love as sunlight out of the heavens. God Himself is peace because He is love. It is the rest of the assured protection of God. He who has acted in all things from disinterested impulses is freed from all those servile apprehensions of poverty, sufferings, or death, that agitate the soul. He takes no anxious thought for the morrow, because of the Fatherly Providence that is over him. He dreads no trials or dangers, because he knows that God is his "refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble." However tempestuous the winds and raging the sea, sublimely calm and still are the waters that lie nearest to the sand. The soul most filled with love is nearest to God, and is most in repose. Blessed rest this; not the rest of insensibility, for the more loving the soul the more tender; nor the rest of inaction-for of all forces of the universe love is the most in action-it is the rest of the ever-moving planets, rolling in an ether that no storm can ruffle. Love is an indisturbable ether through which all holy spirits speed their way. Moreover the language expresses

Secondly: Dignity. "The right hand of the throne of God." Where is His right hand? Where is it not? Where is His throne? There is no spot in immensity where it is not. To be consciously near this this "all-present Deity" is the most dignified of all positions. "In His presence is fulness of joy, at His right hand are pleasures for evermore." But this dignity comes of disinterested conduct, and no whence else. Selfishness is degradation. The dignity connected with a life of love, unselfish and self-sacrificing, is a dignity to which the consciences of all-good and bad throughout the universe-must render homage. All true saints are kings as well as priests.

CONCLUSION.-Learn to test all professed philanthropists by this sublime Model. It has been said that religion has become a trade, and churches and chapels have become shops. This, alas, is too true, but it is equally true that popular philanthropy is, to a great extent, a thing of trade. The spirit of the market is in it and inspires it, beats in its pulse and prompts its activities. Where there is not a voluntary surrender of personal advantages and an heroic endurance of the greatest sufferings for the good of others, there is no true philanthropy, it is simply an imposture,

however plausible in its eloquence, illustrious its patrons, and successful in alleviating the material ills of mankind.

Learn, moreover, to regulate your own conduct by this sublime Model. He is our example, to Him we should conform in all things, both in thought, spirit, and deed. Christ, not creeds, we should make the guide of our lives and the standard of our character. "If any man has not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His."

LONDON.

DAVID THOMAS, D.D.

Christ Raises the Dead Man at Nain.

“AND IT CAME TO PASS THE DAY AFTER, THAT HE WENT INTO A CITY CALLED NAIN; AND MANY OF HIS DISCIPLES WENT WITH HIM, AND MUCH PEOPLE. Now WHEN HE CAME NIGH TO THE GATE OF THE CITY, BEHOLD, THERE WAS A DEAD MAN CARRIED OUT, THE ONLY SON OF HIS MOTHER, AND SHE WAS A WIDOW AND MUCH PEOPLE OF THE CITY WAS WITH HER.

AND WHEN THe Lord saw her, He had cOMPASSION ON HER, AND SAID UNTO HER, WEEP NOT. AND HE CAME AND TOUCHED THE BIER: AND THEY THAT BARE HIM STOOD STILL. AND HE SAID, YOUNG MAN, I SAY UNTO THEE, ARISE. AND HE THAT WAS DEAD SAT UP, AND BEGAN TO SPEAK. AND HE DELIVERED HIM TO HIS MOTHER."-Luke vii. 11-15.

1. Nain is an obscure town. It has never been of any importance. As is the case with many a quiet little country town, there are no materials for a long history or a detailed description of it. To-day Nain is probably a less important place than it was in the days of our Lord. It is now but a village. Perhaps it was little more than a village then according to our modern notions. To those who love these Gospel stories however, there are two points of exceeding interest connected with unimportant obscure Nain (See Smith's Bible Dictionary). One is that the site of it is certainly known. The modern traveller may go to Nain and be quite sure that he is going to the very place that Jesus knew. And, moreover, there is no

doubt as to the approach by which our Saviour was coming to the little town when He met the funeral of which we read in our text. So that the modern traveller may not only be certain of the place, but he may go to it up the same hill that Jesus climbed, and pass the very sepulchres that Jesus passed, in one of which the body of the young man was to be laid. There they are, those sepulchral caves, to this very day, on the western side of the old village.

