calls it madness, which being a distemper of the brain, and a total absence of all reason, is innocent of all the ill effects it may produce, whereas anger is an affected madness, compounded of pride and folly, and m intention to do commonly more mischief thar it can bring to pass. — Lord Clarendon, 1608-1673. 4. Different Mnds of anger. (266,) I' of two evils we ought to choose the least, sudden anger upon slight and inadequate occasions is, at anyrate, better than secret and cunning malice, which burns the longer the more it is con- cealed, and generally breaks out, at its own time, into inextinguishable revenge. Irascibility is like a flame in flax or straw, which suddenly blazes up, and as suddenly dies ; and those subject to it are for the most part upright, truthful, and honourable persons, who, when the transitory heat is past, repay by their liberality any injury they may have done. Slow wrath, however, is like the flame of sulphur, or like fire in green wood, which, the longer it takes to kindle, burns with all the more intense heat. Per- sons who, when they receive an affront, knavishly smile, keep silence, and pretend indifference, gene- rally treasure up rancour in their breasts, and wait for some convenient time to discharge it with greater vengeance. They are like goats, which deliberately recede from their adversary, when they mean to give him a hard blow, and level him with the ground. Of such persons it is well to beware. — Scriver, 1629- 1693. 6. Impulses to anger must be carefully re- pressed. {267.) When anger rises, think of the conse- quences. — Cofifucius. (268.) If anger is not restrained, it is fiequently more hurtful to us than the injury that provokes it. — Seneca. {269.) If we have eaten poison, we seek forth- with to vomit it up again with all speed ; and if we be fallen into any disease, we use the means we can to provide a remedy ; so, likewise, when we feel any unruly motions of anger, and the fiery flames thereof be once kindled in our hearts, we must be careful to repress them, as we would be to quench the fire in our houses. — Cawdray, 1598-1664, (270.) If anger arises in thy breast, instantly seal up thy lips, and let it not go forth : for, like fire when it wants vent, it will suppress itself. It is good in a fever to have a tender and smooth tongue ; but it is better that it be in anger ; for if it be rough and distempered, there it is an ill sign, but here it is an ill cause. Angry passion is a fire, and angry words like breath to fan them together ; they are like steel and flint, sending out fire by mutual collision. — Jeremy Taylor, 1612-1667. (271.) Never do anything that can denote an angry mind ; for, although everybody ^is born with a certain degree of passion, and, from untoward circumstances, will sometimes feel its operation, and be what they call "out of humour," yet a sensible man or woman will never allow it to be discovered. Check and restrain it ; never make any determination until you find it has entirely sub- sided ; and always avoid saying anything that you may wish unsaid. ^Lord Collingwood. 6. Must be moderately expressed. (272.) They who put on a supreme anger, or eX' press the less anger with the highest reproaches, can do no more to him that steals, than to him that breaks a crystal ; 7ton plus cequo, non diutius aqtio, was a good rule for reprehension of offending ser- vants ; but no more anger, no more severe lan- guage than the thing deserves : if you chide too long, your reproof is changed into reproach ; if too bitterly, it becomes railing ; if too loud, it is im- modest ; if too public, it is like a dog, —Jeremy Taylor, 1612-1667. ANGER. ( 41 ) APOSTLES. T. Is not to be too longr retained. (273.) As fire when it is covered with ashes, yet It is not quenched ; even so anger or choler, though it be dissembled, covered, or retained in the heart awhile, yet it is not so quenched, but it hatcheth hatred, which by little and little so converteth itself into his substance, as in short time it becometh in- separable from his nature. — Cawdray, 1 598-1664. (274.) It is observable that the New Testament precept on the subject of anger is, in so many words, a restraint and not a prohibition. "Be ye angry, and sin not ; let not the sun go down upon your wrath." Anger in itself is no sin, but it has a tendency to become so rapidly if it be harboured too long. Like the manna it corrupts and breeds worms if kept over night in the close chamber of the heart. Then it will appear in the morbid shapes of spite, malice, revenge. The Christian rule is to throw it all away before the fermentation commences. — Goulburn. 8. Its Unrighteousness. (275.) The angry man, like the two hot disciples that called fire from heaven, ordains himself the judge, and would have God turn his executioner. — Adams, 1653. 9. Its Folly. (276. ) The choleric man is like one that dwells in a thatched house, who, being rich in the morn- ing, by a sudden fire is a beggar before night. How foolish is the bee that loses her life and her sting together. She puts another to a little pain, but how dearly does she pay for it. — Adams, 1653. (277.) To be angry, is to revenge the faults of others upon ourselves. — i^ope, 168S-1744. 10. The folly of meeting' anger with anger. (278.) Like as if a man join fire to fire, he maketh ths flame the greater : even so, if a man think to suppress another man's anger by being angry him- self, he shall both lose his labour, and rather increase the other man's anger. — Cawdray, 1 598-1 664. (279. ) A mad dog that bites another makes him as mad as himself; so, usually the injuries and reproaches of others foster up our revenge, and then there is no difference between us. — Manton, 1620-1667. 11. Silence is the hest reply to oflFensive sayings. (280.) It is reported of Titus Vespasian, that when any one spake ill of him, he was wont to say that he was above false reports ; and if they were true, he had more reason to be angry with himself than the relator. And the good Emperor Theo- dosius commanded no man should be punished that spake against him : "for what was spoken slightly," said he, " was to be laughed at ; what spitefully, to be pardoned ; what angerly, to be pitied ; and if truly, he would thank him for it." Oh, that there were but such a frame of spirit in this carping age of ours, wherein men, like tinder, are ready to take fire upon the least spark that falls, to quarrel some- times on the most inoffensive word that can be spoken ; whereas the best way is to be silent. Site et funestam dedisti plagatn (Say nothing, and you pay a talking man to the purpose). Thus it was that Hezekiah would cot answer Rabshakeh, nor Jeremiah Hananiah, nor our blessed Saviour HU railing adversaries. He reviled not His revilers ; He threatened not His opponents. (Jer. xxviii. 11 ; Matt. xxvi. 62 ; i Pet. ii. 23.) — Spencer, 1654. 12. It often works Irreparable mischief. (281.) He that is inebriated with passion is unfit for an action ; like Samson's foxes, he scatters fire- brands abroad, to the hurt of all that are near him. — Adams, 1 653. (282.) Your anger may sting venomously. Your jealousy may do a mischief in one short hour that your whole life cannot repair. Your cruel pride may do a whole age's work in a day. You cannot take back the injuries that you have done to those whose hearts lie throbbing next to yours. Ah ! when winter has frozen my heliotropes, it makes no difference that the next morning thaws them out. There lie the heliotropes — a black, noisome heap ; and it is possible for you to chill a tender nature so that no thawing can restore it. You may relent, but frost has been there, and you cannot bring back freshness and fragrance to the blossom. You can- not sweeten the embittered heart to which your words have been like scorpions. It is a terrible thing for a man to have the power of poisoning the hearts of others, and yet carry that power carelessly. He cannot find place for repentance, though he seeks it carefully with tears. — Beecher. 13. Irrltableness is a characteristic of weak and base natures. (283.) Anger is certainly a kind of baseness ; as it appears well in the weakness of those subjects in whom it reigns, — children, women, old folks, sick folks. Only men must beware that they carry their anger rather with scorn than with fear ; so that they may seem rather to be above the injury than below it ; which is a thing easily done, if a man will give law to himself in it. — Bacon, 1560-1626. (284.) It is the base and vile bramble, the fruit of the earth's curse, that tears and rends what is next to it. — Adams, 1653. {285.) Wise men are not too nimble at an injury. For as, with fire, the light stuff and rubbish kindle sooner than the solid and more compacted ; so anger sooner inflames a fool than a man composed in his resolutions. — Feltham, 1668. 14. How the tendency to It Is to be overcome. (286.) There is no other way but to meditate and ruminate well upon the effects of anger, — how it troubles man's life ; and the best time to do this is to look back upon anger when the fit is thoroughly over. Seneca saith well, " that anger is like rain, which breaks itself upon that it falls." The Scrip- ture exhorteth us " to possess our souls in patience :" whosoever is out of patience is out of possession of his soul. — Bacon, 1 560-1 626. APOSTLES, THE 1. Were trained for their task. (287.) Such men Christ took as might be no occasion to their hearers to ascribe the work to their efficiency ; but yet, such men, too, as should be no examples to insufficient men to adventure upon that APOSTLES. ( 42 ) APOSTLES. great service ; but men, though ignorant before, yet docile and glad to learn. In a rough stone, a cunning lapidary will easily foresee what his cutting, and his polishing, and his art will bring that stone to. A cunning statuary discerns in a marble stone under his feet where there will arise an eye, and an ear, and a hand, anJ other lineaments, to make it a per- fect statue. Much more did our Saviour Christ, who was Himself the author of that disposition in them (for no man has any such disposition but from God), foresee in these fishermen an inclinableness to become useful in that great service of His Church. Therefore, He took them from their own ship, but He sent them from His cross. He took therri, weather-beaten with north and south winds, and routli-cast with foam and mud, but He sent them back suppled, and smoothed, and levigated, quick- ened and animated with that spirit which He had breathed into them. He took fishermen, and He sent fishers of men. He sent them not out to preach, as soon as He had called them to Him ; He called them ad discipidatitm before He called them ad apostolatum ; He taught them before tliey taught others. — Donne, 1573-1631. 2. Their natural unfltness for the task assigned them. (288.) When kings send out ambassadors to re- present their person and their interests in foreign courts, they choose out from amongst the people men of high name and reputation, well skilled in the ways of the world and the policy of states ; whom, having clothed with powers plenipotentiary, and appointed with officers and servants of every kind, they send forth accredited witli royal letters to all courts and kingdoms whither they may come, furnished with grace and splendour to feast the common eye, and laden with rich gifts to take the cupidity or conciliate the favour of those with whom they have to do. Also, when a nation fitteth out a journey or voyage of discovery, they choose out men of fortitude, humanity, and skill, upon whom to bestow a valorous and steady crew, who will not be daunted by the dangers, nor bafiiled by the difficulties of the work ; and having called in the whole science and art of the country, to fortify and accommodate the danger-hunting men, they launch them forth amidst the hearty cheers and benedictions of their country. And when a nation arrayeth its strength to battle for its ancient rights and dominions ; or when a noble nation armeth in the cause of humanity to help an insulted sister in the day of her need, as we Britons have oft been called upon to do, the nation is shaken to her very centre with commotion, and every arm and sinew of the land straineth to the work. Fleets and armies, and munitions of war ; the whole chivalry, the whole prowess, strength and policy, and oft the whole wealth of the land muster in the cause ; and the chief captains forsake their wives and children, and peaceful homes ; and the warlike harness is taken from the hall where it hung in peace ; and the bold peasantry come trooping from their altars and their household hearths ; and " the trumpet speaketh to the armed throng : " they gather into one, and descend unto the shores of the surround- ing sea, whither every fleet ship and gallant sailor have made ready to bear them to the place where the rights of the nation, or the insulted rights of humanity, cry upon their right?ous arm for redress ; and their kinsmen follow then: with their prayers, and their wives and children, their fathers, and the households of their fathers, with the assembled con- gregations of the people, commit them and tlieir righteous cause to the safe conduct and keeping, of the Lord of Hosts. But when the Kin.g of Heaven sendeth forth these twelve ambassadors to the nations, fitteth out these discoverers of the people that sat in darkness and the shadow of death, and furnisheth forth this little army to subvert the thrones, dominions, prin- cipalities, and powers of darkness which brooded over the degenerate earth, to bring forth the lost condition of humanity, and establish its crown of glory as at the first, He took men of no name nor reputation, endowed with no Greek, with no Roman fame, by science untaught, by philosophy unschooled, fishermen from the shores of an inland sea; the class of men, which of all classes is (dis- tinguished for no exploit in the story of the. world ; Galileans, a people despised of the Jews, who were themselves a despised people. As at first, wiien God wished to make a man in His own ima^jc, after His own likeness, He brought not the mate- rials from heavenly regions, neither created a finer quintessence of matter for the high occasion, but took from the ground a handful of dust, thereon to impress His divine image, and thereinto to breathe the spirit of lives : so the Son of God, Himself a servant, despised and rejected of men, when He chose vessels to bear His name before Gentiles and kings, and the children of Israel, preferred that they should be empty of human greatness, without any grace or comeliness in the sight of man, with- out any odour of a good name, or rich contents of learning or knowledge ; — that the treasure being in earthen vessels, the praise might be of God. — Ifving. S. The wonderfulness of their auccess. (289.) Do the Greeks charge the Apostles with want of learning? This same charge is their praise. And when they say that the Apostles were rude, let us follow up the remark, and say, that they were also untaught, and unlettered, and poor, and vile, and wanting in acuteness, and insignifi- cant persons. It is not a slander on the Apostles to say so, but it is even a glory that, being such, they should have outshone the whole world. For these untrained, and rude, and illiterate men, have com- pletely vanquished the wise, and powerful, and tiie tyrants, and those who flourished in wealth and glory, and all outward good things, as though tliey had not been men at all : from whence it is meni- fest that great is the power of the Cross ; and that these things were done by no human strength. For the results do not keep the course of nature, rather the good done was above all nature. Now, when anything takes place above nature, and exceed- ingly above it, on the side of rectitude and utility, it is quite plain that these things are done by some Divine power and co-operation. And observe : tiie fisherman, the tentmaker, the publican, the igno- rant, the unlettered, coming from the far distant country of Palestine, and having beaten of^ their own ground the philosophers, the masters of orator)', the skilful debaters, alone prevailed against them in a short space of time ; in the midst of many perils, the opposition of people and kings, the striving of nature herself, length of time, the vehe- ment resistance of inveterate custom, demons in arms, the devil in battle-array, and stirring up all — APOSTLES. ( 43 ) ARGUMENTS. kings, rulers, people, nations, cities, barbarians, Greeks, philosophers, orators, sophists, historians, laws, tribunals, divers kinds of punishments, deaths innumerable, and of all sorts. But, nevertheless, all these were confuted, and gave way when the fishermen spake ; just like the light dust, which cannot bear the rush of violent winds. Now, what I say is, let us learn thus to dispute with the Greeks ; that we be not like beasts and cattle, but "prepared" as concerning "the hope which is in us." And let us pause for a while to work out this topic, no unimportant one ; and let us say to them, How did the weak overcome the strong ; the twelve, the world ? Not by using the same armour, but in nakedness contending with men in arms. For, say, if twelve men, unskilled in matters of war, were to leap into the midst of an immense and armed host of soldiers, themselves not only unarmed but of weak frame also ; and to receive no harm from them, nor yet be wounded, though assailed with ten thousand weapons ; if, while the darts were piercing them through, with bare naked body, they overthrew all their foes, using no weapons but striking with the hand, and in conclusion killing some, and others took captive and led away, them- selves receiving not so much as a wour.d, would any one have ever said that the thing was of man? And yet the trophy of the Apostles is much more wonderful than that. For a man's escaping a ^ound is not so wonderful by far, as that the ordi- nary and unlettered person, — that a fisherman, — should overcome such a body of talent ; and neither for fewness, nor for poverty, nor for dan- gers, nor for prepossession of fiabit, nor for so great austerity of the precepts given in charge, nor for the daily deaths, nor for the multitude of those who were deceived, nor for the great reputation of the deceivers, be turned from his purpose. — Chrysostom, 347-407. (290.) Had it been published by a voice from heaven, that twelve poor men, taken out of boats md creeks, without any help of learning, should conquer the world to the cross, it might have been thought an illusion against all the reason of men ; yet we know it was undertaken and accomplished by them. They published this doctrine in Jeru- salem, and quickly spread it over the greatest part of the world. Folly outwitted wisdom, and weak- ness overpowered strength. The conquest of the East by Alexander was not so admirable as the enterprise of these poor men. — Charnock, 1628-1680. 4. Their success Is a proof that they wrought miracles. (291.) A few persons of an odious and despised CA)untry could not have filled the world with be- lievers, had they not shown undoubted credentials from the Divine person who sent them on such a message. — Addison, 1672-1719. 6. Their boldness, (292.) Many interdictions rung peals of menaces fel the Apostles' ears, that they "should speak rio more in the name and word of Christ;" they did all rather, like bells, toll them into the Church, to preach it more fervently. The princes of the nations would have hedged it in with their prohibi- tions ; but the word of heaven and edict of God's spiritual court of glo»y sco'^ed the prohibitions given by their temporary laws. They might easiei have hedged in the wind, or pounded the eagle. — Adams, 1653. 6. Their Influence compared with that of the ancient philosophers. (293.) Where are all the sects of philosophers, the Platonists, the Peripatetics, the Stoics, the Epicureans, and the rest that filled Greece with their fame, and so many volumes with fancies and error? Like a torrent that rolls down with great noise from the top of a mountain, so for a time the speculations of their lofty minds poured along in a flood of swelling, frothy eloquence ; but now (and for many ages since) the very channel is dried up wherein they ran, so that scarce any visible ruina remain in Athens itself of the schools where they taught the greatest among them. Plato, adorned with the title of divine, could never see his com- monwealth framed by him with so much study, to be satisfied in one city. Whereas if we consider the gospel of Christ, it is hard to determine whethei the doctrine be more simple or the Apostles the first masters of it to outward appearance ; yet, without learning or human strength, in a short space they triumphed over that eloquence of the Greeks, the power of the Romans, the rage of the barbarous nations. They abrogated laws, changed customs, and renewed the face of the world. — Bates, 1625-1699. ARGUMENTS. 1. Their value. (294.) Testimony is like an arrow shot from a long bow, the force of it depends on the strength of the hand that draws it : argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has great force though shot by a child. — Bacon, 1 560-1626. 2. How they are to be estimated, (295.) Reasons of things are rather to be taken by weight than tale. — Collier, 1650-1726. 3. Are not to be accumulated on one side of a question only. (296.) Hunting after arguments to make good one side of a question, and wholly to neglect those which favour the other, is wilfully to misguide the understanding ; and is so far from giving truth its due value, that it wholly debases it. — Locke. 4. Should not be used too profusely. (297.) Whereas men have many reasons to per- suade, to use them all at once weakeneth them. For it argueth a neediness in every one of the rea- sons, as if one did not trust to any of them, but fled from one to another. — Bacon, 1 560-1626. 6. Value of probable arguments. (298.) Probable arguments are like little stars, every one of which will be useless as to our conduct and enlightening, but when they are tied together by order and vicinity, by the finger of God and the hand of an angel, they make a constellation, and are not only powerful in their influence, but like a brignt angel to guide and to enlighten our way. And, although the light is not great as th^ light of ARGUMENTS. ( 44 ) ASSURANCE. the sun or moon, yet mariners sail by their conduct ; and, thougli with trepidation and some dangers, yet very regularly they enter into the haven. This heap of probalile inducements is of no power as a mathematical and physical demonstration, which is m discourse as the sun is in the heaven, but it makes a milky and a white path, visible enough to walk securely. And next to these tapers of effec- tive reason, drawn from the nature, and from the events, and the accidents, and the expectation, and experiences of things, stands the grandeur of a long and united authority. The understanding thus reasoning, that it is not credible that this thing should have escaped the wiser heads of all the great personages in the world, who stood at the chair of princes, or sat in the ruler's chair, and should not only appear to two or three bold, illiterate, or vicious persons, ruled by lusts, and overruled by evil habits. But in this we have the same security and the same confidence that timorous persons have in the dark ; they are pleased, and can see what is and what is not if there be a candle ; but in the dark they are less fearful if they be in company. — Jeremy Taylor, 1612-1667. 6. Lawfulness of arguments ad homlnem. (299.) In the persuasion of a truth, it is lawful to nse such arguments whose strength is wholly made prevailing by the weakness of him that is to be per- suaded. Such as are arguments ad komine?n, that is, proportionable to the doctrines, customs, usages, belief, and credulity of the man. The reasons are these : — 1. Because ignorant persons are not capable of such arguments as may demonstrate the question ; and he that goes to draw a child to him, may pull him by the long sleeve of his coat, and need not hire a yoke of oxen. 2. That which will demonstrate a truth to one person, possibly will never move another. But in all arguments which are to prevail by the weakness or advantages taken from the man, he that goes about to persuade must not say anything that he knows to be false ; but he must comply and twist about the man's weakness, so as to be innocent all the way. Let him take him that is weak and wrap him in swaddling clothes, but not encompass him with snakes. — Jeremy Taylor, 1612-1667. 7. Should be conducted calmly. (300.) We see in experience, that confidence is generally ill-grounded, and is a kind of passion in the understanding ; and is commonly made use of, like fury and force, to supply for the weakness and want of argument. If a man can prove what he says by good argument, there is no need of confi- dence to back and support it. We may at any time trust a plain and substantial reason, and leave it to make its own way, and to bear out itself. But if the man's reasons and arguments be not good, his confidence adds nothing of real force to them, in the opinion of wise men, and tends only to its own confusion. Arguments are like powder, which will cany and do execution according to its true strength ; and all the rest is but noise. — Tilloison, 1430-1694. 8. Folly of abuse In argument. (301.) Upon the points in which we dissent from each other, argument will always secure the atten- *ion of the wise and good ; whereas, invective must disgrace the cause which we may respectively wish to support. — Farr. (302. ) Nothing is easier than to use bad names \ but bad names are bad arguments. When your opponent is driven to personal abuse, he is driven to his wit's end, and you may safely leave him. Nevet throw mud. You may miss your mark, but you must have dirty hands. — Joseph Parker. 9. The best mode of refuting sophistical argu ments. (303.) False reasoners are often best confuted by giving them the full swing of their own absurdities. Some arguments may be compared to wheels, where half a turn will put everything upside down that is attached to their peripheries ; but if we complete the circle, all things will be just where we found them. Hence, it is common to say, that arguments that prove too much, prove nothing. I once heard a gentleman affirm, that all mankind were governed by a strong and overruling influence, which deter- mined all their actions, and over which they had no control ; and the inference deducible from such a position was, that there was no distinction between virtue and vice. Now, let us give this mode 0/ reasoning full play. A murderer is brought before a judge, and sets up this strong and overruling pro- pensity in justification of his crime. Now, the judge, even if he admitted the plea, must, on the criminal's own showing, condemn him to death. He would thus address the prisoner ; You had a strong propensity to commit a murder, and this, you say, must do away the guilt of your crime ; but 1 have a strong propensity to hang you for it, and this, I say, must also do away with the guilt of your punishment. — CoUon, 183a. ASSURANCE. I. JS DESIRABLE. (304.) The conceit of propriety hardens a man against many inconveniences, and adds much to our pleasure. The mother abides many unquiet nights, many painful throes and unpleasant savours of hei child, upon this thought, "It is my own." . . . If we could think. It is my God that cheers me with His presence and blessings, while I prosper ; that afflicts me in love, when I am dejected ; my Saviour is at God's right hand ; my angels stand in His presence — it could not be but God's favour could be sweeter. His chastisements more easy, His benefits more effectual. — Hall, 15 74-1 656. (305.) Every man naturally loves that which is his own, and if the thing be good, it doth him the more good to look upon it. Let a man walk in a fair meadow, it pleaseth him well ; but it will please him much more if it be his own. His eyes will be more curious in prying into every part, and every- thing will please him the better. So it is in a corn- field, in an orchard, in a house. So then, if God the Lord be lovely, how much more lovely should He be in our eyes, if He be our Lord God ? — Holdsworih, 1627. II. IS ESSENTIAL : — 1. To the comfort and joy of the feeliever. (306.) It is related of a man, that being upon the point of drowning in a great river, he looked up and ASSURANCE. ( 45 ) ASSURANCE. saw the rainbow in the clouds, and considering that God had set it there as a sign of His covenant, never more to drown the world by water, made this sad conclusion to himself: " But what if He save the world from a deluge of waters, and suffer me to be drowned here in this river, I shall be never the better for that. When I am once gone, all the worid is gone with me." Thus it is in the matter of heaven and heavenly things, as in the point of calling and election, whereas it is said that many are called but few chosen ; so that if a man cannot make out unto himself that he is none of the many so-called, and one of the few that shall be certainly saved, he must needs be but in a sad condition. What is the blood of Christ, though in itself sufficient to save ten thou- sand worlds, if it be not efficient in the application thereof unto his soul ? He shall be never the better for it. What if the Gospel come to him in word only, and not in power, not in the Holy Ghost and full assurance ? It would do him little good. What are promises, if he be not heir of them ? What are mercies, if he be no sharer m them ? What is heaven, if he have no evidence for it ? And what is Christ (though all in all in Himself, yet nothing — nay, the further occasion of damnation to him), if he be not in Him? — Alardus ^mstrel?-edai?ius, 1518. (307.) A man may praise God for the redemption of the world, &c., who has no consciousness of hav- ing secured an interest in it, but not like him who feels he has a property in it. How different will be their feelings ! Just as great will be the difference of interest which will be felt by a stranger passing through a beautiful estate, and by the owner of it. One may admire the richness of the soil, the beauty of its crops, and the stateliness of its trees ; but his interest in it will fall very far short of his who has the title and property in it. — Salter, 1840. 