we weep for the anguish of Christ,—and our tears become the offering of sympahy,—the sign of that dearest gift of a loving heart which is the one recompense He seeks. We may therefore thankfully remember even the slightest indications of a softened spirit which God may be pleased to grant us; and treasure them, as we treasure the remembrance of our self-conquests; not with any feelings of pride;-they who really wish to love our Saviour, and have considered what that love ought to be, will be shocked even at the suggestion of such a possibility-but with hope grounded upon gratitude. Feelings are God's gifts, independent of our will, and yet not bestowed against our will. They are rare blessings, vouchsafed in unequal proportions; but the very least are of value as earnests of greater blessings, and therefore tokens to encourage us. No man, even in the hour of his most bitter repentance, would wish to part with the anguish of that repentance. He would blot out his sin, but he would not forget his sorrow, much less if with that sorrow have been mingled sympathy and love.

Those precious springs of feeling,-those wells in the desert, with the trees of hope clustering round them, beneath which our weary hearts have for a while found rest, may well linger in our memory, and cheer us when we are again journeying through the sandy waste. Once we felt, once we loved, once we reposed under the shadow of the Great Rock, and even in exhaustion found

strength, as the fountains of love were unsealed by the power of God's Spirit. True we are again parched and dry; true the way seems long, and the track has become confused, and the mirage rises to delude us; and we gaze over the burning sky, resting our eyes anxiously on the far-off horizon, but catching no glimpse of the green hills of the Land of our deliverance; but so surely as we have once known what it was to rest beside that Living Fountain, and to lie down beneath the shelter of that Mighty Rock, so surely, if we will but continue our course, shall the clear spring of a grateful heart, and the unspeakable rest of a loving spirit, again be vouchsafed to us.

Only we must continue. The toil and conflict, the weariness and disappointment of the desert, these are now our portion; not the short but blest repose of the green oasis. If we are striving to obey, whatever be the extent of our efforts we are advancing; and it is advancement which we seek. We mourn for our Saviour's sufferings; we leave His Presence and sin. That fact may indeed dishearten us, but the very knowledge that we are disheartened is a call to give us courage again. To be disheartened, is to be disappointed. To be disappointed, is to fail in that which we wish. To wish, if the wish is for holiness, is a gift of God, and a token of His love. Again may we set out with renewed hope; and this not once, or twice; not "until seven times," but "until seventy times seven." "" And thus shall

we look back upon those happier hours, when the consciousness of love was our refreshment, with thankfulness rather than with sadness. If life be prolonged, we may look for them to be restored to us here; if it be shortened, we may be certain that they will be perpetuated in Heaven.

There, we shall feed again. In that new life love will find a fresh spring. And there all which is now bitter to us in our moments of sympathy and devotion, will be overpowered by the sight of our Saviour's happiness. When the innumerable company of the redeemed shall stand before the throne of Christ, even the words "they crucified Him," will be remembered without pain. When "Jesus shall wipe away all tears from our eyes," even those which have flowed at the thought that our sins were His torturers, will for ever be dried.

Father, I will that they also, whom Thou hast given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory which Thou hast given me; for Thou lovedst me before the foundation of the world."

That must have been a prayer for an unutterable Joy, for it was offered in the immediate prospect of an unutterable Agony. If there are moments when our hearts are oppressed with a heavy weight, a thought for which there would seem no solace,— even that He who redeemed us suffered, and that no sympathy, no love of ours can be offered in

recompence for those sufferings;-let us remember this last longing of His Soul, and as we pour out our hearts in prayer, for blessings upon those who are most dear to us on earth, so let us pray that the Joy to which Jesus looked forward, in the presence of His own death, may be His, soon—yes, for His sake, very soon,-in the day of our resurrection.

"Surely I come quickly: Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus."

SINS OF IGNORANCE.

ST. LUKE, Xxiii. 34.

"Then said Jesus, Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do."

SHOULD this prayer have been considered by us at all, it may in many cases have been with the question in our minds, how far guilt can co-exist with ignorance, a question to which we can probably give no satisfactory answer. But the distinction between willing and unwilling ignorance-in which all the difficulty lies-is, perhaps, after a time, brought home to us by some light thrown upon a sin which for years we have been persuading ourselves was not sin; and then our perplexity is solved. The clue to its solution is to be found in that one word,-persuading. We require no persuasion to satisfy us about actions which are clearly innocent. When a man has determined to speak the truth, he does not require to be persuaded that he is right. When he resolves to conquer some evil passion, he never argues with himself in order to be quite convinced that he is justified in his self-control. When we are forced