printed on the human spirit, what need, it might be asked, for any other? If the truths of Scripture be so congenial to man's mind, in such exact correspondence with the principles of reason and conscience, might not reason and conscience work out those truths independently of any external aid? What necessity for an outward authority to announce to me that which, by the fundamental laws of my being, I cannot help believing? If the doctrines of religion accord with man's conscience as the principles of arithmetic or geometry accord with man's reason, what need for an oracle to reveal the former any more than the latter? In asserting that divine revelation is self-evidencing, do we not virtually assert that it is uncalled-for or superfluous?

Now, to all such questions the obvious answer is, that the power to recognise truth, when presented to us, does not by any means imply the power to find out or originate the same truth. The range of intellect which enables a man to perceive and appreciate thought, falls far short of that which is necessary to excogitate or create thought. We may apprehend what we could not invent. To discover, for instance, some great law of nature, to evolve some grand principle of science, implies in the discoverer the possession of mental powers of the very rarest order; but when

tion of his character and credibility. The message he had spoken was so completely in accordance with reason and conscience-it so reflected the profoundest convictions of the human intellect, and responded to the deepest longings of the human heart, that he needed no other credentials in proclaiming it: it became at once its own witness and his. The fragrance of the heavenly deposit clung to the garments of him to whom it was intrusted, and rendered him "a sweet savour of life unto them" who received it. The lamp of truth was not only seen by its own light, but shed back its brightness on the face of him who bore it. By the simple "manifestation of the truth, he commended himself to every man's conscience in the sight of God."

That there is an order of truth, such as that to which the apostle refers, every thoughtful mind must be aware. As there are some truths which we reach inferentially, by a process, longer or shorter, of argument, deduction, demonstration; so there are other truths which are perceived immediately and intuitively whenever the mind is brought into contact with them. All science is based on truths which constitute their own evidence. At the root of all knowledge there are first principles which are independent of proof, which to state is to prove to every mind that

apprehends them. Follow the links in every chain of reasoning far enough back, and you will come to a first reason which hangs on no other, but is self-existent and self-sufficient. Examine the contents of your knowledge, and sooner or later you will penetrate to the primary strata, which, unsupported, support all besides. Of innumerable objects of thought you may be

able to say

or right, or

why you conceive them to be true, beautiful; but there are some with respect to which you can give no such reason, of which you can only say, I believe them to be true, or good, or fair, because I believe them to be true, or good, or fair; my mind is so constituted that I cannot otherwise regard them; they commend themselves at once to my consciousness in the sight of God.

Now to this class belong many of the truths of revelation. Of much that is contained in Scripture the mind of man is so constituted, as, immediately and intuitively, when brought face to face with it, to recognise the truthfulness or reality. As it needs no outward attestation to prove to the tasteful eye the beauty of fair scenes, as sweet sounds need no authentication of their harmony to the sensitive ear; so, between the spirit of man, and that infinite world of moral beauty and harmony which revelation discloses, there is a correspondence so deep and real that the inner eye

and ear, if undiseased, discern at once in divine things their own best witness and authority. In the original structure of the soul, there is an unwritten revelation which accords with the external revelation of Scripture. Within the depths of the heart there is a silent oracle, which needs only to be rightly questioned to elicit from it a response in accordance with that voice which issues from the lively oracles of God. In one word, the appeal of Scripture to the unbiassed conscience or consciousness of man is, in great part, direct, immediate, irresistible. It is this doctrine which I now propose to explain and illustrate. As, however, it is a doctrine which, if unguardedly stated, is extremely liable to misconstruction, I shall endeavour to show, in the first place, what is not, before going on, secondly, to explain what is, its true import.

I. By the statement that the truths of revelation commend themselves to the conscience or consciousness of man, it is not implied, that man, by the unaided exercise of his consciousness, could have discovered them. In claiming for man's spirit a power of recognising and responding to the truth of God, we do not arrogate for it a capacity, of itself, to originate that truth. If there be an internal revelation already im

printed on the human spirit, what need, it might be asked, for any other? If the truths of Scripture be so congenial to man's mind, in such exact correspondence with the principles of reason and conscience, might not reason and conscience work out those truths independently of any external aid? What necessity for an outward authority to announce to me that which, by the fundamental laws of my being, I cannot help believing? If the doctrines of religion accord with man's conscience as the principles of arithmetic or geometry accord with man's reason, what need for an oracle to reveal the former any more than the latter? In asserting that divine revelation is self-evidencing, do we not virtually assert that it is uncalled-for or superfluous ?

Now, to all such questions the obvious answer is, that the power to recognise truth, when presented to us, does not by any means imply the power to find out or originate the same truth. The range of intellect which enables a man to perceive and appreciate thought, falls far short of that which is necessary to excogitate or create thought. We may apprehend what we could not invent. To discover, for instance, some great law of nature, to evolve some grand principle of science, implies in the discoverer the possession of mental powers of the very rarest order; but when