2. To Ms Bpiritual vigour. (308.) Believe me, the life of grace is no dead level ; it is not a fen country, a vast flafc. There are mountains and there are valleys. There are tribes of Christians who live in the lowlands, like the poor Swiss of the Valais, who live between the lofty ranges of mountains in the midst of the miasma, where the air is stagnant, and fever has its lair, and the human frame grows languid and enfeebled. Such dwellers in the lowlands of unbelief are for ever doubting, fearing, troubled about, their interest in Christ, and tossed to and fro ; but there are other believers, who, by God's grace, have climbed the mountain of full assurance and near communion, their place is with the eagle in his eyrie, high aloft ; they are like the strong mountaineer, who has trodden the virgin snow, who has breathed the fresh, free air of the Alpine regions, and therefore his sinews are braced, and his limbs are vigorous ; these are they who do great exploits, being mighty men, men of renown. — Sturgeon. III. IS ATTAINABLE. (309.) As certain as he that hath a cdrporeal eye knoweth that he sees, so certainly he that is illumi- nated with the light of faith knoweth that he be- lieveth. The glorious splendour of such an orient and splendid jewel cannot but show itself, and shine clearly to the heart wherein it dwells. Like a bright lamp set up in the soul, it does not only manliest other things, but also itself appears by its own light. When I see and rely upon a man pro- mising me this or that, I know I see and rely upon him. Shall I by faith behold my blessed Redeemer lifted up, as an» only antitype of the brazen serpent, for the everlasting cure of my wounded conscience, and rest upon Him, and yet know no such thing? — Salter, 1840. (310.) Next, it is asked, " Can a man know with- in himself that he is a Christian ? If so, does that constitute experimental religion?' If it were not that men's minds have been greatly per^ilexed by diverse and often contrary instructions, so that they are really bewildered, I should almost be disposed to ridicule such a question. When I think of the truth itself, it seems preposterous that a man should not know whether he is a Chiistiait or not. Suppose a man should ask you, " Do you know, sir, whether you are sick or whether you are well?" I think there is no difficulty in your being able to answer that question. You either are well, or, you are sick, or, you are a little unwell. You can state almost to a degree where you are on the scale of health. Or, to take it out of the sphere of bodily sensa- tion, suppose a man should ask you, " Do you know, sir, whether you are happy or unhappy?" Would you be in doubt as to that ? Suppose a man should come to you and say, " Have you any idea whether you are a man oi truth and veracity or not?" If a man wants to know himself on that subject, can he not ? Do you not generally have a pretty near estimate of what you are? Suppose a man should ask you, "Are you a thief, or are you not?' Cannot a man know it if he is honest ? It is hard work, I know, for some ; but still it can be found out. Or, put it in a different form still. Suppose a man should ask you, " Are you on the side of justice and liberty, or are you on the side of false aris- tocracy and oppression ? " Can a man doubt v hich side he is on ? Again, suppose a man should ask you, " Are you a British subject or an American citizen? Do you belong to Great Britain or to the young Stars-a>id- Stripes country ? Which government are you under, anyhow ? " Now, if I think simply of the truth, I aver that it is just as easy and natural that a man should know whetlier he is a Christian or not, as that he should know whether be is an American or a Briton, whether he belongs to Canada or the United States, whether he is sick or well, \\ hether he is democratic or aristocratic. For religion is not a mystic veil that descends upon a man from afar, that he has no connection with, and that comes and goes as atmo- spheric conditions do. Religion has in it all the great distinctive elements of intelligent being — namely, reason, conviction, moral will, and dis- tinct and classified emotions ; and they belong to man in such relations that he can tell whether he has them or not, and whether he has them on one side or on the other. But when I look at the feebleness of many per- sons' minds ; when I see their want of discrimina- tion ; when I remember how tliey are blown about by many winds of doctrine ; when I observe iiow some men have the idea that reliijion is mere ecstatic fervour, and how other men have the idea that reli- gion is something widely different from that ; when 1 call to mind the fact that the tests of religious ex- ASSURANCE. ( 46 ) ASSURANCE. perience have been varied by difTerent schools and in different ways ; and when I consider how a sen- sitive conscience and an emotive nature must be drifted hither and thither by these conflicting views — I am constrained to say tiiat a man may be a Christian, and yet be in great doubt as to whether he is jne or not. — Beecher, IV. YET EVEN BY GENUINE BELIEVERS IS NOT A L IV A VS A TTA I NED. (311.) Suppose thou hast not yet attained so much as to this inward peace, yet know thou hast no rea- son to question the truth of thy faith for want of this. \Ve have peace with God as soon as we be- lieve, but not always with ourselves. The pardon may be past the prince's hand and seal, and yet not put into the prisoner's hand. Thou thinkest tliem too rash (dost not ?) who judged Paul a mur- derer by the viper that fastened on his hand. And what art thou, who condeninest thyself for an unbeliver, because of those troubles and inward agonies wliich may fasten for a time on the spirit of the most gracious child God hath on earth ? — Gurnall, 1617-1679. (312.) Assurance is a fruit that grows out of the root of faith ; the fruits in winter appear not upon the tree. Because I see not a flourishing top, shall I deny the existence and sap])iness of the root? Mary, when she wept at Christ's feet, had no assurance of His love, yet Christ sends her away with the encomium of her faith, acted before the comfort dropped from His lips. (Luke vii. 45-50.) The characters of faith may be written in the heart as letters engraven upon a seal, yet filled with so much dust as not to be distinguished ; the dust hinders the reading of the letters, but does not raze them out. — Charnock, 1628-16S0. (313.) A child of God may have the kingdom of grace in his heart, yet not know it. The cup was in Benjamin's sack, though he did not know it was there ; thou mayest have faith in thy heart, the cup may be in thy sack, though thou knowest it not. Old Jacob wept for his son Joseph, when Joseph was alive ; thou mayest weep for want of grace, when grace may be alive in thy heart. The seed may be in the ground, when we do not see it spring up ; the seed of God may be sown in thy heart, though thou dost not perceive the springing of it up. Think not grace is lost, because it is hiil. — Watson, 1696. (314.) Salvation, and the joy of salvation, are not always contemporaneous : the latter does not always accompany the former in present experience, though ultimately, as cause and effect, they must be united. Though they are not parallel lines, yet they are converging lines which must meet at last, however gradual be the tendency towards each other. They differ as life and health, as heirship and the means of knowing it. — Salter, 1840. V. EFFORTS SHOULD BE MADE TO AT- TAIN IT. (315.) Labour as to know heaven to be the only happiness, so also to be thy hapjMness. We may confess heaven to be the best condition, though we despair of enjoying it ; and we may desire and seek it, if we see the oblainment to be but probable and hopeful : but we can never delightfully rejoice in it, till we are somewhat persuaded of our title to it. 'What comfort is it to a man that hath not a bit to put in his mouth, to see a feast which he must not taste of? What delight hath a man that hath not a house to put his head in, to see sumptuous buildings of others? Would not all this rather increase his anguish, and make him more sensible of his own misery? So, for a man to know the excellences of heaven, and not to know whether he shall ever enjoy them, may well raise desire, and provoke to seek it, but it will raise but little joy and content. Who will set his heart on another mans possessions? If your house, your goods, your cattle, were not your own, you would less mind them, and delight less in them. Oh, therefore, Christian, rest not till you can call this rest youi own ; sit not down without assurance. — Baxter, 1615-1691. (316.) You have a valuable house or farm. It is suggested that the title is not good. You employ counsel. You have the deeds examined. \'o\\ search the record for mortgages, judgments, and liens. You are not satisfied until you have a certi- ficate, signed by the great seal of the State, assur- ing you that the title is good. Yet iiow many leave their title to heaven an undecided matter ! Why do you not go to the records, and fuui it ? Give yourself no rv^.. day nor night, until you can read your title clear 10 mansions in the skies. — 7'altnage. VI. COUNSELS TO THOSE WHO ARE SEEK- ING TO ATTAIN IT. 1. Avoid ever3rtMiig that would tend to cauae you to return an untrue verdict. (317.) Let not self-love, partiality, or pride on the one side, or fear on the other side, pervert your judgment in the trial, and hinder you from the dis- cerning of the truth. Some men cannot see the clearest evidences of their unsanctified hearts, because self-love will give them leave to believe nothing of themselves which is bad or sad. They will believe that which is good and pleasant, be it never so evidently false. As if a thief could be saved from the gallows, by a strong conceit that he is a true man : or the conceit that one is learned would make him learned. Others, through timorousness, can believe nothing that is good or comfortable of themselves ; like a man on the top of a steeple, who, though he know that he stand eth fast and safe, yet trembleth when he looketh down, and can scarce believe his own understanding. Silence all the objections of an over-timorous mind, and it will doubt and tremble still. — Baxter, 1615-1691. (318.) Look not so much either at what you should be, or at what others are, as to forget what you are yourselves. Some look so much at the glory of that full perfection which they want, a.5 that their present grace seemeth nothing to them ; like a candle to one that hath been gazing on the sun. And some look so much at the debauchery of the worst, that they think their lesser wickedness to be holiness. — Baxter, 1615-1691. (319.) It concerns all who think it worth while to be in earnest with their immortal souls not to abuse themselves with a false confidence ; a thing so ejtsily taken up, isid so hardly laid down. —South, 1633-1716. ASSURANCE. ( 47 ) ASSURANCE. 2. Sem^^iber that It is reasonable only In tbe regrenertite. (320.) "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus, who, according to His abundant mercy, hath oegotten us again to a lively hope." The new birth entitles to the new hope ; if the soul be dead, the hope cannot be alive. And the soul may be dead, and yet put into a very handsome dress of external reformation and profession, as well as a dead body may be clad with rich clothes. A beggar's son got into the clothes cf a rich man's chikl, may as well hope tD be heir to the rich man's land, as thou, by an external reformation and profession, to be God's heir in glory. — Gurmill, 161 7-1679. 8. Remember that It Is attained gradually. (321.) True faith is at first nothing, but an embryo, it is minute and sioall ; it is full of doubtings, temptations, and f.'^ais : it begins in weakness. It is like the smoking flax (Matt. xii. 20). It smokes with desires, but coth not flame with com- fort ; it is at first so small that it is scarce discern- ible. Such as, at the first dash, have a strong per- suasion that Christ is theirs, who leap out of sin into assurance, their faith is false and spurious : that faith, which is come to its full stature on its birth- day, is a monster. The seed that sprang up sud- denly withered (Matt. xiii. 5). — Wutson^ 1696. 4. Remember that it is frequently not attained till late in life. (322 ^ Have you never, in a summer morning, seen the sun come nimbly up only to make battle with the clouds? It is obscured when it first rises ; but by ten o'clock it is seen again. By eleven o'clock it is obscured once more. Through all the forenoon it is stormy and cloudy by turns. All the afternoon there are dense vaporous clouds which shroud the sun's glory. And yet, as he draws near to the horizon the clouds lift, and with full-orbed majesty he descends into the open space, and looks back across the whole earth ; and he is never so radiant as just before he sets. Having triumphed over the day, having come out victorious over the storm, he goes down in wondrous beauty. So have I seen men and women go through sorrows and conflicts, through storms and suffering, during their mortal life, with here and there an experience of joy, till they came to their last years, when God said to them, "Stand a little while, my child, and shine ; " and they stood, luminous, to teach men how real is the transformation of the soul, by love, into the likeness of God ; and how beautiful was holiness as exemplified by them ! — Beechtr, 6. Remember that some men, eminent for holi- ness and usefulness, have had painful doubts as to their acceptance with God. (323.) The characteristic mark of early Christian experience was its certainty and overflowing joy. It was transcendent in its conviction of certainty ; and nowhere can we find, in the personal expe- riences that are recorded or hinted at in the Nev/ Testament, wavering or doubt. My veneral)le father after he came to Brooklyn, having been more than half a century a preacher and leader of souls, as simple-hearted a man and as honest as ever drew bceath, — a thoroughly manly man, — after he was laid ^de from preachirm, said to his daughter one day, " I have been attempting to ascertain the grounds of my hope ; and I have tried to deal with myself just as I would with an inquiring soul that thought it had a hope, and I have spent two days, and I have thoroughly looked at everything, and I have come to the conclusiijn that I have a right to the hope that I am a Chris- tian." Suppose George Washington, in his Jait sick- ness, had whispered to his doctor, " I have been looking over my whole career to know \\hether I have a right to call myself a patriot, to ascertain whether I have really loved my country ; and in this review of my career I have come to the con- clusion, with great caution, that, on the whole, I may think that I am patriotic in my spirit," what would be thought of it ? More than that, suppose a child that had been reared in the household, revering father and mother, coming to the age of thirty or forty years, through sorrow, through sickness, through joy, through light, through darkness, friended all the way by the parental presence, should sit down and write in his or her journal, " I have been greatly dis- turbed lest I should be deceived in regard to my feelings toward niy father and my mother ; I have made it a subject of calm investigation and review ; and I have been led, at last, by the Divine Spirit to the conclusion that I may believe that I do love my father and my mother." What would any one think of the solemnity with which a child came to such a simple statement as that ? — Beecher. VII. HOW IT IS TO BE ATTAINED. 1. By the exercise of faith In God's promises to Tjardon the penitent. (324.) First, exercise faith on forgiveness in God ; and when the soul is fixed therein, it will have a ground and foundation whereon it may stand securely in making application of it to itself. Drive this principle, in the first place, unto a stable issue upon Gospel evidence, answer the objections that lie against it, and then you may proceed. In believing the soul makes a conquest upon Satan's territories. Do, then, as they do who are entering on an enemy's country, — secure the passages, fortify the strongholds as you go on, that you be not cut off in your progress. Be not as a ship at sea, which passes on, and is no more possessed or master cA the water it has gone through, than of that where- unto it is not yet arrived. But so it is with a soul that fixes not on these foundation principles : he presses forwards, and the ground crumbles away under his feet, and so he wilders away all his days in uncertainties. Would men but lay this principle well in their souls, and secure it against assaults, they might proceed, though not with so much speed as some do, yet with more safety. Some pretend at once to fall into full assurance ; I wish it prove not a broad presumption in the most. It is to no purpose for him to strive to fly who cannot yet go, — to labour to come to assurance in himself who never well believed forgiveness in God. — Owen, i6i6-i£83. a. By keeping grace in action. (325.) Grace is never apparent and sensible ta the soul, but while it is in action ; therefore want of action must needs cause want of assurance. Habits are not felt immediately, but by the free- ASSURANCE. C 48 ) ASSURANCE. ness and facility of their acts : of the very being of the soul itself, nothing is felt or perceived, but only its acts. The fire that lieth still in the flint is neither seen nor felt, but when you smite it, and force it into action, it is easily discerned. The greatest •action dcth force the greatest observation, whereas the dead and inactive are not remembered or talcen notice of. Those that have long lain still in their graves are out of men's thoughts as well as their .eight, but those that walk the streets, and bear rule among them, are noted by all : it is so with our graces. That you have a habit of love or faith, you can no otherwise know but as a consequence by reasoning ; but that you have acts, you may know by feeling. If you see a man lie still in the way, what will you do to know whether he be drunk, or in a swoon, or dead? Will you not stir him, or speak to him, to see whether he can go ; or feel his pulse, or observe his breath, knowing that where there is life there is some kind of motbn ? I earnestly beseech thee, Christian, ob- serve and practise this excellent rule : thou now knowest not whether thou have repentance, or faith, or love, or joy ; why, be more in the acting of these, and thou wilt easily know it. Draw forth an object for godly sorrow, or faith, or love, or joy, and lay thy heart flat unto it, and take pains to provoke it into suitable action, and then see whether thou have these graces or not. As Dr. Sibbes observeth, " There is sometimes grief for sin in us when we think there is none." It wants but stirring up by some quickening word ; the like he saith of love, and it may be said of every other grace. You may go seeking for the hare or part- ridge many hours, and never find them while they lie close and stir not ; but when once the hare be- takes himself to his legs, and the bird to her wings, then you see them presently. So long as a Chris- tian hath his graces in lively action, so long, for the most part, he is assured of them. How can you doubt whether you love God in the act of loving, or whether you believe in the very act of believing ! If, therefore, you would be assured whether this sacred fire be kindled in your hearts, blow it up ; get it into a flame, and then you will know ; believe till you feel that you do believe, and love till you feel that you love. The acting of the soul upon such excellent ob- jects doth naturally bring consolation with it. The very act of loving God in Christ, doth bring inexpressible sweetness with it into the soul. The soul that is best furnished with grace, when it is not in action, is like a lute well stringed and tuned, which while it lieth still doth make no more music than a common piece of wood ; but when it is taken up and handled by a skilful lutist, the melody is most delightful. " Some degree of comfort," saith that comfortable doctor, " follows every good action, as heat accompanies fire, and as beams and influence issue from the sun ; " which is so true, tliat very heathens upon the discharge of a good ronscience have found comfort and peace answer- ilile : this \s prcsnnictji ante priE?iiium, a reward be- fore the reward. As a man, therefore, that is cold, should not stand still and say, " I am so cold that I have no mind to labour," but labour till his coldness be gone, and heat excited ; so he that wants assurance of the tiuth of his grace, and the comfort of assur- ance, m St not stand still and say, " I am so doubt- lul and unenmfortable that I have no mind to duty," but ply his duty, and exercise his graces till he find his doubts and discomforts to vanish. — Baxter, 1615-1691. 3. By conference with experienced CliTistlans. (326.) If you cannot see the sincerity of youf hearts, go to your faithful, able guides, and open the case to them, and let not passion prevail against the Scripture and reason which they bring. Yea, if in your trouble you cannot by all their helps perceive the uprightness of your hearts, I must tell you, you may stay yourselves much upon their judgment of your state. Though it cannot give you full assurance, it may justly help to silence much of your self-accusations, and give you the comfort of probability. If a physician that feels not what you feel, shall yet, upon your speeches and other evidences, tell you that he is confident your disease is not mortal, nor containeth any cause of fear, you may rationally be much encouraged by his judgment, though it give you no certainty of life. As wicked men through contempt, so many godly people through melancholy, do lose much of the fruit of the office of the ministry, which lieth much in this assisting men to judge of the life or death of their souls. " Alas ! " say they, " he feels not what I feel : he useth to judge charitably, and he knoweth not me so well as I know myself." But when you have told him faithfully, as you do your physician, what it is that you know by your- self, he is able to pass a far sounder judgment of your life or death than yourselves can do, for all your feeling : for he knovi's better what those symp- toms signify, and what is used to be the issue of such a case as yours. Be not, then, so proud or wilful as to refuse the judgment of your faithful pastors, about the state of your souls, in a confi- dence on your own. — Baxter, 1615-1691. VI 11. REASONS FOR CHERISHING IT. 1. Holiness In tlie life. (327.) Both faith and hope are of a cleansing nature (Acts xv. 9 ; i John iii. 3). The devil ij an unclean spirit ; he fouls wheresoever he comes ; and all sin is nasty and beastly. Faith and hope, like as neat housewives when they come into a foul and sluttish house, cleanse all the rooms of the soul, and make it a fit habitation for the spirit of God. Are our hearts lifted up, then, in a comfort- able expectation of the performance of God's merci- ful promises ? And are they, together with our lives, swept and cleansed from the wonted cornip- tions of our nature, and pollutions of our sin ? This is an undoubted evidence oi our calling and elec- tion. — Hall, 1 574-1656. (328.) \^^lerever God pardons sin. He subdues it (Micah vii. 19). Then is the condemning power of sin taken away, when the commanding power of it is taken away. If a malefactor be in prison, how shall he know that his prince hath pardoned him ? If a jailer come and knock off his chains and fetters, and lets him out of prison, then he may know he is pardoned : so, how shall we k> ow God hath pardoned us ? If the fetters of sin be broken off, and we walk at liberty in the ways of Gcd (Ps. cxix. 45), this is a blessed sign we are par- doned. — iVatson, 1696. ASSURANCE. ( 49 ) ASSURANCE. 2. A sense of th'; burdensomeness of sin. (329.) In the drawing up of water out of a deep well, as long as the bucket is under water we feel not the weight of it, but so soon as it cometh above water it beginneth to hang heavy on the hand. When a man diveth under water he feeleth no weight of the water, though there be many tons of it over his head ; whereas half a tubful of the same water, taken out of the river and set upon the same man's head, would be very burdensome unto him, and make him soon grow weary of it. In like manner, so long as a man is over head and ears in sin, he is not sensible of the weight of sin, it is not troublesome unto him ; but when he beginneth once to come out of that state of sin wherein he lay and lived before, then beginneth sin to hang heavy on him, and he to feel the heavj' weight of it. So, so iong aS sin is in the will, the proper seat of sin, a man feeleth no weight of it, but, like a fool, it is a sport and pastime unto him to do evil. And it is therefore a good sign that sin is removed out of his seat, out of his chair of state, when it becomes ponderous and burdensome to us, as the elements do when they are out of their natural place. — Spencer, 1656. 3. Every evidence of spiritual Ufa, however nnall. (330.) A spark of fire is but little, yet it is fire as well as the whole element of fire ; and a drop of ■Jvater, it is water as well as the whole ocean. When a man is in a dark place,— put the case it be in a dungeon, — if he have a little light shining in to him from a little crevice, that little light dis- covers that the day is broke, that the sun is risen. Put the case, there be but one grape on a vine, it shows that it is a vine, and that the vine is not dead. So, put the case, there be but the appear- «»nce-of but a little grace in a Christian, perhaps the Spirit of God appears but in one grace in him at that time, yet that one grace shows that we are vines, and not thistles, or thorns, or other base plants, and it shows that there is life in the root. — Sibbes, 1 57 7-1 63 5. (331.) There is the same reason of the natural life and the spiritual. Life where it is, is discerned by breathing, sense, motion. Where there is the breath of life, there must be a life that sends it forth. If, then, the soul breathes forth holy desires, doubtless there is a life whence they proceed. Sense is a quick descrier of life : pinch or wound n dead man, he feels nothing ; but the living per- ceiveth the easiest touch. When thou hast heard the fearful judgments of God denounced against sinners, and laid home to the conscience, hast thou rot found thy heart pierced with them ? hast thou not shrunk inward, and secretly thought, " How shall I decline this dreadful damnation?" When thou hast heard the sweet mercies of God laid forth to penitent sinners, hath not thy heart silently said, " Oh, that I h.ad my share in them ! " When thou hast heard the name of Christ blasphemed, hast tnou not felt a secret horror in thy bosom? All these argue a true spiritual life within thee. Motion is the most perfect discoverer of life. He that can stir his limDs, is surely not dead. The feet ()' the soul are the affections. Hast thou not found iu in) self a \ ite and detestation of that sin wheie- into thou hast been miscarried ? Hast thou not found in thyself a true grief of heart, for thy wretched indisposition to all good things? Without a true life of grace, these things could never have been. Are not thine eyes and hands many times lifted up, in an imploration of mercy ? Canst thou deny, that thou hast a true, though but weak, appetite to the means, and further degrees of grace? What can this be, but that hunger and thirst after righteous- ness, to which our Saviour hath pronounced blessed- ness? —Hall, 1574-1656. (332.) When we behold primroses and violets fairly to flourish, we conclude the dead of winter is past, though as yet no roses or July flowers appear, which long after lie hid in their leaves or lurk in their roots, but in due time will discover them- selves. Thus, if some small buddings of grace do but appear in the soul, it is an argument of far greater growth ; if some signs be but above giound in sight, others are under ground in the heart ; and though the former started first, the other will follow in order : it being plain that such a man is passed from death unto life, by this hopeful and happy spring of some signs in the heart, —T. Fuller, 160S-1661. (333-) Tt is not the degree of grace absolutely in itself considered, wherein sincerity doth consist, nor which we must inquire after in trial, but it is the degree in a comparative sense ; as when we compare God and the creature, and consider which we desire, love, fear, &c., more ; and, therefore, here it is far easier to try by the degree. You know that gold is not current except it be weight as well as pure metal. Now, if you put your gold in one end of the scale, and nothing in the other, you cannot judge whether it be weight or not ; but if you put the weights against it, then you may discern it. If it be downright weight, you may discern it without either difficulty or doubt. If it be but a grain over- weight, you may yet discern it ; though it is possible it may be so little that the scales will scarcely turn, and then you will not discern so easily which is the heavier end. But if it want much, then you will as easily on the other side discern the defectiveness. So thus here. If God had said absolutely, " So much love you must have to me, or you cannot be saved," then it were hard to know when we reach the degree. But you must, as I said, put Christ and heaven in one end, and all things below in the other, and then you may well find out the sincerity in the degree. Every grain that Christ hath more than the creature is sincere and saving. — Baxter, 16 15- 1 691. (334.) It may be, some weak believer may be saying, "Some of these marks I know to my experience ; but others are dark to uie, therefore, 1 doubt of all." To which we reply, if, indeed, you have one saving solid mark, and can really close with it, it may satisfy you, though you be in the dark in others. If a child cannot go, yet if it can suck ; if it cannot suck, yet if it can cry ; if it can- not cry, yet if it can breathe, it is a mark of life : so, there may be breathings in the soul, that are evidential of life and faith, when other things are hid. Oh, try yourselves, and look to God to search and try you 1 it is by His judgment you stand o» lalL — Erskine, 1680- 1754. I> ASSURANCE' ( SO ) ASSURANCE. IX. HINDRANCES TO ITS ATTAINMENT. 1. The weakness of our spiritual graces. (335.) One common and great cause of doubting and uncertainty is the weakness and small measure of our grace. A little grace is next to none : small things are hardly discerned. He that will see a small needle, a hair, a mote, or atom, must have clear light and good eyes ; but houses, and towns, and mountains are easily discerned. Most Chris- tians content themselves with a small measure of grace, and do not follow on to spiritual strength and manhood. They believe so weakly, and love God so little, that they can scarce find whether they believe and love at all ; like a man in a swoon, whose pulse and breathing is so weak and obscuie that it can hardly be perceived whether they move at all, and, consequently, whether the man be alive or dead. The chief remedy for such would be to follow on their duty, till their graces be increased. Ply your work ; wait upon God in the use of His prescribed means, and He will undoubtedly bless you with increase and strength. Oh ! that Chris- tians would bestow most of that time in getting grace which they bestow in anxious doubtings, whether they have any or none ; and that they would lay out those serious affections in praying, and seeking to Christ for more grace, which rhey bestow in fruitless complaints of their supposed gracelessness ! I beseech thee. Christian, take this advice as from God ; and then, when thou believest strongly, and lovest fervently, thou canst not doubt whether thou do believe and love or not, any more than a man that is burning hot can doubt whether he be warm ; or a man that is strong and lusty can doubt whether he be alive. Strong affections will make you feel them. Who loveth his friends, or wife, or child, or anything strongly, and doth not know it? A great measure of grace is seldom doubted of; or, if it be, you may quickly find when you seek and try. — Baxter, 1615-1691. 2. Worldly lusts. (336.) If you cherish yonr sensual, fleshly lusts, and set your heart too eagerly on the world, or de- fend your unpeaceableness and passion, or neglect your own duty to God or man, and make no con- science of a true reformation, it is not any inquiries after signs of grace that will help you to assurance. You may complain long enough before you have ease, while such a thorn is in your foot. — Baxter, 1 61 5- 1 69 1. 8. Distracting thoughts. (337.) The heart is most confused, as well as dark and deceitful ; it is like a house, or shop of tools, where all things are thrown together on a heap, and nothing keeps its own place. Tliere are Buch multiplicity of cogitations, fancies, and passions, and such irregular thronging in of them, and such a confused reception, and operation of objects and conceptions, that it is a wonderful difficult thing for the best Christian to discern clearly the bent and actions, and so the state of his own soul. For in such a crowd of cogitations and passions, we are like men in a fair or crowd of people, where a con- fused noise may be heard, but you cannot well per- ceive what any of them say, except either some one near you that speaks much louder than all the rest, c else except you single out some one from the rest, and go close to him to con fer with him of purpose. Our intellect and passions are like the lakes ol watei in the common roads, where the frequent passage ol horses doth so muddy it that you can see nt. thing in it, especially that is near the bottom ; when \n pure, untroubled waters you may see a small thing. In such a confusion and tumult as is usually in men's souls, for a poor weak Christian to seek for the dis- coveiy of his sincerity, is, according to the proveib- to seek for a needle in a bottle of haj. — Baxter, 1615-1691. 4. Forgetfulness of the true object of faith. (338.) Assurance is often hindered by the m'mt being improperly directed to faith (as if it wore a kind of abstract principle), rather than to the t.uth, or the object of faith ; to the acts of their mind, in- stead of the truth of God. To such we would simply say, "Look unto Jesus." A man who hears good news and believes it, knows and can tell whence his joy arises. If addressed to him, and containing what is adapted to his circumstances, it fills him with gladness. Tliis gladness does not arise from any reflection on the exercises of his mind in be- lieving it, but from the thing itsel/hcWtv^d. It were well for our peace if we looked more to the thing testified, than in what manner we have believed the tidings. — Salter, 184O. 6. A melancholy temperament. (339-) A melancholy person can think of nothing with confidence and comfort ; there is nothing but trouble, confusion, fears, and despair in his appre- hension. He still seems to himself undone and hope- less. A person naturally timorous cannot choose but fear, if you show him the clearest reasons of assur- ance. These are like pain in sickness, which faith and reason will not cure, but should help us to strive against and bear. God will not impute our diseased misery to us as our damning sin. It is one thing to have grace, and another thing to know that we have it ; many have it, who doubt whether it be sincere. And it is an unspeakable mercy to have it, though you doubt of it. God knoweth His grace in us, and will own it, when we doubt of it or deny it. As long as this foundation of God is sure, that God knoweth who are His, and while we name Christ, we depart from iniquity, we are safe, though through fear we are uncomfortable. — Baxter, 1615-1691. X. EVEN WHEN IT IS ATTAINED, IT IS INTERMITTENT, AND NOT ALWAYS CLEAR AND JOYFUL. (340.) It is often day when the sun doth rot shine, and though thick clouds breathed from the air, make a sad face of the sky, as if it were night, yet we cannot say, the sun is gone down. Th^s is the condition of many men in a state of nature ; in the state of salvation the sun is with them ; they are children of the day, yet have they no joy of their salvation, their sun doth not shine, they have no clear day. Hence it is that assurance of salvation will not content the soul, except it may have the joy of salvation also. This was that which made David cry out, ** Restore unto me the joy of 1 hy salva- tioD." — Lake, 1626. (341.) Look upon a coal covered with ashes; there is nothing appearing in the heap but only dead ashes ; there is neither light, nor smoke, nor heat ; ASSURANCE. ( 51 ) ASSURANCE. and yet, when those embers are stirred to the bot- tom, ihere are found some living gleams which do contain fire, and are apt to propagate it. Many a Christian breast is like this hearth, no life of grace appearing there for the time, either to his own sense or the apprehension of others. Whilst the season of teinplalion lasteth, all seems cold and dead ; yet still, at the worst, there is a secret coal from the al'.ar of heaven raked up in their bosom, which, upon the gracious motions of the Almighty, doth both bi.