est appeal. It answers love with love. The work of redemption does, indeed, appeal to our self-interest-for where shall we learn the worth and peril of the soul so effectually as at the cross of Him "who gave Himself for us"? And it appeals to conscience-the sacredness of the law and the wickedness of sin are never more solemnly expressed than when God "declares his righteousness" in the death of the Substitute. Still, its great appeal is to our love, forasmuch as it chiefly sets forth God's love. "To declare his righteousness" was not the immediate purpose of his work. might have done that with sufficient emphasis, for aught we know, by leaving the guilty to their doom. But "God commendeth his love to us, in that Christ died." And it is when a sense of that love takes possession of our being-when its claims become the adopted rule of our existencethat we are yielding to his great appeal; then, but not before that, in any proper sense of the expression, we feel "the power of the cross of Christ."

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And it is a higher motive because it is more fruitful of results. It leads, not only to a more spontaneous, but to a more ample obedience. It is not the office of conscience to discover the will of God. Incidentally it may aid us to do this. A conscience that is awake will transmit to the understanding many a signal that God is speaking which the slumbering conscience is unaware of. Still that is not its proper work. It is, rather, to see that so much of the supreme will as is known shall be obeyed. Its office in morals is simply to command. A very honest conscience may be a very unenlightened one. It is different with the affections. They are, proverbially, quick to perceive; they will discover a thousand ways of pleasing the Great Friend which else had remained unsuspected. They will be " eyes to the blind," as well as "feet to the lame." The dullest intellect, looking through them, as through some enchanted medium, will perceive the law of God to be "exceeding broad," and exceeding minute. The little things of piety will come to view. "Love is the fulfilling of the law," not only as it disposes to that fulfilment, but as it shows what there is to be fulfilled. And only suppose a soul possessed by a love in any sense responding to the Great Primal Love which provokes it, and we can set no limits to what it will propose to do to please God.

IV. A yet higher motive, the very highest of which we have any conception, is the Love of Holiness itself. We may do a thing because it is safe, or right, or a fit expression of regard to Him who wills it. It is something more to do it because we love it, and love it because it is holy.

Some will, probably, question this. They will shrink from admitting that to be a superior religious principle, if indeed a religious principle at all, whose tendency seems to be to lead the soul away from God-to substitute something else for that habitual regard to Him in which the essence of all religion consists.

But the apprehension is ill-founded. In this principle consists the holiness of God himself; His excellence is not the product of fear, or conscience, or gratitude. He is holy, as divines say, by the necessity of his nature-more correctly, he is holy from supreme choice. In holiness itself, and not in any accidents or accompaniments of holiness, does he

find the great motive to be holy. That must surely be the noblest of all principles, and a genuine principle of religion too, which most completely assimilates us to God.

Moreover, so far from leading us away from God, its direct tendency is to lead us to Him. If we love goodness, we shall not love it less when we see it exemplified in a person-rather shall we love it more. But where shall we find it as in Him? It would, therefore, be a contradiction to say that we loved holiness, if we did not love the most holy of beings, and because he is such. It may, indeed, be that our complacency in him is prompted in the first instance by a sense of obligation "we love Him because He first loved us." But the very intimacy into which we are thus attracted with Him cannot but enlarge our knowledge of His character— cannot but increase our aptitude to discern and appreciate whatever in Him is morally beautiful, for the faculty to discover excellence grows by the contemplation of it, and therefore cannot fail to impress us with deeper veneration and more fervid affection towards Himself. The love of holiness is, in truth, the highest form of love to God. It is, therefore, the highest form of religion, of which God is the object. It is the most perfect type of character.

This was, in fact, the holiness of the Son of God. "Holy Father" is the term he employs, an expression in which personal affection is blended with moral complacency. This we may conceive to be the holiness of unfallen spirits; nor can we form a nobler idea of the "spirits of just men made perfect" than that, while they cast their crowns in token of grateful adoration before the throne, they exult with a more radiant satisfaction as they gaze on the infinite perfection of their Holy Redeemer.

Such are the motives by which the Christian life is actuated. They rise in importance one above another; they form together a kind of graduated standard, by means of which we may measure our spiritual stature, determine our soul's prosperity.

