simply of observation, but of painful and humiliating recollection. The mental process that takes place may be described as analogous to one with which we are all familiar-that in which the mind goes in search of some word, or name, or thought, which we cannot at once recall, yet of which we have the certainty that once we knew it; so that, when at last, after laborious groping, it flashes on the memory, we recognise it not as a new word or thought, but as one, the familiar form and aspect of which at once commend it to our consciousness. Or the recognition of the truth as it is in Jesus by the awakened soul, may be represented as still more closely parallel to the feeling of one who revisits, in reverse of fortune, and after long years of absence, a spot with which, in other and happier days, he was familiar. It is conceivable that such an one might move for a while amidst old scenes and objects, unconscious of any past and personal connection with them; until at last something occurs to touch the spring of association, when instantly, with a rush of recollection, old sights, impressions, incidents, come thick and crowding on the spirit, and the outward scene becomes clothed with a new vividness, and is perceived with a new sense of identity. The contemplation is no longer sight but recognition; and as every object which the eye surveys recalls to the

saddened spectator a bright and better past,brings up, in contrast with what he now is, the joyous, healthy, happy being which once he was, -it is a keener and deeper anguish far, a sorrow sharpened by the whet of reminiscence, which now pierces his soul. Now, analogous to this is the process which is involved in the manifestation of the truth to the awakened mind. In the Scripture ideal of holiness, and in that sublime embodiment of it which is presented in the character and history of Jesus Christ, the soul, when brought face to face with it, recognises a something which comes home to its inner consciousness with all the painful reality of a lost and abandoned good. If the life of Christ were an ideal of excellence altogether foreign to us, the shame of the convicted conscience would lose half its bitterness. Did we perceive in it only a vague grandeur, which, out of the sphere of our consciousness, could be only half understood by it, we should feel no more shame in falling short of that ideal than the worm in that it cannot cope with the eagle's flight, or the stammering child in that he possesses not the wisdom and eloquence of the sage. But the latent element that lends sharpness to the stings of self-accusation in the mind aroused by the manifestation of the truth, is the involuntary recognition in Christ of a dignity we have lost, an

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inheritance we have wasted, a perfection for which the spirit of man was formed, but which it has basely disowned. Repentance is the recognition by the fallen self of its true self in Christ. As the touched and troubled heart listens to the story of that beauteous life; as there rises before the spirit's quickened eye the vision of a Perfect Innocence in human form of a sublime purity with which no alloy of sternness mingles, a mental and moral elevation in which no trace of selfconsciousness can be detected, a piety rapt as an angel's combined with the unassuming simplicity of a child,—as we ponder the narrative of a life of holiest fellowship with God, maintained amidst incessant toil and intercourse with men, a life of persistent self-sacrifice, undimmed by one thought of personal ease, or one act of selfish indulgencea life in which love, tender as a mother's, grew more fervent amidst ingratitude, waxed stronger and deeper amidst insults and wrongs received at the very hands of its objects;-in one word, as inspiration summons up to the awakened mind the spectacle of a perfectly holy human life, the deepest instincts of our nature are stirred to discern herein its own lost ideal-the type of excellence after which it may have vaguely groped, but which it never realised till now. "Here"is the soul's involuntary conviction—" Here is that

conception which haunted me ever in my sinfulness, yet which I never fully discerned till now; here is that Light to which my darkened conscience was vainly struggling, that standard to which my dim sense of a Right I was abusing, a Purity I was sullying, a home of my spirit's peace and innocence I was forsaking, ever unconsciously pointed. And in this my vague and shadowy Ideal now become the Real, in this which gives to the fantasy of my weak and wavering imagination correctness, condensation, reality, in this truth of life in Christ Jesus there is that which commends itself to my conscience in the sight of God.""

2. Again; the truth as it is in Jesus commends itself to our consciousness, not only in revealing to man the Lost Ideal of his nature, but also in discovering to him the mode of regaining it. The Scriptures appeal to man's nature for a verification of their account, not only of the ruin that affects it, but also of the mode of recovery; they claim from the conscience not only a response to their description of the disease, but also a recognition of the suitability and sufficiency of the remedy they prescribe. The gospel awakens in man's breast an echo to its teaching, first, in the mournful acknowledgment, "this is the purity and peace I have lost," and then in the joyful recognition,

"this, and none but this, is the mode of regaining it."

No state of mind can be conceived more distressing than that of the man who, voluntarily or involuntarily, is falling below his own ideal. To have within me the conception of a high and noble standard with which my own performances are in miserable contrast, the vision of a beauty and excellence which I admire and honour, but which, in all that I am, and all that I do, I practically disown; this is a condition the painfulness of which no mind can long endure. For a man's own comfort, he must either forget his ideal, or strive to realise it; banish from his mind the thought of his lost purity and happiness, or set himself to regain it.

It would be mistaken kindness to take a child, whose destined lot in life is a lowly and penurious one, and let him live in a home of wealth and refinement long enough to familiarise him with the tastes, habits, feelings of a high social sphere; for by so doing you would only awaken in his mind. unsatisfied desires, and render him wretched in his humble condition by the consciousness of a standard far above its resources. Or take the poor member of some rude and savage race, and permit him to reside in a civilised country till his mind has become in some measure receptive of