-wray some remainders of that Divine fire and is easily raised to a perfect flame. Let no man, there- foie, deject himself or censure others for the utter CKlinction of that spirit, which doth but hide itself in the soul for a glorious advantage. — Hall, 1574-1656. (342.) Discomfort not thyself too much, my son, ■with the present disappearance of grace, during the hour of thy temptation. It is no otherwise with thee, than with a tree in winter season, whose sap is run down to the root ; wherein there is no more to show of the life of vegetation by any buds of blossoms that it might put forth, than if it were stark dead : yet, when the sun returns, and sends forth his com- fortable beams in the spring, it burgeons out ai'rcsh ; and bewrays that vital juice, which lay long hidden in the earth. No otherwise, than with the hearth of some good housewife, which is, towards night, swept up ; and hideth the fire, under the heap of her ashes : a stranger would think it were quite out : there is no appearance of light, or heat, or smoke ; but, by that time she hath stirred it up a little, the bright gleeds show themselves, and are soon raised to a flame Stay but till the spring, when the Sun of Righteousness shall call up thy moisture into thy branches ; stay but till the morning, when the fire of grace which was raked up in the ashes shall be drawn forth and quickened ; and thou shalt find cause to say of thy heart, as Jacob said of his hard lodging, "Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not" (Gen. xxviii. 16). Only do thou, not neglecting the means, wait patiently upon God's leisure : stay quietly upon the bank of this Bethesda, till the angel descend and move the water. — Hall, 1574-1656. (343.) Temptation time is a dark time. When a man cannot see his own hand, though he lift it up before his eyes, then he is in the dark indeed. Now, possibly a good man may be in such a temj:'_atio", that he shall not be able to see the lifling-up of his own hand in prayer, saying, "I go to prayer, but I cannot pray at all ; and that which I do perform, it is no duty." Sometimes it is so with him, that he can*ot read his own graces nor see them. Though tl>e fish lie playing upon the water, and you may see them in a fair sunshine ; yet in a storm or night ye see them not, though they be in the pond or river still. So here, though when the light of God's countenance doth shine upon the soul, he is then able to see and read his own graces ; yet if it be a storm, or the night of temptation, he cannot see them Why ? Not because they are not in his heart and life as before, but because he is in the dark. — Bridge, 1600- 1 670. (344.) True believers have seasons of un fruit ful- ness, in which they bring forth no good works, devout thoughts, or holy aspirations. They are then like the trees in winter, which are mdeed destitute of leaves, but are not destitute of sap and life, and hence, when sprvc^ returns, bud and blossom, and bear afresh. The ungodly, however, resemble withered trees, which at all seasons alike are without either sap, or life, or fruit, and conse- quently are fit for nothing but the f.ce — Scj-her, 1 629- 1 693. (345.) Take heed that thou dost not mistake and think thy grace decays, when, may be, 'tis only thy temptations increase, and not thy grace decreases. If you should hear a man say, because he cannot to-day run so fast, when an hundredweight is on his back, as he could yesterday without any such a burthen, that therefore he was grown weaker, you would soon tell hiui where his mistake lies. — Sailer, 184O, (346.) " What is the matter with the light, that you look so dismally dim this evening?" said the Wheelbarrow to the Lamp in the street. "The light is the same as ever in its own nature," replied the Lamp, "but its present ap- pearance is owing to what surrounds it in the atmosphere. When the air is free from smoke and mist, the light looks clear and bright ; but when fog arises as now, the brightest Lamp will look dim, and shed but a feeble light." " There is hardly enough to see one's way along now, truly," said the Barrow. Inbred corruptions sometimes arise in the be- liever's heart like mists from the earth, which cloud his evidences, distress his soul, and cause him to walk in darkness, having no light (Isa. 1. lo), — Bowden. XI. WHEN ONCE VOUCHSAFED, IT JS NOT TO BE LIGHTLY SURRENDERED. (347.) Be careful to keep thy old receipts which thou hast had from God for the pardon of thy sins. There are some gaudy days, and Jubilee-like festi- vals, when God comes forth clothed with the robes of His mercy, and holdiv forth the sceptre of His grace more familiarly to His children than ordi- nary, bearing witness to their faith, sincerity, &c. And then the firmament iiv clear, not a cloud to be seen to darken the Christiav^'s comfort. Love and joy are the soul's repast and pastime, while this feast lasts. Now when God withdraws, and this cheer is taken ofl", Satan's wo.'k is how he may de- face and wear off the remembrance of this testi- mony, whicli the soul so lriump.h;s jn for its spiritual standing, that he may not have it as an evidence when he shall bring about the suit again, and put the soul to produce his writings for his spiritual state, or renounce his claim. It behoves thee, therefore, to lay them up safely : si'ch a testimony may serve to non-suit thy accuser many years hence. One affirmative from God's mouth for thy pardoned state, carries more weight (though of old date) than a thousand negatives from Satan's. — Gurnall, i6.'7- 1679. (348.) Judge not of so great a thing by sudden apprehensions, or the surprise of a temptadon, when you have not leisure to look up all the evi- dences of faith, and lay them together, and uke a full, deliberate view of all the cause. It is a mystery so great as requireth a clear and vacant mind, delivered from prejudice, abstracted frona diverting and deceiving things; which, upon the best a.ssistance and with the greatest diligence, must lay aliogeiher to discern the truth. And, if upon the best assistance and consideration, you have ASSURANCE. ( 5» ) ATHEISM. been convinced of the truth, and then will let every sudden thought, or temptation, or difficulty seem enough to question all again, this is unfaith- fulness to the truth, and the way to resist the clearest evidences, and never to have done. It is like as if you should answer your adversary in the court, when your witnesses are all dismissed, or out of the way. and all your evidences are absent, and perhaps youi counsellor and advocate too. It is like the casting up of a long and intricate account, which a man hath finished by study and time ; and when he hath done all, one questioneth this par- ticular, and another that, when his accounts are absent : it is not fit for him to answer all particu- lars, nor question his own accounts, till he have as full opportunity and help to cast up all again. — Baxter, 1615-1691. XII. HO IV IT MAY BE STRENGTHENED. (349.) Be much in the exercise of your hope. Repeated acts strengthen habits. Thus the little waddling child comes to go strongly by going often. — Gurnall, 1617-1679. (350.) Resort to God daily, and beg a stronger hope of Him. That is the way the Apostle took to help the saints at Rome to more of this precious grace. " Now the God of h^pe fill you with all joy and peace in believing, tnat ye may abound in hope, through the power of the Holy Ghost." God you see is the God of hope ; and not only of the first seed and habit, but of the whole increment, and abounding of it in us also. He doth not give a saint the first grace of conversion, and then leave the improvement of it wholly to his skill and care ; as sometimes a child hath a stock at first to set up, and never hath more help from his father, but by his own good husbandry advanceth his little be- ginnings into a great estate at last. But rather as the corn in the field, thai needs the influences of heaven to flower and ripen it for harvest, as much as to quicken it in the clods when first thrown in. And therefore be sure thou humbly acknowledgest God by a constant waiting on Him for growth. — Gurnall, 1617-1679, XIII. IT IS NOT TO BE ABUSED. (351.) If you have assurance of your justification, do not abuse assurance. 1. It is an abusing of assurance, when we grow more remiss in duty ; as the musician, having money thrown him, leaves off" playing. By remiss- ness, or intermitting the exercises of religion, we grieve the Spirit, and that is the way to have an embargo laid upon our spiritual comforts. 2. We abuse assurance, when we grow pre- sumptuous and less fearful of sin. What, because a father gives liis sdh an assurance of his love, and tells him he will entail his land upon him, shall the son therefore be wanton and dissolute. This were the way to lose his father's affection, and make him cut off' the entail ; it was an aggravation of Solomon's sin, " his heart was turned avsay from the Lord, after He had appeared to him twice." It is bad to sin when one wants assurance, but it is worse to sin when one hath it. Hath the Lord sealed His love willi a kiss? Hath He left a pledge of heaven in your hands, and do you thus requite the Lord? Will you sm with manna in your mouth ? Dolh God give you the sweet clusters of assurance to feed on, 3Jid will you return Him wild grapes? It much pleaseth Satan, either to see us want assurance, or abuse it ; this is to abuse assurance, when the pulse of our souls beats lastei in sin, and slower in duty. — IVaison, 1696. XIV. FOR WHAT END IT IS BESTOWED. « (352.) Assurance and comforts are desirable, but fruitfulness is absolutely necessary. If we do not diligently and faithfully mind our duty in the lati- tude of it, and apply not ourselves wholly to the work the Lord has set us to do, we shall be found unfruitful. And then what place, what ground will there be for comfort or assurance? What claim can we lay to the privileges we are so much taken with? The end why the Lord offers us comfort and assurance of His love, is to make us cheerful in His service, and to encourage us in His work, and en- gage our hearts in it thoroughly. Now, if we mind the means more than the end, we act irregularly and irrationally. What will you think of a servant who minds his refreshments more than his work? Who takes more care and spends more time about his meals than in his labour and employment? Will you think him a profitable servant, or expect much fruit of his labour ? You are too like such servants when you are eager for comforts and spiritual refresh- ments, but less active for God in a way of service- ableness, and more backward to do or suffer what He calls you to. This is *■> be more for yourselves than for Him ; and while you are so disposed, He is not like to find much fruit on you. — Clar/ison, 1622-1687, ATHEISM. I. ITS ABSURDITY EVINCED. 1. By the existence of the universe. (353-) If ^ '"^n should go into a far country, and see stately edifices there, he would never imagine that these could build themselves, but that some greater power built them. To imagine that the work of the creation was not framed by God, is as if we should conceive a curious landscape to be drawn by a pencil without the hand of a limner. — IVatson, 1696. (354.) I appeal to any man of reason, whether anything can be more unreasonable than obstinately to impute to chance an effect which carries, in the very face of it, all the arguments and characters of a wise design and contrivance? Was ever any con- siderable work, in which there was required a great variety of parts, and a regular and orderly disposi- tion of those parts, done by chance ? Will chance fit means to ends, and that in ten thousand instances, and not fail in any one ? How often might a man, after he had jumbled a set of letters in a hag, fling them out on the ground before they would fall into an exact poem ; yea, or so much as to make a good discourse in prose? And may not a little book be as easily made by chance, as this great volume of the world ? How long might a man be in sprink- ling colours upon canvas with a careless hand, belore they would happen to make the exact picture ot a man ? And is a man easier made by chance thao his picture ? How long might twenty thousand ATHEISM. ( 53 ) ATHEISM. blind men, who should be sent out from the most remote parts of England, wander up and down before they would all meet upon Salisbury plains, and fall into rank and file in the order of an army ? And yet this is much more easy to be imagined, than how the innumerable blind parts of matter should rendezvous themselves into a world. A man that sees Henry the Seventh's Chapel at Westmin- ster, might with as good reason maintain (yea, with much better, considering the vast difference between that little structure and the huge fabric of the world), that it was never contrived or built by any man, but that the stones did by chance grow into those curious figures into which they seem to have been cut and graven ; and that upon a time (as tales usually begin), the materials of that building, the stone, mortar, timber, iron, lead and glass, happily met together, and very fortunately ranged them- selves into that delicate order, in which we see them now so closely compacted that it must be a very great chance that parts them again. What would the world think of a man that should advance such an opinion as this, and write a book for it ? If they would do him right, they ought to look upon him as mad ; but yet with a little more reason than any man can have to say that the world was made by chance. — Tillotson, 1630-1694. (355-) As when a man comes into a palace, built according to the exactest rule of art, and with an unexceptionable-conveniency for the inhabitants, he would acknowledge both the being and skill of the builder ; so whosoever shall observe the disposition of all the parts of the world, their connection, come- liness, the variety of seasons, the swarms of different creatures, and the mutual ofitices they render to one another, cannot conclude less, than it was contrived by an infinite skill, effected by infinite power, and governed by infinite wisd'^m. None can imagine a ship to be orderly conducted without a pilot; nor the parts of the world to perform their several functions without a wise guide ; considering the members of the body cannot perform theirs, without the active presence of the soul. The atheist, then, is a fool to deny that which every creature in his constitution asserts, and thereby renders himself unable to give a satisfactory account of that constant uniforniity in the motions of the creatures. — Charnock, 1628-1680. (356.) We are told, that there was an innumerable company of little bodies, called atoms, from all eternity, flying and roving about in a void space, which at length hitched together and united ; by which union they grew at length into this beautiful, curious, and most exact structure of the universe. A conceit fitter for bedlam than an academy ; and taken up, as it were, in direct opposition to common sense and experience. For, let any one take a vessel full of dust, and shake it from one end of the year to the other, and see whether ever it will fall into the figure of a horse, an eagle, or a fish ; or let any one shake ten thousand letters together, till by some lucky shape they fall at length into an elegant poem or oration. That chance and blind accident, the usual parent of confusion and all deformity in men's actions, should yet in this out-do the greatest art and diligence in the production of such admir- able, stupendous effects, is contrary to all the rules *bat human nature has beer, hitherto accustomed to judge bj ; and fit for none to assert but for ijira who, with his God, has also renounced his rea« son. — South, 1 633-1 7 1 6. (357-) That the universe was formed by a fortui- tous concourse of atoms, I will no more believe than that the accidental jumbling of the alphabet would fall into a most ingenious treatise of philo- sophy. — Swiji. (358.) We will suppose that one who had never seen a watch, or anything of that sort, hath now this little engine first offered to his view ; can we doubt but he would, upon the mere sight of its figure, structure, and the very curious workmanship which we will suppose appearing in it, presently acknow- ledge the artificer's hand. But if he were also made to understand the purpose which it serves, and it were distinctly shown him how all things in this little fabric concur to this purpose — the exact mea- suring of time — he would certainly both confess and praise the great ingenuity of the first inventor. But now, if a bystander, beholding him in this admira- tion, would undertake to show a profounder reach and strain of wit, and should say, — Sir, you are mis- taken concerning the composition of this much- admired piece, it was not designed by the hand or skill of any one, there were only an innumerable company of little atoms, or very small bodies, much too small to be perceived by your sense, that were busily frisking and flying to and fro about the place of its nativity ; and by a strange cha7icf (or a stranger fate, and the necessary laws of that motion which they were unavoidably put into, by a certain bois- terous undesigning weaver), they fell together into this small bulk, so as to compose it into this shape and figure, and with this same number and order of parts which you now behold, one squadron of these busy particles (little thinking what they were about) agreeing to make up one wheel, and another some other, and so on in that proportion which you now see, — all conspiring to fall together each in its own place, as that the regular motion failed not to ensue, which we now see is observed in it, — what man is there, either so wise or so foolish (for it is hard to determine whether the excess or the defect should best qualify him to be of this faith) as to be capable of believing this piece of natural history ? And if one should give this account of the production of such a trifle, would he not be thought in jest ? And should he persist in repeating the statement, would he not be thought, in good earnest, mad ? Let but any sober reason judge then, whether we have not unspeakably more manifest madness to contend against, in such as suppose this world, and the bodies of living creatures, to have fallen into this frame and orderly disposition of parts wherein they are, without the direction of a wise and designing cause ? And if the concourse of atoms could make this world, why not (as Tully says) a porch, or a temple, or a house, or a city, whi(?h were less operose and much more easy performances ? — Irving. (359') Should you see a fine ship, well built, handsomely rigged, and completely equipped for a voyage, could you believe that she built herself? or that she was built by chance ? or that she sprung like a bubble out of the sea? Would you not feel as certain that she was the work of some builder, as if you had stood by and seen him shape every timber, and drive every bolt ? And can you, then, be made to believe that this great ship, the world, built itself? or that it was built by chance ? or that it sprung out of nothing without any cause ? ATHEISM. I 54 ) A THEISM. S. By the constitution of the human body. (360.) When we examine a watch, or any other piece of machinery, we instantly perceive marks of design. The arrangement of its several parts, and the adaptation of its movements to one result, show it to be a contrivance ; nor do we ever imagine the faculty of contriving to be in the watch itself, but in a separate agent. If we turn from art to nature, we behold a vast magazine oi contrivances ; we see innuirerable objects replete with the most exquisite desigii. The human eye, for example, is formed with admirable skill for the purpose of sight, the ear for the function of hearing. As in the productions of art we never think of ascribing the power of contri- vance to the machine itself, so we are certain the skill displayed in the human structure is not a pro- perty of man, since he is very imperfectly acquainted with his own formation. If there be an inseparable relation betwixt the ideas of a contrivance and con- triver— and it is evident, in regard to the human structure, the designing agent is not man himself— there must undeniably be some separate invisible being who is his former. This great being we mean to indicate by the appellation of Deity. - Robert Hall, 1764-1S31. 8. By the character of God's works. I (361.) A connoisseur in works of art, so soon as the dust of years has been wiped from an old picture, can name the master who painted the glowing can- vas. So also, though time has left no record of their history, and no date stands carved on the cnimbling ruins, an antiquarian can tell from its form when that arch was sprung ; from their capi- tals, by what hands, long mouldering in the dust, these grand, impressive, silent pillars, were reared on their massive pedestals. The works of all great men, and those of all great ages, are marked by pro- perties peculiar to themselves. And features entirely their own are eminently characteristic of all the works of God ; so characteristic of these that the untutored Arab when challenged to prove in God the existence of a being whom he had never touched, nor heard, nor seen, regarded the scoffer with amazement ; nor deigned to return any answer to his gibes, but one borrowed from the scenes of his native desert : "Just ?s I know," he replied, in terms worth a volume Of divinity, "Just as 1 know," pointing to a footprint on the sand, "whether it was a man or a camel that passed my tent." So distinguished by a Divine wisdom, power, and goodness, are God's works of creation and provi- dence, that all nature, by the gentle voices of her skies and streams, of her fields and forests, as well as by the roar of breakers, the crash of thunder, the rumbling earthquake, the fiery volcano, and the de- stroying hurricane, echoes the closing sentence of this angel hymn, " Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, the whole earth is full of His glory ! " — Guthrie. i. 67 the preservation and goTernment of the universe. (362.) The wise government of all things evinces there is a God. God is the great superintendent of the world ; He holds the golden reins of govern- ment in His hand, guiding all things most regularly ftnd harmoniously to their proper end. Who that eyes providence, but must be forced to acknowledge there is a God ? Providence is the queen and gover- ness oi the world; it is the hand that tuins me wheel of the whole creation ; providence sets tha sun its race, the sea its bounds. If God should not guide the world, things would run into disorder and confusion. When one looks on a clock, and seea the motion of the wheels, the striking of the ham- mer, the hanging of the plummets, he would say there was some artificer did make it and put it into that order : so, when we see the excellent ordei and harmony in the universe, the sun, that great luminary, dispensing its light and heat to the world, without which, the world were but a grave or a prison ; the rivers sending forth their silver streams to refresh the bodies of men, and prevent a drought ; and every creature acting within its sphere, and keeping its due bounds ; we must needs acknow- ledge there is a God, who wisely orders and governi all these things. Who could set this great army o( the creatures in their several ranks and squadrons, and keep them in their constant march, but He, whose name is The Lord of Hosts? And as God doth wisely dispose all things in the whole regiment of the creatures, so, by His power, lie doth support them. Did God suspend and with- draw His influence never so little, the wheels of the creation would unpin, and the axle-tree break asunder. — Watson, 1696. (363.) Who ever saw the various scenes of a theatre move by hazard in those just spaces of time, as to represent palaces, or woods, rocks and seas, as the subject of the actors required ? And can the lower world four times in the circle of the year change appearance, and alter the seasons so con- veniently to the use of nature, and no powerful mind direct that great work? — Bates, 1625-1699. (364.) Should you see a vessel go every year, for many years successively, to a distant port, and return at a set time, performing all her voyages with perfect regularity, and never going a cable s length out of her course, nor be a day out of her time, could any man persuade you to believe that she had no commander, pilot, or helmsman on board ? That she went, and came back of her own accord, and had nothing to steer her but the wind ? Would you have any more doubt that she was under the com- mand of some skilful navigator, than if you were on board and saw him ? Look then, once more, at this great ship, the world ; see how regularly she makes her annual voyage round the sun "'■»'-"ut ever getting out of her course, or being a day or an hour out of her time. Should she gain or lose a single day, in making this voyage, what would all your tables or nautical almanacks be good fori Now, ask yourselves, would she go and come with such perfect regularity and exactness of her own accord, or with no one to regulate her course ? Can you any more doubt that she is under the direction of some wise and skilful commander, than if you saw Him regulating all her motions ? (365.) If reason demands that the creation of all things should be ascribed to God, to whom or to what are we to ascribe their conservation ? The scoffer calls our attention to the fact, that "all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation?" Let him explain to us how it comes to pass that they do so. Why is it that for so many hundred years fire has always burned, and watei moistened, and that the sky has been blue, and the snow white? How is it that we never wake up ATHEISM. ( 55 ) ATHEISM. K>Tne morning to find that in the night there has been a fall of blue snow ? How is it that this vast earth has swept through space, with inconceivable velocity, for so many thousands of years without once swerving from its course, or increasing or diminishing its distance from the sun ? Is it by accident that the seasons succeed each other with unvarying regularity, so that we never have two summers or two winters together ; or, to come to myself, how is it that my heart throbs, and my pulses beat, year after year ; that food nourishes, and sleep refreshes me? Let the scoffer, I repeat, explain to us how it comes to pass that "all things continue as they were from the beginning of the creation," and that ail the events of nature occur with such undeviating regularity, if behind all the forces of nature there is no God to inspire, guide, and control them. Does it make any difference to the force of this argument, that no man has seen God at any time ? Because God is hidden from us, shall we therefore refuse to believe that it is by Him that all the events of nature are controlled ? Suppose that from some elevated position I could during the past week have surveyed the six Prussian armies marching on Paris, cavalry, infantry, artillery, baggage waggons, am- bulances, all converging to one spot, would it have been reasonable or unreasonable, scientific or un- scientific, to believe that they were all obeying the orders of one commander-in-chief? Would sound reason have demanded that I should refuse to believe this, until I had actually sat in General Moltke's tent, and heard him giving his directions, and looked over his shoulder as he penned his orders? But if the orderly march of an army without some master-mind to direct it is inconceivable, what shall we say of the harmonious progress, age after age, of the mighty forces of the universe? Is there not behind them One who directs and controls all their movements? — /s". A. Bertram. II. THE FOLLY OF ITS APPEAL TO THE SENSES. (366.) It is a universal truth in regard to science, that it lies beyond tlie sphere of the senses. The presiding and central principle of astronomy, and to a great extent, of mechanics, is gravitation. We see and feel its effects ; we feel the impact of a fall- ing body ; we see th',- change in the places of the planets ; but who has seen gravitation itself? We see the spark prod\iced by the electric power as it passes from the machine, its flash as it bursts from the cloud, the combiiied mass of neutral salt which the same power forms in uniting the acid and the alkali ; but none of these things known to the senses is electricity itself. '1 his who has seen or can see ? The man who thinks he has seen gravi- tation or galvanism, as much mistakes their nature as he mistakes the nature of spirit who talks of see- ing one. God is denied because not known to the senses. What is known to them ? Effects only. And these are not our learning ; they are our igno- rance, the catechism we address to the sciences; which answer only by advancing above the region of sense. In illustration of these general ideas, I know not that I can adduce anything more striking, although I do not by any means consider it as the weightiest example that could be brought forward, than the great and important dis-'overies of Mr. Faraday in regard to electricity. You are aware tha'. those dss< coveries appear to have ascertained that electricity or galvanism (call it by which name you will), or the principle of voltaic galvanism, is the grand combin- ing agent throughout the matter of the universe. You are aware that, in reference to the extent of its presence in the creation, Mr. Faraday appears to have ascertained that a single grain of water is held together by as much of this principle as would form a powerful flash of lightning, or equal to 8oi),ooo charges of his powerful Leyden battery. And you are aware that, with all this, the change which Mr. Faraday has introduced into the definition of elec- Hcity is one which I am just going to describe : whereas formerly it was spoken of as a fluid, or as two fluids, the definition which Mr. Faraday has reason to substitute is, that it is an axis of power, having equal and opposite forces. In other words, that it is known to us solely as a power whose pre- sence is indicated by its effects, the laws of whose working constitute for us its definition ; but that as an object of sense in itself it is utterly unknown to us. —A. J. Scott, 1 866. III. THE VASTNESS OF ITS ASSUMPTIONS. (367.) An atheist is one of the most daring beings in the creation, a contemner of God, who ex- plodes His laws by denying His existence. If yc" were so unacquainted with mankind that this chai- acter might be announced to you as a rare or singular phenomenon, your conjectures, till you saw and heard the man, at the nature and the extent of the disci- pline through which he must have advanced, would be led toward something extraordinary. And you might think that the term of that discipline must have been very long; since a quick train of impres- sions, a short series of mental gradations, within the little space of a few months and years, would not seem enough to have matured such an awful heroism. Surely the creature that thus lifts his voice, and de- fies all invisible power within the possibilities of in- finity, challenging whatever unknown being may hear him, was not as yesterday a little child, that would tremble and cry at the approach of a diminu- tive reptile. But indeed it is heroism no longer, if he knows there is no God. The wonder then turns on the great process by which a man could grow to the immense intelligence that can know that there is no God. What ages and what lights are requisite for this attainment ! This intelligence involves the very attributes of the Divinity, while a God is denied. For unless this man is omnipresent, unless he is at this moment in every place in the universe, he can- not know but there may be in some place manifesta- tions of a Deity by wliich even he would be over- powered. If he does not know absolutely every agent in the universe, the one that he does not know may be God. If he is not in absolute possession of all the propositions that constitute universal truth, the one which he wants may be, that there is a God. If he does not know everything that has been done in the immeasurable ages that are past, some things may have been done by a God. Thus, unless he knows all things, that is, precludes another Deity by being one himself, he cannot know that the Being whose existence he rejects does not exist. And yet a man of ordinary age and intelligence may present himself to you with the avowal of being thus dis- tinguished from the crowd 1 — Foster, 1 770-1 843. ATHEISM. ( 56 ) A TONEMENT. IV, ITS POl^KRLESSN'ESS. (368.) Our belief or disbelief of a thing does not alter the nature of the thing. We cannot fancy thing's into being, or make them vanish into nothing, by the stubborn confidence of our imaginations. Things are as sullen as we are, and will be what they are whatever we think of them. And if there be a God, a man cannot by an obstinate disbelief of Ilim make Him cease to be, any more than a man can put out the sun by winking. — Tilloison, 1 630- 1 694. V, TS USUALLY IMMORAL IN ITS ORIGIN. (369.) Men are atheistical because they are first vicious, and question the truth of Christianity be- cause they hate the practice. — South, 1 633-1 7 1 6. VI. DEGRADES MAN. (370.) They that deny a God destroy a man's nobility ; for certainly man is of kin to the beasts by his body ; and if he be not of kin to God by his spirit, he is a base and ignoble creature. It de- stroys, likewise, magnanimity and the raising human nature. — Bacon, 1 560-1 626. VII. IS MORALLY AND SOCIALLY DAN- GEROUS. (371.) As the advantage of the armed over the un- armed is not seen till the moment of attack, so in that tranquil state of society in which law and order maintain their ascendency, it is not perceived, per- haps not even suspected, to what an alarming degree the principles of modern infidelity leave us naked and defenceless. But let the state be convulsed, let the mounds of regular authority be once overflowed, and the still small voice of law drowned in the tem- pest of popular fury (events which recent experience shows to be possible), it will then be seen that athe- ism is a school of ferocity ; and that having taught its disciples to consider mankind as little better than a nest of insects, they will be prepared in the fierce conflicts of party to trample upon them without pity, and extinguish them without remorse. ^Robert Hall, 1 764- 1 83 1. VIII. IS A TRANSIENT EXPERIENCE IN AN HONEST MIND. (372.) I had rather believe all the fables in the legend, and the Talmud, and the Alcoran, than that this universal frame is without a mind ; and therefore God never wrought miracles to convince atheism, because His ordinary works convince it. It is true that a little philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism, but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds about to religion : for while the mind of man looketh upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes rest in them, and go no farther ; but when it beholdeth the chain of them confede- rate, and linked together, it must needs fly to pro- vidence and Deity. — Bacon, 1560- 1626. IX. IS RENOUNCED BY A THEISTS OF ALL KINDS IN THE TIME OF AFFLICT/ON. t373>) The Persian messeiger in his narrative 1 to the king, of the overthrow of his army by the Grecians, related that those gallants, who before the fight, in the midst of their corps and bravery, denied God and providence, as secure of victoi7 ; yet after- wards, when furiously pursued by their enemies, they came to the river Strymon, that was frozen and began to thaw, then upon their knees they mournfully implored the favour of God, that the ice might hold and give them safe passage over from the pursuers. Nature in extremities has irre- sistible workings, and the inbred notions of the Deity, though long suppressed by imperious lusts, will then rise up in men's souls. Tullus Hostilius is another example, who disdaine^ to express sub- mission to God by acts of worship as a thing un- becoming his royal state ; but when his stubborn, fierce mind was broken in his diseased body, he used all the servile rites of superstition, and commanded the people to join with him, thinking by his flatter- ing devotions to appease the incensed Deity. Bion, the philosopher, was a declared atheist, till struck with a mortal disease, and then, as a false witness on the rack, confessed the truth, and addressed himself by prayers and vows to God for his re- covery. Egregious folly, as the historian observes*, to think that God would be bribed with his gifts, and was or was not according to his fancy I And thus it happens to many like him. As a lamp near expiring shines more clearly, so conscience, that burned dimly for a time, gives a dying blaze, and discovers Him who is alone able to save or to de- stroy. But how just were it to deal with them as Herofilus with Diodorus Cronus, a wrangler that vexed the philosophers, by urging a captious argu- ment against the possibility of motion. For thus he arj^i'?