of earth, and reaching into that eternal world of which the Revelation of St. John gives us a distant glimpse!

We tread on holy ground when we enter this wondrous structure of holy Scripture. And the voices which resound through its courts are sacred voices from another world; nay, the voice of God himself addresses us, not merely as the Lawgiver and Judge, but as the Father seeking for his children. When we enter here, we must first of all silence whatever opinions and prejudices we may entertain or bring with us, surrender ourselves unreservedly to the impression which God's Word makes upon us, and let it do its work upon our souls. This is the main point. Human scholarship may be needful to give us access to the full understanding of holy Scripture; but then, having entered, we must leave all human knowledge without, and simply hearken. Scripture was given to us by God, not to be an object of learned investigation, not to enlarge our historical or philological knowledge; it does indeed do us service in these matters; but its ultimate aim is a religious one, and our proper attitude towards it must also be a religious one. The first essential in the Christian life is prayer, and the second is love to holy Scripture and living in it.

It may be truly said that there never was a time in which Scripture was so widely diffused as in our own. Care is taken that it shall be in the hands of all. But it may also be said that since the press made Scripture the common property of Christians, there never was a time in which it was, on the whole, so little read and known, and so foreign to the masses of Christendom, as the present. To be well grounded in Scripture was formerly the boast and the acquirement of many. How few can be called so now! Much time and pains are devoted to religious questions; much interest taken, it may be, in matters of Church government; much conflict perhaps waged for the advancement of the Church; but that which should have the first place is passed by, and very little attention is paid to the Bible. And yet it is the Protestant principle that in all matters, religious and ecclesiastical, the decision rests with holy Scripture. And apart from this, is there a work in the German language of which we have more reason to be proud than Luther's translation of the Bible? What have we not as a nation possessed in our Bible? It has ever furnished the best and purest nutriment of our intellectual life. Hence have we derived our poetry and our practical wisdom-here have we found gladness in labour, even solace in suffering. Nor let it be forgotten that there is nothing so calculated to form a bond of union between the different classes and grades of our population, nothing which can make our national spirit so healthy, and in the best sense so popular, as holy Scripture. A French scholar, Rosseuw St. Hilaire, published, in the French language, some few years since, a collection of Alsatian proverbs and tales. In the midst of his learned labours he met with these productions of the German mind in Alsace, and was so struck with

their simplicity and poetical beauty that he left off for a season his “History of Spain," upon which he was then engaged, to translate these little tales, and thus to introduce them among his own people. He preceded these "Tractates d'Alsace" by a preface, in which he speaks of the difference between the French and German mind, and of the influence of the Bible upon the national spirit and literature of a people. "There is in the German mind a strangely charming mixture of the naïve and the sublime, of the childlike and the profound, resulting from the honest nature of this primitive people, who have kept closer to nature than we have done, and are endowed with an indestructible youth, which defies the lapse of ages. If there are in the world two types of mind so oppositely constituted that they can never understand each other, they are the French and German. One always ironical, ready to jest at itself and others; the other sincere even to childishness (enfantillage, indignant at jesting which is contrary to its nature, and ready to take offence when it feels itself misunderstood, I have travelled much, both in north and south, and there is one fact which I have everywhere met with. Wherever the Bible is not made the foundation-stone of education, of society, and of every form of life, there is no literature for children or for the people. Look at Spain, Italy, and even France-in a word, at every country in which the Bible is not read: nowhere is there any reading for the child or the labourer. In Germany and England, on the contrary, there exists a Christian children's and popular literature, in which, as in a mirror, the national spirit is clearly reflected." In these words does a Frenchman tell us the secret of our strength and of the soundness of our national life. The Bible in the family, the Bible in the school, the Bible in the Church, is the good old German and Protestant castom.

III.

FRIENDSHIP AND SOCIABILITY.

