sinners, are by no means commensurate with the stress and awful urgency of the case, if they believe those who die in sin are doomed to an eternal hell. While we confess the inconsistency, we reply that, according to the incontrovertible logic of those who make this charge, the doctrine of future eternal punishment is, of all others, best calculated to produce the intensest forms of missionary effort, and to call forth the greatest personal sacrifices. If hell is an eternal reality, and if all who die out of Christ are exposed to its terrors, then no labours can be too incessant, and no sacrifices too great to save them. The scourging and stonings of Paul, the imprisonment of Judson, the martyr-death of Ann H. Judson, and of George D. Boardman, and the joyful selfimmolation of thousands of other missionaries, all are justifiable and glorious.

Yea, more; then even Gethsemane and Calvary are demanded and justified! The sinner's utter ruin, and God's infinite love in providing for the salvation of those who were lost, together constitute the highest and strongest motives for evangelical and missionary zeal. The facts of history confirm our logic. Universalists and Unitarians have never organized and sustained missions; nor have they ever grown by converts from the heathens abroad, or the vicious classes at home; but they have drawn their members chiefly from those persons whose consciences and fears have been aroused by orthodox preaching, and have sought some relief and hope by membership in bodies bearing Christian names, and having some forms of godliness. Heterodox societies are the parasites of the orthodox churches. And I think it will be found that, just in proportion as any evangelical minister verges towards the Universalists and Unitarians in adopting the new theology, in that proportion his zeal for revivals and missions will decrease. We predict that the new theology will never produce evangelists, missionaries, and martyrs.

But, on the other hand, the orthodox churches, holding the old theology, have been and are to-day foremost in their evangelical and missionary zeal. The great revivals in England and in America during the eighteenth century, which did so much to check the rising tide of infidelity and immorality, were, under God, the fruits of the old theology. Modern missions to the heathen were inaugurated by the English Baptists holding the old theology, and they have been adopted by all evangelical churches. The old theology is a very fruitful tree. It is a marvellous fact that the converts from heathendom, won by American Baptist missionaries, and members of churches now in their care, outnumber those now in the churches under the care of all other American Protestant denominations combined! With less than one-seventh of the number of missionaries, and one-sixth the annual expenditure of money, we nevertheless have more converts than all other denominations combined. With such marvellous manifestations of God's favour, and such manifest adaptation of our theology and our methods to the needs of men in all nations, it would be the height of folly, yea, a crime to adopt the new theology. It looks very much as if this new theology were but a modern Delilah, sent by the Philistines to Samson in the height of his power and the flush of his victory, to extort the secret of his strength by the blandishment of a feigned love, and so betray him to sin and death.

"Treasures of Darkness."

"And I will give thee the treasures of darkness."-Isaiah xlv. 3.

N the language of Scripture, darkness is so invariably synonymous with sin and sorrow, and light so constantly symbolical of all that is good and glad, that such an expression as the above at once arrests attention, and invites closer consideration. Just as the seemingly rare and curious object will for that very reason be subjected to the naturalist's more careful scrutiny, so a phrase like this offers itself to the notice of every interested reader. It is not within our purpose to seek the special significance of the words as addressed to King Cyrus; but rather, detaching the expression from the connection in which it stands, to enquire whether the "darkness" which has surrounded the Christian church during the whole period of its history has not yielded some "treasures" of knowledge or experience which otherwise might have been neglected or forgotten.

It is, perhaps, well to bear in mind at the outset that, in the natural world, darkness is no consequence of sin. In that glorious beginning, when God looked upon all that he had made, and called it "good," the world had its morning and its evening; the bright, glad day-time, with the sweet and solemn night. For did not he, the Great Creator, who himself rested on the seventh day, see that birds, flowers, and men could not go on unceasingly, but that some pause was needful? Would not the earth soon have grown a-weary, had it not been for the calm hushing-time, when God with solemn lullaby soothes his little ones to rest? Was not the hour wanted when quiet should fall on all created things? And is there not something akin to this in the great spiritual world? May there not be pauses even in heaven itself, when praise and service are for a while suspended, and the infinite mysteries of the Unsearchable God hush into silence the voices of the redeemed? Heaven's eventide of rest, if it may so be termed, is found in the unuttered adoration which expresses the consciousness that there are wonders of the Godhead which cannot be revealed. Saints and angels alike love to gaze into these mysteries; but, after all, the knowledge that the depths into which they search are indeed unfathomable, forms the "treasure" they so fondly prize. But as this darkness is rather to be thought upon than described in poor, weak words, and should perhaps more properly be called excessive light, let us leave it, and turn to that actual gloom which is verily of evil, looking even there for "treasures" worth our keeping.