*' . a stone, or whatever else, in moving itself, is either where it is, or where it is not ; if where it is, it moves not ; if where it is not, then it will be in any place, but where it is. While this disputing humour continued, one day he fell pnd displaced his shoulder, and sends in haste for Herofilus, of excellent skill in surgery. But he, desirous first to cure his brain, and then his shonlder, told him that his art was needless in that case : for, according to your own opinion, this bone in the dislocation either was where it was, or where it was not, and to assert either makes the displacing of it equally impossible. Therefore it was in vain to reduce it to the place from whence it was never parted. And thus he kept him roaring out with pain and rage till he declared himself convinced of the vanity of his irrefutable argument. Now, if, according to the impiety of atheists, there is no God, why do they invoke Him in their adversities? If there be, why do tbey deny Him in their pros- perity? — Bates, 1625-1699. ATONEMENT. I. DEFINED. (374-) Vicarious suflferings and obedience are penal inflictions, and acts of obedience to law which are rendered in our place or stead (vice), as well as in our behalf by our substitute. An alien goes to the army in the place of a drafted subject. He is the substitute of the man in whose place he goes. His labours, his dangers, his wounds, and his death, are vicarious. — Hodge, A TONEMENT, C 57 A TONEMENT. II. NECESSITY OF A MEDIATOR, (375.) After all, obedience will not make amends for past crimes ; for obedience is a debt due of it- self, and what is a debt of itself cannot be a com- pensation for another. What is a compensation must be something that does not fall under the notion or relation of a debt due before, but con- tracted by the injury done. Obedience was due from man if he had not sinned, and therefore is a debt as much due after sin as before it ; but a new debt cannot be satisfied by paying an old. As sup- pose you owe a man money upon a bond, and also abuse him in his reputation, or some other concern ; is there not a new debt contracted on that trespass, a debt of reparation of him in what you have wronged him ? The paying him the money you owe him upon bond is not an amends for the injury you did him otherwise. They both in law fall under a difl'erent consideration. Or when a man rebels against a prince of whom he holds some land, will the payment of his quit-rent be satis factory for the crime of his rebellion ? So obe- dience to the law in our whole course was a debt upon us by our creation ; and this has relation to the preceptive part of the law, and to God as a sovereign ; but upon sin a new debt of punishment was contracted, and the penalty of the law was to be satisfied by suffering, as well as the precepts of the law satisfied by observing them. And this was a debt relating to the justice of God, as well as the other to the sovereignty of God. Now how can it be imagined that man, by paying the debt he was obliged to before, should satisfy the debt he has newly contracted ? The debts are different : the one is a debt of observance, the other a debt of suffering, ami contracted in two different states, the debt of obedience in the state of creation, the debt of suffering in the state of corruption ; so that the payment of what was due from us as creatures can- not satisfy for what was due from us as criminals. All satisfaction is to be made in some way to which a person was not obliged before the offence was committed, as men wronged in their honour are satisfied by some acts not due to them before they were injured. So that all men taken together, yea the creatures of ten thousand worlds, cannot by the preceptive part of the law satisfy for one transgres- sion of it, because whatever they can do is a debt due from themselves before. — Ckarnock, i620-i68a (376.) The sense of mankind, with regard to the necessity of a mediator, may be illustrated by the following similitude : — Let us suppose a division of the army of one of the wisest and best of kings, through the evil counsel of a foreign enemy, to have been disafi'ected to his government ; and that, with- out any provocation on his part, they traitorously conspired against his crown and life. The attempt failed ; and the offenders were seized, disarmed, tried by the laws of their country, and condemned to die. A respke, however, was granted them dur- ing his majesty's pleasure. At this solemn period, while every part of tlie army and of the empire was expecting the fatal order for execution, the king was employed in meditating mercy. But how could mercy be shown ? " To make light of a conspiracy," said he to his friends, "would loosen the bands of good government : ether divisions of the army might be t^muted to foU ;* their cxafcple ; and the nation at large be in danger of imputing it to tameness, fear,*or some unworthy motive." Every one felt in this case the necessity of a medi- ator, and agreed as to the general line of conduci for him to pursue. " He must not attempt," said they, " to compromise the difference by dividing the blame ; that would make things worse. He must justify the king, and condemn the outrage committed against him ; he must offer, if possible, some honour- able expedient, by means of which the bestowinent of pardon shall not relax, but strengthen just autho- rity ; he must convince the conspirators of their crime, and introduce them in the character of sup- plicants ; and mercy must be shown them out of respect to him, or for his sake." But who could be found to mediate in such a cause ? This was an important question. A work of this kind, it was allowed on all hands, required singular qualifications. " He must be perfectly clear of any participation in the offence," said one, "or inclination to favour it ; for to pardon conspirators at the intercession of one who is friendly to their cause would be not only making light of the crime, but giving a sanction to it." " lie must," said another, "be one who, on ac- count of his character and services, stands high in the esteem of the king and of the public; for to mediate in such a case is to become, in a sort, re- sponsible for the issue. A mediator, in effect, pledges his honour that no evil will result to the state from the granting of his request. But if a mean opinion be entertained of him, no trust can be placed in him, and, consequently, no good impres- sion would be made by his mediation on the public mind." " I conceive it is necessary," said a third, "that the weight of the mediation should bear a propor- tion to the magnitude of the crime, and to the value of the favour requested ; and that for this end it is proper he should be a person of great dignity. For his majesty to pardon a company of conspirators at the intercession of one of their former comrades, or of any other obscure character, even though he might be a worthy man, would convey a very diminutive idea of the evil of the offence." A fourth remarked, that, " He must possess a ten- der compassion towards the unhappy offenders, or he would not cordially interest himself on their be- half." Finally. It was suggested by a fifth, "That, for the greater fitness of the proceeding, it would be proper that some relation or connection should sub- sist between the parties. We feel the propriety," said he, "of forgiving an offence at the intercession of a fai>er or a brother ; or, if it be committed by a soldier, of his commanding officer. Without some kind of previous relation or connection, a mediation woul'^ V^ve the appearance of an arbitrary and for- mal process, and prove but little interesting to the hearts of the community." Such were the reasonings of the king's friends; but where to find the character in whom these quali- fications were united, and what particular expedient could be devised, by means of which, instead of re- laxing, pardon should strengthen just authority, were subjects too difficult for them to resolve. Meanwhile, the king and his son, whom he greatly loved, and 'whom he had appointed generalissimo of all his forces, had retired from the company, ax\i were conversing about the matter which attracted the general attention. ATONEMENT. ( 58 ) A TONEMENT, **My son," said the benevolent sovereign, "what can be done in behalf of these unliapjiy men? To order them for execution violates every feeling of my heart ; yet to pardon them is dangerous. The army, and even the empire, would be under a strong temp- tation to think lightly of rebellion. If mercy be exercised, it must be through a mediator ; and who is qualilied to mediate in such a cause? And what expedient can be devised by means of which pardon shall not relax, but strengthen just authority ? Speak, my son, and say what measures can be pur- Buetl." "My father," said the prince, "I feel the insult offered to your person and government, and the in- jury thereby aimed at the empire at large. They have transgressed without cause, and deserve to die without mercy. Yet I also feel for them, I have the heart of a soldier. I cannot endure to witness their execution. What shall I say ? On me be this wrong ! Let me suffer in their stead. Inflict on me as much as is necessary to impress the army and the nation with a just sense of the evil, and of the im- portance of good order and faithful allegiance. Let it be in their presence, and in the presence of all assembled. When this is done, let them be per- mitted to implore and receive your majesty's pardon in my name. If any man refuse so to implore, and so to receive it, let him die the death ! " " My son ! " replied the king, "you have expressed my heart ! The same things have occupied my mind ; but it was my desire that you should be voluntary in the undertaking. It shall be as you have said. I shall be satisfied ; justice itself will be satisfied ; and I pledge my honour that you also shall be satisfied in seeing the happy effects of your dis- interested conduct. Propriety requires that I stand aloof in the day of your affliction ; but I will not leave you utterly, nor suffer the beloved of my soul to remain in that condition. A temporary affiiction on your part will be more than equivalent to death on theirs. The dignity of your person and character will render the suffering of an hour of greater ac- count, as to the impression of the public mind, than if all the rebellious had been executed ; and by how much I am known to have loved you, by so much will my compassion to them, and my displeasure against their wicked conduct, be made manifest. Go, my son, assume the likeness of a criminal, and suffer in their place !" The gracious design being communicated at court, all were struck with it. Those who had reasoned on the qualifications of a mediator saw that in the prince all were united, and were filled with admira- tion ; but that he should be willing to suffer in the place of rebels was beyond all that could be asked or thought. Yet, seeing he himself had generously pro- posed it, would survive his sufferings, and reap the reward of them, they cordially acquiesced. The only di'ihculty that was started was among the judges of the realm. They, at first, questioned whether the proceeding were admissible. " The law," said they, " makes provision for the transfer of debts, but not of Climes. Its language is, 'The soul that sinneth shall die.' " But when they came to view things on a more enlarged scale, considering it as an expedient on an extraordinary occasion, and perceived that the spirit of the law would be preserved, and all the ends of good government answered, they were satisfied. "It is not a measure," said they, " for which the law provides ; yet it is not contrary t< the lav/^ but above it." The day appointed arrived. The prince appeared, and suffered as a criminal. The hearts of the king's friends bled at every stroke, and burned with indig- nation against the conduct which rendered it neces- sary. His enemies, however, even some of those lor whom he suffered, continuing to be disaffected, ac'led to the affliction by deriding and insulting him alj the time. At a proper period, he was rescued from ',neir outrage. Returning to the palace, amidst the tears and shouts of the loyal spectatf^rs, the suffering hero was embraced by his royal father ; who, in addition to the natural affection which he bore to him as a son, loved him for his singular interposition at such a crisis: "Sit thou," said he, "at my right hand I Though the thrcatenings of the law be not literally accomplished, yet the spirit of them is preserved. The honour of good government is secured, and the end of punishment more effectually answered than if all the rebels had been sacrificed. Ask of me what I shall give thee ! No favour can be too great to be bestowed, even upon the unworthiest, nor any crime too aggravated to be forgiven, in thy name. I will grant thee according to thine own heart ! Ask of me, my f- m, what shall I give thee?" He asked for the offenders to be introduced as supplicants ai the feet of his father, for the forgive- ness of their crimes, and for the direction of affairs till order and happiness should be perfectly restored. A proclamation addressed to the conspirators was now issued, stating what had been their conduct, what the conduct of the king, and what of the prince. Messengers also were appointed to carry it, with orders to read it publicly, and to expostulate with them individually, beseeching them to be reconciled to their offended sovereign, and to assure them that, if they rejected this, there remained no more hope of mercy. A spectator would suppose that in mercy so freely offered, and so honourably communicated, every one would have acquiesced ; and if reason had governed the offenders, it had been so : but many among them continued under the influence of disaffection, and disaffection gives a false colouring to everything. The time of the respite having proved longer than was at first expected, some had begun to amuse them- selves with idle speculations, flattering themselves that their fault was a mere trifle, and that it certainly would be passed over. Indeed, the greater part of them had turned their attention to other things, con- cluding that the king was not in good earnest. When the proclamation was read, many paid no manner of attention to it ; some insinuated that the messengers were interested men, and that there might be no truth in what they said ; and some even abused them as impostors. So, having delivered their mes- sage, they withdrew ; and the rebels, finding them- selves alone, such of them as paid any attention to the subject expressed their mind as follows : — "My heart," says one, "rises against every part of this proceeding. Why all this ado about a few words spoken one to another ? Can such a message as this have proceeded from the king ? What have we done so much against him that so much should be made of it ? No petition of ours, it seems, would avail anything ; and nothing that we could say or do could be regarded, unless presented in the name of a third person. Surely if we presented a petition in our own names, in which we beg pardon, and pro- mise not to repeat the ofi'ence, this might suffice. Even this is more than I can find in my heart to comjjly with ; but everything beyond it is unreason- ATONEMENT, ( 59 ) ATONEMENT. able ; and who can believe that the king can desire it/" " If a third person," says another, "must be con- cerned in the affair, what occasion is there for one so high in rank and dignity? To stand in need of such a mediator must stamp our characters with everlast- ing infamy. It is very unreasonable : who can be- lu\e ii ? If tlie king be just and good, as they say he is, iiow can he wish thus pubHcly to expose us?" "I observe," says a third, "that the mediator is wholly on the king's side; and one whom, though he affects to pity us, we have, from the outset, con- sidered as no less our enemy than the king himself. If, indeed, he could compromise matters, and would allow that we had our provocations, and would pro- mise us redress, and an easier yoke in future. I should feel inclined to hearken ; but if he liave no conces- sions to offer, I can never be reconciled." " I believe," says a fourth, " that the king knows very well that we have not had justice done us, and therefore this mediation business is introduced to make us amends for the injury. It is an affair settled somehow betwixt him and his son. They call it grace, and I am not much concerned what they call it, so that my life is spared ; but this I say, if he had not made this or some kind of provision, I should have thouglit him a tyrant." "You are all wrong," says a fifth : "I Cvjmpre- hend the design, and am well pleased with it. I hate the government as much as any of you ; but 1 love the mediator ; for I understand it is his inten- tion to deliver me from its tyranny. He has paid the debt, the king is satisfied, and I am free. I will sue out for my right, and demand my liberty ! " In addition to this, one of the company observed, he did not see what the greater part of them had to do with the proclamation, unless it were to give it a hearing, which they had done already. " For," said he, "pardon is promised only to them who are will- ing to submit, and it is well known that many of us are unwilling ; nor can we alter our minds on this subject." After a while, however, some of them were brought to relent. They thought upon the subject-matter of the proclamation, were convinced of the justice of its statements, reflected upon their evil conduct, and were sincerely sorry on account of it. And now the mediation of the prince appeared in a very different light. They cordially said amen to every part of the proceeding. The vei7 things which gave such offence, while their hearts were disaffected, now ap- peared to them fit, and right, and glorious. " It is fit," said they, "that the king should be honoured, and that we should be humbled ; for we have trans- gressed without cause. It is right that no regard should be paid to any petition of ours, for its own sake ; for we have done deeds worthy of death. It is glorious that we should be saved at the interces- sion of so honourable a personage. The dignity of his character, together with his surprising conde- scension and goodness, impress us more than any- thing else, and fill our hearts with penitence, confi- dence, and love. That which in the proclamation is called grace is grace ; for we are utterly unworthy of it ; and if we had all suffcr^sd according to our sentence, the king and his throne had been guiltless. We embrace the mediation of the prince, not as a reparation for an injury, but as a singular instance of mercy. Ae;1 far be it from us that we .ihould consiclei it as designed to deliver us from ourcigina) und jus* allegiance to his majesty's governmen ; No, rather, it is intended to restore us to it. We love our intercessor, and will implore forgiveness in his name; but we also love our sovereign, and long to prostrate ourselves at his feet. We rejoice in the satisfaction which the prince has made, and all our hopes of mercy are foimdcd upon it ; but we have no notion of being freed by it previously to our acquiescence in it. Nor do we desire any other kind of freedom than that which, while it remits the just sentence of the law, restores us to his majesty's government. Oh, that we were once clear of this hateful and hor- rid conspiracy, and might be permitted to serve him with affection and fidelity all the days of our life ! We cannot suspect the sincerity of the invitation, or acquit our companions on the score of unwillingness. Why should we ? We do not on this account acquit ourselves. On the contrary, it is the remembrance of our unwillingness that now cuts us to the heart. We well remember to what it was owing that we could not be satisfied with the just government of the king, and afterwards could not comply with the in- vitations of mercy : it was because we were under the dominion of a disaffected spirit — a spirit which, wicked as it is in itself, it would be move wicked to justify. Our counsel is, therefore, the same as that of his majesty's messengers, with whom we now take our stand. Let us lay aside this cavilling humour, repent, and sue for mercy in the way prescribed, ere mercy be hid from our eyes ! " The reader, in applying this supposed i jsc to the mediation of Christ, will do me the justice to re- member that I do not pretend to have perfectly re- presented it. Probably there is no simriitude fully adequate to the purpose. The distinction between the Father and the Son is not the same as that which subsists between a father and a son among men ; the latter are two separate beings ; but to assert this of the former would be inconsistent with the Divine unity. Nor can anything be found analogous to the doctrine of Divine influence, by which the redemp- tion of Christ is carried into effect. And with respect to the innocent voluntarily suffering for the g"ailty, in a few extraordinary instances this principle may be adopted ; but the management and the applica- tion of it generally require more wisdom and more power than mortals possess. We may, by the help of a machine, collect a few sparks of the electrical fluid, and produce an effect somewhat resembling that of lightning ; but we cannot cause it to blaze like the Almighty, nor thunder with a voice like Ilim. — Andrew Fuller, 1754-1815. III. ITS SUFFICIENCY. (377.) When the I-ord Jesus Christ offered up Himself a sacrifice unto God the Father, and had our sins laid upon Ilirn, He did give more perfect satisfaction unto Divine justice for our sins than if you, and I, and all of us had been damned in hell unto all eternity. For a crerlilor is more satisfied if his debt be paid him all down at once, than if it be paid by the week : a poor man that cannot pay all down, will pay a groat a week, or sixpence a week ; but it is more satisfaction to the creditor to have all paid at once. Should we have been all damned, we should have been but paying the debt a little, and a litle, and a little ; but when Christ paid it, He paid it all down to God the Father. Had we gone ta hel! and been damned for ever, we had always been satisfying of God ; aye, but God had never been sa'ished : but now when Christ makes satisfaction. ATONEMENT, ( 60 ) ATONEMENT. God is satisfied. The creditor, if he be a merciful and a good man, is more truly satisfied where the debtor is spared ; he does not desire that the debtor should be cast into prison, and there lie and rot ; but he is bettei satisfied with the sparing of the debtor ; let me have but my money, and so the debtor be spared, I am willing, nay, I desire it, says the good creditor. Now, if all we had been cast into everlasting burnings, indeed, the debt should have been a-paying, but there the debtor had been lost : but now when Christ comes and makes satisfaction unto Divine justice, ah ! poor man is redeemed ; here is the debtor spared. And, there- fore, the Lord He is infinitely more satisfied by the satisfaction that Christ made upon the cross for our sins, than if we had gone to hell and been damned to all eternity. Oh, what a glorious and blessed satisfaction did this our High Priest make unto God the Father 1 —BriW^e, 1600-1670. (378.) When the sins of believers were laid on Him, then He did make full satisfaction unto God the Father and Divine justice for all our sins. This is a bottom of much comfort. For if the Lord Jesus Christ, our Surety, had not satisfied to the utmost farthing our great Creditor, God the Father, foi all our debts, God the Father might come upon us, the debtors. But our Surety, the Lord Christ, hath given full satisfaction unto God the Father, that no more demands can be made upon us. And, indeed, else how could our Surety ever have come out of prison : He was under arrest, He was in the jail, in the gravfe ; the Father, the great Creditor let Him out ; and did not only let Him out, but the Lord Jesus Christ, He goes into heaven, and sits down there at the right hand of the Father ; surely, if the Creditor had not been satisfied, the Surety should never have been released out of prison. — Bridge, 1600-1670. (379.) If the Lord Jesus Christ hath satisfied Divine justice as our great High Priest, then I may come with boldness unto the throne of grace. A debtor, so long as his debt is unpaid, he dare no'^ come by the prison door ; he is afraid of every sergeant, he is afraid of his friends that they should be sergeants : but when his debt is paid, then he dare go up and down with boldness. And so the poor soul, when he kuows that his debt is paid, and Christ hath satisfied, t len he may go with boldness unto the throne of grar«. But you will say, " I cannot have the comfort of this, because I cannot st-y that Christ hath satisfied for me : how shall I know that Jesus Christ is my High Priest, so as to have satisfied for me ? Ah, if I did but know that the Lord Jesus Christ were my High Priest in this particular, so as to have satisfied for me, then should I have comfort indeed : how shall I discover that ? 