FRIENDSHIP played a great part in the ancient world, and was of great importance in both a political and scientific sense. Spartan legislation made the friendship of the man with the growing youth the foundation of political virtue; the man was to inspire the youth with the spirit of the political constitution. In battle, friends stood by and protected each other, as Socrates and Alcibiades in the battle of Potidea; the friends Epaminondas and Pelopidas were associated in the work of aggrandizing their country; and the sacred band of Thebans was an association of friends. Art, moreover, whether plastic or poetic, delighted to do honour to the alliances of friends, from the friendships of Achilles and Patroclus, of Orestes and Pylades, down to that of the tyrannicides Harmodius and Aristogiton. It was, too. with the purpose of being a thorough Greek, that Alexander entered into the bonds of friendship with Hephæstion. If friendships were generally commenced

upon the arena of the gymnasia, their importance extended not merely to personal and political life, but formed also the basis of scientific studies and schools of philosophy. It was a tie of friendship which united the Pythagoreans to each other, and attracted the disciples of Socrates to their beloved master. Hence it is no marvel that not only poets and artists did honour to friendship, but that philosophers made it the subject of their investigations. Aristotle devotes to it no less than two of his ten books on Ethics; and he who is elsewhere so calm, cold, and sparse in words, rises almost to poetic flights and warmth of feeling when he speaks of friendship.

What, then, let us ask, was it that gave such importance to friendship in the ancient world? It was assuredly perceived that morality must be the basis even of political action. But what force was to impart strength to morality? Nothing for such a purpose was known but law. Even Aristotle knew no other means of moral education than the law of the State. But it is obvious that, while law can determine and regulate the external conduct, it is powerless to impart the inward spirit of morality. The letter killeth; the spirit alone giveth life. Antiquity had, however, no other and higher moral power. Its religion was a summary of external precepts, and knew nothing of personal selfsurrender to God. To us the family is the sphere of the highest and dearest of human associations. In the ancient world, marriage was too much regarded from the point of view furnished by the interest of the State; and in Athens it was rather a sensuous than a moral fellowship. It did not then offer the personal satisfaction and moral elevation which we seek in it. Hence, friendship took the place of the wanting moral power. One friend was to be in the eyes of another the realization of the moral ideal, and to furnish him with that inward spiritual impulse which the law was powerless to produce.

This view of friendship, however, exacted more of it than it was able to afford. It was a pleasant delusion, indeed, but only a delusion.

Reproach has often been cast upon Christianity for lacking that high appreciation of friendship which preexisted in the ancient world. With the revival of humanism at the time of Petrarch was revived also the eulogy of ancient friendship; and during the decadence of Christianity in the last, and the subsequent romantic period in the present century, the worship of friendship was renewed. Christianity and holy Scripture are, however, quite as well acquainted with friendship as the non-Christian world. The friendship of David and Jonathan is equal in poetic tenderness and fervour to any mentioned among the ancients; and what was it but a tie of friendship that subsisted between the earliest disciples of Christ? It was by friends that the new epoch of the Christian era was introduced; and the history of the Church presents us with many examples of friends, whose affection became a mutual incentive in

the service of the Master to whom they had devoted their lives. It is, however, true that friendship does not occupy in the Christian the exclusive position it possessed in the ancient world. It is no longer all in all; it is but one member in the organism of moral life, one ray of the moral sun. That sun itself, which rose with Christ, is love-Christian love to the brethren, and general love to man, with its whole circle of Christian virtues. To this highest of all virtues, friendship is subordinate. But what it seems to lose in importance it gains in inward worth by the consecration it receives from the Christian spirit.

Friendship in the abstract is independent of Christianity, for it is a relation natural to man. Internal affinity of natural qualities and feelings brings together the like-minded and like-disposed. It is at the time of life when the properties of heart and mind develop, that we seek in another the supply of that which is lacking in ourselves by combining with kindred souls. Youth is the time for forming friendships. Later years, when peculiarities become settled and confirmed, make us more conscious of difference than of affinity in others. It is but rarely that the man of mature age enjoys the happiness of obtaining a friend in the true sense of the word. The period of youthful development is the time for friendship. For even though in later life, not only their outward lot, but their inward opinions, whether political or religious, may more or less sever youthful friends, the ties of memory and of former connection will still remain, even between those now parted.

Friendship seeks in another merely himself. It is not the profit which may accrue to our own nature, to our mental development or wealth, which we must seek in friendship. Such a friendship, in which one man regards another merely as a means for the attainment of his own ends, be they ever so intellectual, is but selfishness. It is inward communion of heart that we seek, and this it is that friends cherish by that personal intercourse in which each devotes himself to the other, and finds mutual pleasure in the other's affection.

Friendship is based, indeed, upon natural properties; but it is itself a moral relation, and cannot, therefore, exist without exercising a moral agency. That is no true friendship which would not venture upon or endure moral exhortation and reproof. It is on this account that no friendship can be durable which does not rest upon an agreement of moral sentiments. The latter decades of the former, and the first decades of the present century, exhibit a series of friendships, especially in the various literary circles of the period, which were of a merely æsthetic nature.

