move the man to pleasure: he smileth not at the swelling strain, he weepeth not at the plaintive cadence; yea, could the orchestra of the redeemed pour forth their music, he would be deaf to the celestial charm.

Will you assault the city by another gate? Place then before those eyes the choicest flowers that e'er were grown since Eden's plants were blasted. Doth he regard the loveliness of the rose or the whiteness of the lily? Nay, the man knoweth no more of their sweetness than doth the water of Nilus of the lotus which it beareth on its bosom. Come, ye gales of Araby, and winds laden with the spicy odours of Ceylon; let the incense of fragrant gums, of frankincense and myrrh, smoke before him; yet, motionless as a statue, the nostril is not distended, nor doth pleasure sit upon the lip. Aye, and ye may bring to your aid more powerful means. Ye may combine the crash of the avalanche, the roar of the cataract, the fury of the ocean, the howling of the winds, the rumbling of the earthquake, and the roll of the thunder: but these sounds, united into one godlike shout, could not arouse the slumberer from his fatal couch. He is dead, doth in one word solve the mystery. So also we, though quickened by the Holy Ghost, were once dead in sin, and hence " we esteemed him not." Here is the root of all our misdeeds, the source of all our iniquity.

When we are asked to point out the parent of light, we turn our finger to the sun above; and if the question be proposed, Whence cometh evil? we point within us to an evil heart of unbelief which departeth from the living God.

The secondary causes of the folly which we once committed lie very near the surface, and may repay a moment's observation. Self-esteem had much to do with our ill-treatment of "the sinner's Friend." Conceit of our own deserts made us indifferent to the claims of one who had procured for us a perfect righteousness. "The whole nced not a physician:" and we felt insulted by the language of a gospel which spoke to us as undeserving beings. The Cross can have little power where pride conceals the necessity of a pardon; a sacrifice is little valued when we are unconscious of our need thereof. In our own opinion we were once most noble creatures; the Pharisee's oration would have sincerely enough emanated from us. A few little trifles there might be which were not quite correct, but in the main we thought ourselves "rich and increased in goods;" and even when under the powerful voice of law we were made to discern our poverty, we yet hoped by future obedience to reverse the sentence, and were utterly unwilling to accept a salvation which required a renunciation of all merit and simple trust on the crucified Redeemer. Never until all the work of

our hands had been unravelled, and our fingers themselves had become powerless, would we cease from our own labour, and leaving the spider's-web of man's doings, array ourselves in the garment of of free justification. No man will ever think much of Christ till he thinks little of himself. The lower our own views of ourselves become, the higher will our thoughts of Jesus be raised; and only when self-annihilation is complete will the Son of God be our "all in all."

Vain glory and self-esteem are fruitful parents of evil. Chrysostom calls self-love one of the devil's three great nets; and Bernard styles it "an arrow which pierceth the soul through, and slays it; a sly, insensible enemy, not perceived." Under the sad influence of this power we commonly love him best who does us the most harm; for the flatterer who feeds or vanity with pleasing cries of "Peace, peace," is far more regarded than that sincere friend, the blessed Jesus, who earnestly warns us of our ill estate. But when self-confidence is removed-when the soul is stripped by conviction -when the light of the spirit reveals the loathsome state of the heart-when the power of the creature fails, how precious is Jesus! As the drowning mariner clutches the floating spar-as the dying man looks to some great physician-as the criminal values his pardon, so do we then esteem the deliverer of our souls as the Prince of

the kings of the earth. Self-loathing begets an ardent passion for the gracious "lover of our souls," but self complacency hides his glories from

us.

Love of the world has also its share in using this dear friend so ill. When he knocked at the door we refused him admittance, because another had already entered. We had each chosen another husband to whom we basely gave away our hearts. "Give me wealth," said one. Jesus replied, "Here am I; I am better than the riches of Egypt, and my reproach is more to be desired than hidden treasures." The answer was, "Thou art not the wealth that I seek for; I pant not for an airy wealth like thine, O Jesus! I do not care for a wealth above in the future-I desire a wealth here in the present; I want a treasure that I can grasp now; I want gold that will buy me a house, a farm, and estate; I long for the sparkling jewel that will adorn my fingers; I ask thee not for that which is hereafter; I will seek for that when years have passed away."

Another of us cried, "I ask for health, for I am sick.". The best physician appears, and gently promises, "I will heal thy soul, take away thy leprosy, and make thee whole." "Nay, nay," we answered, "I ask not for that, O Jesus! I ask to have a body that is strong, that I may run like Asahel, or wrestle like an Hercules; I long to be

freed from pain of body, but I do not ask for health of soul, that is not what I require." A third implored for happiness. "Listen to me," said Jesus, "my ways are ways of pleasantness, and all my paths are peace." "Not the joy for which I sigh," we hastily replied; "I ask the cup filled to the brim, that I may drink it merrily; I love the jovial evening, and the joyous day, I want the dance, the revelry, and other fair delights of this world; give your hereafter to those who are enthusiasts let them live on hope; I prefer this world and the present."

Thus did we each in a different fashion set our affection on things below, and despise the things above. Surely he was no ill painter who thus sketched us to the life with his graphic pencil: "The interpreter took them apart again, and had them into a room where was a man that could look no-ways but downwards, with a muck-rake in his hand; there stood also one over his head with a celestial crown in his hand, and proffered him that crown for his muck-rake; but the man did neither look up nor regard, but raked to himself the straws and dust of the floor."

While we love the world, "the love of the father is not in us;"* nor the love of Jesus the son. Two masters we cannot serve. The world and

* 1 John ii. 15.