1 am afraid He hath not satisfied for me ! " And why not for thee ? I shall tell yon what I have heard concerning a young man that lay upon his death-bed, and went to heaven : while he was lying upon his death-bed, he comforted himself in this : That the Lord Jesus died for sinners. "Oh! blessed be the Lord!" says he, "Jesus Christ hath died for me I " Satan came in with this temptation to him : " Aye, but, young man, why for thee ? Christ died for sinners, but why for thee ? how can'st thou make that appear, that Christ died for thee?" "Nay, Satan," says he, "and why not for me? Ah! the Lord Jesus, He died for sinners, and therefore, Satan, why not for me ? " So he held his comfort, and went up to heaven triumphing. So say I to thee, poor drooping soul that labours under temptation; why not for thee? and say so unto Satan, why not for me ? — Endgty 1 600- 1 6 70. (380.) But you will say then, if the Lord ( hrist made this full satisfaction unto God the Fither, how is it that believers, fnany of them have their con- sciences so perplexed in regard of sin, as if there were no satisfaction at all made ? The reason is, because that men do not study this truth, but are ignorant of it. As, suppose that a man do owe three or four hundred pounds to a shopkeeper for wares that he hath taken up there : a friend comes, pays the debt, and crosses the book : but the debtor when he comes and looks upon the book is able to read all the particulars ; and not being acquainted with the nature of crossing the book, he is able to read all the particulars, and he charges it still upon himself, because he does not understand the nature of this crossing the book, and he is as much troubled how he shall pay the debt, as if it were not paid at all. So now it is here : the Lord Jesus Christ hath come and crossed our book with His own blood ; the sins are to be read in your own con- sciences, but we, being not acquainted with the nature of Christ's satisfaction, we charge ourselves, as if no sin at all were satisfied for us. — Bridge, 1600-1670. {381.) The extent of the atonement is frequently represented, as if a calculation had been made, how much suffering v/as necessary for the Surety to en- dure, in order exactly to expiate the aggregate num- ber of all the sins of all the elect ; that so much He suffered precisely, and no more ; and that when this requisition was completely answered. He said, " It is finisher?, bowed His head, and gave up the ghost " (John xlx. 30). But this nicety of computation does not seem analogous to that unbounded magnificence and grandeur which overwhelm the attentive mind in the contemplation of the Divine conduct in the natural world. When God waters the earth, He waters it abundantly (Psal. Ixv. 10) ; He does not restrain the rain to cultivated or improvable spots, but with a profusion of bounty worthy of Himself His clouds pour down water with equal abundance upon the barren mountain, the lonely desert, and the pathless ocean. Why may we not say with the Scriptures, that Christ died to declare the righteous- ness of God (Rom. iii. 25, 26), to manifest that He is just in justifying the ungodly who believe in Jesus? And for anything we know to the contrary, the very same display of the evil and demerit of sin, by the Redeemer's agonies and death, might have been equally necessary, though the number of the elect were much smaller than it will appear to be when they shall all meet before the throne of glory. If God had formed this earth for the residence of one man only ; had it been His pleasure to afford him the same kind and degree of light which we enjoy, the same glorious sun, which is now sufficient to en- lighten and comfort the millions of mankind, would have been necessary for the accommodation of that one person. So, perhaps, had it been His plear.ure to save but one sinner, in a way that should give the highest possible discovery of His justice and of Hii mercy, this could have been done by no other metl'od ATONEMENT. ( 6i ) A TONEMENT. than that which He has chosen for the salvation of the innumerable multitudes who will in the great day unite in the song of praise to the Lamb who loved them, and washed them from their sins in His own blood. — Newton, 1725-1807. IV. FROM WHA T IT HAS REDEEMED US. (382.) Redf mption being deliverance by means of the substituti n of a ransom, it follows that, although the ransom can only be paid to God, and to Him only as the Moral Governor of the universe, we may still be said to be redeemed from all that we are de- livered from by means of the ransom paid in the sacrifice of Christ. Thus we are said to be redeemed "from our vain conversation" (l Pet. i. 18), "from death" (Hosea xii. 14), "from the devil" (Col. ii. 15 ; Heb. ii. 14), "from all iniquity" {Titus ii. 14), and " from the curse of the law " (Gal. iii. 13 ; iv. 5), while it is, of course, not meant that the ransom is paid to the devil, or to sin, or to death, or to the law. It is simply absurd to claim that these differ- ent representations are inconsistent. A captive is redeemed b^ a price paid only to him that holds him in bondage, but by the same act may be redeemed from labour, from disease, from death, from the per- secution of his fellow-captives, and from a slavish disposition. — Uodge. V. A CAUTION CONCERNING A FAMILIAR COMPARISON. (383.) Many important mistakes have arisen from considering the interposition of Christ under the motion oi paying a debt. The blood of Christ is in- deed the price of our redemption, or that for the sake of which we are delivered from the curse of the law ; but this metaphorical language, as well as that of head and members, may be carried too far, and may lead us into many errors. In cases of debt and credit among men, where a surety undertakes to represent the debtor, from the moment his undertaking is ac- cepted the debtor is free, and may claim his liberty, not as a matter of favour, at least on the part of the creditor, but of strict justice. Or should the under- taking be unknown to him for a time, yet as soon as he knows it he may demand his discharge, and, it may be, think himself hardly treated by being kept in bondage so long after his debt had been actually paid. But who in their sober senses will imagine this to be analogous to the redemption of sinners by Jesus Christ ? Sin is a debt only in a metaphorical sense ; properly speaking it is a crime, and satisfac- tion for it requires to be made, not on pecuniary, but on moral principles. If Piiiiemon had accepted of that part of Paul s offer which respected property, and had placed so much to his account as he con- sidered Onesimus to have "owed" him, he could not have been said to have remitted his debt ; nor would Onesimus have had to thank him for remitting it. But it is supposed of Onesimus that he might not only be in debt to his master, but have " wronged " him. Perhaps he had embezzled his goods, corrupted his children, or injured his character. Now, for Philemon to accept of that part of the offer were very different from the other. In the one case he would have accepted of a pecuniary representative, in the other of a moral one, that is, of a mediator. The satisfaction in the one case would annihilate the idea of remission ; but not of the other. Whatever satisfaction Paul might give to Philemon respecting the wound inflicted upon his character and honoui as the head of a family, it would not supersede the necessity of pardon being sought by the offender, and freely bestowed by the offended. The reason for this difference is easily perceived. Debts are transferable, but crimes are not. A third person may cancel the one, but he can only obliterate the effects of the other ; the desiit of the criminal re- mains. The debtor is accountable to his creditor as a private individual, who has power to accept of a surety, or, if he please, to remit the whole without any satisfaction. In the one case he would be just, in the other merciful ; but no place is afforded by either of them for the combination of justice and mercy in the same proceeding. The criminal on the one hand, is amenable to the magistrate, or to the h-jid of a family, as a public person, and who, espe- cially if the offence be capital, cannot remit the punishment without invading law and justice, nor, in the ordinary discharge of his office, admit of a third person to stand in his place. In extraordinar)' cases, however, extraordinary expedients are resorted to. A satisfaction may be made Co law and justice, as to the spirit of them, while the letter is dispensed with. The well-known story of Zaleucus, tlie Gre- cian lawgiver, who consented to lose one of his eyes to spare one of his son's eyes, who, by transgressing the law, subjected himself to the loss of both, is aa example. Here, as far as it 'wzviK, justice and mercy were cotnhined in the same act ; and had the satisfac- tion been much fuller than it was, so full that ths authority of the law instead of being weakened should have been abundantly magnified and hon- oured, still it had been perfectly consistent with ft n forgiveness. Finally, in the case of the debtor, satisfaction being once accepted, justice requires his complete discharge ; but in that of the criminal, where satis- faction is made to the wounded honour of the liiW and the authority of the lawgiver, justice, though \\ admits of his discharge, yet no otherwise requires i/ than as it may have been matter of promise to tht substitute. I do not mean to say that cases of this sort afford a competent representation of redemption by Christ. That is a work which not only ranks with extra- ordinary interpositions, but which has no parallel \ it is a work of God, which leaves all the petty con- cerns of mortals infinitely behind it. All th&t com- parisons can do is to give us some idea of ihe/rm- ciple on which it proceeds. — Andrew Fuller, 1754- 18 15. VI. WAS MADE FOR ALL MEN. (384.) As the sun is the general gi\er of light to the whole world, although there be many who do receive no light at all of it ; or as there was among the Jews, upon the year of jubilee, a general del'very of all bondmen, although many abode stiil in their bondage and refused the grace of their delivery : even so the redemption of mankind by Christ is available for all, although reprobate and wicked men, for want of the grace of God, do not receive the same ; yet there is no reason that it should lose its title and glory of universal redemption because of the children of perdition, seeing that it is ready for all men and all be called unto it. —Cawdray, 1598-1664. {385.) The holy fathers do, by several like similt A TONEMENT. ( 62 ) A TONEMENT. tudes, endeavour to illustrate this matter, and some- what to assoil the difficulty {i.e., that, as a matter of fact, all men are not saved). They compare our Saviour to the sun, who shines indifferently to all the world, although there be some private corners and secret caves, to which his light doth not come ; although some shut their windows or their eyes, and exclude it ; although some are blind, and do not see iit. That mystical Sun of Righteousness (saith St. Ambrose) is risen to all, come to all, did suffer and rise again for all — but if any one doth not believe in Christ, he defrauds himself of the general benefit. As if one shutting the windows should exclude the beams of the sun, the sun is not therefore not risen to all. They compare our Lord to a .physician, who professes to relieve and cure all that shall have re- course to His help ; but doth cure only those who seek for remedy, and are willing to take the medi- cine ; because all (saith St. Ambrose again) do not •desire cure, but most do shun it, lest the ulcer should smart by medicaments ; \.\\e.x&[oxtvolnites curat, non Msfnugil invites ; He cures only the willing, doth not compel those that are unwilling ; they only receive health, who desire medicine. Evangelical grace, say they, is like a fountain standing openly, to which all men have free access ; at which all men may quench their thirst, if they will inquire after it, and go thereto. " The fountain of life," saith Arnobius, "is open to all ; nor is any man hindered or driven from the right of drinking it." The covenant of grace is, say they, a door standing open to all, whereinto all have liberty to enter. " When an entrance," saith St. Chrysostom, "being open to all, and there being nothing that hinders, some being wilfully naught abide without, they have no other but their own wickedness to impute their de- struction unto." And again he puts the question, '* If Christ en- lighteneth every man that cometh into the world, how is that so many remain unenlightened ?" &c. To which he answers, that " If some wilfully shut- ting the eyes of their minds will not receive the beams of this light, it is not from the nature of light that those remain still in darkness, but from the wickedness of those who wilfully deprive them- selves of the gift of it," &c. — Barrmv, 1630-1677. (386.) Suppose a great kingdom, consisting of several provinces, should have revolted from their sovereign; disclaiming his authority, neglecting and disobeying his laws ; that the good prince, out of his goodness and piety toward them (and upon other good considerations moving him thereto, suppose the mediation of his own son), instead of prosecut- ing them with deserved vengeance, should grant a general pardon and amnesty, in these terms, that whoever of those rebels willingly should come in, acknowledge his fault, and promise future loyalty, or obedience to his laws declared to them, should be received into favour, have impunity, enjoy pro- tection, and obtain rewards from him. Further, for the effectuating of this gracious intent, suppose that he should appoint and commissionate messengers, empowering and charging them to divulge the purpnrt of this act of grace to all the people of that kingdom. Admit now, that these messengers should go forth and seat themselves only in some provinces of that kingdom, proclaiming this universal pardon (uni- versal as to the design, and as to the tenor tlipreofl, only in those, n«gl» 'ting others ; or that, striving to propagate it farther, they should be rejected and repelled ; or ihat from any the like cause the know- ledge thereof should not reach to some provinces ; it is plain, that indeed the effect of that pardon would be obstructed by such a carriage of the affair ; but the tenor of that act would not thereby be altered ; nor would the failure in execution (conse- quent upon the ministers' or the people s misbe- haviour) detract from the real amplitude of the prince's intent ; no more than the wilful incredulity, refusal, or non-compliance of some persons, where the business is promulgated and notified, would pre- judice the same. It is plain the prince meant favourably toward all, and provided carefully for them ; although by accident (not imputable to him) the designed favours and benefits do not reach all. The case so ])lainly suits our purpose, that I need not make any application. — Barraiu, 1630-1677. VII. THE SPIRIT IN WHICH THE DECLARA- TIONS OF SCRIPTURE CONCERNING IT ARS TO BE STUDIED. (387.) It is necessary to know what God hath revealed concerning the way of pardon by Christ : it is impossible to know more than He has revealed. If men would forbear to explicate further, there would be more Christianity and less controversy. — Whichcote. (388.) In studying a'l Divine truths, but specially a truth like this (which involves the nature of God, His mysterious dealings, and the relations which it has pleased Him to establish between Himself and man — topics the most arduous in the whole range of theology), we must be careful to accept with the utmost simplicity the intimations of holy Scripture. It would be presumptuous to go into such a subject at all, except so far as those intimations lead us by the hand. In every such investigation, it should be present to our minds from first to last, that in esti- mating the ways of God, we are like little children estimating the ways of matured and sage men, — men enriched with all the fruits of a long experience and an extensive observation. The unitarian pro- fesses an inability to receive the doctrine of the atonement, as it is held by Christians, on the ground that it contlicts with his natural instincts. His sense of justice, he tells us, revolts from the notion of an innocent victim bearing the sins of a guilty world : to represent God as requiring such a sacrifice, in order to the expiation of human guilt, is to paint Him as a ruthless and relentless tyrant, determined to have His blow and to gratify His revenge some- where, even should it fall upon the unoffending. That this view of what the Scripture says upon the subject is not simply exaggerated, but falsified, we shall presently see. What I am now concerned to remark is, that our natural instincts, and even our so-called moral sense, are no safe guide upon a subject which S(3ars so in- finitely above our limited capacity. We are chil- dren ; and in considering the means by which our Heavenly Father will save us, it is wisdom to accept simply His own instructions, desperate folly and presumption to criticise those instructions by our childish notions and puerile instincts. My meaning will be more vividly apprehended, if I draw out the illustration in detail. A father, inured to life upon the mountains, and acquainted by experience with all the natural pheno- mena of an Alpine district, is under the necessity o^ A TONEMENT, ( 63 ) A TONEMENT. ra-ossing a very perilous glacier with children of four or five yeais old. His first counsel for their safety is the obvious and usual one — that each holding by a cord, one end of which is in his own hand, they shall keep at as great a distance from him, and from one another, as the length of the cord admits. The children are of such an age that the direction, "Hold this, and keep at as great a distance from me as you possibly can," can just be made intelli- gible to them, — the grounds of it (plain enough to an adult, that the weight of the party may be dis- tributed along the ice, and not brought to bear on one particular spot, which might thus give way) are, it may be, out of the reach of a child's capacity. Let us suppose that the children, in fright and dis- comfort, begin to reason about this counsel, and to judge of it by their natural instincts ; conceive that one of them should think and say as follows : — "Can this direction come from our father, who is so affectionate a parent, who loves to have us close around him under ordinary circumstances, hanging round his neck and sitting on his knees? Can he say upon this occasion, ' Come not near me, child, at the peril of thy life?' Say it he may, but I will not believe such to be his meaning, for it is an un- genial idea, conflicting with all my natural instincts, which are to cling round him in the moment of dan- |;er, and, moreover, with confidence in his affection." But shortly afterwards a further direction is given. Night falls upon the mountain summits, its black- ness only relieved by the flickering snows. The wearied children are irresistibly impelled to lie down without any covering, in which case death would overtake them before the morning. The father dis- covers a corner, where the snowdrift lies deep. He burrows in it with all the energy of a man who knows that life depends upon his exertions, and pro- poses that in the cavities so made the children shall lie, the cold snow piled over them as if they were buried in it, and only the smallest possible aperture allowed for the passage of the breath. Adults, of course, would be aware that this would be thr -inly method under the circumstances (and a sure metnocl) of preserving and cherishing the vital heat of the body ; but not so the children. Snow, applied only to parts of the person, and not as a general wrapper, '.s bitterly cold ; and the children, unable to under- stand how the great white mantle of winter really wards off the cold of the atmosphere from the seeds of plants and flowers, imagine cruelty in this direc- tion of the father, and shudder at the sight of the bed which he has prepared for them. My brethren, a little child, feeling thus and reasoning thus on such an occasion, presents a very iust image of a man who rejects (or qualifies, so as to meet his own notions) the doctrine of the vicari- ous sacrifice of Christ, on the ground that it con- flicts with his natural instincts, violates his moral sense, and presents to us (as it does undoubtedly, under one aspect of it) the severity of God. The allowing these grounds to weigh with us against the simple statements of Scripture is not wisdom, is not independence of thought, is not a high -°ach of mind, — it is simply folly. The question is not between Revelation and reason, but rather between reason and natural in- stincts ; reliance upon which (in defiance of reason) is folly. For it is reason surely to accept, and folly to reject or modify the Word of the all-wise and all-loving One on points '>o which He alone is com- petent to inform us. The child who keeps at a distance from his father, and buries himself in the snow, is a wise child, be- cause, renouncing the guidance of his instincts, he places faith in one manifestly his superior in cajia- city. The child who clings round his father's neck upon the glacier, and stretches his limbs beneath ihe open sky, in distrust of his parent's directions, '« a foolish child ; for what is greater folly than to refuse to be guided by a recognised superior in wisdom ? And it cannot be too strongly insisted upon, that one who, in investigating such a subject as the method of human salvation, follows the guidance of his natural instincts in preference to. that of Revela- tion, is a weak person, not a man of bold and courageous thought. Simple dependence upon Goil, where God alone can teach, is the truest independ- ence of mind, — Gonlburn. (3^9-) When I look at the work of the at me- ment, I look at a grand and glorious transaction that lies back, in the order of nature, of the jnirpose of election, and that in its original applicaLility is limited by no design of God. It is for the world — "that whosoever believeth may net perish but have everlasting life." I see in it a work designed to show the benignity of God ; showing how God car be just, and yet the justifier of Him that believeth; how he can maintain His truth and yet forgive ; how He can welcome rebels to His favour and yet show that He hates thtir sins ; how He can admit them to the fellowship of angels, and yet not have them revolt at the accession to their number, or lose their confidence in God, as if He were disjiosed to treat the evil and the good alike. And I love to contemplate it as it stands in its original glory — as it is an emanation of the Divine goodness. I love to contemplate it, not in reference to the comjiara- lively narrow question of selfishness, "who shall or who shall not be saved ; not narrowed down by a reference to a sonlid commercial transaction of debt and purchase ; hut with reference to the display of the Divine perfections — the exhibition of the mercy and the goodness of God. So I love to stand on the shore of the ocean, while surge after surge breaks at my feet ; and the blue expanse stretclies out inimitably before me ; and ships ride proudly over the deep ; and to contemplate it not with reference to the question whether it will safely bear a cargo of mine across it or not, but as a glorious exhibition of the power and greatness of God. So I love to stand on some eminence, and look down upon the land- scape, and to survey the spreading forests, and the river, and the fields, and the waterfalls, and tiie villages, and the churches, not with the narrow in- quiry, "What is all this worth?" but what a view is there here of the goodness of God, and the great- ness of His compassion to the children of men ! So I stand at Niagara, and as God "pours" the water "from His hollow hand," and the soul is filled with emotions of unutterable sublimity, I will not ask what is all this worth for a mill-seat ? but I will allow the scene to lift my soul up to God ; to teach me lessons of His power and greatness, and to show me the littleness of all that man can tlo. And so I will look on the glorious work of the atonement. I will look at it, and ask the qr.estion, who is or who is not to be benefited by it? I will ask what new manifestation there is in it ot the character of God ? what is there to elevate the soul ? what is there to make me think more highly of the love, the truth, and the justice of my Maker ? what is there to ex- ATONEMENT. ( 64 ) A TONEMENT. pand the soul, and to elevate it above the sordid views and grovelling propensities of this world ? — Barnes, 1 87 1. VIII. NOT THE CAUSE, BUT THE MA NT- FES TA TION OF god's love FOR SINNERS. (390. ) We do not suppose that compassion towards them has been purchased, but that it was originally so great that He was willing to stoop to sacrifice in order to rescue and save them. A father has a beloved son. He embarks on the ocean in the pursuits of commerce, and falls into the hands of an Algerine pirate. He is chained, and driven to the slave market, and sold, and conveyed over burning sands as a slave, and pines in hopeless bondage. The news of this reaches the ears of the father. What will be his emotions? Will the suffering of that son make a change in his character? If required, he would gather up his silver, and his gold, and his pearls, and leave his own home, and cross the ocean, and make his way over the burning sands, that he might find out and ransom the captive. But think you he would be a different man now from what he was? Has the captivity of that son made a change in him? No. His sufferings have called out the original tenderness of his bosom, and have merely developed what he was. He so loved that child that the forsaking of his own home, and the perils of the ocean, and the journey over burning sands, were re- garded as of no consequence if he could seek out and save him. These sacrifices and toils would be trifles ; if he might again press his lost son to his bosom, and restore him to his desolate home. It is the love — the strong original love in his bosom, that prompts to the sacrifice, and that makes toil and peril wel- come. So of God. Such was His original love for man, that He was willing to stoop to any sacrifice to save him ; and the gift of a Saviour was the mere expression of that love. — Barnes, 1 798- 1870. IX. ITS RELATION TO THE UNIVERSE. (391.) The mediation of Christ is represented in Scripture as bringing the whole creation into union with the church 01 people of God. In the dispen- sation of the fulness of times it is said that God would "gather together in one all things in Christ, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth, even in Him." Again, "it pleased the Father that in Him should all fulness dwell ; and (having made pence through the blood of His cross) by Him to reconcile all things unto Himself; by Him, I say, whether things in earth, or things in heaven." The language here used supposes that the intro- duction of sin has effected a disunion between men and the other parts of CJod's creation. It is natural to suppose it should be so. If a province of a great empire rise up in rebellion against the lawful govern- ment, all communication between the inhabitants of such a province and the faithful adherents to order and obedience must be at an end. A line of separation would be immediately drawn by the sovereign, and all intercourse between the one and the other prohibited. Nor would it less accord with the inclination than with the duty of all the friends of righteousness, to withdraw their connection from those who were in rebellion against the supreme autiiority and the general good. It must have been thus with regard to the holy angels, on man's apos- tacy. Those who at the creation of our world had sung together, and even shouted for joy, would now retire in disgust and holy indignation. Piut, through the mediation of Christ, a reunion is effected. By the blood of the cross we have peace with God ; and being reconciled to Him, are united to all who love Him throughout the whole extent of creation. If Paul could address the Corinthians, concerning one of their excluded members, who ha^" been brought to repentance, "To whom ye forgive anything, I also ; " much more would the friends of righteousness say, in their addresses to the Great Supreme, concerning an excluded member from the moral system, " To whom Thou forgivest anything, we also ! " Hence angels acknowledge Christians as brethren, and become ministering spiiits to them while inhabitants of the present world. — Andrew i-ulUr, 1754-1815. X. REASONABLENESS OF CHRISt's SUF- FERINGS FOR HIS PEOPLE. (392.) The believer can clear God as just in re- ceiving the debt at Christ's hand, from that near union that is betwixt Christ and His people. The husband may lawfully be arrested for his wife's debt, because this union is voluntary ; and it is to be sup- posed, he did, or ought to have considered what her estate was before he contracted so near a relation to her. A suit may justly be commenced against a surety, because it was his own act to engage for the debt. To be sure, Christ was most free in engaging Himself in the sinner's cause. He knew what a sad plight man's nature was in ; and He had an absolute freedom to please Himself in His choice ; whether He would leave man to perish, or lend His helping hand towards his recovery ; He had also an absolute power of His own life, which no mere creature hath ; so that it being His own offer (upon His Father's call) to take our nature in marriage, thereby to in- terest Himself in our debt, and for the payment of it, to disburse and pour out His own precious blood to death, how dare proud flesh call the justice of God to the bar, and bring His righteousness in this transaction into question, for which God promisea Himself the highest expressions of love and than*.- fulness at His creatures' hands ? — Gurnall, 161 7-1679. XI. VICARIOUS SUFFERING THE LA)V OF THE UNIVERSE. (393.) But -why must my Lord be wounded for my transgressions, bruised for my iniquities? Why must He be chastised for my peace? It may help some, if we go round about for our answer, if we appeal to dumb, yet speaking, nature. How is it that the ground has to be wounded by spade and plough, and put, as it were, to the torture under harrows before it will produce bread-corn for us ? How is it that when the corn is produced it must also be subjected to torture, — must be bruised under millstones, ground and reground, before it will make bread for us ? How is it that even then the bread is not committed to the stomach, before it has been further bruised and mangled by the teeth? How is it that plants, flowers, and fruits only yield their latent virtues when bruised ? How is it that there can be no wine till the grapes have been pressed or trodden ? Why is vegetable life sacrificed foi us? Why is animal life slain for us? Why Joes every creature come into the world through the gate ATONEMENT. ( 65 ) A TONEMENT. tJi sorrow? Why is man bom to labour? Why is the sweat of the brow associated with labour? Why are labour and sorrow the price which must be paid for knowledge? Why are the holiest things most hidden? Why is God hidden from us? How is it tliat all things are secreted within chaff, or skin, or shell, and that violence must be done to chaff, skin, or shell, in order to reach the hidden good? How is it that death is the gate of life? If you find the answers to these questions, it will help you to the opening of the higher question : How is it that the bread of God, the Spirit of Life, the mercy of the Eternal Father, is not adapted to our need, till it comes to us through the humbled, bruised, tor- tured, crucified Son of God? If you cannot answer the former questions, you will learn, at least, that the whole of nature labours under the same difficulty as "Christ crucified." You will see that good comes into this world through a strait gate, the better comes in through a still straiter gate, and the best comes in through the straitest gate of all. Indeed the absolutely best is not known in our world. Nature will grow thorns and thistles with- out labour and culture, but if you will have corn- fields and vineyards, you must chastise nature, and afflict your own body and soul with hard labour. Children will grow up in ignorance and vice, with- out the care of parents and the labour of teacheis ; but not in knowledge and virtue. Still less, without earnest painstaking, will they grow up for heaven. The fact is, evil thrives here, but good suffers. The higher and the purer the good, the more it suffers. However it be accounted for, "this whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain," brings forth in labour and sorrow, runs through its brief course of vanity, and ends in death. Let those, therefore, who turn sulky and grumble, because they find the Cross of Christ in the Bible, have the goodness to remove the stumblingblock from Nature. For my part I find the Cross of Christ, not an untrue revela- tion of what was a Divine condition, before Jesus was born, or the prophecies written. Upon whose shoulders did the burden of this fallen and degenerate creation rest from time immemorial ? Who was grieved and smitten to the heart, by the Titans of rebellion and wickedness that were before the flood ? Is it not always the head of the house who feels most sorely the disorder, the evils, and the sorrows of his house? And who is the Head of this great house which we call universe? Is it its own head, or is God its Head ? God, certainly. Then the chief pressure of its evil condition must lie upon Him, must it not? Surely, What countenance then, or authority, from nature, have men for objecting to the Cross of Christ ? The Cross of Christ did not make a new truth : it was rather the manifestation of a world-old truth. —Pulsford. (394.) The points in the doctrine of the Atone- ment which present most difficulty to the natural understanding, are, first, the necessity of any suffer- ing in order to procure human redemption ; and, secondly, the imputation to the innocent of the sins of the guilty. It may alleviate these difficulties for such minds as love to see a unity of principle in God's dealings, to remark, first, that almost all temporal blessings are purchased at the expense of •orrow somewhere. Since the entrance of sin into the world, it seems to be the one condition of our every blessing, nay, in many instances, of life itself, that some one shall suffer to procure thera. We move in the midst of comforts, most of which are furnished by the severe toil of the handicraftsman. Our lives are supported by animal food, and in [iro- viding animal food, some innocent creature is made to bleed and die. The structure of civilisation is built up upon the groans and toils of the few. It is then surely in accordance with a law which seems to pervade God's universe, that the highest, the inappreciable blessing of redemption, should l)e purchased by the deepest anguish that ever rent the human soul asunder. Secondly, the fact is certain, however we may explain it, that sins 'are visited upon others than their agents. The spendthrift and intemperate father entails upon his son, in the ordinary course of things, an enfeebled constitution, and all the miseries of poverty. We may quarrel with these facts if we please ; but they confront us wherever we turn our eyes, and we cannot deny them. Why is an innocent person to suffer even one single pang of bodily pain for the sins of the guilty ? I care not to say why ; for to our limited capacities many of God's dealings are utterly inscrutable ; but I can- not be blind to the fact that so it is in the world of nature. And if (iod deals thus in the world of nature, why should we refuse to believe that His dealings in the world of grace will be characterised by the same great feature, that (in Scripture phrase- ology) "Ciirist was made sin for us, in order that we might be made the righteousness of God is Him " ? — Goulburn. (395- ) Society, the whole fabric of the moral world, is carried on, and is held together by a law, by a scheme of natural intervention or mediation; I think you could scarcely name a joy you have ever felt ; or a trouble from which you have ever escaped, which you cannot trace to the intervention of another, and not rarely to an intervention efiected with pail to the intervener. Think of the little babe ; there it lies, joyous and redolent with the promise of the activities of life, yet utterly helpless and dependent upon others' care. But think also of the pale face of her whose strength scarcely suffices to nestle her little one in hei nerveless arms. Nay, without my bidding, som« of you perforce recall to memory, how the mother's pulse ceased to beat before she could utter a parent'* blessing on a child. And what is all this? what is it but a redemption of a life, at the cost of the sufferings of another I Pass onwards a few years, and trace that child now walking with elastic step at his father's side — but look upwards at the father's face ; you will not be surprised to find many a deep furrow there, furrows that bear testimony to the father's anxieties and father's toils — anxieties and toils, that the bright boy who walks at his side may have a good offset for the battle of life before him, nay, anxieties and toils sometimes deep and inevitable for the bare supply of that child's daily bread. And what means all this? What is it but redemption again, some- times procured at the cost of labour, and suffering, and tears ! And when is it that you cease to hear men speak of their "friends"? What other word so commoD among us? Need I remind you what that word " friend " practically implies? Alas! for the most oart it implies, not the confiding interchange of thougnt ; not the sweet comparison of experience. ATONEMENT. 