In looking back upon the history of sin since the time when Adam and Eve, by eclipsing with their own hands the light of God's favour, brought death upon the race, we see how he, in his infinite mercy, made use of the darkness, and even caused it to contribute to the glory of his name. Having fertilized the barren soil of lost humanity with the life-blood of his Son, and dropped into it the living seeds of love and mercy, peace and pardon, he has caused to spring from dark places of iniquity revelations of himself such as angels had not dreamed of. Though sin has been "exceeding sinful," and the wanderer has strayed to the very brink of hell, there is a treasure of darkness even

there; for "he is able to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him." The rays of the Sun of Righteousness can pierce the deepest gloom, and cause it all to disappear.

To some souls the hour of conflict has been exceedingly troublous. Long labouring under a conviction of sin, battle after battle has raged within them, and despair has triumphed while hope has been vanquished. But the end of the long campaign has come at last, and an almost unlooked-for victory has been crowned with the promotion which is always theirs who have stood in the thickest of the fight. The leaders in God's spiritual Israel have at such times acquired a steadfastness and strength of trust unknown to those who have known nothing of the fray. Experience is a casket filled with "treasures of darkness."

But what of the still darker hours, when, after walking in the light for many days, the hitherto glad, trusting Christian has suddenly encountered the wild storm of temptation, when a blackness of darkness that might be felt has gathered round and blasted every joy, when, longing and sighing for quietude and rest, the poor soul has been hurried from one fear to another until it has been well-nigh overwhelmed? Can such a gloom as this yet yield its treasures? It is hard, indeed, to find them; but we may depend upon it that even here there are the "hidden riches of secret places," which, if not discovered now, shall not be wanting in the great hereafter. Despondency and even despair have had to yield up secrets of divine power which have proved treasures of darkness.

The night of bereavement has discovered many a priceless gem, and the sky of sorrow has been studded with many stars. All those who have passed through it will know that this is so, and that Christian love and sympathy never shine so brightly as at such a time. Has it not often been, in individual life and in church life too, that the "going to the Father" of some dear one has been the dawning of a Pentecostal hour for those left behind?

But perhaps no darkness has yielded more "treasures" than that of persecution. As we read the annals of the church in martyr times we feel that there was a reality in Christian life then, and we are constrained to question, "What truth is there that we could die for now?" In those days, when the wild floods of cruelty swept fiercely on, they deposited many regal diamonds on the banks of time: their terrible energy washed out and washed up the precious jewels. At the story of brave words and patient suffering our hearts are touched and stirred; but who shall give the record of inward struggle and heart-anguish, when to men and women sorely tried there would come the questionings as to whether they were in the right path after all? Who shall tell the anguish of saints tortured terribly when the tempter whispered that God himself had forsaken them, and the suggestion too readily found an echo in their own hearts? Surely the blessings so lightly esteemed to-day would be more highly valued if the price they cost were called to mind! Would men play with the great doctrines of the Gospel if they remembered the means by which God has so often preserved them? Where are the patience and fidelity, the faith and the holy courage that flourished in the dark days of martyrdom? Where is the earnest searching of the Word, each man for himself, when, believing

himself to be answerable to God only, to him alone man went for a knowledge of his will? The full persuasion of each in his own mind. must lie at the foundation of all true union, and the faith lazily borrowed from one's fellow, to save the trouble of a search, is likely when danger comes to prove no faith at all. As, then, the Bible has been most prized when most it has been attacked, so let it still be a cherished treasure now that the night of persecution has passed away.

There still remains for notice that darkest of all hours, that night of divine vengeance, when the Prince of Darkness put forth all his power to quench the Light of life. All know how utterly the enemy failed when contending with our Redeemer, but who can tell the awful depths into which HE went, who himself came forth from the black night our choicest Treasure, the chiefest among ten thousand, and the altogether lovely? What gifts he brought, what blessings new and costly, for a poor, lost world! Truly, out of the darkness of Gethsemane came many treasures to be prized through all eternity when the darkness shall be over, and we shall be glad for ever in the riches of his light. W. D.