In employing them as a test, our inquiry should be, by which of them we are chiefly moved. We may be moved by them all, in greater or less degree; even if we have attained to the higher, we may feel the force of the lower also. Paul had probably attained to the very highest-loved goodness for its own sake; so that, could he have discovered that those beliefs which had served as stepping-stones to raise him to that proud position were nought but empty phantoms, he would not have desired to be other than he was-only more intensely such; and yet he owns the force of the other three. "The love of Christ constrained" him. He laboured to have "a conscience void of offence." He was moved even by the lowest of them all: "I bring my body into subjection, lest, having preached to others, I myself should be a castaway." It may be that, in this world, we shall never be able to dispense wholly with the most elernentary motives to goodness; and it will doubtless be our wisdom to act upon whichever we feel at the time to be the strongest, endeavouring, if it be not the highest, to rise to that by means of this. But still, the question for us when taking note of our spiritual progress is, By which am I on the chole most influenced? In adopting any course, what is my uppermost thought? This is for my safety, and I dare not neglect it? Or, this is

right, and I ought not? Or, this will please my Saviour, and I would not Or, this is goodness itself, and I cannot but love and pursue it?

Again, it is possible to shrink from applying the test, from a dread of falling short. The loftiness of some parts of the standard may deter us from the attempt to determine too nicely our stature. And yet there is much in the case to encourage a man's heart. Even if we cannot feel, as some do, that our motives surpass our performances, yet how animating is the thought that we have here to do with One who does not despise the lowest principle of right action, and at the same time is waiting to lead us on to the very highest. If in your examination you find the predominant feeling to be anxiety for your salvation, be thankful that you have so far been enlightened as to see the supreme worth of eternal realities; cherish the conviction, and seek strength to rise higher. If you find your conscience to be the governing power-honest, unswerving, able to secure a steady obedience to its mandates-be yet more thankful; seek to strengthen its authority, and pray for grace to rise yet higher. If you discover that love to your Benefactor is the mainspring of your life, be yet more grateful to Him who has so unlocked to you the treasures of his own love as to constrain you to surrender your self to him; and seek grace to advance higher yet. If your faltering confidence refuses to advance further-if you feel it would be presumption to hope that the love of holiness itself shall be the ruling principle of your life—yet fear not to aspire even to this, as part of the blessedness in reserve for you "within the vail.”

For a large class a subject like this is not likely to have much interest. But the mode in which the apostle speaks of it shows that it ought to be attractive to all. He speaks of prosperity, using a term to the charms of which, when used in other connections, men are keenly alive. And is there not a prosperity for the soul as well as for the body and the estate? Can it be so necessary to prosper in the narrower sphere, and not much more so in the sphere that is infinite? Shall the material and the temporal absorb all the solicitude, while the spiritual and eternal are left to lie waste? Were the soul visible, so that we could see the effects of our treatment of it could we discern, as in the case of the body, its strength and comeliness, or its weakness and deformity-we should then, perhaps, feel that no amount of care or toil was too much to expend upon it. But the wants of the soul are none the less real because we cannot see it with the bodily eye. And, if we cannot see it, we often see something which reveals the importance of its interests. Perhaps the lack of the soul's prosperity makes itself fearfully visible; we can see that the man's nobler part is pining away for want of care-that it is becoming dead and useless in regard to all the higher purposes of its being. Or, on the other hand, we see the result of a persevering secret culture, in the strength, and manliness, and beauty, which the soul puts on. Let us be assured that, sooner or later, the culture we give our souls will result in a prosperity for them in which we shall abundantly rejoice, or the neglect in which we hold them in that which shall cover us with shame and dismay.

The man for whose worldly prosperity the good apostle prays is one whose soul was prospering. Would he have felt it safe to offer such a prayer for one of whom that could not be said? It is not simply that the mate

rial prosperity without the spiritual is of little worth-it is most deadly in its effects. Adversity is often mischievous to the soul; it is not always "good to be afflicted." But that is harmless, compared with prosperity. Such ought not to be the case. God's mercies should awaken our trust and our love; but with the unsanctified heart it is not so; the creature is loved more than the Creator. His gifts become substitutes for Himself. While, therefore, the man of the world is panting and crying out for worldly prosperity, there is not an angel in heaven, not a wise servant of God in any world, who would not implore that, in his present condition, the blessing may be denied him. This again should remind us of the vast importance of the soul's prosperity. That cannot be a right or a safe state of things in which it would be dangerous for us to receive proofs of the Divine regard. Rather is it as the hunger of the sick man, to gratify which would be death.