66 ATONEMENT. jtnd of hope, and of aspiration ; not the pleasant suggestions which arise from community of taste ; for such high privileges are reserved for those only who by patient continuance in well-c'oing have acquired the right and the capacity to ei.joy them ; but ihat commonest of words a "friend," bears testimony to that commonness of weakness which looks for aid in another's strength ; to that common- ness of wants which seeks their supply in another's abundance ; it bears testimony to that commonness of troubles which not rarely can be removed solely at the cost of another's pains, even greater than those which they assuage. There is not, there can- not be, a man before me who may not trace, again and again, instances of what 1 mean in his own personal history. " I speak of wlrat we know and feel within." And think again, for a moment, even of the arts and conveniences of life ; of the appliances, the inventions, the discoveries which God hath ordained to ennoble life ; such results come at no man's light bidding ; the discovery, the invention may come, and in fact must at last like a flash ; but the happy, the final thought comes to the man of genius only after days and nights, or even years of patient endurance in intellectual toil. And when it does come to him, not seldom the health is failing, or the lamp of life is flickering and burnt low ; or other men step in, reaping the harvest of his toil, and leaving him little more than the gleanings of the field, the sowing whereof was all his own. Look at the countenances of the chief among those able men who now throng your town,* and on their brows you will find many a trace of the midnight struggle with thought, ageing them before they have reached their prime. Herein is that saying true, "One soweth, and another reapeth." These men labour, you and I " enter into their labours." And so I might proceed with other instances of a like import. If the time allowed, I might more than briefly allude to the well-known names of noble men and of noble women still living among us, who like apostles and martyrs of old, count not their lives dear unto them, if only they may help the helpless, cheer the cheerless, raise the fallen, and impart the joy of hope to the spirit of the dying. But 1 forbear ; for one continuous system of redemp- tion and of vicarious sufiermg has l^een ordained of God as the very law and tlie plan of our natural being. Now, such being the scheme, such the manner after which it has pleased the Eternal Creator to impart the joys, to assuage the sorrows, and to enlighten the ignorance of His creatures in this their natural life which endures but for threescore years and ten ; I ask you. Is there anything which can reasonably jar upon our feelings, if we find that the Eternal Father in His marvellous beneficence has inierposed after a like, though a higher manner, on behalf of His children in those higlier relations of theirs which endure fur ever ? — I^rUcliard. XII. OBJECTIONS ANSWERED. 1, Salvation toy the suffering- of anotber is not tnconsistent with the Divine justice. (396.) Men say that U is unjust that one rosui ^ould suffer for another ; however willing mav be * The sermon from which this extract was made was preached on the occasion of a visit of the BriiUh Associa- ttorn to Norwich. the sufferer, however he may put aside the rights of his own innocence, it is revolting to our reason to suppose that God will or can accept such a sacrifice as effectual towards the forgiveness of the guilty. Yet, I suppose there is nothing in human history more plain than that men suffer the natural punish- ments for things of which they are not guilty. We speak as if the Saviour's sacrifice were the only fact hard to be accepted in the Divine economy, as if an objection established against this one tenet would leave all the rest of the Divine Government plain, and easy to be understood. That is not the case. How do we make it just that all from their birth should need atonement, that they should be incap- able of holiness? How do we account for the ruined health and morals of the children where the father has been licentious? how for the devastation of whole countries in a warfare waged upon the quarrel of kings? how for the calamities which shipwreck, and earthquake, and contagion bring on the unoffending? how for the light and prosperity enjoyed by European races, whilst the African nations grovel in degradation ? Men are not, and cannot be, regarded only as free and responsible units, each planted apart from all his neighbours and thoroughly independent of them all ; as per- fectly free on the one hand, and on the other, com- pletely responsible for all their acts without help or hindrance from any other. Man has his individual life ; but he is also one of a family, of a city, of a nation ; and his lot is bound up with that of others in all these relations. When the shells are crashing through the roofs of the bombarded town, they will shatter alike the warrior and the man that longs for p'=?ace. When the pestilence that walketh in dark- ness and destroyeth in the noonday is marching through our streets and alleys, it mows down alike those whose careless habits have encouraged the disease, and those who have purged their dwellings from those pollutions on which infection feeds. The Most High is just indeed ; but He is also a jealous God, visiting the sins of the fathers on the children. Through such enactments does His justice work itself out. One day we may under- stand His ways, and learn that His moral govern- ment proceeds on laws as beautiful and as harmoni- ous as those which regulate the world of nature. But, in the meantime, let us not argue upon God's justice, as if we understood it thoroughly. So far from its being a paradox that another should exercise an influence over our moral being, examples of such an influence will occur to every one. And a being quite separated from all other nati'-'^s, and owing nothing of his character or his anions to others around him, cannot even be conceived of any existing under our human nature. If it is unjust that your sins, out of which you cannot help your- selves, should receive great help from another whose you are, in whom as the Word and Wisdom of God you live, and move, and have your being, why are you allowed to profit by other men's toil and labour in anything whatever? All that you are and have has come from others, now through the most wearing labour, now through perils that have even cost life itself There is, therefore, nothing repugnant to the known facts of God's government, in the belief that one may exert an influence over others, both for good and evil ; it is not utterly abhorrent to the Divine justice that one should be permitted to lift off the weight of others' sins, unless it is also abhorrent to it that sins should be lraaa> A TONEMENT. ( 67 ) AVARICE. initted from father to child, or the profligate be allowed to entice tlie innocent to share his sin. The power of others over us is one of the most difficult forms of that obscure enign. a — theexistence of evil in the world. But of all solutions the least satisfactory to my own mind would be that which allowed it for evil and denied it for good ; which admitted that the sins of the first Adam may be inherited, but denied that the second Adam could relieve them ; which was able to say, " In Adam all die," but found it a blasphemy against the justice of heaven to add, "Even so in Christ shall all be made alive." — 1 hoinson, 2. The redemption of the human race Is not a task unworthy of the Divine greatness. (397-) God is as incapable of being indifferent towards I lis lost mankind, as is a mother towards her lost child. Lost mankind are not only His lost, but His lost children. His piece of money is Money in- deed, for originally it came out of the mine of His Eternal Nature. Heathen poets. Christian Apostles, and modern philosophy are agreed that mankind "are His offspring. " And does not the Source of all hearts feel ? And is He not concerned for His lost? In the Divinity of indifference I cannot believe. I could far more easily believe that the Divine Heart carries a huge grief; and that "the Man of Sorrows " only partially repre^jnf; (he tenderness of Infinite Love. In human hearts, in mother's love, in angelic love, and in the Person of Jesus, the affections of God have a wide and won- derful revelation ; but what the Divine Affections are in their Fountain-head must be beyond all revealing and conceiving. And yet I am strongly inclined to think that, to many, one great offence of the Gospel is, that it is too gracious, too tender, too womanly. They can believe in a God afar off, but they cannot believe in God "nigh at hand." They can conceive God to have Almighty Power, Infinite Wisdom and Justice, but they cannot give Him credit for Infinite Affection. They know that a woman will light a candle and go into every hole and corner, stooping and searching, until she find that which she has missed ; but they have no idea that this can be a true parable of God's concern for His lost children. They are not surprised to find a heart in my Lady F"ranklin : they are not surprised at any measures that she may set on foot to recover the lost one. They are not surprised that the British and American Governments should be con- cerned to seek, and if possible, to save Sir John and his crew. No one said, they are not worth the expense and labour of seeking, because they are few. Not far from a million pounds were sacrificed in this search. Besides money, good brothers were not found backward to expose their own lives to danger, in the distant hope of finding and relieving their missing lirothers. Have the English Govern- ment and people so great a concern to recover their los: and has God none? Better say that a drop contains more than the ocean, that a candle gives more light than the sun, that there are higher virtues in a stream than in its source, and that the creature has rhore heart than (jod. Otherwise confess, that the Gospel is infinitely worthy of the Heart of God ; and never more imagine the Great Father to find rest under the loss of His human family, in the con- solation : "They are nothing compared with My universe, they will never be missed. ' — Fulsford, S. This -world Is not too small a sphere for such a wonderful display of the Divine love. (39S. ) Let creation he ever so extensive, there is nothing inconsistent with reason in supposing that some one particular part of it should be':iiosen out from the rest, as a theatre on which the great Author of all things would perform His mosi glorious works. Every empire that has been founded in the world has had some one particular spot where those actions were performed, from which its glory has arisen. 'I'he glory of the C.xsars was founded on the event of a Ijattle fought near a very inconsitlerable city ; and why might not this world, though less than " twenty-five thousand miles in cir- cumference," be chosen as the theatre on which God would bring about events that should fill His whole empire with glory and Joy ? It would be as reason- able to plead the insignificance of Actium or Agin- court in objection to the competency of the victories there obtained (supposing them to have been on the side of righteousness), to fill the respective empires of Rome and Britain with glory, as that of our world to fill the whole empire of God with matter of joy and everlasting praise. The truth is, the comparative dimension of our world is of no account. If it be large enough for the accomplish- ment of events which are sufficient to occupy the minds of all intelligences, that is all that is required. — Andrew Fuller, 1754-18 15. XIII. NO DIFFICULTIES IN OUR UNDER- STANDING THE METHOD OF THE ATONE- MENT SHOULD HINDER US FROM GRATE- FULLY ACCEPTING IT. (399.) When I see men busy about the methoJ. of atonement, I marvel at them. It is as if a man that was starving to death should insist upon going into a laboratory to ascertain in what way dirt germinated wheat. It is as if a man that was perishing from hunger should insist upon having a chemical analysis of bread. — Beecher. AVARICE. 1. Defined. (400.) Avarice is nothing but a higher form of the wish to obtain property — so high that it cuts off one's sympathy from others ; and lowers the impression of the value of things which are more valuable than riches. It becomes first a kind of intemperance ; and then it becomes like intem- perance itself, a disease ; and finally it becomes insanity. There are few misers ; but there are a great many men who have the first tc/uches of miserism in them. There is a closeness, a tenacity with which men hold money. There is a growing indisposition to use it for any other purpose than to increase it. There is a sjiirii by which men see m riches only capital to be invested for the sake of its interest, which is to them good to be invested again. So they roll their possessions, as boys used to roll the snow in winter. In rolling, it incre.ises in magnitude, and is at last vaster than they can shove. Anfl when they have amassed it, what do they do ? They let it stand where it is, and the summer finds it, and melts it all away. It sinks to water again ; and the water is sucked up, and goes to make snow once more for other loolish bjys lo AVARICE. ( 68 ) AVARICE. roll into heaps. Men go on amassing wealth, eiilier in the early stages, or the middle stages, or the latter stages of avarice, desiring it, not for what it can do. not for what it is as a quickener, as a helper, as a teacher, as a purveyor of God's bouniy, but purely and simply because it is wealth. — Batcher. 2. Is a result of atheism. (401.) Because men believe not Providence, therefore tliey do so greedily scrape and hoard. They do not believe any reward for charity, there- fore they will part with nothing. — Barrow, 163 1 -1 7 1 3. 5. Its Insldlousness. (402.) Beware of growing covetousness, for of all sins this is one of the most insidious. It is like the silting up of a river. As the stream comes down from the land, it brings with it sand and earth, and deposits all these at its mouth, so that by degrees, unless the conservators watch it care- fully, it will block itself up, and leave no channel for ships of great burden. By daily deposit it imperceptibly creates a bar which is dangerous to navigation. Many a man when he begins to accumulate wealth commences at the same moment to ruin his soul, and the more he acquires, the more closely he blocks up his liberality, which is, so to speak, the very mouth of spiritual life. In- stead of doing more for (jod he does less ; the more he saves the more he wants, and the more he wants of this world the less he cares for the world to come. — Spurgeon, 4. Degrades tlie character. (403.) The avaricious man is like a pig, which seeks its food in the mud, without caring where it comes from. — Vianney. 6. Leads to dishonesty and falsehood. (404.) The love of money can never keep goo'' quarter with honesty ; there is a mint of fraud in the worldly breast, and it can coin lies as fast as utterance. — Adams, 1653. 6. The imagination of the covetous. (405.) The fancy is a mint-house, and most of the tiioughts a covetous man mints are worldly : he is always plotting and projecting about the things of Ihis life ; like a virgin that hath all her thoughts running upon her suitor. — Watson, 1696. 7. Is Insatiable. (406.) It is not abundance, nor masses of gold and silver, that can quench this insatiable thirst ; but thereby it is rather increase!. I'or as more wood put to the fire augments the flame and the heat, so the desire of many by addition of wealth is mulliplied. — Attersol, 1618. (407.) The countryman in the fable would needs B^ay till the river was run all away, and then go over dry-shod ; but the river did run on still, and he was deceived in his expectation. Such are the world- ling's inordinate desires : the deceitful heart pro- miseth to see them run over and gone, when they are attained to such a measure, and then they are stronger, wider, and more unruly than before ; for a covetous heart grasps at no less than the whole world — would fain be master of all, and dwell alone, like a wen in the Dody, which draws all to itself. l.et it have never so much, it will reach after more ; %»ia house to bouse, and field to field, till there be no more place to compass. Like a bladder, it swells wider and wider, the more of this empty world is put into it. So boundless, so endless, so inordinate are the corrupt desires of worldly-minded men ! — Spencer, 1656. (408.) A ship may be overladen with silver, even unto sinking, and yet space enough be left to hold ten times more. So a covetous man, though he have enough to sink him, yet never hath he enough to satisfy him, like that miserable caitiff, mentioned by Theocritus, first wishing that he had a thousand sheep in his flock, and then when he has them, he would have cattle without number. Thus a circle cannot fill a triangle, so neither can the whole world (if it were to be compassed) the heart of man ; a man may as easily fill a chest with grace, as the heart with gold. The air fills not the body, neither doth money the covetous mind of man. — Trapp, 1 601-1669. (409.) Covetousness is a disease of the mind, and an unnatural thirst which is inflamed by that which should quench it. Every desire that is natural is satisfied and at rest, when it hath once obtained the thing it desired. If a man be hungry, he is satisfied when he hath eaten ; or if he be thirsty, his thirst is allayed and quenched when he hath drank to such a proportion as nature doth require ; and if he eat and drink beyond this measure, nature is oppressed, and it is a burden to him. But covetousness is the thirst, not of nature, but of a diseased mind. It is the thirst of a fever, or of a dropsy ; the more a man drinks the more he desires, and the more he is in- flamed. In like manner, the more the covetous man increaseth his estate, the more his desires are en- larged and extended, and he finds continually new occasions and new necessities. If this be the nature of this vice, the more it gels still to covet the more, then nothing can be more unreasonable than to think to gratify this appetite ; because, at this rate, the man can never be con- tented, because be can never have enough. Nay, so far as it is from that, that every new accession to his fortune sets his desires one degree farther from rest and satisfaction. For a covetous mind having no bounds, it is very probable that the man's desire will increase much faster than his estate ; and then the richer he is, he is still the poorer, because he is still the less contented with his condition. However, it is impossible that the man's desire should ever be satisfied ; for desire being always first, if the man's desire for riches advanceth and goes forward as fast as riches follow, then it is not possible for riches ever to overtake the desire of them, no more than the hinder wheels of a coach can overtake those which are before ; because, as they were at a dis- tance at first setting out, so let them go never so £u or so fast, they keep the same distance still. — Tillotson, 1630-1694. (410.) The thirst for gold, like the drunkard's, is insatiable. The more it is indulged, the more the flame is fed, it burns the fiercer. — GtiChrU. (411.) Just as our views expand the higher we ascend the steep of a vast mountain, so do our wishes widen the further we advance in wealth. — Mursell. (412.) The love of money, like all other passion*, grows by what it feeds on. Indulgence serve* only to strengthen it, and to render it the mora A V A RICE. ( 69 ) A VARICE. insatiable. What seemed a fortune before it was attained, dwindles into comparative poverty when it hao been actually acquired. The height which looked so lofty when viewed from the plain, sinks down almost to the level of the plain itself, when, standing on its summit, the climber contrasts it with tlie far loftier eminences which have now come into view. He finds himself only as yet at the bottom of a vast mountain chain ; the higher he asceniis, the more distinctly this fact appears ; and just so it is with the love of money. The sum that looked so large in his eye at the outset, shrinks by and by into a trifle. Once it seemed wealth, now it appears the barest competence. It is measured every year by a new standard — the stan- dard of a higher grade of society — of a more ambitious style of living — of new wants and more expensive tastes. Things which at one time would have been accounted luxuries, having now become the merest necessaries of life. That which at an earlier stage of his career would have been ac- counted extravagance, has now almost the aspect of meanness. The point at which he is prepared to say that it is enough, is like the horizon, to which the traveller, however far and however fast the journeys, never gets any nearer. The case now described is, to the full, as common in our day, as it could have been in the time of Solomon. — Buchanan. 8. Is especially the sin of old age. (413.) There may be a forsaking of a particular gin that has been delightful and predominant without sincerity towards God, for another lust may have got possession of the heart, and take the throne. There is an alternate succession of appetites in the corrupt nature, according to the change of men's temper or interests in the world. As seeds sown in that order in a garden, that 'tis always full of a succession of fruits and herbs in season ; so original sin that is sown in our nature, is productive of divers lusts, some in the spring, others in the summer of our age, some in the autumn, others in the winter. Sensual lusts flourish in youth, but when mature age has cooled these desires, worldly lusts succeed ; in old age there is no relish for sensuality, but covetousness reigns imperiously. Kow he that expels one sin, and entertains another, continues in a state of sin ; 'tis but exchanging one familiar for another ; or, to borrow the prophet's expression, " 'Tis as one should fly from a lion, and meet with a bear " that will as certainly tlevoui him. — Salter, 1840. •. Sometimes overreaclies itself. (414 ) A very rich merchant, who had an only son, made his will, by which he gave all his wealth, which amounted to three hundred thousand francs, to certain monks, leaving them to give to his son such a sum as they wished. The merchant died ; the monks took all to themselves without wishing to give any- thing to the heir. The latter conijiiained to the viceroy, who, having seen the will, asked the monks what they offered to the son. "Ten thou- sand francs," they replied. ''You wish, then, to have all the rest ? ' " Yes, my lord, we demanded the execution of the will." "That is just," said the viceroy, "but you do not understand it properly ; it is said that the son shall have that which you wish, you grant ten to the heir ; it is two hoiiUred and ninety thousand francs that jfou want. Ah well ! following the clause of the will, this sum is set apart for the son. I order you to give it to him ; the ten thousand francs remaning are therefore yours." They were obliged to submit. — /^. AI. Taylor. 10. Its folly. (415.) I doubt not many covetous men take a great deal of pleasure in ruminating upon their wealth, and in recounting what they have ; but they have a great deal of tormenting care and fear about it, and if they had not, it is very hard to understand where the reasonable pleasure and happiness lies of having things to no end. It is, at the best, like that of some foolish birds, which, they say, take pleasure in stealing money, that they may hide it ; as if it were worth the while for men to take pains to dig silver out of the earth, for no other purpose but to melt it down and stamp it, and bury it there again. — Tillotson, 1 630-1 694. (416.) A covetous man is like a dog in a wheel, that roasteth meat for others. — E. Cook. 11. Its misery. (417. Poverty is in want of much, but avarice of everything. — Pubiius Syius. (418.) What can be more miserable, than for a man to toil and labour his whole life, and to have no power to enjoy any fruit of his labours? to bear like an ass a golden burden all the day, and, without any further use of it, at night to iiave it taken away, reserving nothing to himself but a galled conscience? — Downaiiie, 1644. 12. Its odlousness. (419.) It is a common saying that a hog is good for nothing whilst he is alive : not good to bear or carry, as the horse ; nor to draw, as the ox ; nor to clothe, as the sheep ; nor to give milk, as the cow ; nor to keep the house, as the dog ; but ad solam mortem nutritiii- (fed only to the slaughter). So a covetous rich man, just like a hog, doth no goc BACKSLIDERS. K yo ) BACKSLIDERS. BACKSLIDERS. 1. Should be regarded witU compassion, (423.) The story of Hagar with her son Ishmael is set down by so heavenly a pen, that a man cannot read it without tears. She is cast out of Abraham's house with her child, that might call her master father. Bread and water is put on her shoulder, and she wanders into the wilderness ; a poor relief for so long a journey, to which there was set no date of returning. Soon was the water spent in the bottle ; the child cries for drink to her that had it not, and lifts up pitiful eyes, every glance whereof was enough to wound her soul ; vents the sighs of a dry and panting heart ; but there is no water to be had, except the tears that ran down from a sorrowful mother's eyes could quench its thirst. Down she lays the child under a shrub, and went, as heavy as ever mother parted from her only son, and sal her down upon the earth, as if she desired it for a present receptacle of her grief, of herself; "a good way oft," saith the text, "as it were a bow- shot," that the shrieks, yellings, and dying groans of the cliild might not reach lier ears ; crying out, " Let me not see the death of the child." Die she knew he must, but as if the beholding it would rend her heart and wound her soul, slie denies those win- dows so sad a spectacle : " Let me not see the death of the child. So she lift up her voice and wept." Never was llagar so pitiful to her son Ishmael, as the Church is to every Christian. If any son of her womb will wander out of Abraham's family, the house of faith, into the wilderness of this world, and prodigally part with his "own merry " for the gaudy, transient vanities thereof, she follows with entreaties to him and to heaven for him. If he will not return, she is loath to see his death ; she turns her back upon him, and weeps. He that can with dry eyes and unrelenting heart behold a man's soul ready to perish, hath not so much passion and compassion as that Egyptian bondwoman. — Adams, 1654. 2. God's compassion for them. (424.) He pities the backslider; just as the general on the field of battle pities tlie wounded who are carried bleeding by their comrades to the rear. " Go and proclaim these words towards the north, and say. Return, thou backsliding Israel, saith the Lord, and I will not cause mine anger to lall upon you ; for I am merciful, sailh the Lord, and 1 will not keep anger for ever." — Macduff. 3. Their duty. (425.) The Christian's care should be to get his armour speedily repaired ; a haltered helmet is next to no helmet in point of piesent use; grace in decay is like a man pulled off his legs by sickness ; if some means be not used to recover it, little service will be done by it, or comfort received from it. Therefore Christ gives the Church of Ephesus (to whom Paul wrote the Epistle) ihis counsel : "To remember from whence she was fallen, to repent, and do her first works." — Waiter. 4. What reclaimed backsliders ate to do with their " old hope." (426.) One 01 the very first questions, where persons have been professors of religion, and have for various reasons backslidden and declined into a carnal and secular iue, and their moral sense and conscience have begun to be quickened, always is, '* What shall I do with my old hope ? " One would think, from their talk, that a hope was a literal, visible, tangible thing, like a title-deed, and that, however one's old hope may have been neglected, when he starts again he must connect it with his new hope, or else there will be a flaw in the title ! My own impression about this is, that an old hope is just like the Jews' manna on the second day. It is said, if I remember correctly, that it stank. The Lord did not let them pick up manna for more than one day. If any of them thought they would — if any of them, greedy, as men are now-a-days, picked up enough for two days, it stank in their vessels. I think our hope in the Lord Jesus Christ is to be gathered up every day fresh, and that if any man undertakes to keep it, it spoils in the keeping. And whether a man thinks he has been a Christian or not, and whether he has been deceived or not, has little to do, it seems to me, with his present duty. Let me put a case to you — A man has learned to read of a very poor master. He makes up his mind that he will take lessons of a rhetorical teacher. He takes his book and reads, and as he reads, drawls his words and runs ihem together, and makes bad work of it generally ; and the teacher says : " Stop ! stop! stop ! What sort of reading is that ? That vvill never do in the world. You are no reader at all." And the man says, "Then I suppose I must go back and read my A B C's again." He has already learned them ; he simply reads poorly, without proper emphasis, without any appreciation of the sense, and without indicating the pauses ; and what has he to do but to start where he is, and do the right and best thing ? Suppose a man h^s been prescribing for himself for some ailment, and finding that he is getting no better, he calls a doctor, and the tloctor says, " You have been mistaken about yourself; you have not understood your own symptoms ; you have em- ploy-ii improper remedies ; you have not hit the difficulty at all ; you have aggravated your trouble" — would there be anything for that man to do except to stop just where he was, and take the new course, that under skilful direction, would lead to entire sanative restoration? Now, it is precisely so in religious matters. A man who has begun a Christian life, and stopped ; or a man who has begun a Christian life, and gone through devious and circuitous ways till he is quite out of the right path ; or a man who has been swept away by worldly influences ; such a man, the moment he comes to himself, says, or should say, "There is but one course for me." Right there, where he is, without stopping to think of the past or anything relating to it, he should begin to live a humble, loving, obedient life to the Lord Jeius Christ. Standing right in his tracks, he is to begin there and then, and just as he is, as though he had never had any hope or known anything about religion. Throw away all the hope you ever had, and lake a new one. I do not mean by this to bring contempt upon old ex|)eriences ; but your transcendent duty is to begin insianily, in your place, to fulfil your obliga- tions toward (.iod and man. If you have been a Christian before, you will find it out ; and if you have nevf.r ij^en a Christian, it is time that you were one ; and in either case the way is not to go BACKSLIDING. ( 71 ) BE A UTY. back and try to analyse and test old evidences, but to take a new start, with a new hope, and a new love, and a new purpose, for the Saviour. — Beuher. BACKSLIDING. * 1. Its perilousnesg. (427.) We find in Scripture many desperately sick, yet cured the first time by our Saviour, liut where do we read in all the Scripture, where in all the Gospel, of any blind man's eyes twice enlightened? of any deaf ears twice opened ? of any tied tongue twice loosened? of any possessed with devils twice dispossessed? of any dead twice raised? No doubt but that Christ could have done it, but we read not that ever lie did it — the reason, that we should be most careful to avoid relapses into former sins, the recovery whereof is very uncertain, always difficult, and in some cases, as the apostle teacheth, impos- sible. — Alphonoiis ab Avendanus, 1590. 2. Is gradual in its progress. (428.) A church is sometimes astounded by the fall of some professor in it ; this is the fruit, not the seed or the beginning, of backsliding. So a man is laid on a side bed, but the disorder has only now arrived at its crisis, it has for some time been work- ing in his system, and has at last burst out and laid him low. So the sin of departing from God, and secretly declining, has been going on while the pro- fession has still been maintained — the process of backsliding has been working silently, yet sjirely, until a temptation has at last opened the way for its bursting forth, to the scandal of God's people and true religion. " He that despiseth small things shall fall by little and little." In the sight of God the man was fallen before, we only uoau ha\e first discovered it. — Suite/, 1840. 