succeeded in cultivating in the same character these somewhat antagonistic qualities. They could be all on fire with earnestness, and yet maintain a coolness of judgment which to ordinary men seemed only compatible with absolute indifference; they could be enthusiatic almost to madness, and yet be cautious and crafty to the last degree; they strove hard as men who must have success the next moment, but they could patiently wait for results even if years came between the seed-sowing and the harvest; they showed all Christian labourers that a man need not be foolishly rash because he is fervently zealous. We should learn from them the importance of cultivating those graces which are most remote from each other, and are sometimes deemed mutually destructive. A man should not think he has an excuse for hasty speech and imprudent action because he has a warm heart, or that he may be pardoned for being cold and phlegmatic because he is patient. Our Lord brings two very remote qualities into close association, -"Be ye wise as serpents and harmless as doves." We must seek after completeness of character, combining firmness and tenderness, zeal and prudence, enthusiasm and patience, candour and suavity, the purity which hates every sin and the pity which weeps over every sinner. We must not have any pet virtue which we cultivate to the neglect of sister graces. In these days of distinct societies for the promotion of peace and temperance and charity, and so on, there is great danger of a man's taking some favourite excellency and fostering it until it outgrows all proportion to other excellencies, and they perish under its shadow. A body all hands or all eyes would be scarcely more unfitted for the world's work than a character consisting chiefly of one virtue would be unqualified for Christian labour. If we would be strong and successful in our holy toil we must endeavour to have "all the fruits of the Spirit growing in

rich clusters like the grapes of Eschol."

"Add to your faith

virtue, and to virtue knowledge, and to knowledge temperance, and to temperance patience, and to patience godliness, and to godliness brotherly kindness, and to brotherly kindness charity."

In the service of a purer faith let us emulate the diligence and devotedness of the Jesuits. We do not claim as they did the power to work miracles, but we set our hearts on greater things. The true Christian wonders of modern days are not miraculously healing the sick and raising the dead, but mercifully instructing the ignorant, uplifting the fallen, and saving the lost. If Rome actually possessed the supernatural power she pretends to have, it would scarcely excite our cnvy, for we have no hankering after the miraculous gifts bestowed upon the Church only in the season of her infancy. We remember that even in the life of Christ the most encouraging-the divinest scenes were those in which, strictly speaking, He wrought no miracle at all. On his way to the city of Jericho He passed a blind man who cried for mercy. He heard the suppliant's prayer, and touched his sightless eyes, and drove away their darkness. During that same visit he met with Zaccheus. In the house of the publican no miracle was wrought, but the dishonest, extortionate, hard-hearted man was made upright and just and generous. Which was the greater blessing, the healing of Bartimeus' blindness, or the checking of Zaccheus' wickedness? The miracle bears no comparison with the moral reformation. If the blind man had not been cured, his calamity could only have been of short duration. A few more years of poverty and darkness, and Bartimeus would have passed into that land of which they say "There is no night there." But if the wickedness of Zaccheus had not been checked, it would have proved a lasting curse, and have gone on unfolding its blighting and

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blasting consequences for ever. The miracle wrought on Bartimeus was a blessing in which few beside himself had any deep interest. The moral change wrought in Zaccheus was a boon to the whole city. It did much to purify the moral atmosphere which all the souls in the district were compelled to breathe.

One memorable night Jesus stilled a storm on the Sea of Galilee. The miracle filled all who beheld it with amazement. On a still more memorable morning, as He sat in the temple teaching the people, the Pharisees dragged into His presence a poor fallen woman who had spent the night in nameless guilt. Her face was blushing with shame, and her heart was bleeding with remorse, and Jesus would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax. At first His silence touched her spirit into deeper penitence, and then His pardoning word perfected her godly sorrow. He sent her away

convicted, but not condemned; sorrowful, but not despairing; forgiven, but not encouraged in her wickedness.

Which was the greater work, the hushing of the angry sea or the reclaiming of that wandering woman? Think of the difference in the duration of the two blessings. For aught we know, the Lake of Galilee was as stormy as ever in four-and-twenty hours. Of this we are certain, that its blue waters have been tempest-tost ten thousand times since He trode upon them "as if they were a floor of marble," and said to the wild winds and wrathful waves, "Peace, be still!" But that woman's fearful sin, checked by His gentleness and grace, was never more repeated. Her character, touched by his transforming power and changed into the image of His holiness, became "a thing of beauty which is a joy for ever."

We cannot imitate the miraculous, but we may by God's blessing achieve these spiritual reformations. We con

tentedly leave to apostate churches the pretence to cure diseases and drive away death with a word. We aim at those glorious moral improvements to which our Divine Master referred when He said, "Greater works than my miracles shall ye do; because I go unto my Father."

We do not profess to have all the instruments wherewith Jesuitism wrought such wonders; they, in common with their fellow-papists, say they did great things by means of relics of the dead saints. We prefer working with that Divine word which is quick and powerful. I went some years ago into a Popish chapel, in the neighbourhood of the Strand, and heard a pervert from the Episcopal Church haranguing the people on the sad scantiness of the means of grace in this country. I listened with deep interest, for I had been accustomed to think of this as a land which the Lord our God careth for, and as so rich in temporal and spiritual advantages, that if an angel were sent to live in some place on the earth where he could most easily "make the best of both worlds," England surely is the country he would choose. Pitying the people for living in such a barren land, the priest told them that in other countries they had the bones of one saint, and the blood of another; some of the coals on which one was roasted, and some of the cross on which another was crucified. Eloquently did he describe the potent virtues of these precious relics, and persuaded the people that those who had such means of grace grew in piety as rapidly as plants in the tropics, and rarely had any spiritual hill Difficulty in their heavenward journey. One felt himself strongly tempted to break the law and disturb a religious meeting. I longed to show the people that Protestantism, possessing the Bible, has got a casket full of the true saintly relics. We cannot show you one of the flowers which blossomed in Paradise: they all withered and died ages

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ago. But, in "The Old Book," we have the very first promise which cheered the heart of fallen man as Paradise faded from his sight, and he found himself in a wilderness, cursed for his sake; and when we are appalled by the prevalence and power of iniquity, we can console ourselves with the very words which first spoke peace to man- The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." cannot show any fragment of the harp which the sweet singer of Israel swept with such strange skill when he soothed the troubled spirit of King Saul: it mouldered to dust centuries since. But we possess the very song wherewith David's strong faith sung all his fears to rest, tranquil as the slumbers of a babe on its mother's bosom-"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want." When we are in a desponding state we can chide ourselves into a happier mood by the same words the Psalmist employed for the restoration of his cheerfulness,-"Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise Him."

In our Bible we have the arrow which wounded Saul of Tarsus,-"Why persecutest thou me? it is hard for thee to kick against the pricks." We have the balm which healed him," My grace is sufficient for thee." I can remember the thrilling interest with which I looked on the veritable armour worn by the Black Prince, in one of those ancient battle-fields whereon England struggled for her right to be counted one of the free and sovereign states of Europe. I can understand, to some extent, the enthusiasm men feel in the possession of what they believed belonged to the great and good in past times. But, in our ancient volume we have every precept by which saints were guided, and every promise by which saints were consoled in bygone days. Yea, more than this; we have the sword of the Spirit, the only and the sufficient weapon wielded by the