The Proof of Son-ship.

A FATHER, lying upon his death-bed, called to him three children whom he had kept about him, and told them that only one of them was his real son, and that the other two were only brought up by him. Therefore to his own son he gave all his goods; but which of those three was his son, he would not in any wise declare. When he was dead, every one pleaded his birth-right; and the matter being brought to trial, the judge, for the making (if possible) a true discovery, took this course :-He caused the corpse of the father to be set up against a tree, and commanded the three sons to take bows and arrows, to shoot at their father, to see who could come nearest to his heart. The first and second did shoot, and hit him; but the third was very much displeased with them both; and, through the natural affection of a child to a father, threw away his bow and arrows, and would not shoot at all. This being done, the judge gave this sentence, viz., That the two first that shot (at their supposed father's heart) were no sons; but that the third son that would not shoot at all, and that was very much displeased with those that did shoot, was the true son, and that he should have the goods. Oh, sirs, every bitter word, and every oath, and every heavy curse, and every superstitious custom, and every snare that is laid for the righteous, and every yoke that is laid upon the people of God, and every affront that by debauched persons is given to God, is an arrow shot at the heart of God. What true-bred sons, what ingenuous sons can see such arrows every hour in the day shot at the heart of God? What true-born sons can hear of such arrows that are shot a thousand times in a day at the heart of God; and not grieve and mourn, and not be afflicted, troubled, displeased, and astonished? It is horrible to see and hear of men, made in the image of God, turned into such incarnate devils, as thus to deal with God!-Thomas Brooks.

The Story of Jerry.

ERRY'S countenance was plainness to the fullest extent.

by My face

is my ægis." In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred such a conclusion would have been correct, but Jerry was fated to stumble over the solitary exception, inasmuch as a young and rather handsome heiress, forgetting his defects of feature and physiognomy, and seeing only his contented disposition and intellectual worth, fell in love with him one day, and he, very good-naturedly reciprocating the compliment, married her. Proceeding home in a carriage from the church where the union had just been performed, the vehicle upset, threw out the bride, but, what was worst of all, broke a limb of the bridegroom. It was especially mal-àpropos to break a leg upon such an occasion, and Jerry had as much reason to pine at the accident as any one similarly situated could have; but he bore it with his usual good nature. Ah," said he, one day in the last quarter of his damaged honeymoon, in answer to an expression of regret, endearment, and sympathy, which had escaped his young wife, 'tis all for the best, Susy. I desired a little indoor life. Besides. but for this accident, business would not have allowed me so much of your company. So, ha! ha! upon my word, I look upon it as far from one of the most unfortunate events of my life. I do indeed!"

Let us

Susan's first child was unfortunately born blind. "Not so very unfortunate, after all," said Jerry. "It might have been worse. thank an omniscient Providence that the dear little fellow is not clubfooted. Surgery may perhaps remedy his sight; and if it can't-whywhy, after all, the faculty of seeing is so often abused, so often a curse to its possessor. It changed Lot's wife to a lump of salt, you know!"

Such is Jeremiah's philosophy; and for all trials, great or small, he makes it applicable. His wife broke a pitcher, a costly one. "Dear me! what a pity!" said she, provoked at her own carelessness. "Not a whit," responded Jerry. "I never liked that pitcher-such an awkward handle. I'll get another." His chimneys were contrary. There are few who can keep their patience in smoky rooms. Jeremiah, however, after fully ascertaining that with his house the nuisance was incurable, forthwith began to extol the virtues of the smoke; and it was not until after he had sold his bacon-making residence, and purchased an abode more conducive to comfort, that he would allow that smoke was not an indispensable necessary to civilized life.

His little blind boy withered and died, like a sunless rose, ere he could lisp "Father." Susan had been a second time a mother; but her love for her first-born burned brightest, for to the pure flame of maternal love was added interest for the darkness which covered her child like a continual night. Even so was the poor boy endeared to the heart of his father. Sad indeed, then, was the ceremony with which the little sufferer was consigned to the grave, where all become blind alike-that all may see. They returned to their dwelling. The prattle of the sightless one no longer greeted their foot-fall; all seemed cheerless and desolate to Susan, and, sitting down, she hid her face in her hands and wept. The heart of Jeremiah was sad, but not to abandonment, like that of his wife. He opened the Bible given to him