footing, in climate and in clothes, and in company, whenever he got any to enjoy.

Suddenly the poor old mastiff-bitch, who wandered round the house at night-time, gave It was said by the gentler folk afar, that he three sharp yelps and made a spring, but deserved no better; himself not being fit receiving a blow on the nose fell back, and company for a Christian; and if he had his in that position became qualified to digest a due, he would be swinging now in chains, as kick in the stomach. Then a storm of thumps a pirate, on the hill of landscape looking broke upon the hob-nailed door, and a mighty over Plymouth Sound. But instead of that, noise rang through the house, till the master he kept the 'Raven,' by the side of a mine- looked out of the window with an oath, and road long disused; and no idle rumour dis-pointed a long gun at his own porch. turbed him there, for his customers were the moor-men only, a silent, hard-living, and wandering race. But even they asked one another sometimes about the queer couple, Griffith Howell and his wife.

The house had been built by the miners of old time, and therefore was substantial and well-squared. For some granite masonry, as fair as need be wished for-including the tower of Christowell church, which they built in wholesome gratitude for a great success-has been done around the moor, and upon it, by the miners. And they must have been sturdy fellows, to have reared the 'Raven,' without being blown out of the windows.

For here are strong concourse and mighty deliverance of every wind that sweeps the sea, buffets the land, or scours the sky. It is a hollow of the hill-crest well contrived, as the chimneys of new houses are, to suck down the gust that is wandering overhead, as well as to catch up the rollicking blast that follows the floor of the country. Not a tree, nor a shrub, scarcely even a furze-mote, or a stub of dead ground-oak, varies with a looser twang the perpetually tense wail of the wind on granite-a tone too dismal, and too dreary, for echo, or description.

Gruff Howell was sleeping, like a lawyer's conscience, richly, and without prejudice. He never went to bed much, but achieved his rest, like a warrior on a tomb, with his clothes on. To-night the wind was scarcely even keeping itself in practice; and the moon was having an unusual turn of inspection round the Raven.' All around the hills were silent; and the long pale shadows lay like flaws of calm on tidal waters; while the "holy circles," where unholy deeds had stained the moor, stood up, like ghosts that have no churchyard. Only the solemn bird, that watches the dim night for a century, and times its slow watches with a croak, was moving, uneasily moving his long gaunt body, with the platform of his frayed nest waiting in the crag for him to mend.

"Come

down," said a clear voice; and down he went, while his wife shivered worse than at fifty burglars.

Old Griffith Howell now was longing, as his wife sincerely hoped, to turn a new leaf of his life, to cast away the works of darkness, brew his own beer, and give no credit. For since the penny-post came in, the heavens had blessed him with a great surprise. He had heard of his only son, a soldier long astray in foreign parts, and long despaired of in home quarters; and without falling under proper average of reason, he placed such a piece of news entirely to the credit of the penny-post. And this made him pay attention now to the doings of his visitor.

"The candle is enough. Rake the fire together, and put a block of dry peat on. Go for the loaf, and the streaky bacon, and the sharp knife with the heel to it. Very well. This packet is for me, with urgency? Leave me to consider it, while you see to the victualling. Don't draw the ale, till I tell you, mind. When my supper is ready, you

may go to bed again.

With these words, the man of the sheepskins, looking thoroughly weary, sat heavily down at the oaken board set up for a table; with a jerk of his thumb he broke the seal of the letter which Howell had given him, and read it by the grimy yellow light. And though he was glad to find little to do, his nasty temper made him grumble at it.

"Child's work-mere child's work-an insult to me," he muttered, while Howell went fumbling about; "even the forgery all done to hand, and directions, as if I were a stupid errand-boy. while the errand-boy. Put this slip in with the opened letter, seal with the seal enclosed, and post it, but not at Christowell, to-morrow.' Very good, very well; it shall be done, sir; as the fates have made you my master for the pre sent; though you don't catch me going near a post-office. No sham civilization for me. I have taken to the moor, and mean to stick to it."

Theirs is the strength to work and toil, to And now, as lay the Spartan on his shield,

THIS

IS SOCIETY CHRISTIANIZED?

BY THE EDITOR.

NO. II.