To some people the very obscurity and unimportance of little old towns and villages give them a fascination. While the great world has been excited by its revolutions and wars, the ambitions and rivalries of its mighty men, its gigantic commercial enterprises, by the glitter and splendour of wealth, and the eager rush for pleasure,—in these little, unknown places life has been going on quietly and without ostentation. But still there has been life. The poorest village has human homes in it, where men and women have lived and loved and died; human homes made sacred by sweet wedded love, and the endearing ways of little children. The poorest village has its grave-yard too, where its "rude forefathers" sleep the sleep of death. The ambition of the world's great man, whose sphere of action is the proud, grand, restless city,—may mock the homely joys and obscure destinies of untaught villagers. Grandeur may hear, with a disdainful smile, the short and simple annals of the poor; but he whose heart, not being over full of worldly ambition and care for worldly grandeur, has some room in it for the love of his neighbour, will surely find a charm in those quiet scenes, where quiet lives have fulfilled their earthly destinies, and in quietness passed away.

2. But now let us, in imagination, take ourselves back to our Saviour's day; and by the same power let us stand at the western gate of this obscure Nain, where we look, past the village buryingplace, into the valley of Esdraelon. We see coming up the ascent a somewhat large number of people. In the front walks Jesus of Nazareth.

How shall you think of Him? For my part I think of Him as I have seen Him pourtrayed in some great pictures, pictures by

men who reverently studied His character, and then with the touch of genius made it manifest in their representations of Him. But supposing you have not seen, or can but indistinctly recall any such pictures, I would suggest that you call to mind, as well as you can, the prominent phases of His disposition, which you know so well from your study of the Gospels. Call to mind His love, His pitifulness, His strength of will, His power of selfsacrifice, His righteousness, His great, never-failing brotherlykindness; and try to think how a man of about thirty years of age would appear who possessed such qualities. If we have any skill at all in physiognomy, I think we shall be able by this process to imagine the appearance of Jesus.

Well, He comes up the hill towards Nain. With Him are His disciples, those few men whom He had chosen out of the world to be His especial friends, and under the influence of that friendship to learn the truths of the kingdom of heaven, so that they might teach them to others. And with these disciples is the multitude, drawn together for the most part, I suppose, by the fame of His miracles and the eager expectancy to see something wonderful for themselves.

They come all together slowly up the hill. Presently, from out the city gate, we see coming forth another smaller company. We hear the lamentations of weeping women, and observe sad, tearful looks on the faces of the men. But our attention is chiefly taken by the dead body of a young man, whom they are carrying to the grave, and by his mother, a widow. We learn that he is her only son, and she is now desolate and alone.

Ere the grave is reached the two companies meet, and lo, Jesus approaches the sorrow-stricken mother, and bids her dry her tears. "Weep not," He says; and then going to the bier He touches it. The bearers, feeling, as people always seem to have felt, that He had authority, stood still. I can imagine a deep, expectant silence settled upon the crowd as Jesus touched the bier and stopped its progress. What could it all mean? There, lying stiff and enshrouded upon the bier, is the pale, dead youth, and beside him stands the man of whom it was said, in a sense in which it could be said of none other,—" in Him was life."

And what does it mean? What is going to happen? But the on-lookers are not left much time for wonderment. The deep, strange silence is broken by the Master's voice. "Young man, I say unto thee, arise."

What means He? Who is He that He should speak such words?" Such questions, perhaps, come hurrying into the minds of some, to be answered by this strange sight-"He that was dead sat up and began to speak. And Jesus gave him to his mother."

No wonder that fear took hold upon them all! No wonder that they glorified God! Surely in this Great Prophet who could recall the dead to life, He had visited His people.

3. Do you believe that wonderful story? Do you believe that it is really a narrative of facts?

(a) Some would answer, quite light-heartedly, “Indeed we do not. It would be a violation of the laws of nature, which is impossible. It is a myth, sir; a myth. Pretty and entertaining, but a myth nevertheless. Every religion has its myths, and this is one of the myths of Christianity."

(b) And others would say, "Yes, we believe that the story is in substance true. It is told in a very circumstantial way, all the oldest manuscripts contain it, and certainly Luke may be taken as a reliable historian. But the story can be explained. The young man was not really dead, he was in a trance state. Medical knowledge was not great among the Jews. It must often have been difficult with their lack of scientific skill to ascertain whether a person was actually dead or not. Now Jesus, it is quite plain, had a greater perceptive faculty than almost anybody of whom we read, and He saw at a glance that the man was not really dead but sleeping a trance-sleep, and by mesmeric or some other power, He was able to awaken the sleeper."

(c) And yet others would say, "No, we do not believe the story, and it is no light thing to us not to be able to believe it. All these gospel narratives are sacred to us. They were made sacred in our childhood, as we heard them from our mothers' lips, or read in the dear old church. But, alas! we can no longer think of them as true-oh, that we could! We would give a great deal if we could regain the fondly remembered, enthusiastic faith