3. Is most frequently due to Indulgence in little Bins. (429.) There is many a man who evinces, for a lime, a steadfast attention to religion, walking with »11 care in the path of God's commandments, &c., but who, after awhile, declines from spirituality, and is dead, though he may yet have a name to live. But how does it commonly happen that such a man falls away from the struggle for salvation? Is it ordinarily through some one powerful and undis- guised assault that he is turned from the faith, or over one huge obstacle that he falls not to rise again ? Not so. It is almost invariably through little things. He fails to take notice of little things, and they accumulate into great. He allows him- self in little things, and thus forms a strong habit. He relaxes in little things, and thus in time loosens every bond. Because it is a little thing, he counts it of little moment, utterly forgetting that millions are made up of units, that immensity is constituted of atoms. Because it is only a stone, a pebble, against which his foot strikes, he makes light of the hindrance ; not caring that he is contracting a habit of stumbling, or of observing that whenever he trips there must be some diminution in the speed with which he runs the way of God's commandments, and that, however slowly, these diminutions are certainly bringing him to a stand. The astronomer tells us, that, because they move in a resisting medium, which perhaps in a million of years destroys the millionth part of their velocity. the heavenly bodies will at length cease from their mighty march. May not, then, the theologian as- sure us that little roughness in the way, each retard- ing us, though in an imperceptible degree, will eventually destroy the onward movement, however vigorous and directed it may at one time have seemed ? Would to God that we could persuade you of the peril of little offences ! We are not half as much afraid of your hurting the head against a rock, as of your hurting the foot against a stone. There is a sort of continued attrition, resulting from our necessary intercourse with the world, which of itself deadens the movements of the soul ; there is, moreover, a continued temptation to yield in little points, under the notion of conciliating ; to indulge in little things, to forego little strictnesses, to omit little duties ; and all with the idea that what looks so light cannot be of real moment. And by these littles, thousands, tens of thousands, perish. If they do not come actually and openly to a stand, they stumble and stumble on, getting more and more careless, nearer and nearer to indifference, lowering the Christian standards, suffering religion to be peeled away by inches, persuading themselves that they can spare without injury such inconsider- able bits, and not perceiving that in stripping the bark they stop the sap. — Alelvill, 1798-1871. BEAUTY. 1. NATURAL BEAUTY, 1. A revelation of God. (430.) We cannot look round us without being struck by the surprising variety and multiplicity of the sources of beauty of creation, produced by form, or by colour, or by bofh united. It is scarcely too much to say, that every object in nature, animate or inanimate, is in some manner beautiful : so largely has the Creator provided for our pleasures through the sense of sight. It is one of the revelations which the Creator has made of Himself to man. He was to be admired and loved : it was through the demonstrations of His character that we could alone see Him and judge of Him : and in thus in- ducing or compelling us to admire and love the visible works of His hand. He has taught us to love and adore Himself. — Macailloch, 1773. {431.) Never lose an opportunity of seeing any- thing beautiful. Beauty is God's handwriting — a wayside s.icrament ; welcome it in every fair face, every fair sky, every fair flower, and thank Ilira earnestly with your eyes. It is a charming draught, a cup of blessing. 2. The love of beauty. (432.) It was a very proper answer to him who asked why any man should be delighted with beauty, that it was a question that none but a blind man could ask. — Lord Clai-endon, 160S-1613. 3. Its moral uses. (433.) How can a man consent to indulge in the beautiful while the world is lying in wickedness ? How can a man take his time, and strength, and means, and employ them upon himself, when he should give them to the world ? What is a man as a moral agent, as a neighbour, as a benefactor? What does he bring to work with but his educated BE A UTY. ( 72 ) BELIEF, powers? And if the beautiful is an educator; if it makes a man diviner, richer, sweeter ; if at every point where he touches men it augments the volume of his moral influence ; if it makes him a more potential advocate of truth in the world, then in- dulgence in it is part and parcel of that education which qualifies him to be most useful among his fellow-men. Here is a man of the olden time that is about to go down to battle ; and his Christian friends and associates say to him, "How can you waste your means in buying your helmet, and corselet, and arm-plates ? How can you spend so much money for your sword and spear ? " Why, his power as a warrior lies in these things. And a man that goes into life with all forms of coarseness, and selfishness, and wickedness, is like a warrior that goes into battle without his sword, and spear, and helmet, and corselets, and arm-plates ; and what he acquires from books, from works of art, from his contact with the higher influences that surround liim, fit him for a better discharge of the duties which devolve upon him ; and his power to do good is to be measured by the amount that he has in him, as a result of the edu- cation which he has received by reason of these things. And if it is said, " How can you, while the whole world is lying in wickedness, indulge in beauty ? " I say. The world being in wickedness, I am going to educate myself in beauty, that I may be the better fitted to elevate it out of that wickedness. The beautiful is one of the elements with which I am to familiarise myself, in order that I may the more successfully engage in this work. God educates men for labouring in His kingdon on earth by spreading out before them the beauties which He has created in the natural world. The beautiful, therefore, may be made a moral instructor, and it may make the soul of man powerful ; so that in- dulgence in it, instead of being selfish, is a part of one s lawful education. —Beecher, II. PERSONAL BEAUTY. 1. Overrated. {434.) I cannot understand the importance which certain people set upon outward beauty or plainness. 1 am of opinion that all true education, such at least as has a religious foundation, must infuse a noble calm, a wholesome coldness, an indifference, or whatever people may call it, towards such-like out- ward gifts, or the want of them. And who has not experienced of how little consequence they are in fact for the weal or woe of life? Who has not experienced how, on nearer acquaintance, plainness becomes beautified, and beauty loses its charm, exactly according to the quality of the heart and mind ? And from this cause am I of opinion that the want of outward beauty never disquiets a noble nature or will be regarded as a misfortune. It never can prevent people from being amiable and beloved in the highest degree ; and we have daily proof of this. — FredaHka Bremer. S. Not In Itself a matter for pride. (435.) Is it beauty that you are proud of? I have told you what sickness and death will do to that before. " When God rebuketh man for sin. He maketh his beauty to consume away as a moth ; Burely every man is vanity." And if your beauty would continue, how little good will it do you ? and vr 10 but fools do lock %X the skin of a rational creature, when they would discern its worth? a fool, and a slave of lust, and Satan, may be beauti- ful. A sepulchre may be gilded that hath rottenness within. Will you choose the finest purse, or tha fullest ? Who but a child or a fool will value his book by the fineness of the cover, or gilding of the leaves, and not by the worth of the matter within? Absalom was beautiful, and what the better was he? " Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain ; but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised." — Baxter, 1615-1691. 8. Mere physical beauty Is morally wortliless. (436.) A beautiful person without true grace, i* but a fair stinking weed ; you know the best of such a one, if you look on him furthest off; where- as a sincere heart, without this outward beauty to commend it, is like some sweet flower (not painted with such fine colours on the leaves) better in the hand than eye, to smell on, than look on ; the nearer you come to the sincere soul, the better you find him. Outward uncomeliness to true grace, is but as some old mean buildings you sometimes see stand before a goodly stately house, which hide its glory only from the traveller that passeth by at some distance ; but he that comes in, sees its beauty, and admires it. — Gumall, 1617-1679. 4. Transitory. (437.) Beauty, what is it, but a dash of nature's tincture laid upon the skin, which is soon washed off with a little sickness? what, but a fair blossom which, with one hot sun-gleam, weltereth and falls? — Hall, 1574-1656. BELIEF. 1, On what ground Is It to rest T (438.) If the opinions of others whom we think well of be a ground of assent, men have reason to be Heathens in Japan, Mahometans in Turkey, Papists in Spain, and Protestants in England. — Locke, 1632-1704. 2. By what It Is determined. (439). It seems to be a law of the intellect, that belief necessarily follows the preponderance of apprehended proof, as the scale falls in which the weight is greatest. We can no more refuse to believe what is proved, or believe what is destitute of apparent proof, than the eye can reject or change the forms and colours thrown by external objects on the retina, — Jackson, 8. We are responsible for our belief. (440.) Human consciousness, the judgment of mankind, and God, in all we know of Him, hold man responsible for his belief. Every man has within him an indestructible conviction of possess- ing a power over his opinions, and a sense of responsibility in reference to his beliefs. All men avow a readiness to change their opinions whenever they are furnished with a sufllicient reason for so doing, and this avowal clearly implies the convic- tion on their part of a power in them to do so. As a matter of fact, all men are very sensitive about the light in which their opinions are regarded by others. They are ever ready to show dissatisfaction when charged with holding unworthy and erroneous opinions, and are prone to resent all such charge% BELIEF. 73 ) BELIEF. And why this displeasure and resentment if men are not conscious of possessing a power over their beliefs? An individual may wish to possess a different size of body or colour of skin, but he is not conscious of possessing a power over them as he knows he possesses over his opinions and beliefs. If an in- dividual's colour or size subjects him to disadvantage, he feels the defects ; but instead of expecting blame on account of the defects, he is rather an object of sympathy. But man does take shame to himself when charged with unworthy beliefs. — Cooper. 4. Importance of a correct belief. (441.) Mind and heart will meet, though for- bidden, like hidden lovers. — Bailey. (442.) Does it make no difference what a man believes in respect to the character of God, the nature of the r3ivine government in this world, its claims upon us, and our obligations under it ? If a man believes that God sits above, indifferent to the aft'airs of this life and too quiescent to attend to the little disturbances of sin, and that He over- looks transgression, that man must inevital)Iy come to a state of mora! indifference. But if a man believes that God cannot possibly look upon sin with allowance, that lie abhors iniquity, and that, unless we turn from our wicked ways, He will lay His hands on His sword, and set Himself forth as the maintainer of law, and justice, and integrity, that man cannot help being morally solicitous. Does it make no difterence what a man believes on these subjects? Go into New York, and in the sixth ward you will find two representative men, one says, " I voted for the judge, and helped to put him where he is, and he will wink at my crimes. I can drink as much as I please, on Sundays and on week-days, and he will not disturb me. He is easy and good- natured, and he is not going to be hard with me if I do break the laws a little." And the man, because he believes that the judge does not care for his wickedness, and will not punish him, grows bold and corrupt in transgression. But at length he is arraigned, he is brought before the court, and he finds there, instead of the bribed judge, a white- faced man — not red-faced ; one of those men with a long head upward — not backward and downward ; » man with a full sense of the value of justice and truth. The culprit begins his shuffling excuses. The justice listens to none of them ; he reads the law, and says, " Your conduct is herein condemned," and sends him away to receive his just deserts. When the man has expiated his crime, he goes around in the same ward, and says, " You must walk straight hereafter. The judge that sits on the bench now is not the jolly old judge that used to sit there. If you go before him he will make you smart." Does it not make a difference what a man believes about a judge? If he believes that he is a lenient, conniving judge, does it not make him careless? and if he believes that he is a straight- forward, just judge, does it not make him afraid of tiansgression? Now lift up the judge's bench, and make it the judgment-seat ; and take out the human judge, and put God Almighty there. If men believe Him to I be an all-smiling God — a God all sunshine ; an all- sympathising God — a God who is nothing but kind- ness, goodness, and gentleness, they say to them- ■dves "We will do as we have a mind to do." Take away that miserable slander upon the revealed character of God, and lift up the august front of Justice, on whose brow love proudly sits, and let men see that there is a vast heart of love and gentle- ness indeed, but one that will by no means clear the guilty, and they will take more heed to their conduct. Does it, then, make no difference what a man believes about God's nature, and His manner of dealing with men ? It makes all the difference between laxity and earnestness, between an endeav- our to live truly and no endeavour at all in that direction ; between right and wrong conduct. Let us, then, look at this a little in the light of the experience of men in this world. In regard to the truths of the physical economy of the globe, does it make any difference what a man believes? Would it make any difference to a macliinist whether he thought lead was as good for tools as steel? Would it make any difference to a man in respect to the industries of life if he thought that a triar gle was as good as a circular wheel in machinery? In respect to the quality of substance, the forms of substances, the combination of substances, and the nature of motive powers, does success depend upon sincere believing or on right believing? Suppose a man should think that it made no difference what he believed, and should say to himself, " I wish to raise corn, but I have not the seed ; so I will take some ashes and plant them ; and I believe sincerely that they are as good as corn " — would he have a crop of corn? What would his sincerity avail? The more sincere he was the worse it would be for him ; for if he were not sincere he might slip away and get a little corn, and plant that. In all material things, the more sincere you are, if you are right, the better ; but the more sincere you are if you are wrong, the worse. In the latter case, sincerity i< the mallet that drives home the mischief. How is it in respect to commercial matters? Just now a great many are manufacturing things for the army. Does it make no difference whether a man thinks that corn-stalks and sticks are as good as muskets? Does it make no difference whether a man thinks that cotton and wool, dust and sweep- ings, are as good for blankets as real wool? Does it make no difference with the sale of man's goods, whether they are manufactured of one material or another? If a business man believes right in respect to his business, he prospers; and if he believes wrong he does not prosper. How is it in respect to navigation ? Does any man say, " I have my own theories about astronomy, and I will sail my ship according to them ? I do not believe the talk of the books on this subject ; and it does not make much difference what a man believes respecting it." Does it make no difference what a man believes about charts? Suppose the shipmaster should say, " I know the chart says that here are three fathoms of water, that here are two, and that here is one, but I do not believe it ; I know that my ship draws sixteen feet of water, but I believe that I can run it over a twelve-feet bar"— does it make no difference what he believes? It makes all the difference between shipwreck and safety. Throughout the whole realm of physical truth, a man is bound to believe, not only sincerely, but correctly. In business, in manufacturing, in naviga- tion, in all things that relate to the conduct of mea in secular afiaiis, men must be right — not merely sincere. BELIEF. ( n ) BENEFICENCE. Take one thing further. There are affectional and social tniihs. Does it make no difference what a man believes in respect to these ? Is there no difference between pride, vanity, and selfishness, on the one hand, and tenderness, sympathy, and love, on the other? If a man has social intercourse, does it make no difference what view he takes of these thiiiijs? Will it make no difference with his con- duct if he thinks that pride and love are about the same thing, and that one is a proper substitute for the otiier ? His sincerity makes the mischief worse, in such a case. It is only when we come to moral grounds that men liegin to urge this maxim with any considerable degree of confidence. They reject it in its applica- tion to material truths, to physical sciences, to business, to social intercourse in life, and hold the necessity of correct belief It is not until they come to religious truths that men begin to say, " It does not make much difference what a man believes." Let us take the lower forms of moral truth, and see if it is so in our daily intercourse. You go to church, and hear your minister p>-each about the necessity of believing certain great doctrines, and on your way home you say, " It is not of so much importance what a man believes, if he is only sincere in it." When you get home, you find that there is an altercation betvveen the boy and the nurse. There is a lie between them somewhere. And the child calls back your theory, and says, in respect to the wrongfulness of lying, " Father, I do not think il makes much difference what on'j believes, if he is only sincere." What do you think about this theory now? You are bringing up your children. You can bring them up to believe in truth and honesty, or otherwise. Do you not desire to bring them up to believe that honesty is the best policy ? Do you not desire to bring them up to believe that purity stands connected with their prosperity in after life ? Do you not feel the greatest solicitude about the teaching of their minds ? Are you not determined that they shall be brought up to distinguish between truth and lies, honour and dishonour, purity and impurity, noble- ness and vulgarity ? How particular you are when it is moral truth applied to the reasoning of your chil- dren ! How long would you keep a schoolmaster or a schoolmistress in a common school or an academy who held, in respect to these subjects, as you hold in respect to religious matters, that it does not make any difference what a person believes? As it is with the lower forms of moral truth, so experience teaches us it is with the higher forms of moral truth. There is a definite and heaven- appointed connection between the things a man holds to be true, and the results that follow in that man's mind. All truths are not indeed alike important, and all truths do not show the effects of being believed or rejected with equal rapidity. There are many truths which bear such a relation to our evei-yday life, that the fruit of believing or rejecting appears almost at once. These are spring truths, that come up and bear fruit early in the season. There are other truths that require time for working out their results. They are summer truths, and the fruit of belief or disbelief does not ripen till July or August. Other truths, in respect to showing the results of belief or disbelief, are like late autumnal fruits, that require the whcle winter to develop their proper juices. But in Xhz&s last the connection is just as certain, although it is longer in making itself appear, as ic the first, where the distance between cause and efiect is shortest and the development is most rapid. — Beecher. 6. As a matter of fact, our destiny depends on the correcmess of our belief. (443.) There is the way of salvation, and thou must trust Christ or perish; and there is nothing hard in it that thou shouldst perish if thou dost iK't. Here is a man out at sea ; he has got a chart, and that chart, if well studied, will, with the help of the compass, guide him to his journey's end. The jiole- star gleams out amidst the cloud-rifts, and that, too, will help him. " No," says he, " I will have no- thing to do with your stars ; I do not believe in 'he North Pole ; I shall not attend to that little thing inside the box ; one needle is as good as another needle ; I do not believe in your rul)bish, and I will have nothing to do with it ; it is only a lot of non- sense got up by people on purpose to make money, and I will have nothing to do with it." The man does not get to shore anywhere ; he drifts about, but never reaches port, and he says it is a very hard thing, a very hard thing. I do not think so. So some of you say, " Well I am not going to read your Bible ; I am not going to listen to your talk about Jesus Christ ; I do not believe in such things." You will be damned, then, sir ! '" That's very hard," say you. No, it is not. It is not more so than the fact that if you reject the compass and the pole-star you will not get to your journey's end. If a man will not do the thing that is necessary to a certain end I do not see how he can expect to gain that end. You have taken poison, and the physician brings an antidote, and says, " Take it quickly, or you will die ; but if you take it qinckly, I will guarantee that the poison will be neutralised." But you say, " No, doctor, I do not believe it ; let everything take its course ; let every tub stand on its own bottom ; I will have nothing to do with you, doctor." " Well, sir, you will die, and when tl;e coroner's inquest is held on your body, the verdict will be, 'Served him right!'" So will it be with you if, having heard the gospel of Jesus Christ, you say, "Oh ! pooh-pooh ! I am too much of a common-sense man to have anything to do with that, and 1 shall not attend to it." Then, when you perish, the verdict given by your conscience, which will sit upon the King's quest at last, will 'o . a verdict of " t'elo-de-se" — " he destroyed himself." So says the old Book — " O Israel, thou hast de- stroyed thyself ! " — i>J>urgeon. BENEFICENCE. 1. Our duty. (444. ) The sun shines on the moon and stars, and they shine upon the earth ; so doth God shine in goodness upon us, that we might shine in our exten- sions of goodness unto others, especially unto them of the household of faith. — ^iio^s, 1577-1635. (445.) Faith, though it hath sometimes a trem- bling hand, it must not have a withered hand, but must stretcii. — IVatson, 1696. 2. God's rules for Its exercise. (446.) The measures that God marks out to thy rharity are these : thy superfluities must give place to thy neighbour's great convenience ; thy conveni- BENEFICENCE. ( 75 ) BENEFICENCE. ence must yield to thy neighbour's necessity ; and, lastly, thy very necessities must yield to thy neigh- bour's extremity, — South, 1633-1716. 2. Its dlstastefulness to the Insincere. (4.^7.) When men meet together at a tavem to drink or feast together, happy is that man, when the reckoning is brought, that can be rid of his money first : " I'll i>ay," says one ; " I'll pay," says another; "You shall not pay a penny," says a third, "I'll pay all," &c. ; and so it grows some- times near unto a quarrel, because one man cannot spend his money before another. Thus in meiry- making, but come to a work of mercy, how is it then ? Is the money upon the table ? Is every man ready to throw down, and make it a leatling ca--e to the rest of the company? No such matter ; one puts it off to another : " Alas ! I am in debt," says one ; " I have no money about me,'' says another ; then every finger is a thumb, and it is such a while before anything will begot out, that it would trouble any one to behold it. Then the question is not who shall be first, but who shall be last. A sad thing that, in way of courtesy, any man should be tluis free, and when it comes to a work of mercy, thus bound up. — IJariis, I 578-1658. (448.) Two pious sisters, Desire and Prayer, one day visited a certain personage by the name of Pocket. The same was a member of a large and influential family of Pockets ; some of whom were of a most generous disposition, free in giving and liberal in every good cause that sought sujiport ; whilst some others were remarkable for their narrowness of mind, and therefore indisposition toward any charity, how- ever worthy, that asked for aid. After a little conversation on general subjects, Prayer remarked on the interest she took in the state of the poor heathen, " perishing for lack of knowledge." "Oh, that they might be saved!" breathed Desire. " Amkn," said Pocket. " I am longing for liie day when ' the know'ledge of our Lord shall cover the earth, as the wateis cover the sea ' " (Isa ix. 9 ; llabk. ii. 14) ; remarked Desire with much fervency. "Amen," said Pocket. "And, seeing such glorious time will come, T felt encouraged to ask the King so to order events as to open the way in such direction," remarked Prayer. " Amen," said Pocket. " 1 have begged of the King to hear our daily petition, 'Thy Kingdom cume'" (Matt. xi. 10), said Prayer. "Amen," said Pocket. " It is promised, that through the Gospel, the Lord Jesus Christ 'shall have dominion also from se.i to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the :arth ' " (Ps. Ixxii. 8), observed Desire. "Amen," said Pocket. • "How is it to be brought to pass?" asked Prayer ; to which Desire replied, " By the blessing jf God on the united efTiirts of the Church, and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit ; — Oh, that the day were come !" "Amen," said Pocket. " ' Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the utt« rmost parts of the earth for thy possession ' " (Ps. ii. 8), said Desire, in the words of promise unto Prayer. "Amen," said Pocket. "God alone can effect this mercy," said Desire | "and that He may bless 11 is Word preached to the perishing, in order 'that they may be saved," we must send them men after God's own heart." "Amen," said Pocket. " Which good servants of the Lord must be sus- tained in tht'ir great work," observed Desire. "Amen," said Pocket. "They are men subject to human infirmities; who require habitations ; who hunger and thirst, and need fcjod and raiment : and I trust waim hearts ami liberal friends will be found to adiiiinisicr according to their wants; knowing 'the labourer is worthy of his hire'" (Luke x. 7). "Amen," said Pocket. " We are to-day making calls on the Benevolent to aid in this glorious work of the World's Evan- GEIJSA TioN," remarked Desire and Prayer. "Amen," said Pocket. " We have therefore come to ask your contribu- tion for the spread of the Gospel, the salvation of the heathen, and the glory of the Redeemer," said Desire. "Ahem !" said Pocket. " The Work cannot be carried on without money," observed Desire. No reply from Pocket. " What amount shall we say for you, sir?" asked Desire very sweetly. No answer from Pocket. " You said Amen just now to all our matters of petition," remarked Desire and Prayer together. "The best proof of your love to the cause is in cheerfully assisting its supi)ort, and therefore giving as the Lord in Ills mercy has prospered yourself." " Cannot afford it, really," at last Pocket answered, very anxious to gel rid of his visitors. "Then after all you wish us to understand, you leave the Lord's cause to the support of others, and to excuse yourself?" "Amen," said i'ocket. — BowJen. 3. Its wisdom. (449.) It is a base thing to get goods to keep them. I see that God, who only is infinitely rich, holdeth nothing in His own hands, but gives all to His creatures. But, if we will needs lay up, where should we rather repose it, than in tihrist's treasury ? The poor man's hand is the treasury of Christ. All my superfluity shall be there hoartled uji, where I know it shall be safely kept, and surely returned me. —I Jail, 1574-1656. (450.) The world teacheth me that it is madness to leave behind me those goods that 1 may carry with me. Christianity teacheth me that what I chaiitably give alive, 1 carry with me dead ; and experience teacheth me that what I leave behin.seth by keeping it ; so, while his corpse shall carry nothing but a winding cloth to his grave, I shall be richer under the earth than I was above it. — Hall, 1574-1656. 