HIS question was briefly discussed in a former article.* Taking the Sermon on the Mount as the authoritative exposition of the spirit of the religion which Christ sought to establish, we applied its principles to certain spheres of modern life, and found that the ecclesiastical, the social, and the commercial world were in sharp antithesis rather than in harmony with His revealed will. The existence of so much practical inconsistency on the part of those who, in many respects, may be zealous religionists, led us to ask, What are the causes from which a condition of things has arisen so like that which our Lord found among the religionists of Jerusalem when He said, "Did not Moses give you the law, and yet none of you keepeth the law?"

Protestant Church, ranging from the dead level of conventional religious profession up to the exalted pretentiousness of the ecclesiastical firebrand or the pietistic zealot, and embracing the vast variety of persons who compose that Christian society, which in many of its features does despite, as we have already seen, to what our Lord has taught us His kingdom on earth ought to be.

One expression, from the misunderstanding of which much practical error has arisen, is the general term "salvation," or "the saving of the soul." It is no exaggeration of the common acceptation of these terms to say that they are chiefly, if not wholly, identified with what is to occur in the future life, and are referred to the deliverance from punishment in hell, and the admission to We have already named the false distinc- blessedness in heaven. These ends are tion drawn between the religious and the naturally regarded as being so important. secular, as one reason why religion has been that the present life, with its cares, its duties, deprived of its true influence in elevating and its pleasures, is represented as not and sanctifying all the duties and relation- worth the consideration of men, who ought ships of life. There are other causes, how-to be occupied with the one great work of ever, connected with certain misunderstandings of gospel expressions and gospel truths to which much that is wrong among us may be attributed. The causes I am about to mention do not, except in an indirect manner, affect those who stand aloof from all religion, or those whose inconsistencies may be connected with beliefs outside of our prevalent Protestantism. I am now dealing with those who are within the pale of the

See the February number of GOOD WORDs. XXII-17

saving their own souls" or the souls of others. Still further-with many shades of difference as regards the sense in which the fact is to be understood or its benefits made available—that on which the salvation of the soul is made to depend is the holding of certain opinions about our blessed Lord having paid the price of sin's penalty, and the assurance that such a belief is sincere is discovered in the sense of peace or confidence consequently experienced. I am far

are

and love of God in Christ, been brought out
of evil into good, have "passed from death
unto life," from "darkness to light," and are
in that "fellowship with the Father and the
Son" which is "life eternal."
The scrip-
tural idea of the "salvation of the soul" is
accordingly vitally connected with the pro-
duction of character and the possession of
that kind of life, whatever the degree may
be, which is the life of God and of all those
who truly love Him. If this conception
of salvation was more practically realised,
would not society become proportionately
Christianized, and commercial, social, and
ecclesiastical life be inspired with a new
spirit?

from denying the element of truth which may short, they who have that "mind in them underlie these expressions, and I thankfully which also dwelt in Christ Jesus" acknowledge that, in spite of misunder-recognised as "saved," for they have, by the standing, and sometimes of no little fana-power of Divine grace and the knowledge ticism, the simple sense of the love of God, and the freedom of conscience produced by a knowledge of His forgiveness, in whatever way they may be reached, do frequently lead to a really high standard of Christian character being attained, noble and selfsacrificing. But it is not always so. With many persons this projecting of salvation into the next world renders religion so unreal in the present world as to deprive it of its proper influence. We have all known people whose language was full of gospel phraseologies, that were in every-day life selfish and conceited, covetous and domineering, mean, over-reaching, even dishonest in business, harsh and uncharitable in their judgments. While perfectly satisfied that their own souls were "saved," and professedly anxious to "save the souls" of others, they display so little of the character portrayed as Christian in the Sermon on the Mount that we are shocked by the difference, and reminded of St. Paul's great testing principle, "If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His." Their conception of "salvation" is essentially a thing of selfish security more than goodness, and so leads to self-consciousness, rather than self-forgetfulness, to pride instead of humility.

Now, in contrast to this idea of salvation, one of the first things which may strike a reader of the Gospels is the great importance which our Lord attaches to the present life. He tells us, indeed, very little regarding the next world, but an immense deal about how we ought to live in the present. So far from attaching the joy, the peace, the blessedness which He promises to the future life alone, they are equally connected, to say the least of it, with the life of love, humility, and obedience into which we are now called. They who take up the cross of daily duty; they who learn His meekness and lowliness of heart; they who give rather than receive; they who suffer for the sake | of the right; they who do not judge others, but do to them as they would be done by; they who forgive to the utmost; they who are pure in motive; they who are so truly loving as to clothe the naked, feed the hungry, and visit the sick and the prisoner; they who seek first the kingdom of God and its righteousness-they will "find rest unto their souls," and are the "blessed" ones, who enter into the joy of their Lord." In

