The love of God with the mind will make you consider whether you ought not to give as much time to the fringes of the garment of God as to your own garments; whether or no half as much time has been given to these marvellous things about God, as has been given to the small beer of which the larger part of what people are pleased to call "conversation " is composed.

Now, not only is it a duty of the lover of God to be conversant with the works of God; but to keep the garden of the soul free from weeds. The day will come when ignorance upon all these things will be looked upon as worse than disease; when it will be looked upon as a crime, and we shall hear of "the trial of a man for being ignorant," or of “ a woman for being silly." What a trial it would be for you, if this were put into force! Fancy you being charged with ignorance, and the evidence being taken!—and the verdict being pronounced "that this stupid person be sent to hard labour forthwith."

Our hand is put to that plough, and shall never be brought back. For this insistance is a question of morals also, as well as religious duty. Loving God with all your mind, then, is to love Him with your brain and thoughts. To say you love Him with

your heart, is nonsense, except you love Him also with your mind. If I were to publish a book, and you would not buy it, or read it, you would not be loving me with all your mind. If you love an author, you will not have the titles of his works labelled upon wooden backs, and put upon your shelves. No, no; you will get the works, and read them through; every page, every line, every word.

And now, why this insistance? Because loving God with the mind is the strengthening of the mind, and the finest process of weeding. It will lift conversation into something worth hearing, instead of its falling into commonplace gossip, scandal-mongering, and pitiful chronicling of petty things. When the higher culture of the mind is neglected; when knowledge is looked upon as a very good thing to have, but not to be sought after; then be you sure there will be plenty of weeds. "My son, get wisdom, get understanding; cry after knowledge, and lift up thy voice for understanding. Seek her as silver, and search for her as for hid treasures! This was the passionate cry of the wise man of old time.

Remember, for your encouragement, that every duty mastered, every map studied, every bit of knowledge gained, is a weed rooted up. The tree

of knowledge is like the cedar; it is not friendly to frivolity. It is an evergreen, beneath which frivolity can have no place. The chief weeds that are fatal to it are these—littleness, and the ability to talk a long time on the head of a pin. It is not little to learn about a pin, for one may talk scientifically a long time about such a thing. But it is the frivolous talking about nothing, the littleness, the envy, the jealousy, the spite, the gossip, the scandal, the backbiting tweedle-twaddle, in which so many people indulge, that I am speaking of. These are the weeds for which there is no possible growth, when a man learns to love God with all his mind. He who has got to that state, cares little for the scandal of the streets.

There is that weed, Envy. Who could be envious who hath God for his lover? Envy! There is that person has so many hundreds a year. Well, what of that? I have the seven stars, Plato's brain, Isaiah's prophecies, David's Psalms, and the Lord Jesus Christ his heart. With such possessions, I have no time to be envious. And jealousy! who has time for that nonsense, whose heart is filled with heavenly love, who holds communion with the mighty dead, whose room is peopled with the great masters of all time who, though dead,

yet speak? And what have I seen? I have seen nights such as one this week—when God's beauty was poured forth to all men; when the heavens shone with the glory of an archangel's wing; when the splendour of all things seemed to be gathered in the clouds in one marvel of glorious beauty; and I beheld-what?-two or three people turn their backs to it, and proceed to chronicle some foolish gossip. The lover of God would be filled with a glowing enthusiasm as he gazed upon this passionate outpouring of the glory of God; but these stupid people, in their sullenness of heart, turned round to talk the gossip of some filthy court, and relate some narrative of some filthy harlot. What weeds! And even the fire of God could not arrest their attention! Even the bushes seemed to take fire, and yet no fire of God stirred in their hearts. They stood with their backs to that splendour, whilst it seemed at that moment that the Lord had rended the heavens, that the children of men might, just for a moment, behold His glory. So every one of you can turn from these continual dissertations of God, to envy, spite, malice, and evil-speaking!

If it is too late for you to mend, there is your child. Oh! think of the child.

child's mind with something higher.

Fill the little

I have never

known a little child yet, who had been brought up to have a large and thorough love of nature, who was not saved from the nastiest things that beset human nature. Made to know the language of the flowers; filled full of the passionate love of nature, acquainted with the cataract, and with the shady forest; knowing the rising of the sun, and the age of the moon; I say that child is armed, not against strong passions, perhaps, but certainly against the creeping things of life.

To love God with all one's mind is the greatest protection against pettiness, littleness, and stinging spite. Knowledge is a fine insect powder; very good against human flies, that bite and sting; against the mosquitoes of rage and wrath. The finest insect-powder is knowledge and the love of it, and the study of God's works and ways. So I find culture to be a holy regimen, a godly diet; and the last and best expression of man as an intellectual being is that he loves his God with all his mind. The love of God with the mind brings enthusiasm and admiration of God's works and ways. A good man increases his knowledge daily. He will master day by day some new line, as he would from some favourite poet, till he comes to the full fruition of all.