John seems to pray that there might be a proportion between the outward prosperity of his friend and that of his soul-"That thou mayest prosper and be in health, even as thy soul prospereth." What would such

a prayer mean if offered for some men? If their bodies prospered only as do their souls, would they not be as walking spectres, a terror to behold? If their estates prospered only in the same proportion, could beggary itself be worse than the condition to which they would be reduced? How would some of us like such a proportion to be established in our case? And yet we ought to be willing; we ought, at least, to resolve that no prosperity we may have shall outstrip that of our souls-of our proper selves. Our prayer should be, Whatever thou withholdest, withhold not from me my proper life; let me be poor, as to this world, if thou wilt, but let me be rich in the wealth of eternity; let the outward man decay, only let the inward man be constantly renewed. Surely we dare not be content with such a state of things in regard to the soul, as, if carried out in our other interests, would become poverty, disease, death.

The means of this prosperity are all around us; in the Divine word, in the throne of grace, in public ordinances, in Christian fellowship, in pious example, in the indwelling of the life-giving Spirit. In evil itself we may find them—in the afflictions, and even in the sin, of this world. A principle of life can extract nutriment from corruption and death itself. While a dead plant will only add to the death surrounding it, a living one will take up its choicest elements of life and strength and beauty from that same death. And while a dead soul only augments the death which festers all around it, a soul that is "alive unto God" extracts from that death more life. The afflictions of time will impel the soul to seek its repose amid the eternal inheritance. The disquiet attendant on sin will wean it from sin. The power of evil example will make it cling to the Redeemer for sanctifying grace. The sinfulness of the heart itself will lead it constantly to the "fountain opened for sin and uncleanness; " will impel it to live " life of faith in the Son of God." All things thus unite together for its good. Apart from the consolatory assurance that God is controlling them for that end, there is that in a soul that is truly alive, which gives it the power of transmuting into blessings the very things which are to others fraught with the elements of a curse-of extracting life from

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death. It partakes of the mighty life of God. "All things are yours" if 66 "you are Christ's."

The great question of spiritual progress, therefore, is not one for those in particular who can command much leisure and special opportunities for direct culture. That very life of danger and trial, from which we recoil as unpropitious to goodness, furnishes some of the selectest means and methods of spiritual growth.

Let us examine ourselves, to see whether this life has begun, and then to see what advance it has made; and let us determine that we will not rest from our striving "until we all arrive at the unity of the faith, and of the true knowledge of the Son of God, unto a full-grown man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ."

Guilsborough.

STRAY THOUGHTS ON PRAYER.

"Pray without ceasing."-1 Thess. v. 17.

ACTIVITY is a great feature of the

age.
It marks all ranks, from the
statesman to the peasant, from the
merchant to the mechanic. In all in-
dustries there is an eager competition
which offers success to those only who
lavish time and labour to secure it.
Political and social questions press on
the attention of every citizen. The
railway and the telegraph have brought
half a hemisphere within the circle of
our vision, and the penny newspaper
daily provides some new matter of
interest and excitement. For the
leisure hour the lecture-room and
the music-hall urge their attractions
intended for mental improvement or
recreation; and those who, like the old
Athenians, delight to hear or to tell
some new thing, now fare sumptuously
every day.

Such circumstances involve temptation and danger to the Christian of to-day, as real, though not as direct and obvious, as that which beset our forefathers. Persecution no longer makes the simple confession of Christ the signal for a cruel death. Infidelity, which once with cold sneer mocked at what it called the weak credulty of believers, is now unfashionable. The Bible is not now imprisoned by priestcraft in an unknown tongue and diffi

cult of access, but as a living fountain set free of all hindrance it pours the stream of the water of life all around

us.

Yet the very freeness and fulness of a privilege tend to make it less prized, and because its use is almost certain when desired, it may be neg. lected, or its obligations scarcely felt. In reading such an injunction as this, its force is parried by a scarcely noticed but influential course of thought, something after this fashion,-"Surely this command, however appropriate as addressed to a community bitterly persecuted, and having no occupation but the simplest labours of necessary industry, cannot equally apply to us amid so much of moral culture and refinement, and with such great and important demands upon our time." The spiritual industry here inculcated, instead of finding scope in the active disposition of society, suffers a neglect for which that activity is offered as

excuse.

The character and life of the apostle should be sufficient to sweep any and all such excuses away. These are not the words of some monkish idler. whose formal devotions served to break the monotony of his useless life. Nor are they the words of one who, surrounded by all the comforts of home,