Another mistake, closely connected with the partial view of salvation which has been described, is the view which many take of the character and object of the atonement of Christ. Personally I regard the fact of Christ's atoning life and death, without, for the present, placing emphasis on any theory explanatory of the nature of that atonement, as the foundation of all confidence, the source of all spiritual life and liberty. For it seems plain that a truly God-like character can be produced only by those influences which lead to the love of God. As far as I can see, we cannot recognise ourselves or mankind worthily, except in the light of the Divine Purpose as revealed in Christ. We cannot measure what man really is until And thus we see what man is to God. it is "the love wherewith God first loved us," which is the source of all Divine love in our hearts. But there is a manner of representing the cross of Christ which, through a misunderstanding of the phrases employed, leads to error, and is sometimes absolutely immoral in its effects. For example, when it is said that "all has been done for us," that "nothing must be added to the finished work," that we can have "no righteousness of our own," phrases are used which have undoubtedly a true meaning. But they are often so used as to convey a totally false and mischievous meaning, because suggesting the belief that the production of personal righteousness. is somehow not of the essence of Christ's salvation. When the cross, instead of being the power that brings us to God, is made a kind of escape from God, and described as an ingenious "plan" whereby the demands.

of righteous law may be evaded; when the
"finished work" of our Lord, instead of
being the grand instrument for producing
character, is represented as superseding the
eternal necessities of character-then the
doctrine of vicarious suffering is held not
only unscripturally, but may be made to
minister to actual immorality. But the
cross of Christ is just the very opposite of
this. It truly
saves," inasmuch as, when
vitally received, it recreates in man the very
spirit of Christ's sacrifice, so that each
believer can, in a measure, echo the ex-
pression of St. Paul-"I am crucified with
Christ; nevertheless I live." Instead of
superseding the righteous claims of the old
law, it at once enforces these claims, and
makes it possible for us to attain the Divine
life, of which that law was only the external
expression.

the same results. For to trust Christ is but another term for yielding to Him, that He may govern us in all things; when we sincerely hope in Christ we ardently pursue that which we hope for; and when we love Christ we are at once fascinated and influenced by what we love. And this self-surrender, as the product of faith, hope, and love, becomes the root from which springs the Christ-like character. But the defective view of saving faith which we have described may be held, and is frequently held, without anything being yielded to God at all. The slave of vanity or greed, the virulent and unscrupulous partisan, the idle and luxurious pietist may fancy all is well because they hold what in their lips is little better than a travesty of gospel truth, and the consequences are manifest in the inconsistencies which the so-called Christian society often presents in its denial of The last error I will now touch on is that the will of the Master. It was the faith of which arises from a misunderstanding of self-surrender which Christ continually desaving faith, as if it were nothing more than manded, and it was that faith which His true having a decided opinion regarding Christ's disciples ever accorded. They had more than atonement and the consequent forgiveness of opinions and beliefs about Him, for they all our sins in His precious blood. Accord- were consecrated to Him. And so the love, ing to this theology, which has a wider prac-humility, gentleness and self-sacrifice of Christ tical influence than its dogmatic acceptance, became reflected in His children. the one requirement of faith is to believe that Spirit of Christ so dwelt in them that, not "the price has been paid," and that there is as from the outward letter, but as by a new therefore "no condemnation;" and its one instinct, they lived out what the Sermon on testing question is, "Have you peace?" the Mount portrayed. The world saw in This faith, without any intrinsic change of them "the Kingdom of God not in word, character, may take the form of believing in but in power." In one light it may have some channel through which the benefits of appeared as "the enthusiasm of humanity," the atonement are distributed and, when so beneficent was its influence. But it was believed in, infallibly received. an enthusiasm which had a deeper fountain of motive than bare philanthropy. It derived all its vitality from intense love to Christ, consecration to His will, and a magnanimous sympathy with the purpose of God towards all mankind.

But while saving faith may include these elements it must go much farther, for it necessarily leads to self-surrender. Hope and love, as well as faith, when experienced in living power, equally unite in producing

This

SUNDAY UP IN THE HIGHLANDS.
BY J. CAMERON LEES, D.D.