4. Its rewards. ^45 1.) To dispense our wealth liberally, is the best way to preserve it, and to continue masters BENEFICENCE. ( 7« ) BENEFICENCE. thereof; what we give is not thrown away, but saved from danger ; while we detain it at home (as it seems to us) it really is abroad, and at adventures ; it is out at sea, sailing perilously in storms, near locks and shelves, amongst pirates ; nor can it ever be safe till it is brought into this port, or in-.ured this way : when we have bestowed it on the jioor, then we have lodged it in unquestionable safely ; in a place where no rapine, no deceit, no mishap, no corruption can ever by any means come at it. All our doors and bars, all our forces and guards, all the circumspection and vigilancy we can use are no defence or security at all in comparison to this dis- posal thereof: the poor man's stomach is a granary for our corn which never can be exhausted ; the poor man's back is a wardrobe for out clothes which never can be pillaged ; the poor man's pocket is a bank for our money which never can disapjxiint or deceive us; all the rich traders in the world may decay and break ; but the poor man can never fail, except God Himself turn bankrupt ; for what we give to the poor we deliver and intrust in His hands, out of which no force can wring it, no craft can filch it ; it is laid up in heaven, whither no thief can climb, and where no moth or rust do abide. In spite of all the fortune, of all the might, of all the malice in the world, the liberal man will ever be rich, for God's providence is his estate ; God's wisdom and power are his defence ; God's love and favour are his reward ; God's Word is his assurance ; who hath said it, that " He which givetk to tlie poor (hall not lack," no vicissitude therefore of things can surprise Him, or find Him unfurnished; no disaster can impoverish Him ; no adversity can overwhelm Him ; He hath a certain reserve against all times and occasions ; he that ' ' devtseth liberal things, by liberal things shall he stand." — Barronv, 1630- 1677. (452.) You remember how, in the old legend, St. Brandan in his northward voyage saw a man sitting on an iceberg, and with horror recognised him to be the traitor Judas ; and the traitor told him how, at Christmas time, amid the drench of the burning lake, an angel had touched his arm and bidden him one hour to cool his agony on an ice- berg in the Arctic sea ; and when he asked the cause of this mercy bade him recognise in him the leper to whom he gave a cloak for shelter from the wind in Jopjia, and how for that kind deed this respite was allotted him. Let us reject the ghastly side of the legend and accept its truth, that charily is better than all burnt-offering and sacrifice. — F, W. Farrar. (453.) About twenty-five years ago, a young man from the State of Kentucky took a horse-back ride to Virginia where his father came from, and on his way he met a man and his family moving West, so poor that they were almost reduced to starvation. He had compassion on the wretched group and gave them a twenty-dollar bill with which to reach their journey's end. In about fifteen years the young man received a letter from the man he had befriended, saying he was now a prosperous merchant in Southern Kentucky, and enclosing a twenty-dollar bill to repay his loan. After another ten years, which included the great rebellion and its termination, he was elected to the lower house of Kentucky Legislature, and being a man of talent and influence, was chosen Speaker, during the con- test for which, he had noticed that a stranger and one of the other party, was his strongest supporter. His curiosi'y was aroused by this, and he asked the man's motive, as he never had to his knowledg'e seen him before. " Sir," replied the member, " you will recall, when I mention it, a little scene that occurred when you were a boy on your way to Virginia. It was you who saved my wife from star- vation. She has told me time and again that never did a morsel of food taste so sweet — so utterly delicious — as that you gave her then. She was but six years old at that time, but when she saw your name, during the late canvass, among the prominent probable candidates for the speakership, she laid down the law as to how I was to vote. This is all. Neither she nor her father and mother, brothers and sisters, nor myself, can ever forget you." 6. Beneficence toward man Is true gratitude to God. {454.) " Charge them that are rich in the world that they do good, that they be rich in good works." The poor man is, as it were, an altar ; if we bring our alms and lay upon it, with such sacrifices God is well pleased. — Watson, 1696. (455.) A rich youth in Rome was suffering from a dangerous illness ; at length he recovered, and regained his health. Then he went for the first tin>e into the garden, feeling, as it were, born again ; and he was full of joy, and praised God with a loud voice. He turned his face to heaven and said : " O Thou all-sufficient Creator, could man recompense Thee, how willingly would I give Thee all my possessions ! " Hermas, who was called the herdman, heard this, and said to the rich youth : "All good gifts come from above ; thither thou canst send nothing. Come, follow me." The youth followed the pious old man, who took him to a dark hut, where was nothing but misery and wretchedness. The father was stretched on a bed of sickness, the mother wept, the children were destitute of clothing,and crying for bread. The youth was deeply touched. Hermas said : "See here an altar for thy sacrifice. See here the Lord's brethren and representatives." Then the rich youth assisted them bountifully, and provided for the sick man's wants. And the poor people blessed him, and called him an angel of God. Hermas smiled, and said: "Thus turn always thy grateful countenance first to heaven and then to earth." — h'. A, Kruinmacher, 6. It should be wisely directed. (456.) There is perhaps no one quality that can produce a greater amount of mischief than may be done by thoughtless good-nature. For instance, if any one out of tenderness of heart and reluctance to punish, or to discard the criminal and worthless, lets loose on society, or advances to important offices, mischievous characters, he will have a doubtful benefit on a few, and do incalculable hurt to thousands. So also, to take one of the commonest and most obvious cases, that of charity to the poor, — a man of great wealth, by freely relieving all idle vagabonds, might go far towards ruining the industry, and the morality, and the prosperity, of a whole nation. " For there can be no doubt that careless, indiscriminate alms-giving does far more harm than BENEFICENCE. ( 77 ) BENEFICENCE. good ; since it encourages idleness and improvidence, and also imposture. If you give freely to ragged and filthy street beggars, you are in fact hiring people to dress themselves in filthy rags, and go about begging with fictitious tales of distress. If, on the contrary, you carefully inquire for and relieve honest 3nd industrious persons who have fallen into distress through unavoidable misfortune, you are not only doing good to those objects, but also holding out an encouragement generally to honest industry. " You may, however, meet with persons who say, • As long as it is my intention to relieve real distress, my charity is equally virtuous, though the tale told me be a false one. The impostor alone is to be blamed who told it me ; I acted on what he said ; and if that is untrue, the fault is his, and not mine.* " Now this IS a fair plea, if any one is deceived after making careful inquiiy : " but if he has not taken the trouble to do this, regarding it as no concern of his, you might ask him how he would act and judge in a case where he is thoroughly in earnest — that is, where his own interest is concerned. Suppose he employed a steward or other agent to buy for him a house, or a horse, or any other article, and this agent paid an exorbitant price for what was really worth little or nothing, giving Just the same kind of excuse for allowing his employer to be thus cheated ; saying, "I made no careful inquiries, but took the seller s word ;'" the employer would doubtless reply, " The seller indeed is to be condemned for cheating ; but so you are, for your carelessness in my interests. His being greatly in fault does not clear you; and your merely intending to do what was right, is no excuse for your not taking pains to gain right information." Now on such a principle we ought to act in our charities ; regarding ourselves as stewards of all that Providence has bestowed, and as bound to expend it in the best way possible, and not shelter our own faulty negligence under the misconduct of an- other. It is now generally acknowledged that relief afforded to want, as mere want, tends to increase that want ; while the relief afforded to the sick, the infirm, and the disabled, has plainly no tendency to multiply its own objects. Now it is remarkable, that the Lord Jesus employed His miraculous power in healing the sick continually, but in feeding the hungry only twice ; while the power of multiplying food which He then manifested, as well as His directing the disciples to take care and gather up the fragments that remained that nothing might be lost, served to mark that the abstaining from any like procedure on other occasions was a deliberate design. In this, besides other objects, our Lord had probably in view to afford us some instruction, from this example, as to the mode of our charity. Certain it is, that the reasons for this distinction are now, and ever must be, the same as at that time. Now to those engaged in that important and in- exhaustible subject of inquiry, the internal evidences of Christianity, it will be interesting to observe here one of the instances in which the superhuman wisdom of Jesus forestalled the discovery of an important principle, often overlooked, not only by the generality of men, but by the most experienced statesmen and the ablest philosophers, even in these later ages of extended human Knowledge, and development of mental power. — WUately. (457-) Nothing seems much clearer than the natural direction of charity. Would we all but relieve, according to the measure of our means, tho'^e objects immediately within the range of our personal knowledge, how much of the worst evil of poverty might be alleviated ! Very poor people, who are known to us to have been decent, honest, and industrious, when industry was in their power, have a claim on us, founded on our knowledge, and on vicinity and n 'ghbourhood, which have in them- selves something sacred and endearing to every good heart. One cannot, surely, always pass by, in hist walks for health, restoration, or delight, the lone wayside beggar, without occasionally giving him an alms. Old, care-worn, pale, drooping, and ema- ciated creatures, who pass us by without looking beseechingly at us, or even lifting up their eyes from the ground, cannot often be met with without excit- ing an interest in us for their silent and unobtrusive sufferings or privations. A hovel here and there round and about our own comfortable dwelling, attracts our eyes by some peculiar appearance of penury, and we look in, now and then, upon its inmates, cheering their cold gloom with some small benefaction. These are duties all men owe to distress : they are easily discliarged ; and even such tender mercies are twice blessed. — Chalmers^ 1 780-1 847. 7. Should be prompt. (458.) The benevolent Dr. Wilson, Bishop of Sodor and Man, once discovered a clergyman at Bath, who, he was informed, was ill, poor, and had a numerous family. In the evening he gave a friend £'^0, requesting that he would deliver it in the most delicate manner, and as from an unknown person. The friend replied : — " I will wait upon him early in the morning." "You will oblige me by calling directly," requested the kind-hearted prelate ; " think, sir, of what importance a good night's rest may be to the poor man." 8. Should not be ashamed or afraid to stoop. {459.) In another walk he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load ; they were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it ; and he blessed the poor man ; and was so like the good Saniaiitan, that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse ; and told liiin that "if he loved himself, he should be merciful to his beast." Thus he left the poor man, and at his coming to the musical frlemls at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so trim and neat, came into that company so soiled and discomposed ; but he told them the occasion ; and when one of the company told him, "he had disparaged himself by so diity an employ- ment," his answer was, that "the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and that the omission of it would have ujiraided and made discord in his conscience, whensoever he should pass by that place ; for if I be bound to pray for all that are in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion everyday, yet, let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day of my life without com- forting a sad soul or showing mercy ; and I praise BEXEFICEXCE. ( 78 ) BENEVOLENCE. God for this occasion. And now let us tune our instruments." — Jzaak Waltott's Uje of Herbert. 9. Should be unostentatious. (460.) Those obstreperous benefactors that, lilce to liens wliich cannot lay an egg but they must cackle straight, give no alms but with trumpets, lose their thanks with God. Alms sliould be like oil, which, though it swim aloft when it is fallen, yet makes no noise in the falling ; not like water, that still sounds wiiere it lights. — Hall, 1 5 74- 1 656. (461.) Charity and fine dressing are very differtnt things ; but if men give alms for the same reasons that others dress fine, only to be seen and admired, charity is then but like the vanity of fine clothes. — E. Cook. 10. True beneficence is unconscious of Its rarity and wortli. (462.) It was a cold and severe winter. The little Minna, the only daughter of charitable parents, collected the crumbs and small pieces of bread, and kept them carefully. Twice a day she went into the garden, scattering the crumbs ; and the birds came and picked them up ; but the little girl's hands trembled with cold in the bitter air. The parents watched her, and were glad at the lovely sight, and said : " Why are you doing that, Minna?" "All is covered with ice and snow," answered Minna ; "the little creatures cannot find anything ; they are poor now. Therefore I feed them, as the rich people help and assist the poor." Then the father said: " liut you cannot provide for them all." Little Minna answered ; "Do not all children in the world do as 1 do, even as all rich men take care of the poor?" Then the father looked at the mother of the little makien, and said : " Oh, holy innocence !" — F. A. Krtimmacher. 11. Is not to be restrained by ingratitude. (463.) There are many who feel for the poor. The)' would gladly relieve their wants. They are pained to see these wretched mothers, and yet more wretched children ; but having found their charity often misapplied and thrown away on the unworthy and ungrateful, they are afraid to give ; and not seldom tempted, on discovering how they have been imi)osed upon, to say in their haste as David did his, All men are liars ! But if charity often fails in its object, so do other things. Tiie sun shines on many a fair blossom that never turns into fruit, and the clouds pour their bounties on fields that yield no harvest. But to leave figures for facts. Education as well as charity often fails : it is but a small portion of children that become ripe scholars. Moral training fails ; how many parents, besiiles David, have had their hearts wouniicd and torn by wicked children I The labours of husfjandry fail ; it is but a proportion of the seed that springs ; and t still less proportion that, reaching maturity, in golden sheaves rewards the farmer's toil. Physic fails ; diseases rage, and patients die in spite of it. Even the pulpit fails ; but what pre.acher thinks of abandoning it, because many of his sermons do no good ; nay, like absurd charity, do positive harm — hardening those they fail to soften, and making people as indifferent to the const boiemn things as a hoary sexton to the mouldering remnants of mortalnj the skulls he tosses out of the grave. Man is answerable for duty ; but not for results. And as with faith in a promised blessing, we are always to preach, in season and out of season, to sow beside all waters, you are never to cease your charities. Let not the cold ingratitude of othei hearts freeze your own. — Gittki-u. 12. Tlie shame and guilt of abusing it. (464.) An Arab possessed a horse so famous far and near for its beauty, gentleness, and matchless speed, that he had many tempting offers to part with her. He refused them all, and, in particular, the repeated solicitations of one who offered an enormous price. One day, as, with head wrapt in mantle and lance at rest, he was pressing homewards through the. burning desert, his horse suddenly started ; and there, right across the path, lay a poor traveller — alive, for he groaned ; but exhausted, and apparently at the point of death. Like the good Samaritan — for, though fierce, these wild Bedouins have savage virtues, are hospitat)le and friendly — he dismounted, and finding the unfortunate traveller unable to walk or even to stand, set him on his own saddle. No sooner done than, as if the vigour of the steed had been imparted to its rider, the bowed and languid form became instantly erect ; the horse suddenly wheeled round, sprang ofi to the stroke, and a laugh of triumph revealed the trick. The man who had offered him an enormous price for the horse was on her back. Assuming the guise of distress, he had taken advantage of the other's generous feelings, to steal what he could not buy. The injured man did not curse him ; nor, fortified by the stoicism which the Mohammedans' belief in fate imparts, merely bowed his head to the misfortune. Me soared above it to a height of moral grandeur which few reach. Calling on the other to halt, he said that he had one favour to ask ; it was this, that he would never tell how he had won the horse, because, were that known, it might hinder some from receiving help in circum- stances of danger not feigned, but real — and so doom the unfortunate to perish. It is but justice to human nature to add — what indeed shows that fine feelings may lie dormant in the worst of men — that the other was so touched by the unselfishness and nobility of this appeal, that he relented ; and, riding up to the man he had wronged, gave him back his horse. — Guthrie. BENEVOLENCE. 1. Is a characteristic of every true Christian. (465.) 1 do not believe in Christianity that is not Christ-like ; and I no more believe in a profession of piety which is not associated with His pity than in a sun that sheds no light, in a fire" that gives out no heat, in a rose that breathes no perfume ; they are mere painting ; life-like, but dead ; clever, but cold. People may talk of such and such a maa being godly ; but none are godly but the god-like, God is the "Judge of the widow, and the Father of the fatherless in His holy habitation ; " and he only is godlike who stands to widows in the room of the dead, and in whom orphans find both a father and a friend. — GutlirU. 2. Must show Itself in actions. (466.) 'We read in our chronicles of king Oswald, BE RE A VEMENT. ( 79 ) BE RE A VEMENT. that as he sat at table, when a fair silver dish full of re^^al delicacies was set before him. and he ready to fall to, hearing from his almoner that there were great store of poor at his gates, piteously crying out for some relief, did not fill them with words, as, "God help them ! " "God relieve them!" "God comfort them!" &c., but commanded his steward presently to take the dish off the table and distribute the meat, then beat the dish all in pieces, and cast It among them. This was true charity. Words, be they never so adorned, clothe not the naked ; be iiey never so delicate, feed not the hungiy ; be they never so zealous, warm not him that is starved with cold ; be they never so oily, cure not the wounded ; be they never so free, set not them free that are bound, visit not the sick or imprisoned. — Holds-worth, 1630, S. Posthumous benevolence. (467.) What we employ in charitable uses during our lives is given away from ourselves : what we bequeath at our death is given from others only, as our nearest relations. — Atterbury, 1662- 1 732. BEREAVEMENT. I. IS A COMMON EXPERIENCE. (468.) Some time after Kisagotami gave birth to a son, but when the child was able to walk he died. The young girl went from house to house with the dead child in her bosom, asking for medicine, and they said she was mad ; but a wise man said, " I cannot give you medicine ; Buddha can." So Kisagotami went to Buddha, and said, "Do you know any medicine that will be good for my boy?" 15uddha replied, "I do." "And what do you require?" " I want a handful of mustard-seed ; but it must be taken from some house where no son, parent, husband, or slave has ever died." The girl went, carrying the dead child on her hip, asking everywhere for mustard-seed from some house where death had not been. But one house answered, " We have lost a son ; " another, " We have lost f)arents ; " another, " We have lost a slave." At ast, not being able to find a single house where one had not died, she began to think hers was not the only son who had suffered death ; that every- where children were dying and parents too. So she was seized with fear, and, putting away affection for her dead child, she left him in the forest, went to Buddha and offered him homage. He said to her, " Have you procured the hand- fill of mustard-seed ? " " I have not, because the people of the village told me the living are few, but the dead are many." Buddha replied, " You thought that you only had lost a son ; but the law of death is that among all living creatures there is no permanence." —A Buddhist Parable. II. REVEALS THE POVERTY OF OUR FAITH. (469.) How poor our heaven is! How little it draws us ! How lillle there is that consoles us in the death of those whom we love ! We put away our chil- dren in death, as one would hold his children out of a castle window at night, and let 'hem drop. VV.? know not where, on what rocks, ot '.ito what raging wa%'e, they fall. When our children die, we drop them into the unknown, shuddering with fear. We know that they go out from us, and we stand, and pity and wonder. If we receive news that a hundred thousand dollars had been left them by some one dying, we should be thrown into an ecstasy of re- joicing ; but when they have gone home to God, we stand, and mourn, and pine, and wonder at "the mystery of Providence." The mystery of Providence to me, is, that anybody is born. The mystery of Providence to me, is, that when we are born, if God loves us, as I le does through Jesus Christ, He lets us stay away from Him so long. Dying it more desirable than living to Christian faith. — Beecher. III. ITS DESIGN. (470.) I am rich in heaven, in my children. Al- ready I have sent thither many. Have 1 lost them ? Not one of them. They are mine more than when I clasped them. They are nobler and more worthy of love than they were then. They have been saved for me better than 1 could have saved them for my- self. I have laid them up ; and I have verified the declaration, " Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." How many, many times have men gone by their tears to the gate of heaven who never could have been drawn there by the mere presentation of truth. All that could be addressed to their conscience, to the*', fear, or to their reason, did not teach them the v. iy to God's throne; and God took from them thei' brother, their sister, the companion of their life, or ifieir child, and then they found that path themselves. As the kine went low- ing with the ark, so the heart goes lowing toward heaven, seeking its owii, and finding them, in hope, in imagination, and resting only when by faith it is brought again consciously near to them in the king- dom of the Eternal Father. — Beecher. (471.) Every deceased friend is a magnet drawing us into another world. — £. Cook. IV. HOIV IT SHOULD BE BORNE. 1. We should not sorrow as those who have bo hope. (472.) There be two manners of mourning for the dead. The heathen and unbelievers mourn without hope of the resurrection : their opinion is, that see- ing their near friends are dead, there is no more of them, but that they have utterly lost them for ever. This heathenish sorrow will not St. Paul have of Christians. The Christians mourn also, but with a living hope of the joyful resurrection. For like as God the Father left not Christ the Lord in death, but raised Him up again, and placed Him in eternal life ; even so us that believe shall not He leave in death, but bring us out into everlasting 'ife. For this cause dolh the Apostle speak of the dead, as of those that sleep, which rest from all travail and labour, that they may rise again in better case. Like as the flowers with all their virtue, smell, and beauty, lie all the winter in the root, sleeping and resting till they may be awaked with the pleasant lime of May, when they come forth with all their beauty, smell, and virtue ; even so ought not we to think that our friends which be departed are in any cumbrance or sorrow, but their strength and virtue being drawn in, liveth in God and with I God. They lie and rest till the last day, when thef BEREA VEMENT. ( 80 ) BIBLE. shall awake again, fair, beautiful, and glorious, in soul and body. Who will not rejoice at this com- fort of Paul, and set aside all unprofitable sorrow, for this exceeding joy's sake? — Wermullerus, 1557. 2. With thankfulness for tlie friends who have heen taken from us. (473.) A dear little girl had been taught to pray specially for her father. He had been suddenly taken away. Kneeling at her evening devotion, her voice faltered ; and as her eyes met her mother's, she sobbed, " O mother ! I cannot leave him all out. Let me say, thank God that I had a dear father once, so I can keep him in my prayers." Many stricken hearts may learn a sweet lesson from this child. Let us remember to thank God for mercies past, as well as to ask for blessings for the future. 3. With thankfulness for the friends who are spared to us. (474.) It were a very scornful thing, if when a man hath hurt one foot, he would therefore mar the other also ; or if, when ens part of his goods is stolen away, he would cast the rest into the sea, and say that he so bewaileth his adversity. No less foolishly do they, that enjoy not such goods as are present, and regard not their friends that be alive ; but spoil and mar themselves, because their wives, children, or friends, be departed. Though one of the husbandman's trees doth wither away, he heweth not down therefore all the other trees ; but regardeth the others so much the more that they may win the thing again, which the others lost. Even so learn thou in adversity, with such goods as are left thee to comfort and refresh thyself again. — iVermullerus, 1551. T. CONSOLA TIONS FOR THE BEREA VED. {475.) We give hostages to fortune when we bring children into the world ; and how unstable this is we know, and must therefore hazard the adventure. Are you offended that it has pleased God to snatch your pretty babes from the infinite contingencies of so perverse an age, in which there is so little tempta- tion to live? . . . Say not they might have come later to their destiny : Magna est felicitas citb esse felicem, — 'Tis no small happiness to be happy quickly. — Evelyn, 1 620-1 706. (476.) A little boy once went out in the early morn, and was greatly delighted with the little globes formed by the dew on the brambles. He hastened back, and led his father out to see those miniature worlds; but when the father and son arrived, the sun was up, and had drawn up in vapour, the globes that had hung on the brambles, and so displeased the child. The child cried, and said — "The angry sun has taken them all up." 'I'he father looked up, and saw the beautiful rain- bow On the bosom of the cloud, and said — "There, my child, the sun has taken up the bramble globes, and they help to form that beautiful bow on the cloud." Ah 1 my friends, God has taken up some of our friends ; and have we not murmured ? But, where are they ? Ah ! do they not form the beauti- ful bow round the throne of God ? — Beaumatti. (477.) The dead possess all the consciousness of the living, and much more. The dead are just out of our sight, round the comer of the temple oC nature. We dwell in the suburbs of the eternal city, they are in the kingly metropolis. We are in abasement, they are in the royal chambers of state. We are under clouds, they are in a light .so radiant that if it should fall upon us at midday, " the earth would seem to suffer an eclipse, and hang like a corpse in the midst of shadows." — Towtuettd, BIBLE, THE. 1. THE NECESSITY OF A REVELA TIOtT IS OBVIOUS. 1. From the Ignorance of man concerning' him- self. (478.) Reason sees that man is ignorant, guilty, mortal, miserable, transported with vain passions, tormented with accusations of conscience, but it could not redeem those evils. Corrupt nature is like an imperfect building that lies in rubbish ; the imperfection is visible, but not the way to finish it ; for through the ignorance of the first design, every one follows his own fancy, whereas when the Architect comes to finish His own project, it appears regular and beautiful. Thus the various directions of philosophers to recover fallen man out of his ruins, and to raise him to his first state, were vain. Some glimmerings they had, that the happi- ness of a reasonable nature consisted in its union with God, but in order to this, they propounded such means as were not only ineffectual, but opposite. Such is the pride and folly of carnal wisdom, that to bring God and man together, it advances man, and depresses God. — Bates, 1 62 5- 1 699. 2. From the failure of all the philosophers to construct a complete and coherent religion. (479.) A comparison of the theory of "the faith once delivered to the saints" with the facts of the past has shown that such a faith actually exists, and is in its substance identical with the faith of the apostles and prophets as contained in the canonical Scriptures. Its history is like the unbroken course of some stately river, ever flowing onwards from its first rise in the apostolic age towards the glorious ocean of the prophetic future, ever widening and deepening as it flows, and from every bright wave echoing the everlasting song, " Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace.", But the history of speculation is totally diff"erent. It is a weary tale of ceaseless effort and of ceaseless failure. It is not one river, but many ; a hundred streams, now wasted in the barren sands, now stagnating in the malarious marsh, now evaporating by simple inani- tion, earthborn and earthly. The progress of speculative thought has been like the conduct of a man bewildered in some dense and trackless forest. Brought to this present spot by some able and faithful guide, he has now in some way or another been deprived of his assistance, and is left to shift for himself. He has no knowledge whatever to begin with, for he was never here before, and having neither chart nor compass, is devoid of all data beyond what he can gain by his own con- sciousness. He proceeds after a while in search of a path of escape from the silent and solitary forest into the green meadows and smiling scenes of happj BIBLE. ( 8i ) BIBLE. industry in the distance. From the dead level where he stands no glimpse of the distance can be gained. The tops of the tall trees close the boundary of the view on every side ; and if he climbs them he but sees the depth and boundless extent of the mysterious circle wrapping him in on all sides. He is left face to face with himself and the problem of escape, with all his man's wants and weaknesses to urge him to a speedy solution of it. He there- fore makes the attempt and penetrates some distance into the thick forest, till, through the matted and tangled labyrinth, or over the yawning fissure, or down the steep precipice, or across the over-hanging side of the barrier rock, he can advance no further. He therefore turns upon his steps, and following his steps backwards, finds his way to the point whence he started. Then he tries again with the same effort, and with the same failure. Over and over the same process goes on. But meantime the day advances and night draws nigh. Natural wants arise, and crave in vain for satisfaction. There is neither bread nor water in this lonely forest. He lies down amid the darkness, and tries to forget in sullen sleep his anxieties and despair. Another day brings another day's hopes, another day's efforts, and another day's failure ; till like many an unhappy wretch in actual life, exhausted with effort, weak with hunger, and tormented with thirst, broken down by despair, and sick with fond dreams of the home he will never reach, he lays him down and dies. Such has actually been the course of philosophic thought. A succession of new efforts from new ideas as starting-points have ended in a succession of failures, each eftbrt like a faint wave that curls and breaks before it reaches the shore. Thus the recognition of a personal and super- intending Deity, traceable doubtfully in Thales, and distinctly taught by Anaxagoras, became again dubious in Archelau.s. The affectionate morality and piety of Pythagoras degenerated into the super- stitious mysticism of the later Pythagoreans, and his recognition of the immortality of the soul, and of rewards and punishment after death, into a coarse metempsychosis. The clear and lofty Theism of Socrates, his recognition of virtue, and his perception of the true dignity of human nature, passed through Plato into the disputative scepticism of the Academy. The emphatic protest of the Eleatic School against a gross and materialistic polytheism, and its distinct consciousness of the unity and spiritual nature of God, became secularised in Parmenides, and atheistic in the sceptical sophistry of Zeno and the ascetic dualism of Empedocles. The pleasure- loving school of Aristippus ended in the sullen dis- content of Hegesias, the death-persuader. The recognition of the inductive basis of all human knowledge belonging to Euclid of Megara, evapo- rated in the idle sophisms of Eubulides and Uiodorus, and the logical fallacies of Plato, with its Stilpo. The idealistic philosophy of Plato, with its strong resemblances to revealed doctrine on the subject of God, and the soul, and sin, and the other life, died out of Polemo and Crates in one direction, in the sceptical uncertainty of Archesilaus in a second, and in the probabilities and lax morality of Carneades in the third. The philosophy of Aristotle, pure if told, and elevating if selfish, ended in the material- ktic atheism of Strabo. The rigid self-control of Antisthenes became an extravagance in the severity of the Cynics ind the sullen pride of DiogAoes. The natural virtue of Zeno passed into the subtle negations of Crysippus. The principle of Epicurus, that pleasure was to be found in virtue, was turned by a play of words into the principle 'vhich has made Epicurean a name of reproach throi^houf the world. The craving of the Alexandrian School after union with God was developed into the impious mysticism of Plotinus. Even the philosophy of Locke was perverted into the materialism of Hartley, Priestley, and Darwin, the sensationalism of Con- dillac, the selfishness of Helvetius, the fatalism ol D'Holbach, and the naked atheism of the P"rench Encyclopedists. Lastly, the idealism of Descartes prepared the way for the blasphemies of Schelling and Hegel. Thus, throughout all human speculation, the same law has prevailed. Many great and noble ideas have been thrown out, fragments of revealed truth or sparks of heavenly light received, we know not how, through the mercy of that God who has, more or less, wrought in the loftier spirits of our race as they lived and died. But however they may have been acquired, two things are certain. It is indis- putable that in the minds of the founders of philo- sophic schools they existed only dimly and darkly, and were never framed into a complete and coherent system. Equally certain it is that as soon as men began to reason upon them the fragments of truth themselves were refined away and lost. None of them ever retained permanent vitality. None of them exercised a controlling influence over mankind. The one fact is the explanation of the other. What is not able permanently to live is not likely eifcc- tually to act. The whole process has consisted of flashes of light for a moment illumining the