The terms in which these friends speak of and to each other are often of a very excessive kind; but a perusal of their respective correspondences forces upon us the conviction that there is a lack of heartfelt earnestness in this superabundant worship of friendship. And this is borne out by facts; for in many instances it has happened that these friends have become indifferent,

and moral basis of the inner life which bestows its higher truth upon even this outmost circumference of natural life. A life of action requires the pauses of recreation. Play of one kind or other is the most usual form of recreation, whether our minds find pleasant exercise in the various forms of playful conversation, in wit or humour, or we employ the intervals of labour in the many forms of gymnastic exercises; whether the young amuse themselves with the easy and harmonious movements of the body in the dance, or the old seek repose for their weary minds in easy and alluring games of chance. All this seems of a nature so indifferent, as to withdraw altogether from moral estimation.

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And

| yet it may be a widely different moral substance with which these varying forms are filled. I may betake myself to a certain recreation in a moral spirit, and seek therein invigoration for renewed exertion, or I may seek and find in it food for my immoral inclinations. In fact, nothing a man does is morally indifferent; but every act, down to the most seemingly indifferent, down to eating and drinking, and to the very fashion of our garments, has a moral importance and value bestowed upon it by the spirit and intention which we put into it. And not unfrequently will the practised eye detect the inward character manifested in these most external of matters.

W-E-E-P-sw-e-e-p!" cried a young and weak voice before the gate of a large house in Southampton, one bitter morning in January. The second cry was followed by a violent fit of coughing.

"O Ned," said the little sweep, in a plaintive voice, to his brother, "why do people tell us to come at five o'clock, and then keep us a-waitin' like this in the cold?"

"Don't know, Charlie boy. 'Cause they're lazy, most likely, and don't want to leave their snug beds! Here, I'll shout next, while you pull the bell."

Carrying out his intention, Ned shouted with so much power, that he startled the occupants of the front rooms. "Bother those sweeps," was the irritable exclamation of Mr. Westmore to his wife; why does not Mary answer their first ring?"

Before any reply came, however, from his drowsy partner, he had turned over, and was again fast asleep. In an adjoining room lay Flora, a little girl of about ten years, the only child of Mr. Westmore. Startled by Ned's shout, she too for a moment yielded to impatience at being thus awakened; but in another instant impatience gave way to sorrow, for she caught the sound of Charlie's cough.

"Oh, what a cough that poor sweep has! If I am cold in this snug bed, what must he feel to be out in the cold now, with such a dreadful cough! I do wish Mary would go and let them in."

As Flora uttered this wish half aloud, Mary slowly descended the stairs, and unlocking the door, loudly reproved the sweeps for their impatience, before she proceeded to the gate in order to admit them, quite forgetful of the fact that she had kept them waiting an unreasonable time. Ah, Selfishness ruled in the heart of Mary at this moment, as much as in that of her master when

he vented his impatience on his wife, heedless of the suffering ones outside. Perhaps master and maid were selfish alike from want of thought. None the less were they guilty of sin; and surely God, who notes the fall of a sparrow, marked the careless treatment of his two suffering ones on this morning. Let us not judge others, however, but see to it that we err not in like manner. Flora listened, and when she felt sure that they had been admitted, she comforted herself with the idea that the poor boy with the sad cough would be better now, and turned over to sleep again, and to dream of what she would do for the sick chimney-sweep.

At breakfast on this morning, Mr. and Mrs. Westmore were surprised by the request of their little daughter that she might go to visit the little sweep.

"What for, my darling?" said her mother.

"O mother, he has such a fearful cough, just like"and, lowering her voice to a whisper, Flora repeated, "just like dear Fred's was."

Mrs. Westmore for a moment was silenced by the mention of her boy's name, for he had not been dead twelve months; but recovering her composure, she said presently: "Well, dear, and what do you want to do if I give you permission to go?"

"So you shall, my darling, when you have finished your morning lessons with Miss Prescott. She shall show you the way."

"Do you know him then, mamma?" said Flora, scarcely able to sit still for joy.

"Yes, dear; he is the child of Widow Astlake. When younger, she worked for me; but for some time I have lost sight of her. Mary tells me that she has only two sons, both of whom are sweeps."

"Then I may go and see them! Oh, thank you,