motives and renders us unreal, even at the very moment when we fancy ourselves most simpleminded,—most indifferent to it. If we would know whether it does so influence us, let us ask ourselves how we could bear to part with it? If, suddenly, upon no fault of our own,-from no cause that we could understand,-we were to sink, though not in the opinion of our personal friends, yet in the estimation of our immediate circle of acquaintances, of the persons who know us by name, and think of, and talk of us,what effect would such a change have upon us? Should we quietly pursue our path of daily duty, looking only to God? or should we fret and disturb ourselves,-seeking to set ourselves right, as we term it, with persons whose opinion is individually of no value, but whose collective support we felt that we could not do without? And if we did more than sink in general estimation,—if our characters were traduced, our words misrepresented, our actions misconstrued, till we felt that the finger of scorn was pointed at us, and that we had fallen in the scale of society,still from no fault of our own, but from the course of unlooked-for events, and circumstances which we could not control, would it be a trial which we could endure patiently? However our hearts might sink at times, would God, our conscience, and our own good friends, be, on the whole, sufficient for us?

Each one must answer for himself. But if we desire really to make ourselves independent of such

a possibility-really to become indifferent to the world's praise, and superior to its censures, we must place ourselves in thought beneath the Cross of the Redeemer, and learn the lesson which is there taught us.

We say that we love Christ. If we do not say it, we wish that we could. But if we love Him, we must long to be like Him; we must be willing to follow Him. And what does He say to those who would thus follow Him? "Whosoever doth not bear his Cross, and come after Me, cannot be my disciple."

To bear the Cross and to come after Him! Not, therefore, to lay it down, but to be laid upon it. To be crucified-if so He will-to all that we have most prized. To be lifted up if so He will-with the crown of shame upon our brow, and the words of mockery above our heads. And from that Cross of shame, to look down upon the careless crowd, watching our suffering with an idle curiosity, mingling our name with the vilest, and turning the moanings of our agony into the expression of a humiliating weakness.

The admiration of the world, and the Cross of Christ, what have they in common?

Surely to suffer is a great privilege, to bear the burden of life's care and grief, a precious blessing; but we risk the privilege and mar the blessing, by submitting to the intrusion of the vain and petty satisfaction which is offered us by the thought" the world sees and admires." That

It

thought will come; it is too natural to our own hearts, and too valuable a suggestion for the Temper, for us to be able to escape it. But we may crush it. may be taken at once in prayer to Christ and offered to Him in sacrifice ; and when it is so offered, He will give us in return the joy which wakes at the sound of the "Still Small Voice," whispering to us, that we have "loved the praise of God more than the praise of men."

11*

FEELING.

ST. LUKE, Xxiii. 33.

"And when they were come to the place, which is called Calvary, there they crucified Him, and the malefactors, one on the right hand, and the other on the left."

HUMAN inconsistency is marvellous even to human beings. To think in detail of our Redeemer's sufferings, to consider, and, though in an infinitely faint degree, to realize what is implied by the words, "They crucified Him;" and to feel,-as though God's mercy we may sometimes be enabled to feel,-actual shrinking pain ourselves from sympathy with His Pain; and then to go away, and in another quarter of an hour, or even in less time, yield to some petty self-indulgent temptation, which it requires scarcely a thought to withstand; these are the things which render our nature wonderful and inexplicable, and almost lead us in our disheartened despondency to imagine, that the struggle we have entered upon is hopeless, and that the world and sense must ultimately triumph.

Yet it is wrong to be thus disheartened. It is much to have been allowed, even for a short inter

val, the power of sympathy with our Lord's anguish. During childhood and often during many years of youth, it is, except in rare cases, quite out of reach. The words which speak of His death convey no meaning, beyond that of reason. They reach the intellect, but they cannot go farther. If, therefore, we have advanced but one step beyond this blind indifference, we may look forward with hope to advancing many more. The hope is especially to be cherished in middle life, or when youth is just waning; for these are seasons as trying in our spiritual, as in our temporal affairs. The long experience of failure, and the consequent deepening sense of infirmity, together with the unveiling of the past, are then so crushing, they cause a feeling of physical oppression at the heart, which is very wearying. And to add to this sense of guilt, the clearer and clearer perception that our Lord actually, in truth, suffered, endured, was tortured, because of these offences! It seems astonishing, at times, that we should be any more able to bear up against the thought than against any other deep sorrow, such as the death of a human friend, or the sight of intense agony of body, or depression of mind; all of which, it is so trying to the physical frame to be brought in contact with. But in reality the comfort we need is to be found in the very sorrow which we experience, and which in grief connected with this world so often overwhelms us. We weep for the sickness and the death of our earthly friends, but our tears are lonely and selfish ;