DUNCAN MCDONALD'S inn is very comfortable to stay at. It is wholly unpretentious. It is roofed partly with straw and partly with slate; its accommodation for the traveller is limited, consisting only of a small parlour and a couple of attic bedrooms; the fare is of the plainest, and the whole premises are redolent of peat reck. Still it is so comfortable a resting-place, that any

pilgrim who has tarried there is glad to go back again. Exercise in the keen mountain air makes the inevitable mutton and ancient chicken taste sweeter than venison or grouse ; and though the beds are hard, sleep quickly comes to him who lays him down on the snow-white sheets. The great charm of Duncan's humble hostelry is the fishing in the neighbourhood. A broad stream sprawl

ing over big boulders runs a few yards from the door; and a few miles away among the silent hills is a chain of three lakes, where a good basket of trout can be got any day that the wind is from the west, and the sky is clouded. Duncan's house is in the street of a long straggling village, mainly made up of thatched cottages, with the parish church and manse at one end, and the Free Church and manse at the other. Duncan himself is a devoted adherent of the Free Church-no bigot, but very staunch in his devotion to what he calls "the principle;" and so are most of his neighbours, for this is Ross-shire, where the Free Church section of Presbyterianism has it all its own way-a bad thing perhaps for any Church to have. A railway station is now within four miles of this Highland village, but I trust when I go back I shall find the little inn as I left it, with no wings added for the accommodation of the tourists, and no white-chokered waiter to give me welcome. I hope to find the old stream as solitary as before, and Rory the post, and Donald the shoemaker, and John the grieve, and all the honest neighbours, just as they were in the old days, and not turned into the set of harpies who consider the northern sportsman their legitimate prey.

On a Wednesday evening in autumn I was driven up to Duncan's door in a dogcart, after a journey of twenty miles, and was warmly welcomed by the innkeeper in person. It was evident that something unusual was going on in the quiet village. Many carts, with ponies munching their hay beside them, stood at the end of the various houses, and men and women attired in their best loitered about the main street. "You see," said Duncan explaining, "this is the week of the ordinances, and a great many people have come to them. Dr. Matheson passed east to the manse in the minister's gig a short time ago; he is to assist; and there is to be also Him of Sutherland and Him of the Strone as well." "The ordinances" is the term applied invariably in Ross-shire to the administration of the Lord's Supper, and the services connected therewith. It is the religious fête of a Highland parish, and though unaccompanied by amusements and gaieties as fêtes are in some other places, it is looked forward to by the calm-looking, sober-living people as a season of real enjoyment. To those homely-looking women in their white caps, and their grave husbands in homespun, it is almost the only outing in the year. The round of work in household, or field, or peat-bog, goes on monotonously

from one day to another, seldom broken except by a market, a funeral, or a wedding, a shinty match at Christmas, or "the ordinances" in their own or a neighbouring parish. People will often travel many miles to attend these last-named solemnities, and if the ministers assisting are popular preachers great crowds gather to their ministrations from all quarters. The name of Dr. Matheson was sufficient to attract a multitude on this occasion, not to speak of "Him of Sutherland," who also was held in great repute. The ministrations of "Him of the Strone," were not so highly appreciated. It thus came to pass that the village of which Duncan's inn formed part was full to overflowing and assumed a different appearance from its usual quiescent state. Often on ordinary days a cow would stand ruminating in the middle of the street for hours, looking lazily at the stray passer-by as if begging him to give her a kick to break the monotony of her existence; but this evening there was quite a bustle and many going to and fro.

The religious services of that week were numerous, and all, with one exception, very much of the same type. I hardly ventured to put up my rod, and at the close of the solemnities I felt as if I had gone through a week of Sundays. On Wednesday night there was a meeting for prayer, at which the "stranger" ministers took part, assisted by certain laymen of the parish. Thursday was held as a "fast day;" not that there was any stinting of fare, for it was rather the reverse, but there was rigid abstinence from work, and the place was as quiet as on the first day of the week. Friday was equally characterized by quietude; but the services held on that day were of so unusual a description that I venture to give some slight description of them, for Friday is the outstanding day of the festival-it is the "day of the Men."

In the northern counties of Scotland there is a sect, or rather a special class of Presbyterians, called "the Men." They have been compared to the Fakirs of India, the Dervishes of Turkey, the Methodists of England. I shall not refer to these comparisons further, lest I should give offence to worthy persons whom I esteem, except to say that "the Men," like these various religionists, represent an advanced, not to say an exaggerated, form of the belief held by those among whom they live. They are regarded by those around them with reverence men of specially holy lives, and, from their pronounced avowal of religion, are often

as